Black Powder (13 page)

Browne shook his head again and scowled.

The Falcon shifted in his saddle. ‘You needn't worry, Mister Browne. He will be my responsibility.'

The other man rammed his hat back on. ‘He had better be. But if he steps out of line, and you do not deal with him, rest assured I will.' He fixed Tom with a menacing stare. Then, marching over to the back of the cart and raising the sailcloth, he swung the sack from his shoulder and thudded it down inside.

Tom shivered.

The Falcon reached down and patted him on the shoulder then trotted Shadrach over to Browne. ‘What's
in the sack?'

‘Provisions.' Browne fastened down the sailcloth.

‘I thought we had all we needed.'

‘Not these ones. They're a rare sort.' He shouldered the horse away, stalked to the front of the cart and climbed up on the seat.

‘How did you come by them?'

‘I'll tell you later. Now can we go? The longer we sit here conversing, the more likely some prying telltale will discover us.'

The Falcon rode back to Tom, leant over and held out his hand again. ‘Though it pains me to say it, Master Garnett, my friend is right. We must away from here at once, before the sergeant catches up with us. Come.'

Tom paused a moment, then blew out a breath and gritted his teeth. He could do this. He had to. Father was depending on him. He glanced at his waist-pouch, desperate to check on Jago, then shook his head. It would have to wait. He slid the pouch round on his right hip then let the Falcon haul him into the saddle.

The Falcon gestured for him to put his arms round his waist, then with a click of his tongue, he spurred Shadrach's flanks. The horse twitched and trotted forwards.

Tom stole a quick look back at Browne as they set off down the track. The man was a bad-tempered sort. Best to keep a wide berth of him. But, in spite of the doubts he had about his two travelling companions, he couldn't help feeling a sudden rush of excitement. He was on his way to London at last.

*

They passed through the town without disturbance. As they turned on to the main highway, the Falcon shook his head. ‘'Tis a pity we must travel at this snail's pace. But with a full load, we don't have much choice. The sooner we put some distance between ourselves and Cowdray the better.'

‘What's in the cart, sir?'

The Falcon said nothing.

‘Sir?'

He cleared his throat. ‘Supplies. Courtesy of Mister Grimwold. Now keep your wits about you, Master Garnett. This stretch of road is notorious for cutpurses, highway robbers and the like.'

Tom tightened his grip.

The Falcon laughed. ‘Not scared, are you?'

‘No, sir.' He glanced over his shoulder. Beyond Browne and the cart, the road dwindled into shadows, its edges blurred by a line of bushes. He was about to turn back when a dark shape flitted across it.

‘What was that?'

‘Where?' The Falcon jerked Shadrach to a stop.

‘Back there.' Tom pointed into the gloom.

The Falcon twisted in the saddle. ‘See anything, Mister Browne?'

The cart rumbled to a halt. Browne rose from the seat and peered behind him. ‘Nothing. The boy wastes our time with his lily-livered fancies.'

Tom flushed with anger. ‘I'm no coward!'

The Falcon sighed. ‘Pay no heed to my companion's
manners. 'Tis good that you keep a lookout, Master Garnett. But try not to see ghosts at every turn, or we'll not make London before Yuletide.' He kicked his heels against Shadrach's belly and they set off again.

Tom dragged his eyes from the bushes and focused on the white ribbon of chalk ahead of them. Whatever the Falcon and Browne thought, someone or something was tailing them, he was sure of it. And if they attacked – his fingers closed round the handle of his knife – he'd be ready for them.

Chapter Eighteen

T
om did his best to stay awake, but the warmth of the Falcon's body and the swaying of the horse rocked him to the edge of sleep. He leant his head against the Falcon's back and closed his eyes.

He woke with a start to find himself slumped across an empty saddle. He jerked up and twisted round. The horse and cart stood driverless some way back. Men's voices floated over the top of it. The Falcon's, then Browne's.

‘Why take such a risk?'

‘You dare to question my judgement when it was your foolhardy decision to bring that shrimp of a boy along? Anyway, like I said, I didn't have a choice. And besides, we might need something to barter with if things don't go to plan.'

Tom's stomach fluttered. What were they talking about? He gripped hold of the pommel and raised himself
up in the saddle.

‘'Tis an insurance of sorts, but if we are caught with such a cargo . . .'

There was a muffled squealing.

‘Zounds! We can't afford to have that with us all the way to London.'

A sudden thud and the squealing stopped.

‘Wait, I didn't mean—'

‘It worked, didn't it?'

‘Yes, but not for long. We must find another solution, and soon.' The Falcon's voice was strained.

Tom sank back into the saddle and frowned. From the sound of it, Browne must have captured a wild hog. But why would the Falcon call that an insurance?

The sudden snap of a twig made him jump. Shadrach reared up on his hind legs, whinnying. Tom scrabbled for the reins. He missed and lurched backwards.

Oof!
He slammed down on to the highway's rutted surface. He lay there for a moment, eyes closed, all the breath knocked out of him.

Footsteps crunched towards him. If the Falcon saw him like this . . . He gulped in a draught of frosty air, blinked and made to sit up. A cold point of metal dug against his throat, forcing him back down.

He froze. What if the Falcon had changed his mind and decided to kill him after all? He blinked again. The cloaked figure of a man loomed above him. But it wasn't the Falcon.

‘Where's yer money?' The man's voice was muffled by a stained kerchief which covered the lower half of his face.

‘I – I – I don't have any.' Tom made to swallow, but his tongue was solid as a lump of chalk.

‘Don't lie.' A heavy boot rammed into his ribs. ‘All travellers has some tucked away somewheres.' The man's eyes gleamed fox-like at him over the top of his mask.

Tom twisted his head. Where was the Falcon? He opened his mouth to cry for help.

‘Keep quiet or I'll slit you from ear to ear.' The silver blade arced across his throat.

Tom flinched and snapped his mouth shut again.

‘What's this?' The thief leant forwards and wrenched Tom's waist-pouch from his belt.

‘Leave it alone!' He grabbed the man's boot with both hands and tried to topple him.

‘Quiet, rat!' The thief shoved his foot down harder, undid the pouch strings and rummaged inside. ‘Argghhh!' He flung the pouch to the ground, ripped the kerchief from his face and stuffed his finger in his mouth.

The pouch twitched and squeaked.

The thief 's eyes widened. ‘What devilry is this?' He jerked his boot up from Tom's chest and staggered backwards, nursing his finger.

A chink of spurs sounded behind them. ‘None but of your own making.' The voice was low and menacing.

A flush of relief flooded through Tom. The Falcon. So he hadn't deserted him!

The thief spun round.

‘Drop your weapon!'

There was a clink of metal against stone.

Tom rolled clear and hauled himself to his feet. He snatched up the pouch and felt inside. Jago's damp nose pressed against his palm. He heaved a sigh and looked up. The thief stood with his arms pinned behind him, the point of the Falcon's dagger pressed against his whiskery cheek.

‘Now, cur, you are going to take a short walk with my friend here.' The Falcon swung the man round to face the shadowy figure of Browne.

The thief dropped to his knees and clasped his hands across his chest. ‘P–p–please, sir. I'm just an old soldier, wounded in the Dutch wars. I didn't mean nobody any harm.'

The Falcon scowled. ‘I dislike thieves. But a liar is even worse.' He nodded at Browne. ‘I'll leave you to deal with him as you see fit.'

Browne grimaced then threw a loop of rope round the thief 's neck, tied it in a noose and yanked him to his feet. He tugged on the rope. The man had no choice but to follow him like a dog on a leash.

A dark cloud swallowed up the moon and the pair of them disappeared from view.

Tom licked his lips nervously. ‘He's not going to hurt him, is he?'

The Falcon furrowed his brow. ‘Why so much concern? That trickster would have slit your throat and thought nothing of it.'

‘I know . . . but still . . .'

‘Listen. All Mister Browne is going to do is to truss him to a tree and leave him. If he's lucky, the local constable will
find him before the wild hogs do. Either way, he will have learnt his lesson.' He tousled Tom's head with a gloved hand. ‘Well done, Master Garnett. You were right after all. Someone
was
on our tail.'

A warm glow spread through him. The Falcon might be a smuggler, but he had a heart too.

‘Now' – the Falcon glanced back up the road – ‘we must go on. We have fifty miles to cover at least, and thanks to that scavenger, we have already lost valuable time.'

Tom followed him over to where Shadrach stood, cropping a patch of grass at the side of the road. ‘How long have you had Shadrach?'

‘Five years, maybe six. We've been on many an adventure together, haven't we, boy?' The Falcon patted the horse's muscled neck. ‘It's thanks to his fleetness of foot I am still here today. He is a Spanish jennet. The best for a battle, though I know some who might disagree.'

‘Battle?' Tom frowned. ‘Were you a soldier?'

The Falcon looked up and narrowed his eyes. ‘A soldier? Yes, and a real one. Not like that ruffler there.' He jerked his head over his shoulder.

‘Ruffler?'

‘A scoundrel who dupes poor travellers into thinking he's a military man fallen on hard times, then relieves them of their money and whatever else he can make off with.'

The cloud cleared and the moon lit up the road again. Tom turned. Browne and the thief were nowhere to be seen. A shiver rippled through him. He reached up and stroked Shadrach's ears.

‘Where did you fight?'

‘Over the sea in Flanders.'

‘What was it like?'

‘Hard and dirty.'

‘Did you . . . did you kill anyone?'

The Falcon ran a gloved finger across the scar on his cheek. His face took on the same faraway look it had worn back in the tunnel when Tom had asked him how he knew the Viscountess.

‘Sir?'

The Falcon started. His eyes flicked back to him. ‘So many questions. A boy like you would do well in the King's spy service.'

An image of Mandrake meeting in secret with the stranger outside Cowdray's gate flashed into Tom's head. He was about to mention it when a piercing shriek ripped through the air behind them. Shadrach jerked his nose up and whinnied again.

Tom grasped the Falcon's sleeve. ‘What was that?' He snatched a look in the direction of the trees.

‘My, you two are jumpy as a pair of crickets in a pot. 'Twas nothing but an owl.' The Falcon mounted the horse and hoisted Tom up behind him. As he steered Shadrach back on to the track, there was a crunch of twigs and a tall, black-cloaked figure appeared from beneath a giant yew tree at the side of the road.

‘Is he strapped up good and proper, Mister Browne?'

The other man gave a tight laugh. ‘Let's just say he has learnt a lesson he will not forget.'

‘Good. Then let us be off.' The Falcon clicked his tongue against his teeth and Shadrach started forwards.

What kind of lesson had Browne taught the ruffler? Tom glanced back at the Falcon's companion. He was standing by the side of the cart wiping something flat and shining against the sleeve of his doublet. After a few moments, he slid it down the side of his boot then pulled a length of rope from his belt, wound it round his elbow and threw it into the cart. As he climbed up on to the seat, he lifted his head and their eyes locked.

Tom shuddered and turned away. The threat Browne had made earlier to deal with him if he stepped out of line rang in his ears. And what about the argument he'd just overheard the two men having? If it was a hog Browne had caught, why had the Falcon been so angry?

He wiped his forehead and tucked his legs tight against Shadrach's warm flanks. One thing was true. If it hadn't been for the Falcon, he'd be dead by now. But Browne? He shivered. He didn't trust him. Not one little bit. The sooner they parted company with him the better.