by H C Storrer
“Mark my words, you ungrateful whelp. I will have you shipped to Barbados by month’s end! Do you know what it’s like to work the cane fields, cumberground?”
“Sh-sh-shut it, you bloated w-windbag!” Sam shot back. “L-look at ‘im with his ugly wig, cracking ‘is nuts all over the f-floor. Who do you think has to clean up ’is m-m-mess, eh? ’Im and ’is p-puppet George lack all the finesse of a true leaders, wouldn’t you s-say, Jack.”
“I could not agree more, Sam.” Jack stood as he spoke, letting the plate of bread and his cut ropes slide off his lap to the floor.
“What the blazes!” Talmage skittered back in surprise. Without warning, Jack threw his fist into the man’s bulbous nose, causing him to flail back onto the aged oak desktop behind him. Instantly, Jack had Talmage by the throat with the bar of his forearm. With the fat man pinned to the desk, he slid the flat side of the karambit up Talmage’s cheek.
“Now listen carefully, you short, puffed-up popinjay! I can excuse you for chasing me and me lost boys all over London, for the wallops on the head, and even that disgusting excuse for bread, but my goodness, man! Leaving those foul potato sacks on our heads all evening! That’s beyond the pale!” Jack slowly pulled his knife off of Talmage’s cheek, nicking the skin in the process, and slid it into the sheath behind his back.
Fury blazed through Talmage’s eyes. “You’ll ’ang for this. I’ll see to it if it’s the last thing I ever do.”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Jack clucked his tongue, “taunting your captor. I’ve heard that’s bad form.” Jack’s face stretched with a mischievous grin, “Bill, I assume you are untied by now.”
“Right you are, Jack. It seems Sam still knows a fing or two, eh?”
“Indeed. Will you do me the pleasure of handing me those nutcrackers.” Jack stretched out his palm.
“Um,” Bill hesitated, “I really think we best be—”
“Bill, the nutcrackers. Please.” Jack closed his eyes and spoke calmly.
“Jack?” This time, Sam spoke up. Jack tore his eyes off Talmage and stared him down, all signs of joking gone, his blue eyes a boiler of crazed rage. Sam was in awe and more than a little scared. “Bill, d-d-do as he says.”
Shocked, Bill scooped up the tool and quickly handed it to Jack, then backed to where Talker whimpered from a corner. None of them had seen Jack like this.
“Now, Mr. Talmage, let’s see if we can come to another understanding, shall we? You promise to leave me and my lost boys alone, and we’ll promise to leave the stealing to the unskilled riffraff such as Master Talker here and venture into more . . . honest employment. You get the benefits of being the man that eradicated the larceny of the banking district, and we get to keep our necks the length they should be.”
“I’ll not be conned by your silver tongue! You’ll swing for your crimes!” Mr. Talmage bellowed with rage. Shaking his head, Jack pulled Talmage’s handkerchief from his breast pocket and stuffed it into his mouth.
“That was the wrong answer.” In one motion, Jack flicked open the nutcracker and closed it around his victim’s nose, ignoring the man’s squealing protest. Squeezing as hard as he could, Jack sighed with pleasure as the cartilage gave to the pressure with a satisfying crunch. In silence, the room watched as Jack coolly stood back, letting the rotund figure slide off the desk to the floor. “Huh. I thought he would have been made of hardier stuff, the way he carried on.” Jack spoke as if he had been observing a play. Using the heel of his foot, he flipped the unconscious Talmage to his back. “I hope you have a plan for getting us all out of here, Sam?”
“Uh,” Sam’s mind seemed to be jammed, “w-w-what?”
“You know, escape.”
“Right, w-well.”
Just then the door rumbled, cutting their conversation short. “Mr. Talmage why is the door locked. Samuel, Samuel! Open this door at once.”
“It’s George,” Sam whispered.
“Someone get me an ax!” George’s muffled shout came from a distance.
“Sam?” Jack prodded his friend into action.
“Um, the w-w-window! We need to get to the r-roof!”
Jack raced to the glass pane, threw up the sash, and poked his head out. A foot and a half to the left was a drain pipe. “Talker, you first.” Jack grabbed him roughly by the collar and shoved him out the opening. Talker wasted no time and was up the drainpipe in seconds. Bill didn’t hesitate to follow quickly on Talkers heals.
“You n-n-next, Jack,” Sam insisted. Jack was readying himself to argue the point when they were interrupted by the sound of splintering wood. Another loud thud, and a fissure rose up through the planks of the door. “No t-t-time to argue, I’ll c-c-catch up at the place where we f-found you.” Sam all but pushed Jack out the window, then yelled, “Quick they w-w-went down the d-drainpipe. They’re in the c-courtyard!”
On the rooftop, Jack caught up with the other boys. “Talker, you better scatter before I throw you off of this roof. I don’t want to ever see your bloody face again!” Talker nodded, not needing to be told twice after what he had just seen Jack do. His feet quick, he took a running leap to an adjacent roof and disappeared around a group of chimneys. “Bill, we had better separate. Sam said to meet at the place where you boys found me. Get there and stay hidden until you hear the signal or until midnight. If one or neither of us show, you gather what lads that you can, get the coin, and go into hiding till the alarm dies down, got it?”
Bill nodded and scampered off the opposite direction from Talker. Jack knew he needed to get as far away as he could, but he was loath to leave Sam behind. It was a risk for Sam to stay and try to be a distraction, but the deception would only work until Talmage woke up and had him arrested. Moving into the shadows, Jack disappeared from view as the rumbling of footfalls on the stairs below broke through a trapdoor and flooded onto the rooftop.
“The ol’ Master will has a crooked nose, but when ‘ee woke there was even more of the devil in ‘im,” one of the runners said, climbing to the rooftop.
“I knew from the beginning we couldn’t trust that Samuel. It was somfin’ wif ’is eyes. They was as shifty as ’is words,” a large goon with hairy arms spoke with a gravelly voice.
“You’s a liar, Mafew. You was charmed by ’is slow tongue just like the rest of us. I ain’t never seen Talmage so mad. I don’t fink he takes kindly to mutineers. We’ll see how ’ee stutters when the rope is about ’is neck,” a wheezy voice cackled.
Jack’s heart fell into the cold pit of his stomach. Sam hadn’t gotten away in time. Talmage must have faked his fainting spell.
“Quiet, you two. Talmage is smart. ’Ee ain’t gonna ’ang Samuel. ’Ee’s gonna ship ’im off to work the sugar fields, the traitorous dog. It’s worse than ’angin.” George turned his head about and peered into the gathering dark. Squinting his eyes, he yelled out, “Did ya ’ear tha?”
Jack pressed his hand as tightly as he could against his mouth and nose, holding his breath. He hadn’t been able to stop the sigh that escaped his lips, knowing that Sam wouldn’t be hanged.
“Me finks we has an eavesdropper.”
Jack knew it was only a matter of time before they found him tucked in the shadows. He took a deep, steadying breath and bolted from his hiding spot launching himself from the side of the rooftop. Behind him, he could hear George’s low curse as they caught a glimpse of his figure flying through the air just before smashing through a window in a building across the alley where he had jumped.
Chapter 15
J ack slumped in the shadow of a chimney while his chest heaved from the exertion of his flight. Luck was a luxury that he could never afford. Risk and reward, that was tangible. That was controllable. Jack never made a decision with the outcome based on luck. It was how he and his boys survived, but the moment that foul bag was thrown over his head he knew that tonight was different. Luck hadn’t let him down yet, and all he needed was for it to hold out just a bit longer.
“Over ’ere!” t
he cry broke the stillness. Discovered, Jack darted from his hiding spot and launched into the air once more, leaping the gap between another set of houses. Landing in a roll, the tiles on the rooftop bit into his shoulder as he scrambled to his feet. Every move became mechanical as his muscles pushed him towards the chiming bells of the church. His mind moving faster than his feet, Jack pushed off of the rooftop of the last home in the row. Spinning, he snagged a down spout and slid to the soft grass of the stately dwelling.
“Where did ’ee go!” George’s voice bellowed from above as Jack hugged the darkness along the side of the home. “Get down there and find ’im!”
Again, the bells tolled, signaling the approaching dawn. The Runners hadn’t give up the chase all night, driving him towards exhaustion. His chest heaving, Jack launched from the wall and darted into the lush greenery of the park, the sanctuary of the church meaning much more than being spotted.
***
“ ’Es up there. As sure as the devil ’as ’orns”
Jack huddled in silence in the bell tower of the old church, his heart pounding so hard he felt as if his limbs would tremble from his body. All about him, the air pushed in circles from over the stony walls in a soft night breeze, the great bell dancing ever so slightly as the clapper dangled back and forth in the expanse. “I told you gentleman, you are not welcome inside.” Jack’s attention was drawn to the glow of torches as Talmage and the Runners flooded the courtyard below.
“We ’ave a criminal inside. One of my men watched him scale the bell tower. Isn’t that right, George?” Mr. Talmage was there with a cloth over his nose, his deep voice now taking on a nasally timber.
“ ’Ee just made the top when I spotted ’im.” George aimed a finger up as Jack popped his head back; it felt as if every eye was upon him.
“This is the jurisdiction of God,” the Priest huffed. “You will not pollute the sanctuary.”
“Push ’im aside.” George flicked his head to his comrades.
“And do what?” Behind the priest stood a noble figure, tall and well dressed. “You intend to shove a man of God to the street and ransack the church? Do you think that his Lord Mayor, or even the king would contract your Runners as a beneficial police force then?”
Talmage held out his arm like a bar over George’s chest.
“Sir?” George scowled at Talmage.
“ ’Ee’s right.” Talmage pulled the bloody cloth from his nose and tipped his head. “We need to be neighborly. I want you to post two men outside. If he comes down, take ’im.”
George nodded, chewing the side of his lip and stared intently into the face of the priest. “Clemency o’ the church… psssh, we’ll see what ’is High Mayor ’as to say ’bout this.” Looking at his mates, he started to bark orders. “Mafew, Ben, you two takes the streets ’ere on the corner.”
“I’s been up all night?” Mathew protested.
“Aye,” Talmage was indifferent to the complaint. “We’ll post guards round the clock. That little pup has made his own prison, don’t let him escape. I’ll return by noon wif a warrant for entry.” Narrowing his eyes upon the priest, his voice turned menacing. “Then we’ll see ’oo the king supports.”
The tall man behind the priest put a hand on his shoulder and quietly they mounted the steps of the church. “He is correct. They won’t allow sanctuary, but I’m sure you know that.”
“I know, Lord Cunningham, I know,” the Priest sighed. “I just couldn’t abide the intrusion from such rabble.”
“We had best go and find the man before they do.” Lord Cunningham offered.
That was it for Jack. As soon as Talmage returned with a warrant, they would have him in irons. Jack scurried about in the dark, his hands frantically searching the floorboards for the brass loop that would open the trapdoor leading to the church below. His first thought was to scramble down the long hemp rope, but that idea was quickly abandoned. He could not risk tugging the cordage, setting the bells to sound; that would just confirm his presence. With relief, he suddenly felt the cold of the metal ring. Tugging it, the wood squeaked, and then all too quickly pulled upward until it slammed upon the platform with a crack. To Jack it was as if a cannon had fired. Steadying his heart, Jack stared into the blackness of the bell tower that spread out beneath him. Cautiously, he began to move down the worn steps as he pulled the trapdoor slowly shut behind him. With one hand gripping the karambit in his waistband, the other braced against stone, he descended as fast as he could. It was a painful journey—his raw feet aching from the day spent barefoot on the streets and rooftops of London. The fear of being caught was the impetus to keep him going, no matter the cost; flesh healed. As he gained confidence, the turns came more quickly, the steps flowing beneath him.
“I am sure he is a desperate man, Lord Cunningham. I have been a desperate man myself. Maybe if we can find him first, we can help the poor creature,” the Priest’s voice echoed around the stones, causing Jack to freeze. The light of a flickering lamp cast dancing shadows through the wooden steps. At the last moment, Jack ducked into a small, dark alcove. Eyes closed, holding his breath in a grimace, he waited to be discovered. It was a relief when he heard the trap door near the bell slap the wood planking as it flipped open.
“Hello?” the Priest called.
“We mean you no harm,” Cunningham insisted.
Unsure of how he’d avoided detection, Jack resumed his rushed pace down the wooden stairs as quietly as he could. Putting one foot carefully in front of the other, his heart skipped with each groaning step.
“Well that is a strange thing,” the Priest’s voice started back toward him, the trap door slamming shut.
“Well if he was able to scramble up, he could have just as easily scrambled back down,” his companion replied.
“Quite right, quite right.”
Jack was in a panic; he had been moving much slower than he thought and the men were coming down quickly. Turning and turning, he stopped short of a small wooden cupboard, a black chevron on white painted over the surface of the wide planks. He could see the main doors that led out of the bell tower as they were open to the inviting chapel. His assessment of the street was quick; in his condition he would never make it. Instead, he knew he had to hide. Reaching up to the small double doors before him, he twisted the latch and pulled one side open. It was a small closet, made smaller by a bundle of rope and a few tools held along the back wall by a series of metal rings. Hopping up from the steps, he fought the spider webs and twisted his body into the narrow gap, pulling the door closed behind him.
“Well, I will be off, then. If you should have a problem, you have able-bodied guards just outside.”
“I’m not sure whose company I would rather…” The Priest’s voice stalled.
Jack held his breath as the flickering lantern paused just before the door, a single sliver of light catching the edge of his squinting eye.
“What is it?” Cunningham asked.
“Oh, nothing… nothing,” the Priest reassured, and with that, both men and their lantern disappeared.
After what seemed like hours, Jack slowly pushed the cupboard door open. His legs had gone numb from being crouched so long, and the itching pain, like needle points, rushed from the balls of his feet up through his limbs as they awakened with movement. Jack shuffled down the remainder of the stairs, pausing in the shadow of the grand entry. Straight across from where he stood, through a pair of dark wooden doors, he could see rows and rows of pews dimly lit by a single line of flickering candles at the far end. To the right of the chapel doors hung a large, solitary crucifix. Jack tore his eyes from it. That was a problem for Jacques to worry about. Stealing quietly along the wall of the chamber, Jack reached up and gripped a thick brass handle, pulling open one of the heavy doors to the outside silently. Crouching low, he peered through the crack into the courtyard.
“They are still waiting for you,” the Priest’s voice echoed from across the chamber.
Jack remain
ed motionless and silent.
“You were hiding in the little bell closet,” the Priest added. “I thought it best that we were left alone. His lordship is kind, but one can never be too careful in whom we may trust.”
Jack looked back into the grand entry, and then back through the crack in the door, freedom within his grasp.
“I could have already called for the Runners, had you arrested, and enjoyed my tea.” The Priest stepped from behind a tapestry, uncovering his lantern.
Ducking his head in defeat, Jack eased the door closed. “And why didn’t you?”
“I would think a man so desperate as to scramble up the bell tower for freedom should be given a chance to explain himself. Now come. I have some warm bread for breakfast. It would do us both some good, I would think.” The venerable man turned and disappeared into his office.
Jack stood; it did not seem like the priest cared one way or another if he ran, but he had not had a proper tea since leaving Shellstone. His feet cut and bleeding, he would be no match in another chase. Hobbling across the stones, Jack reached the priest’s door and pushed it open, the warmth of a crackling fire coaxing him in.
“You’re just a boy,” the Priest muttered. His hand moved from replacing the fire poker in its stand to worrying the crucifix at his neck. His kind eyes under a white top of hair did little to hide his broad shoulders that alluded to a once stout frame. “Well, come in and have a seat?” the Priest pulled back a chair from a small round table in the middle of the room.
“I haven’t eaten since this morning.” Jack stalled a second more on the threshold, then tucked his head and went straight for the meal. The office around him was lined with oiled oak bookshelves, volumes of writings stacked in order. A similarly built desk was at the other end of the room.
“I wish my wife were still with us, she would have made a much finer feast.” The Priest poured Jack a cup full of tea and swiped some butter on a fresh slice from the loaf. “My name is John.”