Page 41 of Once a Villain
A small, dismal crowd had gathered—mostly children and a couple of staggering drunks. A pub’s balcony overlooked the dock, and more people watched from there, drinks in hand. The pub protruded over the foreshore, supported by wooden stilts.The Pelicanwas written in gold letters on the balcony’s railing.
A woman held up a fist full of papers: “Last dying speeches! The prisoners repent! Read their last confessions!”
The transcribed speeches were almost certainly fake, but Joan looked at Aaron. He nodded and tossed the woman a coin. Joan took one of the sheets from her.
The True Confession of Aelfraed Hugh, a Human of Argent Territory
I, Aelfraed Hugh, confess to the depraved crime of High Treason against Queen and Court. I conspired with those who would harm our gracious Queen and deserve to be punished by—
Joan skimmed down. It was definitely fake—a groveling apology for a vague crime; a plea for punishment to atone.
“Ah! Lord Oliver!” A man strode toward them from the waterman’s stairs. He had pale goggling eyes and an overlarge suit that hung from his frame. Joan thought, irresistibly, of Mr. Toad fromThe Wind in the Willows. He breezed past Joan and Nick as if they weren’t there, and clapped Aaron on the shoulder. “I know what you’re thinking—Cassius Argent, always late! But I think this time, old chap, you’re uncharacteristically early!”
Above them, on the waterman’s stairs, the burnt-elm banner flapped in the wind. This greeting was some kind of monster etiquette, Joan realized. Cassius must be the head of the Argent family—he wore a signet ring on his left hand. Aaron saw it. He put his own hands behind his back self-consciously.
Cassius grasped the ball of Aaron’s shoulder, beaming at the thin crowd. “The man of the moment!” he boomed in the manner of a theater actor. “The new head of the Oliver family! The man who struck down the leader of the wolves!”
Thenewhead of the family? That was interesting, Joan thought, as scattered applause started and stopped. It sounded like Aaron’s counterpart had only just overthrown his father. But that also meant his position was more tenuous than they’d assumed.
Nick shifted his weight. His dark eyes met Joan’s, and she nodded in acknowledgment. Eleanor had suggested the possibility of an attack by wolves today. It was Joan and Nick’s task to scan the crowd.
Joan found it surprisingly easy to survey the people aroundthem; people’s gazes glided right over her when they saw the pendant, as if the rest of her wasn’t there. The crowd was a mix of monsters and humans, and they all seemed curious or bored or drunk. No sharp eyes, no too-long looks. If there were any rebels among the onlookers, they were blending in too well for Joan to spot them.
“Right, then!” Cassius said. “Formalities dispelled! Let’s get it done and get up to the pub! I fancy a steak—what about you?” He gestured Aaron toward the prisoners.
They were just a few feet from them, and they’d been cruelly bound to the cement blocks, the ropes so tight that they’d cut off circulation, whitening their hands and feet. The red-haired man was starting to panic now, his breath coming in fast sips. Beside him, his sister took deep, shaky breaths, clearly trying to calm herself.
Aaron glanced at them and then away, looking pale himself. “I, uh... I need to speak to the prisoners,” he said to Cassius. He clearly heard the awkward note in his own words, and tried again, infusing his voice with his counterpart’s easy arrogance. “I need to interrogate them further—back at the Oliver house.”
Cassius seemed puzzled by the request. “No need for that. I’ve been interrogating them with two Griffiths. I sent you the full transcript of their confessions. Nothing useful. As we know, the wolf cells aren’t aware of each other. They never even met Nick Ward in person.” He had a posh accent, like Aaron’s. But where Aaron’s made Joan think of boarding schools, Cassius’s made her think of boorish laughs and hunting parties.
“Nevertheless... ,” Aaron said.
Cassius’s cheerful demeanor cooled; Aaron had committed afaux pas by questioning his interrogation skills. “Their crimes were committed on Argent territory,” he said, a new hint of steel making him sound like a head of family, rather than the buffoon he’d seemed. “We have jurisdiction. You requested the honor of performing the executions, and we were of course happy to grant that request. But let’s not overstep.”
“Please,” the red-haired man whispered. “Please don’t kill us!”
“Go on, hand on the neck,” Cassius said to Aaron, as if the man hadn’t spoken. When Aaron hesitated, he made a face. “Oh, tell me you’re not planning some kind of tedious drowning.” Joan registered, then, the line of green moss on the concrete embankment. If they all stayed here, the tide would eventually rise over the prisoners’ heads. “Come on, old chap,” Cassius said impatiently. “I did my part by arriving on time, and it’s almost lunchtime. You can’t keep a man from a meal.”
Aaron looked at Joan. He didn’t know what to do. On the pub’s balcony above, a few drinkers were getting restless. Faint jeers sounded from above. Here, on the foreshore, whispers hissed.
But Joan and the othershadto speak to the prisoners; they might not have been working directly with Nick, but it had seemed clear from the recording last night that he’d found a way to get to Eleanor. They might know something of his plans.
And... even if they didn’t know anything, Aaron couldn’t just kill them in cold blood. There had to be a way out of this.
“Lord Oliver made a request,” Joan said to Cassius, trying to keep her voice steady. “He needs to interrogate them.”
Cassius stepped toward her, seeming almost bewildered—as if he hadn’t even noticed that she was standing there until thatmoment. “Are you speaking tome, girl?” he said to her. His tone was as confused as if a stray dog had piped up. He raised a hand lazily, clearly intending to strike her.
Nick stepped forward then too, and Joan saw—horribly—how it was all about to unravel. Cassius would try to hit her; Nick would stop him; and then they’d both be arrested. They’d be killed.
Behind them, someone cleared their throat. A woman was walking toward them across the pebbled ground, seeming to skim over it where Joan had sunk into the mud. She had moonlight-pale hair and a serene presence that made Joan think of cold midnight air, of deep lakes.
Cassius backed up respectfully; he knew who she was. “I didn’t realize you were coming,” he said to her.
Whowasshe? The woman wore a simple black dress with a soft belt and silver clasp. The only hint at her identity was a small caged-bird pin on her dress; she was a member of the Nightingale family.
Then Joan saw Aaron’s face. He’d frozen, staring at the woman’s features like he’d seen a ghost.
