Page 33 of King's Man

“This document we’re stealing,” Sam blurted, desperate to break the silence. “What can you tell me about it?”

Nate stilled, and when he turned back around his expression was tense. “No more than Talmach already told you: that MacLeod keeps it in a strongbox in his study.”

There was more, Sam could see it in his eyes. Nate was hiding something. “And you don’t trust me enough to tell me what it concerns?”

“It's not that. But I’m afraid —” His lips pursed. “I’m afraid Talmach instructed me not to, that’s all. I’m sorry.”

It shouldn’t dismay him, and yet Sam’s heart sank. Because, really, what else had he expected? He was an outsider now, an enemy of America. Of course he wasn’t to be trusted.

Briefly, Nate touched his arm. “If it’s any consolation, I’m not entirely convinced the damned thing even exists.”

“Well.” Sam allowed himself a wry smile. “I’m glad we’re not wasting our time.”

After a moment, and rather seriously, Nate said, “I’ll never consider this a waste of time, Sam. I’ll never regret finding you again. It’s what I longed for.”

Helplessly, Sam’s spirits soared, and he was on the verge of confessing something stupid when a sound from the street distracted him, raising his hackles in alarm.

Liverpool was not a large city, at least not in comparison with London, and they were close to the docks around which the buildings gathered. A forest of masts loomed over the rooftops ahead, but it was the babble of noise, of men shouting and arguing loudly, that set Sam’s pulse pounding.

It sounded like trouble.

Uneasily, he glanced at Nate. He’d heard it too and opened the carriage window to lean out. Sam crowded in behind him so he could see better. They were passing a large square full of men shouting and gesticulating wildly. For a sickening instant, Sam thought they were a mob, but then he realized that the men weren’t arguing at all but swapping flag-like tokens in a frenzy of friendly activity. It took him a moment to understand what he was seeing.

“It’s a merchant’s exchange,” Nate said softly.

Sam hummed in agreement and they watched the spectacle in silence as traders and ship-owners went about their business, oiling the wheels of imperial commerce in loud, bold voices. After a while, Sam said, “You know what it is they’re trading here? Or, I should say, who.”

Although there were only a few black faces to be seen in Liverpool, this city, like London, was at the center of the transatlantic slave trade. And these men exchanging tokens were, in fact, haggling over human lives.

“It’s repulsive,” Nate said grimly. “In these days of enlightened thinking, it’s absolutely repugnant that it’s allowed to continue.”

“Men want to be rich and they don’t much care how they go about it,” Sam said. “No amount of enlightened thinking is ever going to change that.”

“But I disagree.” Nate turned around quickly, and they were suddenly very close. Neither pulled back. “The worldischanging. Men’s thoughts are changing. Powerful men. One day the law will sweep this trade away.”

Doubtfully, Sam said, “You mean in America, where all men are created equal? So long as they’re free white men?”

Nate looked anguished but, for once, Sam didn’t feel the urge to push the point. After a pause, Nate said, “I can’t say change will happen right away. God knows plenty of powerful interests are resisting it, but we’re trying. In Rhode Island, at least, we’re trying. Pushing for it. And one day — one day soon — this trade will end.”

“I don’t suppose ‘one day soon’ is much comfort to the people whose lives are being bartered here,” Sam said, looking back at the exchange as the carriage began to turn the corner.

Nate sighed heavily. “No comfort at all. I know it’s not good enough.”

His distress twisted Sam’s heart, fool that he was, and he found himself saying, “But I hope you’re right. I hope your revolution changes things, at home and here. I’d like to see a world where this vile trade is outlawed forever.”

Nate’s eyes brightened. “On that, we agree.”

“Yes.” Sam couldn’t help smiling again, his lips curling without permission. “On that, we always agreed.”

Not long after they’d passed the exchange, the carriage pulled into the posting inn where they left the chaise. They’d made good time and so Sam got directions from one of the stable hands to a livery where they could hire a trap for the drive out to MacLeod’s estate.

According to the liveryman, Marlborough Castle was no more than six miles from Liverpool — an easy drive before nightfall. Nate tentatively suggested taking a room for the night in town, but Sam didn’t dare risk the temptation. He knew, if Nate reached for him again, he’d be powerless to resist. And then he’d be entirely lost.

Besides, there was work to be done.

And so, after a couple of bone-shaking hours on narrow, rutted country lanes, the little trap crested a hill and Sam got his first sight of Marlborough Castle.

A heavy lumpen building, it squatted on the far side of a meandering river, deep in a shadowed valley, projecting all the menace a Norman keep could muster. “God in heaven,” Sam breathed, reigning in the pony as the valley widened below them. “Do you think he’s expecting a rebellion? Look at all those towers and ramparts.”

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