Chapter Eight

Harcourt pounded on Catamount's office door later that afternoon before striding through. "We've a lead, captain, found in an old journal discarded in a rubbish bin outside Lord Arnold's theatre the night he killed himself. You know, from when he took your sister."

Catamount's gaze shot up from where he'd been reading the daily report, every part of him tensing in alert. "Tell me."

"We think it may be an itinerary of sorts. Or perhaps a map. Or both. We're not certain. But it's hand-drawn locations around London with circles around them, and they're numbered. The first attack location in Spitalfields is marked with the number one, and they seem to line up sequentially as they've happened recently. Given that, Michaelson believes he's deciphered a location and date for the next attack—and it's today."

Catamount leapt from his seat behind his desk, his heart thumping. "What are we waiting for? Give me details on the way."

"Yes, captain."

***

In the narrow, winding streets of St. Giles, Catamount led his party with determined strides. The flickering gas lamps cast sporadic pools of light, revealing the worn cobblestones and the shadows lurking in the corners. His companions, his brother Crawford, Rainville, Duke of Somerton, and Damon Crowe, Viscount Amslee, followed closely. Harcourt had taken a team of Runners in the opposite direction to cover more territory.

Catamount scanned the decrepit buildings that leaned precariously, like old men bowing under the weight of time. The air was thick with the scent of decay and desperation. Despite the darkness, the group pressed on, footsteps echoing through the labyrinthine alleys.

Crawford spoke up. "Any idea where we should start, Cat?"

"We're looking for any signs of Revivalist activity. According to the journal Harcourt found, they should be here tonight. Spread out, check every corner, every nook."

As they ventured deeper into St. Giles, the glow from the gas lamps grew dimmer. Catamount could feel the weight of the Revivalists on his shoulders—the memories of that night in Seven Dials. The poverty-stricken St. Giles air seemed to carry the echoes of pain and violence that had scarred this part of London.

Rainville nodded to Damon. "Spread out. Look for any suspicious gatherings or hideouts. We need to find them before they strike again. Any man in black is suspect."

Damon, ever ready, nodded. The group moved like a well-trained unit, eyes sharp and senses alert to the slightest hint of danger. The dark alleys whispered with secrets, and Catamount knew in his gut that they were being watched. Hairs on the back of his neck rose, alerting him.

The crumbling fa?ades of buildings loomed over them, their once-grand architecture now reduced to dilapidated silhouettes against the night sky.

Lost in thought, Catamount muttered to himself, "If they're here, we'll find them. We have to."

They pushed on, and the footsteps of his group echoed through the eerie silence, punctuated only by distant sounds from the Docklands. The night seemed to hold its breath as they sought the elusive trail of the Revivalists.

Catamount, his gaze fixed on the sad surroundings, said in a measured tone, "I've got a potential lead, Crawford. Someone came to me, someone who might have a connection to the Revivalists. I can't ignore the feeling that they're gearing up for something big."

Crawford raised an eyebrow, sensing the weight behind his brother's words. "Who is this person? How can you be sure they're not leading you into a trap?"

Catamount's jaw clenched, the image of the mysterious Juliette mingling with his resolve. "I don't know yet. But there's something about her, and I intend to find out exactly what it is. She looks exactly like Julie, and came to me in fear of the Revivalists. One man in particular. It's like she's connected to my past, to Julie. Perhaps it even is Julie."

Rainville exchanged a glance with Damon. "Um, Julie died three years ago, Cat."

"But what if she didn't?" Catamount shot back, knowing they wouldn't understand. Not until they saw Juliette for themselves. Then they'd see what he saw.

Rainville said, "If there's even a chance she survived, and that they're planning the big one, we can't afford to wait. We strike now, while we have the opportunity. So let's find these bastards."

Damon, ever pragmatic, added, "But we need to proceed with caution. We don't want to tip our hand too soon. We follow them, but we stay vigilant."

Catamount nodded in agreement. "We press on. We find them before they strike again, and we put an end to this once and for all."

The group continued through the winding, narrow alleys of St. Giles, each step a silent declaration of their resolve to protect the city from the looming threat of the Revivalists. The night enveloped them, the air thick with anticipation, as they ventured deeper into the heart of darkness in pursuit of justice.

"Let's go over potential suspects within the nobility," Crawford said in a hushed voice as he walked along.

Rainville voiced his suspicions: "It could be someone with a grudge against the Crown, perhaps an aristocrat who feels slighted or seeks revenge for some perceived wrong. Like Lord Ballingwood. His attempt to pass legislation in the House of Lords failed dismally last session."

Damon, with a calculating glint in his eyes, said, "Or it might be someone with an ideological agenda. The Revivalists have shown a willingness to use violence to advance their cause. Perhaps it's a radical with a vendetta against the current establishment. The Revivalists believe themselves to be traditionalists. Progress of any kind could be call to violence for them. Look to toffs like Earl Warbleton. He's a supporter of renewing the medieval serf system, and thinks the chastity belt for ladies is dismally underutilized."

"More like extinct," retorted Rainville.

"Not in Warbleton's warped mind they're not," Damon pointed out.

Catamount listened attentively but remained silent, his gaze focused on the dimly lit alleys ahead.

Crawford, noting his restraint, nudged him lightly. "Any thoughts, brother? You're being unusually quiet."

"I'll refrain from speculation until we have concrete evidence," Catamount replied. "Let's focus on finding the Revivalists first. Motives can come later."

"But I'm not done yet," Damon said with a sharp grin. "I've got years of information like this stored up inside me. Comes with my glamorous job. Lord Harrington has a reputation for ruthless eviction of tenants in the Docklands. He'd have a slew of enemies, especially after what happened with the protests against him last year. A sod like him would take that pressure out on somebody else."

In his line of private recovery work for the rich and titled, Damon knew of which he spoke.

Rainville agreed and added a name to the list. "What about Lord Drayton? His financial schemes have ruined countless businesses, pushing honest folks to destitution. The Revivalists might see him as a symbol of upholding balance within the aristocracy."

Crawford chimed in, "And we can't forget Lord Istan Stanton. He's been accused recently of using his influence to manipulate legal proceedings to push new-monied gentry off their lands. There's enough resentment against him to fuel a rebellion. The Revivalists would see him as an aristocratic hero, a preserver of traditional bloodlines and landholdings."

Catamount interjected finally with a thoughtful observation: "I've been giving thought lately to the notion that the Revivalists might be hiding behind a woman. One of wealth and status. We know it's a fundamental part of their twisted ideology to believe in male superiority. The last person anyone would look for is a female."

Crawford nodded in contemplative agreement. "True enough. Their creed is built upon a warped notion of hierarchy, placing men above all else. A woman in charge would be calculated and clever, indeed. However, I believe that introducing a woman into their ranks would be too severe a departure from their established principles. This much we know from Carenza and Nora's run-ins with them."

Rainville, pondering the implication, added, "If we're looking at potential suspects, we might want to remain focused on male members of the ton who harbor strong resentment against their peers, especially women. Someone with a grudge and the means to carry out these attacks."

"Let's not rule out the possibility of a splinter faction or a new leader emerging within the Revivalists," Damon replied. "Desperation can lead to drastic changes in ideology and tactics."

"Quiet!" Catamount suddenly whispered, his senses alerting to a change in the shadows ahead and around them. They felt… alive.

A sudden ambush erupted from the murky corners of the narrow alley. Dark, masked figures lunged at Catamount and his brothers, their faces concealed by tattered masks. "Look out!" Catamount shouted, instinctively drawing his concealed dagger and moving with the fluid grace of a seasoned fighter.

The first assailant lunged at him with a rusted blade, but Catamount sidestepped the attack with finesse. He countered with a swift, calculated strike, disarming the assailant with a precise twist of his wrist. The clang of the fallen blade echoed in the confined space.

Crawford, his fists a blur as he fended off another, shouted, "What in bloody hell?" He dodged a swing, countering with a powerful uppercut that sent his opponent reeling. "It's like school fights at Eton all over again."

Rainville grunted. "They must be wanting to relive their glory days."

"Looks like we've got some entertainment, lads." Damon, a bare-knuckle boxer, sidestepped a charging adversary, delivering a precise jab to their midsection. "I do love a good fight."

Catamount, his movements smooth and controlled, dispatched an attacker with a swift strike to his windpipe. "Stay focused! We need answers, not a tavern brawl!"

Crawford, landing a powerful hook, asked, "Why this attack now? It's not Revivalist caliber."

Rainville, with a swift kick to his attacker's gut, replied, "It's not them, period. Too amateurish. This lacks their usual flair and drama."

Damon, grappling with an opponent, agreed, "Someone's pulling the strings, and it's not these unimpressive shites."

"Exactly," the duke replied.

Crawford shouted as he landed a punch on his assailant, "Who sent you? Speak up!"

The attacker, defiant, spat blood at the ground. "You won't stop the Revivalists. Their cause is righteous!"

Rainville groaned and grabbed his assailant's shirt. "Names! We want names, not some deluded rhetoric."

Damon grinned awfully, holding his attacker on his tiptoes and looking him straight in the eyes. "They always talk. We just need to ask the right questions."

Crawford, fists flying with brutal efficiency, growled, "If they're not Revivalists, who the hell are these bastards?"

Spinning to avoid a knife's edge, Rainville grunted, "Cowards."

Catamount shouted, "These sods don't look like your average street trash!" He dealt with them every day and could spot the difference.

"But they're not peers, either." Crawford fended off a punch. "Look at their hands." He spun and countered with a right cross. "Not soft enough."

An attacker ran at the duke with his knife blade glinting in the dim lantern light. "The Revivalists will rise!"

Rainville, poised and ready, replied, "Enough theatrics. Who's pulling your strings? Who's the leader of the Revivalists?"

Damon joined the duke. "You picked the wrong alley for a scuffle, mate."

With a shout, the attacker launched at them, slicing the air in front of him with his knife. "I will protect the cause!"

Behind him the other attackers, bruised and bloodied, slipped fast as cats down the alley and away, clearly knowing it was their chance at escape.

"Please," Damon drawled, and pelted the idiot charging them between the eyes with a stone he'd pulled from his pocket.

The attacker dropped to the cobbled street like a… well, stone.

Catamount, a dark smile playing on his lips, leaned down over the subdued attacker. "Congratulations, my friend. You just earned yourself a one-way trip to the holding cell. I've got a lot of questions, and you're going to provide some answers."

The attacker's lips curled into a snarl. "I ain't tellin' you nothin'. You can't stop what's coming. The Revivalists will prevail."

Catamount's grin widened, the shadows casting an ominous hue on his face. "We'll see about that. I've got ways of making people talk. And this is one conversation that I've waited a long time to have."