The Merchant and the Rogue by Sarah M. Eden

Brogan was stretched mighty thin. Between getting new installments to his publisher, the days he spent at the print shop, and his and Móirín’s ongoing efforts in the poor areas of London, he had hardly a moment to breathe. It was likely a good thing he no longer met with the DPS. He’d have run out of time to sleep.

And yet, he missed being part of that society. He missed his friends there. He missed the connection. He longed for the assurance he had when undertaking missions with them instead of the unshakable doubt he felt being the rogue animal in the herd.

Móirín was working extra hours as well, apparently having taken quite seriously his explanation that he was earning additional money to allow them both the independence of setting up their own homes. So he didn’t see her as often as he used to either.

As busy as he was, he was also horribly lonely. And exhausted. And far out of his depth.

He was making his way back home from Somers Town, a particularly poor and all-too-often violent corner of London, having brought some needed goods to the struggling families there, when his path unexpectedly crossed with two of his old associates.

More than a fortnight had passed since he had left the Dread Penny Society. Two weeks in which he’d not seen a single one of his friends from that organization. Seeing them again was a salve he hadn’t realized he needed. His heart lightened on the instant.

“Fancy seeing you in these parts,” Fletcher said to Brogan. “Where you off to?”

“Returning from a trip to Somers Town.”

Doc whistled low and long. “Struggling area, that,” he said. “I hope you had Móirín with you.”

Brogan shook his head.

“I don’t know that I’d want to spend time there without her along for protection.” Fletcher nudged Doc with his elbow, the two exchanging laughing glances. Even Brogan grinned.

Móirín’s fierceness was well known among the Dreadfuls. Brogan was mostly known for being good for a laugh. Life’s struggles had made her hard in many ways. He’d passed through many of the same things, but it hadn’t changed him in the same way.

Perhaps that was part of the reason why the Dread Master had trusted him with this secret mission. No one, including his fellow Dread Penny members, would ever peg him as capable of undertaking a dangerous investigation alone.

“Martin says he’s heard you’re working in a shop now,” Doc said.

Martin was another one of the Dreadfuls. The man was known for having eyes on near everything that happened around London. Brogan hadn’t realized the man had sniffed out his arrangements. That could make things mighty difficult.

“We can’t all have the sales Fletcher has.” He adopted the conspiratorial tone he’d often used when bantering with his friends. “I’m needing a bit more coin in m’pocket.”

“Is that why you actually left? You needed more time to take on more work?” Doc eyed him closely, with a look of suspicion Brogan wasn’t accustomed to seeing on the faces of his one-time comrades. It cut him deeply.

Money trouble would’ve been an easy excuse for leaving the DPS. But Brogan hadn’t realized at the time that the opportunity would present itself for a job at the very shop he was meant to be investigating. He’d seen the sign in the window and had jumped at the lucky turn.

He knew from years of investigating with the DPS that changing a story only made things more complicated. He’d have to stick to what they’d already been told. “I left for the reason I gave—couldn’t keep lying to m’ sister.”

Doc didn’t seem fully satisfied with that. Did the others feel the same way? Had Brogan managed to make a mull of even the simplest part of this assignment?

“With a bit more time, we might’ve managed to create that sister organization,” Fletcher said.

Though Brogan understood Fletcher had to play along, it still hurt hearing him criticize the decision he knew Brogan had made at the behest of the Dread Master.

“I couldn’t wait any longer,” Brogan said.

“But you didn’t give us any warning.” Doc shook his head. “If we’d had the least idea you were so close to crying off, we’d have moved faster.”

Mercy, this was getting complicated. “I couldn’t keep it up. Too many lies. Too many false stories. Móirín was bound to see through it sooner rather than later. I couldn’t keep risking accidentally spilling our secrets.”

“We would have helped you if you’d trusted us.” Doc turned and walked away, an angry clack from his bootheels. He was not a large man by any means, being of average height and very slender build. Yet, he had a presence that was commanding. His departure delivered a very clear message: Brogan’s defection had driven a wedge.

He shoved his hands in his coat pockets, dropping his gaze to his shoes. He’d known this assignment would mean he’d no longer be a comrade-in-arms with the Dreadfuls. He’d not expected to lose their friendship altogether, though.

“Sorry about that,” Fletcher said quietly.

“Is everyone that . . . disappointed in me?” Brogan asked.

“No one’s terribly happy about it.”

“Unhappy enough that they’ll not even want to gab with me if we cross paths?” Saints, that’d be a lonely way to live his life.

“I can’t say one way or the other. You’re the first of us to ever desert the group.” With Doc out of view and no one else hanging about, Fletcher pressed forward, speaking low and quick. “Please tell me it’s at least proving somewhat fruitful.”

Brogan made a minute gesture of uncertainty. “The job I have secured is at the shop I was told to look into, but I’ve not learned much yet. Mr. Sorokin apparently has very little interaction with his countrymen. There’s a story behind that, I’m certain of it, but I don’t know what it is yet. Even with that estrangement, he takes an interest in what’s happening with the ambassador.”

“Anything else?” Fletcher asked quickly and quietly.

“He hates writers.”

Fletcher winced. “How’d you get around that?”

“I’m using a false name: Ganor O’Donnell.”

Fletcher nodded in recognition. ’Twas a name Brogan had used before. “And you’ve not sorted too much about the Sorokin family yet, I’d wager.”

“I haven’t.” Brogan wished he had more information to pass along.

“It’s early days yet,” Fletcher said. “Keep at it.”

Brogan nodded.

Fletcher continued on his way, following Doc’s path. Brogan watched them go, his heart dropping into his shoes. He’d thought a few times that it’d be nice to see his DPS friends again and gab for a spell. Watching them approach, he’d felt a ray of sunlight he’d been missing. But the chance encounter had, instead, cast a shadow.

There was a rift between him and the only friends he’d made since coming to London, the friends he thought of as brothers. Even when all this was over, assuming his activities could be revealed to them, would he ever be truly welcomed back? It pained him that he didn’t know the answer.