POE MUST DIE by Marc Olden Read Free Book Online

around for him. Figg’s smile was deadly. Come for my life, have you? Well, step closer me lovelies and we will start the dance, you and I.
    “He’s bloomin’ ’ere. Stop fiddle arsin’ around, you two and find ‘im.” Figg recognized Rosehearty’s voice. Rosehearty was the leader, the one with a lantern and the high beaver hat. Six and a half feet tall, Rosehearty killed by shining the lantern in his victim’s face then quickly slashing him across the stomach with a small sword whose blade was keen enough to slice a hair in two.
    “Ain’t with the animals, is he? I mean why the bleedin’ ’ell he come to a zoo, say I.” That was one-eyed Timothy Buck, who now carried his Boutet flintlock pistol inside his long coat to keep it dry.
    Rosehearty held the lantern high. “Wherever ‘e is, we best find ‘im. We ain’t bein’ paid to stand out ‘ere in the bloody rain and hold ‘ands. We been told to do ‘im and do ‘im we will. Stubbs? Stubbs?”
    Rosehearty called to the albino, a muscular man who carried a quarterstaff across his shoulder as though it were a musket. Stubbs’s pure white hair was wet and clinging to a face almost the exact color. Figg knew him as a cruel man who robbed judys, those prostitutes who worked without the protection of a ponce. Stubbs enjoyed beating women and had killed three with his hands.
    “I ‘ear you, Master Hearty Rose.” Stubbs looked into the darkness towards Figg, as if his pink eyes could see the boxer.
    Rosehearty pointed towards trees standing to the left of Figg. “Stroll over there, if you do not mind and see what you can see. We sees ‘im leave Mr. Dickens’ ’ouse and come in ‘ere, but now where the bleedin’ ’ell has the bastard gone?”
    Figg lowered the wet coat an inch, turning his head sideways to watch Stubbs, quarterstaff still on his shoulder, walk away from Rosehearty and Buck.
    “Bloody cold, it is.” Timothy Buck touched his black eyepatch which was soaked, then blew warm air in to his cupped hands. He would like it just fine if that limping old bastard Figg would show himself so’s Buck could put a ball in his ugly head and then they could all go to a tavern and enjoy life.
    “Cold, you say.” Rosehearty’s voice was even colder. “Should we fail to do as Jonathan has ordered, it will grow suddenly warmer and not to our likin’, so move your arse, you stupid sod!”
    Rosehearty, shoulder length gray hair hanging down from under his tall beaver, knew Figg and hated him. Neither man had ever quarreled; they had never even spoken to one another. But their paths had crossed at sporting events — dogfights, boxing matches, at rat pits where bets were made as to how many rats a fighting dog could slaughter in a given time. Figg knew what Rosehearty was, an assassin for hire and the boxer despised him. Rosehearty hated Figg because Figg was not afraid of him.
    “Buck, for the love of Jesus, will you please walk over there, yes there. Straight ahead. Look for some markin’s, somethin’ that says he ain’t just flapped his wings and gone to heaven. Zoo be the only other place ‘round ‘ere and them animals is locked up tight, so why should he be ’eaded there.”
    Figg held his breath. Rosehearty was flummut; dangerous.
    Rosehearty looked directly at the hidden Figg and said, “Best we not lose him.”
    Buck shivered. “What if we do?”
    “Then it’s a return to the home of the esteemed Master Charles Dickens, where we shall do our best to convince ‘im to tell us where we can find Mr. Figg. Master Dickens has ‘imself several children, so it should be a simple matter to get him to speak up.”
    Figg’s eyes narrowed. Dickens’ children. Now there was no doubt about what to do. To protect Dickens’ family, Figg must kill all three men.
    Timothy Buck walked towards the trees in front of him, towards Figg.
    Buck talked to himself through chattering teeth, hugging himself to keep his flintlock pistol from falling from under