to the implements on the wall. He stepped up onto one of the wooden chairs and fetched down two of the leather- covered chains, dumping them onto the ground before climbing down again, then bending over to pick one of them up, which he carried around to the other side of the block. Finn looked at his own open palm, at the coal-blackened line that crossed it.
Clenching his fist, he twisted suddenly and drove his elbow hard into the Crumpet’s stomach, then slammed the heel of his shoe down onto his toe, wishing he’d worn boots. The Crumpet reeled back a step, a vicious and surprised look on his face now, still clutching the fabric of Finn’s coat.
“Run!” Finn yelled hopefully, into the Crumpet’s face. “Run, Eddie!” And before the Crumpet could react, Finn leaned forward and spat into his eye. The Crumpet’s face contorted with surprise, and Finn lurched forward and jammed a thumb into his other eye, twisting and pressing it in, then yanking it out, slick with a bloody slime now, the Crumpet shrieking and releasing Finn’s coat.
Finn whirled and ran just as Eddie rolled off the table, falling onto the floor and scrambling away, Sneed throwing himself across the table in an effort to grab him.
“The door!” Finn shouted, ducking past Lord Moorgate’s stodgy effort to grab him. Eddie, not witless at all, but apparently keen on escape, leapt to the door and reached for the latch, but the woman in the veil was a step behind him, bolder than Moorgate, and Sneed right behind her.
The way was barred.
Finn snatched up a leather-covered chain now, some four feet in length, and swung it around his head, advancing on Narbondo, who had backed against the wall and was watching with amusement, but whose demeanor changed at the sight of Finn and the whirring chain. Narbondo was canny, and at once plucked up one of the wooden chairs, holding it in front of him with one hand, and reaching into his coat with the other, where his pistol no doubt lay. Finn spun away, angling to his right, rushing forward, and slinging the chain hard at the Crumpet’s neck, holding tightly to the end as it frapped itself tight and fast. Finn yanked hard on it, the Crumpet pitching forward, his mouth open wide, his hands tearing at the chain. Finn rushed in and levered his foot against the Crumpet’s back, wrenching on the chain, drawing hard on it, the Crumpet gagging.
“He’s a dead man!” Finn shouted, but even as he did, he could see that it wouldn’t do. The amusement had come back into Narbondo’s face, and although his hand was still in his coat, he had set the chair down again. No one appeared to care greatly if the Crumpet lived or died, least of all Narbondo. The woman grasped Eddie tightly by the hair. Lord Moorgate held a pistol now, Sneed a knife. The Crumpet, coming to his senses, reached out and grasped Finn by the ankle, tripping him. Finn let go of the chain, and the Crumpet rolled clear. He struggled to stand, sucking air into his lungs, his left eye jammed shut, blood flowing down his cheek. He stared at Finn with a dead look in his good eye, something far beyond mere anger. His breath rasped in and out, and there were the marks of the chain on his neck, pressed right through the leather.
“Crumpet, when you’re quite finished with your paroxysms,” Narbondo said, “we’ll continue. You’ll be so kind as to wait your turn. It will come, I assure you.”
There was a noise, then – the tunnel door rasping open across the ragstone floor, and into the room stepped a tall, gaunt man. His damp clothing was smeared with chalk, and his hair stood straight up on his head. His mouth was working, as if he were chewing something, and he looked from one to the other of them, one eye asquint, everyone in the room startled into surprised immobility, except for Narbondo, who bowed at the waist and swept his hand out.
“My old friend Bill Kraken!” Narbondo said. “I rather thought you’d pay us a visit. You’re an acquaintance of my dear mother, I believe, and so you won’t be surprised at my having anticipated you. She sent to tell us you were coming. I owe you a small debt, I believe, from our last meeting in Aylesford, which I intend to repay with interest. Come, join our little jollification.”
The man stared at Eddie and nodded, and then at the woman who gripped Eddie by the collar. From out of his coat he took a long pistol.
Narbondo’s face underwent a change, although he recovered from it quickly. He had expected the man, Finn thought, but not the pistol, and was worried now that he had overreached himself. He must know, however, that Lord Moorgate possessed one of his own. Moorgate’s right hand was held down along the seam of his trousers, hidden from Kraken’s view.
Kraken’s lips were pursed, and he looked from one to the other of them, as if contemplating whom to shoot first. He stopped when his gaze reached Narbondo once again – a gaze of intense loathing – and he nodded slowly, as if having decided. Finn braced himself, glancing again at the door. He would move fast when it started, with no goal but to take Eddie through the door, leaving the stranger to deal with the others. If it meant knocking the woman down, or worse, then so be it. He and Eddie were dead otherwise.
“You!” the stranger said to Narbondo, his voice shaking with anger. “The fiend that flieth by night! I’ll see you in damnation. What I do here is in the memory of poor Mary Eastman, by God, and young Edward, your own brother. I been awaiting this day, and now it’s upon us…”
Finn glanced at Lord Moorgate. Still no sign of the pistol, but he was ready. The stranger fell silent at last and took careful aim at Narbondo, a distance of maybe fifteen feet, Narbondo brassing it out like Satan.
Kraken spun around, caught himself, staggered forward two steps, and looked with shocked surprise at Moorgate. The pistol was still in Kraken’s hand, and he raised it again, aiming it at Moorgate now, who pulled the trigger of his own pistol a second time. The pistol misfired, and then misfired again. Now, as he fell, Kraken shot at Moorgate, blowing splinters out of the door beyond. He held onto the pistol, kneeling and looking around him, one hand pressed against his chest, blood flowing through his fingers. The woman flung the door open and ran out, Eddie shrugging away from her and running toward Finn. Narbondo and Moorgate followed the woman out of the cellar, Sneed in their wake. Eddie had pressed himself against the wall and put his hands in front of his face.
Someone slammed into Finn, knocking him down. Finn rolled clear and sprang to his feet, throwing himself toward Eddie, Kraken’s pistol ringing out right behind him. The Crumpet hurtled through the open door, looking back wildly with his one good eye.
“Go on!” Kraken said to Finn. “Take to the wood! I’ll see to myself!” And with that Kraken staggered away into the darkness of the tunnel, pulling the door shut behind him.
Finn grabbed Eddie’s hand and hauled him out into the sunshine. Ahead stood the pond, the Crumpet on the far shore by now. The others had disappeared, but everything would change as soon as it was perceived that Kraken was no longer a threat. There was shouting now from the direction of the unseen millwheel – a hue and cry – Narbondo no doubt rallying his men to face Kraken’s pistol. The only real shelter was the wood, which lay to their left – southwest, given the position of the sun – and soon Finn and Eddie were running for all that they were worth in that direction, Eddie moving faster than Finn could credit.
They reached the brook that turned the millwheel, and followed it deeper into the wood along a narrow trail, Finn listening for sounds of pursuit. He slowed the pace. There was no use exhausting Eddie, and with any luck they would have a long way to travel before nightfall. The stream ran south, toward the Medway, toward home, and the trail was well enough traveled. It would take them somewhere without a doubt, and anywhere was better than where they had been.
“Follow this brook if you lose sight of me,” Finn told Eddie. “Do you hear me?”
Eddie said, “Yes,” and nodded his head, seeming to understand very well.
“Don’t leave the path unless you must. If you follow the path you’ll end up somewhere hopeful. Tell them you live at Agatha Walton’s place, Aylesford.” Despite Eddie’s nodding again, Finn made him repeat the gist of it, just as George had done to him, but he felt a measure of futility.
The brook curved around toward the west and then straightened, again heading south. Aylesford lay below them, Finn thought: ten miles, twelve, maybe. They could walk it well enough in four hours if Eddie held up, or perhaps beg a ride from a willing farmer. He looked back and saw no one, but when he looked forward again, he
