Chapter 3

Tobin stepped out into the unpopulated lane, fighting the urge to cast a glance behind him. He ran his fingers over the coin in his hand, unable to believe it was real. "That man really values his information," the boy murmured to himself. His thumb passed over the well-worn silver again. He shook his head. Surely the man was mad.

With a shrug Tobin stuffed the coin in his pocket. He readied to make a sprint for home but after the first stride a clink brought him up short. The boy whirled around and frantically scanned the ground. The piece of eight gleamed in the sunlight. Tobin grabbed it up quickly and, holding it in his fist, started for home. He spared no further thought for the strange man.

Tobin skittered to a stop a half-block away from the lodging house, thoroughly baffled by the group of people collected there. He saw many familiar faces as he neared but no one seemed to take notice of his passage. He wove carefully between the bodies, muttering apologies when he bumped into someone.

Finally he surfaced at the front of the crowd and quirked his head as he looked at the front of his home. At first he wondered what was so interesting to everyone; most of them were fellow tenants or passed by daily…but he saw the object of interest soon enough.

Two men, Thom the fisher and Edward the blacksmith, emerged from the main door, carrying between them a cloth-draped board. The form underlying the cloth was unmistakable and Tobin instantly started searching his mind for who it could be. His brow furrowed in concentration and his gaze drifted down to the ground.

"Careful there Ed!" A bystander called out. Tobin's head shot up, his pulse quickening at the loud voice. The rough canvas had pulled away from the body when Ed had slipped on the stairs and compromised his grip. The subsequently revealed face was familiar; too familiar. Tobin's heart skipped a beat and his throat went dry. Even though the man quickly tried to cover the corpse the damage had been done.

"No!" Tobin screamed, lunging forward. Strong arms brought him up short and he flailed and struggled against them, screaming his agony to the crowd. Hot tears burned their way down his face as he continued to fight and shout. His small fists landed ineffective blows on the arms wrapped around him. His strength was fading quickly, having been released in a gush of fury and anguish.

Eventually he slumped back against the woman holding him, whimpering and crying breathlessly. "Easy Toby, easy," Widow Honeycutt soothed, smoothing back his hair as he continued to choke on sobs.

"But, mum's…"

"I know, I know, shh,"

"Mum!" Tobin cried as the men toting the corpse passed by, their faces grim. Widow Honeycutt tightened her grip on the boy as he surged forward in a helpless attempt to follow the body.

"No lad,"

"Be silent boy," the priest ordered sternly. "Stop your screeching and pray for your mother's soul; there's nothing but proper disposal left for her in this world." He looked down his nose at Tobin, eyes hard as flint. "Let her memory die with dignity." He brushed past in a flurry of dark robes.

Tobin no longer heard Widow Honeycutt's whispered comforts: all that was left in his mind was the gaping hole left by his mother. Wordlessly he allowed the Widow to usher him to his room and advise him on dressing for the funeral.

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"One, three, five, two..."

Elizabeth grinned as Will recited the commands, moving easily to block his strikes. "Will, you know you don't need to--"

"Five A."

Elizabeth's brow furrowed. "Five A?--ah!" She yelped with a giggle as Will aimed to land a hit on the back of her shoulder. Her sword stopped his just in time, hanging back over her shoulder, straining her wrist with the position.

Will smiled gently. "Five A," he repeated, leaning in to plant a kiss warmly on her lips. Elizabeth returned the grin, closing her eyes as she sought to deepen the kiss. But Will was already moving on, calling for more parries. Elizabeth put more push into her blocks, accentuating her annoyance that he had pulled away. Will caught the expression and swung for her left side. As soon as she'd moved to block him, his blade swiveled and landed with the blunt edge on her right shoulder. He pulled her in, kissing her briefly but fiercely. He broke the contact just as suddenly. "Your attack."

Elizabeth cocked her head and the ghost of a smirk lit her face. "Do I have to call parries for you?"

Will shrugged. "If you like."

The grin broke on Elizabeth's face. "Two, five, four, two, three--"

Will struggled to keep up, always moving his sword in accordance to her direction but the blow always came from somewhere else. He barely managed to block all the strikes and finally he grabbed hold of her sword with a displeased frown on his face. "You aren't calling the right positions."

"You never said I had to." She pulled her blade from Will's slackened grip. "Three!"

Will blocked the appropriately placed strike and Elizabeth caught his mouth in a passionate kiss. They separated slowly, smiling. Will wrapped his arms around Elizabeth and both swords dropped to the ground. He dipped her low, kissing her gently. Elizabeth wrapped her fingers in his hair, tugging it free of the leather tie. She opened her eyes mid-kiss and after a moment they widened in shock.

"Whuft's fadt?" she mumbled uselessly, her lips still locked with Will's.

He pulled back, brow furrowed. "What?"

"That!" Elizabeth exclaimed, jerking her chin toward the far-distant lane. Will looked up curiously, almost frightened, worried he'd have a real need for the sword lying nearby. His attention focused elsewhere, his grip slowly faded on the woman below him.

Elizabeth dropped to the ground with an audible umph. Will started and rushed to help her up.

"Who is that?" he asked quietly, eyes still focused on the carriage slowly making its way along the poorly worn road.

"There's only one person on this island who even owns a carriage," Elizabeth said.

"A friend of yours?"

"No, we've never spoken; they have no reason to come out here." Will's mouth dropped into a serious line and he retrieved his sword. Elizabeth spun to stop him, a gentle hand stalling his progress. "No Will, I'll go."

"But it could be dangerous,"

"I'm sure it's nothing. Probably just took a wrong turn." Will's disbelieving look made her sigh. "If it were dangerous would I really be going alone?" Another miss. "You can come running to my rescue at the second hint of trouble, how's that?"

"The second?"

"The first has already come and gone." Without waiting for his acquiescence she started off, golden hair bouncing behind her.

Elizabeth sprinted through the tall grass, tugging at her clothing and smoothing her hair as she ran. The wind, coming strong off the ocean, undid the tidying as quickly as she finished it. With her thoughts running wild she scarcely noticed.

She beat the carriage by almost half a mile and stopped, panting, to watch its approach. Twin dappled grey horses strained against their collars as they pulled the heavy carriage over the uneven uphill terrain. Their nostrils flared large, mouths champed at the bits, eyes rolled wildly behind the blinders and sweat stained their coats. Before long Elizabeth could hear the jangling of the harnesses and the thunder of the horse's footfalls.

A whip flicked at the horse's flanks and they jumped into a lope, snorting as they toiled up the incline. Elizabeth's attention turned to the driver who, curiously, was clothed in a heavy black cloak with a large hat pulled low over his face. Even as she was getting over the oddity of his apparel the coachman astonished her further by drawing himself up into a standing position. He moved as one with the jouncing motions of the carriage and continued to expertly drive the horses onward. Elizabeth stared in open-mouthed wonder at the man's finesse.

Belatedly she realized she was standing right in the center of the lane with the puffing horses approaching at a hasty pace. Starting out of her reverie, Elizabeth jumped back into the relative safety of the tall grass. The driver brought the horses and their load to a stop and set the brake on the carriage. The horses shifted their positions, snorting loudly and stomping their feet. One began to paw the dry ground.

The driver let the reins drop and leapt down from his perch. Once on solid ground he seemed unable to keep his footing. He swayed in place, almost precariously at some points and Elizabeth began to wonder if he was drunk. When the driver did not go to the side of the carriage and open the door for his master, Elizabeth chanced a greeting.

"'ello 'lizabeth," the drawled response came, followed closely by the glint of a gold-toothed grin.

Elizabeth's jaw dropped. "Jack!?"