The Hanged Man's Hero by Summer Devon

Author:Summer Devon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kate Rothwell

Chapter Three

Mr. Reis’s employee Wendell didn’t stay at the same inn as Dez—he had friends in the area, he said, though he didn’t offer more details. He showed up at Dez’s inn every day, and they usually shared a meal.

Once Dez found work, Wendell came to visit him in the stable. Dez didn’t mind his large, undemanding presence, especially since Wendell also had no fondness for drink.

Wendell did allow himself an ale now and again. One evening, he handed a cup to Dez. “Go on, take a sip. I won’t tell. I promise if you go insane and try to bust me up, I’ll knock you out and bind you.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Dez’s heart sank. Why was he offering temptation? He’d liked the way Wendell had helped him establish new habits.

“All right. Try it and see what happens.”

Dez felt weak with worry as he took the cup. The sour smell of ale and alcohol was a delicious perfume.

He took a sip and immediately craved more.

He forced himself to hand back the cup. “Best not.” He licked his lips clean of the taste, then went in search of a strong cup of tea. He ordered plates of cold food as well.

Even as he ate with Wendell, the desire for more beer whispered through him. He recalled the moment he’d refused drink in front of Mr. Reis. That had been his first smile, hadn’t it?

And that approval was days ago, but he still let it warm him.

“I’ve never met a man so determined to better himself as you are.” Wendell pulled out his little notebook and jotted notes.

“I doubt you’ve never met a man who’s so nearly shaken hands with the grim reaper. Mr. Reis has given me another chance, and I’m not going to waste it on drinking.”

Wendell flipped his notebook closed and dropped it back into his pocket. “You seem to think our Mr. Reis is some kind of saint. He started life as a mudlark.”

Sitting on the box of his carriage, Dez had watched men, women, and children picking through the filthy muck of the rivers when the tides had gone out. At his worst moments, he’d reminded himself that at least he wasn’t one of those poor wretches.

“No.” It was an automatic response, not a denial.

Wendell downed the rest of his ale, thank goodness. “Truly. He’s still got a horror of dirt.”

“But how did he leave that life?” Dez thought of the near-starved, blank-eyed children he’d seen lurking by the river banks. Impossible to imagine Mr. Reis as one of their ranks.

Wendell popped a whole pickled egg into his mouth. “He came into some funds. The whisper is he killed a man and stole his purse. Another I’ve heard is he was a hooligan for an East Side money lender. He never told me what the story is. Whatever he was, his money has come steady for years. They say moneylending’s a crime, and he’s done some of that. Mind, he doesn’t break legs, least not since I’ve come on.

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