Home From The Sea (23 page)

“There should be three more of the bastards,” Toby said softly as the boat grounded out the second time, and without waiting for Burke or Pledge to speak he pinned on a smile and called, “You took your time getting here, Nathaniel! I thought you’d never show your face!
Where’s
Eli and Willie?”
And to Jim, so softly that his voice would not carry, “Eli Hobbs and Willie Tuttle.
They drifted into Exmouth the evening before I walked out. The last one, Rufus Bigelow, hadn’t arrived when I left.”

Coughing heavily after the exertion of pulling up the boat, Burke spat into the water and pulled the back of his hand over his mouth. His voice was deep, rum-rough, with the accent of Bristol. “
They’s
back in the
drinkin
’ house, still gettin’ ’
emselves
proper soused and bedded. They’ll be along in a day or three, when this shite weather lets up.” He glared at the sky as if he had a private, personal grudge against it.
“So, Toby.
They told us back in Exmouth … we’re just a mite late to drink Charlie’s health in rum. He’s dead and gone these last six years or so, and The Raven belongs to another young lad. Nice lad, they said, but gammy-legged. And the
whores
whereabouts say he’s a eunuch.
This
un
. You been here all along, Toby?”

“Been here,” Toby said in a light tone of voice. “Sang for my supper a couple of times, cut some wood, helped get her battened down for the storm.”

“Sang
fer
yer
supper?” Pledge echoed, and barked a laugh. “
Yer
didn’t fuck
fer
it? Now, there’s a turn up
fer
the books.” His accent was London, not quite Cockney but close. He peered at Jim now, brows knitted over dark brown eyes. “This un’s pretty.
Yer
didn’t try
yer
luck?”

Heat bloomed in Jim’s face, and when he looked back at Toby he saw the pink rising in his cheeks. It might have been humiliation or anger, Jim could not guess, since Toby’s expression was carefully shuttered.

 
“Yes, well I might have tried it on,” he growled, “but Master Fairley doesn’t have a share in such sin and infamy, and I was gentleman enough to let it rest with innuendo.”

“Gentleman?
You?”
Pledge roared with laughter and jabbed Burke with his elbow. “And ’
e’s
usin
’ them big words again.”

“Him that speaks Latin like he was born to it,” Burke mused, as if it represented a serious flaw in Toby’s character. He thrust both hands into the deep pockets of the blue coat, deliberately shifting it to show the pistols. “You look well fed, well slept.”

“I did my work.” Toby’s eyes dropped; his lips pressed tight. “Master Fairley runs an honest house. You work, you get fed and a place to sleep. And there were plenty of jobs, with the storms.”

“Aye, maybe so.”
Burke’s dark eyes moved on to Jim now, and Jim met them with the faintest flinch, held them with difficulty. Burke and Pledge should be complete strangers to him – he must not let them realize Toby had described them, much less warned against them. Burke continued to flay him alive with his eyes, but he spoke to Toby. “Where’s Barney?”

“Flat on his face, drunk, the last time I saw him,” Toby said promptly.

“What, ’ere?”
Pledge demanded.

“No.” Toby gestured into the west.
“The
Cattlemarket
.
Artie
Polgreen’s
house, back yonder,
closer
to Exmouth.”

“Barney left bloody Exmouth a couple of days after you, Trelane.” Burke hawked and spat. “He was headed right here.”

“He didn’t get here.” Toby shrugged offhandly. “He probably got waylaid. This isn’t the only tavern on the coast, and some of the others have the kind of doxies he fancies. You know.” He cupped both hands, a foot in front of his chest. “He’s back there somewhere, getting himself thoroughly poxed and waiting for the water to go down. You want me to take the boat, go and scare him up? I walked past two other inns on my way here. I know where they are.”

For a long moment Jim was sure Burke was about to tell him to go, and he held his breath. Being alone in The Raven with these two was far from desirable. Burke was still scrutinizing him, deliberately rude. At last the big man growled, “Leave him be. If Barney wants to be absent when the spoils get divvied up, and if he comes up a handful or two short for his bone-bloody-idleness, so be it.” His brows rose.
“To business, lad.”
He was intent on Toby. “Let’s be having it. You’ve been here long enough.”

Now, Toby cleared his throat. “I haven’t found it yet.” He shot a glance sidelong at Jim. “I’ve been trying not to let Master Fairley know I’ve been looking, but I’ve searched the upstairs, the stable,
the
coach house. Even the taproom, when he was asleep.
Nothing yet.
Charlie made a damned good job of hiding it – and be glad he did, Nathaniel. If he’d made it easy, Jim or his father would have stumbled over it. It’s been a long time.”

Jim knew he ought to be saying
something
, and he summoned a chuckle. “I have no idea what you’re all talking about, but I do know this.
It’s
cold out here, and it’s starting to rain again. Will you come inside, have pie and ale, and tell me what in hell you want? God knows, if you tell me what it is, I might be able to help you!”

Fat chance of Burke and Pledge telling him, he knew, but it was a sound gambit, typical of the publican who had dealt with every kind of man across the years. He called the terrier with him and retreated to the kitchen with a leisurely pace, exaggerating the limp. The
more lame
Burke and Pledge believed him, the greater advantage he would have, if a moment came when he needed it. He called the dogs with him, held a finger to his lips to silence the old woman, and listened.

The two men stamped inside and the door slammed. Burke’s voice was sharp with anger. “You think
I’s
going to believe a word of this bilge? You bugger off and
get it
, Trelane, right bloody now. You drag it out here, quick sharp, or
I’s
likely to lay another set of stripes across your back, like all the ones you earned before. Whose brand are you
wearin
’ on your arse?”

“Yours,” Toby said hoarsely, in an odd voice Jim had not heard before. “It’s been so many years, Nathaniel –”

“Not so many that
I’s
forgot,” Burke snapped, “and nor am I likely to. You just remember whose brand you’re wearing. You drag out the swag, drag it out quick enough, and I’ll forget you tried to gull me.”

“I didn’t – I’m not trying to swindle you,” Toby protested. “I’ve turned this place inside out and shaken it, I just haven’t found it yet. Now you’re finally here, you can help. You think a place this size can be searched, rafters to cellar, in a few days with one pair of hands, in this weather, while trying not to be seen?”

Burke hesitated, and it was Pledge who said sourly, “The lad makes a point. I wouldn’t like to be ’
anded
the job,
wiv
me life
dependin
’ on it.”

“A very good point indeed.”
Burke admitted slowly, musingly. “Master Fairley, I’ll thank you to come back out here.”

The pulses were hammering in Jim’s temples as he stuck his head out of the kitchen. “I’m slicing a rabbit pie. You don’t want food?”

And then his mouth dried as Burke calmly lifted the pistol from the right side of his belt, pulled back the hammer, and drew aim dead
center
on Jim’s forehead.

“I’ll ask you again,” he said to Toby. “Drag out the swag. Drag it out now, lad, or it’ll be a pistol ball for Master Fairley and a cane across your back till you can’t stand.”

“Sweet Jesus.”
Toby dropped to his knees at Burke’s feet. “Flog me to death, Nathaniel – I can’t give you what I haven’t got. I’ve searched – go up and look at the mattresses! Every one of them’s ripped open on the bottom. For godsakes, don’t murder on my account. Like Barney always says, I’m going to hell, nothing’s surer – there’s enough on my slate to burn me for a decade. Don’t make it a century, not with the blood of an innocent. I don’t want that on my hands.”

It seemed to Jim the tableau froze and time stopped dead. The clock on the mantel might have stopped ticking, for all he was aware of it. Pledge was leering at Toby, expecting Burke to pull the trigger; Toby was hunched, head down, poised on his knees. There was no way for Jim or Toby himself to get to Burke before Burke made the
shot,
or before Pledge pulled one of his own pistols. Burke had the habit of keeping his weapons loaded at all times, but when Joe Pledge was walking into a scene like this, Jim had to believe his were loaded too.

He found his voice with an effort of will and slowly, slowly raised his hands. “I don’t know what you want,” he rasped, not recognizing his own voice, “but if you’re desperate to search the house – get on with it. I’ve lived here a long time. Tell me what you’re looking for. I can tell you where it might be. Then take it, whatever it is, and go. Just go away. Stay away.
All right?”

“Nathaniel, please.” Toby did not lift his head. “I remember the day you branded your mark into my hide, and I was glad of it. I’ve never had reason to dupe
you,
I don’t have a reason now. A handful of baubles is all I ask, and my freedom. A handful, and I can live well for the rest of my life – I don’t ask much. I found a place in
Spain
,
I’ll be going back there. Just help me search, take what you want, and let me go. Let Master Fairley go – he’s done nothing, Nathaniel. Killing him would be murder. You want the stain of it on your soul?”

“Shut up, Trelane. You sound like a priest again, and you got no right. Not with an arse that’s been ridden like yours.” Burke spat in Toby’s direction, but the hammer dropped softly on the pistol and the weapon slid back into his belt. “Well, now, Master Fairley. It seems I believe you.”

Jim summoned his voice and found a croak. “Damned good thing you do, because it’s the truth. You’ve got me flummoxed, Captain, and I hate a mystery.”

“Captain?”
Burke echoed.

“You look like the skipper of a rough, disorderly crew.” Jim lowered his hands slowly. He gestured at the door, and beyond.
“The longboat.
I thought you’d just come ashore. You’ve a ship in the bay, have you?”

For a moment Burke seemed apprehensive and then his face creased into a grimace which was probably supposed to be a smile, displaying long, tobacco stained teeth. He laughed with the sound of congested lungs.
“One thing at a time, young Fairley, and all in its right order.
You didn’t notice this bugger
ferretin
’ about in your nooks and crannies,
countin
’ your cobwebs?”

“No,” Jim lied. “I’ve been too busy. The first storm did a lot of
damage,
I had windows to fix, and a door –”

“Aye, all right.”
Burke turned his back on Jim, intent on Toby now. “Get your feet under you. When I want you on your knees, I’ll tell you.”

“Nathaniel.” Toby stood with a grace and ease the other two might have envied, and Jim held his breath.

“Show me,” Burke invited. “Show me what you’ve searched, and how. Make me believe you, like I believe that gimpy-legged eunuch over there,
who’s
white with dread and likely peein’ his britches.”

Given the chance to divert attention from Jim, Toby seized it. “I started upstairs. After the first storm, I mended the thatch – searched the loft while I was up there. There’s a trapdoor in the ceiling. Come up, and I’d be glad to show you.”

“Nathaniel,” Pledge growled warningly, hanging back.

“Speak your mind.” Burke crossed both arms over a chest like a barrel.

His left arm did not work quite like the right, Jim noticed, as if an old wound bedevilled the shoulder, but those arms were thick as the limbs of a young tree. Wrestle with him, let him get a rival into a bearhug, and the result would be broken bones, suffocation. Jim saw all this and noted it down while he forced himself to listen to Pledge.

The London accent was thick enough to be sliced with a breadknife. “
Yer
gunna
believe ’im?” Pledge demanded. “
Yer
put
yer
mark on him,
yer
mark of
ownership
.
Yer
think ’
e’s
not
gunna
grab the first chance ’e can get to wriggle out like the worm ’e is?”

“You don’t believe him,” Burke observed with curious amusement.

“No, I bloody don’t,” Pledge said hotly. “What I believe is, ’e found the swag yesterday, the day before
mebbe
, ’e took it out and Master bloody eunuch Fairley didn’t see
nuthin
’, and if this little shite of a parson can give us the slip and take the lot, ’
e’ll
do it, and laugh.”

“
I’s
sure he would,” Burke agreed, “but he ain’t going to get the chance, Joe. Calm yourself. We’ll search this place, rafters to cellar. If I
has
to, I’ll put a torch to it, burn it down and go through the rubble one shovelful at a time. If Toby’s tellin’ the truth, we’ll find the swag sooner or later. If he’s
lyin
’, and I’ll grant you, he probably is, we’ll find nothin’.” He smiled at Toby almost benignly. His right hand reached out, tangled in Toby’s hair,
tousled
it gently. “And
then
I’ll have the truth out of him, the way you saw me have the truth out of the Spanish
lad, that
time in the Azores.”