Chapter Three

VINCE HAD LOST his connection to the town. Since last Midwinter, he had been living and working at the newly founded Wolfe-Chase Asylum in the countryside. His mother had been put in charge of running the place, and she’d hired him as a porter, security guard, and general workhorse. He’d kept himself away from society as much as possible. An easier task than he’d expected as his mother had always found plenty of work to keep him busy.

Just before sunset, he leaned against a wall, arms folded, with his one good eye to the door. Sorcha sat at a desk with her head resting in her hands and a massive grin on her face. Within minutes, the Port Knot Night Watch arrived. The group waved to Sorcha who smiled and pointed behind them. They jumped when they found Vince staring back at them, stony-faced and silent. One of them, a stout, tattooed woman in her forties, immediately raised her fists.

“Now, Ruth, there’s no need for that,” Sorcha said. “This is our new Commander. Vince Knight, this is Mrs Ruth Whimple. She’s been here longer than I have.”

Sorcha gestured to a pair of men around Vince’s own age. “Messrs Frank Rundle and Clive Hext are our newest recruits, fresh in from the war with the Dutch. Or against the Dutch. I’m not sure which. Both wounded in the same battle by the same shot, if you can believe it.”

“It went through my hip and into his leg.” Frank Rundle dropped the top of his breeches to show Vince the wound, a round white lump amidst a field of curly black hair.

“Put it away, Frank; we’ve all seen it,” Sorcha said.

“Took my leg clean off below the knee,” Clive Hext said. “Frank kept me sane until help arrived. I lost my leg and my heart on the same day.” He leaned over, took Frank by the hand, kissing it.

“Sappy eejits, the pair of yis,” Sorcha said. “And this here is our stalwart beadle, Mr Jack Norton.”

They all shook Vince’s hand except for Mr Norton, a portly middle-aged man with little hair on the top of his head and none whatsoever on his face. He turned the key on a striker-lantern at his desk, flaring the candle within to life. “So, you’re the one Rabbit brought in to keep an eye on us. The great Mr Invincible Knight.”

Vince straightened up, growing even taller. Already bigger than anyone else on the island, he did it to intimidate people, and it always worked. Well, nearly always.

Mr Norton eyed him up and down, from the tip of his boots to the snowy hair on his head. “We never needed any help before.”

“Never had gangs running wild in the streets before,” Vince said.

“Because you were always around to keep them in line. Shouldn’t you be out there with them?”

Vince lifted his chin, addressing the whole room. “Get something straight from the off. Rabbit put me in charge because you lot failed. Walking around busting up tavern brawls isn’t enough anymore. Gangs ran rampant for weeks. People were scared. Couldn’t rely on you to protect them. Watch is going to have to toughen up or this town is going down in flames. Don’t like it, door’s behind me.”

“I’m not going anywhere, big man,” Mr Norton said. “I’ve been a Watchman for fifteen years, and I’m not about to let a jumped-up lout like you run me off.”

Vince leaned over him, fists clenched. Mr Norton, short and round, barely came up to his chest, but still, he stood his ground.

“Oi, oi, late again,” Ruth said.

“This is the last part of our little team,” Sorcha said. “Vince Knight, meet Mr Alfie Exeter.”

“It’s the third time this month,” Mr Norton said, pointing and ignoring Vince. “I’m docking your pay.”

Alfie Exeter nodded to Vince and scowled at Mr Norton. A young man around Sorcha’s age, with masses of dark hair swept back from his handsome face and away from his piercing green eyes. He winked at Sorcha as he passed by and took his seat. “Mr Norton,” he said, “Port Knot is a pit of iniquity, a cauldron of the criminal class. Whether I arrive ten minutes early or ten minutes late makes no appreciable difference whatsoever in stemming the tide of malefaction breaking over all of us.”

“You can explain it all to the people of the Tangles tonight,” Mr Norton said. “Ruth, you too.”

“What did I do?” Ruth asked, throwing her hands in the air.

“Nothing,” Mr Norton said, “but someone has to keep an eye on him.”

Vince’s brow furrowed as he scanned the room. “The rest?”

Sorcha pursed her lips. “The rest? Oh! No, this is it. We, ah, we had three people resign when they heard you were taking over. All of them had been with the Watch for years. They objected to serving under you.”

“Perfectly understandable, if you ask me,” Mr Norton said.

“Some of us are thankful to have some proper leadership.” Alfie Exeter shot daggers at Norton. “Finally, we’ll get something done around here.”

“It’s not like you to want to do something.” Clive’s accent singled him out squarely as a local. From the south of the island, Vince guessed.

“Not all of us are content to hobble our way round, putting in the time before we fill our grave,” Exeter said.

“Watch your tongue, boy,” Clive said. “We fought wars for you, you know.”

“You fought in one war, and you got sent home after a week,” Exeter said, holding up a single finger for emphasis.

Clive put his foot on a chair and rolled up his trouser leg, revealing a brass pegleg, close to the natural colour of his skin. He clanged it with his fist. “I got this for you!”

“Oh, you really shouldn’t have.” Exeter held his hands open. “I didn’t get you anything.”

“I told you not to bang on it so hard!” Sorcha knelt by Clive and examined the leg. She unlocked a hatch in the calf and checked the pistons inside. “If you want it to keep working, you have to treat it gently. Otherwise, it’s back to the wooden one for you.”

“Any relation to Nurse Hext?” Vince asked.

Clive frowned at him. “My nephew,” he said. “He works at the asylum. He told me about you. How you’d lurk around the gardens and corridors, scaring the patients.”

The patients at the asylum were mostly prisoners transferred from Blackrabbit Gaol who required specialised help. Some of them had a tendency to kick up from time to time. It had been part of Vince’s role to keep them in line.

“Local boy?” Vince asked.

Alfie Exeter stood and straightened his waistcoat. “Born and bred.”

“Barley or Gravel?”

Exeter grinned and licked his teeth. “Gravel. How did you know?”

The wealthiest areas of the town were Barley Hill and Gravel Hill. In Vince’s experience, they bred a singularly cocky type of young man. “Experience,” he said. “Hadn’t you better get going?”

Exeter took Ruth by the arm and marched her to the door where she pulled free of him. “I told you before not to do that,” she said.

“Dammit, Ruth, I love you, and I don’t care who knows it.” He laughed and smiled at Sorcha, who brushed some stray hairs behind her ear.

“You’re a bottle-headed rake,” Ruth said. “And if my husband catches you talking like that, he’ll knock out what little brains you have.” She shoved him in the back, and they were on their way.

“Don’t mind him,” Sorcha said. “He’s only here because his da insisted on it. He wanted him to have some sort of real life experience.”

“Rich people talk for actual work,” Clive said. “He’s slumming it down here with the rest of us before he takes over his family mining business.”

“Thought the name sounded familiar,” Vince said. “Small mine on the west coast?”

“The very same.” Frank lifted a staff and together with Clive, they walked slowly out of the Watch House.

Vince frowned as they left. “Not much use in a fight, those two.”

Sorcha rocked her head from side to side. “Their heart’s in the right place though.”

Vince lifted his hands. “Rather have heavy fists than a good heart in this battle.”

JAMES TOOK THE list from Perty and quickly scanned through the names. “Yes, these are all who I was thinking of. The perfect roster for this fight. Except for Tresome. Do you believe she’ll be capable?”

“She’s a fine officer,” Perty said. “She hasn’t been given much of a chance to shine on board the Lancelot. I think with the right encouragement she could prosper.”

“I’m sure she’ll flourish under your tutelage.”

A knock at the cabin door stirred them.

“Ah, Spradbery, come in, come in,” James said.

A bony chap, Carter Spradbery had shoulder-length flaxen hair and a sort of wet look about him but had proven himself a thoroughly capable sergeant nonetheless.

James rested his ample backside on the edge of his desk. He took a pinch of seeds from his palm and fed them to his peregrine falcon, Maclaren.

“She’s a beautiful bird, sir,” Spradbery said.

“Isn’t she just? When I last visited my family home in Scotland, I took quite a shine to her. It took me no time at all to train her. I’ve been training birds since I was a lad, you know.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever known a peregrine to be taken to sea, sir.”

“My father assured me the bird would not survive on a ship for months. I must confess how delighted I am in proving him wrong.”

“I saw the drawing Tresome made for you of Maclaren in flight, swooping around the rigging. Truly brilliant work, I’m sure your father agreed.”

James stood and brushed the bird seed from his hands. “You would have thought so, wouldn’t you?” James still took great delight in the bird, but now when she soared around the deck and out over the sea, he found his pleasure tainted by his father’s indifference to the artwork James had sent to him. “Sit, please.”

Spradbery pulled his chair from the desk and slightly away from Perty.

“I believe Perty has brought you up to speed?” James asked.

Spradbery avoided looking at her. “She has, sir. If I might say, I’m surprised at you accepting this role.”

“How so?”

“You always struck me as having saltwater in your veins.”

James smiled and sat behind his desk. “When the order arrived some weeks ago to come to Blackrabbit, it contained no information pertaining to the reason. Now that I know, I find myself relishing the opportunity it presents. I love the sea as much as the next sailor, but there’s no feeling quite like watching the sun set on your own land. Feeling the soil between your fingers when you plant a tree. The stewardship of animals that would otherwise starve without you.

“I can easily picture myself taking a house in the Blackrabbit countryside. Some grand place with acres of rolling grassland and a staff of dozens. I am perfectly at home at sea but the truth is I can make my home anywhere.”

James’s father, an admiral in the royal navy, had instilled in him a drive to succeed, raised him to believe the world was his for the taking. James saw no reason to dispute it. At forty-five, he was a captain. By fifty, he would be an admiral. Sooner, if he impressed in his role as town protector. No matter what it took, he would look his father in the eye as an equal—at last. “It’s an exciting opportunity for a young officer like yourself. I know a hungry heart when I see one. So, do you have an answer for me?”

Spradbery took a deep breath. “I have some reservations, sir.”

James sat back in his seat and rested a hand on the armrest. “Oh?”

Spradbery looked at the desk, the floor, the wall—anywhere but at Perty. “I don’t know if I’m the best person to have on your team, sir. I think… I think I might prefer to remain at sea.”

James furrowed his brow and nodded to Perty. “You mean you don’t relish the idea of working with Lieutenant Hancock?”

Spradbery’s face turned red. “I never said as much, sir, I…”

“You didn’t need to say it,” James said. “Unspoken words can be clearer than any statesman’s speech. I don’t know what’s transpired between you two, but it’s hung over the ship like a cloud for months now.”

Perty cleared her throat. “A simple clash of personalities, sir.”

James’s voice grew sharper. “There’s nothing simple about it. Now look here, the pair of you. You’re two of my best officers. I need you by my side. I want you to take yourselves off to somewhere private and hash out whatever this is between you. Scream at one another, shout, hurl abuse, throw fists, sleep together, whatever it takes to clear the air. Do you hear me? I won’t have my officers behaving like children.”

Perty lifted her chin while Spradbery bit his lip—both of them trying to compose themselves.

“There’s an alehouse I know of,” Perty said.

Spradbery finally looked at her and nodded.

“Splendid.” James shook Spradbery’s hand. “Mum’s the word for now but I hope we won’t be kept waiting for too long. Just between us three, this should grease the palm of the admiralty for us. Port Knot is the home of the C.T.C. This is where we’ll make our names; mark my words. If we do good work here, we’ll be off to bigger and better things in no time.”