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

***

‘Where was he found?’

I demanded this of Henry Hawes, the two of us standing in the inn, which was devoid of customers that morning. I had learned the news from him after enquiring about the man who came off worse in the brawl. Hawes was unwilling to speak of the matter, but saw that I was in no humour for evasion. With many a shake of his head, he replied that Peck appeared to have collapsed in the street at Aylburton, but a short way from his home, and cracked his head. He was unsteady on his feet, the landlord reminded me – I knew it as well as anyone, did I not? To my mind, he seemed most keen to stress that it had been an unfortunate mishap – an accident.

I stared at him, until he dropped his gaze.

‘Two days ago,’ I said. ‘I learned of a man being killed by a falling tree. Now I hear of another who fell over in the street - even though he was walking well enough when I last saw him.’ In growing anger, I raised a hand and pointed. ‘There appear to have been a troubling number of fatal accidents hereabouts, wouldn’t you say?’

Hawes merely shrugged.

‘Moreover,’ I added, ‘someone caught me on the road last night and gave me a blow to the head, soon after I’d bidden Peck goodnight. I wonder if the same thing happened to him?’

‘I don’t follow you, sir.’ A blank look had come over the landlord’s face, similar to the one I had seen on Tobias Russell. Its meaning was plain: I would learn nothing further.

I turned away to go up to my chamber, but stopped, seething with anger; something was gravely amiss here, and I wanted answers. On impulse, I walked to the door and went out.

Within a short time, I was riding Leucippus up the Lyd to the Cricklepit foundry, where I drew rein and waited.

The place was as noisy as before, with smoke issuing from the furnace chimney. I remained in the saddle, until soon enough the man I wanted to see appeared in his leather apron, wearing an expression of disapproval.

‘Master Pride…’ Russell came within a few yards, then halted. ‘Here you are again.’

‘So I am,’ I said. ‘I’ve been busy since we last met, talking to people. I spent an interesting hour at Purton earlier, with Captain Spry. He was most forthcoming.’

Russell made no reply, but shifted his stance slightly.

‘I met one of his crewmen, a Turk,’ I went on. ‘Curious…’

‘What is it you want of me?’ The other broke in. ‘I’ve no time to spare in idle chatter.’

‘Those were Spry’s very words, too,’ I said brightly. ‘Before I reassured him of my intentions, that is.’

I was thinking hard, trying to construct some means of penetrating the man’s exterior… tight as a clam, Jonas Willett had said. I met his eye, but discerned nothing.

‘What intentions?’ Russell demanded. ‘You said you were-’

‘I said I was interested in cannons,’ I broke in. ‘That’s your trade, is it not?’

‘You know that already,’ the other returned.

‘Indeed – ordnance for the King,’ I said. ‘But I wonder now if all of your guns go to His Majesty… might some of them find their way elsewhere?’

Well, I must confess it: I have no idea where that notion sprang from. Likely it had been taking shape in my mind since I talked with the Willetts, and with Spry… but finding Yakup the Turk in his company must have crystallised it. I pictured that man again, and suspected that he was no sailor. His manner of dress, the way he had walked up to Spry with that questioning look… William Pride was on unsteady ground, but he would hold it. And to my relief the strategy worked – though it did not seem so at first.

‘What do you mean?’

For the first time, Russell showed emotion. Taking a sudden step forward, he made as if to grasp Leucippus’s bridle - but in that he erred badly. The horse jerked his head, veering away from the man, and bared his teeth. At once I got down from the saddle, took the bridle myself and murmured a few words. As Leucippus calmed, I turned to face the other, whose anger was now plain.

‘I know something’s in train here,’ I said, giving my voice an edge. ‘And I think I know what it is. But you’re not a fool. Do you not see that it could be to your advantage?’

There was a brief silence. From the corner of my eye, I saw foundrymen gathering as before, watching alertly. Things could turn ugly, and before I knew it my hand was on my sword-hilt.

‘What advantage?’

Russell’s manner had changed. He was still hostile, but there was a look in his eye that I knew well enough: one of pure greed. Seizing the moment, I pressed it home.

‘I told you, I have customers of my own,’ I said, lowering my voice. ‘Men who pay well, and who keep their mouths shut.’

‘So, all you said about foundries and investing and such, was a pack of lies,’ the other replied, with a sneering look.

I remained silent, but took my hand from my sword.

‘Now you come here, bold as brass, and think I’d do business with you at the drop of a coin,’ he went on. ‘A man I know little of, and would trust even less?’

‘I don’t trust you either, Russell,’ I said. ‘But I’ll live with it.’

Another silence followed. But the foundry-master glanced round at his men, and made a dismissive gesture. As they moved away, he faced me and lifted a calloused hand.

‘I might hear you out,’ he said, pointing at me. ‘But you should know the risks. Nobody thwarts me – no-one.’

I met his eye,