Page 21 of Apple Boy

“Worry not, my friend. When we reach the city, we’ll stay together, no matter what.”

“But what of Evan?”

“We must go to my father’s depository, and then seek out my uncle Ivon. Only he can guarantee our safety. I’m sure uncle has connections with people who can help seek out your brother.” I said, knowing that it was a near impossible task. There was no guarantee we would find one Pasturelander among the millions of inhabitants of the city.

“My uncle can also advise on how to proceed with the Great Council,” I said reassuringly. But in my heart, I knew that if the Great Council believed me a liar or a threat to whatever illicit arrangement they may have there would be a price on my head. There wasn’t anyone who could prevent my death. Morbidly, I wondered if my life would be taken swiftly by an assassin, just like roguish Uncle Aleccio. Would I drop down dead in a tavern courtyard and have my Star-fall pilfered too? I shook away the dark thoughts. I was not dead yet, and if I had my way I would fight to stay alive and to ensure Adam’s safety.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

FITZWARIN

Day two of our journey on the Zephyr stagecoach began much like the first. The countryside rushed by, the gentle sound of Argento hoof beats and the rocking gait of the coach made me feel like a babe in arms. However, today was different. I was different, for after unburdening myself the previous night, I found the vacant space inside me refilled with something new, something wonderful—Happiness. It was all the doing of one particular man and I realized I was indeed a little more smitten with Adam Sewell every time our eyes met. I was all-too-aware of the newness and fragility of the connection we shared. Adam was still shy about expressing his affections, but when he did find the courage to look at me and hold my gaze in public he made my heart feel full to bursting. It would take time to get used to carrying the weight of these new feelings, and as I spent more time with Adam and learned of his life, I found my admiration for him grew and grew. He possessed many qualities that would ordinarily attract me to man—his emerald green eyes, a handsome visage, and an enviable physique, but more importantly, I admired his strength, his kindness, and his loyalty. Growing up with Col Sewell as his role model made a good man of him because Adam was determined to be nothing like his pa, and of that I was glad.

The Zephyr passed over some rough ground, and I was shaken awake. I’d been as comfortable as could be expected, resting against Adam’s head of warm dark curls. I inhaled deeply as I woke, taking in the spicy, musky scent of him and I listened to the gentle in-out of his sleeping breaths. I moved to sit up, stretching my back and letting out a stifled yawn.

We totaled eight passengers—Adam, myself, Miss Pym, Mr. Jennet, Mr. and Mrs. Maitland, Mr. Perrybarr and Mr. Fitzwarin. The two passengers who had ridden from Mallowick in the cabriolet seats at the back of the stagecoach alighted at the Journeyman’s Rest the night before and, curiously never returned, so the driver left without them.

A commotion but a hand-span away stole my attention. One of the men of business was clutching his belly and rapidly banging the shiny silver head of his walking cane up against the roof.

“Reinsmann, stop zah coach!” he roared frantically. I had no idea as to the nature of this emergency and was unsure if the driver was able to hear, what with the sound of the coach rushing along the road at break-neck speed pulled by the powerful lean Argento horses. I edged to the window, tugged it down, and pushed my head out of the gap to be slapped in the face by the rush of fresh icy air.

“Stop, damn it! Stop the coach!” I yelled, the wind catching my breath and whipping my words away.

We were the only coach traveling through Berry Wood at this early hour. To my surprise, the Zephyr slowed, pulled onto the side of the road, and then ground to a halt. Immediately, the businessman unlatched the door, permitting a gust of frigid air to rush into the cabin. He staggered from the coach and within five steps fell to his knees, doubled over and vomited into a roadside ditch.

“Gods looks like Mr. Fitzwarin lost his breakfast.” Adam drawled as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The businessman in question had appeared very well-to-do. He was in his mid-forties by my guess and wore his dark brown beard long and well-trimmed. Before he’d asked for the coach to stop I hadn’t heard a word from his mouth, other than his name, which he’d shared the previous day. But from the accent and the fact he’d called our driver a reinsmann I knew he was in fact, from the province of Reuss. My assertion that he was of money came not only from the well-cut garb he wore, but because he had been gorging on a large box of very expensive sweetmeats since we’d left the Journeyman’s Rest at the seventh bell this morning. The sweet, sickly scent of his treats had filled the cabin of the coach, and Mr. Fitzwarin was not the sharing kind, pushing the sweet fancies into his mouth rapidly as if one of us would pilfer the box from under his nose.

I recalled that when I first saw him open the sizeable wooden box filled with treats I’d thought it an unwise thing to do. The Zephyr was the most comfortable coach I’d ever traveled upon, but still, we moved at a gut-churning speed, and there were sections of road that were not as well-maintained as others. It appeared now my assertion had been proven correct.

The Stagecoach guard was young and keen, dressed in the blue livery of the Zephyr Company. He jumped down from his perch beside the driver. Bandy-legged, he strode over to where Mr. Fitzwarin knelt. Hitching his belted weapon to the side, he bent over and thoughtfully patted Fitzwarin on the back, as one would do a sickly child. Then the guard spoke to Fitzwarin’s ear, and a moment later the guard keeled backward, and I saw blood spurt from his gut and pool onto the ochre earth of this dusty road. I froze with fear and horror, and attempted to fathom what my eyes had just witnessed.

“Shite! I think we’re bein’ robbed!” Adam murmured as he instinctively reached out and gripped my hand. The second his fingers connected with my skin they sent a dart of tingling feelings up my arm and jolted me from my detached mindset into one of acute alertness.

Fitzwarin clambered to his feet, turned to the open door of the stagecoach and dramatically tore the long brown beard from his face. Beneath, the visage was not that of a man in his forties as I’d previously assumed, but a man not a span of years older than Adam and I. The wicked blade he held in his other hand had been secreted inside his walking cane. It dripped with the fresh, warm blood of our now dead guard. I shuddered with sorrow for the poor guardsman and realized I didn’t even know the man’s name. Not that it mattered now.

“Aussteigen. Everyone—Ged out of zuh coach and line up.” Fitzwarin growled his Reusian accent thick and malevolent. I doubted now that Fitzwarin was, in fact, his true name.

“NOW!” He roared at my fellow passengers who stared at him, their eyes glazed with fear.

“NOWWW!” He hollered again, ”Or you vill feel zuh tip of my blade.” he threatened, using his bloody sword to direct where he wanted us to stand in a small roadside coppice. The first to shudder back to awareness and rise was Mr. Jennett, the cloth merchant. He solemnly pushed his spectacles up his nose then alighted from the stagecoach. Then he turned and reached out to assist the two elderly ladies, Miss Pym and the well-built Mrs. Maitland to step from the coach. Mr. Maitland followed and on leaving, cast a scornful glare at Fitzwarin and clasped his wife’s hand. Fitzwarin edged towards him malevolently wagging the blade and Maitland cowered against his wife moaning with fear. Fitzwarin let out a joyful cackle. Mr. Maitland appeared more afraid than his stoic wife.

Next, I rose, but anticipating my action, Adam released my hand, got up, and left the coach before me. Finally, the man of business who’d introduced himself as Mr. Perrybarr stepped from the stagecoach and strode to stand beside me in our lineup. The day was frigidly cold, and we shivered.

Fitzwarin stood in front of us and watched with what appeared to be gleeful pride as we fearfully eyed the lifeless body of the guard that lay on the ground to our left, blood still seeping from the sword wound in his gut that had ended him. Miss Pym let out a high-pitched sob and removed a delicate lace handkerchief from her sleeve. She dabbed at her eyes, and Mrs. Maitland put an arm around her to offer comfort.

“Stand apart, ladiz.” Fitzwarin directed “Empty your pockets, your purses. On to zuh ground, put everyzing!” He ordered waving his cane sword around, “And you zehr, Reinsmann, don’t think I have forgodden you. Come down and join us. Yes!”

The Argento horses were not happy with this unexpected stop. They’d been given their heads earlier and appeared to want to run and run. These horses were like kettles on the boil ready to blow, their hooves scratching at the ochre ground as they expelled confused huffs and whinnies. We all looked to the fractious silver horses and saw the driver standing on his seat, his whip held aloft.

“Take what you want, you scoundrel, but don’t you dare harm another soul.” He hollered, a fearful tremor to his Pasturelands accent.

Fitzwarin looked up at him and let out a malevolent laugh. “Oh-kay, Mr. Perrybarr, it is time for you to play your part. Start zuh collecting. Yes? I vill deal with der reinsmann.”

We gasped as one. Mr. Perrybarr studiously gripped the lapels of his slate grey frock coat and stepped out of line. He moved to stand beside Mr. Fitzwarin and gave us all a gap-toothed smile of satisfaction. None of us had any idea that these two men were in cahoots. Gods, this was a nightmare! Not only was I tossed off a ship and my valet murdered, but I’d also been robbed, beaten, left destitute in a backwater town, and now I was the victim of a highway robbery. If I survived this, it would be one mighty tale to tell the men at my club—and I doubted many would believe me!

I gave Adam a swift sideways glance and saw fear in his eyes. I hated to see him afraid. This situation could not stand. I had been schooled in hand-to-hand combat since I was a youngling, and now I was not in such rag-order as I had been when I found myself stranded in Mallowick. I understood that as a gentleman I had to do something. I would fight the blaggards with my bare hands if that’s what it took to protect Adam. My strength regained and a dear companion by my side, I did not trust for one moment that we would be relieved of our money and then sent merrily on our way. Fitzwarin had murdered a Zephyr Company guard in cold blood, and that alone would see him swing, so, what were seven more lives to a man with nothing to lose?

Fitzwarin turned to deal with the stagecoach driver. Mr. Perrybarr removed a folded jute bag from inside his coat pocket and beginning with Miss Pym, relieved her of her earrings, finger rings, necklaces, and purse.