‘Stable is good,’ he declared. ‘Man knows his job. Horses safe.’
‘That’s good to hear, Fecks. Did you ask the cost? Only I didn’t bring much money with me.’
‘Nyet. Geroy will pay.’
‘Lord Clearwater doesn’t have an account at every inn in the county,’ James smiled. ‘We’ll see how we get on.’
They removed as much of their wet clothing as was acceptable, putting their boots to dry by the hearth and hanging their jackets over the fireguard. When she returned, the landlady didn’t seem in the least surprised to see them half-dressed, and James guessed the inn was used to weathered sailors and fishermen returning from sea in a similar state.
The storm intensified as they ate, the wind moaning over the chimney and lightning crackling beyond the windows. The sound was underscored by the repetitive boom of the tide against the sea wall as it vibrated through the low-ceilinged bar and into James’ chest. The food and fire were luxuries after two days of riding, but it also reminded him of Jerry. He tried not to think of the boy struggling against the storm, lost and crying, while he and Fecker were warm and sheltered. The horses were safer than the lad, but there was nothing they could do until the weather eased. As Fecker had said, there was no point them risking injury or worse. What use would they be then?
He did, however, express his concerns to the Ukrainian, and asked how he had survived his great walk from his homeland to Italy when he was younger.
‘You just survive’, Fecker said. ‘Or you die.’
‘That’s hardly the reassurance I was after, mate.’
‘We will find him, Tato.’ Fecker rested a hand on James’ knee. ‘I know this.’ Sitting back, he drained his tankard.
‘Tato? What’s that mean?’
Fecker twisted to hail the landlady and wave his tankard in her direction. When he turned back, his white teeth were glinting in the lamplight, his mouth a cheerful gash across his chiselled face.
‘Tato,’ he repeated, nodding. ‘Da, your prisvisko found you.’
‘Come on, man, I had enough of Silas going on about Mr Smith’s funny language, what are you talking about?’
‘Few men have real prisvisko,’ Fecker said. ‘It finds you. I don’t invent. You call it… I don’t remember. Like Banyak.’
‘A nickname?’
‘Da. Nicked name.’
‘What does Banyak mean, anyway?’
Fecker’s grin widened, and he did something James had never seen him do. He giggled. It was short-lived, and he fell serious. ‘The Master I call Geroy because it means honourable,’ he said, covering his childishness.
‘Yes, I know that. What is Banyak?’
‘Alright, I tell you because you are Tato.’ He wiped the last of his gravy from his plate with his fingers and sucked them clean before continuing. ‘Banyak in my village is for cooking. Small pot. Everything goes in, bones, flesh, good things, bad things, out comes dinner.’
‘So, your best mate is a cooking pot?’ It was a ludicrous thing to ask.
‘Nyet.’ Fecker shook his head. ‘Banyak also mean something else.’ Shuffling closer on his chair, he touched the side of his nose with a finger, and said, ‘Is also secret for two men. What we know and don’t say. If you have friend like this, you have banyak to keep secrets in, good things, bad things, but nothing comes out. No-one else learns secrets.’
James recalled what he knew about Silas and Andrej before he met them. They had shared a difficult past and experienced much together that was best not disclosed. When he thought of it from that perspective, the explanation made sense.
‘But a Tato?’ he asked. ‘What am I, a King Edward’s or something?’
Fecker let loose a raucous belly laugh that caused the landlady to shriek and duck behind the beer pumps in panic.
‘Nyet,’ he said, once everyone had recovered. ‘You with your boy, Jerry. You make fuss, you worry, you read him books, take his hand, you care. Not just this boy, but Banyak, Geroy, Bolshoydick, even woman in black and my Lucy. You look before them.’
‘You mean, I look after them.’
‘Da. Is it? You, Jimmy, you always do right thing. You care like a Tato.’
‘Thank you, but what the fuck is a Tato?’
Fecker sighed heavily, his eyes boring into James, his face still displaying good humour. ‘You are, Jimmy. It means you are a…’
A deafening rumble of thunder accompanied the crashing of the inn door against its hinges. The landlady shrieked again, louder this time, and James shot from his chair. Rain hurtled in behind a man in oilskins, a hurricane lamp swinging from his hand. He flicked back his cowl and searched the bar with eyes that dripped water and burned with panic. They landed on James and Fecker.
‘You’ll do.’
‘Whatever is it, Petroc?’ The landlady shouted against the cacophony of the elements.
‘There be a child putting a sea in Jack Corney’s skiff of west pier.’
James’ heart froze, and Fecker gripped his arm.
‘No time a fetch me crew,’ the man yelled, pulling up his cowl. ‘Lads, get out ’ere afore the pup kills himself.’
Twenty
The storm attacked James as soon as he ran from the inn, but panic blocked the cold and stabbing rain. There was no time to pull on his boots, but his feet were already wet, and the puddles meant nothing as he followed the man, trying to see ahead through the downpour.
‘There!’ the fisherman shouted against the screaming wind.
Twenty yards ahead, a figure, tiny against the harbour wall, was hanging from a ladder by one hand, pulling in a small boat by its painter with the other. It was Jerry being beaten by the spray from waves as the gale sliced across the foaming surface.
‘Boy’s an idiot.’ Fecker was on James’ heels. ‘What’s he do?’
There was no time for discussion and no time to think about the consequences. James didn’t need to, If Jerry pushed off from the safety of the mooring and into the swell, the boat would be swamped. Other craft nearby were listing, some were half-filled and sinking, while along the harbour, those badly moored were slamming into the wall.
A flash of light accompanied a second later by a crash of thunder revealed another man, not far from Jerry. He was doing nothing to stop the boy but was standing at the opening of a narrow alleyway, his head flying from side to side as if he was searching.
For a split second, James was convinced he knew the face, but it was quickly enveloped by darkness, and when the lightning struck again, the man had gone.
The sweep of the lighthouse brought the scene into sharp focus just as Jerry threw the rope into the boat and jumped in after it. By the time James arrived at the ladder, the boy was wrestling with an oar far too big for him, and the skiff was being buffeted against the quay.
‘Oi!’ the fisherman screamed, skidding to a halt. ‘What the buggery d’you think you be playing at?’
Jerry took no notice, or he couldn’t hear. He heaved the oar to the wall and pushed, desperate to send the boat into the maelstrom.
James screamed his name, but it was snatched by the wind and swallowed by the tempest. A second shout met the same fate.
Fecker threw himself on his belly and reached over the quayside, but the boy was too far below and being dragged further along the wall by the current. He was sliding his legs over the edge to lower himself down when James stopped him.
‘No Fecks,’ he roared, pulling him back. ‘You can’t swim.’
‘He drowns.’
‘Yeah, and so do you.’
‘Quick, lads or he be done for!’
The fisherman’s yell diverted their attention and, as the lighthouse beam swept past, James watched, horrified, as a massive wave rolled across the surface, the skiff smashed into t
he wall and Jerry tumbled backwards into the water.
‘Where’s the lifeboat?’ the fisherman yelled to the others along the quay. None heard. They were too busy saving their own livelihoods.
Instinctively, James pulled his shirt over his head, threw it away and dived.
The storm was suddenly gone, and all he could hear was the rush and gurgle of the turbulent sea. Freezing water impacted on his skull and stole his breath until he broke the surface a second later, but he might just as well have stayed beneath. Salt spray slashed his eyes and choked his throat as he thrashed, gaining his bearings. Above him, the fisherman’s lantern gave him a light to steer by, and he located the boat five yards distant. There was no sign of Jerry.
Kicking his legs and pumping his arms, James swam. Coming up for air as the light raced overhead, he saw a small hand reaching from the teaming water and trying to grab the gunwale. The current pulled the boy under, and James swam harder, fighting the swell and bending his head to his shoulder to avoid inhaling spray.
His hand met the side of the boat, and he grabbed it, holding himself steady against the raging waves.
‘There!’
Fecker’s voice, the fisherman’s lantern close by, both men pointing a few feet in front of James’ face, but he could see no-one in the water. Taking a deep breath, he dived. The boom-crash of the waves against the wall invaded his ears, as his hands thrashed and twisted, finding nothing. Coming up for air, he swallowed saltwater, and choking it out, took another breath and crashed back into the madness.
This time he was lucky, and his fingers touched flesh. Clutching Jerry, he heaved and kicked himself to the surface dragging the boy up with one hand. His other found the sea wall and stabilising himself, he pulled Jerry until he could hold him around his chest. Jerry wailed and fought against his rescuer.
‘You’re all right,’ James spluttered. ‘You’re okay.’
Using the cracks and rough stones, he dragged himself towards the ladder where Fecker was hanging perilously from the three fingers of his left hand and reaching down. The closer he came, the more Jerry protested, and as soon as he was close enough, James passed Jerry to safety, and clung to the ladder to catch his breath.
Angry at being robbed of its prey, the tide slammed the skiff against the wall, forcing James to catch the bow to prevent himself being crushed. Gasping and shaking, he secured the rope, pushed the boat out from the wall and climbed, his arms weak and his lungs burning.
A rough hand took his and hauled him onto the quay. ‘You be alright, lad?’ the fisherman asked, holding his hood to his head, his old eyes mere slits against the rain.
James nodded, he was more concerned for Jerry, but when he saw him, he became more concerned for Fecker. The Ukrainian had him firmly by the collar, but Jerry was pumping his fists into Fecker’s stomach and kicking his shins, shouting hysterically.
‘I throw him back?’ Fecker bellowed, but the threat made no difference to the boy, he was determined to get away.
‘No, Fecks.’ James nearly laughed, not sure if he was serious. ‘Get him to the inn.’
‘You done well, mate,’ the fisherman said, landing a hand on James’ shoulder.
‘Everything alright, Sam?’ A constable had arrived, holding a lantern to the fisherman’s face as thunder rolled overhead.
‘Aye, Bert. This nipper got in trouble.’
Jerry’s hysterics had not abated.
‘Who’s this?’ the policeman asked, shining his light directly at the lad’s face.
‘He’s with me.’ James stepped in. ‘I don’t know what came over him.’
As soon as James laid a hand on Jerry’s arm, the boy’s head swung around, he saw who it was and stopped attacking Fecker. Instead, he clawed away from him, and clung to James, sobbing into his chest.
‘Aye, well better get him inside,’ the officer hollered. ‘Any damage, Stan?’
‘Opposite. This man saved Corney’s skiff.’
‘We’re going back to the…’
James froze. The lighthouse beam had skimmed the alley again, and in a burst of lighting, he saw the man was back. This time there was no mistaking who it was.
Smith.
Jerry clung to James tighter, whimpering.
‘You see that?’ Fecker pointed to the alley, but Smith was gone. ‘That Smith.’
At the mention of the same, Jerry began thrashing again, terrified.
‘Son,’ the policeman shouted in Jerry’s ear. ‘Was that man after you?’
Jerry nodded violently.
‘Has he hurt you?’
Jerry whimpered.
‘Why we still in this rain shit?’ Fecker demanded with his usual bluntness, poking the policeman in the chest. ‘You and me, we find that man.’ Pushing James towards the inn, he said, ‘You get crazy boy inside.’ Leaving no room for debate, he took the startled officer by the arm and ran.
‘Aye, get dry, lad,’ the fisherman yelled. ‘And my thanks for your help.’
By the time James had carried Jerry back to the clammy warmth of the inn, his legs were buckling and he could hardly feel his arms, but at least Jerry’s hysterics had calmed to a gentle sob.
‘Oh, my word! The landlady exclaimed, rushing to close the door. ‘What’s happened to this little mite?’
‘Exactly what I want to know,’ James stammered.
‘Sir, you’re shaking with cold.’ She tried to take the boy from him, but Jerry wasn’t having it and buried his head harder into James.
‘You said you had a room, Mrs…?’
‘Just Mary. Aye, I do. Come with me.’
Dripping, and trying not to slip on the flagstones, James followed her across the bar towards a door. ‘Jerry,’ he said. ‘I’m going to have to put you down, or I’ll drop you. Can I do that?’
Jerry shook his head.
‘One moment, Mary.’ James sank into a chair with the boy still wrapped around him. It was awkward, and James was shivering to the point where he could barely control his teeth, but he cradled that lad’s head and spoke softly. ‘Jerry, I’m not angry with you, but I am very worried. We’ve been looking for you for two days. Everyone’s concerned, and I need to know what you were thinking. But first, we need to get you dry and warm.’
Mary hung a towel over James’ shoulders and crouched beside them. When she tried to take Jerry’s hand, he pulled away.
‘The boy’s been on an adventure,’ she said, winking. ‘And like a proper explorer back from his travels, what he wants now is a hot bath and some of my beef stew. Doctor Livingstone always asked for it when he called on his way back from an expedition.’
James raised an eyebrow, and Mary shrugged.
‘Does that sound like a good idea, Jerry?’ James asked, his voice was no more than a whisper; it was all his frozen lungs could manage.
A nervous nod of the young head brought a smile to the landlady’s lips.
‘Well then,’ she said, standing. ‘I’ll get my Victoria to bring up hot water for the tub while your…’ She pulled a questioning face at James.
‘Uncle.’ It was the first thing that came into his head.
‘While your uncle here gets you ready for a bath. There are towels in the cupboard on the landing, Sir,’ she added. ‘And I’d get one of the bed blankets around the both of you soon as you can.’
‘Okay, Jerry. I need you to walk on your own now. Can you do that?’
Jerry nodded and slithered from James’ lap. Taking his hand, James led the boy to the door, his head light and his insides a block of ice. Mary called for her girl with a bark that challenged the thunder for volume and took her guests up a narrow flight of steep stairs where she showed James a low-ceilinged room at the front of the inn. Two beds stood either side of a small fireplace, already made up and wi
th spare logs lined across its mantlepiece. Apart from one chair and some hooks on the walls, a tin bath leaning up in a corner and a shelf that needed fixing, the room was empty.
‘It’s my best suite,’ the landlady said, beaming. ‘I’ll just light the fire.’
Sitting Jerry on the chair, James finally had a chance to examine him. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy from the salt of tears and seawater, and his clothes were a sorry state, but the lad himself looked unharmed.
‘I’m sorry, Uncle Jimmy.’ His words were barely audible, and they were broken through his shivering.
James followed Mary’s advice and wrapped Jerry in a blanket before taking the other for himself.
‘I’ll bring your clothes up presently, Sir,’ she said. ‘Where’s your…? Where’s the tall one?’
‘He’ll be back later,’ James replied, wondering the same thing. ‘He’s, er, helping the constable with…’ Throwing a sideways glance at Jerry, he decided it was best not to mention Smith at that moment. ‘He’s helping in the harbour.’
‘Right, me duck. You two stay warm, and I’ll be back with what you need.’
The landlady’s daughter brought buckets of hot water, soap and towels, the tub was filled, and when they were finally alone, James turned his back while Jerry undressed and stepped into the water. As the lad was washing, he took off his own wet clothes and rewrapped the blanket tightly before hanging his trousers and long johns on the back of the chair. The storm rattled on, but had just started to fade when the landlady returned carrying a bundle.
‘Old Jack Corney’s missus brought these over,’ she said, offering an assortment of clothes. ‘Wanted to say thank you for saving his boat. They’re a bit old but might fit you and your nephew. You can keep them.’ She put them on the bed. ‘Now I’ll just go and get you that stew.’ She smiled at Jerry, rolled her eyes at James, said, ‘Nippers, eh? Who’d have them?’ and shuffled away.
‘You’re very lucky to have people looking after you, Jerry,’ James said, sorting through the pile. Are you ready to tell me what’s been happening? Why you ran away from Larkspur, and why you are so scared of that man?’
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