Skull and Bones (17 page)

    "Shooter's Hill, Mr Lennox!" he said, and backed away, still bowing, as the gentlemen got out, stretching their cramped limbs, and Mr Bones's heavy body swayed down from the rear seat, making the carriage rock and tremble and causing the horses to whinny.

    "Thank God!" said Lennox, and grinned. "I have to… er…" And he darted off to some trees that stood dark and shadowy in the gloom.

    Billy Bones took station beside Flint and they gazed at the view, which was indeed spectacular. They were on open ground, with a copse of thick woodland behind them, the new building of the Bull Inn to the west, near the summit of the hill, and a vast expanse of England stretched out on the plain before them, with the road winding ahead and down.

    Northward, the flat, shining curves of the River Thames could be seen, from Woolwich in the east to the pool of London in the west and beyond, where lay the vast and glooming mass of the world's biggest city, with its twinkling lights, its forest of spires, its pealing bells and the smoke of hearth fires so numerous as to be beyond counting. It was a noble and splendid sight.

    It was a sight that profoundly impressed Billy Bones, for London was so vast, so complex, and so
different
to anything in his life thus far, that it stirred tremendous emotions within him. He thought of Livvy Rose, for this was where he'd left her, and where she might still be living. Thus aroused, all the old passions burned as if new. And being full of love for Livvy Rose, there was - for the moment - no room in his heart for any other love. So Billy Bones glanced at Flint, then glanced again at London… and his mind trembled, and shivered, and grasped at the possibility of a life
without
Flint…

    But then Billy Bones sniffed the air.

    "Hoss-shite and chimbley-smoke!" he said.

    "Your sense of smell is exquisite," said Flint. "Likewise, your gift for poetry."

    They gazed a while at the view, each in his own thoughts.

    "Cap'n," said Billy Bones, "what we doin' here? In London?"

    "Trying to disappear, Mr Bones."

    "What? In a city full o' people?"

    "Oh, Billy," said Flint, "where better?" He pointed at the gleaming river. "It is also a great seaport, offering the chance of clean and entire escape."

    "But we
have
escaped."

    Flint sighed, despairing.

    "Imagine, Billy, a man hanged off a great tower. He falls with a long rope round his neck. While he falls, he lives… and enjoys false hope. But when he reaches the end of the rope, he dies. Yes?"

    "Yes, Cap'n."

    "I am that man. And so are you." "Oh."

    "Ah," said Lennox, coming back still buttoning the falls of his breeches, "that's better! Fine view, is it not?"

    Later, when the horses had rested and the moon was shining and night fallen, they were just about to get into the carriage again when the thudding of hoofbeats sounded and four horsemen emerged from the wood behind them, faces masked and black.

    "Oh, buggery and 'ellfire!" said the coachman. "Get aboard, gents!"

    "Damnation!" said Lennox. "Highwaymen!"

    "Pistols, Billy!" said Flint, leaping for the coach.

    But it was too late, the horsemen came in at a thundering gallop, two getting between their victims and the coach with ready firelocks, and two swinging round into the lead horses of the coach, which whinnied in fright only to drop in their tracks as -

    Bang! Bang! gunshots sounded, bright flashes seared the shining horseflesh, and the two leaders were dead in their harness, the remaining pair shrieking and kicking and the coach going nowhere.

    "Stand and deliver!" roared one of the horsemen, and his horse reared in the night as his three mates got themselves around Flint, Billy Bones, Lennox and the coachman, as smoothly and efficiently as drilled dragoons. Between them they had several brace of pistols, a double coaching carbine, and a blunderbuss.

    "On your knees, you sods! Get down, or I'll have the eyes and bollocks off you!"

    "Down!" said Flint, and dropped, and Billy Bones followed him.

    "Down, I said!" And another pistol boomed. Lennox and the coachman promptly knelt. "That's better! Now, behave your bleedin' selves and I'll leave you alive, but one cough and you're croaked! For I'm Captain Lightning, knight of the road, and I'll have your watches, your rings, your gelt, and anything else that might stop me pulling a trigger!"

    A throaty snort came from Flint, whose shoulders shook and shook, and he bent his head forward that his face might not be seen. Then he took hold. He looked up and lifted his arms in supplication.

    "Oh, sir," he begged, "take pity on a poor man afflicted with the stone such that he can barely breathe, and who suffers more than can be borne, being crouched as I am!"

    Lennox and Billy Bones gaped in astonishment at this cowardly snivelling, for they knew Flint. The coachman was merely surprised.

    "Fuck you! Fuck your fucking stone!" said Captain Lightning. "Stay on your fucking knees!" But Flint risked all and got unsteadily to his feet.

    "Oh, sir! Oh, sir!" said Flint, staggering towards the highwayman, pulling coins from his pockets and holding them out. "Take! Take all! But do not condemn me to my knees and the tortures of the damned, I beg you." The moonlight showed the tears that streamed down his face and on to his trembling lips.

    "Nyaaaah!" said Captain Lightning in contempt as Flint fell against him, clutching his knee, weeping and moaning, and wouldn't be shaken off. Clutching the reins in his left hand, Lightning swung his carbine with the right, and clouted Flint with the butt. But Flint just moaned and hung on, whining and slobbering. "Solly!" cried Lightning. "Come here and get rid o' this cove. I ain't got a free hand. Stick him if you have to, but get him off!"

    One of his men holstered his pistol, drew a long knife and rode forward. He got between Flint and the rest so they couldn't see… and then there was a scuffle and a jump, and a yell from Captain Lightning, and both horses were rearing and plunging and three men were struggling on the ground under the hooves… then the horses bolted, and Flint leapt up with a carbine - which was a double - and fired twice.

    "Uh!" said one of the surviving horsemen, and fell from the saddle, with an ounce ball gone in at his right eye and out through the back of his head.

    His companion did better, for Flint's shot whistled past his ear and he managed to let rip with his blunderbuss, drilling many holes in empty air, before going over the head of his horse, which was bucking and kicking in a frenzy. He landed heavily, face down, with Flint darting forward to sit squarely on his shoulders, where he settled himself, leaned forward, took his man by the chin, pulled upwards to expose the dirty grey throat, and slit it nice and deep with the dagger-point, razor-edge knife that lived in his left sleeve, and which had already seen off Captain Lightning and his friend Solly.

    Later that night the Berlin pulled up, behind two horses at the home of Sir Frederick Lennox.

    "God-damn-me, God-damn-me!" he cried, as servants dashed to and fro, and passers-by looked on, and luggage was whisked from the Berlin's trunk and into the house. "All four of 'em? And Captain Lightning too?"

    "Yes! Yes!" cried little brother. "
By himself alone!"

    Thus Flint's reputation in London was assured. Flint smiled, Billy Bones put aside all earlier thoughts of desertion and swelled with pride, and Sir Frederick slapped his thigh and damned himself deeper as he shook Flint's hand. A red-faced man in his forties, running to fat and dressed in the extreme height of fashion, with magnificently embroidered clothes, a coat with elaborate skirts and multiple pleating. Sir Frederick was by far the elder brother, the son of a previous marriage and heir to the family fortune. He took to Flint something wonderful.

    "D'you know what the reward is for Captain Lightning?" he said.

    "Reward?" said Flint.

    "Yes, from the Meteoric Diligence Company - five hundred in gold!"

    "So much?"

    "Aye, m'boy. And all yours!"

    Hmm, thought Flint, for there would be a need for ready money.

    "I'll take you round the town tomorrow," said Sir Frederick, "bold dog that you are! By God, the ladies'll love you!"

    Slapping Flint on the back, he led them all into the brilliant, candle-lit interior of a house stuffed to the ceilings with objets d'art, and paintings, porcelain and gilt.

    "This way!" he cried. "To the library!"

    It was a long night and vast quantities of port were consumed as Sir Frederick explained that his house - which was on the corner of Russell Street and the Covent Garden Piazza - though not in the most fashionable part of London, was well placed to take in all the life of the city, with its theatres, print-shops, taverns and restaurants…

    "And the finest whores in town!" he cried.

    It was late in the small hours by this time; many confidences had been shared, and Frederick's secret store of erotic prints had been brought out to be ogled… at least by Sir Frederick, for little brother and Billy Bones were merely embarrassed, while Flint had special needs in this matter, though he smiled and pretended enthusiasm.

    "Look, sir!" cried Sir Frederick, and staggered up under a load of drink to wave from a window. Even at that hour two well-dressed ladies in the piazza below waved back at him.

    "Look! Look!" he cried. "A fine pair: all plump and bouncy!" Then he laughed and laughed, and sat down again and reached for the decanter. "I've got a bloody wife somewhere in the country, but she don't trouble me here." He winked at Flint. "So if you're in need of a good, hard poke - which you must be, being a sailor…" He laughed some more, spluttering port. "… then I'll take you to the best house in London, where it ain't cheap, mind, but you can take your pick: fourteen to forty, black, white or piebald, and never a fear o' the clap!"

"Black?"
said Flint quietly.

    "Oh yes!" said Sir Frederick, and a thought struck him: "Better still… tell you what I'll do… Tomorrow… I'll take you to meet Flash Jack the Fly Cove and he'll fit you out with anything you please: any colour, any shape, front or back entry, all fresh and juicy!"

    "And who might this gentleman be?" said Flint.

    "'Gentleman' be damned: he's the biggest rogue un-hung! Pays off the law, may'n't be touched, and can get any
man,
any
thing
he pleases."

    "Anything?" said Flint.

    "Anything from an elephant to a line-o'-battle ship! And tarts, of course."

    "A ship?" said Flint, and looked at Billy Bones, who was half asleep, but stirred under his master's gaze.

    "Oh, by God yes!" said Sir Frederick, waving his hand dismissively, and taking another deep glass. "Get you one o' them with
no
trouble."

    "Then I should like to meet this gentleman," said Flint. "Tomorrow."

Chapter 15

10th June 1753

Abbey's Amphitheatre

King Street, Polmouth

    A pair of white horses charged at dizzy speed around the sandy-floored circular enclosure, with a dancing girl leaping from one to another, turning cartwheels in the air, while a bizarre clown in red-and-white stripes and conical white cap chased after them on an ostrich, blowing a trumpet to the accompaniment of a full, costumed chorus singing on the stage behind. All this against a dazzling backdrop of brilliantly painted scenery panels which shifted in a rainbow of colour, while a band of two dozen musicians blared furiously in the orchestra pit between.

    Selena stared in wonderment. She'd never seen any kind of theatrical performance, let alone a spectacle like this. It assaulted the senses in colour, music, voices and skills. She clapped her hands and cheered, as did Katty Cooper, for it had been a long time since even she had seen the like.

    But theirs was the only applause. They were the entire audience on this Sunday rehearsal, for no plays nor entertainments might be performed on the Lord's day.

    And then the scene was over, and the performers - even the horses and the ostrich - were bowing to an empty house, and the clown clapping his hands, and giving all present his review of their performance, praising some, cursing others, before sending them off to their dressing rooms and stables.

    Soon, nothing was left but the hoofmarks and footsteps in the sand, and a strong smell of horseflesh and greasepaint.

    "Mrs Cooper!" said the clown, stepping forward to where his audience of two were seated. "My dear, my very dear!" And he waddled forward, less than five feet tall in his blouse and pantaloons, and his white stockings and his flat-white makeup with red lips and painted black eyebrows.