The Price of Murder

“Aw, he’s a beauty, in truth, ain’t he?” said Patley. “Name is Pegasus, and from what I hear he deserves it. Ain’t he the horse with wings in the storybooks?”

“Onliest thing to be afraid of,” said Mr. Baker, “is that he looks headstrong, and might not run the race Deuteronomy tells him to. This is his first race, y’see.”

A bugler on horseback appeared, put his horn to his lips, and blew a call. The horses at the starting line didn’t care for that at all-and Pegasus least of all. He broke ranks with the rest, and it was all that his bearded rider could do to bring him back into place.

“Oh, he’s a good horse, all right. He’s ready to go,” said Patley.

“That call was just to the stragglers, but there ain’t no stragglers, so in just a minute, or maybe less. .”

Quite without warning, a shot was fired. I looked about me, half-expecting one of the crowd to fall wounded. But no, ’twas rather the signal for the heat to begin. Yet not all the horses, or their riders, seemed to know that. Horses reared. Riders fell. Nearly half were left at the starting line. The rest, who had got off to a good start, thundered toward us. There must have been a dozen or more on the long straightaway, and to see a small army of large animals coming direct at our horse cart at full gallop made me most uneasy. Without quite willing it so, I found myself pulling to the far side of the cart, from which Mr. Baker had advised me to jump if-

“Easy there, Jeremy,” Mr. Patley shouted to me above the noise of the crowd and the horses. “No need to jump yet.”

At that I nodded my understanding, though I reserved my agreement for a bit later.

The pack was upon us. I was surprised to see that Pegasus-and Mr. Deuteronomy-were not in the lead. No, nothing of the kind. Horse and rider were comfortably in the middle. They circled wide round us as the rest jammed in tight at the apex of the triangle. Whips flashed. Jockeys pushed back and forth, one at the other. Horses were thrown against our cart. They bit. Riders howled and threatened. Then, fast as they had come, they were gone, down the far leg of the triangle to its base, where all but Pegasus were involved in the same sort of close combat as we had witnessed here, near at hand; again, Pegasus gave it a wide berth and fought to keep his place, which was comfortably in the middle of the pack. Then did they come up at us again, and they fought ever harder to make it round us at the apex.

So was it with each successive tour of the course-until, at the end of the fourth, a gray won the heat. Pegasus, ridden by Mr. Deuteronomy, came in a modest third. I was quite disappointed by the performance, and I said as much to my companions.

“Aw, not so, not a bit of it,” said Mr. Baker to me. “Remember, Jeremy, what we just seen was no more than the first of four heats. Ain’t that so?”

I allowed that it was. “Nevertheless,” said I, “would it not be a matter of honor to at least try to win every heat?”

“No, listen, Jeremy. This is the way Deuteronomy does it with every horse he rides. The only honor involved here is winning the race.”

“Just look at Pegasus,” said Patley. “He ain’t even properly worked up a sweat.” And it was true. As his rider started him round the course to cool him off, the big red seemed not to glisten, as did the rest.

It appeared that the winning gray-named Storm Cloud, as I recall-looked as if he had fought a great battle to win the heat-and indeed, he had. He was applauded by those who had bet the heat and won. (Nevertheless, he was one of three eliminated in the next heat.)

When Mr. Deuteronomy passed us by, leading Pegasus, we applauded him warmly. And for his part, he accepted it in good spirit, removing his jaunty little cap and waving it in response. Yet I noted something odd: though he waved, he did not smile. The features of his face, seen close, were cold and unmoving as any statue’s.

“Now, you just wait, Jeremy,” said Mr. Baker. “Next two heats will go just like this one. Pegasus won’t win, but he’ll finish close enough that he’ll have a spot for himself in the final heat.”

“And what will happen in that one?” I asked, though I’d guessed the answer, of course.

“Why, he’ll win, bless you lad, he’ll win.”

“And he’ll collect the prize of fifty pounds for his owner,” said Mr. Patley. “But I wonder if it ain’t your friend, Deuteronomy, deserves it more than the horse.”

“Remember what I said just before the heat started?” said Baker. “About the horse? I said, he’s got the stuff to win, but he’s headstrong. If he just runs the kind of race his jockey tells him to run, he’ll do just fine. Well, he proved he can follow orders, so it’s a good bet he’ll win the final heat.”

And that, reader, is just how it went. The only real test offered Pegasus and Mr. Deuteronomy that afternoon was in the last heat at the “Distance Post”-in other words, just beyond the cover afforded us by the cart. Horse and rider had then to establish their primacy, nor did they shrink from the task. They rode into the tight turn at near top speed. Deuteronomy fought his way forward by flailing left and right with his whip. And Pegasus did his part well by biting the leader that crowded him on the inside, causing the horse to shy into our cart and sending us into a frightening tip. Yet, thank God, we righted and saw Pegasus speed away from the tight turn. After that, they gave him space aplenty.

Indeed, as predicted, Pegasus did win and this, I found out, was the first time ever he had raced. He received a drum-and-fife salute. His owner stepped forward to accept his fifty pounds, all of it in a jingling bag. When I spied the face of him who claimed the prize, my eyes widened and my face gave expression to my dismayed surprise.

“What’s got into you, Jeremy?” Mr. Baker asked. “You look like you just bit into a sour apple.”

“I feel like it, too. That man up there, the one who just collected the fifty pounds, he was damned rude to me when I asked him the time of day.”

“Well,” said Mr. Patley, “there’s rude and there’s damned rude. Now, what was it qualified Lord Lamford for felony rudeness?”

“Lord Lamford, is it? Wouldn’t it be so?” said I. Then did I proceed to tell them of the incident. And in truth, told so, it amounted to little. I could tell that neither man was greatly impressed by my anecdote. Yet had they been there and received his verbal slap in the face, I was certain that each would have reacted as I did.

“Yes, well, Jeremy, these lords and ladies, they get pretty tetchy when you approach them just as you might anyone,” said Mr. Baker.

“Oh, I know that, and I was polite as could be. It’s just. . Oh, let’s end it right there, shall we?”

“Perhaps we’d best,” said Patley. “We got to collect our winnings before the oddsman does a scarper on us. We’ll meet you right here, and we’ll all ride back to town together. Suit you, Jeremy?” Then, as an afterthought: “Deuteronomy, by the bye, rides mostly for Lamford.”

With that, they left me where I stood, and I moved a few steps closer to Lord Lamford-close enough, in any case, that I might hear him boast to his fellows in his self-assured drawl of how he had won the race:“. . told my man to hold him back till the last heat, and then-then did you see him go?” And did they not all crowd round him to listen to his braggadocio! One would think that Deuteronomy Plummer had just sat astride Pegasus all afternoon because the rules required it: all two-year-olds must be accompanied by an adult-something of that sort.

As my mind went to Deuteronomy, so also did my eyes. He stood, saying naught, holding loosely onto the reins of the horse. I studied him at a distance of forty or fifty feet. He talked to no one and looked neither right nor left until; all of a sudden, he turned in my direction and looked straight at me. It was as though he had known all along that I was there. Then, staring at me in the expressionless manner he had looked at us when we applauded him, he handed the reins to a nearby groom and came straight over to me. When he arrived, he looked me up and down and said naught for a good long bit. When at last he did speak, he expressed doubt.

“Are you really the Beak’s assistant?”

“Yes,” said I, “yes I am. If you want to hear that confirmed, you can wait for those two men I was with to come back. They’re both constables at the Bow Street Court.”

“No, if you say so, then I’ll believe you. Just keep that in mind, though, ’cause if you lie to me, I’ll find out, and then I’ll never believe you again. Even if you told me today was Easter Sunday, I’d say it wasn’t.”

“All right, what do you want to know?”

“I want to know if he’s going to do something about all this that has to do with Alice and-you know-my