The Devil's Assassin (Jack Lark)

by Paul Fraser Collard

  Sarah pushed him away, her neck and throat flushed scarlet with anger. She opened her mouth to speak again, but before she could utter a sound, Jack kissed her again, this time with nothing but passion. He swept her into his arms and carried her into the tent.

  ‘How was your evening with Fetherstone?’ Jack asked as he pulled his boots on. The snug-fitting cavalry breeches were cutting into his thighs as he perched uncomfortably on the edge of a wooden travel chest, and he drew in a sharp breath as the action of tugging on the boots caused the fabric to tighten around his balls. ‘Did you manage to find anything out?’

  Sarah sat on her travel cot and smiled at the sight. ‘I think I prefer you as a hussar. The uniform is much more becoming.’

  Jack grimaced as he saw the target of her gaze. In his current position, the tight breeches revealed everything. ‘I asked you a question.’

  Sarah threw her head back and laughed aloud. She was still naked, and Jack stopped what he was doing so he could take a last lingering look.

  ‘It was dull, if you must know.’ She pushed her hair back behind her ears as she studied Jack intently. ‘Fetherstone was rather boring.’

  Jack had to force himself to stop staring at her nakedness. ‘Did you manage to steer the conversation around to the matter of the spy?’

  ‘I tried, but he was having none of it. I told you he was clever. You said I should be circumspect, so I did not press the issue.’ Sarah lolled on her back and stretched. ‘He may have said something of interest, but it was just a passing remark, nothing substantial.’

  Jack tugged on his second boot and came to stand over her, his heart beating a little faster. ‘You heard everything. You always do.’

  Sarah looked at his serious expression and laughed. ‘Look at you. Why, you appear quite cross.’

  Jack snapped his arm forward and gripped her tight around the wrist. ‘Tell me what he said.’

  ‘You’re hurting me.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Jack apologised but did not let her go.

  ‘There is a teacher with the army.’ She tried to pull her arm free, but Jack held it fast. ‘A munshi. He is teaching some of the officers Persian.’

  Jack let go at last and perched on the corner of the cot. ‘I’ve heard of him. Go on.’

  Sarah drew away from him, nursing her wrist where he had grasped it. ‘He is passing messages to the Persians. He teaches a number of officers, including General Stalker. Fetherstone supposes he uses it as an opportunity to find out about their plans.’

  ‘Who else knows?’

  ‘No one. Fetherstone said he had only just discovered the information. The final link in the chain, he called it, or something like that. I didn’t hear it clearly.’

  Jack recognised the importance of the news. He looked at Sarah. ‘Thank you.’

  He saw her eyes flash with temper. ‘You hurt me.’

  ‘I’m sorry. It was important. I didn’t want to play games.’

  Sarah’s eyes narrowed. ‘You used me. That hurts more than any damn bruise.’

  ‘I didn’t use you.’ Jack scoffed at the idea. ‘You helped me. You have my gratitude.’

  ‘Your gratitude.’ It was Sarah’s turn to scoff. ‘So I am well rewarded, then.’

  Jack scowled. ‘I would have hoped you would help me willingly.’

  ‘Then why grab my arm?’

  ‘I . . .’ Jack searched for the reason. In truth, he was not sure he trusted her, though he did not know why.

  ‘I understand.’ Her voice changed. ‘I don’t trust easily either.’

  Jack looked at her sharply. ‘Who says I don’t trust you?’

  ‘Come on, Arthur. I am not a naïve little girl. You never speak of your past or your future. You make no reference to family or friends, nor do you seem to care that you have no one in your life save Ballard and that thug of a bodyguard. I see how alone you are. I saw it the first moment I clapped eyes on you.’ She stood and came closer to him, her fingers reaching out to run through his hair. ‘You are not alone any more.’

  Jack said nothing. He could not form the words. His loneliness was ever-present. It had been that way since he had first taken an officer’s uniform from its peg and placed it on his shoulders. He refused to ever think of it, for if he did, he knew it would crush him.

  ‘I know what it is to be alone.’ Sarah spoke softly. She bent forward, laying her cheek against the top of his head. ‘My life before I met James was . . .’ She paused, and Jack felt her body tremble. He slid his hands up, placing them around her waist and holding her tight. ‘My life was different before.’ Sarah took a breath, holding it for several long seconds before she continued. ‘I do not like to think on it.’

  She said nothing more. They stayed close together, each taking much from the contact.

  ‘Now you should go.’ Sarah pulled away, her hands clasped together in front of her waist.

  Jack stood up. He looked at the woman in front of him. He had seen her vulnerability. It drew him to her. He felt more than lust, and the strength of the emotion shocked him.

  ‘Sarah . . .’

  ‘Hush.’ She stopped him by placing a finger on his lips. ‘We have said enough for one night. Take the information to Ballard. Do your duty. I am not going anywhere. I will be here.’

  Jack knew that she was right. He had to deliver the information she had gleaned from Fetherstone. For he now had what he needed. He had found the spy.

  ‘Wake up! Wake up, man, for God’s sake.’ Jack shook Ballard, manhandling his officer without care.

  ‘What the devil!’ Ballard came awake roaring with anger.

  ‘Get dressed, quick.’ Jack rushed across the tent and pulled at his knapsack, digging for his revolver’s ammunition, careless of spilling his spare clothes on to the ground.

  ‘What is going on? Are we under attack?’ Ballard staggered to his feet. To his credit, he rallied well and immediately reached for his breeches.

  ‘I’ve found the spy. I know who it is.’ Jack grunted in satisfaction as he tore open a packet of fresh ammunition. His hands started to load his revolver with practised ease, the movements instinctive. He took a deep breath to calm himself. Loading a revolver was not a thing to be done with passion. He carefully poured powder into each chamber of the revolver before following with a ball that he forced home with the loading lever held beneath the barrel. He worked as quickly as he dared, doing his best to make sure each bullet was tight in the chamber. It was a delicate task and Jack knew he had to take care if he was to avoid a misfire. The weapon had saved his life on more occasions than he could recall. Yet it had also let him down. He had learnt to treat it with care.

  ‘Well, who the devil is it?’ Ballard snapped the question as he forced his legs into his tight boots. There was little light in the tent but Jack could see the eager anticipation in the major’s eyes.

  ‘Stalker’s teacher.’ Jack returned his attention to his revolver, working quickly as he sealed each of the five chambers with a dab of wax to prevent the risk of a flash fire, before pushing the firing caps into place.

  ‘What! What manner of teacher?’

  ‘That Persian. The damn munshi.’ Jack snapped the revolver shut before thrusting it into its holster, leaving the flap unbuttoned. ‘That bugger who has been teaching the officers on Stalker’s staff the language. It all makes sense.’

  Ballard stopped midway through buttoning his breeches, his arm outstretched as he reached for his dolman. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Sarah told me.’

  ‘Sarah? You mean Mrs Draper?’ Ballard’s face creased into a frown as he understood Jack’s explanation. ‘If you have been letting your prick do your thinking, then I shall have it removed.’

  ‘It’s not like that. She dined with Fetherstone and he let it slip.’


  ‘Fetherstone revealed it.’ Now Ballard was interested. ‘It does not make sense. Just one spy?’

  ‘It does make sense.’ Jack was buoyed up by his success. ‘Stop seeing grand schemes and spy networks, or whatever it is you call them. This man has had direct access to Stalker and God alone knows which other senior officers. He listens carefully and keeps his eyes peeled. Whatever he discovers he passes on. Come on, you see how it fits? You saw Stalker’s tent. The place is bedlam. The man could have seen and heard everything.’

  Ballard was nodding, his fingers clasped over his chin as he contemplated Jack’s information. ‘You say Mrs Draper got this from Fetherstone?’

  ‘Yes. He referred to it at dinner and she happened to mention it to me.’ Jack delivered the lie smoothly. He had no intention of letting Ballard know that he had asked for Sarah’s help.

  Ballard sat back down on his charpoy and began to remove his breeches.

  ‘What the devil are you doing?’ Jack could not believe what he was seeing. ‘I have found the spy. Surely to goodness we need to get our hands on him before he can do any more damage.’

  Ballard smiled at Jack’s eagerness. ‘My dear Jack, you really are a simple fellow.’ He tossed his breeches on to his knapsack and tugged the blankets over his knees. ‘Go to bed.’ He turned his back on Jack, settling himself to his rest. ‘I thank you for your information.’

  ‘You are not going to act on it?’ Jack was stunned.

  ‘I will consider it.’ Ballard did not bother to turn to face Jack. ‘Perhaps I will find some other uses for this spy of yours. It would be a waste to take him straight away without giving it some more thought.’

  Jack stared at his officer’s back. ‘This man is dangerous. He is passing secrets to the enemy, yet you are going to leave him to it?’

  Ballard ignored him.

  Jack turned on his heel and strode out of the tent. Ballard was making a dreadful mistake. For all they knew, the spy was passing the army’s secrets to the enemy at that very moment. Jack would not let it happen. He would not endanger the lives of any more redcoats. He remembered Ballard’s instruction to him after the battle for Reshire. He had been brought out on campaign to do one job and one job only. When the spy was found, it was Jack’s duty to deal with him.

  He marched into the night, his mind set. He would do as he had been ordered. He would kill the enemy spy.

  ‘Captain Hunter, I need your help.’

  Jack had been kicking his heels in the operations tent for several long minutes waiting for Stalker’s aide-de-camp. The captain had finally appeared, and Jack elbowed past the young ensign who had also been waiting patiently for the officer’s attention. Despite the ungodly hour, the tent was still busy, the general’s staff working through the night to issue the orders that would be needed if the army were ever to strike inland.

  ‘Captain Fenris! What’s going on?’

  ‘I need to find the munshi.’ Jack strode to Hunter’s desk. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Who?’ Hunter rose to his feet. His face showed the strain of the campaign. Puffy dark pouches circled bloodshot eyes, and his pallor was the dull grey of a winter’s morning.

  ‘The damn teacher. The one teaching Stalker Persian.’

  ‘It’s not the time of day to be trying to book a lesson, old man.’ Hunter offered a thin-lipped smile as he teased Jack.

  ‘This is not a bloody game, Hunter. Where will I find him?’

  Hunter scowled at Jack’s tone. ‘How the devil should I know?’

  ‘You run this damn place, you should bloody know.’

  ‘He shares a tent with some of the servants, I think, but I do not know which.’ Hunter spoke in clipped, businesslike tones. He looked at the young ensign who had been listening to the conversation as he waited patiently for his turn. ‘Fitzwilliam, do you know where that is?’

  The young officer quailed as both captains turned to stare at him. He was little more than a boy, his attempt at growing a pair of mutton chops wispy and threadbare. He looked thoroughly petrified, his thin Adam’s apple bobbing up and down at a great rate. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Then let’s go.’ Jack clapped the youngster on the shoulder. The junior officer staggered with the force of the blow. He was as thin as a rake and looked like the first fresh breeze would blow him away. To his credit, he nodded firmly as he turned to lead Jack out into the darkness. The chase was on.

  ‘It’s over there.’ Fitzwilliam pointed at a cluster of tents that had been given over to the servants employed to cater to the needs of the staff officers at divisional headquarters. With time, the locals had been all too willing to serve the foreign invader, and the three stone-coloured tents were now the temporary residence of more than a dozen men.

  ‘Which one?’ Jack started forward before stopping and turning to fire the question at the junior officer.

  The ensign paled. ‘I’m not sure, sir.’

  ‘For God’s sake. What does he look like?’

  Fitzwilliam had been staring at the three tents as if he could summon divine intervention to tell him which one contained the man they were after.

  ‘I beg your pardon, sir?’

  ‘What does this bloody teacher look like?’

  ‘Well, sir,’ Fitzwilliam stammered. ‘He’s a tall fellow. Bearded, of course. Dusky skin and dark around the eyes, you know, with that henna muck they all seem to use.’

  ’You’ve just described every goddam servant in this entire fucking army.’ Jack’s patience was quickly becoming exhausted. He grabbed Fitzwilliam by the arm and frogmarched him to the first tent. ‘See if he’s in there.’ He shoved the officer forward and stood back, hands on hips.

  Ensign Fitzwilliam hesitated. He had been in India less than six months. His mother had insisted he go, the purchase of his commission arranged through an uncle he had never met but who had agreed to see the young man on his way. The same uncle was a friend of Stalker, and so Fitzwilliam had become attached to the major general’s staff without ever having served in his battalion. He had never seen battle or done anything more serious than run errands for the officers on the staff. Now this tall captain, who looked ready to commit murder, had dragged him into the night and was glaring at him as if the whole sorry situation was somehow his fault.

  He turned to face the entrance to the tent, pulling hard at his scarlet jacket as he tried to compose himself. He risked a final glance over his shoulder and saw the look of thunder on the captain’s face. He did not need to be told to get on with it.

  He lifted his hand and rapped on the tent pole. ‘Excuse me. I wonder if I might come in?’

  ‘Oh for fuck’s sake.’ Jack’s temper was fraying. He strode forward and pushed the ensign to one side before snatching open the tent flap. ‘Everybody out. Now!’ His shout roused the startled occupants of the tent. ‘Move!’ He ducked inside and hauled the closest man to his feet. ‘Out! Now!’

  The frightened servants did not need to be told again. They staggered to their feet, elbowing each other in their haste to do as they were told. Jack was forced to step back as they came out of the tent in a rush before stumbling to a halt in front of the two officers.

  ‘Well?’ Jack twisted on the spot and fired the question at Ensign Fitzwilliam.

  The young officer scanned the anxious faces that had immediately turned towards him. In the darkness it was hard to discern each man’s features, but the light from the few campfires still burning made a hasty identification possible. Fitzwilliam shook his head as he failed to spot the man they sought.

  Jack was already moving. He pushed through the crowd and tore open the flap to the second tent. The men he had forced from their rest milled around uncertainly, their voices rising in fear and anger, the quiet of the night disappearing in a hubbub as they all started speaking to one another at once.

&nbs
p; ‘Everybody out! Now!’ Jack roared again. This time most of the tent’s occupants were already awake, the ruckus outside too loud to ignore. They rushed past Jack, their own bellowed queries adding to the chaos.

  Jack turned and pulled Fitzwilliam closer, forcing him to stand at the entrance as the men piled out around him. The tent was close to empty when the young officer jerked in Jack’s grip and uttered a squeal of recognition.

  ‘That’s him!’

  Jack turned and spotted the dark-faced man Fitzwilliam had pointed out. There was enough time to see the flare of white in the man’s eyes as he realised he was the target of the ensign’s raised finger before the munshi turned and ran.

  ‘Shit!’ Jack pushed his way through the crowd of servants. He felt hands claw at his clothes, but he was in no mood to be gentle and he used his elbows freely as he forced a passage through the melee. As he broke free, he saw the shadowy form of the Persian teacher racing away.

  He forced himself into a run, leaping over the treacherous guide ropes that would have sent him sprawling in an ignominious heap and sprinting after the fleeing man.

  ‘Oi! You! Stop there!’ A voice accosted Jack from out of the darkness. He recognised it in an instant but paid it no heed. He would not stop now, not for anyone.

  A red-faced Palmer staggered to a halt as he saw his quarry race off into the darkness. Ballard’s bodyguard was struggling to breathe and he bent double, his hands clasped to his knees as he sucked in huge lungfuls of air.

  Ballard strode to his side. He had not taken kindly to being woken twice in the same night. Captain Hunter had sent a runner to inform him of his subordinate’s odd behaviour. Ballard had understood Jack’s intention instantly. He had summoned Palmer and they had come after Jack in an attempt to stay his hand. The intelligence officer was not best pleased to discover that they had arrived too late.

  ‘Well get after him, man. Whatever you do, don’t let him kill that bloody spy.’ Ballard snapped the order, pointing after Jack to show Palmer the way.