He was lost. Nothing looked familiar, yet he ran faster. Not caring about what lied ahead, he pushed on. The loose sand was taking its toll, and his feet sank deeper with each stride. In front of him, a dune appeared. He could hear the sea as he started to scale it. I need to get to the water! His lungs were on fire and he struggled to breathe. They were getting closer. He could hear their growls, the panting, a painful yelp as one dog sank its teeth into a rival, filled with predatory excitement.
Almost at the top. They drew closer still. He looked over his shoulder and could see the white froth coming out of their angry mouths as they snapped at each other. He could see the ocean, blue and inviting. I’m going to make it!
His descent was fast, too fast. His left leg gave way, and he stumbled. He fell and tumbled to the bottom. His mouth was full of sand. He struggled to get up. Go away! He screamed, but no sound came out. They were onto him in a flash. The leader of the pack came forward and sunk its teeth into his ankle, ripping his skin as it shook its head. A searing hot pain shot up his leg and he screamed again, this time a terrifying cry escaping his lips.
Tristan sat upright in his bed, clutching his ankle. He was panting heavily and sweat ran down his forehead. Then he lashed out with his arms. Suddenly, his door burst open. Sissy stood in the door frame, candle in the left hand, cast-iron pan in the other. She dropped the latter and rushed to his side. She grabbed his flailing arms and hugged him to her bosom. Slowly he calmed down.
‘Shh…shh,’ she soothed him. ‘’Tis over.’
He said nothing and just listened to her voice while she gently rocked him back and forth. She led him to her bed, hugged him close and stroked his hair until he fell into a peaceful sleep.
The next morning, she asked him about the dream. He told her that he did not want to talk about it. Night after night, the same nightmare haunted him. Sissy had seen what evil spirits could do to people, and Tristan’s was devouring him slowly as he started to dwindle back into his quiet, lost world. After the fourth night, she had a stern word with him, and he finally yielded while sitting at the kitchen table and told her everything: the baby, the blood, the dogs, his mother. Sissy sat down beside him as he blurted everything out.
‘Oh, my dear child,’ she said with an affectionate voice. ‘Your mother fought with everything she had, until her last breath, to give you life. No child should witness what you have seen. But don’t you see? You are sitting here today because your mother wanted you to live. She knew she was dying, and she could have ended your life to save her own, but she didn’t. Therein lies your salvation. She’d lived a happy life, child, and she wanted the same for you. You hold onto that, wherever the future may one day take you.’
He nodded. It made sense.
That night when he went to bed, he pulled the stiletto from its sheath and place it next to his pillow, his right hand resting on the grip. Patiently, he waited for sleep to take him.
The dogs were chasing hard. He could hear their baying getting closer. The sand slowed him down, but he finally reached the top of the dune. He looked at the inviting waters below, but instead, he turned around. Heart in his mouth, he waited for them. They raced up the dune, the leader in front. They immediately started to circle him, and the leader snarled, ready to pounce. Tristan put his hand on the grip. The large dog leaped forward, aiming for his throat. Just at the right time, Tristan pulled the longsword from its sheath, stepped to his left and swung it upwards. The sharp blade beheaded the beast mid-air, and the lifeless body thumped into the soft sand before sliding slowly down to the bottom of the dune.
He picked up the head, held it up high in the air and let out a ferocious roar. The warm blood ran down his forearm, over his shoulder and chest. The rest of the pack stopped circling and flattened their ears while submissive yelps replaced their excited growls. One by one they lay down on their bellies, tails between their legs and eyes wide open.
He dropped the head and sword, walked through the circle and did not stop until he was waist-high in the water. He ripped off his clothes and washed off the blood, and when he looked down, he saw the body of a grown man.
When he finished scrubbing himself, he glanced upwards and through the glimmer on the water, he could make out the shape. She was speeding towards him, her dark hull sitting high above the water, her tanned sails bulging and a crimson flag flying high and proud, ready to carry him off to his next adventure.
Chapter 9
The past two weeks had been a lacklustre affair. The constant flow of mundane tasks and lack of excitement had made Tristan restless. Twice he had received a scolding from Sissy for projecting his frustration onto her. Finn had also been on the receiving end, but he shared Tristan’s burden, and a quick wrestling contest or practice of the barber’s learnings on each other gave them an outlet for their mutual quandary.
Then everything changed. He had just finished his deliveries, unloading the last crate of penny loaves at the Boar’s Head Inn and pulling the small handcart, simply minding his own business, when a familiar voice reached his ears. Arthur! The man had been waiting for him just up the street not far from the inn. Tristan found it strange how the big man always knew his whereabouts. He pulled the cart to the side of the street, climbed the stairs and joined Arthur on the porch of the local mercery from where they had a good view over Borough High Street.
He told Tristan that the parcels would be ready and waiting at the tavern by late tomorrow afternoon. Then he gave Tristan the addresses. One was due way up north, the other side of the bridge, while the other one had to go out west. Further instructions followed. Both parcels had to be delivered after dusk as only then would the occupants be home. This was a first for Tristan, who liked to conclude his business in daylight. Also striking him as odd were the addresses for unlike previous deliveries, these two belonged to neighbourhoods that were chiefly reserved for nobility and gentry. He kept quiet and listened intently to everything Arthur had to say. The man reiterated what the barber had said about the importance of it all.
Lastly, Tristan was to meet the barber first thing the following morning to apprise him and receive payment. Asked if he had any questions, Tristan shook his head. They made their farewells and went their separate ways. Tristan was in a rush. He had to get the cart back to The Smoking Cod, but more importantly, he needed to talk to Finn and get his opinion on the trenchant, yet strange instructions.
Patiently he waited. The manor occupied a big piece of land, and from what he could see, it appeared almost larger than La Boutique. The white building stood splendid and tall among the English oaks. Tristan’s journey had taken him westwards, further than he had ever been on foot. Past the Pike Gardens, teeming with pike and carp that were destined for the royals’ tables, he had travelled across the timber yard at the bottom of Love Lane until he reached Bankside. From there, he had followed Willow Street until he finally arrived at the given address.
The last of the day’s sunlight was fading fast, and as darkness settled over Southwark, there was not a breeze in the air. It was quiet on the outskirts of the city, except for the birds twittering in the oak trees above as they settled in for the night. Tristan had been watching the building for a while, waiting for a sign of life, perhaps a light in a window. This place was a bit different from what he was used to. The barber's parcels took him to desolate and usually noisome parts of London. This house across the road was the complete opposite. A beautiful garden with water features and statues of strange creatures hinted at an owner who was well-travelled and very prosperous. Who could this be? He had been careful, cautiously negotiating his way through streets and around buildings, avoiding anything and anyone that looked like trouble. Even now he kept on looking to the rear and up and down the street to make sure no one had followed him.
The satchel was heavy, and the strap dug into his right shoulder, causing his arm to go numb. He had to adjust it constantly and rub his arm at least every five minutes, all of which added to his frustration. Finn w
as probably already done with his delivery and waiting for him at the agreed rendezvous. Finally, he saw a curtain flutter on the second storey. A hand appeared as the person closed the shutter. Moments later, he noticed a flicker of light through a downstairs window. That’s it!
Tristan took one last look around and stepped onto the cobblestoned road. A voice behind him made him jerk his head around.
‘Over here, lad!’
His first instinct was to run, but the voice sounded familiar, and his curiosity kept common sense at bay. He could make out a bulky figure as it stood in the dark passage, partially hidden by the shadows. The owner of the voice peeled away from the bulky figure, leaving a smaller shape behind and stepped onto the street.
‘Giles?’
‘You were expecting someone else?’
I'm not expecting anyone, thought Tristan. The other man joined Giles. Ratface! Tristan immediately realised that trouble was afoot. He gripped the satchel strap tightly and without thinking, his right hand strayed inside his coat.
‘Come on! Get it!’ Ratface’s high-pitched voice matched his stature. He sounded nervous and kept looking over his shoulder like he was expecting company.
‘You know what we’re here for, lad,’ said Giles. ‘Just hand it over.’ He held out his hand while a satisfied grin blossomed on his face.
‘I knew you were up to no good. Come on, hurry up. Give it to him!’ Ratface appeared agitated with the lack of progress.
‘How did you find me?’
Giles laughed. ‘Don’t blame your employer, boy. Nobody can get close to that man, especially not with that bald fucker around. We tried. No, our thanks go to the blabbing gentleman who lives in that house over there. The stupid idiot likes to dine on fruit of the forbidden kind, the kind that Madam sells. You throw a little wine in the mix, and there is no telling what a gentleman of such standing may disclose. Madam rewarded the girl handsomely for that snippet of very important information. But we only knew the day, not the hour, and you’ve made us wait for a long, long time.’ He laughed heartily. ‘You didn’t think the gangs of this city were the only ones with a few irons in the fire?’
‘We best be going before someone shows. Grab it!’ Ratface tried to goad Giles into action.
‘I’m not gonna ask again, lad,’ threatened Giles.
Tristan was thinking through his options. Run and hide in the dark seemed the most logical. He could not fight both of them, so he desperately tried to buy more time.
‘And Ratface over there?’
‘Well, I’ll—’ the young man started walking towards him.
‘Not now!’ Giles interjected and held out his arm. He turned back to Tristan. ‘Always good to have the law on your side, lad, by whatever means possible. He’s here to make sure you get arrested. It didn’t take too much convincing either. See, our friend over there…errr…Ratface is not too keen on spending cold lonely nights in the presence of old men. A few gold coins and a promise of wetting his sugar stick with a few of Madam’s fillies got the deed done.’ Giles paused. ‘For a son of a whore, you had a good run, lad, but tonight it ends.’
As he finished the sentence, Giles made his move. For a big man, he was swift on his feet and closed the gap between them with a few quick steps. But the darkness worked against him, and he did not see the piece of raised cobblestone in the road. The toe of his boot caught it mid-stride, causing him to lunge forward at the boy.
Tristan did not think. He acted exactly as the barber had taught him. Giles was almost on top of him when he pulled the stiletto out, and as the man grabbed him by the shoulders to stifle his fall, Tristan drove the knife home. Giles’ strength and weight caused Tristan to fall backwards, the big man following him, and they crashed to the ground. Tristan felt the rough stones dig into his back as the big man used his mass to hold the youngling down.
‘What the…’ Giles pushed himself upright, one hand on Tristan‘s chest. He felt the blade pull out and watched in horror as blood spurted from the small puncture wound between his ribs and a crimson flood started to stain his shirt and coat. ‘I’ll kill you!’ he blurted in disbelief and enclosed Tristan’s neck in his big hands, his thumbs pressing into the boy’s throat.
Tristan tried in vain to break his grip and drove the stiletto home a second time and a third, all in quick succession. It made no difference. The stifling grip around his neck remained strong, and he started to feel dizzy, the same lightheaded feeling as when he had one too many ciders. Part of him welcomed the blackness and the tranquillity it promised, while another part tried to fight it off. Then, as he started to slip out of consciousness, he summoned all his remaining might and plunged the stiletto to the hilt, piercing the man’s heart a fourth time.
Giles let out a tremendous gasp as life flowed out of him, and suddenly, it was his turn to fight off the black unknown. His grip around Tristan’s neck finally loosened and the big man sagged forward, pinning Tristan to the ground.
With the dying weight crushing him, Tristan had to force big gulps of air into his compressed lungs. He lay like that for a while, just focusing on his breathing, and slowly started to regain his senses. Warm spit that reeked of tobacco drivelled from the dying man’s mouth onto Tristan’s cheek and weirdly, it helped bringing him around. The metallic smell of the warm blood that pumped onto his chest filled his nostrils as the man on top of him gave a few final shudders before he lay completely still. Tristan’s hands were trapped between Giles’ body and his own, so he started to wriggle his way out from under the dead man, the cobblestones at his back, making for slow and painful progress. But pain was good, or so the barber had told him, for it meant he was still alive. Right then, Tristan’s eyes caught a movement to his right.
The wooden box had fallen out of the satchel, and it lay cracked open, its contents spilled onto the road. Gold coins! Ratface was frantically stuffing his pockets before he scampered over to where the two bodies were piled on top of each other. He grabbed the satchel and yanked on the strap but quickly gave up for it was entwined among limbs, and he was in a hurry, even more so after the fortunate change in plans. He had plans of his own, and they just got much bigger.
He saw the boy move. It made him jump up. He walked closer and nudged the big man in the side with his foot. Nothing. Then he crouched down next to them and tried to salvage as much of the wooden box as he could, reloading it with coins while he nervously glanced around for any unwanted attention.
‘Haha, they got you now, boy! They will have your head for murder. Tomorrow at this hour your lifeless body will still be swinging in the gallows. Look for me in the front row when they put the noose around your neck,’ chortled the man while he scoured the road for the last of the gold.
Tristan said nothing but kept on twisting and turning.
‘The watchmen will be here shortly. But rest assured that I will also raise the alarm. You don’t go anywhere now, ya hear?’ snickered Ratface as he got ready to leave the crime scene. ‘Nothing personal, lad. Like your deceased friend said, you had a good run, but now ‘tis someone else’s turn.’ With a fortuitous smirk, he turned around and fled into the night.
Tristan was slowly regaining his strength. He stopped moving about and reserved his energy for one big push. Slowly he managed to work his right hand free and dropped the stiletto on the road, the clatter echoing through the empty street. Gripping the big man’s jacket on the side, he took a couple of deep breaths, arched his back with all the power he could muster and pulled with his right arm. The corpse slowly slid off him and rolled over onto its back.
Tristan gradually got up onto his feet and looked down at the corpse. Giles’ lifeless eyes stared back at him, past him, up into eternity. He picked up the bloody stiletto from the ground and wiped it as best he could before sheathing it inside his coat. He picked up his discarded hat. His shirt stuck to him and his chest felt cool, damp and sticky with blood, amplified by the nippy breeze that had come with the nightfall.
Strangely, h
e felt no remorse for killing the man. He had fought for his life and won but as the thrill of the fight started to wane, his thoughts were cast into turmoil as his situation dawned on him. He could feel his heart racing away, beating the inside of his chest like it was looking for a way out. His breathing became irregular, and his body started to shake. Calm down, Tristan! And then a more sinister thought entered his mind. Finn!
Sitting at the top of the Horseshoe Alley Stairs, Finn ruminated over the day’s assignment while he watched lantern-lit wherries floating by on the Thames. Every so often passengers would disembark at the dock below and walk up the stairs, not paying the young boy any attention. His delivery went smoothly, and he was at the meeting place earlier than expected. Tristan was running late, and it had him slightly worried, but he also knew that his friend could fend for himself. So he waited. Patiently.
‘Finn!’
Finn heard the faint yet urgent whisper through the light breeze and immediately looked towards the row of houses across the street. To the right of Horseshoe Alley, there was an entrance to a pitch-black passage that wound its way through several destitute houses for paupers. It then widened, making another right turn before it spilled onto the large bosky park that surrounded the Beargarden.
He heard it clearer the second time. Tristan! Right then, he saw his friend stepping out of the passage and back again, disappearing into the shadows. What’s keeping him? ‘Tristan!?’ called Finn as he started to cross Bankside.
‘Shhh,’ came the reply.
Finn entered the passage and was immediately grabbed by the arm and pulled up against the side of a hovel. ‘What’s going on?’ enquired Finn, fearing the worst, yet not sure what it was.
Tristan was still panting from his hasty retreat, but it did not take him long to run through his whole ordeal. Finn shook his head in amazement, and when Tristan got to the part where he had killed the man, he let out a noticeable whistle through his teeth. Finn quickly realised the almost unfathomable predicament his friend was burdened with and the distress in Tristan’s voice was clear. When Tristan finished his story, there was silence as both of them tried to come up with a solution.
The Fire Within Page 14