Why Kings Confess by C. S. Harris EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Author: C. S. Harris
- Language: English
- Genre: Historical Mystery, Thriller & Suspense Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
St. Katharine’s, East London Thursday, 21 January 1813
Paul Gibson lurched down the dark, narrow lane, his face raw from the
cold, his fingers numb. There were times when he wandered these
alleyways lost in brightly hued reveries of opium-induced euphoria. But not
tonight. Tonight, Gibson clenched his jaw and tried to focus on the tap-tap
of his wooden leg on the icy cobbles, the reedy wail of a babe carried on the
night wind—anything that might distract his mind from the restless,
hungering need that drenched his thin frame with sweat and tormented him
with ghosts of what could be.
When he first noticed the woman, he thought her an apparition, a
mirage of gray wool and velvet lying crumpled beside the entrance to a
fetid passageway. But as he drew nearer, he saw pale flesh and the gleaming
dark wetness of blood and knew she was only too real.
He drew up sharply, the dank, briny air of the nearby Thames rasping in
his throat. Cat’s Hole, they called this narrow lane, a refuge for thieves,
prostitutes, and all the desperate dispossessed of England and beyond. He
could feel his heart pounding; the stars glittered like shards of broken glass
in the thin slice of cold black sky visible between the looming rooftops
above. He hesitated perhaps longer than he should have. But he was a
surgeon, his life dedicated to the care of others.
He pushed himself forward again.
She lay curled half on her side, one hand flung out palm up, eyes
closed. He hunkered down awkwardly beside her, fingertips searching for a
pulse in her slim neck. Her face was delicately boned and framed by a riot
of long, flame red hair, her lashes dark and thick against the pale flesh of
her smooth cheeks, her lips purple-blue with cold. Or death.
But at his touch, her eyelids fluttered open, her chest jerking on a sob
and a broken, whispered prayer. “Sainte Marie, Mère de Dieu, priez pour
nous pauvres pécheurs . . .”
“It’s all right; I’m here to help you,” he said gently, wondering whether
she could even understand him. “Where are you hurt?”
The entire side of her head, he now saw, was matted with blood. Wideeyed and frightened, she fixed her gaze on him. Then her focus shifted to
where the black mouth of the passage yawned beside them. “Damion . . .”
Her hand jerked up to clutch his sleeve. “Is he all right?”
Gibson followed her gaze. The man’s body was more difficult to
discern, a dark, motionless mass deep in the shadows. Gibson shook his
head. “I don’t know.”
Her grip on his arm twisted convulsively. “Go to him. Please.”
Nodding, Gibson surged upright, staggering slightly as his wooden peg
took his weight and the phantom pains of a long-gone limb ripped through
him.
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