Free Moon Dreams by Patricia Rice

stomach, but he kept a steady hand on the
table. The other rested on the hilt of his sword beneath the greatcoat. “Figured
’at’s what yer were about when I saw ’er. You’re in luck, gents. I’m about to
set sail for foreign shores this night, if you get what I’m sayin’. I can
always use another item to trade. Where I’m goin’, they don’t even speak the
King’s English, and she can squeal all she likes, but they won’t be able to
nail yer. How’s ’at sound?”
    “Fergit it. This ’ere piece is mine and I ain’t givin’ ’er
up till I’ve ’ad a part of ’er,” the young one vowed. “I ain’t ever ’ad nothin’
like this before, and ain’t likely nothin’ like it ever come my way ag’in. Yer
can all go yer own way and quitcher worryin’ ’bout it. I’ll take care uv ’er.”
    “Hell, Tommy, with the gold we got tonight, yer can buy the
fanciest piece on the market.” The older man turned to Rory. “’Ow much you
offerin’?”
    Judging from the way the skinny youth was holding on to his
victim, he wasn’t coming away from this without a fight anyway. Rory named a
sum that would have bankrupted him had he any intention of paying, then rose
abruptly from the table.
    “The tide’s turning, mates. I got to be gettin’ back to my
ship. Bring ’er along and we’ll talk terms on the way down to the docks.”
    The older two men scrambled eagerly to their feet, but the
younger remained seated, blocking access to Alyson. A knife appeared in his
hand, glittering evilly in the flickering light from the overhead lantern.
    “I’ll give yer what I got in me pockets, Rob. Then the two
of yer can take off with this nosin’ bloke here and leave me to me pleasures.”
    “Tommy, she’ll ’peech on us when she comes round. I don’t
wanter ’ang. You knows what they do when they draws and quarters yer? Your guts
’ang out right before yer very eyes, yer bleedin’ idgit. Now, let’s take the
man’s money and get.”
    Rory read the stubbornness in the younger man’s eye, and he
didn’t wait for the knife to come arcing out of the night. With a well-placed
kick, he overturned the table. In the same movement he drew his sword and
pointed it at the youngster’s neck.
    “Get up slowly, Tommy, my boy, or you’ll not enjoy another
piece of tail anywhere in this world again. Start contemplating what kind of
females they have in hell, son.”
    Instead of dropping the knife, the crazed thief slashed
upward with it, intending to block the weapon cutting into his windpipe. He
didn’t count on Rory’s rage, however. The sword never wavered, but neatly
severed his jugular. As blood spurted from the wound and the rabid youth slumped,
Rory shoved the body aside. He slashed at the rope tying Alyson to the table,
threw her over his shoulder, and rushed toward the door before his stunned
watchers could act.
    From the corner of his eye Rory caught sight of Dougall’s
worried face, and with a jerk of his head he indicated that he follow in his
trail. Like jackals, the protesting thieves followed him, demanding payment for
their ill-gotten goods.
    A roar rose up in the tavern as a barmaid screamed over the
discovery of the bleeding body in the booth, but Rory was outside on the street
now. The dead-fish-and-sewage-scented fog curled around them, masking their
escape. Bow Street wouldn’t have time to arrive before he and Dougall
disappeared into the maze of alleyways between the warehouses and the wharves.
    Rory waited until he reached the entrance to a dark street
away from the long slabs of yellow light of the inn. Turning abruptly, sword in
hand, he inquired with a cold sneer, “Have you any weapons on you, gents?”
    The two thieves stepped backward at his sudden change in
demeanor, only to find Dougall behind them, dagger in hand. They grabbed for
their meager weapons, but Rory’s sword swung faster, disarming them with swift
slashes of his blade.
    “Too bad, lads, I really would have