Page 69 of King's Man

“Please, it’s a matter of —”

“It’s all right, Bell.” Cole’s voice came from the other side of the road, accompanied by steady footsteps. Nate twisted his head to see. “Tanner’s a friend of Hutch.” Cole came into view, holding up a lamp. “At least, so I thought.”

“Iam.” He twisted angrily and the bully — Bell — let him go. Rubbing at his wrists, Nate glared at him. “Thank you.”

“Youshouldthank me, an’ all. You nosed us to the tappers. By rights, I should’ve milled you.”

“Well. That sounds bad, whatever it means. Thank you for not doing it.” He turned to Cole. Even in the flickering lamplight, he could see the wariness in his face. No trust there. Nate lifted his hands, palms up. “I’m here about Hutchinson.”

“Are you, now?” Cole took a step closer, raising the lantern so he could better see Nate’s face. “Did you tell MacLeod where to find him?”

“The devil I did. I was followed here yesterday.” He ran a hand over his hair, irritably tucking loose strands behind his ears. His hat had been knocked to the ground and he bent to retrieve it. “Alright, let me explain.” He rattled through the details of why it suited the colonel for a notorious Tory like Sam to pay for MacLeod’s crime, and how he’d had Nate followed. “I swear I didn’t know anything about it until this morning. I’d never —” He lowered his voice, holding Cole’s gaze, letting him see the truth if he chose to look. “Sam is my dearest friend. I let him down once before, but I never will again.”

After a cold silence, Cole said, “He gave me a message for you.”

“You’ve seen him?” Nate seized his arm. “Is he alright? What did he say?”

“He said you should go. Fuck off back to America, quick as you like.”

Nate steeled himself against that stab to the heart. He’d expected it. “I know how he feels about me, but it doesn’t matter. I’m still going to save him.”

“You’regoing to save him?”

“Yes. Alone if I must, but I’d like your help if you’re willing.” He glanced around the shadowy yard. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

For the first time, Cole’s expression softened. “You’ll never break him out of the Bear.”

“I know.” Nate allowed himself a smile, a shaky thing perched atop his galloping fear. “I’ve got a better plan…”

Chapter Twenty-Five

They brought Sam from the Brown Bear to the magistrate’s court just after dawn the following day, and he stayed there another few hours, staring at a different wall. At least the air was fresher without the gin-piss stench of his former cellmate. Someone gave him small beer and he ate a little of the bread Cole had brought. He couldn’t stomach much.

It was better than Simsbury. There was light and air, and nobody had spat at him or kicked him. So far. Newgate would be different. The prison’s name tolled through St. Giles with all the horror of plague, a dozen stories from the louse house on every man’s lips. Chances were that Newgate would get him before the hangman earned his coin.

But the thought that consumed him, circling around and around his enervated mind, was that he hadn’t said goodbye to Nate. He could write a letter, perhaps, if Cole would provide him with pen, ink, and paper and deliver it before Nate left the country. But dare he risk committing his heart to paper just to relieve his aching soul? If the letter were discovered, Nate would pay the price.

Sam knocked his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

Sometime later he was roused by a kick to his foot. He opened his eyes to find one of the court officials staring down at him. “On your feet, Hutchinson.”

He complied, no point in doing otherwise, and allowed himself to be led into the long, narrow hall that served as the magistrate’s court. It was a gloomy place. High windows ran along the left-hand wall, but their sooty glass didn’t let in much light. On the right, a raised public gallery plunged everything beneath it into shadow.

Sam was taken to stand at a wooden bar, opposite the man recording the proceedings. Beyond him, at the far end of the court, sat the magistrate. His chair was perched on a low dais and he was in close conversation with a colleague sitting to his left. To either side of Sam, two rows of benches ran the length of the hall, crowded with officials, gawkers, and witnesses. He was too tired to be interested in any of them. He’d not slept in two nights — not since the night he’d slept with Nate in his arms — nor had he shaved or washed. He felt as disreputable as he no doubt looked.

The court was noisy, a babble of voices echoing around its high ceiling. Sam glanced up at the public gallery, at the men and women leering down at him, eager for the next sensation. His eyes felt gritty with lack of sleep, his body ached, and his heart hurt.

Perhaps that’s why it took him a moment to notice a shift in the atmosphere of the court, a hush rippling outward from the doorway behind him like a breeze through tall grass. Sam glanced over his shoulder, jolting at the sight of MacLeod strutting into the court, his ruddy face at odds with the pea-green of his coat. Behind him walked a man Sam didn’t recognize, bland save the smug smile on his frog-like lips, and behindhim —

Sam clutched the wooden bar until he thought it must break. Nate. God, Nate was there with MacLeod. What the devil was he thinking? Hadn’t Cole warned him to run?

Their eyes met instantly, Nate’s dark to the point of blackness against the pallor of his face. There were shadows beneath them, his lips a colorless line of tension as he followed MacLeod and the other man to take their seats at the side of the court.

Someone shouted for order and the hall fell silent. The magistrate pinned Sam with a narrow look along the length of the courtroom. “You are Samuel James Hutchinson?”

It was a struggle to find his voice, a struggle to stop looking at Nate. But Nate’s attention was fixed on the magistrate, his fingers knotted together in his lap, and eventually Sam tore his eyes away. “I am, sir.”

“You understand that this is not a trial,” the magistrate said. “We are here to determine whether there is a case against you to be answered. If I deem that there is, you will be committed for trial at the Old Bailey and sent from this place to Newgate Gaol, there to await your hearing. Is that clear?”

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