Andrew Swanston - The King's Return

‘We know that Stoner is Argentum. Are you Aurum?’

Again Squire scoffed. ‘If you know about Stoner, you know about me. I do hope you’ve caught the bastard. Not a principle in his body. Money, profit, wealth – Stoner knows nothing else.’

‘Was Morland involved?’

‘Good God, no. Morland is not as clever as he thinks. He made a convenient scapegoat. You would be surprised how easy it has been to intercept and read correspondence from Williamson’s agents without his knowing.’

‘You must have had help.’

‘Possibly.’

Thomas tried a long shot. ‘Roger Willow?’

A fleeting look of surprise might, just might, have crossed Squire’s face. ‘Roger’s Shylock was as good a performance as I have seen.’ So Willow too had been an actor. How unexpected.

Throughout the exchange, Josiah had said nothing and barely moved. His eyes had never left Squire and Thomas sensed that he was waiting for the moment to attack. With a loaded pistol in Squire’s hand, that would be suicidal. He put a hand on Josiah’s arm to restrain him. ‘Then would you care to tell us about a disfigured Dutchman or the Alchemist?’

‘Other than that neither is in England, no. Enough questions. I have a decision to make. We will sit here while I consider the matter.’ A minute passed, and another, and the pistol moved to Thomas’s head. He prepared himself for the bullet. If Squire shot him, at least he would go to the gallows. Josiah would make sure of it. Or would he use the bullet on Josiah, leaving only Thomas between himself and escape? He might. Thomas wriggled forwards and sideways on his backside until he was in front of Josiah.

‘How brave, Thomas,’ said Squire quietly, ‘but pointless, of course.’ He paused and ran his free hand over his shaven head. ‘It hasn’t always been easy, you know, playing the role of loyal eccentric. Skilled though I am, even the finest actor can tire of a part. And now that there are so few of us left in England and Charles Stuart is on the throne, I should have joined my friends in Amsterdam. Alas, loyalty to the cause has kept me here in the hope of being some use. As, I like to think, I have been.’ He laughed. ‘Actually it has been rather a relief to be in here and not to have to wear ridiculous clothes or stuff myself with food and drink. But I can’t stay here for ever. I must move on.’

‘I will speak for you if you hand me the pistol and allow us to escort you away from here.’

Squire grunted. ‘Even if I thought there was a slender hope of my being spared the gallows, we would never leave here alive. Finn and his people would kill all of us.’

‘They might not. Josiah would speak to Finn, wouldn’t you, Josiah?’

‘I would, sir.’ Thomas could hear the doubt in his voice.

‘That would do no good,’ said Squire. ‘Now move over to the corner by the door, Thomas. I have made a decision and I would not want you to be splattered with blood and brains.’ Thomas ignored him. ‘Do move away, Thomas.’

‘I find myself unable to oblige, Lemuel,’ replied Thomas. ‘My backside seems to be stuck to the floor.’

‘Better do as ’e says, sir,’ muttered Josiah. ‘If ’e shoots me, go for ’is throat or ’is eyes. Then smash ’is ’ead against the wall. That should do for ’im.’

‘Very well, Thomas, if you are determined not to move, on your head be it,’ said Squire. ‘Farewell. The play is over.’ Thomas shut his eyes and waited for the bullet. The crack of the shot, when it came, reverberated around the room. For an instant Thomas was stunned. When he opened his eyes, Squire was slumped on the blankets. His finger was still on the trigger and the barrel was in his mouth.

Josiah was the first to his feet. ‘Time we were gone, sir,’ he said. ‘The shot will ’ave been heard. They’ll be coming to investigate.’

He helped Thomas up and out of the room. They climbed through the hole and turned left down the alley in the direction the girl had pointed. ‘’Urry, sir,’ he urged, breaking into a trot. ‘I can ’ear them already.’ So could Thomas. The sounds of running feet and urgent voices were all around them. There must be a passage alongside them and others nearby. If they did not reach a way out before their pursuers they would be trapped.

They came to a flight of stone steps leading downwards. Josiah took them two at a time and waited for Thomas at the bottom. ‘Make haste, sir. No time to lose.’

Hearing voices close behind, Thomas was down the steps and beside Josiah in a trice. On they went along the alley, still with no idea where they were heading. Without warning a dark figure stepped out in front of Josiah, a long knife in his hand. Barely breaking his stride, Josiah broke the man’s arm with his stick, knocked him to the ground and stepped over him.

He looked back at Thomas and shouted a warning. ‘Behind you, sir!’ Thomas turned. Another man, this one with a short-handled axe, had appeared from nowhere. The man approached cautiously, his axe raised to strike. Thomas kept his eyes fixed on the man’s arm. The moment he saw it move, he stepped outside the blow, grasped the man’s wrist in his left hand and thrust the knuckles of his right hand into his throat. With a satisfying gurgle, the man collapsed on to the ground. Thomas turned back to Josiah and rubbed his knuckles. ‘Years of practice, Josiah.’

They started running again, following the curve of the alley. Then they stopped. A brick wall blocked their way. They were trapped. Josiah was panting heavily. ‘There must be a way out, sir. There’s always a way out.’

Thomas looked about. ‘There. On your right, Josiah. See it?’

‘Got it.’ There was a wooden door low down on the wall, well disguised and just big enough for a man to crawl through. There was a key in the lock. Josiah turned it and kicked the door open. ‘On you go, sir.’

Thomas ducked through the opening and found himself in a vertical shaft with a wooden ladder nailed to it. Light was filtering down from the top of the shaft. He started to climb towards it, expecting Josiah to follow. But after no more than four rungs, there was a scuffle behind him. A hand grasped his ankle and pulled it hard. Taken by surprise, he let go his hold on the ladder, slid down and landed in a heap at the bottom. Again his ankle was grasped and he was dragged back through the low door. He was kicked in the ribs and ordered by a rough voice to stand up. When he did so, he saw Josiah held by his arms by two men, while a third held a knife to his throat. Josiah’s stick lay on the ground.

‘Sorry, sir,’ croaked Josiah. ‘I was too slow.’

Pinned by their elbows, they were marched painfully along the alley, up the steps and back to the ‘inn’, where they were thrown into the room in which they had found Lemuel Squire. The door was slammed and the key turned in the lock.

Thomas’s eyes were drawn to the body. He wriggled as far away from it as he could and sat with his back to the wall. On the opposite wall were splattered Squire’s brains, blown to pieces by the pistol shot. He turned away. Hell and damnation. A few seconds more and Josiah would have been through the low door and up the ladder. Now they were locked up with a dead body for company.

‘You in one piece, sir?’ whispered Josiah.

‘I think so. Just a kick in the ribs. And you?’

‘Took a fist in the throat, sir.’ Josiah was clearly hurting.

‘Sounds painful. Best leave the talking to me.’ Thomas moved closer to Josiah so that he could see him more clearly. ‘Just nod or shake your head, Josiah.

‘Does Agnes know where we were going?’ A nod. ‘Will she go to Mr Williamson? No? Charles Carrington? No? Who then?’

‘’Enrietta.’ It was barely audible and Thomas thought he had misheard.