Andrew Pepper - The Revenge of Captain Paine

Having changed out of his damp clothes, Pyke retraced his steps back to the taproom, where haggard women and dishevelled men huddled around a blazing fire. On the floor, a gnawed chop bone and some discarded oyster shells sat in a layer of wet butcher’s sawdust.

When a pot-boy brought him a mug of frothy ale, Pyke asked about the two men playing cards next to the fireplace. The young lad explained that Septimus Yellowplush was the town’s magistrate and Mr Burden the rector from All Saint’s Church.

They were playing ‘twenty-one’ and it took Pyke just a few minutes to work out that Yellowplush, who had acquired a stack of coins, was cheating, by drawing the cards he needed either from up his sleeve or, more likely, from somewhere under the table. During each game, he would take his hand and inspect it under the table, ostensibly to shield it from his opponent. From this, Pyke concluded that duplicate playing cards must be fixed to the underside of the table.

With a hand of two jacks and an ace, the rector had just lost again, to an unlikely five-card trick, and he seemed to be on the verge of giving up. Seizing on his indecision, Pyke stepped forward and tossed five gold coins on to the table, considerably more money than they had been playing for. He patted the clergyman on the shoulder, consoling him for his luck, and asked whether he might play the next hand against his opponent. Yellowplush’s eyes narrowed but his face remained composed. He looked at the coins and loosened his cravat. The rector didn’t seem to mind and willingly gave up his seat, commenting only on his opponent’s good fortune.

‘And who might you be, friend?’ Yellowplush said in a staccato voice that was far from friendly.

Pyke’s initial impression of Septimus Yellowplush had been that of a schoolyard bully, the kind of man that he had once dealt with almost without having to think about it: a slap around the face, a few words of warning, perhaps even the flash of his blade to make his point. But having studied the man for a few moments — his hard, waxy skin that barely moved, even when he laughed or frowned, his grey eyes that looked like buttons drilled into his skull, and his small, pink tongue, which darted from his mouth as he spoke — Pyke saw a coldness in him and possibly even a propensity for violence. It was the curly wig which made him look ridiculous, but while misplaced vanity may have convinced him to don such a garment, the fact that no one had summoned sufficient courage to tell him about the folly of his choice told Pyke all he needed to know about the grip with which Yellowplush ruled his fiefdom.

‘You can call me Pyke.’ He eased into the chair, trying to seem more comfortable than he felt. It had been a long time since he had done this kind of work.

‘And where are you from, Mr Pyke?’

‘Just Pyke will do.’

‘Just stopping here for the night?’ Yellowplush picked up the cards and began to shuffle them.

Ignoring the question, Pyke took a swig of ale and wiped his mouth.

‘Not the chatty type? Perhaps your luck will be better than your conversation.’ A ripple of laughter spread across the room. ‘It’s a rich game you’re asking for. You must feel lucky, sir.’

‘Far from it,’ Pyke said, staring down at the table. ‘But any fool can see that luck like yours can’t last for ever.’

Yellowplush’s smile vanished. ‘Would you have any objections to my dealing?’

Pyke took the pack, shuffled the cards and handed them back to his opponent. ‘Be my guest.’

‘A stranger in a strange town.’ Yellowplush licked his lips. ‘I’d be careful how you conduct yourself, sir.’

‘Yes, I read in the newspapers this wasn’t the most welcoming of places.’

‘I’m guessing that you’re referring to the headless corpse.’ Yellowplush had dealt himself two eights and Pyke a ten and a seven. ‘Or perhaps to the arrival of the navvies?’

‘It’s not every day a headless corpse is reported in the newspapers. I’d say it was the talk of London when I left.’

Yellowplush looked at him, unimpressed. ‘Brutal murder may be commonplace in that city but it’s thankfully rarer here in the provinces.’ He smiled without warmth. ‘What did you say your business was?’

‘I didn’t.’ Pyke stared down at his hand and pushed the gold coins into the middle of the table. ‘I’ll have another card.’

The magistrate dealt him a card, face down. Leaving it on the table, Pyke turned over one of the corners and saw it was the four of clubs.

‘Good card?’

Removing a purse from his coat, Pyke pulled out a ten-pound note. ‘Just to make it interesting.’

There were gasps of astonishment around the table. It was more money than many of them would earn in two months.

‘You’re not one for small talk, are you?’ Yellowplush looked down at the cards in front of him. Beneath his wig, he had started to sweat.

‘As you said, a stranger should learn to hold his tongue.’

‘Indeed.’ The magistrate took some snuff on the tip of his finger, brought it up to his nose. ‘I’ll take the bet, sir.’ It was what the whole room had wanted to hear.

‘Perhaps you might allow me to see your money.’

This drew a hollow chuckle. ‘You don’t imagine I carry such a sum on my person, do you?’

‘Then how am I to know you can actually afford to pay your debt?’

‘Assuming I lose.’

Pyke nodded. ‘Assuming I win.’

‘Are you saying my word is somehow insufficient?’ Yellowplush asked, smiling to conceal his threatening tone.

‘Would you trust my word?’

‘I’m the magistrate of this town.’

‘I suppose someone has to be.’ Pyke folded his arms and looked around the room dismissively. ‘But I’ll still need to see your money.’

Yellowplush licked his lips and studied Pyke’s face. ‘Perhaps you would allow me a few minutes to discuss terms with the landlord.’

‘Be my guest.’

It took Yellowplush ten minutes to come up with the money; when he returned to the table, he emptied the coins out of his pockets on to the table. ‘Count ’em if you like,’ he said, taking another pinch of snuff.

Pyke leant across the table, whispering, ‘How much does it cost to buy the law in a town like this? More than the price of a new wig?’

The outrage registered in the magistrate’s dilated pupils.

‘I’d be careful of loose talk in a town where folk are already twitchy and fearful of what might happen.’

‘What might happen when?’ Pyke stared at his opponent’s leathery skin.

The magistrate shrugged and dealt himself another card.

As Yellowplush dealt it, Pyke again leaned over the table and whispered, ‘That card remains on the table in full view of everyone here. If you try to swap it with one of those duplicate cards you’ve fixed to the underside of the table, I’ll expose your squalid little scam. Nod once, to show me you understand.’

Colour drained from the magistrate’s face and sweat leaked from beneath his wig.

‘Was that a nod?’

Yellowplush didn’t seem to know what to do. His curly wig slipped farther down his forehead but he didn’t seem to have noticed.

A crowd of faces had gathered around the table, watching their every move with a keen interest.

‘Did I just see a nod?’ Pyke said, louder so others could hear him.

Yellowplush pushed his wig back up on top of his head and nodded. Pyke turned over his four of clubs. ‘Twenty-one. ’ He smiled at the glowering magistrate. ‘What? Has your luck finally run out?’

When Yellowplush neither answered him nor turned over his cards, Pyke added, ‘Remember what I said about keeping your hands above the table.’ Then he reached out, plucked the card from the magistrate’s hand and tossed it on to the table. ‘Makes nineteen, if I’m not mistaken.’ Scooping up the coins and his own ten-pound note, he deliberately knocked over his ale glass, and watched as the brown liquid dripped on to the magistrate’s lap. Before Yellowplush could stop him, Pyke swiped the curly wig from his head and began to mop up the mess. An awed silence fell across the room. Whistling, Pyke continued his mopping-up work, until the table was dry, and then rinsed out the wig and placed it back on the magistrate’s head. Ale began to drip down on to Yellowplush’s face. There were a few nervous twitters from the very back of the room. Otherwise, no one said a word. As he arranged the wig on the magistrate’s head, Pyke added, ‘Lay a finger on me in here and I’ll make sure that every man and woman in this inn knows you cheat at cards.’ Then he wiped both hands on his jacket and stood up. ‘Now that’s settled, perhaps you’ll join me for some night air,’ Pyke said, so that everyone in the room could hear him.