BooksBarbecue
Back Cardinal Black Save as PDF
Chapters (44)
  1. Title Page
  2. One: Into the Storm
  3. One
  4. Two
  5. Three
  6. Four
  7. Five
  8. Six
  9. Seven
  10. Two: London Calling
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. Twelve
  16. Thirteen
  17. Fourteen
  18. Fifteen
  19. Three: The Malignant Seven
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-One
  26. Twenty-Two
  27. Twenty-Three
  28. Four: Squirrels and Cats
  29. Twenty-Four
  30. Twenty-Five
  31. Twenty-Six
  32. Twenty-Seven
  33. Twenty-Eight
  34. Twenty-Nine
  35. Thirty
  36. Thirty-One
  37. Thirty-Two
  38. Five: Revelation
  39. Thirty-Three
  40. Thirty-Four
  41. Thirty-Five
  42. Thirty-Six
  43. Thirty-Seven
  44. About the Author

“Four shillings on Mongo. He looks quick out the gate.” The coins went into the bowl along with the others being deposited there, and the wigged bugateer wet a pencil’s tip with his tongue and marked down the figure in a ratty-looking notebook. “Julian,” said Britt, “you should go now unless you’d like to place a bet upon Mongo, who appears to me a worthy contestant to win the next round. And please, this time keep your fist to yourself.”

“That’s your final word?”

“Final unto finality.”

Suddenly a thin figure slid up beside Matthew and a dirty face with a mass of black hair topping it grinned at him. “Drink a’ ale, handsome? Then a ride on the pony?”

“The pony?” Matthew asked.

“Yep. My name’s Pony.”

“No, thank you,” Matthew answered, and so moved away from the table while Julian and Britt traded a few further barbs that he was unable to hear. The crowd around the table was getting louder as the roaches were put into a wooden box, the box closed and shaken and then held over the track’s starting point. Matthew figured the bottom of the box was hinged to allow the contestants to fall out upon the track, but he had no desire to see any further nor curiosity to watch the progress of Mongo.

In another moment Julian came up at his side and said, “We’re done here.”

Out in the cold, with the snow blowing around them, Julian said, “Cross the street. We’ll stand in that doorway awhile.”

“Why? Aren’t we done here?”

“We are done in the Garden,” Julian corrected. “Not with Britt. If I know him—and I do, very well—he has never turned down a coin unless it’s for two more. Let’s give him time to lose his shillings on Mongo and then see what he does. Or rather … where he goes.”

They waited in the doorway’s dark as the snow fell before them and the wind took on a high keening note.

In the next ten minutes a few men came into and went out of The Octopus Garden but Julian gave no reaction. At last a tall figure bundled up in a long greatcoat and wearing a floppy-brimmed hat pulled down low upon the head emerged and began striding westward. It was a man who obviously had somewhere important to go, and was sparing no speed even though the wind whipped his face.

“That’s his stride. A bit gangly, like a roach running a race, isn’t it?” Julian said. “Britt’s on the move. So shall we be.”

Nine

Nine