Cooper did not reply and kept trying to hit me. I did not know if he meant to kill me or simply beat me to a pulp, but either way I intended not to let him.
I went down again, facedown this time, while Cooper agilely came after me. My hand landed on a loose floorboard, and I dug my fingers under it, planning to yank it up and beat him with it.
I remained on my stomach, stunned, because what I saw under the floorboard was canvas. Painter's canvas, old and soft, with gloriously bright colors from two hundred years ago peeking around one edge.
Chapter Twenty
The roll of canvas was thick, paintings around paintings. Under the roll lay small, perfectly painted pictures, gleaming with gold leaf, from even longer ago.
As I stared at them in shock, Cooper grabbed me around the neck with his large hand. I didn't have time to shout accusations at him before he had me up and thrown against the wall.
As the breath went out of me, I saw now what the shadows had not allowed me to see, Denis's bodyguard, Morgan, facedown in a corner, blood all over his head. Dead or alive, I could not tell.
Cooper's fist caught me full in the face. My head rocked back against the stone wall. Cooper put his boot heel into my bad knee, and I fell again. I put my hands over my head, but Cooper beat me thoroughly with the stout wood.
He'd have beaten me to death if the roar of a pistol hadn't filled the air. Cooper jerked to the side at the last instant and the bullet clinked to the wall. But the shot caught him on the fleshy part of his bad arm, and Cooper yelled as his blood rained over me in a warm shower.
Cooper turned in fury to face James Denis, who held a black pistol in his hand. The acrid bite of smoke filled the air.
Waves crashed on the breakwater around the house and windmill. If we weren't cut off by now, we soon would be.
I tried to get to my feet and gave up. Instead, I crawled to the paintings.
Cooper stepped on my knee. He brought up his cudgel, still ready to fight. 'You should have stayed in the windmill,' he said to Denis.
'You've been with me for twenty years,' Denis said, voice calm, as though we stood in his pristine study in his Curzon Street house. 'You have seen what I do to those who betray me.'
'Twenty fucking years.' Spittle flew with Cooper's words. 'Twenty years watching you take the best bits for yourself and giving me the leavings. Even when you were a lad. You had to have everything.'
It might have been the light, or lack thereof, but I swore I saw pain flicker through Denis's eyes. Denis trusted so very few, and now the man he'd admitted to caring for was throwing that caring back in his face.
'If you go now,' Denis said to Cooper. 'I will let you live.'
'Your pistol is spent, and your men are down. I might let you live. I haven't decided.'
'You are badly injured.'
'I can still best you, you little runt. I always could.'
I sat with my back to the wall, my bad leg out in front of me. I longed to be able to leap to my feet and bash Cooper over the head, but I could barely move. 'Why kill Ferguson?' I asked him.
Cooper did not take his eyes from Denis. 'Ferguson is dead? He were alive and well when I left him.'
'You did fight him, though. With a cudgel, your favorite method.'
'Aye. But I left him still breathing. He's a strong fighter, is Ferguson.'
'Was,' I corrected. 'He is certainly dead, sent back home to his mother for burial. I believe I know why you fought him. He found the paintings, did he not? Brigadier Easton hid them in the windmill. Ferguson found them, you found Ferguson, you beat him, took the paintings, and lit out. Did he cut off your hand?'
'He's wicked with a knife, is Ferguson. Thought I could save it, but when I knew it was done for, I built a fire and sawed it the rest of the way.'
I imagined him, knife in hand, sweat pouring down his face, knowing what he must do. I could not stop myself thinking of him making the final blow with the knife, the agony of thrusting the end of his arm into the flames. He'd stumble away in horrific pain, too distracted to care about leaving behind the horse and his own hand.
He must have found the isolated windmill and threatened Waller to keep his presence secret. He'd not been too distracted, however, to leave behind the paintings.
'You're a smart man, Captain,' Cooper said. 'But you don't know any of this for certain.'
'I am certain,' I said. 'But it doesn't matter, because Ferguson will never tell his tale.'
Denis and Cooper were watching each other. Two animals, ready to battle. I started to climb to my feet, not because I thought I could help, but because I wanted to divert Cooper's attention.
He never looked at me. A glance out the window confirmed what I'd thought-the water had risen, filling the low ground around the windmill and house. We were now on an island.
Cooper went for Denis. Then the two men fought in silence-close, ugly, hard fighting. Thinner and younger, Denis was wiry and fast to Cooper's strength and bulk.
Cooper had taught Denis to fight. Now Denis was trying to kill him, fighting as dirty as Cooper ever had.
I got my hand around my walking stick. The sheath had rolled away somewhere, but the blade was still whole. I would have to kill Cooper, but so be it.
As I raised the sword to deliver the death blow through his back, Cooper managed to break Denis's hold and shove him away. Before Denis could duck out of the way, Cooper slammed his cudgel across Denis's head. Denis tried to roll from the blow, but blood streamed down his face and his eyes lost focus.
Cooper raised his stick, ready to end Denis's life, but I lunged my sword at Cooper. In my hurry, I missed his back but caught him on the healing stump of his wrist. He howled.
He swung around to me, cudgel swinging. I fought him back with my sword, but his cudgel landed on my wrist and the sword fell from my nerveless fingers. He crowded me into a corner, and then he beat me, swiftly and thoroughly, until I slid to the floor.
Denis had not moved, and I could not see whether he still breathed. I could barely move myself. Cooper ripped up more of the floorboards, never turning his back to me while I lay in a crumpled heap, pathetic and in pain. He pulled up a ring of a trapdoor, similar to the one in the windmill. There wouldn't be much room down there but enough in which a man could hide. Cooper must have gone to ground there when Matthias and Bartholomew came searching.
Copper dragged Denis by the feet to the hole and dropped him in. Then Cooper came for me. I was still awake, still ready to fight, but Cooper stepped his entire weight on my bad knee. Horrific pain spread through my body.
'Get down there, Captain,' he said. 'Keep him company.'
He assisted me with his boot. I slithered face-first through the hole, and landed seven feet down, on the inert body of James Denis. The trapdoor slammed shut above me, and all was darkness.
I did not have the good fortune to lose consciousness. I rolled off Denis's body, lay on my side, and hurt.
I could not see in the dark, but when I touched Denis again, he remained unnaturally still. My heart beat swiftly in worry as I turned him over.
He was alive. His skin was warm, and I felt his breath on my fingers.
I exhaled in relief. Ironic for me to be thankful that the man I'd so often wanted to kill had survived.
I had the opportunity to kill him now. He was unconscious, vulnerable, helpless. I could close my hands around his throat and squeeze until he died.
But, no. I had a modicum of honor left, and killing him in such a manner would be less than satisfying, in any case.
I retrieved a flask from my pocket, slid my arm under Denis's head, parted his lips with the head of the flask, and poured a bit of brandy into his mouth.
The brandy spilled, but Denis coughed and then swallowed. I fed him more. He swallowed that and pushed
