Page 18 of King's Man

Nate’s breath left him in a rush, face heating. As if sensing his thoughts, Sam lifted his head and their eyes met for a flickering second before Sam broke the contact. It felt like a snub; itwasa snub.

With a deep sigh, Nate started walking. As he made his way across the yard, he watched Sam exchange a few words with the boy before ruffling his hair and handing him a coin. From the wide grin on the lad’s face, it was a handsome reward.

“Good morning,” Nate said when he reached Sam, wincing at the strained formality.

Sam peeled himself away from the coach, standing upright. They were nearly of a height, although Sam had always been broader. Now, though, he looked sparer than Nate had ever seen him. His clothes hung on him as if they’d been made for a larger man.

But Sam’s lean body looked harder too. Like his eyes. They were granite as they ran over Nate from top to toe. “At least you’re not too dandified for traveling.”

“Dandified? I’ve never —”

“We can forego the pleasantries, Tanner. We’ve nothing to say to each other, so I suggest we spend the journey in silence.” With that, he yanked open the carriage door and disappeared inside.

Nate stared at the door for a moment, then went to hand his luggage to the driver before climbing in after Sam. The chaise was large enough to seat four, but even so it was hardly spacious. Sam took the far corner, body twisted to gaze out of the side window, and Nate took the other. “It’s alright,” he said frostily, “you can uncoil. I don’t intend to molest you.”

Sam stiffened but didn’t respond.

Sighing, Nate took off his hat and set it on the seat between them. He was still watching Sam’s averted profile when the post-boy mounted his horse and the carriage lurched into motion.

As the day grew warmer, London’s traffic and muddy streets slowed them to a crawl. By midday, the sun shone fully into the coach, clotting the muggy air, making the chaise humid and sticky even with the windows open.

From the corner of his eye, Nate watched Sam shift uneasily. His attention was fixed through the open side window, hair fluttering in the scant breeze. It looked blonder in the sunlight than it had earlier, more like how Nate remembered. But his face had a wintery hue, his shoulders hunched and rigid. And his silence had grown into a prickly thing, louder than the clatter of the wheels and the beat of the horses’ hooves.

Nate didn’t know how to break it.

Hours passed.

Eventually, the chaise picked up speed and Nate found himself gazing out over the sprawling skirts of London as the city thinned and faded. The England that took her place was green and verdant, with trees and fields aplenty. But there was no wilderness here, everything was hemmed-in and owned. Not like home, where the frontier stretched out forever. He wondered how Sam could endure this place of restriction when he’d been born in a freer land — he wondered whether Sam thought his principles worth the price of losing that freedom.

They stopped twice to change horses and post-boys, leaving the chaise only long enough to stretch their legs and use the necessaries, and at last, for a third time, to eat a meal at an inn called The Three Cups. It was in a busy little market town called Dunstable with a half-dozen coaching inns and a friendlier atmosphere than London.

Climbing out of the carriage, Nate took a breath of clean air and stretched his back, grown stiff from sitting so long in cramped quarters. Then, while Sam went to see about more horses and another post-boy, Nate headed into the inn in search of dinner.

The landlady was affable and showed him to a table in a public parlor, promising mutton stew and fresh bread. In general, the English were proving pleasanter than Talmach had predicted on their arrival in London. Several had even expressed their support for the American cause, and their hope that the spirit of liberty would spread to their own country. That had surprised Nate, and he wondered what Sam made of it, although — at present — it was impossible to ask.

Taking a seat, he pulled out his book while he waited for his meal. He’d learned many years ago that the swaying of the carriage did not suit his stomach, and that reading often made his nausea worse. Which was trying, given his passion for reading. A passion he’d once shared with Sam…

As if summoned by the thought, a shadow fell over him and Nate glanced up to find Sam dithering in the parlor doorway, watching him with all the loathing of a man regarding a viper in his bed. And yet, in his hesitation, Nate glimpsed something else — a hint of sorrow that suggested a heart still beat beneath that brittle shell. Hope made his breath catch and he had to clear his throat before he said, “Will you join me?”

Sam’s top lip curled. “Are you sure you want to be seen keeping company with a flagrant Tory?”

“I don’t see why not, if you can stomach being seen in company with a flagrant Patriot.”

With a snort, Sam pulled out a chair and sat down opposite Nate, chewing his words silently. Nate had once kissed that stiff jaw, been intimately familiar with its contours. He’d brushed his lips over Sam’s delicate eyelids, from beneath which his flinty eyes now stared coldly. “And what would your Mr. Talmach have to say about it?”

Nate closed his book. “Well. Talmach has certain… prejudices about those who took the British side in the conflict. Ones I don’t share.”

“Don’t you?”

“You know very well that I don’t.”

Sam grunted but didn’t respond and silence stretched between them again, loud amid the clatter of the inn. Before Nate could think of anything else to say, a red-faced serving girl arrived carrying two plates of mutton stew.

Seizing the distraction, Nate attacked his dinner. He’d eaten nothing at breakfast and despite the situation, he was ravenous. The stew was hot and tasty, the bread soft and not chalky, and the meal went a long way to soothing his tension. But even as he ate, he was aware of Sam’s brooding presence across the table. And once his immediate hunger had abated, Nate cast a surreptitious glance Sam’s way.

The cuffs of his shirt were worn thin and his neckcloth hadn’t seen starch in quite some time. Sam glanced up, caught Nate staring, and they both looked away. He hated to see Sam so diminished, but it made him angry, too. Sam had ruined himself with his damn fool mulishness.

Picking up his cup, Nate swallowed a mouthful of ale. “How is it that you come to be in this…new profession?”

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