James McGee - Rapscallion

"Easy, girl," he whispered, and stroked the mare's haunch, wondering where Esther had got to. He placed the pistols in their holsters on his saddle. It was then that he noticed his sabre was missing. The scabbard was there, hanging from the saddle, but it lay empty. Curious, Jilks thought, trying to recall if he'd taken it into the cottage with him.

"Esther?" he called.

He heard a footstep behind him, and turned.

The sabre thrust took Jilks by surprise, piercing his waistcoat and entering his belly with ease. At first, he felt nothing, but as the sword-point continued on its path the pain took him, spreading through his body like liquid fire. Jilks clasped his hands to his stomach, curving them around the blade in a desperate effort to prevent the sword from penetrating further, but all he felt was numbness in his fingers as the tempered steel bit into his flesh. Jilks stared at his killer, an expression of stupefaction on his face, as the sabre blade was withdrawn. His hands felt suddenly warm. He looked down and watched, curious, as the dark stain spread across his waistcoat and the blood dripped on to his boots. With a groan, he fell forward on to the straw. It was odd, he thought, how his hands were still warm while the rest of him was so cold. He was still thinking that when his eyes closed for the last time.

The gatehouse picket stepped forward and lifted up McTurk's head. Gazing at the shattered eye socket and the matted mess at the back of the skull, his face clouded in grim recognition. Wordlessly, he let the head drop and moved aside.

Croker led the horses through the archway in silence and in single file.

The journey back to the Haunt had been accomplished without incident, save for the one occasion when they thought they had heard hoofbeats coming up behind them in the distance, not long after leaving the cottage. They had taken cover in a thicket, but after an anxious ten-minute wait, with no evidence of pursuit, they had continued on their way.

The lanterns were burning as they entered the yard. Light issued from the stable doors. Hawkwood had no timepiece, but he knew it was late. He wondered if there was a run on or perhaps there were difficulties with the new foal. There had been no ghostly friars on the road.

Morgan appeared through the stable doorway as they dismounted, wiping his hands with a cloth. His eyes moved to McTurk's horse and the body across its back. He looked to Croker.

"It all went to shit," Croker said savagely. "That bastard, Jilks — he did for Pat."

"What happened?" Morgan sounded remarkably calm, Hawkwood thought.

Croker nodded towards Hawkwood. "Ask him."

"I was about to." Morgan regarded Hawkwood. "Well?"

"Your man Jilks is what happened. He put up more of a fight than we were expecting."

"Explain."

"What's to explain? He heard us coming. He shot at us. We shot at him. McTurk's dead. Jilks lives to fight another day. My guess is he's still running."

"We thought it best to bring Pat back with us," Croker said, avoiding Hawkwood's gaze. "Didn't seem right to leave him behind."

Morgan turned abruptly. "Bring him inside."

Croker took the bridle of McTurk's horse and led it into the stable, pulling his own horse after him. Hawkwood and Lasseur followed.

The groom, Thaddeus, was in the first stall, wiping down a bay mare. He looked up as the men entered, saw McTurk's corpse and his hand stilled.

Morgan nodded towards the body. "Help Jack lift him down."

Hawkwood and Lasseur tethered their mounts as Croker and the groom undid the ties and laid the corpse on the straw.

In the lantern light, the groom's lined face looked cracked and yellow.

"Looks as if you had a lucky escape," Morgan said as Hawkwood and Lasseur stored their saddles across the top rail of the stall.

"No thanks to McTurk," Hawkwood said. "He made enough noise to wake the dead."

"Really?" Morgan said, stepping away. "That's not what I heard. I heard he went quietly and the poor sod didn't even know what hit him. When you're ready, Cephus."

Pepper emerged from the shadows, a pistol in his right hand. He was not alone. A slight figure stepped out behind him and Hawkwood knew that his troubles were only just beginning.

"You've met Esther," Morgan said.

She had forsaken the dress, swapping it for a short coat and breeches. Her hair was tied in a ribbon at the back of her neck. Her eyes blazed with anger. "He's the one," she said, pointing at Hawkwood. Her voice was cold.

Hawkwood looked for an escape route. The only way out was through the main doors, and that wasn't an option because the two men who had been concealed behind the doors walked into the light. Both carried cocked pistols. Each had a cudgel in his belt. One of them was Del.

"Move and you're dead," Morgan said. "You, too, Captain Lasseur."

Hawkwood stood still. There wasn't much else he could do.

Lasseur raised his hands and looked around. "What is happening here?"

Croker rose to his feet, equally perplexed. "What the hell's going on?"

"We've been deceived, Jack," Morgan said. "We've another fox in the run." He looked at Lasseur. "Maybe two."

"What?"

"Seems our Captain Hooper's been a tad economical with the truth. Turns out he's not an escaped prisoner after all. He's probably not even a captain. He sure as hell isn't an American."

"What are you talking about?"

"He's the law, Jack; sent to spy on us. His name's not Hooper, it's Hawkwood. And according to Esther he's a special constable working out of — where was it? — Bow Street? You know what that means? I reckon we've gone and caught ourselves a bloody Runner!"

"Jesus!" Croker, teeth bared, clapped a hand to the butt of his pistol.

"No!" Morgan said sharply. "Not here. Take their weapons."

"He killed Pat," the girl said, her thin face all angles and shadows in the lantern light. "Shot him in cold blood, the murdering bastard!"

"That's why we're taking their weapons," Morgan said patiently. He gestured to the men by the door. To Hawkwood and Lasseur, he said, "Take out your pistols. Fingers and thumbs only. Lay them on the ground. Step away."

Hawkwood and Lasseur did as they were told. Morgan's men retrieved the guns.

Lasseur stared at the girl. "Who is this woman? What is she saying?"

Morgan feigned surprise. "Of course, I forgot. Esther, this is Captain Lasseur. Captain, allow me to present young Esther. She's family; daughter of a cousin of mine. Grand girl, smart as a whip, takes after her mother, God rest her soul. Esther's father was killed by the Revenue, five years back. Her brother, Tom, was sent down two years ago; seven years' transportation. Coincidentally, he was three months in the hulks before they shipped him off. Small world, isn't it? Means she has no love for the Revenue or the law, so it's no use trying to appeal to her better nature — she hasn't got one. That's why we placed her in Officer Jilks's employ. Got her a job as his housekeeper so she could keep an eye on him for us. What is it they say? Keep your friends close but your enemies closer? Been a mine of information, Esther has.

"Oh, and by the way, Captain — Officer — Hawkwood, whatever the hell it is you call yourself, just so you know: Jilks won't be delivering your message. He didn't make it. Esther made sure of that. Don't feel bad, though. It wasn't your visit that hastened his end. His days were already numbered."

Morgan smiled. "Remember that conversation we had when you asked me about the Warden affray and I told you we always have reinforcements standing by? Well, that's our Esther. She was all set to deal with Jilks, but it seemed a good idea to have you and Captain Lasseur save her the bother. Goes to show how hard it is to find good help these days.

"I have to say, Esther did the business. Even took his horse and rode here to warn us. She was worried she'd run into you on the road, but we were lucky, she took another track. Managed to beat you to it. That's Jilks's mare over yonder, the one Thaddeus is rubbing down."