Free A Christmas Odyssey by Anne Perry

back, his eyes hot, his large hands clenched. Then, moving with surprising speed, he darted behind his bench again. His other hand plunged into the space between it and the wall, and came out brandishing the long, thin blade of a sword. The light glittered on its polished steel. It made a whiplike sound as he sliced it through the air.
    Henry had nowhere to retreat; he was already against the wall. The little color in his face drained away as he realized his situation. Crow moved away, to distract the fat man’s attention, but it was Squeaky who seized the hat stand by the door. Swinging it round like a long staff, he cracked it over the fat man’s head, who crashed down, blood pouring from his scalp.
    Henry stared at the widening pool in horror.
    Squeaky dropped the stand and grabbed Henry by the arm, leaving Bessie to follow. “Come on!” he ordered. “Out of here!”
    “But he’s injured!” Henry protested. “Shouldn’t we …”
    Squeaky swore at him. Ignoring his protest, he half-pulled him off his feet, dragging him to thedoor and out into the alleyway. It was pitch-dark and he had no idea where they were going. It was important to simply get away from the brothel and the fat man bleeding on the floor.
    They walked rapidly, crowding each other in the dark, ice-slicked alley, tripping over debris, and hearing rats scuttle away. They kept moving until they had gone at least a quarter of a mile, then finally stopped in an empty doorway sheltered from the wind, and well out of the light of the solitary street lamp.
    “Thank you,” Henry said quietly. “I’m afraid I was taken by surprise. A foolish thing to have allowed. I apologize.”
    “It’s nothing.” Squeaky spoke casually, but a sudden warmth welled up inside him. He was ridiculously, stupidly pleased with Henry’s gratitude. For a moment he felt like a knight in shining armor.
    They continued their pursuit. The winter day and the bitter cold of night were almost indistinguishable in the cellars and passages between one smoky, raucous room and another.
    After half a dozen abortive leads as to where Niccolo and Sadie might be, they came to a smallabandoned theater. A score of people lay on the floor half asleep. Some gave at least the impression of being together, clinging to each other’s body warmth. One man lay alone, huddled over in pain, his arms wrapped around himself defensively. His dark hair was matted, but still thick.
    Crow picked his way across the floor and bent down beside him. Squeaky saw, from where he stood a dozen feet away, that the sleeping man’s face was gaunt, but still handsome in the dark, sensitive way Niccolo had been described to them.
    Crow shook his shoulder. “Niccolo?” he said sharply.
    The man stirred.
    “Niccolo?” Crow shook him harder and the man pulled away with a gasp of pain.
    Bessie started forward from Squeaky’s side. “It in’t Niccolo, that’s Lucien!” she said urgently. “ ’E’s ’urt.” She clambered over the bodies, some cursing her, and bent down beside Crow. “Yer gotta do summink,” she demanded. “ ’Ere! Lucien! It’s me, Bessie. We come to ’elp yer.”
    Lucien stirred and half sat up, grunting with the effort, holding his left arm to his side. “Whothe hell are you?” His speech was slurred but it still held the remnants of his origins, the home and the privilege to which he had been born.
    The eagerness died out of Bessie’s face. “Don’t yer remember me?”
    Lucien groaned.
    “Of course he does,” Crow said with sudden anger. “He’s just half asleep, and he’s hurt.”
    “Yer gonna ’elp ’im,” she urged Crow.
    Without answering, Crow pulled the coat Lucien was wearing away from him and looked at the wound. His shirt was matted with blood on the right side of his chest.
    Lucien winced and swore. “Leave me alone!” he said with a burst of real fury. “Get out.”
    Henry stepped over a couple of sleeping figures and went to Crow and Lucien. He