Duke of Midnight (Maiden Lane #6)(65)

The highwayman cocked his head, and somehow Maximus knew he was grinning beneath the black cloth. “The Ghost of St. Giles, as I live and breathe. I’m surprised we haven’t met before, sir.” He shrugged indolently. “But then I suppose I’ve only just returned to these parts. No matter—even if I’ve been gone for decades, you should know I still rule this patch of London.”

“And who might you be?” Maximus kept his voice to a whispered rasp—as did the highwayman.

They might disguise their voices, but the cadence of a gentleman was impossible to conceal.

“Don’t you recognize me?” The highwayman’s tone was mocking. “I’m Old Scratch.”

And he fired one of his pistols.

Maximus ducked, the brick beside his head exploded, and the gin cart horse bolted up the street, dragging the broken cart behind.

The highwayman wheeled his own horse and galloped away down the alley. Maximus hurdled the gushing barrels and raced after Old Scratch, his heart banging against his chest as his boot heels rang on the filthy cobblestones. The alley was darker than the street they’d left. He might be running headlong into a trap, but he wouldn’t have been able to not give chase even if the real Old Scratch had stood in his way.

There’d been a glint at the highwayman’s throat. Something pinned to his neck cloth. It had almost looked—

A shout, then the clear boom of a gunshot.

Maximus hit the end of the alley at a dead run, nearly barreling into the flank of Captain Trevillion’s mount. The captain was fighting as his horse attempted to rear. One of his dragoons was down on the ground, blood welling from a wound on his stomach. The wounded man gasped, eyes wide and uncomprehending. Another dragoon, a pale young lad, was still mounted, his face white and shocked.

“Stay with him, Elders!” Trevillion shouted at the boy. “Do you hear me, Elders?”

The young soldier’s head snapped up at the tone of command. “Yes, sir! But the Ghost—”

“Let me worry about the Ghost.” Trevillion had control of his horse now and Maximus braced himself for his attack.

Instead, Trevillion gave him a sharp look and said, “He was heading north, in the direction of Arnold’s Yard.”

With that he wheeled his horse and set spurs to the beast’s sides.

Maximus leaped to a crumbling house, swarming up the side. The way to Arnold’s Yard was a maze of twisting, narrow lanes, and if Old Scratch was truly headed in that direction, then Maximus could move more quickly over the rooftops.

Above, the moon had deigned to reveal her pale face, casting his shadow ahead of him as he scrambled over tiles and rotting wooden shingles, while below…

Maximus caught his breath. Below, Trevillion was riding like a demon, skillfully guiding his horse around obstacles and leaping the ones he couldn’t avoid. It had been so long since Maximus had hunted like this, in tandem with another. Once, long, long ago there had been the others, young men, one just a boy. They’d sparred and fought, joked and wrestled. But somehow he’d grown apart, forever stalking the stinking streets of St. Giles alone. His quest hadn’t room for others.

It was good, he realized as he panted and ran. Good to have someone at his back.

He heard a shout from below and slid to the edge of the roof to peer over. Trevillion had come to an alley entirely blocked by an empty cart.

The dragoon captain looked up, a shaft of moonlight catching the gleam of metal on his tall hat and illuminating the pale oval of his face. “I’ll have to find a way around. Can you go ahead?”

“Yes,” Maximus shouted down.

Trevillion nodded curtly without another word and backed his horse.

Maximus ran. The rooftops were jumbled here. The buildings were from before the Great Fire. They listed, tired and crumbling, waiting for another fire or merely a strong wind to send them crashing to the ground. He leaped between two buildings so close that a grown man would have to turn sideways to sidle between them. He made the second roof, but his boot slipped. He fell, sliding on his hip nearly off the edge. He caught himself just as his boots flew into space. He could hear the clatter of hoofbeats now. Trevillion couldn’t have found a way around so fast.

It must be Old Scratch.

Maximus twisted, peering beyond his dangling feet, and saw as the shadow entered the alley below. He didn’t give himself time to think.

He let go.

Whether by instinctive timing or simple good luck, he landed on Old Scratch. The highwayman just had warning enough to raise his arm in defense. Maximus caught an elbow to the side of his face, and then he fell to the horse’s haunches as the horse reared beneath both of them. Maximus slid, his booted toes brushing the ground before he kicked back up to straddle the horse. His weight pulling on the highwayman’s upper body, combined with the horse’s movement, should have dragged Old Scratch from the saddle. Somehow, the highwayman hung on with unnatural strength and skill. The horse’s front hooves met the cobblestones again with a teeth-crunching jolt, nearly throwing Maximus from his prey. Maximus punched at the man’s head, missing as the highwayman twisted like a snake. Maximus grabbed for his hat, trying to reach the scarf. If he could only see Old Scratch’s features.

The highwayman turned almost all the way around in the saddle, gold and green glinting at his throat. A knife flashed. Maximus hit out with a gloved hand, felt a tug, and the knife clanged against the bricks on the nearby building. But he’d had to let go to defend himself. The horse lurched forward as the highwayman put spurs to its side and at the same time Maximus felt a hard shove.