Chapter XII
XII
Old John Dog hobbled across the cobbles, huffing and panting from the trudge up from the cove.
His bones ached, his throat burned for brandy, and below deck, he itched like the devil after an unwise visit to Annie Rae’s bawdy house in Falmouth.
He took a second to scratch and wait for Jep to catch up.
‘Come on, you old cur,’ he growled as the dog bounded up on his three rickety legs and lapped at the puddles of rainwater on the cobblestones. ‘Haven’t got all night.’
The full moon pooled silver, candles burned golden in the window. The inn wasn’t busy, for there weren’t many just passing. A few old salts, the odd coach when other more convenient inns were full up. Rare or never a visit from the revenue, which suited everyone just fine.
Underneath the inn was a cave, and when the tide was right, it was perfect for mooring a small boat and unloading cargo.
He’d done so on many occasions, grateful that his Maggie turned a blind eye.
Over time, he’d dug through to the old mine workings, and from there, it was possible to go as far as Lord Robert’s estates, where his high and mightiness kept his own stash of goods off the books from the customs men.
It had been so easy – too easy – and inevitably, he’d grown careless. Lord Robert’s man had caught him red-handed, pilfering pilfered spirits from the tunnels underneath Polgothley.
The noose had been round his neck, or as good as. He was thrown in gaol on a summary charge and slated to be hanged. For weeks, he’d rotted in that cell, regretting his ways – that he’d been caught. But all too soon, the hour was upon him.
On what was to be his last night on earth, he’d refused the priest and accepted a pie and ale bribed from the gaoler.
He had regrets – what man didn’t? – and it felt right to bring them to mind.
First, that he’d never given Maggie the quiet life together that she’d wanted.
Second, that he still had cargo to move out.
Third… he’d closed his eyes, and slept soundly, under the circumstances.
But sometime in the night, a key had rattled in the heavy lock. A tall man in a dark cloak had entered without a ‘by your leave’.
‘Lord Robert,’ John had croaked, half-wondering if he was dreaming.
The man he feared spoke without preamble. ‘No one deserves to swing more than you, Old John Dog. But I’ve become aware of a certain “situation”. If you wish to save your neck, and make thirty pieces of silver besides, then I have a job for you.’
Old John stumbled on a lose stone, cursing under his breath.
It didn’t sit well, this task he’d been given, regardless of the Lord’s particular ‘situation’.
But anything was better than a rope sitting round his neck.
Lord Robert had given him half the coin as a downpayment, with the rest due upon completion of the job.
‘Come on, Jep,’ he said. He patted the little dog’s head and opened the door. ‘Let’s head upstairs and get this over with. Then we’ll come back down and drink to our hearts’ content.’