The Black Maria sped from Newgate Gaol, its wheels slipping and clacking across the slick cobblestones of Old Bailey as the carriage swayed violently past shuttered shops and flickering gas lamps. Its visage faded into the night, leaving only the distant refrain of hooves against stone.


    Cordelia''s sudden urging of the horses startled Percy and Elsbeth, who were still clearing shards of broken glass from the seats and floor. The window remained partially intact, though a spider web of fractures spread from where the bullet had struck a gaping hole, its jagged edges trembling with each lurch of the carriage.


    Elsbeth lurched forward, and Percy caught her, guiding her to a seat. He settled across from her, disregarding the glass fragments scattered about.


    "What happened?" they blurted in unison.


    "You first," Percy offered.


    Elsbeth shook her head, the beaten man''s face still vivid in her thoughts.


    "No, Percy. You tell me what happened."


    Percy arched his brow, staring at the broken window as he exhaled a long breath.


    He recounted the tale—the carriage''s arrival, the men, and the driver. It was the same man who had pursued them from the farm in Acton to Uxbridge Road. His words matched the wild urgency of their current journey. Though they were heading toward East London, Percy couldn''t determine their exact location.


    Elsbeth grimaced as he described slipping from the carriage, Harrow''s arrival, and the drawn gun. He recounted his terror during the mad dash away—the first bullet striking glass, the second shot thunking into the tree that had given him cover.


    Elsbeth looked away, drawing a steadying breath, then grabbed the seat and braced herself as the carriage veered hard to the right. Through the window, she glimpsed late-night revelers lurking in corners and dark doorways as they passed.


    Though her feelings were heartfelt, she couldn''t meet Percy''s gaze.


    "Percy, I owe you an apology. I''ve underestimated you. You''ve proven yourself reliable at every turn. Your bravery has saved our lives, even as we''ve fallen one step behind. And despite Hex''s constant bullying, you''ve always put his well-being first—"


    She hesitated, searching for the right words, though she knew they should be simple.


    “Thank you, Percy. I am ever grateful.”


    Percy sighed, leaning back while keeping a steadying arm across the seat.


    "Why have I gotten myself into such a mess? I could be lying in bed right now, with nothing more pressing than tending chickens and scrubbing floors."


    He turned to Elsbeth, who returned his gaze with sympathetic eyes.


    "What madness drives her? And why is it so infectious?"


    Elsbeth had asked herself the same question countless times. Though she longed to defend Cordelia, the mounting series of harrowing events sent a flash of anger through her, bringing heat to her cheeks.


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Elsbeth vented her frustrations, holding nothing back, an emphatic swear with each jolt of the carriage. She expected Percy to shrink under the weight of her fury, to flinch at the stream of curses—but instead, a slow, almost infuriating smile crept across his face.


    “What?”


    “Feel better?”


    “No. Should I?”


    Percy’s smile faded. “You think she dragged us into this mess with a map and a plan? That she meant for us to be chased through Acton, or to find ghouls in that farmhouse? You’re angry at Cordelia, but this isn’t her fault—no one could’ve predicted any of it. Not her. Not you. Not me.”


    Elsbeth clenched her jaw, but he didn’t stop.


    “She may be reckless. And maybe we are, too. We’re still here, still in this carriage, which means we’re not ready to walk away. And let’s be honest—you’ve all underestimated what we’re facing. Cordelia especially”


    The carriage jolted, and Percy’s eyes flicked toward the window.


    “Blame her if you want. But walking away means turning our backs on the plight of an innocent man. That’s the only other choice.”


    Elsbeth’s reply stalled as the wagon began to slow, something shifting outside. The fight in her chest gave way to unease.


    <hr>


    Hex kept a loose grip on the reins as the Brougham swept down Old Bailey past the central criminal court. The building gave stark judgment to all who passed. Its iron gates and heavy stone walls symbolized justice (and execution) across England and Wales.


    “I can reach Corvus. He’ll show us the way.” Cordelia said, leaning in so she didn’t need to shout.


    Hex laughed. “There''s no need. They’ll head east down Cheapside through Poultry and Cornhill, then Leadenhall. They''re headed towards Aldgate High Street, towards East London.


    He turned the carriage east onto Newgate Street, the horses’ hooves striking sparks on the stones, earning taunts from a handful of late-night revelers and street vendors packing their wares. Gas lamps cast flickering pools of light across the narrow road, the dark shape of the Black Maria no where in sight.


    He veered east onto Cheapside, maintaining the pace and calling ahead to clear the streets. There was little need. The passage of the Black Maria had already scattered the crowd, though they were slowly returning to their revelry when the Brougham came into view. Their passage was unwelcome—they had to duck more than a few times as annoyed tavern-goers hurled insults and whatever else they could find.


    "Don''t follow them past Aldgate Pump. Corvus and Harrow will handle the pursuit. Elsbeth''s right—I''m being too reckless. I''ll only lead us into more trouble."


    Hex balked. "We''re just going to let them go?"


    "No, not exactly. We''ll keep tabs on them. Corvus will see to that, and Harrow will track them as long as they stay in the city. We''ll fall back and devise a better plan."


    Though uncertain about her decision, Hex began easing the horses back as they passed St. Mary Axe, where the narrow streets allowed little room for error.


    The looming shape of Aldgate Pump emerged through the mist, cast in flickering lamplight. A small crowd had gathered, voices rising in confusion and alarm.


    There had been an accident.


    A delivery wagon lay crumpled against a lamppost, its horse collapsed and lifeless on the stones. A twisted tangle of splintered wood and scattered crates lay strewn across the road. The Black Maria loomed at the heart of the chaos. One wheel snapped clean off, and its heavy frame tilted at an unnatural angle.


    Hex brought the carriage to a stop, and stepped down to the street in a flash, eyes scanning the scene.


    "There''s no sign of the driver," Hex muttered to Cordelia. "Where in bloody hell did he go?"


    Elsbeth dropped from the carriage beside Percy, her boots crunching on glass from the Brougham’s broken window.


    Her breath caught as she took in the scene—the twisted Black Maria, the toppled wagon, the scattered wreckage, and the stunned silence of the gathering crowd.


    A shout rang out, and men from the crowd rushed forward through the debris, searching for anyone who needed help.


    She watched as men rounded the back of the prison carriage.


    Elsbeth froze, her breath shallow. A sick certainty crept over her like a chill: Henry Wright was dead.


    When the rear doors opened, the Black Maria gaped empty.


    Her hands clenched into fists.


    The darkness inside offered nothing—not even the courtesy of a clue. She looked at Cordelia, who returned her gaze. Henry Wright was gone, but they had a name—John Ashcombe. He was the mind behind it all.


    This wasn’t the end.


    It was the beginning.


    As the crowd clamored for the police, they faded back to the carriage.


    It was time to go—but now the real hunt would begin.