The Lion Lies Waiting Read online

  “He didn’t kill himself. Mudge had an inmate do it. A guard, too. They both owed him money. Told them to make it look like suicide. Forged a note and everything.”

  Duncan began to sway from side to side. “He told me it was my fault. He told me his father killed himself because of what I did.”

  He waved the flintlock pistol erratically, causing Baxbary to flinch.

  “Do you know what the guilt did to me? The torment it caused? You let me wallow in that misery!”

  Flecks of saliva flew from the corners of his mouth as he shouted.

  “It was a weight on my soul, a…a…a shadow across my entire life! It stopped me from...” His gaze met Robin’s, for just a moment. “It cost me everything.”

  He held the pistol to his own temple and closed his eyes.

  “Duncan, stop, what are you doing?” Robin said, releasing his grip on Baxbary.

  Duncan ignored him.

  “Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him in his cell. I saw you. I couldn’t do a bleddy thing without seeing your faces. You tainted my every move, coloured my every action. I couldn’t scour you from my mind.”

  He buried the barrel under Baxbary’s chin and for the first time, beads of sweat began to run from under the fox mask.

  “Come on, Duncan. You wouldn’t shoot me,” Baxbary said.

  “You deserve this. For everything you’ve done. You deserve this. You will not be missed.”

  Duncan stepped back and took aim, steadying himself for the recoil. Baxbary’s breathing became rapid and shallow, a wet patch forming in his immaculate white breeches.

  “Do it!” Sylvia hissed. “Pull the trigger!”

  “Duncan, enough,” Robin said. “I know this is a lot to take in, but you’re no killer. Don’t be foolish, now.”

  “Who’s to say he wasn’t shot in the scuffle?” Duncan said, his gaze never leaving Baxbary’s. “Who’s to say it wasn’t an accident?”

  “You wouldn’t do it to us,” Edwin said from behind. “You wouldn’t put it on our conscience.”

  “Please, Duncan,” Robin said.

  “I suppose you’re going to tell me it would make me no better than him?”

  “What? No, of course not. You’ll always be better than ’im, ’e’s proper scum. But I’ll not let you make liars out of us, and I’m not about to let you go to prison for ’im.”

  “He can’t get away with it,” Duncan said.

  “He won’t,” Edwin said. “He tried to kill the council. He staged a coup. He’s going to be locked up for the rest of his life.”

  Duncan lowered the pistol.

  “You two never let me have any fun.”

  OUTSIDE, THE CROWD was getting rowdy. Agatha Samble had accepted the foxmen’s surrender and was listening to their chief, a man named Arthur Damerell, as he explained what happened. She was shocked to learn of the lengths Fox had gone to try to seize power, but she began to pity the man in front of her. He’d been swept up by forces larger than himself, although that didn’t absolve him of any responsibility, and he would still have to face punishment.

  Badger unhelpfully suggested locking up everyone from the Roost, perhaps everyone from the entire Gull’s Reach, just to be on the safe side. Agatha was ashamed at how easily the council had been manipulated by Fox, how badly they’d failed the Stormlost. As Rabbit, she had always prided herself on her common touch, her understanding of the needs of the people, yet she’d been blind to the needs of the Stormlost. It spoke to a weakness of character she hadn’t known she possessed.

  The town hall doors opened and Fox walked out, with a short, stubbly, bespectacled man by his side, the one who had ended up in the water after the explosion.

  “Anything to say for yourself?” Agatha asked.

  “No, he doesn’t,” Magpie said, stepping forward.

  With one fierce blow, she landed her fist squarely into Fox’s face. His mask, ancient and brittle, shattered into a half a dozen pieces, as did his exquisite nose. He made a whimpering sound as blood poured down his face and stained his linen jacket.

  Several brawny watchmen were standing by to escort him to the prison to await sentencing by the magistrates. As Fox was being led away, two more figures appeared from the town hall. Fox’s thug, Vince, and the tall, unshaven, burly man who was injured stopping Mr. Oliver Boon.

  “And what am I supposed to do about you?” Agatha asked. “You had a hand in all this.”

  The other man began to object but was silenced when Agatha held up her hand.

  “However, you did save this council, and Mr. Damerell here says you helped curtail Fox’s attempted coup, so I suppose we can show clemency. But we’ll have questions for you. Lots of questions. So stay out of trouble,” she said, pointing a finger. “You give me the slightest excuse and you’ll find yourself in the cell right next to Fox.”

  Vince still held onto his wounded side. “It’s fine, thanks for asking,” he grunted.

  “Go on down to the waterfront,” Badger said. “Someone there will see to you.”

  Last to exit the town hall was Sylvia Farriner and her strapping, handsome son, who was carrying the Rabbit mask. He, too, had stubble, though his was a pleasing orange in colour and she idly wondered if any of the men from their island regularly shaved. Agatha had heard his earlier impassioned plea to Mrs. Farriner for help and been impressed by his candour. She wondered if perhaps he had a career in politics on Merryapple.

  Mrs. Farriner stopped in her tracks and quivered, ever so slightly.

  “It’s fine, Mum,” her son said, taking her by the arm. “It’ll be fine. You did…you did well in there.”

  “Only because you were there, Edwin.” Mrs. Farriner held a weak hand up to his face. “When you’re near, the animal sleeps.”

  Agatha was unsettled by how Mrs. Farriner had begun to shake upon facing the council members and the huge crowd. In the distance, the flames of the bonfire and the stage were turning the sky orange. Thick plumes of smoke drifted across the town, mixing with the gentle snowflakes. Two more watchmen approached.

  “Please, please don’t take her,” her son begged, handing the Rabbit mask over. “She didn’t know what she was doing.”

  “It doesn’t look that way to me,” Badger huffed. “From what I hear, she got the crowd in Gull’s Reach worked up for a revolution and she organised for the gunpowder to be smuggled to the island.”

  “She talked them down, though! She made them give up.”

  “Is this true?” Agatha asked.

  “It is,” Arthur Damerell said.

  “It will be taken into consideration. But I cannot simply allow you to walk free, Mrs. Farriner.”

  The watchemen took her by the arms and began to lead her away. Her son moved as if to stop them but his little friend in the odd spectacles was suddenly by his side, holding his arm.

  “Please, no!” she begged. “Edwin, stop them! Edwin, help me!”

  As the watchmen dragged her away, she screamed and struggled and spat, twisting and writhing in their clutches, tears streaming down her face. Unnoticed by everyone else, a small item slipped from her pocket and lodged itself in a pile of snow.

  Edwin Farriner wept, looking as if his soul were being dragged from his body. The burly man with the scorched hand was beside him and held him tight, as if to stop him from falling, to stop his heart from breaking. They stood there as the people milled around, as the smoke whirled, as the snow fell.

  Agatha bent down to retrieve Sylvia Farriner’s lost object. Two pieces of hinged, painted wood, small enough to fit into the palm of the hand.

  “Mr. Farrnier?” she said, holding out the diptych. “Your mother dropped this.”

  He opened it, frowning, tears filling his eyes again. Inside were portraits of two men—one with windswept ginger hair, the other cropped. His late brother, Ambrose, he said, and himself. He traced the smooth glaze of the paintings with his fingertip.

  “I’ve never seen this before,” he said, his voice
barely a whisper.

  “It’s beautiful,” Agatha said.

  “Mum painted it, I recognise her style. She must have done it after he died. I was younger than this when he passed.”

  “I didn’t know your mum were a painter,” his large companion said.

  “She hasn’t done it for years, or so I thought, anyway. She had taken lessons from Barnabas Whitewater when she was young. Probably another of her attempts to seduce him, come to think of it.”

  “She’s very talented,” Agatha said.

  “If things had been different,” Edwin Farriner said softly, “Who knows what she might have created? It’s just like you said, Robin: Without the animal, who knows what she might have been?”

  “I COME HERE every year for the Tar Barrel parade,” Mr. Kind said to Duncan. “It’s quite the event and anything goes. I thought I’d introduce Mr. Penny to its delights. He was reluctant at first, of course, but with a mask to hide his misfortune, I assured him he’d blend right in!”

  Mr. Penny’s face would have drawn few admirers even without the deep scar which had left one eye ruined. He growled and Mr. Kind ignored him, as he so often did.

  “Sadly, the surly gentlemen on the doors of Ms. Clementine Frost’s infamous tearoom ball refused to let us in, so we were forced to find our entertainment on the streets.”

  “And what about your pregnant sweetheart, Ms. Arminell Pinch, back in Blashy Cove?” Duncan asked with a cheeky grin. “She who works so hard in the Moth & Moon?”

  “Oh, please, Armi and I are hardly –” he interlocked his fingers “– together. She knows I cannot be tamed.”

  “And yet you always chase her and beg her forgiveness.”

  Archibald Kind raised an eyebrow and smirked.

  “Why is Mr. Shipp here?” asked Mr. Penny, his voice like boots on broken glass. “He’s meant to be Father Winter this year, isn’t he?”

  “Is he? First I’ve heard of it,” Duncan said.

  “Ah. They probably didn’t tell you in case you told him. It’s usually kept a surprise.”

  To be chosen as Father Winter was quite the honour in the village of Blashy Cove. A recognition of services to the community. Given Robin’s ostracisation for so many years, it would have meant a great deal to him.

  “He’ll be so disappointed at having missed it,” Duncan said softly.

  Edwin was talking with Hester and his nephews. Duncan guessed she must have been watching the parade and seen what had happened. Duncan took over from Robin as Vince’s support, though he did a significantly worse job at it. He was notably shorter, so any support he was providing was more moral than practical. Nonetheless, together they limped through the snowy streets, barking at people to move out their way until they got as far the waterfront where medical workers were tending to the injured. A number of people had bandages around their heads and arms, and one man had an eye covered.

  “Bet you never thought you’d be helping me,” Vince said, wincing slightly as he held his side.

  “This is all part of my cunning plan. I’m going to sit you down on those steps over there, lull you into a false sense of security, then when you least suspect it, I’m going to kick you in the back of the head.”

  “Hah!” Vince snorted. “Always did like you, Duncan. I can see why my brother fell for you.”

  “Who?”

  “Robin.”

  Duncan stopped in his tracks. “You and Robin are brothers?”

  “Half brothers, as he likes to remind me.”

  When they got to the steps of a tall house beside a butcher shop, Duncan helped Vince sit down and called for help. A young nurse approached, lifted up Vince’s jumper and tutted at the pistol wound.

  “Someone’s been a bad boy,” she said.

  “All my life,” Vince grunted.

  The nurse went to work, her nimble hands first washing the wound, then preparing to dress it when a small, roundish woman pushed past Duncan.

  “Oh! Oh!” Mrs. Knight cried.

  “It’s alright, Mum, don’t fuss,” Vince said.

  She took his hand and kissed it. Then slapped him in his big, round face.

  “This was your own fault, I’ll bet,” she said.

  “Mum!” Vince roared, then winced as he rubbed his bearded cheek.

  “It was,” Duncan said, stepping forward. “But not in the way you think. He was saving us. Saving the town, really.”

  “That doesn’t sound like my son,” Mrs. Knight said.

  A familiar shuffling of boots on cobblestones announced the arrival of Robin and Edwin, walking arm in arm along the road. Robin held his injured hand to his chest. Edwin’s eyes were red, but he was calmer.

  “’Ow’s the patient?” Robin asked.

  “It’s touch and go,” Duncan said.

  Robin looked shocked, then he frowned at Duncan.

  “Ignore him,” Vince said. “Suppose I should introduce you. Robin, this is Mrs. Honor Knight, my mother, and butler at Chase Manor. Mum, this is Mr. Robin Shipp. He’s, well, he’s—”

  “You’re Erasmus’ lad aren’t you?” Mrs. Knight interrupted, holding her hand up to Robin’s face. “You’ve got his look about you, same as my boy. It’s unmistakable.”

  “Told you,” Edwin said.

  “You even talk like him. I thought as much when I saw you at Chase Manor. He visited me often, back in those days. My big, beautiful sailor. He called me his Blackrabbit Rose.”

  “Rose…” Robin repeated.

  The resemblance between her and Mrs. Whitewater—Robin’s mother—was significant. Duncan wondered if they had looked similar in their youth, if it’s what drew Captain Erasmus Shipp to her in the first place. Robin’s father couldn’t be with the woman he loved, so he chose someone who was her double. They hadn’t stayed together, though. Perhaps a passing physical similarity wasn’t enough. How could it be?

  “Hang on,” Vince said. “You knew his name? You always told me you didn’t.”

  Mrs. Knight looked uncomfortable. “I didn’t want to tell you. You’d only have tried to find him. I knew the kind of man he was, you’d have been seduced by him, by his life, you’d have run off with him and left me.”

  “Left you? How could I have left you when you hardly raised me at all? Would you have even noticed if I’d gone?”

  “I did what I had to for the sake of the Chase family. They were my priority. My duty,” Mrs. Knight said, holding her chin high.

  “Of course, mustn’t do anything to upset the Chases, never mind your own family.”

  In the resulting awkward silence, Duncan realized his entire opinion of Vince had changed. Before, he’d been like a statue, a crude depiction of humanity but not truly possessed of it, but just then he started to see the soul within.

  “Doesn’t matter anyway,” Vince said. “Seems Erasmus Shipp died when I was a boy.”

  Mrs. Knight’s eyes dipped.

  “If you ’ad looked for ’im you might ’ave found me,” Robin said.

  Duncan recognised the look on his face. It was sorrow for another piece of family he’d missed out on. It was a reflection of the years of loneliness Robin had endured.

  Mrs. Knight beckoned Robin to lean down so she could kiss his cheek.

  “Be kind to your half brother,” she said. “He means well.”

  “He’s not my ’alf brother,” Robin objected, facing the injured Vince. “He’s my brother. Plain and simple.”

  Vince just smiled.

  A nurse tended to Robin’s hand and told him it should be fine, in time, but it would definitely scar. Duncan sidled up next to Vince on the steps and brushed away a patch of the light, fresh snow. They sat in silence for a moment, watching the flames from the stage lick the night sky.

  “So, I suppose I should thank you for doing the right thing,” Duncan said. “Eventually.”

  “Imagine my surprise when you ended up at the Lion Lies Waiting, of all places. Right under my nose,” Vince said.

  “What do
you mean?”

  “Didn’t they tell you? That’s where I have my…office.”

  “Where? Wait, upstairs? On the mezzanine level?”

  “Is that what it’s called?” Vince asked.

  “You were up there spying on me the whole time?”

  “Think a lot of yourself, don’t you? Had other business to attend to, Duncan. Tried to stay out of your way. Hoped you wouldn’t get mixed up in Baxbary’s plan.”

  “How did you end up there?”

  “Worked out an arrangement with Mrs. Firebrace. Good woman. Sad, what happened to her. Her daughter dying. Didn’t deserve it. Told her no one would bother her if she let me use her storeroom.”

  “As if she could have stopped you.”

  “Used to work out of a pub in Gull’s Reach. Dogtooth, it was called. Horrible little flea pit, but it was right at the heart of things, down an arcade. When the hurricane struck, it demolished the building above, buried the arcade. Lucky I was on my way out when it happened, wanted to see what the storm was doing to my town. Still had to dig my way out of the rubble, mind. Lost a lot of my men in that pub. Good men. Well, not good, but loyal. More loyal than Percy Penhallow and Hickory Palk, that’s for sure. They saw their chance to move up, take over more and more duties.”

  The nurse had finished her work for the time being, and Vince rolled his jumper down over his big, round, tattooed stomach.

  “What is it short for, then?” Duncan asked.

  “Beg pardon?”

  “Vince. If it’s not short for Vincent, what is it short for?”

  “Oh. Invincible,” he said, proudly. “It’s short for Invincible.”

  “Your name is Invincible Knight?” Duncan said, stifling a little laugh.

  “Yes. What’s wrong with it?” Vince asked, getting the same hurt look Robin gets sometimes.

  “No, no, nothing. It’s…lovely. Very strong. I daresay your wound will keep you out of trouble for a while,” Duncan said, pointing to Vince’s side.

  “For good,” Vince said.

  Sitting so close, Duncan was warmed by the heat radiating from Vince’s body, the same warmth which came from Robin. There was a faint, rich hum of tobacco from the big man, with a back-note of whiskey. Duncan couldn’t say exactly why, but to him, Vince was used. Lived in. Robin, for all the pain he’d been through, was brand new in comparison to his brother.