by Alex Duncan
‘You forgot to say please.’
She twisted her hands quickly towards her with a trained precision and the man’s hand was instantly released from its grip round her throat and she was free. She continued to twist, ramming her assailant’s arm round his back and the man was forced to double over unless his arm was to break. He gave out an amusingly feminine wail and Rosie bit down on her lip, quelling a laugh.
Once the man had frozen, realising that his thrashing about caused him only more grief, Rosie finally kicked him hard, sending him head first into the brick wall of the alleyway and eventually crumpled in a heap amongst a pile of upturned wooden crates and rotting vegetables.
Rosie looked down at the whimpering figure, dabbing his bloody nose on the back of his sleeve, and shook her head.
‘Samuel Steadfast the younger, what do you think you’re playing at?’
The young man looked at her, then at his blood stained sleeve and his face went very quickly from white to a queasy shade of green.
‘Answer me, or I too shall neglect my manners and I’ll run you through,’ Rosie threatened.
‘One moment please Miss Simply. The sight of blood makes me come over all seasick. Give me a hand up.’
Rosie begrudgingly offered him her hand and helped him up to his feet. He thanked her and, on slightly wobbly legs, he brushed himself down. Rosie then hit him across the face with the back of a closed fist and sent him right back into the crates for the second time.
‘What d’you do that for?!’ he shouted. Rosie looked down at him and scowled.
‘Don’t answer that,’ he said, giving her a quick grin.
‘Explain yourself,’ she said, pulling a sharp hairpin out from her bonnet and wielding it in front of Sam’s face.
‘All right, all right, just put the hairpin away. I meant what I said, I don’t want to harm you…’
‘Excuse me for saying so, but you’ve got a very strange way of showing it.’
‘I only want the tickets. It’s all sold out you see and I have to get in to the event, I have to see it and figure out what’s going on round here.’
‘You could have just asked.’
Sam tried to grin again and sucked in a breath.
‘I think you broke my tooth.’
‘Nought but what you deserved,’ said Rosie, offering her hand to him once more and pulling him up.
‘What’s so important about this event anyway? It was the ball I was looking forward to.’
‘I told you before. It’s where they will reveal the secrets of Hope,’ he said, holding his arms aloft like some theatrical player. ‘The public, well, those that have been deemed worthy, will be shown how the town has turned itself from a rabbit hole full of ne’er-do-wells into a place as fancy as a dandy’s snuff-box.’ Sam sighed deeply. ‘And I want to get to the bottom of it.’
‘The bottom of what Master Steadfast?’
He looked at her, properly, as if for the first time and folded his arms.
‘Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed it miss, you’ve walked through the town, you’ve heard the whispers, you’ve even been in there.’ He pointed back towards the Smith’s house on Tartar Street. ‘Did you see him? Did you see Mr Smith?’
Rosie nodded, an image of the man’s distorted face of fear passing across her mind’s eye.
‘Then you know what I mean. He’s not the first, there have been plenty of others before him, but nobody will say a word about it. Something very wrong is going on here Miss Simply and I’d like to know what.’
Rosie felt a sudden want to confide in the young man but held herself in check, smiled and brushed down the front of her dress.
‘Sounds like a lot of sensational nonsense to me Master Steadfast,’ she said, waggling a finger in his face. ‘I think you may have been reading too many of those novels that I’ve heard so much about.’
‘I think you’re a better fighter than you are a liar Miss Simply.’
‘Now you take that back or I’ll…’
‘Or you’ll what?’
‘Or I’ll show you what I’m really made of…’
‘What’s goin’ on ‘ere?’ called a voice from the other end of the alleyway. They both turned and saw a figure wearing the now familiar black and red uniform striding down towards them. Sam immediately brushed his mess of brown hair forward over his eyes, slouched his shoulders and stared down to the ground.
‘…er…nothing sir. Me and the lady here was just having a chat sir. Nice day for a chat sir. I aint been causin’ no fuss. Nothing to worry about here sir, I promise.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that,’ said the guard, planting his hand obviously onto the hilt of his sword, ensuring that they could see him do so. ‘Was this lad causing you any upset miss?’ he addressed Rosie. ‘‘Cos if he was it won’t be no problem to have him escorted over the wall, if you get my meaning.’ He tapped his finger to the side of his nose.
‘I’m afraid I don’t get your meaning sir,’ replied Rosie. ‘Over what wall?’
‘You know miss, the wall.’ Again he tapped the side of his nose, and added a wink for good measure.
‘Sir I have not the faintest idea what you’re meaning is, but you have made yourself known and we have kindly informed you that your services are not required. Now if you don’t mind leaving us, we were having a perfectly reasonable chat before you showed up.’
‘There’s no need to be like that miss; it’s my duty to police this area. If I was in a fouler temper I might think about escorting the both of you over the wall.’
‘Do be quiet you miserable oaf,’ she said. Sam looked horrified. He tried to signal to her to hush, but she seemed to be having none of it. ‘You’re boring me, now please shoo!’ She made a gesture as if to rid herself of a pestering dog, which the guard didn’t take too well and pulled his hand on the hilt of his sword, revealing the beginning of the shiny steel blade glinting in the light.
‘I won’t be spoken to like that miss, not by no gentleman and not by no lady neither…’
He began to walk towards them but stopped suddenly with a look of unencumbered surprise. He then stood as stiff as a board for a short moment before collapsing, like a puppet with its strings cut, quite gently to the floor. Behind him stood a silhouette.
Sam quickly pulled himself together when the figure walked forward and he saw that it was Miss Simply’s guardian, the old man Mr Homespun, walking with his cane.
‘Oh sir, you can’t go and do a thing like that! We could get in real trouble if we’re found out. I promise you.’
‘Then we mustn’t be found out Master Steadfast,’ said the old man, pulling the guard to the side of the alleyway, as if he was as light as a sack of hay, and throwing some of the empty crates over him. ‘He’ll wake up in an hour or so, with no memory of what happened and a wicked headache I don’t doubt.’
There was something very odd about these two, thought Sam, watching the pair of them. He was certain of it.
‘Perhaps you could answer some questions for us young man,’ said Henry, turning to Sam and lifting his cane up to his face. ‘First of all, what did that thing…’ he pointed down to the body of the guard. ‘…mean when he said over the wall?’
‘The old Hope factory I think, and the workhouses, they’re over the wall behind the mount. You can’t see them from the town and you can’t see them from up our way ‘cos of the trees around them and the edge of the valley. It’s all near where the river runs. Folk don’t talk of it much, I expect they’re trying to ignore it altogether after the fuss they’ve had with the place in the past.’
‘I should like to look over that place sometime soon,’ Henry said, half to himself. Sam stood looking from the young lady to the old man and back to the young lady again.
‘‘Ere,’ he said. ‘You two aren’t normal.’
‘What on earth do you mean?’ asked Rosie.
‘I mean, you’re both normal people, like me, but that’s about it isn’t it. What you do is
n’t normal is it? I reckon you two go snooping around and digging stuff up.’
‘Digging stuff up? We’re not common gardeners Master Steadfast…’
‘You’ve probably got false names and things like that.’
‘False names? Poppycock boy!’
‘‘Cos, if you were, you know, snooping around,’ he too tapped a finger to the side of his nose and Rosie sighed, ‘you’ll want me around. I’m you’re man I am. Very good in a tight spot.’
‘As you have proved so gallantly already,’ said Rosie, rubbing the knuckles of her closed fist, much to Sam’s chagrin.
‘You have us quite mistaken boy,’ said the old man. ‘We are merely here to see the town and its surrounding areas. Call us tourists if you like. But we may need to ask you some more questions, purely for research purposes you understand.’
‘Yes, you and your father,’ added Rosie.
‘My father, why him?’
‘No reason, no reason,’ she said, smiling innocently at him and clutching her necklace.
‘So, I think it’s best you return with us to our lodgings,’ Henry said, tapping his cane to Sam’s back and urging him onwards out of the alleyway and back towards the busy thoroughfare.
‘There’s someone I’d like you to meet.’
◆◆◆
The three of them left the town behind and headed back up Hope Hill to the Hope and Charity. The hot sun glared down on them in a clear sky as they walked up the steep path and the lively sounds of commerce gradually softened as they made their way further up the hill.
As exhilarating a place as she found the town, Rosie felt relieved to have the open space around her once more and not have to be constantly dodging out of people’s way and excusing herself with every step she took. It was certainly exhausting being a lady of fashionable society.
Sam led the way with his lolloping gait as Rosie discussed her findings, in a hushed voice, with her grandfather. They spoke of Mr Smith and the curious abundance of guards and the wall and the collection of peculiar folk and even more peculiar gossip they had come across. All in all, they concluded, it had been a most rewarding morning. Whether it had any connection to the previous night’s stranger, they were yet to know. Rosie hoped to find him awake and his fever broken, only then would they be able to discern his place in Hope’s unwholesome business.
All this reeled in her mind as they continued on their way.
Trudging on, Sam turned and caught a glimpse of the old man with his ragged grey hair blowing about his face. His expression was blank and though his coolness suggested a general disdain for most things, Sam saw a rare fire in his hazel eyes that was still burning hot. Mr Homespun indeed! He then turned to the old man’s ward. He was safe in the knowledge that he’d never met a young lady like her before, if there was another like her at all. There was something altogether unhinged and wild about her. He felt both exhilarated and a touch scared in her company at the same time.
Rosie caught him looking at her and he blushed and quickly turned away.
It wasn’t long before they were back in the tavern, had climbed the stairs and were outside their chambers. Henry produced a set of keys from a pocket of his frock coat, unlocked the door and pushed it open. Before Sam could enter, he held him back with his cane.
‘Do not be alarmed by what you see boy, the world is a larger place than you may yet know.’
Sam smiled, pushed aside the cane and walked into the room. He then gave a loud shriek, which set both Rosie and Henry on edge as they rushed in after him. The cry instantly turned into a laugh as he looked about the room. It seemed as though a hurricane had hit it; wood was splintered from the floorboards, the windows were smashed in and all their belongings were strewn over the floor.
‘Oh Lor’!’ cried Sam. ‘I am alarmed sir. Let me run from this room and curl up under my bed for fear of the world swallowing me whole!’ He was still laughing. ‘I never would have thought that such respectable folk as yourselves could ever cause such a mess! My father wont be best pleased I can tell you that for nothing.’
Henry pulled him back into the doorway and held him there as he too looked into the room. There was broken glass glittering on the floor and torn sheets and shattered furniture everywhere.
But that was far from all.
‘So, where’s this person you’d like me to meet?’ asked Sam, still chuckling away.
The bed frame lay in pieces in the corner of the room, the feathers of the ripped pillows floating down to the ground, and what was left of the bed was empty.
As for the mysterious stranger.
He was nowhere to be seen.
CHAPTER THREE
Samuel Steadfast the elder stared at the back of the man’s head in front of him as they both descended the steep spiral staircase. It wasn’t a nice head to stare at. It was what he would call thickset. There were a few remaining patches of finely cropped fair hair scattered around the man’s bulky skull, like a well worn field, and a neck so small and so wide it looked as though he had wrapped a thick sausage around his shoulders. Steadfast didn’t like the man ahead of him and when he was in his company he liked himself even less. He couldn’t help it, but as soon as he was in the same vicinity as the man he became immediately restless and found himself grovelling and simpering like some street urchin begging for scraps. He suspected it was the same with most people that had the misfortune of spending time with the man. He was one of nature’s born thugs.
The man’s name was Thump.
As far as Steadfast knew, Thump had been the captain of a successful galleon, a merchant and a businessman of some repute. He was well known for acquiring popular goods (silks, spices, tobacco, rum…the usual) at a surprisingly reasonable price and passing them off to other like-minded business folk for a considerable personal profit. In Steadfast’s book that made Thump a pirate.
‘‘S gonna cost you this time Steadfast,’ said Thump, continuing down the dusty corkscrew staircase. ‘I’ve covered for you once already and now ’ere’s you asking me again. That sounds like a favour to me, and if you knew me, you’d know I give out favours as often as I give out free grog!’ He noisily cleared the back of his throat and spat onto the ground.
Steadfast didn’t reply. He already knew it was going to cost him. Everything had its price to men like Thump.
‘One of those precious slaves broke his shackles and escaped last night. I don’t reckon Apollo is gonna be right chuffed about it, do you?’
That name, Apollo, made Steadfast shudder.
‘If I was you I’d wish for the fires of hell over Apollo in one of his tempers I would.’
Thump was of course right. No one would willingly cross Apollo. No one would be so stupid.
‘Yes siree he can get quite hot under the collar can Apollo…’
‘All right Thump, I get it!’ Steadfast cut in. ‘Apollo would be very cross if he found out, you’ve made your point.’ He stepped down from the last step and followed the pirate through the corridor only inches wide enough for the man’s broad shoulders.
‘I still don’t understand how one of them could have escaped,’ grumbled Steadfast. ‘They were all blindfolded and drugged as far as I can remember, and it’s like a labyrinth down here, it’d be impossible to escape.’
‘Not if your life depended on it,’ Thump chuckled, scratching his flaky scalp. ‘Mark my words Steadfast, they’re slippery fish these slaves we’re dealin’ with.’
‘But they’re bound in chains. Heavy, metal chains.’
Thump stopped in the narrow corridor and turned around to face Steadfast. His face was as wrinkled as a barnacle and his skin was as weathered as you’d expect from over two decades on the open sea. One grey eye looked him squarely in the face and the other was a pale glass ball reflecting the orange hue of the burning lamp in the bracket on the wall next to him.
‘When has metal stopped a man’s will?’ he asked with a broken toothed smile.
When it’s a bullet, thou
ght Steadfast, but dared not say aloud.
‘Surely something was done when the guard found him gone, they wouldn’t just leave one of them to get away.’ He realized he was sweating and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. ‘Apollo has…things to get rid of people doesn’t he, surely one of them was sent out?’
‘Aye, something was sent to get ‘im. Which means,’ said Thump, prodding Steadfast in between the eyes with a stumpy finger, ‘that there’s either a body somewhere out there that we can’t find or somehow he got away. Either way it’s your job to go and find ‘im.’
‘Why me?’
‘‘Cos he just happened to be holdin’ something that you pinched when he got out.’
‘What’s that got to do with anything? It was just a necklace from someone staying at the tavern. Apollo insisted that I get an object from everyone staying there this week.’
‘But it was something you pinched and now he’s gone. That makes you responsible. I’d hate to tell Apollo that it’s all your fault.’
Thump was still grinning when he reached the end of the corridor and pushed the double doors open. They were both drenched in light as they walked into an ornate circular chamber draped in gold leaf and lit by a large crystal chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. There was a fine leather bound desk in the centre of the room with a beautiful dark wooden chair sitting behind it. On top of the desk there was a pot of ink, a jar of several quills and a fine china pot with steam drifting up from its spout.
‘Tea?’ asked Thump, pouring himself a cup.
‘I’d like to get this matter over with first, if it’s all the same to you.’
‘Fair enough, just tryin’ to be civil. I am helpin’ a fellow in distress, the least you could do is show a little gratitude.’
‘Then pour me the blasted tea and tell me how much it is you’re after. What will your silence cost?’ Steadfast pulled out a handful of banknotes and began counting them.
‘Well, I’ve been thinkin’ about that,’ said Thump, staring down at Steadfast’s hands, ‘I don’t want your money this time.’