by H C Storrer
With his head leaning on Nathan’s shoulder, William gripped his captains arms, blood gurgling involuntarily up to his lips. Jacques could see the scarred twisted face of the man clearly, the muscles limp and resigned to their fate as his angry, foggy, brown eyes, for once, filled with innocent longing.
Instantly the moment passed as the world sped to make up the time it had lost by staying still. With a jerk, Nathan twisted William about, yanking the wicked blade free. Diving into his victim, the two crashed to the floor while Jacques stood entranced, unable to move as bile bit the back of his tongue. Over and over the black silhouette of Nathan’s arm, his curved knife held tightly in his fist, came into view as he thrashed at his victim like an enraged beast.
Succumbing to the nausea, Jacques turned away as his stomach heaved, the image of William’s last gaze burned into the backs of his eyelids. Whether it was a second or ten minutes, he didn’t move until the killer came stumbling from the swirling smoke, coughing, the flames spreading quickly behind him.
“Try an cheat me,” Nathan spat, trying to clear his mouth of the metallic flavor of his former companion. Dragging the back of his arm across his cheek, the murderer left a smear of blood over his lips. “No one gets the best a Nafan.” After taking a moment to clear his nose, he reached down into the water and began to scrub the carnage free. Jacques winced, yanking his arm from the pool as the water turned crimson from Nathan’s washing. Nathan’s eyes jerked up from the motion, his gaze locking his ward in place. “You stick wif me, lad. We ’as to watch out fer each ofer.”
Jacques nodded in awestruck terror. Nathan was more violent and cold hearted than he had ever imagined. The dancing flames glowing red hot upon him, Jacques’ eyes shifted to the burning home. His mind was completely blank as to what he could do next. Any thought of escape seemed to disappear into the night sky with the black clouds of swirling smoke. It was only when the gravel beneath Nathan’s feet twisted that Jacques attention pricked to back life. With needles of fear racing up his arms he was instantly aware of everything.
Nathan wiped the last remains of William from his dripping chin and brushed back his wet hair. “We best be off before anyone comes ask’n questions.” Nathan turned and hauled Jacques to him by his neck. “Like I says, we’s all we got, you an me.”
Chapter 8
“F almouth, Cap’n!” a bellow came from the forecastle.
“Falmouth.”
“Falmouth.”
The call echoed aft down the deck from each sailor until acknowledged by the captain, who began to bark out orders. Jacques’ eyes had just flickered open at the commotion when Nathan finished waking him with a swift kick to his side. “Agh.” He complained as the sudden blow forced his arm to move unnaturally, ripping the seared flesh of his limb in spikes of pain.
His memory was still fresh from the night sail.
***
“We don’t needs you all wif fever.” Just after boarding the Black Auger, Nathan had approached him with a bottle of whisky and fresh linen. How his stepfather had grifted the captain into letting them aboard was still a mystery.
Like liquid fire, the scotch drizzled over his charred arm as Jacques complained in tight squeals, tugging against Nathan’s fingers gripping his hand like a vise.
“Quit yer carpin,” Nathan chided.
“But it hurts.” Jacques was in tears.
“A course it ’urts. Gritt yer teeth an shut it!” He cuffed the boy on his ears for good measure and then unceremoniously tore strips of canvas for the wound. “This’ll put hair on yer chest. Make ya a man.”
Jacques could do nothing but whimper as Nathan bound his arm. No matter how painful, he had enough fear in him that he wasn’t about to rile his tormentor with a vocal objection.
“There.” Nathan stood, pleased with his work.
“But it still hurts,” Jacques complained.
“It ’urts, pssh,” Nathan mocked as he sank to the deck and looked around to see if anyone was watching. “Tha’ fool blinded me, ’ee did.” Nathan adjusted the bandage over his bad eye and then guzzled more than a few swallows from the bottle. “Should’a gutted ’im the day he walked into me office.”
***
Jacques put away the hours-old memory and nursed his arm in silence. The only solace he found was the fact that being at sea was like finding a long-lost friend, the smell of the salty air and spray from the bow consoling the horrors that he had witnessed. Jacques rocked slowly up to his knees and welcomed the morning sunshine on his face. All around him the crew scurried like well-trained ants about the rigging, bringing the vessel into port.
“Aye, a proper functioning crew is a beau’iful site,” Nathan hummed as if he could read Jacques’ thoughts.
Jacques nodded in silence next to him. Nathan’s placid demeanor could change into a raging storm in an instant. He decided it was best not to sow the wind, instead he watched anxiously as the ship slowly came into port, and then slid confidently to the docks.
“Me finks it’s time we be off.” Abruptly, Nathan reached down and gripped Jacques by his collar and hauled the boy toward the open stanchions that marked the newly set gangplank. Quicker than he thought possible the path filled with sailors. Nathan closed his eyes with a calming sigh—he could feel Captain Mathews approaching from behind.
“I would take ‘alf them pounds now, Mr. ’Odges,” Captain Mathews demanded.
Turning, Nathan stretched to his full height, his grip tightening on Jacques’ shirt. “An have you leave off for Saint Peters before we return? Fine for you, Sir, but I am left in Falmouth without any guarantees.” The scoundrel did his best to once again imitate the king’s English. There had been an agreement of eight pounds sterling for the Black Auger to take them to Falmouth instead of sailing straight on to Guernsey.
The captain narrowed his eyes, “An’ what if you leaves off port, narry to return?”
“Psssh! I… well…” Nathan stammered, as if his indignance was inconsolable. “I own the greatest ’ouse in Penzance. If I did, would not me wife make good on a small sum of eight pounds? I told you, I is here to see a man about me blasted eye.” Nathan hoped the Black Auger had been away from Penzance long enough for her crew to buy the lie. Captain Mathews stood for a long time, chewing the side of his cheek. As the seconds passed, Nathan made a last-ditch effort, one he only held in reserve in case his lying and thieving failed. “Here, a pound note sterling, drawn on His Majesty’s bank o’ England.” Shuffling in his coat, he yanked out a small stack of paper rolled in on itself, pulling free a single bill. Holding the rest in the air, he waved it confidently. “I ’ave the rest in hand. You will get the balance when we return.”
The captain seemed to shrink as he took the note. “It is not tha’… I should’ve trusted you.”
Nathan tapped him confidently on the shoulder and chuckled. “In a world of thieves and beggars, one can be none too careful!”
Jacques rushed to keep his feet beneath him as Nathan strode confidently down the gangplank and then walked quickly from the dock. “Wait, I thought you said we had no money?”
Nathan chuckled again, “Like any actor, tis confidence in yer craft that counts.” Pulling the stopper from the bottle of liquor he had stolen from the ship, he took another drink. “An’ we is broke. That was me last lucre.”
“Then what about the other notes? The other pounds you showed?” Jacques pressed.
“What, all this worfless paper?” Nathan shoved the wad into Jacques chest with another laugh. “First lesson, people will see what they wants to see. You wave a ’andful of script in the air, an they be finken ‘why ’ee’s a royal butler’.”
Jacques took the blank sheets of paper, spreading them out in his hand in disbelief. “Then how are we to hire passage to London?”
“We’s goin’ to steal it, lad. We’s goin’ to steal it.”
***
Jacques stomach sang out with a muffled groan, the wedding feast of so long ago a forgotten m
emory.
“Sounds like a wailn’ cat in there.” Nathan laughed.
“I haven’t eaten since…” Jacques just let it trail off. He was not about to admit to the meal he shared with Anna the night before, not that it had stayed in his stomach for very long.
“Aye, me bot’le is empty as well.” Nathan tossed the glass into the road. “I be finkin it’s time to use ‘ol rule number one.”
“We don’t have a pound note,” Jacques objected.
“Huh?” Nathan looked down momentarily confused. “Na, me boy, tha’ was lesson one; this is rule number one. When you is ’ungry, tis time to eat.”
“How does that work?” Jacques asked.
Nathan pointed over his knees as they sat at the road. “We can take it from the market and risk being caught, punished by the const’ble right then an’ there. Or we can use lesson one, n’take the coin from the unsuspec’n an’ buy a bit o’ bread.”
Jacques shrugged, indifferent, and slowly climbed to his feet as his stepfather stood to dust off and straighten his clothes. He began to follow suit when Nathan stopped him, “No, lad, you’s perfect just like that, in fact…” Taking Jacques brown coat, he made sure the tattered bits dangled behind his bandage. “One fing, from ’ere on out. You is gonna go by Jack.”
Jacques was indignant. “But that’s the name—”
“We don’t be need’n more attention drawn to us, eh.” Nathan overrode his objection, “A filfy French name like Jacques raises eyebrows. The type of fing people remember. That’s lesson number two, be forge’able. Now, I is goin’ to teach you the art of cutt’n purses. We don’t call people, people, no more. Theys whales. You see?”
Jacques nodded.
From his back, Nathan swung his knife out, twisting it around his index finger by the loop on the end before letting it rest in his palm. “This ’ere knife is the best friend I ever ’as. See how it is ’ooked?”
Jacques swallowed hard at the heavy, crooked blade. The dry black of William’s blood was still encrusted between the green wood handle and brass guard.
“Well, I keeps it sharp on bo’f ends. That ways I can slash, or, I can ’ook a purse and cut it clean. Ya see?” Nathan prodded Jacques with a nudge of his fist.
Jacques nodded, unwilling to take his eyes off the glinting steel. “So you cut the purse from the bottom?”
“Only if you can catch the coin. Like if the whale’s sleep’n. On the street it’s best if you cut the tie.” Nathan demonstrated in midair how he could lift a purse and cut it free in an instant. “Once you ‘as the purse in hand, you run like the devils be’ind you, cause if you gets caught, none is gonna save you from ol’ Baily. You see? Not me, not anyones.”
Jacques swallowed again and began to chew his lip. “You want me to cut a purse?”
“Nah,” Nathan chuckled. “You’d get nicked for sure. I’ll be the one doing the cutt’n. Let’s keep to our strengfs, eh. All’s you ’ave to do is go beggn’ for tuppence like I taught ya. Remember our first lesson, them whales is goin’a see what they wants to see.” Nathan rubbed at the stubble on his face, spying out the gentry as they filled the street. Quick as a top he grabbed Jacques by the arm, pointing to a fine gentleman in a burgundy coat. “You sees ’im. We’s ’arphoonen that whale there. The one puttn’ on airs wif ’is gold trim an’ fine triple-point ’at.”
Jacques chewed his cheek, nodded with contemplation, and then started into the road. He had begged and grifted before, but this was somehow different. There was a palpable danger he could feel stalking him in the very moment. Mr.McGuire’s pocket watch burned his memory. Hesitating and then stopping mid-way, he turned back, unsure.
“Go on! Get after ’im!” Nathan prodded.
The beast within his gut agreeing with his step father, Jacques hurried across the road toward the wealthy man, making sure to keep out of the way of the coaches. By his fine seams stretching across his girth it was clear the gent ate well for every meal. Slouching to sell the image, Jacques held out his hand. “Tuppence, Sir?”
Without a glance, the man sauntered down the lane as if Jacques were a gust of wind. The boy turned back dejected, not knowing what to do. Nathan was running towards him, flicking his hands for him to continue. Jacques followed orders and hurried back to the front of the whale, pressing into his path. “Tuppence Sir, please, just a shillin. I ‘asn’t eaten in free days. Tuppence, Sir?”
“Out of the way!” The man shoved him, continuing on down the cobbles.
Nathan coaxed him onward.
“Tuppence, please, Sir. I is so ’ungry.” Jacques tried to slow the man in his procession. “Please, just a copper.”
“I’ll give you a copper, you little rat!” He grabbed Jacques by the collar, brandishing the burnished russet pommel of his walking stick to strike a blow.
Instantly, Nathan mashed himself into the middle, ripping Jacques from the man’s grip as all three of them collided. “Why, you little urchin, pick me pocket will you!” Nathan struck the back of his own hand furiously so that it seemed it was a blow to the boy. He then tossed Jacques to the ground and stood between him and the whale.
“A pickpocket?” the burgundy man shouted.
“Aye.” Nathan turned to face him. “He comes beggin’ for tuppence then suddenly he runs off. I feel me pocket and me coin is gone.” Behind his back, he waved his hand, motioning Jacques to run.
Recovering from the shock of the violence, Jacques felt the heft of a full coin purse within the folds of his coat. Nathan had cut the man’s purse without so much as a flinch and shoved the coin into him before he’d even hit the ground.
Again, Nathan flicked his hand, urging him to run. Jacques focused on the movement, his mind as slow as flowing molasses. With annoyance, Nathan landed a quick jab of a kick into his leg, his hands occupied with the man in burgundy. Taking the cue, Jacques shot to his feet and darted like a rabbit into the crowd.
“There he goes!” the man yelled.
Nathan gripped the gentleman by his collars.“Ahh, you let ’im go. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were working with ’im, you snake!” With mock frustration, Nathan shoved away from the whale, darting down the street. “Come back ’ere, you whelp!”
Behind him, the gentleman croaked among the disinterested onlookers, “Thief! Thief!”
Knowing Falmouth about as well as he knew Kathmandu, Jacques rushed amongst the people bustling along the street without a clue as to where he was going. Taking a promising alley off the main road, Jacques flitted to his left in front of a carriage, spooking the horses. He didn’t waste a second and kept running until reaching the safety of the dark space between the buildings. His heart was beating fast and it was difficult to hear over the thumping. Jacques’ exhilaration at the game of thieving morphed into terror as his ear seized on the sound of heavy footfalls running in his direction. Nathan’s warning about being sent to the gallows bounced in echoes through his thoughts. He didn’t waste another second but launched into a dead sprint that drove him deeper into the heart of town. He dodged from one corner to the next, trying to put as much distance between himself and the constant footfalls that seemed to be gaining. As his limbs began to tire, he gave even more exertion trying to focus more upon the heavy sack of coin keeping rhythm with his heart than the pain building in his side. The footfalls behind him began to grow louder, causing his mind to conjure up an image of the constable about to snag him with a noose. As he turned up a fifth alley, he finally heard Nathan shout from behind, “Stop, Jack, stop!”
Skidding to a halt, Jacques dropped his head between his knees for breath. Nathan was behind, pulling them both to a rubbish bin while wiping the sweat from his lip. In an uncharacteristic move he ruffled the top of Jacques’ head with a laugh, “A bloo’y hare, you is.”
“I didn’t want my neck stretched,” Jacques explained between breaths.
“Smart lad.” Nathan grinned.
***
Slowly chewing a stale chunk of
bread, Jacques hunched over a forgotten table, fuming. They had taken enough coin in that one cut to buy passage to London on a mail coach with sufficient left to fill their bellies twice over, Jacques was sure of that. Instead, there sat his tormentor, deep into his third mug of spiced rum while Jacques was forced to gnaw on a lump of hardtack without a thimble of milk to wash it down. The whole tavern reeked of Nathan, and what little coin was left would be sure to fill the scoundrel’s gut with more drink.
Chiming wheels and pounding hooves brought every eye to attention. Even the well-soaked Nathan was suddenly half-sober. “Me coach,” he exclaimed. “Let ush be off... me boy.” Downing his mug in one swig, Nathan roughly stumbled through two tables and a chair towards Jacques. Lifting him by the back of his coat, he proceeded to carve a path to the door, holding the bandage over his eye as it had loosened through song.
“Wait, wait...” Jacques struggled against the brute as Nathan continued to shove him as the door drew closer. “Wait!” Jacques adolescent frame pushed vainly against the momentum of the full grown drunk as the pair collided into the wall with enough force to shake the dust from the tavern rafters. At once, Nathan lost his footing and pulled Jacques down with him into a pile. Laughing with the rest of the drunkards, Nathan swayed as he stood and reached for the latch but missed by inches. Exasperated, Jacques pushed Nathan aside as he got to his feet, opened the door, and bowed with a sarcastic flourish.
“Well done, me lad!” Nathan crowed to more raucous laughter.
“I just opened a door,” Jacques grumbled in frustration.
“Now don’ be shelling yerself short! One day you may open a trunk or a hatch orrrr, or even a trunk!” He ruffled the boy’s hair with a belch and pushed him outside. The mail office next door was a bustle of activity. Like bees, men rushed about, pulling spent mounts from the way as fresh horses hurried into the yokes, chomping at the excitement of a good run. “We ‘as pashage on…” Nathan finished with another heavy belch.