Deliverance: A Justice Belstrang Mystery by John Pilkington (top 10 most read books in the world .TXT) 📗

a forester, whose family had been here for generations. Long before the iron men came, he said; that started in the time of King Henry the Eighth. Why? Because iron cannon cost only a third of what bronze ones cost – did I not know that?

I told him that I had heard so, but said nothing about having an interest in mining, let alone cannons. Instead, as we walked the lane by moonlight, I asked him about the Mountfords. Was Francis Mountford the rogue, I asked? Or did he mean the man’s uncle, the late John Mountford?

But Master Peck grew wary, and I feared he would prove reticent. Well, John Mountford had been a fair man, he allowed, even if he was as much to blame as others were for tearing up the forest. As for Francis… he drew a breath.

‘I’d not tangle with that one,’ he muttered. ‘Cold-hearted, like his foundry-master.’

‘I know Tobias Russell,’ I said, to encourage him. ‘Guards Cricklepit like a fortress… I’d not tangle with him, either.’

‘May I ask what your interest is here, master?’ Peck said then. He stopped, squinting at me in the dim light; it was time for some invention.

‘I prefer not to answer that,’ I said, after a pause. ‘But I will say it’s justice that drives me, not desire for wealth. And I’ve no more liking for Master Francis than you have.’

The other said nothing, but resumed walking stiffly. Falling in beside him, I sought for some further words to draw him out, when to my surprise he said: ‘You’re not the first to come here asking questions. There was a man a year or so back, turned out to be an agent of Spain, working for the Papists. He was took by some soldiers, in the end.’

‘Well, I assure you I’m not one of that party,’ I said, somewhat sharply. ‘On the contrary…’

I broke off, berating myself. From being William Pride the investor, was I now about to pose as an agent of the Crown? I was beginning to find the deception game somewhat trying. Fortunately, Master Peck was barely listening. Instead, his eyes strayed upwards, to the heavens.

‘Do you see that?’ He said, pointing. ‘The Great Comet – she’s there every night’ And when I nodded: ‘Some are saying it’s a bad omen.’

‘So I’ve heard,’ I replied. Whereupon Peck lowered his gaze, and drew a breath. ‘There are things hereabouts you wouldn’t want to delve into too deeply here, master,’ he murmured. ‘Then, when riches are to be gained, when was it not so?’ With that, he stopped again and turned to face me.

‘I thank you for aiding me,’ he said. ‘But I’ll walk alone now. You’ll want to be getting back.’

‘Stay a moment,’ I said. I believed I was on the verge of learning something of value, which might slip away. ‘I’ll admit one thing to you: that I serve the King’s peace, and no other. If you can tell me anything about the Mountfords that they would prefer I didn’t know, I’ll be in your debt.’

For a while Peck regarded me with a frown, so that I fully expected him to turn away. But to my surprise, he answered.

‘You might ask about the Concord Men,’ he said, speaking low. ‘But be most careful… that’s all I will say.’

And he was gone, walking heavily.

I watched him disappear into the gloom, before turning round to return to Lydney. So deep in thought was I, I failed to hear the footsteps until it was too late – until a shape loomed out of nowhere, causing me to stop in my tracks. Then something whirled through the air, and there came a crack on my skull that stunned me. As I staggered, half-dazed, a voice close to my ear hissed a warning that I barely made out, though later I would recall it plainly enough:

‘Leave and return whence you came - or next time the blow will be fatal.’

After that there was only a sound of heavy boots, hurrying away into the dark. And yet, as the warning voice still rang in my head, I knew I had heard it before; when and where, however, I could not tell.

***

The next morning. I awoke in my chamber at The Comfort with an aching head, a dry mouth and a powerful thirst for revenge. And quickly, the events of the previous night came into focus.

I recalled returning to the inn, and entering to a sudden silence. Men had paused at their drinking, mugs half-way to mouths, regarding me without expression. My head throbbed from the blow I had received, but thankfully there was no blood. Shaken, but striving to appear unconcerned, I made my way to the staircase as Henry Hawes appeared, a look of apparent concern on his face.

‘Are you all right, Master Pride?’

‘Of course,’ I answered at once. ‘Why should I not be?’

‘No matter, sir. Shall I send a mug up to your chamber, or-’

‘No,’ I broke in. ‘I’m weary, and will go to my bed.’ I met his eye, then glanced round to find men still gazing at me.

‘In fact,’ I added, ‘I’m weary of the company here, too. Mayhap I’ll seek accommodation elsewhere - good-night.’

Now, as the words came back to me, I sat up and regretted not accepting the drink. The morning was already advanced, I saw, sunlight streaming in. With an effort I rose and shuffled to the window – then I remembered that it was Monday, and I had intended to ride down to Purton again to watch cannons being loaded.

I threw the casement wide and drew some breaths, then took my time dressing, feeling a lump on my head the size of a plover’s egg. I was angry – as much at my own carelessness as for the stark warning I had received. I would never