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

autumn pervaded the air as our party set forth. Not wishing to attract attention, we were on foot and in pairs: Parry and myself leaving first, then two of his constables a short while later. A half mile to the east, well clear of the village, we gathered to await our guide; a tense, alert group. Mercifully it was not long before Combes, in a hat pulled low, stepped out of the trees that lined the road.

As agreed, I paid the man, who took his fee without a word. Nothing was said as we started towards Purton at a good pace, until after a while Combes halted. Almost hidden in the haze coming off the river, a path sloped away to our right.

‘Why do you stop?’ Parry asked. ‘We’re not at the quay.’

‘That’s true enough,’ Combes replied. ‘And nor is Russell.’

As one, we turned sharply to him: to say that no-one present trusted this man would be well short of the mark. Seemingly unconcerned, however, he pointed.

‘The salt-marshes… few go down there, save fisher-folk. You’ll need to watch your step, masters.’ He wore a sour grin, which put Parry’s back up.

‘It’s you who need watch your step,’ he retorted. ‘For you’re going to walk in front. Did you think to leave us floundering in a bog?’

‘I did not,’ Combes said. ‘You must follow in my footsteps in any case, for I know the safe paths. You’ll see the hut soon enough, but you won’t be able to get near it without me.’

The four us eyed him, before I voiced the suspicions of all. ‘You’re telling us that Russell’s hiding there in plain view? Why is he not by the quay, ready to take a boat?’

‘Because he knows you’d expect it,’ Combes said. ‘He’s not a fool. I’ll wager he’s already got word to Spry or some other trow-master to drop anchor soon, as close to shore as they can. He swims like an eel, does Russell. Since he was a boy.’

He waited, with growing impatience, but Parry wasn’t done.

‘How can you be sure he’s there?’ he demanded – to which the reply came as something of a shock.

‘Because I took him. It’s my hut… and don’t ask what I use it for. Now are you ready, or are you not?’

In stunned silence, we gazed at him. I’ve met some rogues in my time, but few were as devoid of shame as Combes: a varlet who would have sold his own children into slavery if he had any. He was a smuggler, a thief and probably worse, but just then there was no time for scruples. With a sigh, Parry gave the man a curt nod. Thereafter we left the Lydney road and walked south-east, the land falling away towards the mighty Severn.

It was but a short walk before the flat marshland appeared: salt-water pools amid clumps of coarse grass, and not a tree or bush to break the melancholy view. Wading birds took flight at our approach, gulls shrieked, and the ground quickly became treacherous. Soon we were obliged to walk in single file while Combes – the marsh-rat, I would dub him later – led the way.

And almost at once, we saw the hut.

It was tiny: a rough-bult hovel squatting on the marsh, its roof of reeds crudely thatched. It was no more than a hundred yards off, yet it might have been miles, for between it and our party lay a morass of soggy turf interlaced with channels. Beyond the hut the marshes petered out, giving way to the river’s shore. It would indeed be possible to reach a boat, I saw - provided you were prepared to get wet and muddy.

‘But he’ll see us, long before we see him.’

Parry’s leading constable, the older of the two and the one who had challenged Combes in the inn, was uneasy. Squinting ahead, the sergeant tensed, but at once Combes spoke up.

‘There are no windows,’ he grunted. ‘It’s not a house, nor was it built for comfort. Stay low, follow me and keep your mouths shut, is all you need do. He isn’t expecting me, or I would have signalled with a call. When we’re close enough to see the path to the hut, I’m leaving you… though not before I get the rest of my money.’

He was looking at me – but at once Parry turned upon him.

‘You’re not leaving until I have Russell,’ he snapped. ‘That was the bargain… and how would we find our way back? You won’t see another penny until you guide us to firm ground.’

There followed a taut moment, which could have become a stalemate. Combes tensed like a bullock, but what choice had he? Both constables placed hands on pistol-butts, while the sergeant grasped his sword-hilt… and once again, it seemed, Justice Belstrang was obliged to play the peacemaker.

‘Guide us, and stay clear while these men apprehend Russell,’ I said with a sigh. ‘Once he’s restrained, bring us back across the marsh, then I’ll pay you at once. After that you’re away, and none shall know you brought us here – save Russell, I expect.’

To my relief Combes nodded, his scowl giving way to a look of resignation. But as he turned to lead on, Parry stayed him.

‘Wait – do you know if the fellow’s armed?’

‘I’d think him a whoreson dolt if he wasn’t,’ came the surly reply. ‘But like I told you, he’s no fool.’ With that, he turned away abruptly and began to tread through the mire, picking his way carefully – and seemingly not caring whether we followed or not.

It took no more than a few minutes to reach the hut.

The last yards were easier, as Combes had said: a narrow path, marked out with stakes driven deep into the soft ground. Now he was allowed to hang back, as Parry and