Gideon the Cutpurse (23 page)

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Their mood lightened and as they talked, they leaned out of the two small windows that looked out over Lincoln's Inn Fields. They could see Gideon, sitting on a bench in the sunshine, reading a letter, a troubled expression on his face.
"Look," Peter said abruptly. "Isn't that Tom?"
"Yes, it is. What's he doing lurking behind the tree? I thought he was going home."
There was alarm in Kate's voice. They watched Tom look behind him toward someone they could not see and then point toward Gideon with his forefinger. Will and Joe Carrick darted toward their friend.
"Gideon!" they both screamed at the top of their voices.
As Gideon looked up, a sack was thrust over his head, his hands forced behind his back and tied with rope. The Carrick brothers pulled him toward a waiting carriage and threw him in. Peter and Kate ran out of the room and down the four flights of stairs three steps at a time and burst through the front door. The carriage had already disappeared. They ran down the narrow alley that led to High Holborn and stood looking at the sea of coaches, carriages, and wagons moving through the broad thoroughfare. If the carriage was there, they could not pick it out in this lot. And even if they could, what could they do? They trudged slowly back, defeated and disconsolate, to the bench where Gideon had been sitting. Peter picked up the letter that Gideon had dropped during the struggle, and folded and unfolded it mechanically. Set in the indecipherable copperplate writing was a thumbnail sketch of Gideon. It was a good likeness.
This must be from Joshua,
he thought. What would happen to Gideon's young half brother now? Peter passed the letter to Kate for her to look at the sketch. She said it was good and then they both slumped on the bench in horrified silence, heads bowed, looking at the ground.
The crunch of gravel caused them to look up. Standing before them, quivering in fear, was Tom. Peter flew at him and, before he knew what he was doing, grabbed hold of his neck in both hands.
"You betrayed us! You were a plant! You'd planned to do this all along! You're still part of the Carrick gang!"
Tom grabbed Peter's elbows, dislodged his grip with one easy movement, and shoved him backward so that he landed on his back, arms splayed, in the clover.
"They would have killed me else! I didn't choose to do it! If only you hadn't showed me such...consideration. Joe ain't got a kind bone in his body. You let me be. Please, Mistress Kate, take back the sixpence Mr. Seymour gave me!"
"I don't want your stupid sixpence!" she shouted. "I wouldn't take anything from a Judas! You deliberately led them to him!"
Tom sank to his knees and started to shake his head from side to side in distress as he talked.
"You don't know what Joe's like. And the Tar Man. They do...terrible things. I had to do it. Can't you understand?"
"So why are you still here?" burst out Peter. "Do you want us to forgive you or something? Because I won't. Not now and not ever. Get lost! Go away before you're taken away!"
Tom did not move. There was a pause while Peter and Kate stared at him, eyes burning with righteous fury.
"I've come to take you to where they're holding him. The Tar Man's got a secret holding place at the back of the Black Lion."
A look of terror suddenly passed over Tom's features, and he automatically reached into his pocket to stroke his mouse for comfort.
"I'll show you so long as you don't tell 'em as it was me what told you," he said. "You got to swear!"

SIXTEEN
Two Covent Gardens
In which the children finally make the acquaintance of the Tar Man at the Black Lion Tavern and then disrupt a juggler's street show

Tom refused to help them if they told the parson, for he feared that he would call a magistrate and have him instantly clapped in Newgate Gaol. Nevertheless, Kate ran back to the house and asked the aloof footman to tell the parson, when he awoke from his nap, that Mr. Seymour had need of them and that they had gone to the Black Lion Tavern in Covent Garden.
As they headed down Drury Lane, the air was heavy and humid and the gutters stank in the early evening heat. A storm was brewing and the rumble of thunder in the distance announced that it would not be long in arriving. If the crowds in High Holborn indicated the rich variety of life to be found in the capital and if Lincoln's Inn Fields was an oasis of calm for those who could afford it, then Covent Garden was a magnet for the low life of London. A feeling of creeping dread came over the children as they walked deeper and deeper into the Tar Man's haunt. Tom made them walk in the shadows against the walls, but their fine clothes made them stand out and drew malicious glances from doorways and from drunken groups spilling out of the boisterous taverns into the street. Tom kept his hand on his knife and stared out anyone taking an interest in his companions. He might have been timid with Kate and Peter, but this was his territory and he had learned to hold his own here. There was a fierce, shrewd, cunning side to him that they had not seen before.
"They know I'm protected by the Carrick gang," he told them. "Keep close to me and you'll come to no harm."
As they walked past the Rose Tavern, on the corner of Drury Lane and Russell Street, they saw a giant of a man lying in the mud of the street urging the driver of a wagon to ride over him. He called out to Tom, "Oi! Tom, lad. Where the devil have Joe and Will got to? I haven't seen hide nor hair of them these three weeks past!"
"You'll see them before the night is out, I don't doubt. They have a job to finish for Blueskin," shouted Tom.
As the wagon drew closer to the huge man, the crowd started to thump their fists and bang their glasses on the wooden tables. "Feather-stone! Feather-stone! Feather-stone!" they chanted.
"He'll be crushed!" exclaimed Kate.
"Don't be anxious on his account, Mistress Kate. That's Featherstone, the porter at the Rose. He's got a ribcage like iron. He's forever doing it. It's how he's got so rich."
The broad wagon wheels sliced over him and the crowd went silent. Featherstone's body lay immobile in the road. After a dramatic pause Featherstone leaped to his feet and roared with laughter. A man in the crowd swore an oath and dropped a golden guinea into his hands. The rest of the crowd shouted and cheered.
In a side road off Drury Lane a great painted sign announced the Black Lion Tavern. Peter's heart sank. It seemed half a lifetime ago since he'd watched the Tar Man disappearing over the hill in Derbyshire, telling him to find him at the Black Lion if he wanted his machine back. He remembered the quivering horror he felt as he pretended to be unconscious. Don't hoodwink a hoodwinker, the Tar Man had told him. And what was it that Gideon had said? That above all they must never try to double-cross him...that they had little to fear from him as long as they gave him what he wanted? But what could they give him? He had the antigravity machine
and
Gideon. And now they would have to confront him, face-to-face.
"Wait here," said Tom as he edged down the side of the Black Lion.
He was only gone for two minutes at the most, but Peter and Kate were so scared by now it seemed an age. When he returned, they knew something was wrong.
"It's empty," he said in a flat voice. "They've already moved him.... I must make inquiries--someone will know. Nothing's a secret for long at the Black Lion. Follow me. Keep yourselves to yourselves and best not to talk to anyone as, pardon me for saying so, you do have a queer manner of speech."
Tom disappeared into the Black Lion. Peter and Kate followed and sat in a dark corner, trying not to return the curious looks of the unsavory clientele across the clouds of tobacco smoke. Kate wanted to cough but stifled the impulse for fear of drawing attention to herself. Peter felt his heart thumping wildly in his chest--all he really wanted to do was slip back out and run. He felt that every eye was on them, and Tom or no Tom, he was beginning to doubt whether they would get out of there in one piece.
Tom was talking quietly with the landlord when the door to a back room squealed open on its rusting hinges. The three Carrick brothers emerged from the shadows.
"No! No! No! That's all we need!" whispered Kate frantically, trying to hide her face behind her hands. "We've got to get out of here--if they see us, they'll kill Tom."
"And us, too!"
They stood up, trying not to scrape their chairs on the flagged stone floor.
"Why, if it's not y-y-young Tom," they heard Stammering John say. "I was a-wondering where you'd g-g-got to."
Peter and Kate sidled toward the door keeping their heads down, and once into the narrow alley they made a dash for it. After a few yards they found that their path was blocked by a man coming toward them. If Peter had not gasped in recognition as he came to a sudden stop, the man might not have given him a second look.
"Come on!" urged Kate, tugging at Peter's sleeve. She wondered why he was suddenly rooted to the spot, until she focused on the man, on the horrifying scar on his face, and on the way he was looking at her bright red hair.
She could not stop herself giving a small yelp of fear. "The Tar Man!" she breathed.
He gave a long slow smile of satisfaction. "Upon my word! So you found old Blueskin's haunt. Now there is a happy coincidence--the very children whose remarkable arrival I had the good fortune to witness and whose company I was resolved to seek out this very day. Why, I scarcely recognized you in your finery! But you don't want to be walking alone in these streets--it is not safe for gentlefolk such as yourselves."
The Tar Man paused, waiting for any kind of response. Peter and Kate could do nothing more than gawp up at him. Peter felt Kate reach out for his hand. There was something in the tone of the Tar Man's voice, something honeyed and treacherous, that made the hairs on the back of Peter's neck stand on end. He was gripping Kate's hand harder than he realized.
"I am told you go by the names of Miss Dyer and Master Schock."
Kate gave a slight nod of her head despite herself.
"Come, will you not drink a glass with me? For it is me you have come to see, is it not? Have you come alone? Yes? No? I see you have no great taste for conversation. Well, no matter, I shall soon find out how the land lies."
Peter's terror did not prevent him from absorbing every detail about this man whose mere existence weighed so heavily on him. When Peter had first seen him, in Kate's valley in Derbyshire, the Tar Man had been on the road for many days. Now he seemed neither as grotesque nor as unkempt as Peter remembered. Peter took in his intense, dark eyes; his Roman nose, large but not out of proportion; and his surprisingly good clothes: a jacket and breeches in pigeon gray, and fine buckled shoes worn with clean white stockings. There was something feline about him--his movements were rapid, yet confident and unhurried, and he seemed permanently on the alert. His hair was black and his skin weather-beaten and although he had shaved, the stubble was already showing through, giving a dark cast to his face. But the scar was as terrible as Peter remembered--a livid white arc between brow and jaw. Peter shuddered; the flesh must have been cut to the bone.
Peter and Kate followed the Tar Man into the Black Lion. He did not need to threaten them. His authority was such that somehow the possibility of making a quick getaway down the alley did not occur to either of them. As the Tar Man strode through the door of the Black Lion, Kate detected a slight swagger in his step. He struck a pose for a moment on the threshold, to survey the room and to make sure everyone was aware of his arrival. He enjoyed an audience. He turned slightly toward Peter and Kate and patted the back of his thigh, signaling to them that they should enter--which they did, feeling, thought Kate uncomfortably, like two dogs following at their master's heels. Almost at once half the tavern were on their feet, raising their glasses, lifting their hats, calling out greetings to Blueskin, as they called him, no doubt on account of his stubble.
The Tar Man waited pointedly by what was evidently his favorite table, and after a short but anxious pause its occupants got up apologetically and sloped off to sit somewhere else. The Tar Man indicated to Peter and Kate that they should sit down. They were soon joined by Joe Carrick.
"What the devil are this pair doing here, Blueskin?" demanded Joe Carrick, glaring at the children.
There was a part of Kate that wanted to rise to her feet and shout "Murderer!" at Joe, but here in the Black Lion Tavern, surrounded by his cronies and sitting next to Lord Luxon's henchman, she bit her lip.
"You took the words out of my mouth," said the Tar Man to Joe. "What, you are asking yourself, are Blueskin's intentions with regard to young Master Schock and Miss Dyer, who may not wish to keep their account of recent events to themselves."
Joe nodded.
"Well, I say to you, Joe Carrick, that, first, I should be obliged if you would be civil enough to wish me good day before you badger me with your questions and, second, that as I have private business with my distinguished guests, I'll thank you to wait for me at the Rose, where we have the matter of some gold and a dead highwayman to discuss."
Joe looked disgruntled and did not move.
"You were happy enough to take delivery of Mr. Seymour," he whined. "If they squeak--"
Before Joe could continue, the Tar Man was on his feet and had barked at him so that the whole tavern could hear: "Meet me at the Rose as I asked. You and the numbskulls that ride with you! Don't overreach yourself, Joe, for my master's net reaches farther than you could ever run."
The Carrick gang headed toward the door.
"C-c-come on, Tom," said Stammering John over his shoulder.
"No, not him," said the Tar Man. "I've got business with young Tom."
Joe glared at him but said nothing and disappeared into the alley. At the Tar Man's invitation, Tom, white-faced and trembling, joined Peter and Kate at their table.
"So, young Tom, how rich were the pickings? How much of the parson's gold did they take?"
The Tar Man took hold of Tom's ear and twisted it--not, Peter noticed, with any particular relish for the pain he was inflicting. He did it because he needed the information and this was how to get it.
"Fifty-seven guineas, sir," Tom replied, grimacing.
"Is that right?" asked the Tar Man, looking at Peter.
"Yes," Peter replied hastily before the Tar Man used the technique on him.
The Tar Man let go of Tom's ear.
"Who does he take me for, the conceited blockhead? He told me twenty-five. Young Tom here has got more brains than all the Carrick gang put together, if only they would realize. Eh, Tom?"
Tom was too terrified to speak and looked in anguished despair at Peter and Kate.
Before she could stop herself, Kate exclaimed, "Don't worry, Tom--we'll protect you."
The Tar Man laughed out loud.
"Ah, I understand you now, Tom. They have
befriended
you! You feel gratitude. You want to help them."
Suddenly the Tar Man's expression changed and he spoke fiercely.
"Don't be a fool, boy! You are alone, as I was at your age. You cannot rely on such people in this world. They might throw you a few crumbs if it suits them, but you are not of their kind. They would be off at the first sign of trouble and you know it in your heart."
His tone softened, and he continued, "I give you fair warning, Tom. The Carrick gang is finished. But I've had my eye on you, and unlike Joe, I can see your worth. I could use a lad like you. There, young Tom, that is an offer you weren't expecting this day, I'll warrant! How would the role of Blueskin's apprentice suit you?"
Tom looked horrified, flattered, and incredulous all at once.
"Don't do it, Tom!" cried Kate.
Peter put his hand on her arm. This was perhaps not the greatest approach to take with the Tar Man, he thought, even though her comment only caused a wry smile to appear on his face.
Tom's pet mouse chose that moment to emerge from its master's collar. With lightning reflexes the Tar Man reached over to Tom's neck and grabbed hold of it. He held the white mouse by its tail and it swung like a miniature pendulum above the oak table. Tom stood up, petrified.
"Don't hurt it!"
The Tar Man scrutinized Tom's face and said, "And here is your first lesson: Love anything or anyone and it becomes your Achilles' heel."
He moved his arm slowly toward the candle burning in the middle of the table. The poor creature wriggled and squeaked.
"No!" cried Kate.
He dangled the struggling mouse high above the flame and gradually lowered it. Suddenly there was a whiff of singeing hair as the mouse's whiskers briefly passed through the flame. It squeaked uncontrollably. In a turmoil of pain and distress for his pet, Tom launched himself at the Tar Man, who coolly threw the animal high into the air toward the other side of the table, so that Tom was forced to interrupt his attack in order to leap after the mouse. He reappeared clutching the tiny animal and gently put her into his pocket.
"You would have done anything to stop me, would you not?" asked the Tar Man calmly. "Affection is a fatal weakness. Resist it."
Tom sat down, breathing hard, a terrible rage in his eyes.
"And the second lesson," said the Tar Man to Tom, "as you have this very moment shown us, is that anger is stronger than fear. Make anger your weapon, not your downfall, unlike most men."
"You beast!" shouted Kate. "No wonder someone gave you that scar. I dread to think what you must have done to them!"
"Such emotion, Miss Dyer! You would be surprised to learn how I got that scar. But I'll tell you how I got my scar if you tell me how to master that contraption of yours."
"I don't know anything--"
Peter interrupted her. "
I
know how to make the antigravity machine transport us anywhere we like," he said.
The Tar Man swung round to look at Peter. He had his full attention; his eyes burned with intense interest. Peter suddenly realized that it was not only Lord Luxon who desired the machine; it was also his henchman. Even though the Tar Man could not know what the antigravity machine could do, it was clear to Peter that the henchman wanted it badly. Kate looked at Peter, aghast.