What Angels Fear: A Sebastian St. Cyr Mystery

upturned faces shining in the golden light of the carriage lamps, and he understood. This was not a mob, but a crowd of revelers celebrating the installation of the Prince as Regent, which was to take place in the morning. They genuinely believed their hard-pressed, desperate lives were finally going to take a turn for the better. They didn’t understand that nothing would really change, that they were simply replacing an earnest but mad old king with a vain, pleasure-loving, self-indulgent prince who gave far more thought to the cut of his coats than to the spiraling cost of bread; who had never heard the wail of a child starving in the cold, never seen those stacks of pitifully small, white-shrouded bodies waiting for the quicklime of the poor hole.
    “There is still the matter of Constable Simplot,” said Sir Henry. “While I can understand—”
    “ God damn it ,” Sebastian swore, coming half upright only to be thrown off balance by his bound ankles. “I didn’t attack your bloody constable. Why would I? Did you not hear what I said? A woman is going to die . Tonight.”
    A string of firecrackers went off next to the carriage, startling the horse and bringing a roar of excitement from the crowd. “If that is true,” said Lovejoy, his nervous gaze darting to the window, “then tell me where this man is keeping her. I’ll send constables after them.”
    Sebastian let out a harsh laugh. “She’s bait in a trap set for me. If your constables go charging in there, she’ll die.”
    “I think you underestimate the capabilities of my constables.”
    “Do I?”
    “This man—the one you say is killing these women. Who is he?”
    “My brother-in-law. Lord Wilcox.”
    The magistrate’s lips parted as if on a gasp, but he kept his features otherwise admirably controlled. Still, it was several moments before he said, “And your proof?”
    Sebastian had to beat back an uncharacteristic welling of frustration and despair. Proof? He had none. “The only proof I have is that he has taken Kat Boleyn.”
    “And your proof of that?”
    A sudden explosion of fireworks ripped through the night, filling the street with a shower of sparks that glowed eerily in the heavy fog. “I have none.”
    Lovejoy nodded, the light of a new burst of fireworks winking on the lenses of his eyeglasses. “And if you walk into this trap you say Lord Wilcox has set for you? How will that save her?”
    “I have no intention of falling neatly into Wilcox’s trap.”
    “Yet you might. If you will simply tell me—”
    “Goddamn you!” Sebastian cried, yanking painfully, uselessly, at the ropes that tethered him. “You stupid, bloody-minded, self-congratulating bastard. Every minute you keep me here, you are killing her.”
    Sebastian went suddenly still, his chest jerking on a quick intake of cold, smoke-fouled air as he carefully trained his gaze away from the window through which he had seen, briefly, the small, thin arm of a boy who clung to the back of the carriage.
    “I understand your frustration,” said Sir Henry with a plodding calm that made Sebastian want to scream. “But the law—” He broke off as the hackney’s near door jerked open and a small, roughly dressed body appeared on the step. “I say—” he began, then broke off again when Tom swung up into the carriage. The flaring glow from an explosion of fireworks gleamed bright and dangerous on the blade he held gripped tightly in one fist.
    “Make a sound or move a whisker,” said the boy fiercely, “an’ I’ll slit yer gullet.”
    “Heaven preserve us,” said Sir Henry, one hand groping for the strap as the carriage gave a sudden lurch.
    “I know I didn’t do what you done told me,” Tom said as he leapt to slice through the ropes at Sebastian’s wrists.
    “Thank God for that.” Sebastian flung aside the remnants of the ropes while the boy crouched to cut the bindings at his ankles. Careful to keep one eye on the white-faced magistrate, Sebastian gripped Tom’s shoulder, his hand tightening in a spasm of wordless gratitude as the boy rose to his feet. “But do it now, lad. Quickly. And this time, don’t look back.”
    Tom’s head jerked, his face settling into stubborn lines. “I’m coming with you.”
    Sebastian urged him toward the door. “No. You have your instructions. I expect you to follow them.”
    “But—”
    The need for haste welled up within Sebastian, so fierce and white-hot, it burned in his chest as he swallowed down