Page 4 of A Dark and Stormy Knight
“’Course. We’re family.” Dorian shrugged him off. “I’d ask for you both if Mum didn’t rent out every inch of space we own at a premium.”
“It’s all right. I can fend for meself.”
They skipped, dodged, and slithered through the masses toward the docks, answering the calls of the other street lads, most of whom either feared or venerated them. Dorian, because he was strong as a cart horse with a punishing temper to match, and Cutter because of his aforementioned dead eyed aim and his sharp fists.
Cutter threw them convivial retorts out of habit alone. For some reason, the worse he felt the more stalwart he was at maintaining a pretense of normality.
If anyone knew you were down, they’d kick you for it.
So he did his best to conceal the devil of dread riding him today.
They arrived at Hangman’s Dock the same time the coroner’s cart did, so they had to act quickly before the police scattered the crowd.
“Look,” Cutter pointed above. “There’s a landlord charging a fee to get a glimpse from his fire escape. I’ll wager there’s at least a handful of shillings in that box.”
“He’s our mark.” Dorian made a quick assessment of the buildings and boathouses above the river. “Think you can climb that drainpipe there, and get to the roof above him? I’ll create a diversion and lead them away while you swipe what you can from the box.”
“I’ll swipe the whole bloody box, see if I don’t.” Cutter nodded and spit in his hands before raking them through the dry bank silt and rubbing them together. They’d just have to get to the other side of the crowd and then, he’d grasp the drainpipe, shimmy hand over hand until he’d scaled the two stories, and scoot onto the roof poised to drop into the spot the blighter would abandon once he tore off after Dorian.
This was one of his favorite ruses.
Cutter didn’t care about the corpse. Hell, he’d seen his fill of death after the last typhus epidemic raged through the East End, what was one bloated river find?
Boring, was what.
He followed his friend as they shouldered and shoved and jostled as many people as they could, their enterprising hands dipping into every place and coming up with coin more often than not.
When they broke through to the front and took a breath, they each fished out their finds and shared a grin when they counted almost two shillings’ worth between them, more than a day’s wages around these parts. Today might make them rich, if they played it right.
They were about to scamper around the half-circled arc to dive back into the other side toward the building when the entire crowd made a collective gasp and took a step back, leaving them strangely exposed.
He barely heard the disbelieving whispers, so intent was he on his mission.
“She’s in shreds…
“What sort of animal…?”
“…no more than a child…”
Cutter turned his back on the river and made to dive back into the safety of the throng when Dorian’s hand clutched his wrist with an iron grip.
He said nothing, but he didn’t have to.
The demon that had haunted him all day now roared.
It scratched and clawed and cut deep enough to sever a limb. That was truly what it felt like. Something had been cut out of him. Off of him. Something vital and dear. Gone.
Amputated.
He already knew before he turned to look.
Before he saw the strands of identical golden hair sullied with river filth waving like soft reeds in the little dam created by a concrete dock. Before he registered the red abrasions at her wrists and bare ankles, or the ridiculous pattern of last spring’s coat, the one he’d given her, only one arm haphazardly shoved into the sleeve.
Before it dawned on him that even such polluted water was never so red.
The coin in Cutter’s hands fell to the earth. He stepped on them as he lunged forward, her name released to the sky by the devil who’d stalked him. Surely it had to be. Because no human creature could have made such an inhuman scream.
Caroline.
