Chapter 24: Interest Rates and Other Hazards
The gap between the floorboards gave James enough information to work with.
Through it, in narrow slices, he saw Walsh gripping Anne’s chin and forcing her face upward while explaining some bullshit about interest and debts. The man seemed to enjoy the lecture. According to him, unpaid debts had a way of growing worse the longer they sat.
More important was the room itself.
One man still held Anne by the arm. Three others stood nearby.
James counted them carefully without shifting his position.
Five men total, including Walsh.
That would be fun.
A few feet to his left, the floor felt different beneath his boots. The boards sagged there, weakened by damp that had gotten into the joists. James checked the spot once with his weight. The wood flexed exactly as he’d hoped.
Directly beneath it stood the three men not holding Anne.
That was enough for a plan.
He drew both pistols and let the cutlass hang loose at his side.
"-and that’s before we talk about what months of patience is worth, lass."
Walsh was saying below, amused with himself.
James jumped onto the weak boards.
The floor exploded beneath him.
Rotten planks snapped apart with a crack loud enough to shake dust from the rafters. The fall lasted less than a second, but his mind kept every part of it.
He crashed into the nearest man with his full weight.
Knee.
Shoulder.
Momentum.
The impact drove the fellow into the floor hard enough to shake the room. Air burst from his lungs, something cracked beneath the weight. James wasn’t sure whether it was the man’s ribs or the boards.
The man hit the ground and stayed there.
James straightened.
"Evenin’."
Both pistols came up.
The second and third men had only begun reaching for weapons when he fired.
Two shots.
The room flashed white.
The first shot punched into a man’s chest and hurled him backward. He slammed into the wall hard enough to rattle a hanging shelf before collapsing in a heap.
The second shot tore through the other man’s shoulder. Blood sprayed across the boards. He staggered back clutching the ruin of the muscle, screaming as his arm went useless.
"What in the bloody hell!?"
Walsh released Anne’s chin at once.
"Kill him!"
Anne had no intention of waiting.
She drove her knee into the stomach of the man holding her arm, hard enough to fold him in half. The breath left him in a choking gasp.
Then she shoved clear of Walsh and hurled over toward the wall beside the door.
Good.
If blades started swinging, she wouldn’t be trapped in the middle of it.
"Mind yerself, lass!" James called.
The pistols were empty now.
No time to reload.
His cutlass came up as he pushed forward.
Two opponents remained on their feet. Walsh was drawing a blade of his own while the other man recovered enough to pull steel and move to intercept.
"Two against one."
James grinned despite the blood staining his sleeve.
"Hardly seems fair on ye."
The man attacked first.
A broad overhead strike.
James turned it aside with a twist of his wrist.
Steel crashed against steel.
The force rang through his arm all the way to the shoulder.
Walsh began circling, looking for an opening.
James immediately gave ground. One step. Just enough to keep both men in front of him.
Splitting his attention would get him killed.
"You’ve no idea what you’ve walked into," Walsh snorted.
"Aye, that does tend to be how I prefer it."
The man struck again.
James caught the blow on his crossguard and shoved through the bind, forcing him backward.
"Keeps things interestin’."
The man came harder this time.
Three quick strikes.
James turned aside the first.
The second scraped sparks from his guard.
The third nearly clipped his shoulder before he knocked it wide.
Steel rang through the room. Boots scraped. Broken boards shifted beneath their feet.
Walsh saw an opening and lunged from the side.
James pivoted immediately.
The man’s body blocked the opening for half a heartbeat.
That was enough.
"He’s quicker than ye gave him credit for!" the man shouted, breathing harder now.
"Then bloody well kill him faster!"
James let the next attack come close.
Closer than was comfortable.
The blade hissed toward him.
Instead of catching it cleanly, he trapped it near the hilt and twisted.
The lock gave him leverage.
He drove his shoulder into the man’s chest.
The impact launched the fellow backward.
He crashed into a table.
The table shattered beneath him in an explosion of splintered wood.
Walsh’s blade slipped through during the exchange and cut James across the ribs.
Pain flared immediately.
His shirt opened.
Warm blood followed.
The cut was shallow, but still dangerous.
James answered with a vicious backhand slash.
The blade cut Walsh’s forearm and blood sprayed across the floorboards.
Walsh stumbled with a curse, his balance gone.
That gave James a brief advantage.
He used it.
His boot slammed into Walsh’s chest.
The moneylender flew backward and crashed onto his back hard enough to drive a grunt from him.
James turned fully toward the remaining fighter.
"Right then. Just you and me."
The man came in desperate.
The fellow knew how this was likely to end.
That made him dangerous, but predictable.
Every strike came harder than the last, wilder too.
James met them all with steady patience.
One.
Two.
Three.
Each impact jarred through his arm.
Each failed attack cost the man a little more strength.
James waited for the mistake he knew would come.
When it did, he turned a wild swing aside, stepped inside the man’s reach, and cut across his gut.
The blade bit deep.
The man’s assault died instantly.
He folded around the wound, hands flying toward the blood spilling between his fingers.
The cry he made barely carried.
"James!"
Anne’s warning cracked through the room.
James turned immediately.
Walsh was back on his feet.
A pistol was already aimed at James’s spine.
No time to dodge.
No time to think.
James grabbed the wounded man by the neck and hauled him around.
Walsh fired.
The shot struck the dying man square in the chest.
Blood burst from his back.
The impact jolted through the body and into James’s grip.
James let the body collapsed to the floor.
He was already moving.
Walsh threw aside the spent pistol and drew steel.
"You have no idea who I’m connected to."
He was breathing hard now. Blood ran down his wounded forearm and dripped from his fingertips.
His tone was desperate, "You think this ends with you walking out that door, you have made a mistake that’s gonna cost you more than you can pay."
"Have I now."
"Some random Irish bitch and you decide to throw away your whole bloody life over her debt."
Walsh spat onto the floor.
His face had gone red with anger.
"Who in God’s name are you?"
That answer was simple.
"Captain of the Bloody Rose."
James stepped forward.
"I liked you better when you were bleedin’ quietly."
Walsh attacked first.
The strike was hopeless.
Too much force, too little control.
James knew the flaw immediately.
Their blades met.
He redirected the attack with a sharp turn of his wrist.
Walsh stumbled through the space he created himself.
James came with a single clean cut.
The blade swept across Walsh’s throat before the man could recover.
Walsh froze.
His weapon slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the floor.
For a moment he simply stood there, one hand rising toward the wound.
Then blood spilled between his fingers.
His knees gave way.
A moment later, Walsh followed his weapon to the floor.
The room became quiet.
James stood in the middle of the wreckage, breathing hard.
Most of the blood on his sleeve wasn’t his.
"Well."
He looked around the ruined room.
"That could’ve gone worse."
A groan came from near the wall.
The man James had landed on through the ceiling was still alive.
Barely.
He was trying to get his legs beneath him and failing.
James crossed the room.
He looked down at the man for a moment.
Then he put the cutlass through him without ceremony.
The groaning stopped instantly.
Anne finally pushed herself away from the wall.
Her eyes were wide and her chest rose and fell rapidly. She looked caught somewhere between relief and shock.
Five men had gone down in a few minutes.
Blood marked the floorboards.
Broken furniture lay scattered across the room.
The sharp smell of black powder still hung in the air.
"Christ."
She stared at the wreckage.
"Christ, James."
"What can I say? I like makin’ an impression."
James wiped his blade clean on the nearest coat available.
"You all right?"
"I’m-"
She laughed once.
Short, a little wild.
"I don’t know what I am right now."
"Well, if we’re takin’ inventory, beautiful’s still on the list."
Anne stared at him.
For a moment she looked genuinely uncertain whether he was flirting or making fun of her.
She opened her mouth, closed it again, then looked away with a cough.
"Oh, fuck off, " she said quickly. "The coin, you still got it?"
James patted the bag slung across his back.
"Every shilling."
"Then we need to go. Now. Before anyone that heard this mess decides to come looking."
"Ladies first."
James sheathed his cutlass and gestured toward the door.
"Besides, I’ve already made enough of an entrance."
They left together.
The dead remained behind.
Outside, Nassau’s evening carried on exactly as before.
The streets didn’t care what had happened inside those four walls.
And if anyone suspected the truth, they would likely decide they had better things to do than ask questions.
