Wild Intentions (The Legend of the Thief Taker)

by Chris Hales

  Jonathan instructed Matthew and Ian to watch for trouble while he talked to the distressed Isabel. He approached her with a warm smile and a kind heart.

  “Hello,” he said. “I hear you've had a hard time of it this evening.” He looked at her bruised features, pointing to his own face. “Did he do this?”

  She chuckled uncomfortably to herself, inching towards the fire. “I've had worse,” she stated proudly, determined to be strong. Men had often beat her about the head during sex, but Hitchin seemed determined to scare her rigid and bruise her features in the most dramatic way. Isabel thought she understood why he had attacked her in such an artistic fashion. It was all for Jonathan’s eyes. To prove his gruesome point.

  “Tell me what happened,” encouraged Jonathan as Ian arrived at the table, placing a plate full of stew and a glass of red wine before Isabel.

  She told him the story of her abduction in great detail. About how Charlie had dragged her through the grass and the mud of the graveyard to this large inn. How he had forced her to enter and, after a swift punch to the face, he dragged her inside. Forced to watch as he stuffed his face with food and drank greedily from a bottle of wine she was made to listen to him and his ranting.

  She explained how he then asked her questions about Mary and Jonathan in particular. He told Isabel how he wished to know about the Thief Taker’s business and the way he worked. “Did you answer his questions?” he asked, fearing she knew too much about the way he operated. Had she given him enough to go to the legislature in order to discredit him, while simultaneously clearing his own, tarnished, name?

  “Of course I did,” she answered. “My life was on the line.” She watched Jonathan deflate before her eyes. “Not that any of what I told him was the truth.”

  He looked at her and beamed a smile. “Good girl.”

  She hungrily tucked into her food, relishing in the taste of the wine. “He also told me to deliver a message,” he raised his eyebrows in interest. “A message for you.”

  Sitting forwards he plucked a small potato from her plate and slipped it neatly into his mouth. “What message?”

  She continued to eat, speaking only between mouthfuls. “He said he's sorry,” Jonathan didn't quite understand the apology. “He's sorry he's been out of the game for a while, but he told me to tell you he's back now.” This was unexpected. He thought Hitchin's decline had such momentum there was nothing he could do to save himself. “He knows what you've been doing and your efforts will only help him re-emerge as a champion. He said you'd soon discover the meaning and there are great trials yet to come.”

  Re-emerge as a champion? What did it mean? Maybe Charles had suffered enough at his hand. Was he planning to make a move against him and his gang? He had obviously taken Isabel with the specific intention of bringing him here, possibly so his gang could ambush him. Was he truly so devious?

  “Where is he now?” he asked of her.

  “Upstairs,” she told him. “Sleeping off his wine I'd imagine.”

  That was his mistake. It put Jonathan in the commanding role.

  Passing a gaze over her plate of food he spoke softly. “Finish up. Matthew will walk you home.”

  She nodded her understanding and rapidly started filling her mouth with food. “Make him pay, Jonathan,” she said angrily. “Make him pay good for everything he's done.”

  He reached over the table and took a hold of her wrist gently. “I will, my dear. I will...”

  58

  Approaching Matthew at the bar he gave him his instruction. “Walk her home.” Isabel’s safety was the most pressing of matters. Charles Hitchin wouldn’t have to wait long for his own judgement to descend.

  “Won't you need me?” he asked in return, worried about leaving Jonathan in the company of these terrible thieves. Jonathan knew they would never touch him without Hitchin being present. At least, he hoped this was the case.

  “No,” he said with some amusement. “I have Ian.” He straightened himself and blew his chest out proudly. “Besides, I have other help on the way.”

  Matthew strode across the tavern to Isabel, waiting patiently for her to stand. Together they left, Matthew ensuring she was kept warm under his thick coat. Jonathan perched himself on a tall stool by the bar, Ian resting next to him, his fists ready for combat.

  The noise in the tavern was so high Jonathan never heard the men and the horses arrive outside. With many marshals and constables in his wake Tom was determined to force Hitchin to answer for his crimes. Those who joined him in such dreams were each harbouring the intention only to make a name for themselves, to become men of great legend. Tom briefed them as they congregated before him and explained about his fears Hitchin was not only a killer of women but a gang leader to boot. It had not taken him long to find willing volunteers to accompany him to the tavern. Collins, especially, was in eager expectation of the fight which was brewing.

  He was an exceptional man of the law but he was oddly slow to the fight, always seeking a peaceful solution before he took up arms. As admirable as such thoughtful notions were Collins found himself unprepared for the fight. Any other marshal would have been well versed in matters of violence. Concern clawed at his being and he found himself gripping his sword tighter than any other. He dearly hoped he made it through the night alive.

  Tom entered the tavern first, followed closely by his collection of constables. It didn't take long for Hitchin's gang to realise something terrible was occurring. They jumped to their feet, drawing all manner of crude weapons in preparation to do the others harm. Jonathan watched the two hordes of men rush forwards, intending only to cause as much damage and brutal death as possible.

  He spun on his stool and immediately regretted it. His staff and sword gave the impression of a city marshal. Men rushed to him, but only met with Ian. He defended Jonathan gallantly, striking out with surprising accuracy. The Thief Taker jumped from his perch and ducked to avoid a thrown chair, which clattered over the bar noisily.

  He struggled to keep calm. His apprehension was clear to everyone who observed. With an outstretched sword he hoped he could keep these malicious men at bay. He was greatly relieved to have Ian to hand. Jumping towards any man who drew too close to his friend he brushed them aside with ease.

  Tom noticed him across the tavern and nodded his respect. Jonathan quickly plunged his sword into a random thief, causing him to drop to the floor. He was surprised at how satisfying such a kill could be. Two constables joined the fight before him, ducking and diving to apprehend their prey. Watching proudly Jonathan laughed at Ian's insane efficiency in matters of death. Three of Hitchin's thieves fell to the floor, each dead and covered in blood. He stood, catching his breath, holding only a broken table leg and a smashed glass as weapons. He truly was a master of pain and bereavement.

  It didn't take long for the door which led up the stairs to crash open, Charles Hitchin standing with his sword drawn. This was what he had hoped for, although he was shocked Jonathan was still standing. The Thief Taker whistled loudly, drawing the attention of both Tom and Collins. All three ran to Hitchin, blades outstretched, determined to apprehend the villainous marshal.

  He fought admirably. He thrust and parried, suitably defending himself but Tom and Collins backed him up against the wall. It almost appeared as if his mind was elsewhere. His defence was half-hearted. All three were sure he could fight better than this. Jonathan rushed forwards, taking the opportunity to drive his sword into Hitchin's thigh. He fell to one knee, gritting his teeth in agony. Tom patiently held his own blade to Hitchin's throat.

  “Charles Hitchin,” he said in a pompous manner. “You're under arrest.” He laughed causing Tom to reconsider his statement. Such a chuckle only made all who looked on tremble in anxiety.

  Slowly his men were rounded up, being led outside after the fight. Jonathan approached the injured marshal and leaned in. “You're not very bright are you, Charles.” He continued to chuckle, seemingly happy with his fate. This conf
used the Thief Taker greatly.

  Collins hoisted Hitchin to his feet and allowed two constables to drag him out of the inn. He said nothing, happy with the battle which had occurred inside. He appeared too relaxed, with not a worry in the world. It deeply concerned everyone.

  59

  Walking the streets back to Mary's house, Matthew ensured his thick coat was suitably covering the tired and cold Isabel. She remained quiet, wincing every time she absently touched her face. He looked to her with sympathy, only wishing he could have changed the events of the night.

  “How you doin’?” he asked as they walked.

  Isabel looked to him, a pained expression drawn across her face. “I've never been as scared as I was this evening,” she admitted. “I truly thought he was going to kill me.” Her eyes rolled in an attempt to pass the events of the evening off as a bad dream. Matthew only pulled her closer. He seemed intent on settling her nerves.

  “We'd never let anything happen to you,” he comforted as they turned onto Mary's street.

  “Didn't work for Claire,” Isabel muttered, doubting in their ability to protect all of the girls. Maybe it was pure luck he had found her tonight. The evening could have easily ended in a vastly different manner.

  Matthew stopped Isabel as they reached the turning to the alley behind the brothel. “I don't mean any disrespect,” he stated, “but, she wasn't you.” He looked sheepishly to his feet as Isabel floated before him, an angel of desire and longing.

  “And what am I?” she questioned, placing her tiny hand on his heaving chest.

  He laughed in an attempt to avoid the topic. She only stared him in the eye, shooting her other hand forwards in a similar manner to rest upon his breast. She wouldn't let the subject be avoided so easily. “You're Isabel,” he stupidly stated. “Mary's favourite,” he grinned as if he were a love torn child. “You're my favourite.”

  This wasn't news to her. She had always known he had a soft spot for her. “And what will you do if Charlie tries such a thing again?” she asked.

  He took her shoulders in his hands and moved closer. “I'd fuckin’ kill him. He wouldn't be able to escape my fury.”

  She darted her head forwards, pressing her lips against his. It wasn't a kiss used for business. It was full of emotion and desire. It was filled with lustful purpose.

  60

  Outside of the tavern Jonathan and Tom watched as Hitchin and his men were bundled into huge prison-like carriages. Still Charles did not appear worried, only wincing in pain every time he rested on his injured leg.

  “Thank you,” said Tom to Jonathan warily. He knew the events of the night had only served the Thief Takers purpose. With Hitchin in custody and with him sent to trial, he would certainly reap the rewards. Still, he was sure Jonathan’s innocence was strangely warped. There was definitely something amiss.

  “You'll be famous,” observed Jonathan, trying to calm his frosty and suspicious nature. He would soon discover his status would run symmetrically to the Thief Takers. For a city marshal to arrest an individual such as Hitchin would make him the talk of the town. Hailed by magistrates and the common man alike, he would be regarded as a true hero.

  “Fame doesn't concern me, Jonathan,” he said in his usual, pompous, manner.

  “What does?”

  He laughed quietly. “Ensuring bastards like Hitchin are brought to trial.” He threw an arm around Jonathan's shoulders, walking him away from the others. “I can see what's going on here,” he stated proudly.

  Jonathan chuckled, mimicking him and throwing his arm over his shoulder. “I certainly hope so,” he laughed. “It will make things far more interesting.” It was an obvious invitation which would pull him into the game more deeply.

  He moved away, allowing his arm to fall to his side. “You and Mr Hitchin are in a war. A battle of personal conflict with such gravity others are pulled in unwillingly.” He circled Jonathan, his hand always resting on his sword. “I don't know who is right and who is wrong. Who is good and who is bad, but I will discover the truth,” he seemed to be enjoying this. It was clear he had performed a great deed. His arrest of Hitchin would, indeed, be hailed as a great success but he couldn’t ignore the fact Jonathan’s assistance had been integral. This seemed to conflict with Tom’s feelings. His gut. “I think you're both villains, although I'm sure you hide it far better than he.”

  “An interesting theory,” Jonathan smirked, “but a man like you only works on evidence, and as of yet, you have none against me. I don't think that will be changing any time soon.” He slapped him on the back as he walked away. The ‘evidence’ would only become available if he wanted it to.

  “So long as you know I'm watching you,” Tom called after him. A warning how the corrupt would fall under his harsh justice.

  61

  Charles Hitchin was led to an empty room in the Bailey early the following morning. Still, he seemed calm and relaxed. Even after the uncomfortable night he had spent in the cells beneath the courthouse.

  Collins collected him from the cell and led him upstairs in silence. Hitchin sat in the small room and was forced to wait for the arrival of Tom. He continually massaged his injured leg. Collins thought he was only angry at his inability to protect himself better. They would soon discover why he had allowed himself to be captured so easily. Before long, Tom proudly entered the room and stood before Hitchin with a number of papers.

  “Good morning, Mr Hitchin,” he said with a strong hint of amusement as he sat and spread the papers on the small table. “I trust you had a comfortable night.”

  He laughed genuinely, relaxing in his chair and crossing his legs carefully, hoping to avoid the pain it would cause. “I've had better,” he admitted. “What's all this about?” Of course he knew. This had all been his doing, part of his complex strategy.

  Tom shuffled the papers proudly. Looking to Collins he placed a question. “Where to start?”

  “At the beginning, I guess,” Collins joked. He was going to enjoy this equally as much as Tom. He had started to get the impression events were leading them to a most satisfying climax. Tom seemed to believe Hitchin was guilty of everything Wild claimed and that he, in addition, was similarly as untrustworthy. He was desperate to see where this led them.

  “At the beginning...,” he pondered. “Where are we...?” He shuffled his papers once again until he found the page he was looking for. “Oh yes... It seems you were reported to be selling peoples stolen property back to the owners, usually at incredibly high prices. The magistrates are not happy at all...” Their current situation continued to amuse him. He couldn’t imagine how Hitchin had been so stupid, especially considering his already blemished reputation.

  Hitchin threw his head back in laughter, causing him to pause and consider his previous statement. “A simple misdemeanour,” he continued to chuckle, eyeing Tom as if he were a petulant child. “Sure, I'll get a bit of a telling off, maybe a fine, but other than that I'll be back on the streets within hours.” Laughing, he shot Tom a look of great disregard. He still thought he was untouchable by the law.

  “We found you in the company of a great number of thieves,” added Collins, desperate to assist. “Your thieves we presume.”

  He stopped laughing, wiping tears from his eyes. “Pure coincidence,” he offered. “It’s a well-known haunt for local criminals. Must be hard to believe a city marshal was found in such a place?” It was an obvious point. Collins knew they would never be able to prove he was there for any reason, other than to catch criminals.

  Tom leaned back in his chair, nodding his head slowly. He was also aware claiming he, a city marshal, was found in the company of thieves would never stand up in court. He would only declare he was doing his job. “We also have it, on good authority, you have killed a high number of women over the past few years.”

  Again, he laughed. “You think I'm the riverside killer?” his belly shook as he rolled in amusement. “Who told you that?” he asked. “Jonathan Wild?” He
didn't need to answer, his expression clearly told him the truth. “Where's your evidence to the fact, Mr ..., Edwards isn't it?”

  Collins turned to a quiet knock at the door. Slipping outside he left them glaring sternly at each other. He knew something wasn’t right. Hitchin still appeared far too relaxed.

  “You have nothing,” he accused. “You might as well let me go before you find yourself in even more trouble.”

  Collins re-entered, pulling Tom close and whispering in his ear. He turned sharply to Hitchin, offering him a look of pure disgust. “Stay there,” he vanished abruptly from the room.

  62

  In the vast corridor Tom was confronted by Magistrate Lawson. He stood, hands on hips and bearing a look of pure distaste. He pulled Tom close, speaking clearly in his ear so his point couldn't be missed. Hitchin’s career, his life, wasn’t the only one which hung in the balance. The horrible marshal had explained his plan in great detail.

  “I hear you have Charles Hitchin in custody?” he stated, unimpressed at the current state of affairs. He nodded his head to the door which led to the room at the side. It was clear he was as uncomfortable as Tom.

  “I do,” he replied. “We're questioning him now.” He was desperate to return to that room, itching to continue with his investigation.

  “Release him,” was Lawson's simple order. Tom shook his head determinedly. He had more questions to ask. Pressing him up against the wall he made his point. “The magistrates will deal with him,” he said. “The rest is inconsequential.”

  He couldn't believe they would let him go so easily. He refused to fail again. “I have more for him to answer,” defended Tom. “There are allegations he is a gang leader and a killer.”