Jackdaw (15 page)

“I dunno about magic.” Harry’s voice was hoarse. “But I’d not be here now but for ’e.”

“Aye.” Bill Penrose slapped a hand on his thigh for emphasis. “Good man, yon bucca. An’ pulls a good ale too.”

Someone tapped Ben’s arm and he looked around to see Dora. She opened her mouth, hesitated. Then she gave him a small, rueful smile, and after a moment, Ben smiled back.

Chapter Fourteen

Ben rested his elbows on the bar of the Green Man, filled with content.

The old inn was spruce and welcoming, fresh and warm with the late June air. Jonah was outside, flying a kite with Agnes, Ben suspected. The children of Pellore were all obsessed with kites now, ever since Jonah had made one for Agnes and rescued it from the church steeple in a spectacular vertical manoeuvre. Ben had told him off for reckless showmanship, but his words had been drowned by the delighted shrieks of children and adults both, and he grinned at the memory now.

He was tending the as-yet-empty bar because Bethany was down in the village, courting. Aaron was back on the repaired
Dainty Jane
, now his broken arm was mended. There would be no wedding for a while yet, after the young fisherman’s enforced break in earnings, but the Green Man was doing well enough to make a spring marriage a possibility, and Dora seemed happy with that. She sang, sometimes, surprisingly tuneful. She claimed it was satisfaction at her newfound prosperity. Ben put it down to the joy radiated by Jonah, irresistible Jonah, with his bright eyes and rippling laughter.

The letter he’d written lay folded in their bedroom. It bore no date or return address, and it would only be posted when he could find a carter or carriage going sufficiently far that the postmark could not lead back to them, but it was done. A letter to his parents. Perhaps they’d tear it up; perhaps they’d read it and know he was safe and well, and be glad. He’d never know, and in some ways it didn’t matter. All he could do was send them his love, and what they did with it was up to them.

Eight months ago, he’d been doing hard labour in a gaolyard. Four months ago he’d been alone, lost and so bitter the taste of it had choked him. Now…

Now they were safe. There had been no more mention of separate bedrooms. Dora hadn’t spoken of him and Jonah since the night of the storm. Ben had no idea what she thought, and didn’t care. She had a prosperous inn, free labour and contented daughters. He and Jonah had a safe harbour and a shared bed with no questions asked. Jonah was absurdly happy, bounding over the fields or playing the fool with the girls.

Their peace might be fragile. They would always be on the edge of a precipice, he knew. But for now it felt like home.

The bright rectangle of sun that streamed in through the open door went dark. Ben looked up with his best welcoming smile as two men walked in.

“Afternoon, gentlemen. What can I get you?”

As they entered, no longer silhouetted against the light, Ben could see “gentlemen” was a mistake. It was very definitely “gentleman”, and a striking one at that. A blond man, well over six feet tall, with coldly handsome features, impeccably dressed in light grey. He looked as though he’d stepped out of a London season. His companion looked more like he’d stepped out of a London gaol. Several inches shorter, with cropped, grizzled hair and shrewd fighter’s eyes, he wore a manservant’s respectable black with the air of a saloon-bar brawler. If he hadn’t been at the gentleman’s side, Ben would have been reaching for the short cudgel that gathered dust under the bar.

“Ale, if you will.” The gentleman came to the bar, somewhat to Ben’s surprise. He drew the drinks and passed them over.

“There you are, sir. Thirsty weather.”

“And a long journey,” the gentleman agreed. The words sounded friendly enough, but there was something in their cool cultivated drawl that set Ben’s nerves on edge.

The gentleman wrapped a long-fingered hand around the pewter tankard, making it look cheap with the touch. One finger bore a rather striking ring, Ben saw, a gold band set with chips of quartz and onyx to suggest the shape of a magpie in flight. “Obscure little place you have here.”

“It’s not the biggest, sir, no. Are you on your way through?”

“God, I do hope so.” The tall man spoke with casual dismissal that made Ben bristle. “That’s not a Cornish accent.”

“No, sir, it’s not.”
Paying customers
, Ben reminded himself. “Hertfordshire, originally.”

“And what brings a Hertfordshire man down to these remote lands?” The tall man smiled, not very pleasantly. “Peace and quiet?”

“Getting away from it all,” suggested the manservant. His voice was as rough as his appearance, and his light hazel eyes were fixed on Ben.

“I like it here, sir,” Ben said. “Decent folk. Anything else I can get you for now?”

“I don’t think so, Spenser.”

“Right—”

Ben stopped, a cold prickle creeping up his spine. He hadn’t given his name and it wasn’t on the door, and a memory was coming back to him now, Jonah’s voice.
The right noble earl of Crane. Six foot three of money, mouth and cock. And his pet murderer.

The thought had come to him in a second. He coughed, repeated, “Right, sir,” turned to the door as casually as he could, and bolted, with a cry that was almost a scream. “Jonah! Run!”

Someone crashed into him from behind before he’d got halfway through. Ben went down under the attack, but caught himself, kicking out savagely. He wasn’t bad in a brawl, used to absorbing punishment on the rugby pitch, and he’d had a lot of practice in gaol. He could stall them long enough to get Jonah away.

He believed that for a fraction of a second, until an elbow jabbed his kidney, agonisingly painful, as a fist thumped into the back of his head. The momentary dizziness left him face down on the ground, arm twisted to breaking point behind his back, with hot breath by his ear.

“This one’s for the wife,” the manservant said, and slammed Ben’s head viciously on the floor.

“For God’s sake, Merrick.” Lord Crane’s voice sounded rather distant through the pain. “Don’t kill him till we’ve done with him. Where’s Pastern?”

“Where’s fucking Pastern?” Merrick repeated, and twisted Ben’s arm harder till he couldn’t hold back the harsh gasp.

Crane sighed heavily. “When I said don’t kill him, I also meant don’t break him too much. And since it sounds like Mrs. Merrick is making her presence felt out there, I suspect she’s got the bugger. Get him up.”

Merrick dragged Ben to his feet, taking hold of his hair and not loosening the crippling grip on his arm, and pushed him forward, through the back ways of the pub, out to the gardens. Ben blinked in the bright sunshine. His eyes adjusted, and he set his teeth against the despair.

Jonah, on his knees, head pulled back. A wild-haired blonde woman in boy’s clothes with blood running from her nose—the justiciar Saint—holding a knife to his throat. Stephen Day, arms folded, face impassive, looking down at him. And Dora, white-faced and appalled, with Agnes cowering behind her skirts.

“Don’t hurt them,” Ben croaked.

“I’ll hurt him as much as I fucking want,” Saint told him through her teeth.

“
Language
,” Day barked, and immediately held up a hand. “I beg your pardon, Jenny, I forgot.”

“I won’t have talk like that on my premises,” Dora said, trying to keep the shake from her voice. “And I don’t know what that young lady’s dressed like, and what’s going on? Who are you?”

“My name is Day, this is Lord Crane, and Mr. and Mrs. Merrick are in the role of guards. Do you know these men?”

“No, she doesn’t,” Ben and Jonah said, in chorus.

“Spenser was tending the bar,” Lord Crane put in. “So if he’s a customer, he’s quite a forward one.”

“Mmm. It looks to the untutored eye as though you’ve been hiding fugitives from justice,” Day told her. “Which could put you in quite an unpleasant position. Accordingly, madam, I will be giving the orders for the moment, and I recommend that you don’t get in my way.”

Dora’s mouth opened. Ben caught her eye and nodded, as much as he could.
Do it
, he mouthed.

“Right,” Crane said. “Congratulations, Stephen, you have your quarry. What, precisely, do you suggest we do with them? It’s past six now, thanks to these endless winding Godforsaken roads, and I am not driving through nowhere all night, any more than I’m sitting up watching the Amazing Escaping Gadfly there.”

“Fuck you,” Jonah said. “Sorry, Dora.”

Day ignored him. “I have an idea. Let me have a look around.”

Ben and Jonah’s own bedroom was chosen. It was, Day said, quite suitable.

“Iron.” Day closed the heavy cuff around Ben’s wrist. “I’m sure the lock wouldn’t detain Pastern long…” His pupils widened suddenly, and Ben felt something crunch in the lock mechanism of the cuffs. Next to him, held by Merrick and Crane, Jonah gave a sharp inhalation. “Right. That won’t be coming off without a hacksaw.” Day reached to the other cuff, the one around the hasp, to do the same thing. His ring, the mirror image of Crane’s magpie ring, glinted bright against the black imprisoning iron.

Ben was cuffed by one wrist to the iron hasp that stuck out of the roughly plastered wall. The chain was long enough that he could sit or lie on the bed, nothing more. Jonah, white-faced in silent fury, was not chained at all.

“Watch this, Jenny.” Day had placed four candlesticks around the bed, on the floor. He made a quick gesture, and all four wicks ignited at once. A moment’s concentration, then each flame streamed out sideways as if in a fierce draught, before returning to normal. He glanced at Saint, or rather Mrs. Merrick, who gave a quick nod of understanding.

“Right.” Day stepped back to assess his work. “Do you understand the situation?”

Jonah’s eyes were glowing blue, the sea with a storm coming. “You stunted ginger shit,” he hissed, and winced at Crane or Merrick, or both, applying force to his arm.

“I don’t,” Ben said.

“It’s simple enough.” Day moved back to the door. “Pastern is remarkably gifted at escape. You are not. So we’re holding on to you. Even if Pastern can get you out of that cuff, the candles are set as wards, linked to you. I’ll know if you move outside them, and since we’re in the next room, if you break them I’ll be here long before you can get away. So.” He folded his arms. “If Pastern stays around, we will deliver him to the Metropolitan Police, who will doubtless offer a warm welcome, and we’ll let you go.”

Merrick cleared his throat sharply. Crane held up an authoritative hand.

“I’m sure you can talk to him later, Mr. Merrick,” Day said.

“
I’ll
talk to him,” said Mrs. Merrick.

“However,” Day went on. “If Pastern leaves us before we get to London, we’ll still have you. We’ll give you to the Met instead, and they can try you for perverting the course of justice, resisting arrest, aiding and abetting a fugitive, accessory to murder and, of course, for nearly killing Mrs. Merrick when you knocked her out and dropped her off a roof.” His even tone slipped a little on those words, cold anger slicing through like a razor’s edge. Ben could feel Merrick watching him, didn’t dare meet his eyes. “You won’t be as good a burned offering as Pastern, but you will do. So there it is. Enjoy your evening.”

He turned. Crane and Merrick, in silent unison, shoved Jonah forward, so hard he tripped and had to catch himself in the air so he didn’t fall on the bed. Their gaolers left the room, shutting the door with a click.

“They didn’t lock it,” Ben said, into the silence they left behind.

“Of course they didn’t.” Jonah sprang to the cuffs, glowering at whatever damage Day had done to the locks. “They don’t have to. Twisted sod. Bloody justiciars. I can’t do anything to these, he’s mangled the locks, and this is iron, for God’s sake. How strong
is
he?” He looked at the candles, reached out a tentative hand and jerked it back. “And I haven’t a clue what to do about those wards, I never learned anything about those. Oh hell.” Jonah sat on the bed, head in hands. “I’m so sorry.” He swallowed hard. “I’m scared.”

Ben’s chest and lungs were painfully tight.
Not again, not again…

No, not again. He wouldn’t let it happen, the betrayal, the abandonment, Jonah’s tearful eyes before he ran. It couldn’t happen, because it would break him again, and this time he would not be mended.

“If they take you,” he began, and had to cough to clear his throat. “If they take you, they’ll hobble you. Won’t they?”

Jonah nodded, huddled into himself like a bedraggled bird. “They’ll cut me and I won’t be able to walk and… Jesus.” His hands were clenched in his hair. “They’ll take my flight.”

Ben took a deep breath. He filled his mind with Jonah, laughing over the cliff edge, sprinting up a church tower for a kite, fighting a storm to save a life. Jonah on the roof across from a brothel room, holding out his hand.
Score me a try.

Nobody would take that from him. Ben would stop it happening, and it would be his choice to do it.

“Go.” He had to shut his eyes, but his voice didn’t tremble at all. “Get out. If you run now, you can be miles away before morning. They said that I’ll do, they won’t follow you. Go on, Jonah.”

Jonah lifted his head, turned and stared at Ben. “Are you serious?”

“Go,” Ben repeated. “Just—just go.”

“You—you actually…” Jonah was stuttering over his words. “You want me to run, while you go back to prison?”

“It won’t be that bad,” Ben said. “The accessory charge is nonsense.”

“I’ll tell you what’s nonsense.” Jonah whipped round so he was crouching on the bed on all fours over Ben, face white, eyes blazing. “You think I’m going to go, and leave you, again, as if—as if all this— Fuck you, Ben Spenser. Go to hell. I’m not leaving this room until that half-pint son of a whore drags me out, so fuck you if you think I’m leaving you, and fuck you twice if you don’t believe me, because I don’t know what else I can do. I—am—not—leaving—you. I
said
, didn’t I?” His eyes were brimming with hurt. “How can you think I’d do that? What do you think I am?”

“Oh God, Jay.” The pleasure of those words hurt more than any pain Ben could remember. “I don’t—I’m sorry—”

“You should be. What do I have to do to make you see?”

“Jay!” Ben grabbed for him, one arm brought up short by the chain. “Damn it! Jay, come here.
Here
.” He grabbed Jonah’s resisting arm and pulled, until Jonah gave way and tumbled forward, into his one-armed grasp. “Sweetheart, I… But listen, they will hobble you, and I can’t bear that. I won’t let them take that from you. Please go. Please.” He meant it now, with everything he had. He could endure anything for this. “It’ll be so much easier for me—”