Blood Tribute (The Lucas Gedge Thrillers Book 1) Read Free Page B

wharves to his right and left, men were scurrying this way and that, and piles of freight were mounting.

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    G edge hoisted the bag onto his shoulder and left the wharf, heading up a narrow set of steps between two of the dockside warehouses. Emerging at the top of the passage, he found himself on a road running parallel to the river, lined with a seemingly endless row of warehouses where goods wagons were being loaded, ready to move the freight onwards.
    Directly opposite, on the other side of the road, stood a black-painted hansom cab, the horse between its shafts a striking dappled grey. The driver was obviously a large man, but was hunched over, his face obscured by a scarf and bowler hat. As Gedge watched, the man gave a gentle tug on the horse’s reins and the animal hauled the vehicle across the road. As it drew alongside the pavement beside Gedge, the driver straightened up in his seat, pulled the scarf down and doffed his hat, revealing a face that was certainly not of British origin. The man’s dark complexion, hooked nose, and neatly trimmed moustache and beard suggested Arabic descent, but he could have come from anywhere between North Africa and the Indian subcontinent. He addressed Gedge in perfect English.
    ‘Mr Lucas Gedge? My name is Darius. Mr Claude Rondeau has sent me to pick you up and take you to your choice of lodging house. Please.’ He gestured for Gedge to enter the cab.
    ‘Pleased to meet you. I’d like to go to the Admiral Jervis inn. Do you know it?’
    ‘Yes sir. I am familiar with it. Mr Rondeau asks if you would be able to meet him at some point in the next two days?’
    ‘Yes, I certainly will, Darius. This afternoon I must visit my wife and daughter, but tomorrow should be fine.’
    ‘Excellent, sir. Mr Rondeau will contact you. He says that the matter he wishes to see you about has become more urgent.’
    ‘Urgent? Really? I wonder why. Oh well, I’ll just have to wait and see.’
    Gedge hefted his bag into the cab and climbed in himself. Darius gave the reins another flick and the horse set the hansom into motion.
    He knew this area—on the north bank of the river between the Tower to the west and Shadwell to the east—was called Wapping, and it was dominated by the dock trade. Indeed, as they started to make their way north, they went over a narrow bridge across the entrance to the western part of London Docks. He caught a glimpse of dozens of masts to his right: trading vessels moored in the vast sheltered basin. And to the left, smaller but still important to the mercantile life of the city, lay St Katharine’s Docks.
    They passed along a narrow road between the two complexes of docks, and emerged into the first residential street they had encountered, unimaginatively titled Dock Street, and consisting of mean-looking terraced housing.
    Darius suddenly shouted a word in what Gedge assumed was his own tongue. It brought the horse to a sudden stop. Gedge craned his head out of the cab’s window, to see three young boys standing in the street, blocking the hansom’s path. All wore ragged clothes, cloth caps and hobnail boots that were falling off their feet. Nobody else was about.
    ‘What do you want?’ said Darius. ‘Get out of the way!’
    The middle boy—the tallest of the three—shouted back. ‘Now, now, darkie. Collecting somebody for old Rondeau, are ye? That’s nice, eh, lads?’
    The other two boys laughed, and Gedge then saw them reach into their pockets and turn their backs to the hansom.
    ‘We’ve got a little message for old Rondeau,’ said the tall boy. ‘He needs to keep his nose out of what’s not his business. Supposed to be retired, ain’t he? Tell him to stay that way. Tell him we know where he lives.’
    ‘I am not your messenger! And Mr Rondeau would not listen to the imprecations of young urchins like you. Who sent you to pass on this warning?’
    ‘Never mind that, darkie. He’ll find out if he carries on.’ He turned to the other