Free Blood Diamond: A Pirate Devlin Novel by Mark Keating Page B

cages above the streets and three scaffolds. Nothing in those sights persuaded him that his world was wrong. Even so, the edifice of the gaol slowed him a little.
    ‘Where is this church?’ he called to Dandon, who put a quietening finger to his lips. The streets were empty, the shops long closed, but the taverns glowing and full.
    ‘It is there,’ he pointed north and joined Peter who then saw the impressive tower framed against the sky, the tallest church tower in London since being rebuilt from the ashes of The Fire. ‘The road widens some at the crossroads here. We should stay to the shadows. The patrons of the inn opposite may become curious of those abroad at such an hour.’
    Peter went on. ‘I won’t question thems that don’t question me.’
    Dandon and a giggling Hugh followed.
    Peter gave a nod to the gaol on his right, noting the two small doors either side of the large one. ‘I still say we should just blow that and be done.’
    ‘Aye,’ Dandon dashed ahead. ‘We are all aware of what you say.’
    They crossed Newgate Street to the left, the gaol at their backs, the church railings ahead where Snow Hill began, and heard from some way ahead the strangely discomfiting sounds of song and company from the Saracen’s Head.
    No gate to the porch, only a low wall and railings around the churchyard, a light from the bay window above. They sprang up the wide steps and Dandon lifted the great ring knocker and cracked it on the oak. He straightened himself, shadowed by his companions, and waited.
    Hugh nudged him. ‘Do we not try the door ourselves, Dandon?’
    Dandon closed his eyes. ‘That would imply, Mister Harris, that we were attempting to enter in secret and stealth, would it not?’ Hugh began to argue but the sliding back of the bolt behind the door snapped shut his mouth.
    Dandon began to contort his face into a pleasing mask as an inch of light opened; but Peter’s patience was at an end.
    ‘Enough of this!’ The opportunity of an opening door with someone stood directly behind it was too good to pass up. His boot kicked against the wood as he charged between Dandon and Hugh.
    There was a startled cry and something fell and rattled and cried again, then held its bloody nose as it looked up at the black form stood feet wide apart in its porch, with blazing eyes and terrible red beard.
    Two others followed, one of them pulling pistols and closing the door with a backwards kick.
    Richard Maynard, for that was the warden’s name, began to slide away from the intruders, his magnificent porch now turned fearsome. He kicked along the flagstones, away into the church, hand held out for mercy toward the giant slowly bearing down upon him.
    Blood from his nose soaked his shirt and chilled his chest. There was something clumsy and childish about such a wound; Richard Maynard almost apologised for the drip of his blood onto the fist that pulled him up, as he felt the hot drunken breath in his face.
    ‘The tunnel to the gaol. Where?’ The beast dragged him to his sandalled feet with one heave and Richard was thankful that he had at least the answer to the question.
    His hand trembled to the right-hand aisle and the steps leading down between two tombs that ended at a low door. Peter threw away Richard Maynard and unhooked a lantern from a pillar. ‘Bring him, Dandon,’ he ordered, and Dandon took the terrified warden softly by the hand.
    ‘Perhaps a key, Peter?’ Dandon suggested to the back already at the steps. Hugh Harris’s wicked chuckle filled the church as again Peter applied a powerful boot to its lock and the mortice ripped from the masonry, his lamp already glowing against the white stone beyond as his body vanished below.
    ‘Peter don’t do keys, Dandon,’ Hugh advised, as he followed Peter’s shadow, Dandon pulling a protesting Richard along with them.
    ‘Come, now,’ Dandon coaxed the warden. ‘Better to be witness than victim, sire.’
    A stone stair wound downwards three turns,