““What the devil are you doing here? I told you to take the day off and rest. Where’s Giles?” “Giles is feeling peakish. And I done rested—for hours.” Sebastian leapt up to take the reins. “I don’t recall hearing anything about Giles feeling ‘peakish.’” Tom scrambled onto his perch. “Well, he is.” Sebastian cast the tiger a suspicious glance. But Tom only grinned. Lying just to the northwest of Covent Garden, the nest of fetid alleys and dark courts known as Seven Dials h...ad once been a prosperous area favored by poets and ambassadors and favorites of Good Ole Queen Bess. Those days were long gone. The once grand houses of brick and stone lining the main thoroughfares were now falling into ruin, their pleasure gardens and parks vanished beneath a warren of squalid hovels built of wood and given over to beggars and thieves and costermongers of the meanest sort.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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