Wicked Deception

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Smashwords Edition

Copyright by Karolyn Cairns 2012

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Acknowledgements

I would like to thank the staff at Smashwords
for their tireless efforts to promote authors. I would also like to
thank my family for their continued support and encouragement for
my pursuits in writing.

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This book is dedicated to my mother Sharon
Sharrard, an avid reader and my biggest fan.

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of this author.

1811 London

The man sat outside the house for
hours. Nicholas Van Ryker sat up in the coach, fatigued from his
nightly ritual. He thought of the lies he gave his wife of where he
went and gritted his teeth. The damage he did was reflected daily
in the contempt that grew in her eyes.

The questions and doubts mounted each
day. He imagined those beautiful green eyes would narrow in disgust
if she knew the truth of his past. He vowed she would never learn
of it. It was his own secret shame to bear; not hers. Nicholas saw
the wagon arrive. Eyes filled with deadly resolve as he got out of
the coach. He went around back of the two-story nondescript
building. The dagger he held glittered in the moonlight. He tucked
it into his waistband. He knew the way in the dark better than the
light. He leaned against the wall of the building, hearing music
within and feminine laughter.

Nicholas’s heart beat so loud it was
all he heard. He peered around the corner. The burly man backed the
wagon up to the cellar door. His lips tightened when he saw the
young boy within the cage, moonlight outlining his small, unmoving
frame. A mist fell over his eyes, red and filled with
wrath.

Rage flared in his nostrils, hearing
the ditty the man hummed under his breath. Herbert hadn’t lost his
touch. He shivered in disgust as he watched him lumber down from
his perch. Herbert the Pervert was one of the most successful flesh
peddlers in the area. He was also the source of many nightmares for
its children. Parents used threats of him to ensure their
children’s best behavior.

The boy in the cage could be no more
than ten. Bound and beaten into submission by the flesh peddler; he
was stuffed into the cage and delivered here. Herbert was older now
and slower. His meaty arms still hefted the cage well though. He
swung it off the back of the wagon and set it to the ground with a
definitive thump.

Nicholas walked up behind him quietly,
dagger drawn. His blue eyes glowed with an unholy light when he
held the knife at the man’s throat. His arm wrapped around
Herbert’s neck tightly as he struggled.

“
We meet again, Herbert,”
Nicholas whispered at his ear, eyes glued to the back door as he
dragged him into the shadows. He forced the man to walk to the rear
of the property. Herbert could do nothing but go, feeling the blade
digging into his throat. He tried in vain to appeal to the man,
sobbing as he was forced to his knees. The full moon shone above as
Herbert pled his case, blubbering.

“
I’ll give ye whatever I get
for the boy; I swear it!” he cried, sobbing. “Please, jus’ let me
get me coin for ‘im, an’ ye kin ‘ave it all!”

“
That won’t be necessary,
Herbert. You won’t be selling children anymore; not where you’re
going!” Nicholas Van Ryker snarled. His face hardened with hatred
as he swung the blade. The flash of the dagger was lightening fast.
Herbert didn’t see it coming.

Herbert gurgled then, eyes wide as his
hands flew to his neck. Nicholas slit the man’s throat from ear to
ear, standing back to kick him away. Herbert collapsed face forward
at his boots. He gasped in a strangled manner and held his throat,
blood spraying through his grimy hands as he writhed upon the
ground. He lay still after several moments.

Nicholas watched him die without
expression or pleasure. He drew up short when he heard the boy
weeping nearby. Leaning down, he wiped his blade across the dead
man’s back. He walked over to the cage, crouched to see the solemn,
tear-streaked little face within. The boy stared back at him, eyes
wide with terror.

Nicholas reached between the bars, not
surprised the boy bit at him like an animal. He drew back
chuckling. He saw the boy’s hardened demeanor, a necessary
prerequisite for the horrors of living on these streets. “You can
thank me by staying away from scum like him in the future, boy,” he
whispered as he opened the cage, watching the street urchin bolt.
The little boy didn’t look back as he ran away. Nicholas left as
quietly as he arrived, sticking to the shadows as he made his way
to the nearby coach.

Once inside, he rapped upon
the ceiling and it moved off. He sighed as he felt himself
trembling. Hands clenched to think he’d been too merciful on the
flesh peddler, not made him suffer enough.
There are more like Herbert
, he
thought miserably with a sigh. He couldn’t kill them
all.

He looked out the window of the coach
waiting for the satisfaction to come. It didn’t come. Just the
memories came, and with them the pain

Herbert bought him over twenty years
ago. His mother sold him in desperation for ten pounds. Penny long
lost her looks to drink and sent her only child to purloin coins
for their living. Nicholas was an able pick pocket but some days
were leaner than most. It was Christmas Eve when he arrived home to
their shack, hungry and cold, and without coins for her.

Penny craved the drink more than life;
loved it more than her fatherless child. She wanted her shaking to
stop when she sought out the flesh peddler. Herbert came for him
then. He cringed and forced away the memory of being dragged away
crying, begging his mother to keep him. His last glimpse of her was
seeing her stagger off in the direction of the gin cart.

Nicholas remembered the trip to the
house that night. Once there, he was tossed into a cage in the
cellar. The other children regarded him with hollow stares. Terror
filled him when the woman arrived and paid Herbert.

The Madame of the brothel leaned down,
her cloying perfume making him gag. He took a step back. She
laughed, her hard gaze assessing his value. He shrank from the
predatory look in her dark eyes.

“
This one will do nicely,
Herbert. A pity you couldn’t get one smaller. You know how he likes
the little ones.”

The flesh peddler took his bag of
coins, mumbling under his breath. “I took wot oi’ could
get.”

The Madame nodded and left the cellars.
Herbert made his way out, leaving him there. Rattling the cage; the
boy shook it hard. Breathing raggedly from his exertions, he threw
himself against the cage door.

“
Ye make all that noise an’
they’ll ‘urt ye,” a little voice told him from the cage next to
him.

Nicholas stared into the gloom and saw
a little girl sitting amidst the straw, her blue eyes meeting his
with a sad look. “I’m gettin’ out o’ ‘ere,” he informed her with a
scowl as he barreled into the cage door again, drawing snickers
from the other children.

The girl shook her head. “There’s no
way out o’ ‘ere. Ye keep makin’ all that noise an’ they’ll come
back and ‘urt ye.”

“
Who are ye talkin’ about?”
Nicholas demanded in annoyance, blue eyes fierce. “Wot is this
place?”

“
Ye be in a fancy house. The
man that buys us comes here,” she replied quietly. “Ye ‘ave to be
quiet now or they’ll ‘urt ye. The big one named Lester likes
‘urtin’ us.”

Nicholas went quiet, seeing the stark
truth in her pale face. He was forced to live in the filthy cage.
He had straw to lie upon and a slop bucket in the corner. They were
fed once a day. The Madame wouldn’t waste more on them; saying they
wouldn’t live long enough to starve. She was right.

Nicholas remembered Bessie more than
the others. The little girl in the cage next to his gave him a
reason to live in those dark days. Her advice saved his life when
Herbert dragged him down there.

“
Don’t ye make a sound when
they comes for ye one o’ these nights, Nicky,” she told him after
they became fast friends. “Jus’ let’em ‘ave their fun wit’ ye. Ye
stay quiet an’ they’ll leave ye be.”

Nicholas recalled he had no idea what
she talked about then. She held his hand after the first time he
was taken upstairs in the fancy house. He came back sobbing in
agony. Without her talking to him that night, whispering
consolingly to him, he didn’t think he would have survived
it.

Bessie lived there longer than the
other children. One night she never returned after being delivered
to one of Madame Devereaux’s clients. Nicholas knew she was dead.
He waited all night for her. He sobbed in anguish as he sat in his
cage; waiting for the day he would not return.

The nobles who paid for her were known
for their brutality. All the children in the cellar feared them.
The killing of a child wasn’t uncommon after a night in their
clutches. Some died in their cages later. Herbert would stuff them
into a barrel and take them away for the Madame.

He wept when she was led away; knowing
she went to those animals. He could still see her angelic face as
she smiled back at him in the dim cellar.

“
See ye in the mornin’
Nicky,” she whispered as Lester dragged her out of the
cage.

She never came back.

Many more never came back. He memorized
their names while he waited for his turn. It was a means to keep
him occupied as he huddled in his cage. His conscious mind rejected
what was done to him each time he was led away; turning on and off
at will to survive.

His chance to escape came one night. He
didn’t hesitate to take it. The maid who saw to their needs forgot
she was dealing with pickpockets and thieves. Nicholas snatched the
keys jingling at her waist before she finished her task of feeding
and watering them. He waited for her to return to the kitchens and
let himself out of his cage.

Nicholas unlocked the cages holding the
others, urging them to run. They would not. He begged them then;
cried for them to come with him. He could see by their vacant
expressions they no longer cared what was done to them
anymore.

Nicholas ran to the cellar door. It was
unlocked in Herbert’s haste to leave with another barrel. He flung
the door wide and ran into the cold night. He ran as fast as his
small legs could carry him. Naked and bleeding, he was driven to
get as far away as he could from the horror of the
cellar.

Nicholas ran until he was exhausted. He
found himself at the docks. Breathing raggedly and coughing
uncontrollably; he looked about. The docks were deserted and only a
few ships were berthed there.

He found himself standing at the edge;
staring down into the murky black water lapping against the sides
of the dock. He wanted to die at that moment. That was when he
heard a booming voice from above.

“
If you’re going to jump its
best not to think of it, boy; else you lose your nerve,” Oran Van
Ryker advised in amusement, looking down from the bow of his ship
as he smoked his pipe. “But if it’s work you want; let’s find you
some clothes and come aboard. I need a new cabin boy. The old one
ran off. What do you say, lad?”

Nicholas looked up at the giant blond
sea captain leaning over the rail. He saw no signs of any lecherous
intent. He glared up at him defiantly. His young face was hardened
with his misery. “Ye touch me an’ I’ll kill ye!” he snarled, fist
raised, blue eyes narrowed.

Oran heard the threats and saw only the
bruised, broken spirit of the boy. He jumped down and approached,
seeing the way the boy flinched away from him; cowered despite his
brave words. He took off his great coat and put it around the
little boy’s narrow shoulders; not surprised when he shrank
away.

His pewter grey eyes flared with anger
when he saw the way the boy was brutalized; old and new bruises
upon his face; fresh cuts and bite marks on his body. The sea
captain gave little thought and grabbed the boy up, despite his
fierce struggles, and carried him aboard. He dodged kicks and
hurled abuse.