The Outlaw and the Upstart King

by Rod Duncan

  Elizabeth felt the wind against the side of her face. She shivered. She could see the shingle fading away into the white on either side, and small waves tumbling the stones against each other. It was a wider view than she’d had at the start. There were strands in the fog now, tentacles of denser or thinner white. And more light was making it through from above.

  The sound of another steam engine reached her, more distant than the first. And then yet another. They were all starting up, preparing for the race to intercept.

  Something dark floated in the water directly out from where she sat. She’d taken it to be a rock. But now she saw that it rose and fell with each wave. Size and distance were hard to estimate, but it seemed not unlike a floating body. The fog thickened and she lost it for a moment. The next clear patch revealed it closer to the shore.

  It resolved into the dark face of a seal, only its head above water, looking directly at her. She found herself laughing. Footsteps ground the shingle away to her right. A shadow became the familiar figure of Elias.

  “I recognise that voice,” he said. “Though I can’t remember hearing you laugh.”

  He approached and the seal pulled away from the shore.

  “What are you doing out?” she asked.

  “They won’t let me in the saloon,” he said. “What about you?”

  “Looking for a way to cross the water.”

  “You’ll not find one. Not here.” He sat himself on the rock next to her. The seal dipped under, reappearing closer to the shore. “If I had a gun, I could shoot him,” Elias said.

  “No!”

  “You eat sheep, don’t you? There must be twenty or thirty peasants round this bay. Any one of them would kill him if he came in close enough. The oil from that one beast could be the difference between starving and a good winter. But look at him, he stays just far enough out. Too deep for us to wade in and get the body. We’d freeze if we tried to swim it. And it’s foggy so he knows he could escape if we moved to launch a boat. He’s learned it. So he takes the risk. Comes in to steal from crab pots in the bay.”

  “He isn’t stealing.”

  “Then his belly must be full.”

  “He’s watching us.”

  “He knows what he’s doing. Not like you. If you went to the Reckoning, it’d be like him coming up on the beach right here. He’d be dead in a second.”

  “You want revenge,” she said.

  He picked up a stone and cast it into the water. The seal dipped under. She peered into the grey.

  “Yes, I want revenge,” Elias said. “And don’t you judge me for it. You don’t know what they did.”

  “They cut off your thumbs.”

  “That was the start of it. They think I escaped from this place. But the smugglers took me prisoner.” He pointed west and seemed to be staring into the far distance, though there was nothing to see beyond a few yards of rock and beach shingle. “They carried me as a slave. All the way to the Yukon. I wasn’t the first from here to take that road. There’s been others before. But I was the first to survive it.”

  He dipped into the pocket of his cloak then held out his thumbless hand. The green jar rested on his upturned palm. She reached out to take it, but he closed his fingers round the glass.

  “Your tonic,” she said.

  He nodded. “More than a tonic. This is what we made in the Yukon. So much of it, you can’t imagine. A touch of it can save a man’s life if his heart’s wrong. But making it gets to be a one way road. First it gives you headaches. You throw up. You’re dizzy. Then you’re used to it. And then… well, it worms its way into your body so you can’t live without it.”

  “Can you make it yourself?”

  “With all the stuff we had out there – I could do it in my sleep. But…” He shrugged.

  “You don’t have them.”

  “Nor any chance.”

  He held the jar up so the light came through the glass, revealing a pea-sized lump.

  “How long will it last?”

  “A week,” he said. “Maybe. I skipped my dose this morning. I can feel it now. Across here.” He rubbed a hand over his chest. “It’s tight. And it hurts.”

  She watched him remove the stopper. With the tip of his cloak pin he excavated a smear of the tonic and wiped it inside his mouth. She could see the relaxation spreading over his face and shoulders. And then, as he pushed back the stopper, a new expression formed. It was, she thought, a kind of fey despair.

  “They’ll give me more when I’ve done my task.”

  “You’ve snared Jago already. That was what they wanted.”

  “I have. He’s mad with dreams of power.”

  “Then you’ll have your tonic.”

  “Maybe. But they’d never give me enough. Why would they? So long as they have what I need, I must do all they say. They’ll want to keep me like this. On a short leash.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “I’m not. They want to bring down the Patrons. I want revenge. We’ll change the map together.”

  He picked up a handful of small stones and flung them towards the water. Some landed short. The seal had long gone.

  “Why do they want to kill the Patrons?” she asked.

  “They’ve a kingdom in the west. From the Oregon territories up into the Yukon. If they place a king here – a puppet in their power – they’ll have both coasts. That means both oceans. Why does anyone want to conquer?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “My great uncle told me once that Alexander wept when it was done. When there was nothing more to take. He grabbed the world because it was there – all laid out for him. There was no reason beyond that. There never is. But if they have the two oceans, they’ll get the land between.”

  “What then?”

  “Then the rest. The Gas-Lit Empire. They’ll take it all. This…” He held up the pot again for her to see. “This is a poison. Also a medicine. And yet also an explosive. There’s more death packed into it than anything else. Why wouldn’t they draw a new map, with their own names written large across it?

  “You should stay here. When the Reckoning comes, I’ll go with Jago. There’ll be… I don’t know what. A bomb. The death of many. The Patrons, their bloodlines, they’ll all be together. One moment – one great explosion. There’s going to be chaos after. Every clan at war. For a time nowhere’s going to be safe.

  “But just after it happens, there’s going to be thousands trying to cross the water. That’s the time you should go. In the chaos. Your odds will be better. You’ll find a place on one of the boats.”

  A shout came from the direction of the inn, made soft as a whisper by the fog. A man’s voice, calling Elizabeth’s name. One of the gatherers, she thought, though she couldn’t tell which. New men had ridden in during the night. Jago was still lightly guarded by the standards of the Patrons. But no longer quite so vulnerable.

  She got to her feet. Her skirts were soaked through where she’d been sitting. The shout came again. Two voices this time.

  “Walk away,” Elias said.

  She looked down at him, weighing his words. The thing was, she’d lived for years on the edge of a knife. There’d been a few months of peace here and there. A few months of love. But she’d had to walk towards death as many times as she’d run away from it. If it was just for herself, she might have taken the odds he suggested. But she couldn’t calculate the lives of her friends in the same way. If she went to meet the smugglers again and failed, Julia and Tinker could still risk a crossing in the chaos, as Elias had suggested.

  “Walk away,” Elias said. “Escape. They’ll never find you in this fog.”

  “You can’t escape from yourself,” she said. Then, picking her way towards the voices, she called out. “I’m here. I’m coming.”

  Everyone was up and moving inside the Salt Ray. Except for Jago, who sat in the chair next to the fire with his feet up on the stool. It was the same position he’d occupied the first time she saw him.
But something was different: the set of his face, the position of his hands on the arm rests. He looked like a king.

  Maria Rosa caught her arm and pulled her into the counting house, closing the door behind them, sealing them in. It was a room with no windows. No other way out. The bolts were iron bars, thick as Elizabeth’s finger. It would be the door frame that gave way if they kicked it down. Firehand might do it without breaking sweat.

  “He’s leaving,” Maria Rosa said. “A man rode in half an hour ago. Went straight to Jago. And now this.”

  “Which road did he come by?” Elizabeth asked.

  The mistress shook her head. “The fog’s too thick to say.”

  She went to the corner safe, unlocked it and lifted out a purse. It clinked as she placed it in Elizabeth’s hand. It was heavy. Inside was mostly gold: whole coins, parts of coins and a quantity of jewellery scrap.

  “He gave me this. Jago. For you – or, for the use of you. He wants to take you with him. He just put it in my hand and walked away. I tried to give it back, but he won’t listen.”

  “How much does this buy?”

  “He said he’s taking you to the Reckoning.”

  “Is the price… reasonable?”

  “You can’t go!”

  “But if I was a slave…” She hefted the purse in her hand, making the metal sound within.

  “He’s paying a fortune. If I asked for that amount from any other Patron for a month of your time, he’d take it as an insult. But Jago… I don’t understand what’s happening.”

  Elizabeth gave the purse back and closed Maria Rosa’s fingers around it. “Be grateful,” she said, wondering how much Jago would have in his treasury, how quickly he’d go through it at this rate. In his mind, he’d already become the king. It had given him a kind of dark charisma. Over the last couple of days she’d seen the force of his personality pushing others aside like the bow wave of a great ship. They might not have understood what was happening, but she remembered how shallowly they’d bowed when entering his presence before. Those bows had now turned deep.

  “Keep the money,” Elizabeth said. “I would have gone with him for free. He won’t touch me until he gets what he wants – which is to wear a crown. He’s taken a vow. I’m safer sleeping next to him than I would be anywhere else in Newfoundland. Right up to the last moment. And then… Well, we’ll see. Please look after my friends. If all goes well, I’ll be back to take them. We’ll leave safely.”

  “And if it doesn’t go well?”

  “Then you’ll be looking after them for longer. Use that gold.”

  “Either way, I’ll lose you.”

  Maria Rosa took her shoulders. Elizabeth felt the full intensity of her gaze. Then she was being enfolded in a hug so tight it made her ribs flex. She was held, her face pressed into the mistress’s hair, breathing her scent. And then just as suddenly as the embrace had begun she was released and Maria Rosa had turned away to kneel in the hearth. Out came the bricks from the rear wall of the fireplace. She laid them in order on either side of her knees, then reached in and unlocked the hidden safe. When she stood again she was cradling a hessian bag.

  “You’ll want these,” she said, extracting Elias’s last few trick cards.

  Elizabeth tucked them into her left sleeve. Next out was a flask of indigo and a fine brush.

  “The tattoo marks will fade. I don’t know who you’ll find to freshen them. But keep it hidden.”

  She wasn’t meeting Elizabeth’s eyes.

  “And my gun?”

  “You can’t take that to the Reckoning. The powder dogs would sniff it out.”

  “It hasn’t been fired for months.”

  “They’d smell it if it hadn’t been fired for years.”

  “Then I’ll hide it before I get there.”

  “You want to be stripped and searched? They’ll smell it on your hands. You think your oath-marks are good enough to pass?”

  “It was my father’s gun,” Elizabeth said. “I’ll find a way.”

  Maria Rosa shook her head. But when Elizabeth took the hessian bag, there was no resistance. She reached inside it and withdrew the gun. It was a thing of fine craftsmanship. The symbol of a leaping hare had been inlaid in turquoise in the stock. She turned it, letting the reflections of the lamplight move over its surfaces. It was beautiful, yet its one purpose was to kill.

  The horses were saddled and ready in the stable-yard. Ears turned and muscles twitched. All the servants had come out to hold bridles and were having a hard job of it, for the beasts could sense that it was time to be off. A line of gatherers marched out from the rear door, their boots making a din, which agitated the horses still further. Then the men were mounting and out came Jago’s most trusted guards, Logan and Firehand.

  Finally the Patron Protector emerged. The limp had gone from him entirely. He took his time, surveying the assembled crowd of servants and fighting men. Other villagers were looking in from a distance, using the fog to half hide themselves.

  If it had been her, Elizabeth thought, she’d have feared stumbling, or the horse might try to step away as she mounted and she’d be left standing like a fool. But Jago made it look like a dance move: stepping into the stirrup and up onto the back of his fine stallion.

  Everyone waited. Everyone watched.

  He shifted his heels and the horse stepped forwards. Suddenly they were looking at Elizabeth instead, for the Patron had stopped next to her and was reaching down. She could feel Maria Rosa just behind, fussing with the ties on her back pack.

  Elizabeth offered her hand to Jago. He gripped her wrist and hoisted her into the air so that she landed in front of him, in the manner of a side saddle rider, but without the pommels to stop her from slipping. He kicked his heels and they were away, all the other horses following behind, the din of hooves on cobbles half-deafening, even in the fog. Villagers scattered before them. She thought she would fall, but Jago brought in his arms to keep her precarious balance.

  She felt his face close to hers. “Play your part,” he growled.

  Elizabeth’s stomach told her it must be midday. There’d been moments through the morning when the fog thinned enough to let her see the path ahead for a hundred yards or more. Once, at the peak of a headland, she’d glimpsed the disk of the sun, pale as the moon behind cloud. It had seemed as if it might burn through. But as they descended the other side of the hill, it thickened again.

  Clear of New Whitby, Jago had let her down and she was back to a pack horse, though not the one that had carried her before. She was glad to be away from the smell of him. Away, too, from the eyes of the peasants they passed along the track. All focused on the Patron and his kingly progress.

  It must have been mid-afternoon before the stop was called. They’d come across a gang of beachcombers hauling a quantity of driftwood. Logan paid them to build a great fire with the entire load. And presently the gatherers were standing near it, warming themselves. Stoneware cooking pots had been placed around the edge, with dried meat, carrots, swede, onions and river water. One of the gatherers tipped powder from a tin into each of the pots. Some kind of herb, Elizabeth thought. But when she came to taste the broth, she felt the burn of hot Guinea spice.

  “Make camp,” someone called, and the work of pitching began, though it was still early and she knew that a village lay not many miles ahead.

  It seemed there would be tents for everyone.

  “Will one be mine, do you suppose?” Elias asked.

  She hadn’t noticed his approach.

  “You can swap places with me. If you want.” Casting him a side glance she caught the pain of his reaction and regretted it. But the secret of Jago’s self-imposed celibacy was too dangerous to share.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “I’m not treated so badly as you think.” This she gave him in a whisper.

  It only seemed to intensify his misery.

  “Do you know why we’re stopping here?” she asked.

  The
y were standing quite alone but he looked over his shoulder before answering. “The smugglers should be bringing in a delivery.”

  “Here?”

  “Not far. We’re to meet at the peak of high tide. It could have been tomorrow. But it’ll be tonight, I think. Since the weather’s like this.”

  “It is a boat then?”

  “What else could it be?”

  “I thought perhaps an airship?”

  At least that made him smile. “An airship could never be hidden. No, this is a ship of the waters.”

  “I want to see it.”

  He shook his head. “Jago will take as few men as he dares. I know what’s happening. So I’ll be one of them. There’ll be Logan and Firehand as well. He trusts them more than the other men. He’ll only send for the rest once the smugglers are gone.”

  “But I must see them!” she hissed.

  He seemed about to answer, but closed his mouth and stood away from her.

  Logan was marching towards them. “There’s work to do,” he called.

  Chapter 27

  Tents there were enough, and bedding, blankets, furs, even pillows, though not for Elias. He’d been a fool to hope. But there was a fire at the top of the beach and wood to feed it, though that lay half a mile up the hill, and him with the job of fetching.

  The peasants owned a sledge, for hauling their scant treasures from the beach. At first they wouldn’t let him use it. Its runners were sheathed in iron to make for a smooth run over the turf. It must have been the most expensive thing they owned. But when he told them it was Jago’s fire that must be fed and that they’d best not anger a Patron, they changed their minds.

  Such power in a name. And such danger in using it.

  They kept close on either side of him, as if he might try to steal the sledge. They wouldn’t help him pull. But gravity was with him going down from the woodpile to the beach. It was done quicker than he’d feared. If Logan hadn’t been there, he would have left it at that. But a second load was ordered, so up the hill he went again. Climbing was harder work, even with an empty sledge. The rope cut into his shoulder. By the time he had the second load delivered the skin had been rubbed raw.