Page 37 of The Magpie Lord
“I know. So the old lord gives me a choice, right? Ten years hard for grievous assaultor, he says, I can take a post as manservant to hisrotten younger son what he’s sending to China. Seventeen years old and bad to the bone. Needs a keeper. Right? And I say yes to that, because there’s not a lot else for me except breaking rocks. And then, day before we go, I get a message from one of his men, and he says, if Lucien Vaudrey happens to fall overboard, no need to worry anyone’ll blame me for it, and I can just disappear in Shanghai, no questions asked. Right?”
Miss Bell straightened her back. “Hisfathersaid that?”
“It came from him. Yeah. And I think, well, the old lord wants Hector alive and Lucien dead. So Lucien must be something special, one way or the other. And I think, I got the whole voyage to China. I’ll just see what kind of bloke he is before I shove him over the side.” He nodded slowly, lost in the memory. “And he’s a snotty, arrogant little so-and-so who needs keeping on a leash till he grows up, but what I can see pretty quick is, he ain’t Hector. So I think, I got nothing better to do, let’s see where this goes. Right?”
“Right,” said Miss Bell, hypnotised.
“Twenty years ago, that was. We started poor as hell. You would not believe how poor you can be in the slums of Shanghai. Didn’t think we’d live through the first winter. But he never let me down. He got me through smallpox, and made a shaman, that’s one of your lot, take a curse off of me, and that cost him. I smuggled him two hundred miles in a silk caravan to get him away from a warlord, and you don’t want to know aboutthat, never seen a carry-on like it. Twenty years, Miss Bell. I know that bloke inside out, good and bad. You lot down here don’t have a clue.”
“Well.” Miss Bell was nonplussed.
“Took me five days on that ship to make sure of him. Mr. Day got his measure in an hour, if you ask me. And if ever a man had a right to hate the Vaudreys, Mr. Day does, but here he is, and fighting for my lord. Think on it, Miss Bell. We need a bit more thinking round here.”
Miss Bell nodded, slowly. “I will.”
“Good. Oh, and if you happen to be putting the word round like Mr. Day said, there’s just another thing, if you got a chance to mention it as well?”
“What’s that?”
“The next bloke takes a swing at my lord, I’m going to break both his arms,” said Merrick. “And that’ll give him trouble when he tries to pick his teeth up. That’s all. Nice talking to you, ma’am.”
He strolled over to Crane, who was propped against the lychgate. Miss Bell stared after him.
The cottage door opened. Stephen stalked out, stiff-legged and flushed. Mrs. Talbot followed, an ugly shade of angry crimson. Stephen went over to Crane without looking at anyone else.
“I dare say I’ve wasted your time,” he snapped. “Jack’s maker’s dead, no need for me to protect you. I’m going to walk back.”
“Do you want company?”
“No.”
“Bad luck,” said Crane amiably. “Merrick, can you drive back and see about Mr. Day’s clothes for tonight?”
“Sir,” said Merrick, flipping a cheery wave to Miss Bell, who was being buttonholed by Mrs. Talbot, as he got into the carriage.
STEPHEN SET OFF ATa rapid, angry pace down the leafy lane. Crane, whose extra height was mostly leg, kept up effortlessly with long, casual strides. It was very hot now, but the trees above shed welcome green shade, and magpies cawed and chirruped overhead. Their feet echoed slightly on the dry packed earth.
“Do you want to talk about it?” asked Crane.
“No.”
They paced on for a moment.
“What’s a justiciar?”
Stephen stared ahead. “You asked who enforces the laws surrounding practitioners. Justiciars do.”
“And that’s what you are.”
“Yes.”
“A secret policeman.”
“It’s not a secret.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“You’re not a practitioner.”
