“Bother?”
“I assume you’re here to surrender yourself?”
“Ah now, wouldn’t that be convenient?” A smile formed a thin gash in the pale face. Hawkwood’s hand slipped inside his coat.
“No, Captain. Still, if you please.”
In one fast and fluid flick of the wrist, the colonel pulled the two halves of the cane apart to expose the sliver of edged steel concealed within.
God, the man was quick!
Hawkwood looked down. The point of the blade hovered an inch from his heart.
Keeping the blade against Hawkwood’s chest, Hyde lifted the empty scabbard and tapped Hawkwood’s raised arm. “Hand away from your coat, Captain, if you please.”
Hawkwood did as he was told.
“Excellent. Still responding well to orders. Once a soldier, eh?”
“Only when a lunatic’s pointing his sword at me,” Hawkwood said. “You do
A shadow moved across the sharp-etched features. “Ah, Apothecary Locke. How is he? Capable fellow, in his own way, though a trifle slow on the uptake sometimes. He’s recovered from the shock, I trust?”
Hawkwood said nothing.
“I’ve heard you’re considered a capable man, too, Captain. It’s why I wanted to take a good look at you. I confess when I heard a police officer was on my trail, I didn’t expect to encounter someone quite so … energetic. I thought I’d covered my tracks remarkably well. It would appear I was wrong.”
“Don’t be too downhearted, Colonel. In the scheme of things, you didn’t do too badly. If you made an error, it was in trying a little too hard.”
“You’re referring to the fire? You could be right. It was a mite theatrical. The groundlings do like a good show, though.” The tip of the sword traced a small circle on Hawkwood’s breast. “But what do we do now? That’s the question, isn’t it?”
“Give yourself up, Colonel. It’s your only choice. You’ll probably end up back in Bedlam. You might even get away with the murders and escape the hangman. You’re insane. They’ve got the papers to prove it. They’ll most likely give you your old rooms back. It’ll be as if you never went away.”
“My work’s not finished. There’s still too much to do.”
“Your daughter’s dead, Colonel. You can’t bring her back.”
Hyde stiffened. It was only the second time his face had betrayed emotion. “You won’t be able to stop me trying, Captain.”
Hawkwood was already pivoting as Hyde drew the blade back for the killing thrust, but he knew he’d left it far too late and felt the fibres part as the tip of the blade pierced the lining of his coat. And then, incredibly, the blade was turning away. Hawkwood heard Hyde grunt with surprise as the sword tip met resistance. As the blade was withdrawn for a second attempt, Hawkwood thrust himself aside, hauled open his coat and reached for his baton. It was the only weapon he carried, apart from the knife in his boot, and he went for it because it was the closest to hand.
As he clawed the tipstaff free, his spine slammed into the wall of the alleyway. He grunted with pain, saw the blade coming at him again, and scythed the tipstaff to intercept the sword point. For the second time, the baton saved him. But he had forgotten the scabbard held in Hyde’s other hand. Locke had told him about the colonel’s reputation as a swordsman. He had only himself to blame. The edge of the scabbard cracked against his wrist. Pain seared through the joint, numbing nerve endings. The tipstaff fell from his grip and clattered on to the cobblestones. Hawkwood swore and threw himself backwards. The tip of the sword slashed towards his face and he felt his flesh open as the point of the blade pared across his exposed cheek, missing his eye by a hair’s breadth before gouging a groove in the brickwork behind him.
As Hawkwood’s body careered off the wall and went down, the colonel was on the attack once more. The man’s sense of balance was astonishing. It was as if he was using the sword and scabbard as counterweights to keep him upright. As he hit the ground, Hawkwood was rolling, but the heavy coat which had provided protection only seconds earlier had now become a hindrance, hampering his movements. He saw Hyde coming in, recognized the determination on the gaunt face, and he knew that without the baton he was defenceless. He groped for the knife in his boot, knowing it was futile. As his fingers brushed the top of his calf, the colonel lunged towards him, sword raised.
“You there!” The shout sprang out of nowhere.
Hyde turned towards the sound. Out of the corner of his eye, Hawkwood saw a figure break from the shadows fifty paces away. He looked up, saw Hyde’s expression change from one of shock at discovery into a mask of cold anger, and knew it was over. As the sword point skewered towards his heart, Hawkwood abandoned his attempt to grab the knife hilt and turned his left arm desperately into the path of the sword.
The steel blade seared through the sleeve of his coat. As the rapier point tore into the flesh of his upper arm, Hawkwood twisted his body against the sword’s blade. He felt the tension in the steel as the blade bent, but the sensation was eclipsed as the pain from the sword thrust tore through him.
The pounding footsteps were approaching fast. Another shout rent the air. Hawkwood groaned as the sword blade was tugged free. He tried to lift his arm to ward off the next attack, but it never came. He was aware of the figure above him pausing, then it was moving past his field of vision towards the passageway from whence it had come. By the time he had raised himself on to his good arm, the figure was gone.
The running footsteps halted. A pair of boots clattered into view. A body crouched down by his side and he heard a voice that was remarkably familiar enquire breathlessly, “Sir, sir, are you all right, sir?”
Hawkwood felt the warmth flowing down the inside of his coat sleeve. He could also taste the blood that had traced its way down from the gash on his cheek to his lips. He gazed up at the anxious face and sighed. “I thought I told you not to call me sir.”
Hopkins put an arm under Hawkwood’s shoulder. “Sorry, s—, Captain. I forgot.” The constable stared at Hawkwood, taking in the blood on his face and the dark drips pooling on the cobblestones from the end of the coat sleeve. “You’re wounded!”
“I know,” Hawkwood said wearily. “And it bloody hurts.” Hawkwood leant back against the wall. “What brings you here?”
“You’re bleeding, Captain. You need a physician.”
“I’ve had enough of bloody physicians,” Hawkwood snapped. “I’m up to my arse in bloody physicians. Did you see where the bastard went?”
Hopkins shook his head. “He’s disappeared. Who was it?”
“Colonel Titus bloody Xavier bloody Hyde,” Hawkwood said, and winced as the pain streaked along his arm and up into his shoulder.
The constable’s eyes grew wide. He stared in dismay towards the alley that had swallowed Hawkwood’s attacker. “I should have gone after him.”
“No you bloody shouldn’t,” Hawkwood said. “We’ll find him. I asked what you were doing here.”
“I came to fetch you, Captain. Orders from the Chief Magistrate.” The constable paused. “They’ve found another body.”
17
The corpse was wedged in the angle between two trusses spanning the Fleet. The thick timber beams had become a necessary feature of the Ditch. Held in place by wide metal brackets affixed to the brickwork on the opposing shores, they prevented the walls of the slums that lined the riverbanks from collapsing into the mud-black water.
Hawkwood knew the body would not have been left on the beam intentionally. More than likely it had been heaved from the bank in the hope that the river would take it into its stinking embrace, sucking it into the honeycomb of sewers, rat-runs and underground waterways that flowed beneath the city’s streets. The ebb tide and the cessation of the rain had resulted in a considerable lowering of the water level, leaving the cross beams
