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News that the feared child abductor had been apprehended spread through London faster than the great fire of 1666. No sooner had the sunrise breached the city’s rooftops, than a horde of spectators gathered outside the magistrate’s court, baying for blood. Inside his cell, Nicko waited, listening to the screams of hatred as the numbers grew outside his barred window.
His trial had been a short one. With no evidence to prove his innocence, his only defence was his word. The city had been searching for a scapegoat to hang for their missing children for weeks. He was guilty from the moment he entered the courtroom. Back in his cell, he was alone with the knowledge that later that day he was to be hanged until dead and then his lifeless body was to be chopped into littl
