Chapter 63

The cart rattled across the road to the imposing building beyond. Newgate was, for Jeremy, the very definition of hell. It rose before them, huge, cold, and unyielding. He closed his eyes and held onto his composure.

David, David, where are you?

* * * *

The stench was abominable. Jeremy clamped his hands over his mouth and nose as best he could, and he gagged. Once inside, he was separated from the man in the carriage who had spoken kindly to him. He was taken to somewhere called the Stone Hall, but Jeremy was dragged to the Press Yard. He could barely walk with the shackles on his legs and stumbled to keep up. His stomach heaved repeatedly, and the warden laughed.

“Bit rich for ye, laddie?”

There were burly guards with what looked like cudgels standing by the door. Jeremy’s heart was racing so fast he was shaking. He knew what the Press Yard was, he knew who were kept there.

“I haven’t done anything,” he whispered.

“What they all say.”