Page 7 of King's Man

“What do you think? They said I need more evidence.” Sam had been at the Loyalist Claims Commission all day, trying to get compensation for the loss of his father’s house, now occupied by Amos Holden. “I guess I should have stopped to fetch the property deeds before they drove me out of town.”

Moses made a face. “They don’t want to pay, that’s all. Tight-fisted bastards. They’re just looking for excuses.”

He wasn’t wrong. With a sigh, Sam changed the subject. “Did you see this? Wessex brought it in.”

Moses took the watch and examined it. “Very nice,” he said turning it over in his hand. “Gold?”

“Certainly. Enough to feed half of St. Giles. Hal will be happy.”

“And speaking of Hal…” Moses handed the watch back. “He’s why I’m here.”

“Trouble?”

Moses shook his head. “A job. You’re to go to Salter’s tomorrow morning at ten, to meet a client.”

“Ten?” Sam’s shoulders slumped. He was tired, enervated by his frustrating day waiting to see the commissioners. “I was planning to get plastered tonight and to sleep until noon.”

Moses grinned. “Tell that to Mr. Foxe.”

Which, they both knew, he couldn’t. Hal Foxe was the Upright Man of St. Giles and ruled his territory with a benevolent hand wrapped in a steel glove. Both Sam and Moses lived at his pleasure — and were grateful for it. Landing in London as they had, dumped like flotsam by the British navy, Hal Foxe had taken them in, given them shelter, protection, and work. Unquestioning obedience was a small price to pay in return. He sighed. “Who’s the client?”

“A gent.” Moses gave him a weighted look. “American, apparently.”

“A refugee?” London was awash with them these days, drifting aimless and angry as the war crawled to its disastrous conclusion. Sam counted himself among their number. “What does he want?”

“He wants you.”

“Me?” He fumbled the watch and it clattered onto the work bench. “Me specifically? Did he ask for me by name?”

“He asked for the best lockpicker in London,” Moses said, regarding him carefully. “And that’s you.”

Of course.

Stupid to think it might behim; Sam didn’t even want it to behim. Ruthlessly, he repressed his pathetic disappointment, burying it beneath the smoldering resentment he tended with care. He’d been a respected man, once: a lawyer, a property owner, an upstanding citizen of Rosemont. Now, he was a larcenist for hire. That’s what this bloody war had done to him.

It’s what Nate Tanner had done to him.

Thank God he was thousands of miles away, building a new country on the other side of the ocean. Sam never wanted to see him again.

He smiled, hiding his bitterness from Moses. No point in looking backward, no point in wallowing in what was lost. Besides, God knew that Moses had lost more than Sam could possibly imagine.

“That’s me,” he said instead, curving his lips into a smile as sharp as his resentment. “The best lockpicker in London.”

Chapter Two

Fleet Street, on a soggy summer evening.

A jumble of coaches vying for space on the muddy street, spraying mud and filth from the open drain that ran through the center of the road. People everywhere: hawkers of gingerbread and ‘cherries ripe-ripe-ripe!’ crying their wares, ladies lifting their skirts and lamenting the mud, bewigged lawyers hurrying along, heads down, and gangs of ragged boys running riot. A cacophony of noise and bustle, the beating heart of the world’s greatest city.

Nate Tanner would have rather been anywhere else.

However, he’d received a note that morning from Colonel Talmach, and had no choice but to act on it.

Rainbow Coffee House, eight o’clock this evening. M meeting F. Report when done. Col. T

And so here he was, sheltering beneath the grand arch of Temple Bar, watching the street ahead through a misting drizzle that couldn’t even muster the energy to fall as rain. Specifically, he was watching one man on the street ahead: Paul Farris.

One of Nate’s fellow countrymen, Farris was a devout Patriot, a prosperous merchant, and — almost certainly — a traitor. With luck, this evening Nate would gather enough evidence to finally sail home with Farris in the brig.

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