Page 68 of King's Man

Your liberty is the tyranny of the mob. Don’t you see? You’ve torn down King George, but King Mob will take his place. And God help anyone who dares argue withthattyrant!

“There must be limits,” Nate said stiffly. “Even when it comes to defending our country, there must be limits to our power, otherwise we’re no better than tyrants ourselves.”

Talmach cocked his head. “Perhaps it’s you, Tanner, who needs limits? The nature of your friendship with Hutchinson —”

“Is none of your concern.”

“It is when the man’s a convicted traitor.”

“Convicted in his absence!” Nate cried, losing his temper. “Which, by the way, violateshabeas corpusand every law of natural justice. And for what? For refusing to take an oath, for wanting a different future for his country. One no less glorious, no less patriotic. No lessAmerican.” He sucked in a shaky breath, aware that he was exposing far too much. He needed to be careful. Reining himself back, he said, “Colonel, what kind of nation are we building if we call a man a traitor for holding a contrary opinion?”

“A safer one. And you’re a fool if you think otherwise. This isn’t a Harvard debating society, Tanner. This is war.”

“The war’s over.”

“Tell that to Paul Farris.”

Nate held up his hands. “Farrisisa traitor.He’sthe one who should hang.”

“And he will once you do your duty and bring me the signed contract.”

His duty. Nate turned to the window, stared down into the street below. It was busy with traffic, the shouts of the drivers and the rattle of wheels rising with the late-afternoon heat. In his pocket sat the evidence Talmach wanted, the evidence of Farris’s treacherous deal with MacLeod, signed that very afternoon. Once he handed it over, his duty would be done. He could go home.

And Sam would be left to die, his death the price of defending the Continental Congress. A terrible price. An unjust price.

One Nate refused to let him to pay.

Realization struck like a thunderbolt. Nate might never win back Sam’s love, but he could damn well prove himself worthy of his trust. Cost him what it may, Nate would not let Sam hang to please Benjamin Talmach.

He reached into his pocket and retrieved the document. When he turned from the window, he saw Talmach’s eyes alight on the paper with avid interest. “And there’s nothing we can do for Hutchinson?” Nate said, just to be sure. “No way to save him now that the deal is signed?”

Talmach’s gaze lifted to meet Nate’s. He shook his head. “Farris and MacLeod are going to Bow Street tomorrow, to see the magistrate commit Hutchinson to Newgate for trial. Until Farris is aboard ship and we’ve sailed, we can’t risk him realizing he’s been compromised. If he knows, he’ll stay in London.” A hint of sympathy softened Talmach’s expression. “This struggle demands a high price, Tanner. From us all.”

He gave a curt nod. So be it. “Take it then,” he said, offering the contract. “It’s done.”

Talmach smiled. He had a smile like a wolf. “You’ve done well — we’ve averted a disaster. Continue as before with Farris, provoke no suspicion in his mind, and I’ll see you both aboard ship in four days.” His wolfish smile broadened. “It’ll be a fine moment when we reveal the truth to him, eh? After all the indignities he’s caused you, I think it’s only fitting that you have the pleasure of arresting him yourself.”

“I look forward to it.”

But he doubted he’d be there to claim that honor. What he knew for sure as he left Talmach’s rooms was that he wouldn’t go home until Sam was safe. And since no legal redress for Sam’s situation remained, he must resort to less than legal methods.

Like Sam, he must become an outlaw.

To that end, he wanted to head straight for St. Giles, find Sam’s friend, Cole, and beg for his help. He had nobody else he could turn to, but he’d learned his lesson last night and dared not risk Talmach having him followed again. Instead, he made his way back to his lodgings on Thames Street.

There he placed MacLeod’s stolen letters in the cold fireplace, lit a taper and watched them burn, their charred edges curling up as the flames ate every word of rumor, gossip, and insinuation.

When that was done, he changed into a discreet black coat and breeches, waited an excruciatingly long time for night to fall, and then slipped out of the servants’ entrance into the cut that ran behind his lodging house. He made his way along the back of the building, turned left down another ally, and emerged one street over. Once certain he wasn’t being followed, he hailed a hackney and headed for St Giles.

Unsurprisingly, his welcome there was less cordial than last time.

“I need to speak to Elias Cole,” he said, face shoved hard against the damp brick wall of the Brewery yard. “My name’s Nathaniel Tanner.”

The man who held him in place grunted — a thick-necked bully without much going on behind his eyes. “I know who you are.”

“It’s about Hutchinson. I need to speak to Cole —”

A snort. “Cole ain’t home to the likes of you.”

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