by Leigh Barker
Crispen sat on the corner of his desk and looked his visitor over. He detested this man. He called himself Lord Eustace Forbin, but that wasn’t the name he’d been born with. He fondly believed changing his name would allow him to begin anew, his reputation restored. Foolish and arrogant, but that was the nature of the man. His father had been true aristocracy, a fine man, but the Duke of Cronway and Runebridge had sired a poor offspring.
He watched the tall man with the oversized stomach waddle to the window and look out across the lawns to the river beyond. Coveting that which he could never have.
The Duke and his eldest son had met an untimely end at the hands of robbers on the road to London, leaving the title and land to his second son, then called Richard. That had been ten years ago and in that time, this man had squandered his father’s wealth and property and dragged his name into the gutter. Now he made his living doing… Crispen frowned. What did this… this arrogant fat man do? Things decent men wouldn’t do themselves, but needed them done. A whore, then? Yes, a whore.
He would get this over with as quickly as possible.
“Allow me to reiterate,” Forbin said, turning back from the window so the afternoon light silhouetted his protruding stomach. He pulled his wet, thick lips into a smile that was no more than a cousin to the real thing. “Just to ensure there is no… misunderstanding.” He returned to the desk and sat in Crispen’s chair.
Crispen instinctively moved away and turned to watch the man.
“You wish me to find…” Forbin feigned a frown. “Ah yes, a group of mercenaries… a hundred perhaps, if that’s not too mob-handed? And for what? Let me see.” He put his podgy fingers on his chin. “Go to Scotland and sort out your little difficulty there. Would you say that is a fair summary?”
“You appear to have difficulty retaining information even for a short period,” Crispen said. “I am told this can be the effects of excessive quantities of alcohol.” He waved a hand to silence the man. He’d said quite enough for one day. “I shall indulge you. Yes, you are to find as many men as you can muster and go to Scotland, and a hundred will certainly not be adequate. Five hundred perhaps. You will find out who helped Sir William Richmond escape, and you will kill them all, raise their property and rid me of any offspring who might grow and cause me inconvenience. Then you are to bring Richmond back to London to stand trial for treason.”
Forbin tried to lean forward over the desk, but his stomach pushed him back. “And for this I shall be paid?”
“Handsomely.”
“And the… five hundred men?”
“They will be well rewarded, and they may take whatever they find from that filthy place. There will be more than enough for such men.”
Forbin nodded slowly and his face moved in counter time. “I see.” He looked steadily at Crispen for several seconds, as if he hadn’t already thought what he was going to say. “I know Richmond.” He waved a hand. “I know of him. He is a fine officer and not one to commit treason or any such thing. So this has the smell of politics about it. Or commerce? Richmond has extensive land.” The wet smile again. “Ah, I see. The land along the river would give… someone who might want to trade with the colonies a substantial advantage. Am I correct?”
“This is of no consequence. Will you do as I ask?”
“Yes, of course. Your offer is too good to let slip.” He stood up stiffly.
“Then we shall shake and you will be on your way north as soon as you can gather the men.”
“We shall shake.” Forbin moved slowly around the desk and put out his hand. “But not for payment.”
Crispen lowered his hand.
“I shall do as you ask. I shall bring this fine fellow to London to be hanged on a trumped-up charge, but I shall not do it for a handful of gold.”
“Then what, man? What do you want?”
“Oh, I think a partnership in your new trading venture would be fair.”
Crispen snorted. “I think not.”
“Ah, you wish to negotiate.” Forbin tapped his left hand with his right forefinger as he thought it through. “I shall accept a third share. I think that is reasonable, don’t you?” He put out his hand again.
Crispen bit back what jumped into his mind and he put out his hand. “A quarter share and we can indeed shake hands.”
Forbin moved forward, took Crispen’s hand in his fat fingers and shook it once. “Then you may begin the venture. I shall have your man here before you have fitted out your first ship.”
“Talk is just moving air.”
“Oh, I have no doubt about the success of my mission. And of our new partnership.” He strode to the door. “No need to see me out.”
Crispen wiped his hand on his hip. The Duke and his son had met a gruesome end. It was quite possible tragedy would visit the family again. Soon.
