Joe was quiet at first, because that was by far the most Kite had ever said to him in one go. He had a feeling it was the most Kite had ever said to anyone in one go. ‘If your dad’s from Cadiz,’ he asked at last, ‘how are you called Kite?’
‘It’s translated. Stupid to try and take an officer’s commission in England with a name like Milano. And nobody wants to alliterate.’
‘Oh.’ Joe turned that around in his mind for a while. ‘Where are we going? Not back to the ship.’
‘Yes back to the ship. I can’t leave them—’
‘Kite! Everything’s shot to hell, I’m not taking you back there.’ He looked at the marines for support. They shifted, uncomfortable, but he could see they thought going back was a bad idea too.
‘Everyone else is just as beaten up as us, Tournier—’
‘Everyone else doesn’t also have to be in charge, you moron,’ Joe snapped. Those strings in his heart were screwing tight again. ‘You won’t sit down, you’ll wander around being nice to people and then you’ll collapse and die, look at the state of you.’
‘This is normal—’
‘What you think is normal is right on the edge of dying.’ Joe sat down on a wall. ‘I’m not going back to the ship. Try and make me.’
‘I’ve got a gun and two marines,’ Kite pointed out, frowning. The two marines were hanging back, though, doing amazing work of looking like two random passers-by who had nothing to do with the argument. Even Drake didn’t seem willing to drag Joe anywhere this time.
‘Nope, I’ve got your gun, I took it off you at the chapel.’ Joe showed him, then lobbed it behind his own shoulder, where it clattered down steps and cobbles in the steep darkness. ‘Next?’
Kite’s expression opened out into real confusion. ‘That was loaded. Why didn’t you shoot me?’
‘Tried!’ Joe shouted at him. ‘Couldn’t, nearly gave myself a heart attack. Turns out I’m a good person.’
‘Oh,’ Kite said. He looked back at the marines, who didn’t seem like they had any more idea what to do now than he did. They all turned to Joe again.
‘Come on, then; where are we going?’ Joe prompted them. ‘Fire and hot water obligatory.’
Kite hesitated. ‘My sister has some rooms by the docks, in Leith.’ He looked at the marines again. ‘There’d be room for four.’
‘Good,’ Joe said. ‘Let’s find a cab.’
‘I don’t have any money.’
‘Then I’ll stop someone.’
‘Joe, no one’s going to …’
‘Shut up,’ Joe told him, starting to feel angry. He couldn’t tell who with or why exactly. It was a boiling of a lot of things: the chaos at the dock, Lawrence, the way it was impossible to just hate Kite. He even felt angry about the thing with the women’s wages. He wanted to shake Kite and demand he was just good or just a bastard, not this infuriating mix of both.
Joe stopped the first carriage that went past. It was black and sheening with fresh polish. Where the snow motes settled on its sides, they slid and formed perfect gemstone droplets. The horses huffed in the cold.
‘What in the world,’ the gentleman inside said, quite mildly. He was wearing an idiotic wig, just like Lawrence’s.
‘I really am sorry,’ Joe said, ‘but this is navy business and it’s vital I get these three men to Leith as soon as I possibly can. It’s a terrible imposition, but would you mind?’
The man laughed. ‘Well, aren’t you charming.’
Joe smiled his charming smile, which was less broad than his real one. Kite was so immune that Joe had forgotten how well it worked on everyone else. He wondered if anybody had ever been brave enough to flirt with Kite, and which ditch they’d ended up in.
‘Oh, go on then,’ the gentleman said. ‘All aboard.’
Even in a carriage, it was a long way. Kite fell still and silent. The gentleman was studying them with frank, pleased curiosity, and he asked silly questions about sailing. Joe watched the buildings glide by. The torches were burning at what the gentleman said was Holyrood Palace, where the Queen lived, and then there was a long expanse of darkness that was its broad park. Beyond that was a strange steep hill, more of a mountain, with one light burning at the top. He closed his eyes after a while. Because the carriage was small, they were all pressed together, knees bumping. Kite’s weight against Joe’s left side was warm and solid, and he managed not to have any awkward angles.
Now they were safe, something in Joe’s brain unwound too quickly and he got the shakes. He had to lock his teeth to keep them from chattering. All his muscles felt weak. He wanted to lean forward against his knees, but there was no room; he’d have been in the gentleman’s lap. He wondered exactly how close he’d been to staying in that prison. He could still hear the snick of the men picking up straws. And God, but he could still feel other people’s blood dried on to his skin.
And, just to put a cherry on the whole thing, it turned out he was incapable of running away.
What a knickerbocker glory of a day.
‘We’re here,’ the gentleman said. It seemed unnecessarily loud and Joe jumped.
Kite leaned across him to open the door. There was another awkward round of thank yous and don’t mention its, and then the carriage was on its way again,
