stands grimly at the front door. The Baroness is with him. Parker is dressed in his most formal attire, a black uniform and a tall red hat. Next to him is the High Constable of Westminster with a royal staff in his hand. Behind them are foot guards from the King’s Regiment and horse guards from the Lord General’s Troop. What’s going on? Julian stops hurrying down the stairs.
“By the proclamation of the Honorable High Constable of the City of Westminster—” Parker reads from an unrolled parchment.
The Baroness interrupts him. “Wait, constable—where’s the fire?”
“The City. Started near a bakery in Pudding Lane.” Parker is thrown off his officious manner.
“Pudding Lane!” The Baroness utters a shrill cry. “Pudding Lane?”
“Baroness, Margrave is dead!” Ivy wails, clutching the Baroness’s elbow. “She’s dead, madam!”
“She’s been poisoned!” Carling joins in. “For sure, she has!”
Baroness Tilly turns from the wailing girls, from the frowning constable, her gaze seeking out Julian, who stands motionless at the foot of the stairs. He wishes he could vanish before she catches his eye. “You said there wouldn’t be a house left standing between Temple Bar and London Bridge after the fire at Pudding Lane … And a prostitute’s been murdered …”
Julian remains silent. Walk lightly, Devi told him. Carry no stick. Do not disturb the order of the universe.
“How could you have known any of that?” the Baroness hisses.
Parker thinks she’s addressing him. “Everybody knows it by now, madam,” the constable replies. “Fire started around midnight last night. It was small at first. Can you smell it? The Mayor of London is refusing to demolish the burning buildings to help contain it. He believes it’s not necessary. As if to prove him wrong, the fire’s been burning uncontained for over fourteen hours.” Clearing his throat, Parker raises his voice. “The fire is not why we’re here, Baroness. Where’s your niece? We’ve come to take her into custody for the murder of Lord Fabian. His body was found this morning in the Savoy Canal. We have reason to believe he’s been poisoned in your very house. And did I just hear correctly that Margrave has also been poisoned?”
The Baroness pierces Julian with her glare. It’s too late for regrets. In the Baroness’s eyes … Julian can’t put a finger on it. There’s hatred, disbelief, incomprehension, and a terror of sorcery. That’s how she stares at him. As if he is the other.
“Constable—arrest that man!” the Baroness shrieks to Parker, pointing her finger in Julian’s direction. “Arrest him for the lord’s murder, and for treason to the Crown! Arrest him for witchcraft. My niece is innocent! He’s the one who killed Lord Fabian!”
“No, it wasn’t the kind master!” Greta cries. “Mallory killed our Margrave when she threw poisoned water in her face.”
The other girls squeal their assent. It was her! It was her! Our kind master is innocent of wrongdoing.
“He is sent by the devil, constable!” the Baroness yells. “He’s a warlock! He carries knowledge of all the poisons right here.” She taps herself violently on the head. “I can prove it. Ilbert, get over here! Where are you?”
Julian is frozen. He can’t run out the front door, the constable and the palace guards are blocking the way. And what does he do about Mallory? He can’t leave her. The Baroness continues to screech, flinging her pink velvet arm at him, her manicured nails shaking the air. “Don’t let him get away!” She, too, is blocking the narrow entry in and out of the Silver Cross. No men can move past her to grab him. Meanwhile, the florid girls have formed a line of defense in front of him.
Tilly’s high-pitched screeching mentally and physically paralyzes Julian. The High Constable bangs the floor with his heavy staff. “Out of the way, madam! Out of the way, ladies!” In one second, Julian won’t have the luxury of wavering, he won’t be able to move even if he wishes to.
From behind, he feels a shadow barreling down the stairs. There is a hard knock into the center of his spine, and a shove forward. “Don’t just stand there—run!” Mallory says, already in front of him. “Back alley, go!”
The Baroness shouts hysterically. “Mallory, Mallory, darling, no!”
Julian and Mallory race through the kitchen, down the narrow corridor.
The back door is blocked by Ilbert, who is curved over a broom and a metal bucket.
“Move, hunchback!” Mallory yells.
“Where are you two off to?” Ilbert straightens and raises the broom as a weapon and moves nowhere.
Julian lunges past Mallory and slams into Ilbert, knocking the man down with the force of his body, broom, bucket and all. As Ilbert’s spindly fingers grab at their feet, Julian and Mallory jump over him and run down the winding alley that leads to the Strand.
The entrance to the Strand is blocked by a single royal guard. The uniformed man jumps off the horse and draws his sword. “Stop right there!” he says.
“Mallory, for God’s sake, move!” Why is the girl always in front of him? Does she plan to fight? Match the sword with her fists? Pushing her out of the way, Julian charges the guard.
“Julian, no! He’ll kill you!”
The guard lowers his sword slightly. “Julian?” he says. “Did you just say Julian?”
“Don’t tell him anything!” Mallory yells.
“What’s it to you?” Julian says, ready to bust his way out.
“Julian what?” the guard asks, the metal blade still pointed.
“Julian Cruz—why?”
The sword is lowered for good.
Julian remains in a fighting stance. His fists are up. His guard is not lowered. He and the Mountie stare at each other. The young man in uniform wears a tall red tubular hat. Julian’s certain he’s never met him before. He doesn’t recognize him. “Do I know you?”
“Are you related to a Julian Cruz, from Wales?” the guard asks.
Julian doesn’t know how to answer that. “Yes!” Mallory answers for him, clutching the back of his tunic.
“Who are you, his grandson?”
“Yes!” Mallory says from behind. “Tell him yes.”
“Yes?” Julian replies uncertainly.
The guard steps aside. He points his sword to the Strand. “Go this way, straight to Temple Bar.” He speaks quickly. “Then try to get into the City through the entrance at Aldgate. It’s unmanned because of the fire. Hide inside the walls. There’s nowhere else for you to go. You’re both wanted for the murder of the Master of the Mint. But the City is on fire, and no one will look for you there until it dies down. Don’t stick around. As soon as you can, get out. Whatever you do, don’t take the bridge south or any of the river crossings. You’ll be stopped. Find another way out. Now go!”
