by Ian Taylor
Malcolm had got justice for them all, Luke thought, for Ambrose and his family, for Cath and Angie, for Tam and finally for the London mob. And, most importantly, the tit for tat killings would stop. "It's over," he said. "We can start a new life."
* * *
But Charlie Gibb wasn't listening. High up in the sawmill loft, the albino was watching Luke in his telescope as he walked across the farm stackyard. Charlie talked on his mobile. "That the police?… Well, I ain't saying who this is, but I got some information I reckon you people should know…"
Half a minute later he rang off and clapped his telescope to his good eye. "Come on! He's there! He ain't looking!" He lowered the telescope and emitted his eerie, high-pitched laugh as he swung himself through the spider's web of timbers in the sawmill's roof space.
"Ain't no one gets one up on Charlie! Oh no, not on Mister Gibb!"
* * *
An hour later Cath and Angie crossed the yard from the deep litter houses with full baskets of eggs. Luke had just finished grooming the horses and was letting them into the orchard to graze. A long goods train could be heard in the distance slowly approaching on the down line.
Two police cars swooped into the stackyard and half a dozen uniformed officers leaped out. PC Bailey and PC Pearson were among them, their faces retaining signs of fire damage from the crash of six weeks earlier. They stepped forward aggressively and
addressed Cath and Angie.
"Are you the owner of this farm?" Bailey demanded to know.
"I am," Cath replied. "What of it?"
"We have reason to believe an escaped felon by the name of Luke Smith is currently living at this address," Pearson announced.
Angie laughed. "You can believe what you like!"
"We have a warrant to search the premises," Bailey declared, brandishing a document in Cath's face.
Cath shrugged. "Be my guest."
The women deposited their eggs on the kitchen table. Led by Angie, the police officers trooped through the house. Cath returned to the stackyard and looked for Luke.
There was no sign of him. She glanced towards the railway bridge.
She smiled. The goods train on the down line trundled slowly under the bridge. Luke stood for a moment on the parapet. Then he was gone.
She knew, as the true dromengro he aspired to be, he would go to his uncle Taiso's and clear his name. And she also knew she and Angie would go there too, one day. Because there had to be a gypsy wedding. Perhaps there would even be two.
Epilogue
Cath was the only other person Luke had told about the T'ang horses hidden under the loose box floor. He thought she should know, as he felt if he said nothing he was taking her for granted.
"Did you steal them?" she asked.
"I'm not going to lie," he replied. "So it's best I say nothing."
The day after Luke's escape from the police raid, Cath received a call from him letting her know he was at Taiso's and had begun the legal process of clearing his name. He could be away for a few months, he said, but he had been told to expect a successful outcome. The wedding—or weddings—would be at Easter. Cath was delighted. And Angie and Kingsley, too, of course.
But the presence of the T'ang horses troubled her. She was alone with them and didn't know what she should do if, unlikely though it might be, they were discovered. What action should she take? Should she bury them in the willow wood? Sink them in the farm pond? In the end she resolved to take expert advice.
She took Travellers Bounty—or simply Bounty—as Good Times was now called, out of his loose box and put him to graze with the Prince. She found the T'ang horses in a box under the floor and took one of them only, as all four were of the same size and a similar style. Then she drove into the town and called at the valuers' office, saying she'd had the horse for years and wondered what she would realise if she sold it.
The senior partner of the firm put on his spectacles, took a magnifying glass and looked carefully at the horse, turning it over several times and examining the detail of its caparison. After a few minutes he surprised Cath by handing the horse back to her.
"We won't be able to sell this for you, I'm afraid, but one just like it was auctioned in London last month, if I remember." He took a sales catalogue from a shelf behind his desk and riffled through it. "Ah, yes, it's a pretty close likeness to yours." He read from the catalogue: "Tang-style Caparisoned Horse." He glanced at her over the top of his spectacles. "It sold for three hundred pounds."
She must have looked surprised because the valuer laughed.
"Were you hoping it was an original?" he asked. "You'd certainly be in the money if it was."
She was embarrassed. Did she look that mercenary? "I've really no idea how old it is. I'm clueless as to what its value might be."
"The key words in the catalogue description are Tang-style." The valuer smiled, she thought, in sympathy. "That one and yours are modern copies. They're actually quite common. You'd do well to get more than a three-figure sum, unless it was much bigger or more spectacular. Try Sotheby's. They're probably the best auction house for these."
She returned to Cuckoo Nest and put the horse back with the others. She decided not to break the news to Luke until after Easter.
* * *
"You're very quiet tonight, Mam." Angie looked quizzically at Cath as they ate their evening meal in the farm kitchen. "Has something happened I should know about?"
Cath shook her head. "I'm just a bit tired. We've had a lot of excitement lately."
"Bit of an understatement, ain't it?"
Cath was still stunned by the valuer's revelation. So much that had happened in the past couple of months had been caused by the existence of the T'ang horses. So many new relationships and unexpected twists of fate. So many deaths. One question beat at her brain: Who had been conning whom? Her suspicions fell on Tam McBride.
* * *
Tam and Malcolm sat on the terrace of Tam's Mediterranean villa. The building commanded a view of olive groves and the sea.
Malcolm studied the prospect in his field glasses.
"Is it pirates ye's expecting, bro?" Tam asked with a smile.
Malcolm lowered his glasses. "Ye's a lucky body. The shore's too rocky for a safe landfall. Who kens wha' micht get washed up, though?"
"I dinna fash mysel wi' sic thoughts, now the de'il hissel's dead in his deckchair!"
The brothers laughed. Tam stood and fetched more wine. He was walking normally now.
"I'll be meeting a body in the trattoria in an hour. Ye's welcome to join us. He's after selling me more o' those Chinese figures, but I've a mind they'll be fakes. He's an eejit, though. He thinks I willna ken. I'll make mysel a wee profit if I find the right buyer."
Malcolm studied his brother over his wineglass. "D'ye think the universe needs us, bro? Ye ken, do ye not, that wherever ye go I'll be there, too?"
Tam looked blank. "Ye's lost me. I thought ye was away back to Lunnon in a week."
Malcolm smiled inscrutably. "Think about it."
There had to be justice, of course. At every level.
About The Authors
The authors have been active in the creative sector for more than twenty years. Ian is a widely-published award-winning poet. Rosi is a professional actress and voice artiste.
The Price of Horses is our first jointly-written novel, a revenge thriller set in the colourful world of gypsy travellers and larger-than-life villains.