Home From The Sea (33 page)

“I need tae pish, I
wanna
bevvy
afore a die o’ thirst, an’ – where’s me
claes
?”

“His what?”
Jim wondered.

“His clothes,” Toby translated, already casting about the room. “Your
claes
are right where you threw them, you
diddy
. Here’s your
breeks
, and your boots, and the rest you’ll have to sort out from Willie’s
claes
.” He dumped a pair of britches and a pair of scuffed boots on the end of the bed, and stood back. “And if you’ve any desire for a share in the prize, you’d best get your feet under you before the goddess of good fortune passes you by.” He glanced at Jim as he spoke.

And Jim waited for the gist of what Toby had said to seep through into some part of Hobbs’s brain, and Tuttle’s, that could still think. He counted to four before Hobbs’s eyes widened. He made a grab for the pale brown britches and
struggled
his legs into them before he stood up.

“Ye mean, auld Charlie were fair and true? He done like he said he
would,
an’ the prize is safe?”

“The prize is safe,” Toby told him. “But
auld
Charlie’s as dead as Rufus, and he’s been dead a great deal longer. Get your
breeks
on, both of you. We’ve got a boat, you can help row it back down to The Raven.”

But Hobbs was intent on Jim now, and the little monkey face was clenched with suspicion. “Aye, and who might this
un
be?”

“Jim Fairley,” Jim told him. “I own The Raven … and it seems I’ve been guarding your prize since Charlie Chegwidden passed away.”

“Is that right, now?” Hobbs was up, stamping his feet in his boots, which made the hungover Tuttle wince. He snatched up a shirt and dropped it on over his head, glaring at Jim all the while. “
Ye’ll
be wantin’
a share o’ the prize, nae doubt – and
ye’ll
be sore disappointed.
Ye’ll
nae get Charlie’s share, if
thass
what
yer
thinkin
’.”

“That,” Toby said loudly, “is for Nathaniel to decide.”

Hobbs turned the glare on him now. “Nathaniel bloody Burke don’t gimme orders, nae on dry land, nae
wi
’ the prize safe in hand.” He clenched his fists, as if he had the treasure of Diego Monteras between his fingers already.

On the bed, Willie Tuttle was awake, aware, sitting up and hanging on every syllable, and his mouth clenched at the mention of Burke. Jim’s hackles prickled as he saw the fury, the hate. No love was lost between these men. Like Burke and Pledge, Hobbs and Tuttle were together out of necessity – and because they did not trust one another long enough for them to take their eyes off each other.

“Yes, well, get out to the boat,” Toby suggested, withdrawing to the door, “and take it up with Nathaniel.”

Tuttle was scrambling for his clothes and looking greener around the gills every moment. “He sent you here, did he? And like the good little dog, you did just like you were told.”

“Let me say, I know better than to enrage the man,” Toby allowed, “which is something you’d do well to learn, Willie.”

“I ain’t afraid of him.” Tuttle reeled to his feet, propped up against the headboard. “Two wrong words to
me,
and Nathaniel can have a pistol ball right between his bloody beady little eyes, and welcome to it.”

“And very welcome to it indeed,” Toby said softly as he stepped out and closed the door behind Jim. He pressed his face into his hands for a moment, took a deep breath, and when he looked up at Jim again his eyes were sparkling. “There you have them. Eli and Willie, the Scotsman and the Mancunian, in all their glory … and if you’re wondering whether Nathaniel and Joe distrust this pair of scallywags, you’re right.”

“They hate each other’s guts,” Jim observed, amused, scandalized.

“They certainly do.” Toby went ahead of him, down the stairs. “And I, for one, am going to stand well back and let them fight it out for themselves. I know Nathaniel will make sure I get a small share – those are the rules. Nathaniel made them and he must be
seen
to enforce them, if he has any desire to hold onto command. You’ve seen the prize now, Jim. You know well enough, a small share will be grand, if it makes the bastards go away and leave us be, not just today but forever.”

At the bottom of the stairs they stopped to watch the women and Artie Polgreen, who was snoring in his chair, a half-full mug of strong, dark tea balanced precariously on his belly. His wig had slipped sideways over his ear now. Jim nodded good morning to
Esme
, who had gossiped about
him,
and Polly and Lizzie, who had been hanging out laundry, and Marie, who had been emptying chamber pots. They all knew him; a couple of them smiled at him, though he perceived an aspect of pity in their faces.
Esme
studied him as if he
were
an insect and Jim dropped a low, sweeping bow before her, making her pout.

Then he and Toby were out again, blinking in the strong sunlight and glad to waft the stench of
Polgreen’s
establishment out of their heads. Gulls were scavenging along the shoreline; a ketch was butting its way west, low in the water and hunting for any breeze in the light air. The longboat was already three feet above the high water line.

“I apologize for the rest of the company,” Toby said ruefully as he and Jim climbed back into the boat to sit, waiting for Hobbs and Tuttle. “They’re unpleasant characters even when they’re sober and not hungover, and you’re not exactly seeing them at their best.”

“There’s going to be trouble.” Jim parked his buttocks on the seat, laced his fingers and studied his palms. “We left Burke and Pledge flat out and stinking of rum. Would that be normal – would Eli and Willie expect it of them?”

Toby seemed resigned.
“Perhaps.
I don’t honestly care, Jim. Let them fight it out like a pack of mongrel dogs squabbling over a bone. At the end of the day I’ll take what’s always been mine, and we’ll do very nicely.”

“And if Nathaniel Burke doesn’t live to see the end of it?” Jim wondered shrewdly. Toby turned to face him now. Jim gestured back in the direction of The
Cattlemarket
. “Hobbs and Tuttle hate him. Given the chance, or the reason, they’d be glad to kill him.”

A grimness
settled on Toby’s face, an expression Jim had never seen there before. “Well now,” he said softly, “that would be a terrible thing, wouldn’t it? I’d cry myself to sleep for a week over it.”

“Damnit, Toby,” Jim began and then stopped, swiped off his hat and rubbed his scalp, hard enough to almost bruise. His voice was a rasp as he looked back into Toby’s face. “Is this some kind of game you’re playing?”

For a moment Toby did not answer, and then the fair head shook and he looked away, out to sea, where the ketch had changed tack. “A game? No. I just want to finish out today as a free man, and if I have a few coins in my pocket, so much the better.” He chanced a sidelong glance at Jim. “Eight years, I’ve thought on this, tried to reason a way around these men, but they are who they are, Jim, and
what
they are. And I’ll tell you this much. I’m not about to get between them and try making the peace. Any one of the four would be happy to put a pistol ball in me … and what’s it matter to you and me if they’re at each other’s throats like starving hounds?”

What indeed, Jim thought hotly as they waited for Hobbs and Tuttle. His mind was on Burke and Pledge, stinking of rum, snoring like pigs on the taproom floor. And on the bin Toby had stowed up in the loft. He squeezed shut his eyes, forced his heart to be calm and his mind to be clear as they waited.

Twenty minutes went by before The
Cattlemarket’s
door slammed open and Eli Hobbs came
barreling
out. He was sober now, and with a pint of coffee inside him he was spoiling for a fight. Tuttle was right behind him, looking ashen and drained, as if he had spent most of the time heaving up his belly – but he appeared no less belligerent than Hobbs as he stomped toward the longboat. Jim and Toby stepped over the side, and without being asked, Hobbs and Tuttle helped to shove the craft down toward the water.

Chapter Seventeen

Even on the shoreline around The Raven, the water was receding visibly. Jim saw sodden hummocks and woebegone bushes where that morning there had been only a lake. In another day it would be all mud, filth, debris and hard work. The old cellar under The Raven would be noxious already, with mildew and the blue
mold
which infested the walls at the first sign of dampness.

The longboat grounded out on sand, thirty yards from the front door, and Jim jumped over into shin-deep water filled with brown, tangled weed. The whole beach would be aromatic until local farmers gathered the kelp to feed the fields. Since the sky was clear now, a regiment of women and children would be out by twilight, packing the kelp into big wicker baskets.

All this was second nature to one who had lived on this shore for years. Jim might have mentioned it to Toby, for the sake of making conversation, but the look on Toby’s face was too dark, too preoccupied, as he watched Hobbs and Tuttle hop out of the boat and march away without a backward glance.

They headed directly for the tavern’s front door, and Jim whistled softly as he watched them barge right inside. Edith Clitheroe should be well out of their way, with Bess and Boxer at her heels. Jim thrust both hands into his pockets, wriggled his toes in disgustingly wet boots, and lifted a brow at Toby.

With a wicked, mirthless grin Toby beckoned him up to the tavern. They stood at the open door, watching, listening, as Eli Hobbs threw open a window for light and swung a series of savage kicks into Burke and Pledge, accompanied by a tirade in some form of English Jim could not understand. His accent was so
barbarous,
the vernacular so odd, all he could comprehend was the man’s fury.

Two kicks, three, and Nathaniel Burke jerked awake. He sat up on the floor, cradling his head in
both hands
, groaning and wheezing. “Who the devil is that? Sweet Christ, Eli – kick me one more time, and
I’s
like to separate you from your breath!”

“Och, so it lives after all,” Hobbs sneered. “It’s nae dead, though it smells like it oughtta be!” He kicked Joe Pledge again instead, hard enough to physically shove him. “Wake up, ye bloody dobber!”

“
I’s
awake,
I’s
awake, goddamn
yer
,” Pledge howled, though he seemed more than half insensible, eyes shut, arms wrapped around his chest. “Jesus, Mary and friggin’ Joseph, where am I?”

It was Willie Tuttle bellowing at him now. “You’re in The Raven, where you’ve been
fer
bloody days! You’re boozed right up to the
flamin
’ eyeballs, you brainless pair of shite-heads.”

“Stow your noise, Willie,” Burke roared, “before I stow it for you.” He was on his knees now, forcing his way up out of the dense fug of a laudanum hangover which could only be vile. He peered blearily at the other two and ran his tongue over parched lips. “What day is this?”

“It’s bloody Thursday,” Hobbs snarled. “The rain’s stopped – and I’ll just fuckin’ bet ye an’ Joe were headed away.
Ye’da
been
gone,
vanished, soon as the paths dried up enough
fer
ye tae
git
.”

“Make sense, Eli, or shut your yap,” Burke was massaging his skull, trying to get the blood moving in a head Jim knew would be thick as mortar.

“Sense?
Aye, it’s all about
Captain
Burke,” Hobbs sneered.
“Ye
swindlin
’ auld swine.
Ye
was
supposed to git the prize an’ bring it right back tae the crew – else, send a message.”

The mention of the prize seemed to startle Nathaniel Burke back to reality. “The prize,” he growled, glaring at Pledge now.

Pledge seemed confused. Sitting on his folded knees, rubbing his temples, he blinked semi-lucidly at Burke. “We found it, did we? You
musta
found it after I passed out.” He hawked and spat. “Christ, me mouth tastes like a rabid rat crawled in an’ died – ’
ow
much did I drink?”

Tuttle swung an open handed blow at the rum bottles, sending them flying. They smashed against the wall as the Mancunian spat, “Too fuckin’ much. Which is the
only
reason you bastards is still here, ain’t it?”

“Wait!” Burke bellowed. Then, quieter, “Just … wait, will you? Let me think.” He stood swaying, breathing deeply. “Make yourselves useful.
Go’n
get
me a jar of water.”

“I’ll nae take orders frae the likes of you,” Hobbs informed him nastily.

“No?” Burke forced in another breath and turned to face him, startlingly sober by an effort of sheer willpower. “The prize … is here. Charlie isn’t. Charlie’s dead.”

“Aye, so they told us,” Tuttle said acidly.

“They?”
Burke echoed.

A pulse drummed in Jim’s temple. His voice was low as he said to Toby, “Here we go.” He chanced a sidelong glance at him. “You have any idea how to handle these … gentlemen?”