It was the same in every shop. Same questions and same answers, and nobody knew anything of a sword.

  “I sent him away too. I won’t buy what I can’t sell.”

  Rosemary stilled and approached the counter, as did Max. “When did this person come by?” she demanded.

  The proprietor pulled back. “What is it to you?”

  “The sword was taken from a home, and we need to get it back.”

  The proprietor narrowed his eyes. “How much is it worth?”

  Max laughed. “It’s more nostalgic than valuable. Carried into war by ancestors. The owner simply wants it back.”

  Suspicion held in the pale blue eyes as the shopkeeper stared at Max’s as if trying to tell if he was speaking the truth.

  Rosemary knew better, yet she believed him. Though in truth, it may have no value whatsoever. That didn’t mean that Max wasn’t stretching the truth, which added to her wondering just how much she could trust him.

  “It was little over a sennight ago,” the proprietor finally said. “Told him that I had no use for it.”

  “Did you know him?”

  “I’m not telling you anything else.”

  “Please?” Rosemary begged. “We need to find that sword. I promise that no harm will come to him, and we won’t tell anyone who he is, or what he’s done. We only need the sword back.”

  This time the shopkeeper studied her. “It doesn’t sound like it’s a simple heirloom.”

  “It is, I swear.” She made an “X” over her heart. “The family simply wants it back and asked us to find it.” Now she was lying as bad as Max.

  “His name is Billy, but that’s all I know.”

  Rosemary blew out a frustrated sigh. There were probably a thousand Billy’s in London.

  “How old?” Max asked.

  “Maybe five and twenty, at the most.”

  He was probably a citizen of one rookery or another and it would be a waste of time even to try to find him.

  “Did he tell you how he came about the sword?” Max questioned.

  “Don’t you know that already since you be the one looking for it?” the shopkeeper countered.

  “We just want to make sure it’s the same sword. There is no reason to try and find this Billy if it wasn’t our sword that was taken.”

  “Like there is more than one person trying to sell a useless sword.” The proprietor snorted. “Buy something before I answer any more of your questions.”

  His demand took Rosemary by surprise.

  “How about if we just buy information?” Max pulled his purse from the inside of his jacket.

  “Purchase an item and information, or nothing at all.”

  “What if there’s nothing in here that I need?” Max argued.

  “I’m certain there is,” Rosemary insisted, then began looking about for something small that she could carry, and not very expensive. It was then she noted that case of knives and began her study. Some were useless and dull, but not all and one caught her eye. “May I see this one please.” The handle was decorated with swirls, but not in a smooth manner and appeared more to have been carved by an amateur. Not only was the handle interesting and different, but the blade was long, pointed, and sharp.

  “Aye, a good eye, ye have.” He took it out and handed it to Rosemary.

  She liked the weight, and it was lighter than she’d anticipated. “It’s different.”

  “Sailor brought it in. Carved up the handle while he was bored on the ship.”

  She rather liked that it had a story as well. “We’ll take it.”

  “Perhaps you should ask the cost,” Max warned in a low tone.

  “He’s going to name any price he wants for any item we want with the price of information, so I might as well purchase something useful.”

  “Ten pounds.”

  “That’s robbery,” Max complained.

  “Five is for the knife. Five for the other.”

  “It’s still robbery on both counts,” Max muttered as he took the funds out of his purse but only handed over one five. “Information before the rest.”

  “Billy come in and said that he’d broken into a bloke’s house. From the window it looked as if it was filled with expensive items. Except it wasn’t. Just old stuff that was of no use to anyone. And unique, so people would know where it came from if the theft was reported. It wasn’t like taking jewelry or a watch, or normal stuff. He’d picked up the sword and was contemplating it when he heard someone out in the entry, so he jumped out the window, nearly skewering himself, and ran away.”

  “Did he try to sell anything other than the sword?” Rosemary asked.

  “A silver bowl that I ain’t got no use for neither.”

  Rosemary bit her lip to keep from smiling. At least they may now have a trail to follow, and she wasn’t surprised that this Billy hadn’t tried to sell the brandy. Most likely he drank it.

  “That’s the one.” Max handed over the notes.

  “Do you know where he was going to take it since you didn’t want it?” Rosemary asked.

  “I told him it was worthless and that he’d probably get more for it by taking it to the blacksmith at the end of the street. At least the metal would be useful to him.”

  Rosemary’s stomach tightened and Max withdraw a pound note. “If anyone else comes around asking, you’ve not heard about any sword.”

  The shopkeeper reached out, but Max held tight.

  “You know nothing of a sword, and nobody has come around asking for it.”

  “I thought it was a useless heirloom.”

  “It is.”

  “How do you know I’ll keep my word.”

  Max pulled the note back.

  “I’ll keep it, I swear.”

  Max handed it over. “I’ll know if you don’t and will be back to make certain that you don’t make the same mistake again.”

  “I promise, I promise.” He’d probably earned more today than he did in a week of bartering used goods.

  Chapter 12

  “A bloody blacksmith?” Max grabbed Rosemary’s hand as soon as they were back outside and hurried down the lane, weaving in and out of the pedestrians until they finally came to the shed in the back of an alley and not far from the mews. He rushed inside.

  “Did you buy a sword from someone a sennight ago?” he blurted out.

  The blacksmith, who was bent over, hammering a piece of metal, still red from the fire, didn’t look up. “You need to wait.”

  He continued working as Max shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then pushed his fingers through his hair, anxious for the man to be done with his work and talk to them.

  “It could be gone, ruined, destroyed,” Rosemary voiced his thoughts and with that, anguish twisted in his gut. Even though they both agreed that it was unlikely to be one of Joan of Arc’s swords, if it were destroyed, they’d always wonder, just as he’d always wonder what was written on the scroll she’d turned over to the Vatican.

  The blacksmith finally finished and set his hammer aside. “What do you want?”

  “Did you buy a sword off of a young man a little over a sennight ago?” Max asked anxiously.

  “You expect me to remember?” He pointed to a pile behind him. A stack of swords. “People are bringing them to me all the time after finding them in attics and such. Some I keep, some I don’t, but I don’t pay much for them.”

  He’d feared that the sword had been destroyed, but now hoped it was in the pile.

  “Take a look if you want, but I expect to be paid.”

  “Of course,” Rosemary quickly agreed and hurried over to the pile.

  It was easy for her to agree since he was the one who was paying for everything so far.

  He knelt beside her and one by one they examined each, setting aside the ones they weren’t interested in. Some were too new. So recent that it was likely they’d been carried into battle on the Continent against Napoleon’s army. It was likely soldiers in need of cash had sold their weapons.

  However, none were nearly as old as what they sought.

  “It’s not here,” Rosemary announced with dejection.

  He too, was disappointed, and Max hoped that it hadn’t been hammered into another item already.

  He stood back up and approached the blacksmith. “The sword the man would have brought in was old and in need of cleaning.” Max assumed this Billy wouldn’t have bothered to clean it before he sold it. The soldier hadn’t even had a chance to do that yet.

  “Ah, that sword.” Light dawned in his dark eyes. “You should have been more specific.”

  How was he to know that it would have made a difference?

  “Didn’t take it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Too old. Can’t trust the metal. Others might, I don’t. It could have broken or been useless once I started to work with it.”

  “Do you know where he went after he left here?” Rosemary asked as she came to Max’s side.

  “Nay.” The man rubbed the back of his neck as he arched his back and blew out a sigh. “Told him that he’d have better luck in a shop around Covent Garden or Fleet Street since those blokes buy the odd, rare and fancy stuff, unlike people hereabouts.”

  “Thank you.” Max pulled his purse from inside his coat and handed over a pound note. “If anyone comes around, you know nothing about us, or an old sword.”

  The blacksmith raised an eyebrow. “It’s so important to ye?”

  “Yes. Do I have your word?”

  The man pocketed the note. “Aye. I’ve never seen you.”

  “Thank you,” Rosemary called back as she headed out of the shed, only to pull back quickly and flatten herself against the wall. “One of Rylan’s men,” she whispered.

  Max briefly stuck his head out and glanced up the street. One of Rylan’s men was paused on the street and calling to someone. Max pulled back before he was seen. “Is there a back way out?”

  “Just the front.”

  “Blast.” Max looked around. The place wasn’t large and there was no place they could hide…except there was a cupboard on the back wall that had fallen in disrepair. However, it still had its doors, even if the wood was split in a few places. “What’s in there.”

  “Not much of anything.” The blacksmith walked to the back and opened the cupboard. “Wife thought I needed it. I don’t.” He started to shut the door.

  “Do you mind if we hide in it for a bit?”

  The blacksmith frowned.

  “There are some men looking for us.”

  “They are not kind men,” Rosemary added.

  “Is that so?” The blacksmith straightened. “Why should I believe you and not the opposite, that you are the bad ones?”

  Max fished out another pound note. “Because they’d sooner stick you with a knife than buy your silence.”

  “As long as you leave after they’re gone. I don’t want no trouble.”

  “We promise.” Max nearly shoved Rosemary into the cupboard, then entered and pulled the door closed.

  At least he wasn’t alone and under no circumstances could he let her know how much he hated being in confined spaces.

  Rosemary bent forward and put her eye against a split in the wood so that she could see out. The blacksmith had gone back to holding the iron in the fire and it slowly grew to a glowing red. At least they could see out the front of his shop so that she and Max would know when the men passed. If they passed and didn’t decide to come in here.

  A moment later, Rylan strolled inside. Max put a steadying hand on her shoulder. It was a comfort, but at the same time, she didn’t trust that the blacksmith would keep his word either and slipped her hand into her reticule and pulled out the recently purchased knife.

  Behind Rylan were two of his henchmen. They looked around, taking in the area. The blacksmith kept heating the iron.

  “Can I help you with something?” he asked.

  “Looking for a man and woman,” Rylan said. “He’s this tall, she’s about this tall.” Rylan held his hands up to about the right heights. “Her hair is dark, his is light brown.”

  “What about them?” the blacksmith asked, taking the red iron to the anvil and picked up a hammer. Not even Rylan would go near him for fear of getting burned. Except, one of the henchmen maneuvered behind the blacksmith, and Rosemary sucked in a breath as she could just imagine what they’d do to gain information.

  The blacksmith grasped the tongs he had been using to hold the iron in place and lifted it, turning. “Back by the door. I don’t like people around me when I’m working.”

  The henchman held up his hands in defense and backed way. The blacksmith kept holding the iron and moved back to the fire and waited for them to get at a distance.

  “They were here?” Rylan asked.

  “Asking about a sword.” He moved the iron back into the fire but kept hold of the tongs. “Is that all?”

  “Did you have it.”

  The blacksmith shook his head. “They went through that pile and said it wasn’t there, so the answer is no.” He pulled the red-hot iron back out of the flames.

  “Where’d they go?”

  “How the bloody hell do I know?” He put the iron back on the anvil and picked up his hammer.

  “Have you at least seen the sword they were asking about?” Rylan was losing his patience.

  “If it was the same one that kid brought in a sennight ago, then I’ve seen it.”

  “Where did he go?” Rylan demanded with impatience.

  The blacksmith sighed and looked at Rylan with little patience. “Told him he was better off taking it to Clerkenwell and maybe somebody there would buy it.”

  Rosemary frowned. He’d told them to go to Covent Garden or Fleet Street. Did he lie to them, or was he lying to Rylan?

  And why was everyone lying? Did everyone do so all the time? And if so, could she ever trust anyone?

  “We didn’t see them there yesterday,” one of the henchmen said to Rylan.

  “That doesn’t mean they ain’t already been there,” Rylan grumbled. “A few people said they saw them.”

  “But separate like, not together, snooping around,” one of the men said. “It may not be them.”

  “It was,” Rylan decide. “Either they went back, went somewhere else, or are still around.”

  The blacksmith drew his hammer back and struck the iron.

  “Is that what you told them?”

  “Told them the same as I’m telling you.” He struck the iron with his hammer again. “If there’s nothing else, leave. I’ve got work to do.”

  The blacksmith went back to striking the iron, ignoring Rylan and his men. They kept looking around, and Rosemary was certain that one of them would walk to the back and open the cupboard.

  “If you want to stand around gossiping like a bunch of women, do it somewhere else.” The blacksmith brought his hammer down again and then turned the iron.

  “Them!” a lad called pointing into the blacksmith shop. “Thems the ones I saw leaving Mr. Barclay’s shop. Thems the ones that hurt him.”

  “Quiet, kid,” Rylan growled.

  The blacksmith lifted the hammer and the still hot iron he was working on and took a step toward Rylan and his men. “What’s this about hurting Mr. Barclay?”

  “Let’s go,” Rylan said, backing to the door. “We’ll catch up to them. They are around here somewhere. We’ll find them.”

  Rosemary continued to watch, hoping she could determine what direction Rylan and his men took so that she and Max could go the opposite way. When they ran down the side street, away from where they’d come, she blew out a sigh of relief.

  A moment later, five more men ran by in what Rosemary assumed was in pursuit of Rylan and his thugs.

  “What happened to Barclay?” the blacksmith asked the kid.

  “Beat up real bad until he said where he sent that man and woman.”

  Rosemary’s stomach churned as Max’s hand tightened on her shoulder. She wasn’t certain if he could see as well as her or only hear.

  “You were there?” the blacksmith asked.

  “I hid when they started getting mean because they hadn’t seen me in the back yet.”

  “I’m taking you home, and you best stay there for a couple of days.” The blacksmith looked back to the cupboard. “Best hurry because I can’t be away long.” He then closed the doors on his shed and Rosemary wondered if it was wise to leave the fire burning in the forge.

  Even though the blacksmith’s shop was closed, Rosemary still wasn’t certain if they should exit. What if Rylan and his men came back?

  Except, they were being chased, though she doubted they’d be caught.

  Max pushed on the door, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He pushed again, and it still didn’t open.

  He then pulled back and rammed it with his shoulder, which caused the wood to splinter before breaking open. That’s when she realized that the blacksmith had latched the door after he closed it on them. Had he intended for them to stay there until he got back?

  Could they trust no one?

  Max reached through the opening and flipped the latch and swung the door open. He exited first and took a deep breath, then bent over, hands braced on his knees and blew out another long breath. “Bloody hell!”

  When he stood, Rosemary noted that his forehead was damp with perspiration. It was a bit close in there, with no air, but it hadn’t been hot.

  “We need to leave.” He started for the front of the shop. “I don’t know what he intended to do with us, but I don’t like the fact that he locked us in when it wasn’t necessary.”

  “Do you think he’d tell Rylan?”

  “For the right price, anybody would do just about anything.”

  “They headed down the opposite street,” Rosemary offered.

  “I saw.” He opened the door a crack and peered out into the street. “You weren’t the only one with splintered wood to peek through.” He opened the door further.

  “Stay to the shadows, hide in a crowd or disappear into alleys. Whatever it takes, we need to get out of here.”

  Chapter 13