Chris Nickson - Come the Fear

The thief taker let go of the sack. It fell in a brief clatter of metal.

‘Stolen goods, Mr Walton, some of the things Mr Collins reported missing. Items that can make a man dance from the noose.’ He advanced, taking out his weapon. ‘Search him, John, make sure he’s not armed. Look in his boot for a dagger.’

Walton stayed silent, his body tense, his breathing low. He stared at the Constable, fury black in his eyes.

‘Two knives, boss.’

‘Nothing to say?’ Nottingham asked. ‘No clever London words for the provinces?’ He knew he was waiting for an answer that would never come. ‘You shouldn’t have thought we were fools,’ he said, shaking his head.

Walton spat and the Constable moved slightly aside, letting the spittle land on the ground.

‘Holden,’ he said, ‘take him to the jail. Watch him carefully. If he tries to escape, you know what to do.’

He moved between the groups of searchers, asking what they’d found and encouraging them. It was hard going in the night; the men were growing disheartened and tired, ready for their beds.

The Constable rubbed at his eyes, feeling them gritty with exhaustion. He should have felt satisfaction in taking Walton, but instead it seemed like a small thing, insignificant when held against a missing boy and a dead girl.

Lanterns were burning all over and men moved through the night, sticks pushing through the undergrowth, the cry of voices in the distance. It was close to midnight and they’d still found no trace of the lad. If there was nothing by dawn they’d have to admit he’d been snatched. Then everything would change.

The only way he knew the time was from the church bell. At two o’clock plenty were still out, going over everywhere again. Lights burned in some of the houses, and wives came out with ale and bread for the searchers, aware that it could easily be their child that was missing.

By three, deep in the heart of the dark, there were fewer of them. He understood. They’d searched hard, they were tired, they’d need a few hours’ sleep before working. He ached with tiredness, but he knew he’d have no real rest until the boy had been found. Lucy was dead; pray God the lad was still alive.

He’d just turned on to Boar Lane when he heard the noise. There were shouts of joy and laughter. He turned and without thinking began to run. It was coming from the bridge. When he arrived, a group of men was standing by the parapet, others coming quickly. He pushed through, his heart beating fast. A man was holding the lad. It was definitely him, with fair hair and blue coat and breeches that looked almost black in the torchlight. The boy looked dazed, as if he’d just woken. Nottingham let out a long, silent breath of relief.

‘Who found him?’

‘We did,’ a man said proudly. ‘Me and Ezra were coming back over the bridge and he were just standing there at the other side.’

‘Was anyone with him?’

‘No, it was just him.’

They couldn’t have missed him all this time, Nottingham thought. Too many feet had tramped across the Leeds Bridge in the last few hours. The boy seemed too unsteady to have walked. Someone had put him close by, wanted him to be found.

‘Has anyone gone for his parents?’ he asked

‘Aye, his father’s on his way,’ a voice told him.

‘Bring that light closer,’ the Constable said. Very carefully he checked Mark for injuries, feeling along the bones, examining the flesh for cuts and finding nothing. He brought his face close to the boy’s mouth, and caught the scent of wine on his breath mixed with something he couldn’t identify.

Drugged, he thought. That would be it.

‘How do you feel, Mark?’ Nottingham asked gently. He knew he only had a short time before the boy’s father arrived. The lad didn’t answer, looking around fearfully, scared by the press of faces that surrounded him. ‘You’re fine now,’ the Constable assured him. ‘You’re safe. Do you remember how you got here?’

Mark shook his head.

‘That doesn’t matter. You’re here now, that’s all that counts.’ He picked the boy up, holding him for the searchers to see and they started to cheer. As he let Mark slide down his body he felt something in the pocket of the blue coat. While the others talked he slipped his hand in and took out a piece of paper, sliding it into his waistcoat before anyone could notice.

‘Where is he?’ a desperate voice cried, and Morrison forced his way through the crowd and dropping to his knees.

‘He’s fine,’ the Constable told him. ‘Don’t worry. Take him home and let him rest. I’ll come by tomorrow.’

Morrison’s hands were shaking as he slid them under his son and lifted. In the light Nottingham could see tears of relief coursing down his cheeks as he pulled the child close to his chest.

‘The city thanks all of you,’ Nottingham said, raising his voice. ‘You’ve given your time and we’ve found Mark. We’re grateful, and I’m sure his family is, too. Now let’s go home and sleep. You’ve all earned it.’

He waited until they began to disperse and made his way back to the jail. As he turned on to Kirkgate the clock struck four, the first line of dawn on the horizon. He checked to be certain Walton was locked in a cell then lit a candle and settled into his chair, stifling a wide yawn.

He remembered how, just a few years before, he’d often go two days and a night without sleep. It hadn’t worried him then; a few hours’ of rest and he’d be ready to work more. Now he knew he’d doze off during the sermon in church. The place would be full of people giving thanks for the safe return of Mark Morrison, the way it always was after events like this, reminders of the rare goodness God could give.

He reached into the pocket of his coat and drew out the paper he’d found in Mark’s pocket. He smoothed it out on the desk and brought the flame closer and read the words.

‘This is what we can do. Next time no mercy.’

Sedgwick and Rob arrived together, laughing and loud, their voices echoing up and down the street like a dawn chorus.

‘Good news for once,’ the deputy said, pouring ale and easing himself into a chair.

‘I’m glad my father was wrong,’ Lister said.

‘He wasn’t.’ The Constable pushed the note across to them. ‘Someone had dosed the lad with something. He could hardly stand when they found him. That was in his pocket.’

‘Next time?’ Sedgwick asked after he’d read the words.

‘Next time,’ Nottingham echoed darkly. ‘We’ve been warned.’ He looked at the others. ‘The first thing is, not a word of this outside here. Understand?’

They both nodded.

‘It’s just luck that I was there and took this. You can imagine what would happen if people heard about it.’

‘So what can we do?’ Rob said.

‘We’ve got to find whoever’s behind this before they can do it again.’

‘How?’ the deputy wondered.

‘I don’t know, John.’ The Constable shook his head in frustration. ‘I really don’t know. I’ll go over to Morrison’s today and talk to the lad, but I doubt he’ll remember anything.’

‘Where do we even start?’ asked Lister. ‘If we begin asking if anyone saw this boy with someone, people will become suspicious.’

Nottingham ran a hand through his hair.

‘True,’ he acknowledged wearily. ‘I’ll talk to the mayor after church. Just keep your eyes and your ears open for anything. Anything at all. You know how many children there are around.’

Silence filled the room.

‘John, see that the thief taker goes over to the prison at the Moot Hall today. And check that Joshua Davidson and his girls have gone. The house is by Shaw Pool. I gave them their marching orders. If they’re still there, arrest them.’