The Devil and His Boy (4 page)

He tried to speak but couldn’t find the words. In silence, he allowed the traveller to help him on to the horse and clung to the saddle, hardly daring to move. He was much higher than he had imagined and he was grateful when the traveller climbed up and sat before him.

“Say goodbye to it, Tom,” the man said. “You’re starting a new life.”

But before they could move, there was a screech and Henrietta Slope emerged from the inn. Her husband was right behind her, holding up his trousers with his good hand.

“What are you doing?” she squealed. “You’ve no right! I’ll have the law on to you.”

“I am the law,” the traveller replied. “And you have every reason to fear me. But although you don’t deserve it, I’ll play fair with you.” He threw a handful of coins into the mud. “This is for my room and board. Now be silent and let us pass.”

The traveller kicked with his feet and the horse trotted forward. At the same time, Henrietta threw herself in front of it. Tom wasn’t sure what happened next. The horse reared up and he clung on for dear life. Henrietta fell back, losing her balance. With a great scream, she crashed to the ground, slap into the middle of a pile of soft and steaming horse manure. Sebastian tried to help her but, with his trousers in a knot, he was too slow.

The horse had left the courtyard. Tom and the traveller were gone. Henrietta Slope took her husband’s hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. She gazed down the road at the horse with its two figures already vanishing into the distance. “Are you all right?” Sebastian asked.

Henrietta wiped a hand across the back of her leg. “I stink!” she exclaimed.

“I know, my dear,” Sebastian agreed. “But don’t worry. The horse manure will hide it.” He held up his hand, blood trickling between his fingers. “He cut me!” he complained.

Henrietta looked at the blood, then back at the road. “It’s nothing compared to what Ratsey will do to him,” she muttered.

“Ratsey…!” Sebastian had forgotten but now an ugly light came into his eyes. He tore a piece off the bottom of his vest and wrapped it round his hand. “You think he’ll find him?”

“He’ll find him. Ratsey never misses.” Henrietta’s cheeks twitched as she tried to draw lips that weren’t there into a triumphant smile. “We’ll have the boy back – aye and that fine horse with him. And as for our brave traveller…”

“Dead meat, Mrs S.”

“Dead and buried, my beloved.”

And laughing softly to themselves, the innkeeper and his wife turned and began to scavenge for the coins in the mud where they’d been thrown.

He
was leaving Framlingham!

As he watched the last traces of the village disappear behind him, Tom still couldn’t believe it was happening. He had been born in Framlingham. He had lived his whole life there. And he’d always assumed he would die there – probably quite soon. And not only was he leaving … he was on a horse! The Slopes could never have afforded a horse like this, even with all the money they had stolen. The only animal they’d ever owned had been a dog and that had gone mad when they forgot to feed it.

It was the man who broke the silence.

“Tom,” he said, “do you have a second name?”

“My father’s name was Falconer, sir,” Tom replied. “At least, that was what they put on his gravestone. But I’ve only ever been Tom.”

“And my name is Hawkins,” the traveller said. “Sir William Hawkins.” He smiled. “A hawk and a falcon. We make a good pair.”

Hawkins pulled on the reins and the horse stopped. He twisted in the saddle and gazed at the boy behind him. His eyes narrowed. He reached out and brushed the hair out of Tom’s eyes, his fingers stroking the boy’s forehead. “It is most wonderful,” he muttered. “You remind me of someone. I knew it the moment I first set eyes on you. But who? There’s the mystery. Who indeed?”

He turned round and the horse moved off again.

“Are we really going to London?” Tom asked.

“We are.”

“But why? What do you want with me?”

“It’s not for me to answer your questions, Tom,” Hawkins replied. “I was told to find you and that’s what I’ve done. But for the rest of it … you’ll have to wait until we arrive.”

Until we arrive.

But would they?

Ever since they had set out another fear had been stirring in Tom’s mind. Gamaliel Ratsey was somewhere out there. Maybe he was watching them even now. Tom glanced around him. On one side there were fields, cut into narrow strips with rough trenches in between. On the other, trees were already beginning to thicken into a wood which would soon surround them. Hawkins had spoken of the road to London, but of course there was no real road. They were following a track that was so faint it was barely a track at all. There was nobody else in sight.

“Why are we going this way?” Tom asked.

“It’s the way I came,” Hawkins replied.

“Is this the only way to London?”

“It’s the fastest way. Why, Tom? What’s the matter?”

Tom wasn’t sure how to answer. Part of him wanted to tell Hawkins all about Ratsey and to plead with him to go another way. But at the same time he was too afraid to speak. It was he, after all, who had informed Ratsey about the traveller only the night before – as he had done many times in the past. Tom had never been a willing part of it but even so he knew that if Ratsey were discovered, he would hang with him.

The forest grew thicker, the silence more profound. Above them, a black crow launched itself out of a tree with a sudden scream. Tom could bear it no more.

“Please, Mr Hawkins!” he exclaimed. “You have to go another way. You’re in danger…”

But it was already too late.

Ahead of them, a figure suddenly stepped out, something long and metallic in its hand. The horse reared and tried to find a way round. But there were thick briars on either side. There was no other way.

Gamaliel Ratsey was wearing another, even more disgusting mask. This one showed the head of a fish, but a fish that was already dead and rotting. Its eyes were white and sightless. Its lips were disfigured as if torn by the fisherman’s hook. Where its neck met Ratsey’s shoulders, blood and green slime seemed to be oozing out.

But if the mask had been designed to frighten Hawkins, this time it hadn’t worked. Quickly, he brought the horse under control, then called out, “What do you want?”

“Your money!” Ratsey replied, his voice muffled behind the mask. “All of it. Your horse also. Your clothes. I like the look of your boots. And I think, while I’m at it, I may also take your life!”

Hawkins said nothing. He jumped down from the horse, leaving Tom feeling very lost and alone. Ratsey glanced up, the blank fish eyes gazing at him. “Tom-Tom!” he exclaimed.

“You know the boy?” Hawkins demanded.

“Know him? Why, he and I are old mates. Drinking friends. And partners in crime.”

Hawkins glanced back at Tom, uncertain for the first time. “You knew he would be here?” he asked.

“I tried to warn you,” Tom answered, miserably.

“Tried to warn him, Tom-Tom?” Ratsey shook his head. “Tut! Tut! That’s not loyal. That’s not nice. But enough of this idle chat. Let’s kill this fellow, whoever he is, and then we can ride back together…”

But Hawkins had planted his feet firmly on the ground. He threw back his cloak, revealing his sword. He turned again to Ratsey. “Whatever you may say,” he said, “this boy isn’t with you. You and he are as different as night and day. I’m taking him with me. And I warn you now to let us pass…”

“Please, Ratsey!” Tom called out, though he knew it was useless. He couldn’t even see Ratsey’s face but he knew that it would be as emotionless as the dead-fish mask. And he was right.

“Please, Ratsey!” The highwayman echoed the words in a mocking falsetto voice.

Hawkins unsheathed his sword with a great flourish, the metal whispering against the leather scabbard.

Ratsey raised the weapon he was carrying and fired.

It was an arquebus, a type of musket. Tom had never seen such a thing before, never heard anything as loud as the explosion it made. At first he wasn’t even sure what had happened. It seemed to him that Hawkins had thrown his own weapon away. Then the traveller turned and to Tom’s horror, there was a great hole in the centre of his chest and blood was pouring out, soaking down into his trousers, draining out of him even as Tom watched. Behind him, Ratsey had lowered his gun and was muttering something but Tom, his ears still ringing, couldn’t hear him. Smoke curled up from the muzzle of the arquebus. Hawkins staggered towards him.

“To London,” he rasped. “Go to Moorfield…” He lifted a hand and with the last of his strength brought it down hard on the horse’s rump. Tom felt the horse leap forward and flailed out, searching for something to hold on to. Somehow his fingers found the horse’s mane and he knotted them into it. Out of the corner of his eye he saw William Hawkins collapse, lifeless, to the ground. And there, right in front of him, was Ratsey, the fish mask already off his head and his handsome eyes staring at him with something like disbelief.

“Tom-Tom!” he called out.

Tom couldn’t have stopped the horse even if he had wanted to. The next thing he knew, the two of them had left the ground, and soared over Ratsey. Ratsey yelled and dived to one side as the horse just missed him, its hind hooves grazing the side of his face. Tom was yelling too. He seemed to be flying. Then there was a great crash as the horse hit the ground again and if Tom’s hands hadn’t been buried in the mane he would have been torn loose from the saddle. Even so the breath was punched out of him and it felt as if every bone in his body had been rattled loose. Slipping first one way, then the other, he desperately clung on as the horse thundered through the wood, swerving past the trees, leaving its dead master in the mud behind.

As the sun set that evening, three people sat round a table in the Pig’s Head. None of them were speaking. They had not spoken for an hour.

Sebastian Slope was smoking a pipe that smelled of old straw. The reason for this was that it was actually filled with old straw – he had run out of tobacco. Next to him, Henrietta Slope was sipping a tankard of ale, a noisy business lacking, as she did, lips. Opposite them, Gamaliel Ratsey was reading a letter by the light of a candle. He had read it several times already and taken notes but the contents still puzzled him.

“So what does it say?” Henrietta demanded at last. “It’s only two pages. It can’t be that difficult.”

“Actually it’s in Latin,” Ratsey replied. “It’s also in code.” He set the pages down. “The letter contains orders,” he explained. “The traveller was a knight. Sir William Hawkins. A member of the Gentlemen Pensioners.”

“The what?”

Ratsey sighed again. “You really do know nothing about the outside world, do you?” he said. “The Gentlemen Pensioners are the Queen’s personal bodyguard. They’re closer to the Queen than probably anyone else.”

“What? You mean…?” Sebastian had gone completely white. It looked as if he was going to be sick and sure enough a few moments later he was. “Do you mean the Queen sent him?” he continued, when he had recovered.

“The Queen or someone close to her. Yes.” Ratsey nodded. “Hawkins was sent to find a boy, the son of Robert the Falconer. Somehow he knew that Tom was the boy. His orders were to carry the boy to London and await further instructions. And that, of course, is where they were heading when Hawkins and I met – so unfortunately for him.”

“The Queen!” Sebastian Slope was having trouble breathing. His entire face was like a slice of damp cheese. “If Hawkins was a member of the Mental Intentioners…”

“The Gentlemen Pensioners…”

“If he was working for the Queen, there’ll be questions. I mean, when he doesn’t show up. They’ll send constables. And worse…”

“They’ll hang us all,” Henrietta whispered. Her fingers fluttered to her throat. “Hanged by the neck!”

“They’ll probably draw and quarter us first,” Ratsey remarked.

“Oh Gawd!” Henrietta turned round and was as sick as her husband had been a few moments before.

“It wasn’t us!” Slope exclaimed. “We didn’t kill him!” He jerked his pipe in the direction of Ratsey. “It was you! You shot him in the forest!”

For the first time, Ratsey’s eyes grew dark. He was still smiling, but suddenly there was a chill in the room. The candle flame flickered and black shadows slithered across his face. “Whatever happens, let’s remember one thing,” he said in a low voice. “We’re in this together. If one of us goes down, we all do. If they’re going to build a scaffold, it’ll be a scaffold for three.”

“They can’t tie us in with him,” Henrietta whispered. “Hawkins came here. And he left again. What happened after that nobody knows.”

“Nobody except the boy,” Ratsey said.

There was a long silence.

“Young Tom saw everything,” Ratsey continued after a while. “He knows all about us. And if the Queen or her advisers were ever to get their hands on him, that could be very difficult for us.”

“Where is he?” Sebastian snapped. “You had him! You let him go! This is all your fault, Ratsey.”

Ratsey sighed again. He closed his eyes. Opened them. Then lashed out with his fist, catching Sebastian right on the nose. “We’re all in this together,” he went on. “And it seems to me that the one thing we have to do, the only thing we
can
do, is find young Tom.”

“How are we going to do that?” Sebastian wailed. Henrietta took out a filthy handkerchief and offered it to him. Both the Slopes looked miserable and terrified.

“We know he’s heading for London,” Ratsey said in a reasonable tone of voice. “I’ll follow him there. I’ll find him and I’ll kill him.”

“You’ll never find him in London,” Sebastian gasped. “It’s a huge place. A vast place. I went there once with my dad to do the Christmas shopping. It was horrible. We’d only been there a few hours and he got murdered. He didn’t even have time to get me a present!”

“It is a big place,” Ratsey agreed. “But I know people. And the people know people. If the boy is there, I’ll hear of it soon enough.” He got to his feet. “I’ll see you two love-birds in about a month,” he said. “And don’t worry about Tom. The boy’s as good as dead.”