Tangled Webs (31 page)

She ran the feather across her lips, and then set it aside. There was nothing else but papers, maps marked up with ink, coordinates that made no sense to her. After replacing the feather, she
closed the lid and turned the key.

She’d have to go back below deck, where the crew would most certainly have many caps. Hopefully her luck would hold. She crept back to the stairs and quietly went down into the dark
room.

Every member of the crew should have a cap in their belongings. The first trunk had none, nor the second. She moved to another, farther away from the porthole. She fumbled with the trunk’s
clasp.

“You there—what are you doing down here?” The voice boomed across the room and Arista froze. “All hands on deck.”

“Right there, sir,” Arista mumbled. She’d slipped back into the rough tones of the street and kept her voice low. “Forgot my cap, sir.”

The man grunted. “Git yer arse back on deck.”

Arista threw up the trunk’s lid and hoped with all her might that this one had a cap.

“Time’s up. If you don’t move now, boy, I’ll whip yer backside.”

She swallowed back the sob of frustration. There had to be one. She dug her fingers through the fabric, searching for the familiar feel of wool. Boots stomped behind her, getting closer. If he
got her in the light, he’d know the truth. Grae would be summoned, and she’d have to explain what she was doing. Her plan would fall apart.

“Got it!” She pulled the cap free, slammed the trunk and slipped it over her head. Using the dark to hide her face, she darted past the man.

“I’ll just get back to work, sir,” she said.

She didn’t see his hand, but a sharp burst of pain bit into her ear. “Next time, when I tell ye to do something, boy—do it.”

“Yes, sir.” Arista ran up the stairs, down the hall, and above deck before he could do worse. The sunlight blinded her for a moment and she stumbled to a stop. Men were busy
everywhere. Some were rolling barrels toward the open hatch on the far side of the deck. Others climbed through the rigging, each with a coil of rope slung through one arm, to repair any signs of
wear. None paid her any attention.

Except the man coming up the steps behind her.

“You waitin’ for an invite, guvnor? Get yer arse to work.” As soon as she heard him, Arista bolted across the deck. So much for slipping away unnoticed. By the time he realized
she meant to cross over the gangplank, he was too late to stop her. A shout came from behind her and a hand reached out, but she ducked and spun away, barely escaping the grasp of a great, burly
man. In one leap she was on the narrow plank connecting the ship to the wharf.

Don’t look down.

If she fell, she was dead. She would sink to the bottom of the Thames and never resurface. The board jerked and Arista shrieked. She windmilled her arms to keep her balance, and barely kept
herself upright. She raced across the last few feet and jumped onto the solid wood of the wharf.

When she looked back, no one was giving chase, but the man who had clobbered her upside the head stood with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Don’t ye be showing yer face back here, boy, or I’ll beat you and throw you to the fish.”

Arista didn’t wait to hear any more. Her boots skidded on the damp wood as she ran toward Fleet Street. She would meet with Nic, beg him to help her—but the first thing she had to do
was find a weapon.

Because the most important lesson Nic had ever taught her was not to trust anyone.

I
t had been too easy to steal the wicked-looking knife from the butcher’s stall at the market. Concealing it, on the other hand, proved to be
a challenge, and she ended up taking another, smaller knife instead. It wasn’t intimidating to look at, but she could still wield it with precision. It was carefully tucked in her waistband
now.

She kept her head low as she moved among the crowd of shoppers. Blending in was effortless, and soon she was past the people and skirting the riverbank. The stench of the water was thick in the
air. Children in rags ran along the edge, pulling out anything that looked like it could be sold. It was something she had done as a child, too.

Her time away from this part of London, where squalor lurked in every crevice, made her realize how bad it really was. Had she truly lived there all her life? She walked with her forearm over
her nose to try and keep some of the noxious smell out of her lungs. Cool air battered her face, bringing the stench even closer. How could she have forgotten the smell?

Only a few more blocks and she’d be at the small dock where she’d spent so many nights wishing for a different life. A few men passed, pulling heavy carts filled with coal. Their
skin was covered in soot, their clothes stained with black smudges. She gave them a wide berth, as much for their smell as to avoid attracting notice.

The closer she got to the warehouse, the fewer people she passed.

The old warehouse that sat back from their small dock would be the perfect place to hide and make sure Nic came alone. She hoped he did. If not, it meant that he really had changed—had
become the person she dreaded he would.

Someone had boarded up the doorway, but the wood was rotted through, and the boards came away easily enough. After a quick glance around, she slipped inside. The air inside smelled musty with
age. Light filtered in from the side of the building that had burned, so she picked her way over to where the cargo would have been loaded into the warehouse. Where the doors met, there was an
opening the width of her hand. Perfect. She could watch the waterfront and remain unseen.

She took a roll from her pocket, one she had actually paid a half pence for, and bit into it. As she chewed, the noises around her became clearer. Rats scratched through the debris somewhere
behind her. The low horn of a freight barge made the wood under her feet vibrate. The huge vessel came into view to her right, and she watched its lazy progress.

A lone figure moved into her line of sight. He was dressed in a black coat and had a wool cap pulled down low. It could be Nic, or it could be a random worker. Or it could be Wild. Arista stayed
hidden.

The person stopped and looked out over the river. He thrust his hands into his pockets, a move so very familiar that her heart ached. It was Nic. But was he alone?

She waited. Several long minutes passed, but he didn’t step away from the riverbank. The first move, it seemed, would have to be hers. She got up and walked out, carefully scanning the
shadows around the building for movement. She waited again, behind the pile of broken crates, before stepping out into the open.

She must have made a sound, because Nic turned and their eyes met. She closed the distance between them until they only stood a foot apart and she had to look up to see the expression on his
face. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come,” he said.

“Is this another trick? Will I be framed for another murder today?”

Nic cringed and would not meet her eyes. “No. You don’t understand. I tried to tell you to leave—that Wild knew what you were doing—but you came back.”

“Why didn’t he just kill me instead of setting me up for murder?”

“Wild needed a scapegoat. By taking down Lady A, he would solidify his place as Thief Taker. Things have gotten…bad, gypsy. People are accusing him of working both sides. He needed
this in order to keep his position untarnished.”

“How long has he been planning this?” A sick feeling turned in her stomach. When Nic didn’t answer, she took a step closer, forcing him to acknowledge her. “How long,
Nic?”

“Months,” he finally said.

“So all of this—everything that’s happened—was all to get to this point. To set me up so he could save himself. And you went along with it? You dragged me into it,
knowing what would happen? I thought we were friends. I
trusted
you. Did you know that Bones almost killed me that night? Did you know that he beat Becky so badly, she probably won’t
be able to use her right eye again? Do you even care?”

Instead of being contrite, Nic’s eyes narrowed. “It was hard for all of us. We were nearing the end of our usefulness, gypsy. Did you think we’d just be able to walk away when
Bones was done? Live like
normal
people? I was trying to save us both.” He paced back and forth in front of her.

“Is Wild waiting around the corner to kill me himself?” she asked.

“Christ, no! I had no idea that when Wild approached me, he had this planned out. It wasn’t until the Luckettes’ party that I knew everything, and by then, it was too late. If
I’d crossed him, he would have done worse than kill me.”

“So you framed me for murder?”

Nic drew his fingers through his hair and exhaled sharply. “I thought I could get you out. The jailers there are known for their greed, and I still have the money I took from Bones. But
Wild kept me right by his side afterward. The only thing I could do was send that note to Becky, and hope that the man I’ve seen you with cared enough to go get you.”

Her stomach twisted into knots. So much could have gone wrong.

“You were never alone, gypsy. I promised to always look out for you, and I did.”

“By betraying me? By lying? By handing me to Wild on a silver platter?” Arista made a fist and slammed it into his gut. His sudden exhalation did little to quell her anger, and she
turned away before he could see the tears in her eyes.

“All you’ve ever wanted was freedom, gypsy. Yet just when you could have taken it, you chose to stay and help a family of strangers. The girl I knew would never have sacrified
herself for anyone.”

Arista clenched her hands at her sides. “I am not that girl anymore.”

“I know.” Nic stared at her, as if memorizing every feature. He tilted his head. “You
are
different. Softer. Even dressed as a boy I can see it. Are you happy, gypsy?
Really happy?”

She thought of Grae, of Sophia, of Grae’s parents, and nodded. “I feel like I belong. There are people who care about me. Who want me.”

He lifted his hand and cupped her cheek. “You were always wanted, gypsy. But even a blind man could see you were never cut out for this life.”

He dropped his hand to his pocket and pulled out a stack of papers that had been rolled and tied together.

“This is what you need to blackmail Wild.” He hesitated, and when he looked at her, regret shone from his eyes. “I’m sorry for everything, gypsy. I never meant for you to
get hurt.” He took her hand and gently placed the packet in it. His thumb stroked her fingers.

“I had hoped that one day, we could go away together—maybe we still can?”

She sucked in a shallow breath. How long she had wanted, needed, to hear those words from him. If he had told her this on the night of the fire, she would have gone with him without hesitation.
But everything had changed in a matter of weeks. She shook her head and pulled her hand from his grasp.

Instead of being angry at her withdrawal, a sad smile curved his lips up. “I knew the answer already. I’ve seen you with him. And I know you almost better than you know
yourself.” He gripped both of her shoulders so she would have to look at him. “You do deserve to be happy, gypsy, despite what you’ve been told your whole life. Give him a chance.
Only one of us is worthy of a second chance, and it’s most definitely not me.”

Her lower lip trembled, and she swallowed the sob that was building in her throat. “This”—she lifted the packet—“if I use it, he will know that you betrayed
him.”

Nic shrugged, as if his life were not in danger now. “It was worth it. Maybe this one good deed will make up for a lifetime of mistakes.”

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t hurt you,” she said, clutching the packet to her chest. “But you should leave London, too.” She wasn’t asking him to come
with her. Disappointment flashed over his face before he quickly hid it.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay.”

It was time to go. It was harder than she thought it would be to say goodbye.

“I just want to…” Three figures stepped from the shadow of the warehouse. Her blood ran cold. Two were great burly men, and the one between them was covered by a long
cloak.

“You lied,” she gasped.

Nic spun around, and before she could pull her knife free, he had pushed her behind him. “Run, gypsy.” The fear in his voice was real. He didn’t know these men.

“No, I’m not leaving you alone.”

Nic growled low in his throat. “Gypsy, please.”

“There’s no way I’m…” The words faded. She knew the two men standing a few feet away. They were the same ones that had beaten her before the fire. Then the man in
the middle pushed his hood back. Shock sent the words into hiding. “You’re alive,” she gasped.

Bones sneered at her. The burnt flesh that clung to his face in black patches made him look more monstrous than he ever had before. Huge, gaping wounds covered his neck, and his hands were
blackened and misshapen. Bile raced up her throat.

He leaned heavily on his cane and when he breathed, the wheezing noise sent chills through her body.

“No thanks to you, girl,” he snarled. “And you,” he pointed a blackened finger at Nic, “you stole from me, boy. You know the punishment for stealing, don’t
ya?”