Jackdaw (16 page)

“
No
. It’s my fault. It’s my turn.”

“That’s stupid. I’ll get a shorter sentence and easier time. I swear, Jay. You can wait for me.”

“You wait for me,” Jonah said. “I’m not going and you can’t make me and we need to stop talking about this because I think I’m going to be sick. Shit, Ben. I’m so scared.” He buried his face in Ben’s shirt.

Ben kissed the tousled black hair, holding on, inhaling Jonah with every breath. “Jay, my Jay.”

“I’m so sorry I’ve done this to us. I wish I’d done everything differently. Except meeting you. I did that right.”

Ben kissed him again. “I love you, Jay, and I
will
do the time for you, and if you won’t let me do that then I’ll…I’ll be waiting at the gates when you come out. I promise.”

“Be there.” Jonah’s hands gripped his forearms. “If I know you’ll be there, I’ll be fine. I’ll probably be running the place by the time I leave, anyway.”

“Of course you will.” Ben imagined Jonah, in prison, helpless and crippled, his charm and good looks doing him no good at all. His mind flinched from the thought.

There was a tentative knock on the door some half an hour later: Dora, with a tray of food. Ben had Jonah sprawled over him. Neither of them could summon up the energy to move. It was too late for that.

“Well.” Dora put the tray down. “I knew as you two was running from summat when you came here wi’ no luggage nor a hat to your heads. I thought I knew what that trouble was. Suppose I was wrong.”

“Suppose you were,” Jonah said, wearily.

“Not that wrong.” Ben would not deny Jonah now. “There’s just…more to it.”

“I see that.” Dora folded her arms. “How much trouble are you in?”

“All of it,” Jonah said.

“Listen, Dora, Jonah’s not a bad man.” It mattered to Ben that she should believe that. “He didn’t do half of what they say of him.”

“Oh, aye? And what about the other half?”

“It doesn’t matter any more,” Jonah said. “I’m sorry for bringing trouble on you, Dora, but they aren’t after you. Just do what Day says, and we’ll be gone tomorrow.”

Dora glared at him. “You were in my house, Jonah Pastern. With my children. Now, you tell me. What did you do?”

“Stole. I’m—I was—a thief. I stole, and I helped some very bad people do some very unpleasant things because they threatened Ben.” Jonah gave a helpless shrug. “I never stole from you, Dora. I haven’t stolen a ha’penny since Ben told me to stop.”

She sniffed. “Pity he didn’t say that earlier, sounds like.”

“He didn’t know. None of this is his fault.” Jonah’s smile was a watery shadow of itself. “You didn’t make a mistake taking us in, I promise. I wouldn’t have let you down. And Ben’s never let anyone down in his life.”

“I let you down. I should have stopped you, the night of the storm. That’s how they tracked us, isn’t it? Rumours of a windwalker. If I’d stopped you, Day wouldn’t have found you here.”

“And Harry Penrose and Aaron Tapley would be dead,” Dora said.

“I know.” Ben looked up at her. “You shouldn’t get in any trouble. You didn’t know you were harbouring fugitives—”

“I knew right well,” Dora retorted. “It’s why I didn’t pay you.”

“Well, say you didn’t know, about anything. We’ll say the same. They’re not interested in you and—she’s not in their jurisdiction, is she, Jonah?”

“Jurisdiction has nothing to do with it,” Jonah said. “This is private vengeance. I crossed the wrong people and they’re going to cripple me and then gaol me for it. My mistake. They won’t touch you, Dora, just do as they say.”

Dora’s lips tightened. She gave a short nod, turned on her heel and left without a word.

They held each other in silence for much of the night. It was hard to think of anything to say. Eventually Jonah went to lock the door, and undressed as Ben watched, memorising every inch of his compact, firm body, trying to drill the picture into his brain. Jonah came to him naked and helped Ben strip, shoving his shirt and vest over the iron chain since there was no other way to remove them. They kissed wordlessly, soft and hard, in the steady light of the warding candles that didn’t seem to burn down at all.

Ben wanted to remember everything. The wiry black hair on Jonah’s chest, the smell of his warm skin, the taste of his mouth, the feel of him as he worked his way over Ben’s body with tongue and fingers. They didn’t talk as Ben wrapped his legs around Jonah’s waist and felt the hard press of Jonah’s cock breaching him. The sensation was close to unbearable as Jonah moved inside him, almost without pleasure, because all Ben could think about was their parting. It hurt, and he wanted it never to end.

“Ben,” Jonah whispered, poised above him. “You’ll wait for me.”

“Always.”

“Nobody else?”

“Never. There never was. Never will be.” Ben’s free hand tightened on Jonah’s hip. “Make this last, Jay. Don’t stop.”

“Ben. My Ben.” Jonah was moving again, filling him, hands in his hair, and like a coward Ben shut his eyes, because as much as he wanted to remember every second of this last time, he didn’t want to remember the look on Jonah’s face. It helped, in fact. He could concentrate then, on Jonah’s weight, the rasp of hairs and play of muscle, the sensation of Jonah in him, possessing him, claiming every part of him as he had done since he first walked into that little pub and stole Ben’s breath.

Ben groaned aloud, heedless of noise—too late to care now—and heard Jonah’s panting in his ear. They were moving faster, together, gripping hard, fingers marking skin. Ben pushed back, pulling Jonah deep, and felt pleasure stab through him. Jonah burrowed into him, face in his shoulder, Ben’s legs clamped round him, and cried out, and they came together, rocking and pulsing against each other, so entwined that it almost felt impossible that they could be pulled apart.

Chapter Fifteen

When he woke the next morning, Jonah was gone.

Ben sat up in bed, jerking the chain straight and startling himself with the restraint. The candles were still burning, and the bed was empty.

“Jay?” he whispered aloud.

“Here.” It came from above, and Ben looked up to see Jonah crunched up on top of the ancient dark wood wardrobe.

“What are you doing?”

“I was awake.” Jonah leapt lightly down. “I thought I’d get off the ground one last time.” He moved to the bed, to Ben’s arms. “I’m scared, Ben.”

Ben’s arms tightened. “I know.”

There was a knock at the door, a rattle of the handle. Jonah stalked over, glowering, and turned the key in the lock without bothering to open it. He threw himself back onto the mattress with an air that reminded Ben just a little of Bethany in a temper.

The door opened, revealing Day and Merrick. They stood in silence for a moment, looking at the two men on the bed, then Day said, “Well.” It sounded resigned.

“I did say, sir,” Merrick remarked. “Never bet against my lord. Bastard with a bet, that one.”

“And intolerable in victory. All right, tell him the good news, I can handle these two.” Day gave Jonah a look as Merrick departed. “I can’t say I expected to see you here.”

“Fuck you. And I hope you lost something
really
valuable.”

Day ignored that, waving a hand vaguely at the candles, which went out, and walking over to the iron chain. “Right. I’m going to take this off. Spenser will come with us to London, as surety for Pastern’s continued good conduct. Once he’s delivered to the Met, you’re free to go.”

“Free to go where?” Jonah snarled. “We don’t live in London. We don’t have any money. Are you just going to leave him there?”

Day’s hand closed around the iron cuff, which became suddenly warm. He pulled it open. “Get dressed.”

Jonah grabbed his shirt off the floor. “Threatening the unskilled to get your way. Using people’s decent feelings against them. I’m amazed you and Lady Bruton didn’t get on. You’re just the bloody same.”

“Stop it,” Ben said. He’d caught the look in Day’s amber eyes at that remark, and it did not bode well for their journey.

Ben’s arm was stiff after the long night stretched out, and it took him a little longer than usual to dress. As he was fastening his boots, Jonah hovering resentfully by, there was a rapid knock, and Agnes tripped in.

“Not now, Aggie,” Jonah said. “Go to your mother, love.”

“Got a message, dun’ I?” Agnes was flushed with excitement. “Lord Crane’s compulments to Mr. Day and will ’e come to bar wi’ prisoners now. That’s you.” She pointed at Ben and Jonah, turned on her heel and sprinted out with a stifled noise that was close to a giggle. Ben looked down at his boots, so that he didn’t have to see the expression on Jonah’s face.

“Presumably he thinks this is a social occasion,” Day remarked to himself. “All right, let’s go. You two first. Don’t try my patience.”

Ben took a deep breath. “Come on, Jay. I’m with you.”

They headed along the passage in silence, boots echoing on the stone-flagged floor. Echoing footsteps had been a feature of Ben’s time in cells, and he winced at the sound.

The heavy door to the bar was shut. Jonah pushed it open. They walked in, and stopped dead.

“What—” Day began, pushing them both forward with surprising force. “Ah.”

The bar was full. There must have been thirty people there—Dora, Bethany; Aaron Tapley, his mother and his two brothers; Bill and Harry Penrose. There were regulars from the bar, and most of the fishermen, and John Whittle, who played loosehead prop on the Looe team with Ben, and Agnes, hands stuffed in her mouth and vibrating with excitement, standing on a table at the back of the room.

The adults were all armed, with hayforks, gutting knives, boat hooks, a bristling array of heavy, sharp iron, and it was all pointing at a table in the middle of the room, at which Lord Crane, Merrick and Mrs. Merrick were seated. The married couple wore identically grim expressions. Lord Crane looked almost embarrassed.

“Stephen,” he said. “I really must apologise.”

Day was apparently speechless. He looked around the room, then took a deep breath, and Jonah swung to face him.

“I know you’re stronger than me,” he said, voice savage. “I have no delusions about that. But I swear to God, you short-arsed swine, if you touch one hair of any of these people’s heads, you’ll have to kill me first because I won’t stop coming after you till you do.”

“Get them out of here or we’ll find out just how little time that will take.” Day’s yellow eyes locked with Jonah’s blue, and there was something unpleasant building in the air between them, a kind of thick, greasy feeling that prickled on Ben’s skin. Jonah took a step back, into a crouching position, his lips pulling into a snarl. Day’s face was taut and intent.

“This is my inn.” Dora had a cleaver in her powerful hand. “My inn and my men and you ain’t welcome here, nor you ain’t taking ’em anywhere.”

“
Our
men,” Bill Penrose grunted. “Bloody incomers. You leave our bucca be.” The great blade he held shook slightly, rather too near Mrs. Merrick’s face.

“Oi. Fishfucker.” Merrick half rose. There was a babble of voices, angry and nervous and excited.

“Stop,” Ben said. “Everyone. Stop this!” He shouted the last words to no effect, with a terrible sense of something irretrievable about to go wrong as the tension in the air built. The Pellore folk were frightened and determined, Day and Jonah were bristling like alley cats, poised on the verge of attack with that dreadful unnatural pressure thickening the air around them, the Merricks looked like a riot waiting to begin and Lord Crane…

…was watching, cool grey eyes seeming unworried by the quivering tines of a hay fork held close to his face. He caught Ben’s eye and gave him a quizzical look. Then he picked up a teaspoon and began to tap it on the china cup in front of him, for all the world like a man drawing attention to the toastmaster at a dinner.

The steady chinking sound cut through the noise, slowly silencing it. Heads turned, one by one, except for Jonah and Day.

“If I may,” Lord Crane said. “Your attention, Pastern, Mr. Day. Or at least, a cessation of the rather tooth-jarring atmosphere you’re creating.”

The practitioners didn’t seem to hear. Jonah was breathing fast, teeth bared and set. Day’s hands were spread like talons. The air was electric now, full of immanent power, as though a spark would ignite it. Ben felt rather than heard a high-pitched buzzing in his ears.

“Spenser.” Ben glanced over, startled, at the sharp call, and Lord Crane nodded at the practitioners. “Get yours to stand down, will you, before they set this place on fire between them?
Stephen!
” His voice rapped out, unignorable. Day twitched slightly.

“Jonah,” Ben said, as firmly as he could. “Stop it. Back away, now.
Stop
.”

There was another long second’s tension. Both practitioners straightened, slow and wary, and whatever was in the air dropped away. Quite suddenly, Ben realised that it had been difficult to breathe. He took a gasp of air.

“Thank you,” Lord Crane said. “Now. You.” He indicated Mrs. Tapley with a long slender finger. “Madam. Why, precisely, are you here?”

“Mrs. Linney said you’re taking that Jonah.” Mrs. Tapley, like all the rest, was looking distinctly fearful, but she squared her shoulders. “Well, you ain’t.”

“Because?”

“He saved my son’s life! My boy ’ud be drowned and gone—” Aaron nodded in frantic agreement.

“My life too, and my livelihood wi’ it,” Harry Penrose put in.

“An’ us to marry in spring—”

“—best scrum half in years—”

“Our bucca,” Bill Penrose, impressive when sober, pronounced with a wave of his knife. “Pellore’s bucca. And a damn good aleman.”

“Your…what was that?” Lord Crane enquired delicately.

“Imp,” Ben said, flushing.

“Obviously.” Crane stretched back in his chair, crossing his long legs at the ankles. “Stephen, far be it from me to dictate your course of action…” Day and both Merricks raised their eyes to the ceiling in silent unity. “However, I don’t know if you recall a conversation we had, last April.”

There was a pause, in which Day looked puzzled, then he said, blankly, “You must be joking.”

“No. I’m inclined to regard the array of ironmongery pointing at me as a character witness for Pastern. Although if it’s still pointing at me in twenty seconds’ time, I shall come to regard it as a personal affront and react accordingly. Or rather, Merrick will do so on my behalf.”

“Right up your arse,” Merrick added, sotto voce, eyes on Bill Penrose.

“Weapons down, everyone, please,” Ben said, loudly. “Now.
Please
.”

Crane nodded graciously as there was a general movement away. “Thank you. Now, I want privacy, and calm. That means clearing this room, everyone, please. You need not fear for your, ah, imp for the moment, we’re going to talk. I will have Spenser, Pastern and Mr. Day at this table now, without any further displays from anyone. And I should be most grateful for coffee.”

Dora sniffed. “You won’t find any here.”

“No, I dare say we won’t,” Crane said, with weary resignation. “Which is one more reason to resolve this business promptly.”

The bar emptied of defenders, they sat round the table. Jonah’s arms were folded, eyes flickering from man to man. Mrs. Merrick watched him, her silver-blue gaze impossible to interpret. Day, Merrick and Crane were mostly scowling at each other.

Crane had demanded a full account of their last months from Ben, to which Day had added, “Only if I can make him tell the truth.”

“Rot you,” Jonah spat. “He’s not a liar and you’re not fluencing him.”

“Yes, God forfend anyone should use fluence on the unskilled,” Crane said. “Do shut up, Pastern.”

“I don’t mind,” Ben said. “We’ve nothing to hide.”

“Let’s see.” Day put an electric finger on Ben’s skin. “Now, listen to me…”

The experience was not unpleasant, compared to other interrogations. Ben felt a certain lightheadedness, nothing more, and an astonishing ease in speech. Lying would have been difficult, he suspected, but he had no need. He found it effortless to recount their flight, and what happened in Reading.

“Right,” Day said as Ben concluded his account of the encounter on the bridge. “Did either of you stop to consider how much trouble that caused?”

“I didn’t,” Ben admitted, with the dizzy frankness of the enchanted. “And I’m sure Jay didn’t. Was it a lot?”

Day put a hand over his face. “It was, rather. Go on.”

Ben went on, talking about their arrival in Pellore, the inn, the night of the storm.

“You walked in a gale?” Mrs. Merrick interrupted at that point. Jonah gave a one-shouldered shrug of agreement. “And through water?”

“Spenser’s just told us that you were attempting to live undiscovered,” Crane remarked. “Performing a sea rescue sounds fairly blatant.”

Jonah scowled. “Harry Penrose was drowning, and Aaron had taken a knock to his head on a foundering ship. What was I supposed to do? Be discreet and let them drown?”

“You let men die before,” Day said.

“There was nothing I could do about that!” Jonah shouted, slamming his hand on the table. “And if
you
—”

“And was there nothing you could do about Lord Crane either?” Day demanded over him, surprisingly loud. “When you decided to experiment with killing him?”

“He can take his chances like the rest of us, and if you’d put aside your bloody superior attitude for five minutes—”

“For God’s sake, stop it!” Ben was slightly startled at his own volume.

“Yes.” Crane was watching Ben’s face, the grey eyes unreadable and rather unnerving. “I’ve heard—with the greatest respect—enough from both of you. Carry on, Spenser.”

“Well, the villagers saw Jonah windwalk and they didn’t mind. They think he’s some kind of lucky charm or spirit or something, and they don’t want him to vanish. They’re not gossiping.”

“They obviously are, though, aren’t they?” Jonah gave a tight smile. “Of course they talked, of course word spread. If I’d let Harry and Aaron drown, Day’d never have found us. Ironic, isn’t it? One attempt to do something decent—”

“That would indeed be an irony,” Crane put in, “but actually, we traced you through my fob watch.”

“What?”

“The extremely expensive watch you stole from me in December. I had a description circulated to pawn shops with a reward for information.” He slanted an eyebrow at Jonah. “I did tell you you’d regret stealing from me.”

“You did, didn’t you?” Jonah shut his eyes. “Well…bugger.”

“In fact, nobody has been talking about windwalkers in Cornwall,” Day remarked. “No word reached London at all. It seems your neighbours are close-mouthed.”

“Or possibly they like him,” Crane said. “Go on, Spenser.”

“There’s not much more to tell. We’ve stayed here since. We work in the inn. Jonah’s learning to sail. I’m playing scrum half for the Looe team. We’ve friends here. No stealing, no running, no trouble. We just wanted to live quietly, that’s all.”

There was a silence. Day glanced from Ben to Jonah, then over to Crane with a slight frown. Crane met his eyes with a look of affectionate understanding that made Ben’s throat tighten. He wondered if he looked at Jonah so revealingly, and if he would ever dare to be so open.

“I think the question is,” Crane observed, “has Pastern developed a conscience?”

“Of course I’ve got a conscience,” Jonah said. “He’s sitting right here next to me.”

Ben wanted to shake him. “That’s not true, Jonah.”

“It is. I’m trying to do the right things because you want me to. You know that.” Jonah gave Day a mulish look. “I’m not a saint.”

“I don’t recall suggesting you were,” Day said. “Suppose we hadn’t found you, Pastern. That you’d had your quiet life with your prosthetic conscience here. What if he’d left?”

“I wouldn’t,” Ben said.

Day sighed heavily. “Or fell off a cliff?”

“I wouldn’t let him,” Jonah said. “But if he did, I’d… I don’t know. I don’t care. It wouldn’t matter any more.”