Black Powder (21 page)

‘Steady, Soldier!' A pair of strong hands caught him and
held him fast.

He blinked, took a deep breath and looked up. ‘But how will we get in?'

‘There's a man. An old soldier friend of mine. He fell on hard times when he came home from the Low Countries and ended up a turnkey at the Clink. He owes me for saving his life from the blast of a Dutch cannon. Just as I owe you.' The Falcon ruffled Tom's head.

His heart swooped up inside him. Father. He was going to see Father. And it was all thanks to this man. His friend. ‘Thank you, sir!'

The Falcon's smile broadened. ‘One good turn deserves another. But we don't have much time.' The smile faded and his face grew deadly serious. ‘As I told you, our plans to trap the Hunchback have changed. Mister Cat has given orders to abandon the tunnel.'

Tom frowned. ‘How are we going to catch him then?'

‘Worry not, Soldier. 'Tis all to the good. Mister Cat has found another, less risky way. There's a cellar adjoining the one in Cecil's palace available to rent. We will strike from there instead.'

‘When?'

‘Tomorrow night, once the necessary equipment is in place. Now, we must be on our way. My friend, Mister Jagger, is expecting us.' The Falcon turned down the street ahead of them.

Tom's stomach somersaulted. If what the Falcon said was true, they were only hours away from saving Father. But if Hunt was speaking the truth . . . No. He shook his head.
He couldn't be.

A grey stone wall loomed up on their left-hand side. They followed it until they came to a pair of grand iron gates. The Falcon glanced up at the roof of the great house set behind them. ‘The entrance to the bishop's palace. We're not far now.'

A few moments later they arrived outside a heavy oak door. The Falcon thumped against the wood with his fist. After what seemed like an age, a flap banged open and a pair of eyes appeared in the gap. The Falcon gave a nod. ‘A friend to see Mister Jagger. He is expecting me.'

The person on the other side grunted. There was another pause, then a scrape of bolts and the door creaked slowly open.

‘Wait here. I'll be back.' The Falcon slid inside and the door groaned shut again.

Tom glanced at the row of sharp metal spikes which ran along the top of it. Flickers of doubt crept back into his head. What if this wasn't the Clink after all but some other place where the Falcon could keep him safely shut away? But then why go to the trouble of bringing him here, when he could easily have drowned him or locked him up back at the lodging house?

A cold wind whipped up from the riverbank. Clouds scudded across the face of the moon plunging the street into sooty darkness. He shivered. It was the perfect spot for thieves and cut-throats to lurk.

A sudden creak from somewhere behind him. He pulled his knife and made to spin round. A rough hand grabbed
him by the collar.

‘Leave me alone!' He kicked out with his boots, but the hand gripped tighter.

‘Psssht! Do you want the watch to hear you?' The Falcon's voice sounded low in his ear.

‘Sorry. I . . . er . . . I thought you were a thief.' He flushed and slid the knife back in his belt.

The Falcon released him. ‘Thief ?' A grim smile flickered across his lips. ‘That's one thing I'm not. Quickly now. Jagger's shift finishes shortly. After that, our chance will be gone. And remember, say nothing to your father about us or our mission. Like every prison in London, the Clink is infested with Cecil's spies. The less he knows of our venture the better.'

‘But what shall I say if he asks how I got here?'

‘I am sure you'll think of something. Now, your word as a soldier.' The Falcon held up the palm of his right hand.

Tom paused for a moment. Father didn't approve of liars. But if it was a lie to keep him safe . . . that had to be all right, didn't it? He uncurled his fingers and raised his right hand. ‘I swear.'

‘Good.' The Falcon gave a sigh then clapped him on the back and pushed him through the door.

Tom stumbled into a small, dark courtyard, enclosed by a set of high stone walls. A burly, wild-haired man stepped out of the shadows to meet them. A lantern swung from his right hand.

The Falcon gave him a brisk nod. ‘This is my friend, Mister Jagger. He will take you to your father.'

The man grunted and rattled a set of keys at his belt.

The hairs on the back of Tom's neck prickled. ‘Aren't you coming too?'

‘No.' The Falcon's jaw tightened. ‘You will have much to say to each other and 'tis best done in private. I'll wait outside.' He pulled a small leather pouch from beneath his cloak and handed it to Jagger. ‘For your trouble and to keep the prisoner in food and drink.'

There was a chinking sound as the turnkey's great fist closed round it.

‘Now go. And don't forget, Soldier: nothing about our mission.'

Tom sucked in a breath and nodded.

The Falcon shook Jagger by the hand, then turned and marched back across the courtyard. A small figure darted in front of him and opened the door to let him pass, then bolted it shut behind him.

Tom glanced around him. There was no way out except through the door. If this was a trap, he was caught good and fast.

Chapter Twenty-eight

J
agger raised his lantern and gave Tom a black-toothed grin.

‘Follow me.' He marched through a low archway and disappeared into the building beyond.

Tom wavered then hurried after him, nose pricking at the sour-smelling air. The light from the turnkey's lantern bounced along a narrow passageway, its walls lined with a row of bolted doors. As they passed the first door, it rattled and a low moan sounded from the other side.

‘Quiet, wretch!' Jagger pulled a heavy-looking stick from his belt and banged it against the wood.

As if at a signal, a clamour of rattles and moans started up from behind the other doors, pierced by ragged cries of ‘Help!' and ‘God save us!'

Tom shuddered. It was how he'd imagined Hell to be, but worse.

Jagger struck another door with his stick. ‘Troublemakers, the lot of them. Excepting your father. I shall be sad to see him go. A proper gentleman, he is.'

Go?
Tom grabbed his sleeve. ‘They're letting him out? When?'

A strange look flitted across the turnkey's face. Then his eyes softened. He ran a hand across the line of black whiskers sprouting from the back of his neck. ‘Best your father tells you himself.' He lurched on down the passageway, banging his stick against more doors and yelling for silence.

Tom stumbled after him, heart pounding. He couldn't believe it. Father freed? It was more than he could have hoped for. With any luck, in a day or two's time, they'd be on their way home! And it meant other things too. No more having to help Cat and his men kidnap Cecil. And no more keeping clear of Harry Browne. Of course, he'd have to say goodbye to the Falcon. But his friend would be pleased for him. He knew he would. A sudden thought struck him. What if it was because of the Falcon Father was going to be set free? A surge of gratitude flooded through him.

Jagger came to a stop outside the final door in the row. ‘This is it. I'll have to search you before you go in. House rules.' He put the lantern down and ran his palms across Tom's shoulders and down his arms. ‘Ah! What's this?' He pulled back his cloak and yanked the knife from his belt. ‘On a rescue mission, were we?' His eyes narrowed.

Tom clenched his jaw. ‘No! My father gave it to me. It
was a present.' A sudden jolt ran through him.

It was Sunday today. His birthday! The tour Father had promised him round the merchant ship was like a dream from another life. But that didn't matter now. All he wanted was for him to come home.

Jagger rammed the knife down the inside of his boot.

Tom took a step towards him. ‘But—'

‘To avoid any accidents. You'll get it back before you leave.' Jagger grasped the door bolt with both hands and slid it back. Then, selecting a large rusty key from the ring on his belt, he unlocked the door, pushed it open and stepped aside. ‘A visitor for you, Mister Garnett.'

A reek of sour sweat and urine crowded Tom's nostrils. He staggered back, gasping for breath.

Jagger shoved him inside. ‘You don't have much time. Use it wisely.' He thrust the lantern at him and slammed the door. A moment later, the key scraped in the lock.

The candle flame sputtered then flared up again, lighting a dirty straw-covered floor and walls smeared with what looked like the tracks of a thousand snails. Tom took a deep breath. ‘Father?' His voice sounded small and far away, like he was calling up from the bottom of a well.

Something skittered between his feet. He twisted round just in time to see a grey tail disappearing beneath a mound of filthy rags. He edged towards them, held his breath and prodded them with the toe of his boot. They twitched and buckled. A snaggle of small dark bodies tumbled out and scuttled away into the darkness beyond.

Rats! Tom leapt back, stomach churning. A clink of
chains sounded behind him. He swung the lantern round. The light fell on the figure of a man – but a man like no other he'd seen before. Dressed in nothing but a long tattered shirt, he was slumped on his knees, his grime-covered arms shackled to the wall by two heavy chains.

Tom froze. Could this really be his father? There was only one way to find out. He gritted his teeth and stumbled towards him.

‘Father?'

The man jerked his head up then turned away, eyes tight shut, face twisted in anguish.

Tom hesitated, then knelt down before him and touched his clammy shoulder. ‘Father? It's me, Tom.'

The man kept his head turned and let out a groan. ‘Torment me not, oh Lord, by sending these devils to taunt me!' The voice was ragged and broken, but there was no doubting it.

Tom's eyes pricked. He blinked the tears away. He mustn't cry. Not now. ‘Look at me, Father.' He shook him gently. ‘I'm no devil.'

The man's eyes flickered open. He peered back at him through a tangle of filthy hair. ‘My son? Is it really you?'

Tom's fingers curled into fists as he stared at his father's manacled wrists – the purple bruises and the bloody weals where the irons had pierced his skin. ‘Father, what have they done to you?'

His father's eyes widened. ‘I have missed you . . . so much.' He gave a rasping cough and writhed in pain.

Tom choked back a sob. ‘It's all right. You'll be free soon
and we can go home.'

He pulled back and stared at Tom, a look of confusion in his eyes. ‘Home?'

‘Yes. Mister Jagger told me. They're going to set you free.'

He dragged down on his chains and groaned again. ‘How could he play such a low trick?'

Tom's blood shrivelled inside him. ‘What do you mean?'

His father spoke through clenched teeth. ‘I was tried yesterday with Father Oliver. They have sentenced us both to death.'

Tom's stomach lurched. It wasn't true. It couldn't be. ‘You're wrong! You're getting out of here and then we're going home. Back to Portsmouth. To Mother and Ned.'

His father drew in a juddering breath. ‘I'm speaking the truth. We are to be hanged at dawn the day after tomorrow, at Tyburn.'

Tom shook his head and twisted away from him. ‘No!'

‘Yes. Now listen to me, son. You must have courage. Be strong for your mother. Remember what I said when we parted before.' He coughed again. ‘You are the man of the family now.'

Tom slumped forwards, tears spilling from his eyes. ‘But I'm not brave, or strong, or any of those things.'
Not like William
.

‘Of course you are.'

Guilt knotted itself round his heart, tighter than a noose. ‘No! You don't understand. It's my fault you're here.'

‘What do you mean?'

He ducked his head down. He couldn't bear to meet his
father's gaze.

‘What? Tell me.'

Tom gave a shuddering sigh, then forced himself to look up into his father's grey, pain-scoured face. ‘After you left, Constable Skinner and his men came to the house and arrested us. They . . . they threatened to beat Mother if I didn't say anything.' A shiver of ice ran through him.

His father's eyes flashed with anger. ‘Those animals!' He clenched his fists and groaned.

‘I was scared. I thought they were going to kill her. I . . . I told them you had taken the London road. After that, they took her to gaol.' He hung his head and let the tears burn hot tracks down his cheeks. He thought he'd feel better if he confessed, but he didn't. He felt ten times more a coward instead.

‘Look at me.'

Slowly Tom lifted his head. His father's face was a ragged blur. He scrubbed at the tears with his sleeve and steeled himself. He would hear his words like a man at least.

‘You are not to blame.'

‘What?'