It was around an hour later that the door above swung open and Cooper hove into view carrying a bucket in one hand and bread in the other that Flynt recognised as maslin, which he’d sampled in London thanks to the Golden Cross’s cook, who hailed from the north. Despite his situation he could already taste the rustic wheat and rye mix. Cooper was flanked by a tall, slim man, like Templeton of around Flynt’s age, who smiled down at them as he made a leisurely descent. A smile should be welcoming, but this one was not.
As Cooper stepped from the stairs, a rat scurried past and he kicked it out of the way. He smiled as it squealed. Flynt had no love of the creatures but he had even less for Cooper.
‘Don’t you be trying nothing untoward, Jonas Flynt,’ he said, his tone and expression more a dare than a warning. ‘Elsewise I’d have to punish thee some more.’
Flynt hadn’t the strength to try anything untoward. All he wanted was what he hoped was the water in that bucket and some of the bread. Cooper maintained his attention on Flynt as he set the bucket down and threw the bread onto the floor. Templeton snatched it up and tore chunks from it greedily, then his manners intervened and he reached into the bucket to produce a wooden goblet. He handed it to Flynt, who swallowed the water gratefully. Surprisingly, it was fresh and cool. He’d expected it to have been drawn from a muddy hoof-print. Templeton then gave him a fistful of the bread.
The second man had reached them, his smile still set in place, Flynt’s silver cane held carelessly in his left hand. ‘Mr Flynt, it is a great pleasure to meet you. I have heard so much about you and your exploits. They tell me you are most redoubtable. I am Philip Fitzgerald, Lord Gallowmire.’
His features were finely honed thanks to generations of careful breeding, his cheekbones sharp, his jaw firm, his auburn hair unadorned by wig but tied back with a green ribbon. Up close the smile seemed even less pleasant and when Flynt looked into the man’s blue eyes he saw nothing but darkness.
Flynt struggled further into a sitting position but Cooper placed a foot on his chest in order to prevent movement. Fitzgerald laid a hand on his arm, shook his head and the impediment was removed, allowing Flynt to haul himself more erect against the wall. ‘I can assure you the pleasure of meeting is entirely one-sided.’
Cooper swore at him and kicked him again, but this time on the leg. It hurt but it was nothing compared to the burning of his chest.
‘Gently, Joshua, gently,’ said Fitzgerald. ‘I remind you again that we cannot have him rendered incapable of reaching the gallows.’
Despite his agony, Flynt felt a coldness steal over him and he struggled to keep his voice conversational, not wishing to allow these men see his fear. He bit a chunk of bread free and forced himself to chew and then swallow. It wasn’t easy. ‘And for what exactly am I being hanged?’
Fitzgerald smiled that unpleasant smile. ‘Word reaches me from London that you are more demon than man, so that should be sufficient. But I recognise that a firmer reason is required, so you will be executed for murder.’
Gribble had sent such word, perhaps. On behalf of the Fellowship. ‘Ah, committing such an act seems to have slipped my mind. Who did I murder, pray tell?’
‘A number of people, if the intelligence I have received is correct, and I feel certain that it is. The source is unimpeachable.’
Though he was not proud of such acts, Flynt didn’t characterise any killings he had committed as murder, he considered them something like self-defence, but did not argue the point. ‘Very well, who have I murdered within this jurisdiction and on what evidence am I charged?’
‘We’ll get to that presently.’ He held a hand out to Cooper, who reached behind him to produce one of Flynt’s own pistols. Fitzgerald examined it, then hefted it with a practised movement. ‘A fine weapon, nicely balanced. Handmade for you special, I take it?’ He didn’t wait for a response. ‘Its partner is also exquisite. I had a mind to add them to my collection but instead made present of them to Joshua here. You are a gutter ruffian, Mr Flynt, but you have taste, I will grant you that. Cooper here is most taken with that horse of yours – yes, we found it in Hopkins Copse, where you left it last evening. I feel sure he will put it to sterling use after your death.’
The coldness gnawed at Flynt as he watched Fitzgerald study the pistol. ‘Those weapons and that horse are too good for an oaf like Cooper.’
That brought him a kick to the face from Cooper. The blow was misjudged and skimmed Flynt’s cheek but it was painful all the same, sending a prismatic explosion through his brain. The coppery tang of blood filled his mouth and his flesh ruptured above the bone.
‘I really would not antagonise Joshua further, my friend,’ said Fitzgerald. ‘He bears a grudge for your cruel treatment of him during that little skirmish in the village.’ He gave Cooper a stern look. ‘A skirmish that really should not have occurred.’
Cooper’s head slumped in shame. ‘I apologise again, your lordship. We didn’t know who he were.’
‘A little thought might not have gone amiss, Joshua. After all, how many strangers from the south pass through our charming little hamlet?’
Cooper’s voice grew defensive. ‘He is a Scotchman, my lord, we had no way of knowing for certain where he come from. He said he were hailing from Manchester.’
Fitzgerald’s nod was solemn. ‘True, my information lacked that one detail regarding nationality.’ He glanced at Templeton, then again at the pistol. Flynt knew where this was heading and there was nothing he could do about it. ‘And so to you, my dear Christopher.’
Templeton, tearing at a chunk of bread, froze as if captured in aspic. There had been fear in his eyes before but now there was absolute terror. Like Flynt, he had guessed what was coming.
‘You made a grave error of judgement when you betrayed the Fellowship in London. A very grave error.’ That smile flickered in Flynt’s direction before he swung Flynt’s pistol. The report was deafeningly loud and Templeton bucked against the wall, a fountain of red spewing from his chest. Flynt attempted to rise but Cooper’s foot thrust him back none too gently. Templeton still lived, a groan underpinning each gasping breath.
Fitzgerald studied the pistol, his forehead puckered by a slight frown. ‘The recoil was greater than I expected. I had aimed for the gut – a more painful wound, as I’m sure you are aware. I thought perchance I had struck the heart but it would appear not, which I find most gratifying.’ He handed the spent pistol back to Cooper then leaned over Templeton to stare into his eyes. ‘There is something fascinating in seeing a man gaze into eternity, is there not, Mr Flynt? I’m sure you have experienced this many times.’
Flynt had watched men die. Some had deserved it. Others had not. Unlike Fitzgerald, he had taken no pleasure from the sight.
‘You see the life fade away, like an ember dying in the grate.’ Fitzgerald’s breath quickened a little and he shuddered. ‘It is a most pleasurable experience, I find.’
Templeton’s hand reached out to grasp Fitzgerald’s coat. It wasn’t an attack, it was more like a spasm, but Fitzgerald prised the hand free, then twisted the handle of Flynt’s cane and thrust the blade into the lawyer’s throat. A gurgling breath, a spray of blood from between his lips, a portion of half-chewed bread sliding from his lips, a final convulsion and then Templeton was finally still. Again Flynt attempted to rise but Cooper pressed him tightly against the wall.
‘You bastard,’ Flynt snarled. ‘That wasn’t necessary.’
‘Not only was it necessary, but it was overdue.’ Fitzgerald tutted in disgust as he caught sight of a smear of blood on his coat. ‘Damnation, I do like this coat. Blood is so difficult to clean, don’t you find?’
‘It stains more than cloth.’
Fitzgerald shrugged. ‘If you allow it.’
Cooper left Flynt to poke Templeton with his foot. The body slid over to land on its side. ‘He’s a dead ’un, your lordship.’
Fitzgerald affected sorrow. ‘I fear he has fallen victim to this man’s murderous nature, Joshua. So sad.’
A moment’s silence followed as Fitzgerald bowed his head in some solemnity, as though in prayer. Cooper looked from Templeton’s body to his master, then to Flynt, his mind working out what had occurred. He smiled as he reached a conclusion.
‘Shall I have him removed, your lordship?’
‘No, leave him where he lies. Mr Flynt will enjoy our hospitality for another night yet and he will require company. The rats also deserve a little sweetmeat.’
His eyes narrowed when he detected a reaction from Flynt. His smile returned. ‘Joshua, do me the service of catching one of those creatures.’
Cooper seemed not to fully comprehend the order. ‘Your lordship?’
‘Catch me a rat, Cooper.’
The big man was far from enthusiastic as he slumped across the room to the corner. Fitzgerald took a pair of riding gloves from the pocket of his coat and pulled them on, a smile of anticipation curving his lips. Flynt couldn’t help but watch as Cooper scrambled in and out of the shadows, his big arms outstretched, until he managed to snatch up one of the creatures. It struggled in his hands as he carried it back at arm’s length. Fitzgerald took it from him and twisted it in his hands so he could inspect its face, clearly not as squeamish as Cooper, or as repelled as Flynt.
‘Intelligent beasts, the Rattus,’ he said. ‘One can discern such by simply looking into the eyes. Just as I see the extinguishment of death, I can also see the working of the mind. The windows to the soul, it is said, but I know not by whom originally, though it was most certainly a wise man. The observant among us can see right through into the very being of man – or rat in this case.’ He suddenly thrust the animal towards Flynt, who recoiled. This pleased Fitzgerald and Flynt regretted his reflexive action. The nobleman held the rat directly in front of Flynt’s face.
‘Look at him, Mr Flynt. Like us all, capable of the most frightful acts, but yet remains one of God’s creatures. Do you believe that animals carry the spark of the divine? There are many who don’t, who believe that only humans possess it, but I have made some study of such matters, in my own way, and I remain unconvinced that it exists at all.’
Flynt craned his face away from the rat as it wriggled in Fitzgerald’s grasp, its mouth opening and closing, exposing its sharp little teeth. Too close, he thought, too close…
‘I see you don’t accept my premise, Mr Flynt. Or is it that you don’t believe in the Lord, our saviour?’
Flynt swallowed, forced himself to look Fitzgerald in the eye. ‘I wouldn’t accept anything you say if you told me that the sun shone by day.’
Fitzgerald laughed. ‘Oh dear, does that mean we can’t be friends? Never mind, I will assume that you are not a God-fearing man, but then, neither am I.’ He edged the rat even closer and Flynt tried to slide away. ‘Look at it, Flynt, imagine those teeth ripping at your flesh, that tongue lapping your blood, those claws tearing at you.’
Flynt closed his eyes against the image, but he still saw it. The bodies with gaping wounds created not just by sword, pistol or cannon. And the brown and black bodies seething in craters…
‘I see you don’t have to imagine it,’ Fitzgerald said. ‘You have witnessed it for yourself. I envy you.’
He took the rat away and Flynt forced himself not to sigh with relief. Fitzgerald placed it beside Templeton’s body. ‘Let us see if it is hungry.’
The rat, however, merely ran away into the gloom. Fitzgerald was disappointed. ‘That’s a shame. Perhaps he and his friends will return when he is hungry, or when friend Templeton here is sufficiently… gamey, shall we say. You’ll be able to witness the feast, Flynt.’ He again stared at Templeton’s body. ‘You are wondering why I killed him perhaps?’
‘I think it is in your nature to kill,’ Flynt said, glad that the rat was nowhere near but his voice still hoarse and shaken.
‘Perhaps. But I said he had committed a grave error and now that error put him in his grave, I believe,’ he said as he straightened. ‘I do so dislike disloyalty, don’t you? And when it is discovered it has to be dealt with, what say you to that, Mr Flynt?’
‘I say you are a candidate for Bedlam.’
The suggestion that he was insane perturbed Fitzgerald not at all. ‘That has been said before, my friend. My own dear mother even thought such up until her dying day, which I admit was not soon enough for my liking.’
‘I am surprised you didn’t stoop to matricide. You seem capable of all else.’
Fitzgerald laughed. ‘Oh, but I did. I’m sure you will understand that it’s not something I would wish to be bruited abroad, for the sanctimonious and decrepit hag was well regarded, but I feel I put her out of her misery. Or more to the point, I put her out of my misery. The old pater familias loved me, of course, for I was the only fruit those withered loins managed to produce, but Mama never really took to me. I think it began when she chanced upon me as a child with a litter of kittens. She really did not appreciate what I was doing with them in the name of scientific research. Searching for the divine, you see. I was a most inquisitive child, and my curiosity killed those particular cats.’ He frowned as though he could not fathom his mother’s reaction. ‘She never understood her son at all, and that made her most unhappy, so it was a blessing, I believe, to creep into her chamber one night, place that pillow over her face and hold her down. She writhed and kicked but I was full grown by that time and she was decided frail so was no match for me. I would have preferred something more exploratory but that might have raised an eyebrow or two.’ He paused, his smile wistful as if he recalled the scene. ‘She was my first. My first human being, that is. You always remember your first, eh Mr Flynt, and wish to recreate the delicious sensation of taking a life, but really it is never the same after that. There is something deeply satisfying in your first kill, a thrill that is so exquisitely pleasurable that nothing ever really comes close, don’t you find?’
Flynt recalled the man’s little shudder as he stared at Templeton’s body. ‘So I am to hang for Templeton’s murder?’
‘Well done, you have a keen understanding of the situation.’
Flynt flicked a glance at Cooper. Again, Fitzgerald caught it and tutted. ‘Please, Flynt, don’t be so naive. Cooper, what did you see?’
‘I saw Flynt murder the man Templeton, your lordship.’
‘And where did you witness this foul act?’
Cooper grinned. ‘In Millhouse. Flynt here burst in and did murder him.’
‘You see, Flynt, Cooper will swear to whatever truth I instruct him. So, here then is your murder and there lies your victim. That fact that he was destined for death in any case matters not at all.’
‘And why would I wish to kill Templeton?’
‘Ah, the true why of it all will be taken to your grave, I’m afraid, and will become one of the many mysteries of life. Justice has no interest in the why, only the who and the what and the how.’
Flynt interjected, ‘The execution is to be summary then? There will be no trial?’
Fitzgerald’s amusement increased. ‘Of course there will be a trial, my dear fellow, we are not savages. All legalities will be observed.’
‘And no shortage of witnesses to testify that I am the murderer, I presume.’
‘Indeed not. It be known that you were seeking this poor fellow in London and many fine men will swear that you made inquiry in the village as to this poor man’s location and, as you have just heard, Cooper was witness to the deed.’
‘Perjured evidence.’
‘Evidence is evidence and it will be accepted, of that I can assure you. The jury will properly consider their verdict, the judge will pass sentence, and then we’ll hang you, right and proper. We have a grave ready dug and awaiting you, up there on the high ground, away from the good folk of my village.’
‘You really are quite mad, aren’t you?’
Fitzgerald was not insulted. ‘One man’s madness is another man’s alternative perception of reality. Or morality.’ He pushed himself to his feet, catching sight of the blood on his lapel again. He sighed. ‘That really is most maddeningly inconvenient.’
‘Why are you doing this? What do you gain?’
He stopped picking at the drying stain and grinned at Flynt. That smile was most irritating. ‘Why? Grace and favour, my good sir.’
‘The grace and favour of the Fellowship?’
‘Yes, and the man who will one day take his place at the head of the table.’
‘James Moncrieff,’ Flynt guessed.
‘I know not why he does detest you so grievously, but he does, and it is my good fortune that I am in a position to rid him of you. We’ll have the trial on the morrow, for that is when his lordship arrives from London. He has a fervent desire to see you die, and due course of law will be complete before the following sunset. Justice is swift and sure here in Gallowmire and there is nothing your friends in London can do to stop it.’
‘So the judge is already here?’
‘Oh yes. He’s an old family friend, overly fond of wine and easily suggestible, which is not good news for you if you harboured any lingering hopes of judicial deliverance. In the meantime, please enjoy my hospitality, basic though it may be. This was once called locally the pit, basically a dungeon, and for many a generation it lay sealed. I had it reopened.’ He looked around as if surveying it for the first time. ‘I know not what I will utilise it for, but I feel sure I will think of something.’
‘With men like you, whatever you think of, it will be deranged.’
Fitzgerald’s gaze was unwavering as he stared into Flynt’s eyes, his half smile playing again.
‘You do not show it but you are afeared, Mr Flynt. What lies before you fills you with dread. I see it there, in your eyes, and…’ he sniffed around Flynt’s face ‘…I smell it about you. Terror, my friend, has an odour of its very own.’ He stepped back, closed his eyes as if savouring the moment. ‘It is most intoxicating. I shall inhale it once again, when you stand with the hemp about your neck. It shall be most invigorating.’
‘Breathe it in now, you mad bastard, because you will never see me dangle. It will be my pleasure to kill you, my Lord Gallowmire.’
Fitzgerald laughed as he and Cooper crossed the room to the foot of the stairs.
‘Laugh all you wish and do it now,’ Flynt called after them as they ascended, ‘for though you have created your own little hell in this place, know this – you said I was more demon than man and that may be true, so believe me when I say that perdition is most jealous of those who would purloin its station and you will feel its rage. Hell’s fury is coming, you demented bastard, and I will be its deliverer.’
Fitzgerald’s laughter heightened as he reached the top of the stairs. It only stopped when cut off by Cooper slamming the heavy door closed, leaving Flynt in the pit with a dead man and the unseen rats, their claws scratching in the darkness.