The Outlaw and the Upstart King

by Rod Duncan

  Understanding came to her. The watch would not be a simple thing. It would have one vital complication: an alarm that could be set to a certain time. When the alarm chimed, the unwinding spring would turn the key, reeling in the thread, which would pull on the trigger of the rat trap. She felt under the arm of the trap, expecting to find a small lump of the glycer-fortis. Fearing it. For if the arm of the trap snapped closed, the explosive would detonate, setting off the entire thing.

  But the trap had not been primed. There was no glycer-fortis. She breathed again, feeling light-headed with the knowledge. No one would need to shoot at the table to set it off and Jago wouldn’t need to be anywhere near. All could be regulated with clockwork. The agent of destruction would be time itself.

  Unless she had misunderstood.

  With one hand she triggered the trap, the other holding back the killing arm and bringing it down gently. This left the thread slack. Turning the winder, she tightened it again. The watch began to tick. The minute hand moved easily under her finger. She rotated it around the dial, once, twice. Halfway around the third time she heard a click, barely audible and the whirring breath of an escapement. The winder began to turn, reeling in the thread. Then it chimed: a small metallic noise, a nursery tune entirely unlike the night wind and distant boom of waves. Panicking, she wound the hand back. The chiming stopped. The quiet returned.

  But there was another noise. A voice. Not close. But she’d recognised Jago’s commanding tone.

  Hand shaking, she reset the trap, tightening the thread as much as she dared, then pushed the square block of wood back in place to cover the hole.

  Worming out from under the edge of the tarpaulin, she dropped to a crouch in the shadow of the wagon.

  Figures were approaching from the direction of the rock ridge. There might be four people, or five. She couldn’t tell without standing up, and that would give her away. Elias was among them, she’d caught his voice.

  She set off in a stooped run towards the latrine pit, then stood to her full height and began walking directly back to the tents. There were four figures, she saw them clearly now, approaching from the far side: Jago, Elias, Logan and one more, shorter and plumper than the rest. Only when they stopped did she recognise Charity.

  “Out for a stroll?” asked Jago.

  Instead of answering she glanced back to the latrine and then met his gaze for a moment before lowering her head.

  The grey line of the horizon began to separate the sky from the sea. The men pushed Charity into one of the three identical tents facing the remains of the feast fire. By the light of a candle lantern, Elizabeth saw that they had driven an iron stake into the ground next to the tent pole. From the ring at its top ran a short chain, ending in a hinged collar. Logan closed it around Charity’s neck, fixing the two ends with a padlock. Misery wreathed her face.

  By the time the last of the men were leaving Charity had begun to cry. Elizabeth knelt close.

  “There’ll be a way out,” she whispered.

  Tears became heaving sobs.

  Elizabeth hugged her. “I’ll find a way.”

  “I’ve ruined it all!”

  “Not you. You must never say that. It’s them. They did this to us.”

  “I had to see him.”

  “Elias?”

  “I’ve never wanted things… Not for me… And now I do… And I’ve ruined it all.”

  Elizabeth pulled back, keeping a gentle hold on Charity’s shoulders. She wanted to ask why it was important to see Elias. But the answer was written over that sorrow-riven face. Only love could bring such suffering. It seemed impossible that he felt the same way in return. But remembering the anguish of looks between the two of them as he was ordered back to his tent, she felt a fool. Amid all the extraordinary events of the last few weeks, a bigger drama had been going on that she’d entirely missed.

  Jago must have seen it, though. Oh, but the man was so much more dangerous than the brute he seemed. More subtle and more controlled. He used casual violence to hide the sharpness of his mind. In the last weeks he’d used glycer-fortis to keep Elias obedient: the chance of another lease of life, a few more weeks to walk the Earth. But such a threat or promise can only go so far. To have a man go willingly to death would need a more terrible threat. In this new hostage, the Patron had found exactly that. To the extent that Elias loved her, he would do as he was told.

  Perhaps Charity had ruined everything after all.

  “It’s not your fault,” Elizabeth said. “None of it.” And then, making her voice practical, “The Patron has ordered that I sleep here with you. I can fetch a chamber pot if you need it. And they’ll let me bring food. But not much, I think. Wine is easy, though. He always wants me to drink.”

  “What will become of me?” Charity asked.

  “You’ll stay here. Until something happens.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The sun was just up by the time Charity had cried herself to sleep. Elizabeth emerged from the tent to the sounds of low voices from around the Island. Fires were being lit and breakfasts prepared. The chores of morning carried out by servants, while those of the Blood slept on.

  Creeping around in daylight would only attract attention, so she set off across the turf as if on some errand of her own. Reaching the wagon, she dipped under the tarpaulin and found the nail that had caught her ankle. Half an inch of it projected from the wood. Wiggled from side to side, it began to loosen. It squeaked as she pulled it free.

  Then she was walking on again, not looking down as she worked the nail into the hem of her cuff. No one watching would have known what she had done.

  Chapter 36

  Jago’s humours had seemed to change as fast as Newfoundland’s fickle weather. One hour would see him focused on practical matters, the buying of firewood, the hiring of servants. The next he’d turn bilious, serving insults and punishments to any who came near. By turns he would be arrogant, lazy, sullen. Perhaps some of it was an act.

  But with the taking of Charity, a new mood had grown in him. As Elias crumbled from within, so the upstart was seen to relax. His smile became almost warm.

  “Come, Elias, we have work.”

  “Yes, Patron.”

  “I made you a promise. And my word is good.”

  “Yes, Patron.”

  “You will have what you asked. And in every detail. I have a gift for you. It will be ready soon.”

  “Thank you, Patron.”

  “Tell me how it felt when they cut off your thumbs.”

  Elias stopped dead. They’d been walking across the turf towards the northwest of the Island. Jago continued for a couple of paces before turning. “Which was worse: the pain or the humiliation?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “That I don’t believe. You’re a man who would have thought about it. That’s what I like about you, Elias. You’ve wits enough to suffer. A stupid man can feel pain. But does he understand it? You’ll have thought about what they did to you every day. You’ll have picked the bones white. Except that kind of carcass can’t ever be cleaned. Not unless you get your revenge. Does your woman know what you’re wanting to do?”

  Elias had given up denying his connection to her. He shook his head. There was no saliva in his mouth.

  “I’m not often wrong. But I didn’t think you the type to fall for a woman.” He prodded Elias in the chest. “Is there room in that cage for anything more than hate? And what a woman to choose! They say she bedded every man in New Whitby before she came to you.”

  With that, the Patron walked on.

  “Don’t hurt her,” Elias said, following. “Please.”

  “Once you had nothing. There’s strength in that. But now… I don’t know, Elias. Do you still want your game of chance?”

  “Yes, Patron.” It was true and Elias despised himself for it.

  “Then you will have it. And if you do all as I tell, your ugly woman will go free. That’s my promi
se. See my generosity! But cut against me and she’ll suffer for it. I’ll have you watch the whole thing. Understand?” Then he put his arm over Elias’s shoulder as if embracing a brother. “Be happy,” he said. “Tonight your wishes will come true. Tonight I’ll set the game.”

  Angry faces greeted them in the Weaverbright camp. But there was something more, Elias thought. They despised him. And they hated the upstart Patron. He had no doubt of that. But Jago had an arm over his shoulder and that would be a puzzle they couldn’t solve. There was uncertainty behind their anger. And fear, perhaps.

  “My dear friend wishes your company in a game of chance,” Jago said. “One of you against him.”

  “It’s not happening,” said Patron Weaverbright. His arms were folded. His son and daughter flanked him like faithful dogs.

  “Are you afraid he’ll win?”

  “He’s a cheat! Everyone knows it.”

  “A good one, do you think?”

  “A cheat is a cheat.”

  “You’re not afraid he’ll cheat. You’re afraid he’ll win.”

  Patron Weaverbright bared his yellowed teeth. “What’s the stake?”

  “Gold.”

  “He’s got none.”

  “Ah, but I have. Whatever your boy brings to the table, I’ll set No-Thumbs up with ten times that. Unless you’re too much of a coward.”

  Hands twitched. One young man reached for where his sword would have hung.

  “Sit!” Weaverbright spat the word. “We’ll do it here and now!”

  “We’ll do it tonight,” Jago said. “Your son against this thumbless beggar. I’ve brought a table specially for the game.”

  Then he turned and Elias turned with him. A wall of faces barred the way, reddened with anger. Elias tried to shoulder through but a punch landed at the side of his stomach. He stumbled, tensing every muscle for the blows that would follow. But a shout from Patron Weaverbright had all the men pulling back.

  “That would be a coward’s way out,” Jago said. “Killing a man with no thumbs because you’ve not the guts to face him over a table.”

  “No one’s been killed!”

  “Then we’ll see you tonight.”

  Elias felt the sweat break in the middle of his back. The pain of the punch hadn’t masked the pain in his chest.

  “Why must I play at the table?” he asked.

  “You have somewhere better?”

  He wanted to say that anywhere would be better than over a giant bomb. Instead he asked, “How does it serve you?”

  “Did you never talk to trappers when you were in Churchill?”

  “They were all drunk.”

  “They put a trap out where the wolves can see it and smell it. They leave it out for days and weeks until one wolf starts to think that it’s just another tree or a rock. It goes closer and closer and then…” Jago clapped his hands together like the arms of a trap.

  “You’re just getting them used to the table. That’s all.”

  The story seemed too reasonable.

  “I only passed through Churchill,” Elias said.

  “Oh? I thought you lived there.”

  “It was a story to cover the truth. They took me out to the Yukon as a slave. Had me making the glycer-fortis for over a year. When they had me so I couldn’t live without it, they sent me back.”

  “To find me,” Jago said.

  “I could have chosen someone else.”

  “Am I supposed to be impressed?”

  “No. But I’m doing everything you ask. I just need you to let her go.”

  “I will,” said Jago. “And I’ll give you enough of the drug to keep you alive. But first… Boom.” He spread his hands, as if following the shape of an explosion.

  “When will that be?”

  “When I’m ready. Your job is to get them used to sitting around that table.”

  “Will you be there?” Elias asked. “Tonight, I mean.”

  The Patron nodded. “I will.”

  Elizabeth sat in the triangle of sunshine where the tent flaps had been pulled back. She waited and she watched. It was noon by the time Elias came into view, picking his way across the turf towards his tent. She made her excuses. For once Jago seemed too absorbed in his thoughts to question her. She lifted up his chamber pot, which had been left under the guy ropes. Carrying it in front of her, held away from her body, she set out towards the latrine.

  Elias must have seen her, for he slowed. Though he didn’t look at her directly, nor did he deviate from his course. For an observer, their paths might have seemed to cross by chance.

  “They put in the last piece of the table,” she said, not whispering but neither moving her lips. “Half an hour ago. I know how it’s to be triggered. There’s a clock. It will all be done by time. Logan crawled underneath as they were setting the table in place. Like he was fixing the sections together. But he was rigging the clock. They couldn’t have carried it across the ground with the trigger set.”

  Elias had stopped walking. They were facing each other and someone was sure to be watching.

  “Jago will be there for the dice game,” Elias said.

  “Then he’ll go before the bomb detonates. You can’t do this.”

  “If I don’t…” He glanced back to the tent where Charity was held. “I couldn’t live with her death on my soul. I have no choice.”

  “But if it goes off, hundreds will die.”

  “And if I tell the other Patrons there’s a bomb, Charity dies.”

  “Some of them are innocent,” she said.

  “I’ve made my choice.”

  “You could go to your great uncle, tell him everything. He can tell the other Patrons. If they act together, they can rescue Charity and keep everyone away from the bomb. No one dies.”

  “Look, Elizabeth. I know you mean it for the best. But you don’t know this place. You don’t understand. This… Newfoundland… the Patrons… everything… it’s over. Now they can bring weapons across the water, there’s going to be a war. Not like it ever was. This time someone’s going to win. There’s going to be a king of Newfoundland. If it’s not today, it’ll be next year. If it’s not Jago, it’ll be one of the others.”

  “Then let it be one of the others! That man… I’ve seen him close. I’ve slept in his bed! He’ll murder and rape his way through the people till the only ones alive have his blood in them.”

  “You think the others are better? I know them. That was my life once.”

  “They can’t all be as bad as him.”

  “He’s going to kill Charity if I go against him! Don’t you understand?”

  “I’ll rescue her.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll find a way.”

  “Jago will be there for the dice game,” he said, as if trying to find a different way of seeing things, a way in which he might not be responsible for the massacre of hundreds. But from his eyes, she knew he was doubting it.

  “When I’ve got her free, I’ll get a message to you. All you have to do is get them clear of the table before it goes off. The three of us can escape together. We’ll take the path you told me about – around the cliffs.”

  His head dropped. “I’ll die without the glycer-fortis and Jago will hunt you down.”

  “Your great uncle will help us. All of us.”

  “I can’t tell him anything while Charity’s still a prisoner.”

  “I’m going to work on that. Go to him. You’re his blood. He’ll hear you, whatever the law says.”

  “I’m afraid,” Elias said.

  “You’d be a fool if you weren’t. But we can still escape.”

  “I’ll never escape from myself,” he said. “There’s no hope for a man like me. I’m better dead.”

  Elias sat on the edge of the cliff and stared at his feet, dangling above the breaking waves. He’d walked away from Elizabeth, not wanting to think that she might be right about the bomb. His neck felt tired, as if all the different odds he’d been carrying
in his head were pulling him down. If he jumped over the edge, Charity would die. If he warned the other Patrons, she would die. Or if he refused to play the game.

  But what if she could be freed?

  He stood, the toes of his battered boots poking over the edge. The cliff wasn’t high enough to be sure of a quick death. The explosion would be an instant.

  Not quite knowing why, he turned and began to walk, skirting wide of each camp until he reached the northwest tip of the Island.

  Patron Calvary looked up from the feast fire as he approached. Around him sat men and women of the clan, advisors and family. Seeing the familiar faces, Elias felt a pang in his chest. For once it wasn’t his misbehaving heart. It caught him so sharply that he broke step. A kind of homesickness, he supposed.

  All around him were cousins, nephews and aunts, removed to one degree or another. But they weren’t his family any more. They hadn’t been from the moment he was severed. They stood as he came closer, staring. A woman spat onto the floor. It was his niece, he realised: a girl who’d once clung to him, demanding his attention to play make-believe games. Some of the young men turned their backs. But his great uncle’s old advisor shuffled closer, eyes lowered, perhaps in deference.

  “You can’t be here, boy,” he said.

  “I need to see him.”

  “There’s no way back.”

  Elias dropped his voice to a whisper. “I have information.”

  “Then tell it to me.”

  “I can’t.”

  The old man sighed. “I had hopes for you once, Elias. There was something about you as a child. But when you came to your maturity…” He shook his head. “Every path has been wrong since then. Now here you are, come to the Reckoning, trailing behind the Upstart. You embarrass me. You embarrass Patron Calvary. Coming here, reminding us of your failure. You may not approach him. Not now. Not ever.”