Page 19 of King's Man

“Needs must.” Sam blotted gravy with the last of his bread and didn’t look up.

“You’re a good lawyer. Can’t you practice here?”

“I choose not to.”

“Why on earth not?”

“Because I’ve lost my faith in the law, Tanner. Turns out, anyone can overturn it when they have a mob at their back.” A flat smile touched his lips, not in the least bit welcoming. “I’m anoutlawnow.”

Nate set down his ale. “You put yourself outside the law. You know you did.”

Sam shook his head but let the subject drop and Nate was grateful. What was the point in rehashing that old argument? The truth was that the world had changed around Sam. He’d refused to change with it, and his intransigence had cost him everything. It had cost Nate something too, although Sam might not believe it. Another spiky silence grew, and Nate was considering escaping outside when Sam surprised him by saying, “This man, Talmach. He’s your employer?”

“He’s my superior, yes.” It was a risk, but Nate was proud of his hard-won position and wanted to share it with his old friend. “My employer, if that’s the right word, is the Continental Congress.”

Sam glanced up sharply, fixing wary eyes on Nate. “Is that so?”

“It is, yes.”

“And you’re in England because…?”

Nate hesitated, but looking into Sam’s suspicious face he knew he couldn’t risk telling him the whole truth. At least, not yet. But he could tell him some part of it. “The British have embargoed American ships from their West Indian ports. I’m working with an American merchant, by the name of Farris, to negotiate a… a private arrangement on behalf of our Carolina rice planters.”

Sam’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “Not finding it easy to trade now you’ve cut yourselves off from the world’s biggest market? If only someone had anticipated that consequence.”

“It’s a temporary problem,” Nate assured him, tamping down a flash of irritation. “In time, the British will come to their senses.”

“And meanwhile, it makes plenty of work for lawyers.”

“There is that.” Nate offered a tentative smile that Sam didn’t quite return before dropping his gaze back to the table.

After a pause, Sam said, “You don’t work for old Mr. Reed anymore, then?” He kept his eyes down, fingers tapping a tense rhythm on the table. “I hope he’s well?”

“Oh. No, he —” Nate’s stomach squeezed as Sam looked up in unguarded concern. They’d both been apprenticed to Reed; it was where he and Sam had met one glorious fall morning before the world turned upside down. He had to swallow before he said, “I’m sorry, Sam. John Reed passed away last year. I didn’t — I didn’t realize you hadn’t been told.”

“Who would have told me?” Sam looked sharply out the window, blinking at the setting sun, his mouth a taut line. “Poor old Reed. He was a good man.”

“He was. One of the best.”

“And Mary?”

“She’s well. Still in Rosemont. Young John took over the business.” Nate put up his hands at Sam’s look of incredulity. “Last I heard, the firm was still prospering. Perhaps he wasn’t as inept as we thought?”

A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of Sam’s lips, quickly suppressed. “Perhaps not, but I see why you don’t work there anymore.”

But Nate had seen that almost-smile, and it lit something beneath his breastbone — a spark of warmth. Of hope.

“So, this merchant you’re working with,” Sam said. “Farris. Would that bePaulFarris? Master of theTriton?”

“It is. Do you know him?”

“Not personally.” Keeping his eyes on the table, he turned his cup around a slow three-hundred-and-sixty degrees before saying, “But everyone knows what cargo Paul Farris traffics aboard that ship.” He glanced up from under his brow. “Funny kind of liberty you practice in your new republic.”

“Look, I despise everything about Farris.” And, hell, if he could only tell Sam the truth. “But — But there are more important things at stake.”

“Oh, there always were for you.”

“That’s not true.”

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