Page 53 of The Ladies Least Likely
“Tha’s what I thought.” Gap-tooth grinned. “Let’s have a look at the bags, aye?”
“You will not!” Gwen exclaimed. “That’s food and medicine, and I will not have you dirtying it with your paws.”
“Dirty paws, is it!” The large man glared. “Les’see how you like the dirty paws on you, moll!”
“Touch her and I’ll part that paw from you,” Pen said coolly.
“Oh, the mort’s yours, then? Well, can the cove handle his fists? If you don’t pay the toll, you pay a forfeit. And if you don’t post the cole, you pay with the moll.”
“I will not be payment for anything!” Gwen fumed. “Let us go before we call the watchman.”
Thunder rolled through the sky, and the horse huffed. The little man took the bridle and held it as if guessing Pen had thought about driving the animal on, running the men over if need be.
“Squeak for the kenchin!” the thief chortled. “We’ll beat him all hollow when he comes, but we’ll chafe your cove first, little cat!”
“Oh, very well,” Pen said with a sigh, handing Gwen the reins and descending the trap. “Let’s have this done then, shall we?” He began unbuttoning his rough woolen coat.
“Pen, don’t,” Gwen said. There was no one about, the shops being shuttered and the citizens in their homes, buttoning up against the storm. Pen only hoped he could make a better account of himself than he had the last time he’d stood up to a larger man.
“This won’t take long,” he told Gwen with a bravura he didn’t feel. “I’ll comb the brute’s head, and we’ll go.”
“We owe them nothing!” Gwen exclaimed. “Besides, that’s theglaw taranaucoming, the thundering rain. We’ll be wise to take shelter.”
Pen rolled up his sleeves and took his stance. The combatants circled, taking the other’s measure. The taller man had a larger reach and a huge advantage in weight, but he was clumsy. Pen rolled to the balls of his feet in readiness but the other stood back on his heels, counting on his mass rather than his movements to win the day. He was right to do so; one solid punch from that claw would lay Pen out on the ground. But he couldn’t shame himself before Gwen.
“Ye look like a gentry cove I tossed the other day,” Gap-tooth said, cracking his knuckles. “Remember, Minikin? Th’ one on th’ boat.”
“He do look ’im,” the little man observed, peering at Pen as clouds closed in.
Rage reared through Pen. “You attacked me at the wharves? You were the ones?” He threw a punch that snaked beneath Gap-tooth’s guard and landed in a fleshy rib.
His assailant grunted. “Throws a punch better’n he did, though.”
“Do you know what youdidto me?” Pen roared. If this was the man who beat him senseless—robbed him of his memory, of everything he knew—he saw red. He dove in and swung, again and again, and the jolt and burn of pain told him his punches were finding a place.
“Hey, now!” the little man cried. “’Twas just business. We does what we’s hired to do.”
“Steal from passersby and call it a toll?” Gwen called. “Some business! We’ll have you all thrown in the watch house.”
Which was nothing but a lean-to in the back of King’s Head stables, Pen knew. It wouldn’t hold these ruffians. He paused in delivering a flurry of punches to the chest and ribs of the larger man and reared back, shaking the hair from his eyes. He was already pouring sweat—or was it raining?—but he felt deadly cold.
“Who hired you?” he growled.
He never heard the answer because a brick exploded beneath his cheek, and he saw stars. The world tilted and he toppled like a felled tree to the hard-packed ground.
“Stop!” Gwen screamed. Above him, her outline stood etched against the pearled sky, arms outspread like an avenging angel. She plunged a hand into one of her bags and then threw something into the air as if she were scattering pixie dust. Powder glittered and spread, and Gap-tooth started choking. His companion, Miniken, let go the bridle and turned away with a terrific sneeze.
“Pen?” Gwen’s face was just above him now, blurred and concerned. He let her pull him up. “Can you get back in the trap?”
“Not…finished,” he wheezed, trying to suck air in his lungs.
“Yes, we are.” She pulled his arm around her neck and heaved him to his feet. He staggered against her the few steps back to the cart, where the horse shook its head, snuffling. There was something in the air, tickling his nose. Gwen’s nose twitched, too. Gap-tooth bent over, holding his ribs while he sneezed violently, and Minikin had half-disappeared behind an enormous printed handkerchief.
“What…was that?” Pen managed to get his breath back as Gwen drove them down High Street towards Stow Hill and St. Sefin’s. At the pie shop a curtain moved as a woman looked out, then quickly retreated.
“I’ve never seen those men before,” Gwen said, her jaw set with anger. “I can’t imagine they’ll be let stay there to intimidate people. I’ll tell Mr. Stanley at once, and he can talk to the constable and the magistrate. Sir Robert still has the position, I think.”
“What was the powder?” His ribs felt tight as she drove into the yard of St. Sefin’s and helped him down from the trap.
