Page 232 of The Armor of Light
‘I’ve thought about it,’ Roger said. ‘I’m going to join the Royal Artillery. They always need people who are good at mending things, especially cannons.’
Kit was silent, letting that sink in. Roger in the army! They would probably send him to Spain. He might never come back. Kit could hardly bear to think about it.
But what could Kit do? He could not pay the debt, he could not defend Roger – or himself – against Sport’s paid ruffians, and he could not live without Roger.
Eventually he realized what the solution was.
‘Do you mean it?’ he said to Roger. ‘You’ll really join up?’
‘Yes,’ said Roger. ‘It’s the only answer.’
‘When?’
‘I’ll get the stagecoach to Bristol tomorrow. I hear there’s a ship there waiting to take reinforcements to Spain.’
‘So soon!’
‘It has to be tomorrow.’
‘In that case,’ said Kit, ‘I’ll go with you.’
*
Sal and Jarge closed up Kit’s house. Jarge greased the tools and wrapped them in oilcloth. Sal put the clothing and bed linen into sacking and sewed it up with lavender inside to repel moths. She put the other household effects into borrowed tea-chests.
She had Kit’s note tucked into her sleeve:
My beloved Mother,
We have to run away. Roger owes money and can’t pay, and our business has collapsed because of the Luddites. By the time you read this I will be far from Kingsbridge. We’re going to join the Royal Artillery.
I’m sorry to give you this shock.
Please send all our stuff to Roger’s workshop in Badford. The key is with this note.
Your loving son,
Kit
Sal was horrified and tearful. He was her only child. She knew, in her head, that a man of twenty-eight did not have to live close to his mother, but in her heart she felt deserted. And she was terrified about what might happen to him in war. Kit had many lovely qualities and one remarkable talent, but he had never been a fighter. ‘Artillery’ meant cannons, so both Kit and Roger would be at the heart of any battlefield, with enemy soldiers trying their hardest to kill them. If Kit died it would break Sal’s heart. And, to make matters even worse, she would always feel it was Jarge’s fault, because he had caused the crisis by smashing machines.
While they were working two men appeared. One was short and thick-necked, the other had bulging eyes. Each carried in his hand a roughly hewn heavy oak club.
The one with the bulging eyes said: ‘Where’s Roger Riddick?’
Jarge turned slowly to face the man. ‘And why are you looking for him with a cudgel in your hand, Frogeye?’
Sal was ready to join in a fight but she did not want it. She murmured a proverb: ‘A soft answer turneth away wrath, Jarge, remember.’
Frogeye said: ‘Riddick owes money, if you must know.’
‘Does he?’ said Jarge. ‘Well, he’s not here, and I’ve got half a mind to break that cudgel over your ugly head, so I advise you to piss off away from here while I’m still in a sunny mood.’ He turned to the other man. ‘And the same goes for you, Bull.’
Frogeye said: ‘And what about Mr Culliver’s money? Riddick owes him ninety-four pounds, six shillings and eight pence.’
Sal was shocked by the amount. It was more than all Kit’s savings. She said indignantly: ‘If Sport Culliver let Roger Riddick run up that much of a debt, he’s even more of a fool than I took him for.’
‘We’re supposed to fetch Mr Culliver’s money.’
