Matthew Hawkwood Thriller Series Books 1-3: Ratcatcher, Resurrectionist, Rapscallion. James McGee

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ over Hawkwood’s shoulder. “Your man Scully uses a marlinespike. Fearsome weapon in the wrong ‘ands,” Jago commented reflectively.

      Not that the disclosure needed embellishment, certainly not as far as Hawkwood was concerned. He had ceased to be surprised at the variety of means by which the more murderously inclined members of society were prepared to perform grievous bodily harm upon their fellow men – or women and children, come to that. The ex-seaman, Scully, was just another piece of human jetsam to have drifted in with the tide. The capital’s rookeries were full of men like Scully. Rootless, violent types, willing to use any means of intimidation to further their own ends.

      “’As an abidin’ ‘atred of authority, does our Spiker,” Jago went on, warming to his subject. “Wanted to string the Inflexible’s officers from the nearest yardarm, so I ‘eard. Funnily enough, it was Parker who stopped him. Though I did ‘ear he killed an officer before he went over the side o’ that Frog ship he was on. Stove his ‘ead in, poor bugger, an’ speared his ‘ands to the deck.”

      A cackle of laughter erupted from the table behind and Jago’s face darkened. He drained his mug. “You want toppin’ up?”

      Hawkwood shook his head. “Time I was going. My guess is I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

      “Then you’ll need someone to guide you back,” Jago advised. “It’s getting dark out. We don’t want you roamin’ the streets and getting into trouble, not with this lot around. You never know who you’re likely to run into. Why, I’d never live with myself if you was robbed on your way home.” The ex-sergeant winked broadly.

      Jago beckoned with his finger. A small figure detached itself from the cluster of bodies around the dog pit and scampered up to the table. Hawkwood assumed the girl, Jenny, had been pressed into service once more, but he was mistaken. The small, tousle-haired, stick-thin figure who answered Jago’s summons was male and instantly familiar. It was the boy he had last seen fleeing Mother Gant’s lodging house, the one who had so deftly relieved Major Lawrence of his watch and chain. Somehow, somewhere between the Widow Gant’s and the Bridewell House of Correction, young Tooler the pickpocket had managed to do a runner.

      Tooler favoured Hawkwood with a cheeky grin and a mock salute and looked to Jago for orders, while Hawkwood promised himself a serious talk with Constable Rafferty.

      Jago placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You’re to see him safely home, Tooler. And that means all the way, mind. I don’t want you runnin’ off and leavin’ him at the mercy of footpads and ne’er-do-wells. You got that?”

      Tooler nodded obligingly.

      “And I want you to come straight here afterwards. No dilly-dallying along the way. No puttin’ your sticky fingers where they don’t belong, like in other people’s pockets, f’r instance. Understood?”

      Hawkwood could see that Jago was enjoying himself, but he had to concede that had he been in Jago’s position he’d probably have milked the situation for all it was worth too.

      Jago held out his hand. “Mind how you go, Cap’n.”

      “You, too, Nathaniel.”

      The pressure in Jago’s grip confirmed to Hawkwood the bond between them. Translated, it meant that if Jago received any information about the coach robbery, he would pass it on.

      Jago watched Hawkwood and the boy make their way down the stairs, sensed the relaxation of tension in the cellar as the tall Runner departed.

      At the next table two men rose to their feet.

      Jago’s voice was a growl of warning. “You hold it right there, Asa Hawkins. You, too, Will Sparrow. I’ve a feeling you gentlemen are bent on mischief. Am I right, Spiker? Your boys weren’t plannin’ an ambush, by any chance?”

      “We was only goin’ to take a piss, Jago. That’s all,” the man called Hawkins whined.

      “An’ I suppose Sparrow was goin’ to hold it for you and give it a wee shake afterwards, right? Sit down, both of you. You can hang on a while longer. What about you, Spiker? You got any plans to answer the call o’ nature?”

      “You think you’re so bleedin’ clever, Jago, don’t you?” Scully fixed Jago with a fierce glare. “That bastard’s a Runner. He’s got no right comin’ in ‘ere. Do you know how many of our lot he’s taken down?”

      “Can’t say as I do, offhand,” Jago said. “But then, anyone who’s stupid enough to get themselves caught probably deserves it. And is that why you were sending these idiots out after ‘im? To teach ‘im a lesson? Not prepared to do your own dirty work? You ‘ave to employ others to do it for you? Maybe I should have let ‘em go. They’d have been taught a pretty lesson.”

      “We could have taken him,” Sparrow, the slighter of the two men, said truculently. “No trouble.”

      Jago threw Sparrow a pitying look. “Don’t make me laugh. You wouldn’t ‘ave stood a chance. Believe me, I did you a favour.”

      “He’s only one man,” Scully grated.

      Jago stiffened. “That he is, but let me tell you about that one man, Spiker. That man was a soldier, an officer in the 95th Rifles. You’ve heard of them, I take it? Hardest regiment in the bloody army. He’s killed more men than you’ve supped pints of ale, and he’s the best officer I ever served under. You saw that scar below his eye? He got that pullin’ me out of the way of a Frog Hussar. Took a cut from a sabre that was meant for me. That makes him more of a man than you’ll ever be, Spiker. So while he’s under this roof, he’s under my protection. You got that? And anyone here who thinks different’ll ‘ave me to answer to.” Jago’s right hand curled around the blackthorn staff. “Is that clear?”

      The men around the table shifted uneasily. All except Scully, whose eyes grew as black and as hard as stone. Scully stood up. His bald head and pockmarked face gave him a forbidding appearance. The chair on which he had been sitting fell backwards with a clatter. The sudden movement and noise brought the brindle dog to its feet. Scully unfastened the leather strap that anchored the dog to the table. The beast growled in anticipation, a low rumble at the back of its throat.

      “One day, Jago, you and me are going to have a serious talk, and then we’ll really see who’s king o’ the castle.” Scully jerked hard on the leash and turned away.

      Jago watched Scully lead the animal towards the pit on the ground floor. “Any time, Spiker,” he murmured quietly to himself. “Any bloody time.”

       6

      “I’m sending you, Hawkwood, because there’s no one else available. Besides,” James Read said wearily, looking up from his desk, “I’d have thought you would welcome the diversion.”

      Hawkwood gazed disconsolately down at the Chief Magistrate, knowing from the latter’s expression that this was an argument he was unlikely to win.

      The diversion, as Read had called it, was a grand ball. It was often the case that Runners were assigned to attend such entertainments to guard against thieves and other miscreants who might view the event as an opportunity to indulge themselves in both petty and grand larceny.

      On СКАЧАТЬ