Serpents in the Garden by Anna Belfrage

his feet.
    “Take your hands off me,” Matthew snarled, wresting himself free from Philip Burley’s hold.
    “Really, Mr Graham! And here I was but offering you assistance.” Philip Burley took a step back from Matthew’s unsheathed dirk, hands held open and empty in front of him.
    “You pushed me to begin with.” Matthew wiped at his mouth. Three pairs of disturbingly similar light eyes stared at him, eyes that regarded him with the intent interest of wolves circling an injured prey.
    “We did? And how do you know? Eyes in the back of your head?” Walter Burley smirked and, beside him, Stephen Burley laughed.
    “What do you want?” Matthew straightened out of his defensive crouch. At well over six feet, he was taller than any of the brothers, a slight advantage he needed to flaunt. Besides, there were too many people about for the Burleys to try anything, he noted with relief, nodding at an acquaintance.
    “Want? Why, Mr Graham, we’re just passing the time of the day – with a man we will never ever forget, will we?” Philip said, and his brothers laughed again.
    “Not likely.” Stephen’s voice sounded strange, a wheezing reedy sound, until Matthew recalled he’d taken an arrow through his throat.
    “You see, Mr Graham, we don’t take kindly to people killing our brother and scarring us for life.” Philip nodded at Stephen. A badly healed sword-cut bisected Stephen’s destroyed face, giving the impression the nose was on the verge of falling off.
    “That’s what you get. Four against one, trying to murder me, so what did you expect? That I not fight back?” Matthew forced himself not to wipe his damp hand against his breeches, nor avoid those ice-cold eyes.
    Philip took a step forward. “Next time, we won’t just try. We’ll tear the heart out of your living body and send it to your wife – as a keepsake.” It sounded like a certainty, and Matthew’s right knee buckled, causing the leg to fold before he got it back under control.
    Philip snickered softly and stood out of Matthew’s way. Beside him, Stephen Burley fingered his puckering scar and looked at Matthew with open dislike.
    Matthew hawked, spat, and, with a huge effort, turned his back on all three. He walked away as fast as he could without appearing craven. As he left the port behind, the narrow streets grew increasingly empty. Matthew could hear his pulse thudding through his head, an irritating whooshing that made it difficult to concentrate on whatever sounds he heard behind him. Footsteps echoed on the cobbles to his left. Matthew wheeled, hand on his dirk. Ian came to a halt, skidding on the wet stones.
    “Are you alright?” he asked.
    “Aye,” Matthew said, but was very relieved to see his tall, strong son. He was still weak at the knees; there was sweat congealing on his back, and he stopped, inhaling repeatedly in an effort to bring his thumping pulse back under control. They frightened the daylights out of him, those three brothers with their inhumanly pale eyes. One on one, they didn’t worry him – he was quite confident he could defend himself against any of them – but together there was something of a pack of rabid dogs to them, an insane light in their eyes that had his whole body going into flight mode.
    “I saw the Burley brothers,” Ian said, “and I felt it best to ensure you were hale. Vermin!”
    Matthew nodded. Definitely vermin, but dangerous vermin. “I don’t think they plan on staying, they’re not welcome here.” The Burleys had collected quite a number of enemies among the worthies of Providence, in particular after Stephen Burley had knifed Minister Walker’s nephew a year or so ago.
    “Nay, I dare say not. I’ll drop by Mr Farrell; have him set the constables on them,” Ian said.
    “Aye, do that.” Matthew resolutely shoved any further thoughts about the Burleys to the back of his head, adjusted his hat, and smiled wryly. “Don’t wait up for me. I fear the discussion with William