Wild Intentions (The Legend of the Thief Taker)

by Chris Hales

  He was aware he could no longer operate the way he once had. He was lying very low, allowing his gang to operate largely on their own. To the public of London it appeared as if he had retired, preferring to stay at home and out of trouble.

  More than anything he wished for great troubles to befall Jonathan and his gang, but business for the young upstart only seemed to be improving. He knew people were flocking to him every day and night and his published articles had only created more of a buzz about the Thief Taker.

  With him largely in hiding the underworld of crime returned to normal, with Jonathan at the top. His absence was not missed, even by his own gang.

  Again Hitchin and his ranks began to decline. The merry-go-round of crime began its revolutions once again. Thieves flocked from Charles's camp to his in search of organisation and structure.

  All knew it wouldn't be long before he was back on the streets, his status as a city marshal restored. The Thief Taker often thought the city of London was awaiting his return in awesome anxiety. They were hoping for excitement and great stories of deceit.

  He knew they would probably get what they desired.

  45

  It was one busy day when Tom Edwards caught sight of Jonathan in the Bailey. He was delivering a thief to court when he tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Tom,” he greeted with pleasure, almost as if they were old friends. “What a delight.”

  “Jonathan,” he responded, his voice stale and void of emotion. “It's good to see you well.” A court usher took the criminal from the Thief Taker and led him to the holding cells beneath the Bailey. He walked with Tom to the main entrance, indulging in idle conversation along the way. It was Tom who breached the topic. “You must be very pleased about Mr Hitchin.”

  Jonathan shot him a look of deep concern. “Ah, Charles,” he said. “Not long now until he's back on the streets.” Every thief in London was in fearful anticipation of his return.

  As they walked from the Bailey, Tom pressed him. “You do know,” he said as their pace slowed. “You could have told me all about him when I came to visit you. There was no need to play games with me.”

  He stopped, turning to Tom with great amusement. “Tom...,” he started. “You're an intelligent man...”

  “Thank you,” he said quickly, almost as if he were stealing the compliment.

  “Don't thank me yet,” uttered Jonathan. “You may not consider this praise,” he placed a friendly hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. “Clever you may be, but you missed all of my subtle suggestions. A man like you surely is able to pick the details from a conversation.”

  He laughed. “An insulting compliment,” he chuckled, “that's a first, but why didn't you just tell me who he was? What he was doing?” Jonathan pondered the question. “Honour among thieves?” he asked ironically.

  Did he know? Was Tom Edwards a master of deduction? He quickly decided he was simply fishing for the truth and he wouldn't make it so easy for him. “Hardly,” he said. “Were you in my position, would you have told everything you knew? Considering Hitchin is a dangerous, unstable man.”

  He considered this. “You don't seem the type to hide in fear for anyone.”

  He threw his arm around Tom's shoulders, walking him to the little house on Cock Alley. “It's not my life which I'm in fear for, Tom. It's those of the people whom I care for. Don't underestimate the viciousness and depravity of Charles Hitchin. Everything I wrote in those articles was true, but there's still so much more I didn't say.”

  He could believe this. His articles had only confirmed the stories he had heard. “Nevertheless, you could have been a little more forthcoming with your information. You could have saved us both a great deal of trouble.” His failure to inform him of the details had frustrated him. It was Tom who had been assigned to the matter, not Jonathan, yet he had all of the credit.

  “Men like Charles are simple creatures,” he explained. “If I had told you, outright, he would have discovered and killed me.” He could now see why Jonathan had employed Matthew. He was his defender. “If, however, I allowed you to come to the conclusion on your own, then he'd have known nothing. I did try and tell you, but you weren't listening.” This was not the complete truth. Jonathan had been in expectation of the game with Hitchin and Tom. He did try and warn him but hoped he would think nothing of it.

  “I enjoyed both of your articles,” he said. “Although, yours were far more revealing.” The release of his articles was a great topic of discussion for the city marshals of London. “I almost wasn't sure who to believe,” he smiled slowly, revealing his purpose.

  “I hope you put your trust in me,” he joked, wishing to dispel Tom's fears. “Charles is a well-known liar.”

  They stopped by his front door, Tom resting against the wall and cocking one eyebrow. “I should warn you, Jonathan,” he said softly. “I am watching. I'm watching Mr Hitchin and more importantly...,” he slapped him on the back playfully. “I'm watching you.”

  He started back for the Bailey, whistling lightly with a spring in his step. As he entered the house Jonathan called for Matthew. As he joined him by the door he quickly made his point.

  “A new player has joined our little game.”

  46

  Mary had asked Jonathan to meet her at the brothel that night. He found her kitchen in darkness, only a few candles lit and arranged neatly on the table. She had arranged rose petals around and over the table, the smell of roasting meat tempting his taste buds.

  She captured him as he entered the house, throwing her arms about him and kissing deeply. He wondered what had aroused her so, but she maintained it was a special occasion. Lavish food and plenty of wine was laid out before him, Mary always gazing at him with adoring eyes.

  As they finished dinner she leaned seductively on the table, teasing him efficiently. “I love you Jonathan,” she said, “but I worry.” She stood and danced to a large cupboard across the room. Returning to the table she placed a couple of packages beside her chair on the floor. “I know you have people spread about, each placed for your protection, but I fear with Charlie on the streets again your life is in danger.” She passed him the first, long package. “These gifts are intended for your defence.”

  Jonathan pulled the package towards him, ripping the paper and opening it carefully. Inside he saw two items of interest. Pulling the first free he looked to her and smiled. “Mary, it’s beautiful.”

  In his hands he held a long silver staff. The engravings which were spread over were detailed and beautiful.

  “Your status is improving day by day,” she detailed. “The Thief Taker is a man who now stands with every city marshal in London. He is a hero to parties on both sides of the law. People should recognise who you are. They should respect you.” He blew her a kiss, laying the staff carefully on the table.

  Pulling the next item from the package he held it carefully. “Mary,” he uttered in amazement, “you shouldn't have.” In his hands he held a long sword, equally as beautiful as the staff. On the streets he would now appear as if he was a city marshal himself.

  Mary hadn't finished. She passed him the final package, sitting back with pride. Opening it he found a lovely linen laced wooden box. Inside he discovered a beautifully polished wood and silver pistol. He held it in his hands to feel the weight, smiling broadly.

  “I know I'm mothering you...,” she reached forwards taking his hand in hers.

  “I loved my mother,” retorted Jonathan, “and I love you. Thank you, Mary.”

  He squeezed her hand leaning in to kiss. Her worries were well founded indeed. Even he feared, with Charles’ reinstatement, he would become a terrible adversary. His ability to foresee Hitchin's actions had waned of late and he had not been seen on the streets for many months.

  Dread for his return was high and Jonathan was glad Mary had given him tools for his protection. He would try to keep a close eye on Charles and his gang. He would prepare himself for any eventuality.

>   47

  Mad Dog had been instructed to meet him at his place of residence early in the morning. Hitchin knew this was a time when the city marshals were far less enthusiastic with their observation of the house. He climbed the walls to the rear and lightly tapped on the window, always being careful not to draw attention to himself.

  Finally he unbolted the door and allowed him to sneak inside. Ensuring each of the windows was shut and the drapes drawn he allowed him to speak.

  “Today's the day then.”

  He had waited patiently for the end of his suspension. The previous day the Magistrates had called on him once again. His reinstatement was conditional. If he strayed from his mandate as a city marshal in any way he would be stripped of his rank and would be punished to the full extent of the law. His life was now in danger but that had never stopped him in the past.

  His actions were still being closely watched and running his thieves had become more difficult than ever before. Magistrate Lawson had become an integral part of his illegality. Instead of bringing their stolen goods to him, Hitchin had instructed his thieves to take them to Lawson's abode. He would then give them to either Hitchin or trusted pawnbrokers.

  He had forced him to perform this duty and Lawson had no choice but to agree. They were lucky the legislature had no reason to monitor its magistrates. Nevertheless, it was a dangerous game to play.

  “What do we do now?” he asked, hoping he hadn't been scared off entirely.

  “Nothing changes,” he declared. “We continue to do things as we've been doing them during this troubled time. Lawson and I will manage the stolen goods and you’ll all keep doing what you're best at,” he pushed his curtains aside slightly, glancing at the city marshals who lazily looked on. “I'm still being watched.”

  He shook his head, annoyed at the current state of affairs. “Alright,” he said, half-heartedly, “but what do we do about Jonathan?”

  He had thought long and hard about this conundrum. He would have loved to attack him and cause great pain, even death, but the sad fact was vastly different. “Nothing, we need him.”

  Mad Dog clearly didn't understand. He opened his mouth, with every objectionable intention. Hitchin didn't allow it.

  “He destroyed my reputation,” he said, “and he's the only one who can help me rebuild it.” He doubted he would refuse him. They needed each other, of this he was sure. He could help him repair the damage done to his business, if he assisted in rebuilding his tarnished reputation. It was the only way forward. He knew Jonathan would agree. They needed each other.

  48

  Hitchin's re-emergence went largely unnoticed by most. It was obvious he was still being watched. They wanted to ensure he didn't disgrace the courts again.

  Jonathan and his thieves were also watching closely, ready and willing to report any suspicious activity. They hoped their presence would keep him from doing anything dangerous, or sadistic. So far their efforts had been successful. He had largely remained at home, only allowing his thieves entry through the rear door.

  Those in London who cowered in fear and those who waited impatiently for his attitude to change knew his position would alter in the most hideous of ways. Everyone was sure he would return to his murderous and sickening habits. People were well aware he was ready to pounce at any given moment.

  49

  Jonathan waited in the Nag's Head Tavern. He had considered not coming, but his curiosity had the better of him. Patrons passed about him, many muttering greetings and comments of respect. He relaxed in his chair with a large flagon of ale, always keeping a close eye on the door.

  It didn't take long for the door to swing back powerfully. Walking through the door and pushing people aside he approached him and sat opposite. Jonathan didn't acknowledge him and he continued to absently drink his ale. As he sat Hitchin thumped on the table.

  “Jonathan!” He ordered, demanding his attention.

  Slowly resting his empty mug on the table Jonathan passed his gaze to meet with his eyes. “Here we are again,” he guffawed. “What do you want this time, Charles?”

  He shifted uneasily in his seat, struggling to find comfort. “I should congratulate you on a game well played,” he remained emotionless, increasing his unease. “I don't blame you for what you did.”

  He laughed loudly. “I blame you for what you tried to do, Charles,” he leaned forward to press his point. “It's high time you learned your actions have consequences.” He sat back, waiting patiently for Hitchin's response.

  Hitchin looked about him, almost nervously. “It was uncalled for, I understand that now. I hope you can forgive me,” he opened his hands to him, pleading for his pardon.

  Jonathan shook his head, finding great amusement in Hitchin's presence. “The only question I have is why did you do it?” He raised his hand ordering additional ale. “You forced my hand, and you didn't cope with retaliation well.”

  “It was a stupid mistake.” He was not finding this meeting easy. He was not used to apologising so publicly.

  “I presume the only reason you asked to meet was so you could beg for mercy. To ask again for my help.” He enjoyed watching him squirm. He balled his fists, his temper rising. “I know the state of your affairs,” added the Thief Taker, “You're spent, Charles. Forty per cent of your gang has joined me, thirty per cent have chosen to go it alone and the remainder are struggling. Badly,” he knocked twice on the table. “The reaper could well be knocking. Your affairs are not in good order.”

  He watched as a young boy delivered him a flagon of ale. He had purposely chosen not to offer one to his foe.

  “Don't think me done yet, Jonathan. I can still cause problems for you.”

  “And you will implicate yourself in the process,” he knew any attempt to ruin him would only cause him similar problems. “I recommend you don't try it again.”

  He removed his old and worn jacket, throwing it on the table. “Have a little sympathy for me, my boy,” he pleaded. “All I ask is that we be seen to walk together once again. That you assist me in rebuilding my reputation.”

  He laughed, drawing the attention of those around him. “And why would I help you?” he asked with amusement. “My status is fine and if I were to be seen with you it would only damage me and my business.” He gave no response as Jonathan waved to those in the tavern. “Look around, Charles. These people don't fear you anymore. They never respected you, and respect is far more powerful than terror,” he smiled, happy with his position in London. He drank from his ale heavily. “I'm king around here now. Your time is over.”

  He was correct. There was no hiding from Hitchin in fright anymore. “Don't deny me,” he warned. “I can still affect you and those you're close to.” He knew he would resort to threats and intimidation.

  He stood, still smiling at the pained Hitchin. Chuckling he lay his silver staff on the table. “See this?” he asked. “This is a gift from Mary. It shows what people think of me. Of the Thief Taker.” Pinching the staff from the table he leaned before Hitchin. “We're done with you Charles. It's time the people of London moved on.” Jonathan had no intention of remaining any longer. He turned and left Hitchin sitting alone. In his hurry to leave he had left his ale. Stealing it Hitchin drank what was left sheepishly.

  It seemed Jonathan was playing games no more. He had hoped Jonathan would agree to help him. That he would assist him in repairing his reputation. His refusal actually meant nothing. His plan was clever. More intelligent than Jonathan could ever hope to be.

  50

  It was late one evening, while he was updating his books and ledgers when Matthew knocked on the study door, letting a befuddled man inside. He was short, dressed in smart and tidy clothes, but he appeared somewhat distressed. He offered him a seat and poured him a strong drink.

  “I'm a biscuit maker on the other side of town,” started the man as he rubbed his head with confusion. “Last week I was robbed outside of my place of business. My friends and associates advis
ed me to employ the services of the Thief Taker.”

  Jonathan pulled ledgers from his bookcase. As he took his seat he fell into his usual questioning. “What was stolen from you?”

  “My pocket book, with an exchequer bill for one hundred pounds,” was the reply.

  Jonathan flicked through his journal, searching for such an item. He was sure if one of his thieves had stolen it he would have remembered. A bill for such a large amount was hard to miss. “What did the thief look like?” The biscuit maker gave his description. It was not a robber Jonathan recognised.

  It was a surprising theft. The type of man who stole was not usually so lucky. Checking his ledgers he was sure those allied to him had not lifted the item. According to the biscuit maker, his place of business was on the other side of town, in Hitchin's neck of the woods. He knew he was doing everything he could to avoid those who watched him so ardently. So far he was doing well, passing his stolen goods onto an unknown person.

  “I have no record of such a thief, or such an item,” he said as he glanced up from his ledgers. “I shall endeavour to locate the stolen item, but I would also suggest you advertise your loss and instruct the bankers to stop payment of the bill.”

  He nodded his understanding, disappointed more could not be done. In possession of good advice he was sent on his way, with instructions to return in a few days if nothing had been heard.

  51

  Return he did, four days later, even more flustered than he had been on his previous visit. Jonathan sat him down and asked what news he had. Begrudgingly the biscuit maker told his story.

  “Yesterday,” he began, “I was visited by an ageing, overweight man. He carried a staff and claimed to be a city marshal. He asked me if I had lost my pocketbook,” Jonathan listened, making notes in a blank ledger. “I replied I had. He then told me he had no information regarding my stolen items, but asked if I had employed another to search for it.” He was sure this overweight man was Hitchin but said nothing. “I said I had,” he continued, “and he told me this was a mistake. He said I should have employed him as he was the only person who could serve me effectively.” Jonathan knew Hitchin was desperate, but thought his actions were becoming ridiculous. “He then asked how much reward I was willing to give for its safe return. Ten pounds, I told him...”