On a chill grey afternoon with the wind promising rain if not snow, Dick Turpin slowed his black mare and shot an irritable glare over his shoulder at his young partner as the blond youth followed him down the muddy woodland path. Struggling to quell a spasm of violent coughing, Swiftnick gave him a miserable look.

"I'm sorry. I can't help it," he wheezed as he came up alongside the older highwayman.

Dick softened in the face of his young friend's obvious misery. "I know you can't, lad," he said gruffly as he caught at Toby's reins to hold the fidgeting brown horse. "You want to stop for a minute?"

Swiftnick nodded and winced at the soreness of his chest, unable to prevent the explosion of coughing that doubled him up in the saddle.

Dick swore softly, hitching his caped cloak up around his neck and studying the sky overhead as a splatter of freezing sleet stung his cheeks. He knew it wasn't his accomplice's fault, but Swiftnick was slowing him down. At this rate they'd never make the high road and the coach and gamblers ripe for the plucking on their way back from London. It was his own fault for giving in to the youngster's pleadings to take him with him, he supposed. That bout of food poisoning last week had knocked Swiftnick for six; minor though it had seemed at the time. And now this cough… Dick shook his head grimly. The lad was in no shape for a robbery.

"I should never have listened to you," he muttered.

"I'm fine…." Swiftnick wheezed, straightening up with an obvious effort.

Dick gave him a level look from cool brown eyes. Swiftnick definitely did not look fine. He hadn't looked good when they left their hideout, but now he looked downright grey with exhaustion. "We're going to the Old Bull," he decided. "And you’re staying there, my lad."

"What about the coach?!" Swiftnick croaked in protest. "You said…it'd be…easy…" He had to pause to catch his breath and fight down a rising tickle of a cough.

"I think I can handle one coach on my own. Did it for long enough without you," Dick retorted firmly.

Swiftnick pouted at him and coughed again. "I don't have…to do…anything…I can…still…guard…. your back…."

Turpin leaned towards him. "Swiftnick, you’re sick enough already without having to worry about getting shot."

"Am not sick," Swiftnick argued determinedly and coughed sharply, wincing in pain.

"No, of course not," Dick snorted sarcastically. "You're staying at the Old Bull and that's my last word. No arguments."

"But Dick…"

"Ah!" Dick held up a commanding hand.

"I can…"

Turpin gritted his teeth. "Swiftnick, shut up," he ordered. "If you can make it as far as the inn without coughing, I’ll consider it."

Swiftnick nodded, gathering up his reins with a determined expression. It was only ten minutes ride to the Old Bull. He could do that easily. He wasn't going to miss out on that coach…

* * *

"Now, will you do as you’re told?" Dick asked sharply a while later as he supported a harshly coughing Swiftnick in the doorway of the Old Bull's stables. The youth had barely ridden a hundred yards before he started coughing again and walking into the warmth of the stables had only started him off once more.

The ostler taking care of their horses eyed them warily, clearly alarmed by the coughing. "It's a cold, only a heavy cold," Dick told him over one shoulder, even as he felt Swiftnick shuddering for breath under his arm. When the ostler turned away, he pressed one hand to the youth's forehead, worried about his temperature.

Irritably, Swiftnick pushed his hand away and tugged at the ties of his cloak, hot despite the cold clamminess of his skin. "Don't fuss," he mumbled irately, pulling away to head across the yard towards the inn. Turpin lengthened his stride and fell into step with him, saying nothing and doing his best not to look obvious about watching him. Swiftnick moved as if he ached all over, every step showing the effort to keep moving.

As they reached the door, Swiftnick lifted his head and pushed inside first, pausing to catch his breath as the heat inside hit him after the cold crisp air of the yard. The deep breath was a mistake as a violent cough exploded out of him, doubling him up with a spasm of coughing that half choked him. Dick held onto him anxiously, worried over his young accomplice's frightening struggles for breath and making loud excuses about him having a cold before they set off a panic.

Finally the fit eased up and with a hand on his shoulder, Dick guided him over to an empty table and bid him sit down while he headed for the counter. The counter was a rough wooden plank on two empty barrels behind which stood Big Beth; the owner of the inn who ran the place with the help of her daughter and her husband.

"Dick," she greeted him in a surprisingly deep voice, her brown eyes flicking past him in concern to Swiftnick. "What are you doing bringing the lad out in this weather? He sounds rough."

"Don't start," Dick grumbled. "Two pints of your ale and a bowl of your best stew."

"I trust the foods for the lad," Beth retorted as she reached for two wooden tankards. "You don't feed him enough."

Turpin sighed heavily and turned his back to lean on the counter as he surveyed the room. To his relief, no one looked suspicious and apart from a few uneasy glances at an unhappily wheezing Swiftnick no one was paying them much attention. The Old Bull was usually a safe place for a quiet drink, but Spiker had been getting restless lately. It was about time for another of his sweeps.

"Dick…" Beth prompted and the highwayman turned back to her with the money for the food and ale. She lowered her voice to speak to him as she made change for him. "I mean it about the lad."

"I know," Dick admitted. "I should have left him at the hideout. But the roof leaks so much it's as damp out as it is in."

"You can have a room here, you know that."

"Too risky, but I've got a safe place in mind. Don't worry. I'll look after him."

"Takes your responsibility seriously, don't you?" Beth teased, reaching over the counter to squeeze his cheek in plump fingers. "But you see that you do. I know Mary right well. Here, take your ale. I'll bring the stew along in a minute."

Dick groaned and took the ales back to the table. Half the innkeepers around seemed to know Mary and be prepared to rat on him about her son. Woe betides Dick if the lad got so much as bruise. She'd probably know about it before Turpin did.

Swiftnick looked up as Dick set the ale down in front of him. He looked a little better for sitting down in the warmth, but he still looked haggard. "What's the plan?"

"That you stay here and I go do a little hunting. I should be back before dark. I've ordered you a stew. See that you eat it this time."

"I'm not hungry," Swiftnick complained, sipping his ale gratefully. He felt thirsty no matter how much he drank.

"Eat anyway," Dick leaned comfortably back in his chair, watching the taproom as he swallowed his ale. Lucy, Beth's daughter came over with the stew, depositing it in front of Swiftnick and promptly pressing a cool hand to his forehead under his mop of blond curls.

"Gerroff," Swiftnick mumbled, pulling his head away from her touch.

Lucy tsked and gave Dick a forbidding look.

"It's not my fault!" Dick complained.

"Then who else has been keeping him out all hours in this weather? Goodness knows what kind of places you've been taking him too! Tsk…" Sniffing, Lucky sashayed back towards the counter.

"How her husband copes with her I don't know," Dick muttered. "The woman's a damn prude. How she manages in a pub…" He broke off as Swiftnick coughed and gurgled into his ale. "You all right?"

Swiftnick managed a nod and a wheeze, setting his ale aside and giving his stew a dubious look. It smelled good and his stomach rumbled hopefully. He hadn't eaten much since the food poisoning and had no real appetite now. Still he picked up his spoon and took a desultory mouthful.

Dick finished off his ale with one long pull and set the tankard down. "I've got to go," he told his young partner. "You stay here until I come back for you. No wandering off. You even think about coming after me and I swear I’ll give you a tanning you won't forget."

Swiftnick stuck his tongue out at him and didn't answer as Dick stalked back to the counter for another word with Beth. Truth to tell, he didn't think he could get up. His legs ached and his head hurt and all he wanted to do was curl up and go to sleep. He really wanted his mother to look after him. But he didn't think a big tough highwayman ran home to his mother every time he got a sniffle. Dick would probably laugh his socks off if he knew. All in all he felt so awful that he didn't really care if Turpin had decided to abandon him for good this time or not.

Fighting down another cough, he took another mouthful of the lamb stew, glad that it seemed to be staying down and was warming up the cold pit inside him.

"Swiftnick?" Swiftnick blinked, looking up and focusing on the gold pocket watch Turpin dangled in front of his eyes on its chain. Puzzled, he held out his hand and Dick dropped the watch into his fingers. It was a valuable piece and one Dick treasured for personal reasons that he had never explained. "Hold on to this for me until I come back. Now, promise me you'll stay put?" the highwayman asked quietly.

"Yes, Dick," Swiftnick promised, pleased to be asked rather than told. He closed his fingers over the watch, admiring it before carefully tucking it into his vest pocket.

"Good lad," Dick said in relief and ruffled his hair in a rough display of affection. "Beth's got a room upstairs for you. Finish your stew and then go and rest. I'll be back by around seven."

* * *

"Seven," Dick grunted to himself, blowing on his frozen fingers. The snow had started to fall in fits and starts, billowing across the road in sudden flurries that cut down the visibility to nothing and had slowed Black Bess from a gallop to a trot. Although concerned about keeping his promise about getting back to Swiftnick on time, Dick wasn't about to risk his horse snapping a fetlock in his haste. Swiftnick would understand the delay was because of the weather, he hoped. The lad did still seem a little uncertain that Turpin would come back for him. Still, one good thing about the weather was that it had wrecked any chance of pursuit. Robbing the coach had been downright easy and had filled his saddlebags with gold and jewellery that would make a tidy penny.

Turning down the narrow lane between the trees, Turpin nudged the reluctant mare in against the meagre shelter of the cottage wall and slid to the muddy ground. "I know," he soothed, patting her when she snorted at him in annoyance. "I'm cold too and we’ve got a long way to go yet. But I've a lady to see first."

"A lady am I now?" a frail, crotchety old voice snorted at him, making Dick leap a foot in alarm. "A fine ystwyth buck of a beau coming to see me and me without me powder and lace on."

"Olwen?" Dick said hopefully, knowing she about as frail as oak tree.

"So it's yourself, Dick. Aye, it's me," the old woman answered as she loomed up out of the dusk from her goat shed, her voice turning stronger as she recognised him. A red shawl was wrapped tight around her skinny frame over a black dress; bright blue eyes peered out at him from beneath an old fashioned hat that had seen better days. Dick was never quite sure how old she was, younger than she seemed at times, he suspected. Beneath her hat, her hair was a fading red streaked with grey. "You’d best come inside, bach. I know what you'll be wanting. Bring that saddle bag of yours."

Grabbing the saddlebag, one side of which was already stuffed with loot, Dick followed her warily, never quite certain of what the herb woman might be up to. She seemed to have magical powers and Swiftnick was absolutely certain she was a witch. All Turpin knew of her was that she knew her herbs and could be trusted when it came to anyone who was sick. She had raised a double handful of children and her own children were raising a fine fat family of their own kids. Olwen never lacked for company or care. "Were you expecting me?" he asked cautiously.

"I was milking the goats," she answered amiably. "I ain't seen the dragoons in many a day if there's what you're worried about."

"You know I trust you, Olwen," Dick protested.

"Wouldn't be here if you didn't, would you? Come inside now. I'm getting a mite cold."

Inside the cottage it was warm, with a good fire blazing in the grate and a kettle bubbling to itself over her old black stove. Herbs hung from the rafters and Dick had to duck to avoid getting a bunch of rosemary in the face.

"Cup of tea?" she asked.

Dick shook his head and murmured a polite no thank you. There was no telling what kind of tea she was drinking. At best it was herbal, at worst some of the tea slops that were mixed with the unspeakable and dried before being sold to the poor.

Olwen chuckled and settled herself into her hand carved rocking chair. "So, how's fy tymplen Swiftnick?" she asked lightly.

Dick looked around and gingerly disturbed a fat ginger cat from her seat before he perched gingerly on the edge of a chair filled with a box of herbs. "It's him I'm here about," he admitted, wincing at the cat promptly leaped back into his lap and settled down with claws kneading his thigh.

"I know," Olwen said smugly. "What wrong with him then, gorwych?"

Turpin took a deep breath and explained, knowing from past experience that she would want to know every last little detail now matter how irrelevant it seemed before she would decide what to offer. When he had finished he sat and waited silently, hoping he seemed patient even though he was squirming inside with the need to be off and away. The cat gave him a thoughtful look as if wondering whether he was edible. Dick scratched her tentatively behind the ears and was rewarded by having her stop glaring at him.

"Anemone root," she said at last, rousing from her ruminating. "That's what he needs. A tincture of anemone root and something to help him get some sleep. I have the very thing." As she pushed to her feet, she gave Turpin a sharp look. "A soft bed somewhere warm and dry will help."

Dick nodded in relief. "I've got somewhere in mind," he promised and leaned towards her as she started to rummage through a cupboard. A waft of sweet scents swirled out as she opened the doors. "Olwen, about this fever he has…"

"You won't catch it if that's what you’re worried about," she said sharply. The blank look Dick gave her, however, made her soften. "You don't care about that then?"

Turpin shook his head. "I don't think it likely that I'll catch it now," he said dryly. "But will he get over it? He's only a lad…"

Olwen gave him a faint smile. "That depends on him and how strong he is. Ah hah…" She held up a bottle, squinting at the picture drawn on the label. She wasn't much of a one for writing, but her drawings of the herbs and flowers she used were pinpoint accurate. "This'll set him right, bach."

Turpin reached for his purse, knowing her prices from past experience. He was always generous out of gratitude. She had never yet given him anything that didn't do exactly what she said it would. Olwen however continued to rummage through her cupboard, humming to herself as she fished out bottles and jars and plump little herbal pillows. Seeing his alarmed gaze, she grinned at him.

"Needs a few things for him, don't you?"

"Have a care, Olwen. Black Bess isn't a packhorse."

Olwen let out a cackle that Dick was sure she practised. "Not to worry, gorwych. I won't give you anything you can’t afford."

"You know it isn't that," Turpin argued.

Olwen nodded shrewdly. "I know you’d sell that nag of yours to help the tymplen if you had to."

"She's not a nag," Dick grumbled, flushing.

Olwen chuckled richly. "No more than you’re a cold cruel man, Dick Turpin. Now, let's be packing this up for you. And this tonic's for you…"

"Me?" Dick said in alarm.

"Aye, melys. Can't have you coming down with something when you’re looking after the lad. You remember to get yourself warm and dry too." She continued, giving him a list of instructions that she expected the highwayman to memorise.

"Yes, Olwen," Dick said, responding automatically to her stern tone. He could well imagine her keeping her huge family in line with that voice. Dislodging the cat carefully from his lap and wishing it wouldn't hiss at him, he got up to help her pack the herbals into his saddle bag. Once he had buckled the flaps down securely, he offered her the money.

Olwen took it without comment or counting, tucking it away in a clay jar on the shelf over the fire. "Sure you won't stay for tea?" she asked as Dick slung the saddlebags over his shoulder.

"No thanks, Olwen. I promised Swiftnick I’d be back for him and I don't want him to fret when he's sick. We've got a way to ride tonight."

Olwen frowned. "Snow's on it's way, Dick. Maybe you should lay up where you are."

"Not safe enough. If Swiftnick gets worse and can't be moved later…" He left it unfinished but to his disappointment Olwen had nothing reassuring to say.

"You'd be right there," she agreed. "On your way with you then and good luck on the road to you."

Dick thanked her, gave her a solid buss on the cheek that had her cackling and blushing like a girl, then he hurried out into the freezing rain where Black Bess was waiting with an expression that said she was considering kicking him for leaving her hanging about in the rain.

"All right, girl, back to Swiftnick," he told her as he settled the saddlebags across her withers and swung astride. "We've a way to ride before the weather gets worse." Black Bess snorted her opinion of that but turned to his heel and trotted back down the path, making Dick duck under the dripping wet branches and feel the rain run down his neck. Oh the simple joys of life on the road…

* * *

"Swiftnick, Swiftnick, wake up, lad," Swiftnick roused groggily, heavy headed and sleep befuddled to find himself lying on the none too comfortable bed in the room Beth had shown him too. It was Lucy who was shaking him awake now.

"Huh? Whazzit?" Swiftnick rubbed sleep from his eyes, struggling to focus on her even as a cough built inside his chest. "Is Dick back?"

"Him? No. And he's no better than he ought to be leaving you here alone like this," Lucy sniffed waspishly. "No, Spiker's men are here. Best if you hide."

"Oh, where?" Swiftnick sat up and swung his feet to the floor, peering around him dizzily as he reached for his pistol. He didn't fancy hiding in one of the cupboards somehow.

"The priest's hole," Lucy answered, gathering up his cloak and pushing it into his hands as she bustled over to the window and pushed the shutter wide. "Come on now. Tom's waiting below for you. He'll show you."

Swiftnick slung his cloak over his shoulder and followed her, climbing out over the sill at her urging and slithering down the shingled roof over the scullery at the back of the inn. Lucy's husband Big Tom was waiting for him, reaching up to catch the youth by the waist and lift him down. For a man used to lifting full beer barrels one lad of Swiftnick's size was no trouble and the young highwayman was soon safely on the ground. Supporting the youth as Swiftnick desperately covered his mouth and smothered his coughs, Tom hurried him across the yard in the rain and around behind the stables to where wild fern and tangled ivy smothered the back of the building. Taking a shifty look around, Tom swept aside great cloaking armfuls of ivy and heaved on a metal ring, hauling up a flagstone to reveal a narrow opening below.

"They won't find you here, lad," he assured Swiftnick as he motioned the youth to pick up the lantern on the step inside. Oil sloshed in the base as he lifted it. "You lie low until someone comes for you. The ostler took your horse off into the woods. They won't see him. You got flint and steel?"

Swiftnick nodded, digging the items from his belt pouch and lighting the lamp. "Are Spiker's men looking for me and Dick?" he asked breathlessly.

"Hard to tell. Seems like they’re looking for anyone who crosses their path. Best you lay low until Turpin comes back. Go on now. No one's found our priest's hole yet."

"Thanks, Tom."

"Get on with you." Tom ruffled Swiftnick's hair and urged him down into the darkness, waiting until he was safely on the narrow steps before he settled the flagstone back into place and rearranged the ivy to cover it.

Swiftnick gazed at the solid stone trapdoor over his head and shivered, as much in cold as sudden fright. He ever had liked being underground very much and being shut up in the airless windowless cubbyhole was scary. He picked his way down the steps, choking down the urge to cough until he reached the bottom and lifted the lamp to look round. There wasn't much to see; a stone ledge carved out of the slid rock along the back of the rough round room that had once been a cave, a couple of rickety wooden chairs and an even more rickety looking table. Swiftnick put the lamp on the table and gingerly touched a chair; it creaked and swayed alarmingly under the weight of his hand.

Shuffling over to the ledge where there was a heap of blankets, Swiftnick made himself a rough bed, wrapped himself up in his cloak and settled onto the ledge, tucking his feet up under the cloak to keep as warm as he could. Once his coughing after his efforts at bed making had subsided and he had propped himself up in a position where he was fairly comfortable and could still breathe, he settled down to wait for Turpin. He really wished Dick would hurry up and come back. There was something very frightening about being sick and alone and while Turpin might not be the most sympathetic of companions there was still something gruffly reassuring about his confidence that Swiftnick wasn't really that sick. But it was much easier to believe when Dick was actually there with him.

* * *

"Sod it," Turpin hissed bitterly as he huddled in the cold, wet dark of the wood with Black Bess, watching Spiker's dragoons in the yard of the Old Bull. "Sod it, sod it, sod it. Why'd the bastards have to show up now?" Half an hour was all he'd needed; half an hour at most to get in, grab Swiftnick and be off and away to safety. Instead Spiker's men were getting in his way and swarming about the yard like a hive of disturbed bees. At least they didn't seem to have his young accomplice from what he could gather. Most of them were acting half drunk as they mounted up, complaining about the weather and night riding and everything else they could think of. But none of them had mentioned Swiftnick and he was sure they would have if they'd caught him. Spiker's men loved to boast almost as much as their Captain did. .

"All right, you horrible lot, get the lead out and mount up!" Bellowing orders, Spiker's Lieutenant Stark strode out of the inn, slapping his riding crop against his leg. "If we're to be on the road for the London flyer then we have to ride now."

"Come on, Lieutenant," a burly dragoon complained. "It's a filthy night. Spiker don't really think Turpin's going to be after the Flyer, does he?"

Stark glared at him and lashed at the man's leg with his crop. "That's Captain Spiker to you, you cur. And the word is he will be. And we’re going to be there and catch him on the hop. Now move, you scurvy cretin!"

With much grumbling the rest of the dragoons mounted up, forming up behind the Lieutenant as he mounted his own polished brown steed and led the way out of the yard.

Huddled in the wet bushes, Dick watched them go thoughtfully. So, they thought he was after the London Flyer did they? More fools them. Rich though the pickings might be, the coach was too heavily guarded for his tastes and he didn't fancy getting a musket ball in him from some foppish would be hero. Besides, no one but an idiot would rob a coach let alone the London Flyer on a night like this. A small grin crossed his face as he recalled that that was exactly what he had done. But that of course was different. It had been an ingenious plan to rob a private coach when no one expected a highwayman to be abroad. No, he'd done enough for one night, time to fetch Swiftnick and go hole up until the weather changed. He almost pitied the dragoons spending a night out in the wind and rain and cold for some daft idea of Spiker's. The Captain was probably safe and warm up at Rookham Hall with Sir John, sharing a good meal and a glass of port.

He'd give them ten, fifteen minutes to make sure they were well clear and none of them circled back, then he'd fetch Swiftnick and be off to the hideout. The castle should be a nice surprise for the lad.

* * *

Swiftnick choked down a cough, struggling to hear the sound he had half heard through a groggy doze. Distantly through the thick stones he had been able hear the muffled voices of the dragoons and the clatter of hooves in the yard beyond the stables, but that had faded away and no one had come to drag him from his hiding place to face Spiker and his noose. Dread could only keep the exhausted youth awake for so long and he had sunk back into his doze, napping between coughs as best he could. But now he could hear voices again and a muffled tread on the stones overhead. The grate of stone on stone as the trapdoor was lifted told him he was found and he groped along the shelf for the pistol he had left there. With its comforting weight in his hand,. He fought the entangling blankets wrapped around him, struggling to get up and get to the lamp, hoping he could find enough breath to blow it out before another coughing fit seized him. With the stone pit in darkness, he might stand a better chance of escape..

"Swiftnick?" It was Turpin's familiar voice that boomed and echoed around the walls a moment later. "It's me, lad. Put up your gun…"

"Dick?" Swiftnick let out a relieved croak and sank back gratefully, coughing huskily. A bright light bobbed down the steps as the highwayman descended, holding a lamp above his head.

"Hello, brat. Missed me?" Dick teased as he set the lamp on the table beside Swiftnick's own and came over to him.

Swiftnick managed a haughty look. "Spiker's men were here," he explained huskily. "I had to hide."

"Aye, so Tom told me. I saw them outside. They think I'm off to rob the Flyer," Dick chuckled as he pressed a cool hand to the youth's forehead. Despite the cold damp chill of the stone room, the lad felt too warm to the touch and Dick frowned.

Swiftnick gazed up at him round eyed. "The Flyer?" he exclaimed, breaking off to cough harshly. "Sod it…"

Dick swatted him round the ear - gently. "None of that language," he scolded. "You ready to go?"

Swiftnick nodded, fighting his blankets again. With a chuckle, Turpin helped him untangle himself and helped him up with a brisk tug on the arm. "It's a bit of a ride. You sure you’re up to it?"

"I'm fine," Swiftnick grumbled, retrieving his lamp and heading for the steps. "Did you get anything off the coach?"

"Oh, there were a few nice bits and pieces," Turpin grinned. "I'll show you later. Now, let's be having you, lad. We need to be away from here sharpest." He shooed Swiftnick up the steps, listening to him wheeze as even the short climb left him breathless. Outside in the cold wet night air, the youth had to lean against the wall for support as he shook with coughs. Resisting the urge to fuss over him, Dick concentrated on heaving the stone slab of the trapdoor back into place then took the lad by the arm and led him along the stable wall.

Tom was waiting with Black Bess and the ostler who had fetched Toby from his hiding place in the woods. The ostler sidled away from them, eyeing Swiftnick nervously. "You sure you won't stay the night?" Tom asked. "Stark said he wouldn't be back."

"What he says and what he does are two different things. Best if we’re long gone before he shows up again," Turpin answered grimly, plucking Toby's reins from the ostler with an exasperated look. The ostler glared at him and scuttled off back to the warmth of the stables, preferring to get as far away from the highwayman and his coughing accomplice as possible. Leading Toby back to his partner, Dick held the horse for him while Tom grabbed the startled youth around the waist and lifted him bodily into the saddle.

"Well, as you like then," Tom grunted as Turpin released the horse and walked over to Black Bess. Noticing the extra bags tied across the mare's saddle and Toby's withers, Dick shot Tom a suspicious look. Tom shrugged. "You know what women are like; they thought you might want some extra food."

"Can’t hurt," Dick admitted. "The way Swiftnick…." He broke off with a startled gasp as Tom grabbed him and lifted him to his saddle too. A muffled giggle from Swiftnick turned into a cough as Dick gave them both an indignant look. "I'm not a bloody bag of flour, you know," he grumbled under his breath.

Folding his huge arms, Tom grinned up at him. "Aye. Good luck to you, Dick and you too, lad," he said cheerfully.

Turpin snorted. "And to you, Tom. Come on, Swiftnick. Let's ride…"

* * *

It was a long cold, wet ride through the woods and across the edge of the moor that Turpin took them on. Flurries of snow turned the sharp edge of the wind bitter, making Turpin hunch his shoulders and huddle deeper into his cloak. He kept one wary eye on Swiftnick, watching the lad like a hawk as he rode a little behind him. His young accomplice was a good rider, although Toby was a bit big for him, but this night his exhaustion was almost a tangible presence around him. Another horse might have taken advantage of the youth's distraction when the snow filled the air and turned the night white with large cold flakes, but when Swiftnick's attention wandered Toby stuck to Black Bess' side like glue.

Reining in Black Bess as they reached the edge of the woods, Dick motioned his partner to come up alongside him. Around them the woods dripped with water, the bark of the trees slick with moss and the frozen slush of snow. Snow covered the ground in all directions, piling up thickly around the horses' hooves and making the ground treacherous. "How you doing, lad?" Dick asked as Toby came to a halt beside him.

Swiftnick had his cloak and muffler pulled up around his face and ears and his tricorn hat jammed down tight over his unruly mop of curls, while he kept his cloak tucked in tight around his body for warmth. "I'm cold," he answered gloomily.

"Well, you'll be warm soon enough," Turpin promised. "Look down there…"

Nudging Toby a bit closer to him Swiftnick leaned forward to peer around the older man. Beyond the edge of the trees down a steep slope a dark stone tower speared up against the snow filled night, jabbing up towards the low sky against an open expanse of darkness. The wind howled and screamed around them, screeching up the craggy rocks.

"Old Cranleigh Keep," Dick explained. "All that's left standing of the old Norman castle."

Swiftnick blinked, brushing a few stray flakes of snow from his eyelashes. "But it's supposed to be haunted," he protested.

"It is," Dick cackled, paused a second to let Swiftnick panic and then grinned wickedly. "By me. Been telling stories about this place since the first time I holed up here. That's why everyone stays away."

"But…"

"Ah, stop fretting," Dick scolded. Dismounting, he took Toby's reins. "Come on now. I'll lead the way." When Swiftnick started to dismount too, Dick waved him back. "We're right near the edge of the cliff here, so you stay astride. I know the way and you don't.…"

With Turpin leading the horses, they made the way down the slope from the trees and around through the rocks, following a path Swiftnick doubted he could pick up in even daylight, let alone in snow filled night. Vast walls of stone soared up one either side as the horses slid and hopped their way down through a narrow defile and around a huge bulwark of stone that looked to Swiftnick like a dragon waiting to pounce on them. But at least the stones cut off the worst of the snow and he started to feel a tiny fraction warmer.

After several minutes of the horses snorting and one alarming moment when Turpin went slithering dangerously on the steep wet rock, Dick turned to the right and out between two massive boulders into a tiny clear gap before the arched stone gate of the tower. Looking up into the night, Swiftnick shivered, seeing the gaping mouths of the gargoyles on the battlements that had once poured boiling water down on the attackers. Dick led the horses through the gate and into the keep, cutting off the cruel bite of the wind that had funnelled through the rocks to gnaw at them.

"Down you get," Dick ordered, holding Toby. "The stables are over there…"

Reluctantly unwrapping his cloak, Swiftnick kicked his feet free from the stirrups and awkwardly slid down, surprised to find his legs stiff. Dick caught and steadied him and Swiftnick tugged away, fighting the urge to cough as he gathered up the reins.

"What are you doing?" Turpin exclaimed.

"Putting the horses in the stables like always," Swiftnick answered, blinking up at him wearily.

"Why?"

"You said…"

"Idiot, I'll do it," Turpin grumbled, taking the reins off him again. "See that door there?" Swiftnick peered into the darkness at the shadowy outline of a door in the wall and nodded. "Right, you go through there and upstairs. You'll find a lantern on the steps inside. Take the second door at the top. Go start a fire and I'll be up once the horses are settled. Here's the keys. Now, go on."

"Yes, Dick." Taking the huge iron keys, Swiftnick sighed and trudged off, coughing painfully as he went. Turpin could be a hard task master at times, but at least he'd be out of the snow and Swiftnick would have given a lot right then to be warm and dry.

The lantern was right where Dick had said it would be, with flint and steel alongside it. Swiftnick lit it and plodded up the stone steps, wheezing the further up he went. Finally, he emerged into a corridor that echoed under his feet. A bit of fumbling and he discovered the right key to open the door and he slipped inside, startled to find rugs under his boots. Lifting the lantern, he gazed around the room in surprise. The walls were thickly covered with tapestries and paintings and the floor was filled with old wooden furniture with ornate carvings. A huge bed took up much of the floor opposite the stone grate, where wood was stacked and ready for a fire.

Fighting for breath, Swiftnick put the lamp on a stable, tottered over and sank into an enormous leather armchair by the hearth, astonished by how comfortable it was. He had to sit and rest for a minute, promising himself that it was only until he got his breath back, then he'd start the fire and maybe make the bed and…

* * *

Bounding up the stairs, Dick pushed the half open door open with his foot and stopped, an irritated frown crossing his face as he realised Swiftnick hadn't even started the fire yet. The scolding however evaporated on his tongue as he realised that the lad had fallen asleep in the armchair, sprawled out in loose limbed exhaustion, his head pillowed on one fist and his hat slipped down over one eye.

"Aye, all right," Dick said softly, dumping his armload of saddlebags on the bed and the bucket of fresh water from the well on the floor. Shedding his cloak and hat, he set about making up the fire and getting the room warm, letting Swiftnick sleep while he could. The water filled kettle he hung on a hook over the fire once it started to crackle merrily in the grate, then he dug into the cedar blanket box at the foot of the bed.

The thump of the lid hitting the bedfoot started Swiftnick awake with a wheeze and a cough as he peered around him in bewilderment, focusing on Dick as he took out an armful of sheets and blankets.

"Dick, I'm sorry," he blurted. "I only sat down for a minute, I swear. I must have fallen asleep…"

"So I noticed," Dick said dryly.

"I'll start the fire…"

"Already done. And the kettle's on…"

"Oh…" Swiftnick looked around him with plaintive confusion. "You want me to make the tea?"

"No, I want you to sit there and stay out of my way for a minute," Turpin ordered.

"I can help with the bed…"

"And then spend half an hour coughing? I don't think so." Dick snorted as he started to unfold the sheets. Laid up with herbs between them they sent a waft of scent around the room that made his nose wrinkle and Swiftnick wheeze. "Besides, you can't make a bed worth a damn. I've slept on smoother rocks!"

Swiftnick smiled faintly. The first time he had watched Dick make a bed it had filled him with awe. Turpin, army trained, treated it like a major military manoeuvre. Now, Swiftnick settled back in the comforting grasp of the armchair and watched as Dick rapidly made up the bed. Finished he came over to check on the kettle and then turned a sharply thoughtful eye on Swiftnick before going to rummage in another chest.

"You'd better get out of those damp clothes," the highwayman decided, tossing a couple of towels on the bed for him and then holding up a nightgown from the chest. "Here, you can wear this."

Swiftnick frowned. He was used to sleeping in his drawers if anything. "But…"

"Don't argue. You need to keep warm." Leaving the nightgown on the bed, Turpin marched over and glared at him. Taking his arm, he tugged him out of the chair and sat him down on the bed instead. While Swiftnick was still gaping, he took his hat off him, unfastened his cloak and then bent to haul off his boots. "Dry off and change, lad," Turpin ordered gruffly at last then went back the kettle as it started to boil.

Tiredly, Swiftnick obeyed, peeling out of his cold damp clothes and drying off with the towels before he reluctantly pulled on the nightgown. It was way too big for him, swamping him in fold after fold of cloth. But it was surprisingly soft and comfortable and much, much warmer than he had expected. Even the faint scent of herbs that hung around it was nice and he snuggled into it appreciatively, blushing when he caught Turpin grinning at him. "I look like candlestick," Swiftnick complained, scowling at the flounced hem around his feet. "Who was this made for? A giant?"

"Into bed with you," Dick ordered, shooing him briskly under the covers and helping him prop himself up on a mound of pillows. "Comfy? Good. Drink this…" Turpin shoved a clay cup of liquid under his nose.

"What is it?" Swiftnick demanded, wheezing from all the effort.

"Something for all that coughing; daisy and boiled anemone root," Dick told him briskly. "Drink it down or I’ll hold your nose for you."

Swiftnick hesitated, then sipped and grimaced. "It's foul," he protested.

"It's good for you."

"Is not."

"Drink," Turpin growled dangerously.

"Bully…"

"Believe it. Drink."

Swiftnick drank, choking the potion down gulp by gulp and shuddering after each one. But down it went and, somewhat to his surprise, stayed down. Turpin suspiciously turned the cup upside down to check it was all gone, then brought him a cup of tea with a spoonful of honey in it that Swiftnick accepted gratefully. He sipped as Turpin took his boots off and settled back against the headboard beside him with his own tea.

"How long do we stay here?" Swiftnick asked, noting that the potion seemed to have eased the soreness of his chest a little despite his doubts.

"As long as it takes," Dick answered easily. "And you’re not to tell anyone about this place when we do leave. The only other person who knows about it is Glenrae. We found it together. The paintings are his little collection."

"Oh…" Swiftnick contemplated them curiously. He didn't know much about paintings, although the Scotsman had attempted to teach him something about it. They looked quite pretty, he supposed. "Dick?"

"Aye…"

"How long is as long as it takes?"

Turpin turned his head to look at him. "Certainly until the weather changes and definitely until you’re better."

"What if we get cornered?" Swiftnick argued.

"Won't happen. This place has more ways out than a rabbit warren."

"But…"

Turpin gave him a stern look. "Swiftnick, we have everything we need. In weather like this and with Spiker on the prowl I’d hole up anyway. Where would you rather be? Back at the shack with the roof leaking?"

"No, but…"

"You want to go home?" Dick suggested softly. "You want your mother?" Swiftnick flashed him a quick, chagrined look and then ducked his head in misery. "You think I don't know how you feel?" Turpin said kindly. "If there was any way I could take you home safely, I would, lad, but it's too dangerous for you and your mother. The weather's filthy and Stark's riding around like a madman out there. We'd be sure to get caught. Besides, do you really want to go on another long, wet cold ride again tonight?"

"No," Swiftnick admitted miserably. He wanted to be back at the nice warm inn where he grew up being pampered and doted on, but he didn't fancy the effort of getting there. To his astonishment, Turpin put his arm around his shoulders and gave him a quick rough hug.

"You’re a good lad, Swiftnick. It's a tough life on the road and you haven't complained - not much anyway - and you haven't run home either. I don't blame you for wanting to now."

Swiftnick snuffled, feeling his misery urging him to tears. Stoically, he bit his lower lip, setting himself to endure and make Turpin proud of him come what may.

Dick chuckled and squeezed him again, knowing what he was thinking. "You'll do. Want some more tea?"

Swiftnick nodded and Dick slid off the bed, taking his cup and giving the youth time to pull himself together by pausing to stoke up the fire. Coming back to the bed, he handed Swiftnick his refilled cup and winked at him. "You'll be all right, lad. I may not be Mary but I’ll take care of you."

Swiftnick looked at him in surprise, startled into a cough.

"What? You think I'm going to give up on you when I've got you half trained?" Turpin growled. "Drink your tea and go to sleep. I'm going to get my book."

Swiftnick sighed, snuggling down a bit further in the bed as his cold feet started to warm up. At least Dick hadn't teased him. He looked up as Turpin settled back against the headboard with his book and one of the saddlebags.

"Not asleep yet?" the highwayman asked mildly.

"Don't feel sleepy…"

Turpin raised an eyebrow. From the looks of him Swiftnick should hardly be able to keep his eyes open. "Want to see what we got from the coach?" he said.

"Anything good?" Swiftnick brightened up a little.

Grinning, Turpin sat up cross-legged and emptied the contents of the saddlebag on the bed. A tumble of necklaces and brooches fell sparkling onto the blanket, gleaming with gold and fiery colour in the lamplight. "Rich pickings," Dick chuckled, holding up a diamond necklace to his young accomplice. "See those? Blue white diamonds. Look at that cut…"

"Are they valuable?" Swiftnick took them, marvelling at their shimmer of liquid fire as they ran like water through his fingers.

"You young heathen, course they're valuable," Dick snorted in amusement as he picked over the rest. "A nice enamelled silver snuff box…"

"Let me see…"

"Ah, no, not that one…" Dick had lifted it from the outraged Lord's inner coat pocket and hadn't had a good look at it yet. The enamelled painting on it was exquisitely done, but its naughty subject was quite definitely not for the eyes an inexperienced lad of Swiftnick's age. "Look at this brooch." Swiftnick gave him one of his suspicious looks, suspecting Dick was shielding him again, but he took the fan shaped brooch and admired the blue sapphires and diamonds in it. He also yawned, snuggling further down against the pillows. Lying propped up, he doubted that he would sleep, but at least it made breathing easier.

"Here's a nice little pocket watch," Dick added, popping open the gold cover and wincing as another picture was displayed inside. He knew it had been a bunch of rich young rakes he'd tipped over, but really….

When Swiftnick made no demand to see it, he glanced at him warily and sighed in relief, realising that his accomplice had fallen asleep. Gently slipping the brooch from his half-curled fingers, Dick tugged up the blanket to cover him and then quietly settled down to pick over the rest of the takings in peace and quiet.

* * *

"No…don't, please…."

Turpin jolted out of his sleep, rubbing his eyes in bewilderment as he lifted his head and peered groggily over his shoulder. Swiftnick was wriggling and kicking in his sleep beside him, whimpering in protest at something in his nightmares. Dick could hear his breath wheezing in a frightening gasp for breath that grew worse even as he listened.

Turning over, Dick caught the youth by the shoulder and gave him a light shake. "Swiftnick? Swiftnick, lad, you’re dreaming," he called, shaking him gently.

Swiftnick lashed out violently, nearly catching the highwayman in the teeth with a flying fist. Catching his hand in a secure grip, Dick held on to him tight. "Nick? Nick, come on now," he crooned. "It's all right, lad, I'm here, you’re safe. Wake up now…"

Sobbing and coughing, Swiftnick came awake in his arms, unable to breath for the hacking coughs that shook his whole body and had him doubled up in the bed whooping for air. Not knowing what else to do for him, Dick held him, pushing his hair out of his eyes as he retched for breath and talking soothing nonsense in an effort to calm and reassure him. When Swiftnick scrabbled at the bed covers tangled around him, Dick freed one hand and stripped them back for him. After what seemed forever, the coughing fit faded and Swiftnick lay limp and gasping like a landed fish, sucking for air frantically.

"Here now, sit up a bit…" Turpin urged, easing a pillow behind him to prop him up.

"Havering…" Swiftnick wheezed in panic, his eyes flashing around the room. "I…dreamed…"

"Talk later," Dick told him. "Get your breath first…"

"I wish…." Swiftnick hiccuped a miserable laugh and started coughing again, doubling up around the ache in his ribs. This time the spasm faded quickly, possibly because he was sitting up and a little calmer. Dick sat with him, tugging the covers back up for warmth; waiting and watching anxiously until Swiftnick flopped back into his pillows and lay there panting.

"What am I going to do with you, hmmh?" Dick teased lightly,

"I woke you…up…didn't I…?"

"Aye, don't worry about it. You want some tea?" Turpin slid off the bed and went to stoke up the fire under the kettle.

Swiftnick knuckled his eyes, gritting his teeth at the ache in his ribs and back where he had been coughing and retching so much. "Dick?"

"Aye?"

"Am I…." Swiftnick stopped and bit his lip, wanting to cry.

"Are you going to be all right? Course you are," Turpin said flatly. "Olwen gave me enough herbs and potions for you to put a horse back on its feet, let alone a slip of a lad like you."

"You went to see the witch?!" Swiftnick exclaimed with a wheeze.

"Aye, risked life and limb to see the terrible hag I did," Turpin snorted sardonically as he rooted through his pack for the honeysuckle tea Olwen had given him. "She's a herb woman, Swiftnick, not a witch."

"She looks like a witch," Swiftnick grumbled.

"Don't let her hear you say that or she'll turn you into a frog," Dick scolded as he made the tea and left it to brew for a few minutes. He picked the herbal sachet that Olwen had given him out of the saddlebag and tossed it onto the bed. "Stick that under your pillow. It'll help you to get your breath."

Swiftnick gave him a dubious look and the sachet an even more dubious sniff, then did as he was told and stashed it under his mound of pillows. Right then he was grateful for anything that might help. "My friend Ned went to her for a love potion once…" he said slowly. "He wanted to er….with the milkmaid on the farm…."

"And?" Dick said dryly, folding his arms and giving him an expectant look.

Swiftnick blushed. "He spent two days in the out house…"

Turpin snorted. "Got what was coming to him then, didn't he?"

"He didn't get the milkmaid."

Dick laughed. "He's lucky he only spent two days in the outhouse. I've known Olwen to do worse. You mind you don't cross her, my lad." Olwen might have a soft spot for Swiftnick, but she wouldn't stand for any rambunctious nonsense from him or any other lad; especially when it came to love.

"I thought you said she isn't a witch," Swiftnick grumbled.

"She isn't," Turpin told him complacently, deciding the tea was ready and pouring it out for him. "She's a very wise woman. Here, drink up…"

Swiftnick took the cup and sniffed it gingerly, then decided to let it cool while he sniffed the sweet fragrance. Turpin settled comfortably in the bed beside him and picked up his book, flicking through until he found his page.

"Dick?" Swiftnick said cautiously.

Turpin sighed heavily and put the book down again. "What is it now?"

"If I…." The youth broke off uneasily.

"If you what?" Dick asked impatiently.

"If I was to, you know…."

"You know what?" Dick prompted.

Swiftnick swallowed, ducking his head so Turpin couldn't see his face through the shadows. "You wouldn't, would you?"

"I have no idea since I don't know what you’re talking about," Turpin growled. "Get to the point, Swiftnick."

"I heard…someone said that they….they…."

"Swiftnick," Turpin rumbled with dangerous impatience.

"The anatomists will give you a guinea for a body…" Swiftnick blurted. "And when a man's hanged they can get the body for nothing and cut it up and…." He broke off, swallowing hard.

"Morbid little tyke, ain't you?" Turpin observed, shocked.

"Is it true?" Swiftnick whispered.

"I don't know about the guinea, but, aye, it's true about the hanged bit," Dick sighed. "That or the gibbet. The anatomists ain't too fussy about who they take…" Catching on, Turpin abruptly shut up and stared at Swiftnick. "Are you asking me what I think you’re asking me?" he said grimly after a moment.

Pale faced and scared, Swiftnick stared back at him. "If I…"

"You ain't going to, you’re not that sick," Dick growled with a flash of anger. "Who's been filling your head with horror stories anyway?"

"I heard the gossip at the inn. And you said it was true."

Turpin hesitated, caught. After a long moment, he took a deep breath. "I swear, lad, you won't swing on a gibbet and the bodysnatchers won't have you or my name's not Dick Turpin. And you can make me the same promise."

"Yes, Dick, I promise." Swiftnick managed a relieved smile.

"Now tell me who gave you the idea I’d sell your body so I can shoot him?"

"It was a few days ago, at that inn we went to before I got sick? It was gossip…"

"Told you before about listening to gossip, haven't I?" Dick grumbled, suspecting that it was fever giving substance to Swiftnick's fears. He was an impressionable lad at the best of times. "You hear tales like that and soon your head gets all filled up with lies and there's no room for the truth. Not that there's much room in there for anything except curls anyway."

Swiftnick sighed and sipped his tea, glad to listen to Turpin ranting. He was starting to fee drowsy again and he was only dimly aware of the cup being taken out of his fingers as he turned over and curled up, propped against his pillow, feeling safe with Dick muttering over him.

Dick sighed as he put the retrieved cup on the nightstand and watched Swiftnick drift back into a doze. The lad wasn't old enough to have to have such fears on his mind. If there was any way that Dick could have done it, he would have gotten Swiftnick off the road but deep down he knew it was impossible. The lad was made to be an adventurer, if not under Turpin's wing then alone or, worse, under some disreputable mongrel who'd turn him into a hardened killer as soon as look at him. Left to his own devices, the boy wouldn't last five minutes before he was caught and hung. He wasn't cut out to live a quiet village life, no more than Dick himself had been.

"Guess I'm stuck with you for a partner," Dick sighed, smiling ruefully but not without affection. "Could be worse, I suppose. It could be Glenrae…."

* * *

Two days, Dick thought grimly as he sat slumped in the armchair by the fire, staring into the flames as if he could find some answers there. Swiftnick had been feverish for most of the first day, tossing and turning in a restless doze between bouts of coughing that shook his whole body and must have left his chest raw with retching. The honeysuckle syrup helped soothe his sore throat a little and the tincture of boiled anemone's roots eased the coughing, but the lad wasn't keeping anything down; assuming Turpin managed to persuade him to eat at all. He had given up pressing it on him when he refused. The nausea the lad felt when food was mentioned was all too obviously genuine.

Dick sighed gloomily. He couldn't help it, but he knew he was fretting over him. He simply wasn't sure when the youth had become important enough to him to care what happened to him.

He had ridden with a few men in his time; the vast majority of whom he had never trusted since he knew that most of them would have sold him out for the price of a drink. Robert King, who had trained him in the art - if you could call it that - of highway robbery, had been an exception, and was a man whose trust and friendship he still missed. Glenrae had been another; the Scotsman had simply refused to take no as an answer when it came to friendship. He had decided Dick was worthy of cultivating as a friend and that had been it. Grumble and complain though he might, Turpin knew he could trust his life to Glenrae if he had to.

Swiftnick was, well, Swiftnick was simply Swiftnick. Too young and naïve to truly realise what he was getting into when he joined Turpin, he viewed the world as a bright and interesting playground. His innocence refreshed Dick's own jaded world view even as it frightened the life out of him. Time and again, his reckless bravery had convinced Dick he would get them both killed. But they were still together and Swiftnick was learning all the time.

Glenrae had asked him once when he was grumbling about the lad's latest escapade why he had kept him around. Dick had growled and cursed and evaded replying, but he knew the answer. He knew the exact moment when he had decided. He had finally managed to dislodge the young limpet and get him apprenticed to a gunsmith; a good solid future for a bright youngster. Feeling smug and secure in his own abilities, Dick had ridden off to a robbery and straight into Spiker's arms, humiliating himself by getting cornered by the Captain. It had been Swiftnick, despite the fact he must have felt abandoned by the highwayman, who had risked life and limb to free him. And afterwards, he had grudgingly accepted Turpin's orders to go back to the gunsmith and explain himself.

Dick smiled ruefully. That had been the moment that swung it for him. That Swiftnick would risk his life for a man who had shown him only grudging acceptance and then follow his orders without even getting a thank you had earned him Dick's reluctant respect. He had needed to know Swiftnick would follow his orders and with the lesson firmly hammered home - he hoped - he had taken the lad back. True, there had been times since when he really wished he hadn't. He had lost count of the number of times he had threatened to shoot him in sheer frustration and exasperation, but deep down a niggling little voice reminded him that Swiftnick was still learning. Swiftnick honestly didn't seem to understand why Turpin was so suspicious of everyone and with typical youth thought he knew everything. Dick would forgive him a lot more than Swiftnick knew for Turpin was careful to hide his amusement at times behind a stern and forbidding mask of disapproval. Dick was still convinced that the high toby was no life for the lad; it was too lonely for a youngster. It was lonely enough for Turpin himself! But to be honest, the few times he had left him for more than a few days, he had missed him a lot.

A splutter of coughing from the bed stirred Dick from his thoughts and he set up, peering anxiously towards Swiftnick as he stirred and turned over, pushing up on his arms as he looked blearily around him. Dick felt a small pang of distress that the lad was still fretting that he might be abandoned.

"Here, lad," he called quietly. Swiftnick turned over properly and shoved his hands through his shaggy curls, giving him a weary smile as he flopped against the pillows. "How you feeling now?"

Swiftnick wrinkled his nose and grimaced, but his coughing had subsided quickly again. Dick was starting to hope that was a good sign. "Can I have a drink?" the youth asked hopefully.

Turpin pushed to his feet and poured him a cup of the fresh tea he had made for himself. Bringing it to the bed, he hooked up one leg under him as sat on the mattress and studied the lad as Swiftnick sipped the hot liquid. The youth actually had a little more colour than he had had recently and he submitted to having Dick's hand pressed to his forehead without complaint.

"Do you think you could manage some soup?" Dick asked cautiously, braced to accept another miserable refusal.

"Maybe…" Swiftnick said shyly however.

Turpin blinked, slow to understand, then he ruffled his accomplice's hair in relief and went to fetch him a bowl of the thick vegetable soup from the pot over the fire.

"Dick?" Swiftnick asked when the bowl was in his hands and he was eating slowly. "Did you hear music last night?"

"No," Turpin admitted. "But you were feverish last night."

"I was?"

Dick nodded. He had spent the night awake and bathing his young apprentice with cool cloths, genuinely frightened for his life.

"Oh…I heard music. Lute music and pipe music."

"You must have been dreaming," Dick chuckled. "Remember that dream you had about Glenrae's dreaded bagpipes attacking you?"

Swiftnick blushed. "They sounded weird," he mumbled defensively.

"That's because they are weird," Turpin said dryly. Glenrae would never be able to convince him that the hideous squalling noise the bagpipes made were music.

Swiftnick thought this over for a second. "Got any cheese?" he said at last.

"What?" Turpin did a double take in astonishment at the change of subject.

"Cheese. I fancy some…cheese…" Swiftnick gave him a sheepish look. "Don't know why."

Turpin rubbed the back of his neck in bewilderment, but went to look. He had put most of their supplies out in the corridor to keep cool for lack of a pantry. Half a wheel of strong cheese was among them and he brought it back, carving off a chunk for his apprentice to nibble on once the soup was finished. Swiftnick was yawning and coughing a bit, but nowhere nearly as bad as he had been and Dick felt tentatively pleased that he seemed to be improving.

"You’d better get some sleep," Dick urged as he brought him a second cup of tea.

"But sleep's all I've been doing," Swiftnick complained, nibbling the last bite of his cheese. "I don't feel sleepy."

Turpin opened his mouth to make it an order, then caught himself. He supposed there was a difference between the need for sleep and the imposed exhaustion of fever. "All right then, how about a game of chess?" Dick had been endeavouring to teach Swiftnick how to play the game, without much success.

"Cards," Swiftnick bargained and added a pathetic rough cough for emphasis.

Dick snorted, knowing when he was being manipulated but for once willing to let the lad get away with it. He fetched the cards and dealt them out on the bed covers. Swiftnick was good at cards and quick to learn, although Dick was better. They played a companionable few hands before Swiftnick started to yawn and nod and he didn't argue when Turpin took the cards away.

"Have you ever thought about doing over the London Flyer?" Swiftnick asked as he curled up against his pillows.

"Only about what an easy way it'd be to get shot," Turpin snorted as he drank his somewhat cold tea.

"We could look at it," Swiftnick argued. "I could come up with a plan…"

"Could you now."

"You’re always telling me to plan."

"Aye," Dick had to admit that was true. "But not for the London Flyer. I've thought about it in the past. But it's got too many armed guards to risk."

"You've got me now," Swiftnick pointed out drowsily, yawning. "We could do it."

Dick snorted, suppressing a startling stab of pride. It might be possible at that. When Swiftnick was a bit older and more responsible maybe; assuming they both lived that long. "And we could get ourselves killed," he warned for now.

"Every highwayman dreams about the Flyer, but we could do it," Swiftnick mumbled, his eyes closed and his eyelashes a sweep of gold lace on his cheeks. "We'd be famous…"

Turpin didn't answer, knowing the lad dreamed dreams of fame and glory based on the ballad sheets. He still hadn't cottoned on to the fact that not every highwayman was the gentlemanly rogue that everyone loved to hear about - until they actually got robbed. Then they were the first to call for a rope. "Sweet dreams, Swiftnick," he sighed, patting Swiftnick's shoulder as the lad slept and knowing that disillusionment would come soon enough.

* * *

What woke him up, Swiftnick didn't know. He felt strange, almost light somehow as if he was floating. Opening his eyes, he found himself burrowed in against Turpin's side. The older man was snoring like a saw as he lay on his back, arms folded across his chest. Wondering if it was the snoring that had disturbed him, Swiftnick prodded him irritably in the ribs and sat up, pushing himself up on one arm. The room was dimly lit by the low glow of the fire and the lamp Dick had left lit.

In the shadows there was a man standing at the end of the bed, gazing down at them with a solemn expression on his pale face. He was dressed strangely in a velvet doublet with a great ruff of lace around his neck and was holding a lute cradled against him.

"Dick!" Swiftnick yipped in fright, grabbing for Turpin and shaking him violently. "Dick! Wake up!!" Panic made him start coughing harshly.

"Huh? Whazzit…?! Who's there? " Dick roused groggily, saw the shadowy figure standing at the footboard and lunged under his pillow, grabbing for the pistol he had hidden there. By the time he turned back, the man had gone. "What? Where'd he go?" Dick rolled off the mattress, striding to the foot of the bed and slapping the covers aside to check he wasn't hiding underneath. Baffled and annoyed at the man's escape, he stalked over to check the door. It was still locked from the inside. Unnerved, Dick turned back to the bed, shivering as he realised the temperature had dropped drastically.

Swiftnick was sitting up in amongst the covers, looking ruffled and scared. His coughing was subsiding as he slowly caught his breath again. "You saw him, didn't you? You did see him? I didn't imagine it? It was a ghost!"

"I saw…something," Dick admitted reluctantly. He padded over to the fire in his stockinged feet to stir it back to life and warmth. He didn't want Swiftnick getting a chill now that he seemed to be getting better. "Must have been a shadow thrown by the lamp."

"It was a ghost!" Swiftnick insisted.

"No such thing as ghosts," Dick growled.

"You went for your gun," Swiftnick argued.

"Habit."

"He disappeared into thin air!" Swiftnick wheezed.

"You’re getting excited. Calm down," Turpin ordered gruffly.

"But…"

"Be quiet, Swiftnick!" Dick snapped.

Swiftnick subsided with one of the pouts that Dick knew to his cost. Holding his tongue helped and his breathing settled, the wheezy rasp fading as he got his breath back.

"Better," Dick muttered.

"You can't shoot a ghost," Swiftnick muttered sulkily, folding his arms as he glared at his mentor.

"I was half asleep. Thought it was Spiker, didn’t I?"

"Liar," Swiftnick mumbled quietly.

Turpin glared at him.

"You thought it was a ghost too. I know you did," Swiftnick said in hasty defiance. "He was dressed funny. Spiker don't dress like that."

Dick said nothing. He had to admit that Spiker didn't wear old-fashioned doublets and carry a lute. A brace of pistols, yes, but not a lute. And why hadn't the man simply shot them?

"And how'd he get out? The door's locked, ain't it?"

"Swiftnick, you’re letting your imagination run away with you and I'm too tired to think straight. Now go back to sleep."

"I'm not sleeping in no haunted room…"

"So where are you going to sleep? In the stable? That's probably haunted too. It's all the same castle. Besides, you've slept here for the last few nights without being groped by a ghost."

"But…."

Shoving his pistol back under the pillow, Dick flopped wearily down on the bed beside him. "Go back to sleep." He ordered as he turned on his side and folded his arms, putting his back to the youth.

"But Dick…" Swiftnick protested uncertainly.

"Shut up before I shoot you," Dick repeated grimly. He could hear Swiftnick's frustrated pout in his silence, then the bed bounced as the youth flung himself back down with his back to Turpin and curled up. Dick could hear the rough edge to his breathing, but at least he no longer sounded like a ship at sea. He waited, aware when the lad drifted back into sleep from the way the way his breathing changed. Then Dick turned gingerly over onto his back and sat up, peering suspiciously at the end of the bed.

A ghost? Nah, couldn't be. There was no such thing as ghosts….

Although some did say the young could draw such spirits and sudden cold spots in a room were supposed to be a sign of a haunting…

Dick shook his head and turned back onto his side, slipping his hand under the pillow for the reassuring feel of his gun. Well, the room was warming up again now and he couldn't see anything with his eyes shut.

No, there was no such thing as ghosts. It was all too much imagination and too little sleep...

* * *

"You'll do as you’re told and stay here," Turpin growled the following morning, exasperated at Swiftnick's sudden display of wilfulness. He supposed it was a sign that the lad was getting better, but he was already missing the obedience he'd got over the last few days. He knew perfectly well that much of the frustration he felt when coping with his apprentice was that Swiftnick had a mind of his own and frequently questioned Dick's decisions. He was too used to men following his orders without having to explain himself.

"Not with a ghost around I won't," Swiftnick muttered. He was sitting on the bed with his knees drawn up to his chest, wearing his breeches and a loose untucked white shirt with a blanket pulled around him against the morning chill. He hugged his knees as he watched the highwayman.

"It won't come out in daylight," Turpin told him firmly. "Even if there was one, which there wasn't."

"You saw it too!"

"You were dreaming!"

"Then you were too!"

Dick growled in exasperation. "You're still staying here. I'm only going down to check on the horses."

"But I'm bored," Swiftnick wailed.

"Then read a book." Dick grabbed the one he had been reading about pirates and tossed it to him. Swiftnick caught it and dropped it on the bed.

"Don't want to."

"Then don't. But you’re still staying here! You are not going to the stables and that's all there is to it!" Turpin bellowed at him and strode for the door, slamming outside and crashing the door shut behind him. "Damn fool young coxcomb," he muttered as he stomped down the corridor and down the stairs to the stables. "Hasn't got flint and steel to rub together. Kill himself he would if it wasn't for me…"

He was still muttering darkly when he reached the stables and stomped into the heavily horse scented warmth. Black Beth snorted a greeting at him while Toby looked as if he was yawning at him. Rolling up sleeves, Dick set out about mucking out before he fed them, using the physical exertion to get rid of his irritation. He needed the exercise after being shut up for so long. Part of him understood and sympathised with Swiftnick's frustration, but the lad wasn't as strong as he thought. If he had been able to see that way he looked…

* * *

Petulantly, Swiftnick shoved the book off the bed to the floor and flung himself down on his back on the mattress. Dick was being plain mean. Why shouldn't he go down the stables if he wanted to? Dick was his partner, not his master. If he'd wanted to be an apprentice he would have stayed with the gunsmith!

Rolling over onto his stomach, Swiftnick thumped the pillow and scowled at it. Why wouldn't Dick ever tell him anything? The highwayman treated him like a mushroom at times with all this keeping him in the dark. He was being plain stubborn over seeing the ghost too. It had been there. They had both seen it. So why wouldn't Dick admit it? Swiftnick had too much respect for Turpin's courage to think it was fear.

Dick would probably be gone for an hour or more and when he came back he'd probably still be in a filthy mood. He'd have to wash up in the cold water from the well too and that was guaranteed to make him even more cranky.

Restless, Swiftnick sat up and swung his feet off the bed. He could hear himself wheezing a bit but ignored it. He knew he was better. All right, getting better. But a walk down to the stables wouldn't have hurt. It wasn't as if he wanted to ride all the way to London. Not that Turpin would ever take him there either. It was always ' you're too young', or 'it's not the right time' or 'it's too dangerous.'

Well, when was it ever going to be the right time? When he was as old as Dick? What was he supposed to do until then? Sit around and read like some old toff? He was young and eager to see the world!

Frustrated, Swiftnick slid to his feet and retrieved the book, putting it back on the bed before he flung himself into the armchair by the fire. His toes were getting cold, so he scooped up his stockings and pulled them on, then dragged his boots on as well. Maybe he should go down to the stables anyway. Dick would probably yell at him as usual, but at least he'd prove how much better he was. He didn't need to be mollycoddled…

Decision made, Swiftnick straightened his shoulders, grabbed up a candle and marched briskly over to the door, pulled it open and hesitated…

Turpin really would yell at him. And he'd probably get that weary disappointed look again…

Maybe he'd take a walk up the corridor instead. He wouldn't go far. Far enough to take a quick look round. He could use the excuse of looking for escape routes if Dick caught him. Chances were though he would be back before Turpin even noticed he was missing.

Brightening up, Swiftnick slipped out of the room and trotted briskly up the corridor, slowing to a walk as he felt himself wheeze a bit. The candle flickered, caught by a draught that made him shiver.

Dick would laugh if he found out his explorations had been thwarted by fear of ghosts. Lifting his chin, Swiftnick stepped out, determined to have a proper look round before he went back to bed like a good little boy.

* * *

Black Bess snorted, reaching round to snaffle at Turpin's hair as he finished tying up her hay net. He pushed her head away and fed her the last bit of the stale bread he had shared between her and Toby. "That's almost the last of the fodder, girl, like it or not I'm going to have to go and get supplies soon." He smiled ruefully, knowing he had delayed as long as he could already. He hadn't wanted to leave Swiftnick when the lad had been feeling so wretched, but his little display of wilfulness told Dick he was on the mend and could be safely left for a few hours at least.

Giving the horses a final pat apiece, Dick made his way out of the stables, being careful to close the door to keep the warmth in. He sluiced himself off in the water barrel, shivering at the icy bite of the water and reminding himself that he was a rough tough highwayman who did not dream of rose scented hot water and a proper bath in front of a fire. He still missed that ornate porcelain tub he and Glenrae had filched off a Northampton dandy.

Chuckling, Dick scrunched his way across the cobbles and under the gate, dodging the drips from the gargoyles and taking shelter against the wall from the wind as he peered out. The snow was melting, turning to wet grey mush and mud. Out of the sheltering shadows, it would be almost gone where the sun could melt it. A couple of hours ride would take him into the local village where he could fodder for the horses and food for himself and his accomplice. Swiftnick wasn't going to appreciate being left behind and Dick started to steel himself for another argument as he made his way back inside, being careful not to slip on the ice slick cobbles.

* * *

"Besides, Dick never finishes an argument," Swiftnick grumbled as he picked his way along the corridor. Most of the tiles were broken, damaged by time and worn by passing feet and he was none too sure of his footing. He kept one hand on the stone balustrade that ran along the side of the balcony as he made his way towards the open archway on the far side. He didn't like the way the carvings along the tops of the wall kept leering at him and he was talking out loud because he was nervous. "It's always 'Shut up, Swiftnick. I know best, Swiftnick. Do as you’re told, Swiftnick. Don't argue, Swiftnick. Shut up before I shoot you, Swiftnick." Swiftnick paused, smiling ruefully over the last; recalling Dick's sheer exasperation in the oft voiced complaint. It had given him the creeps the first time Turpin had yelled that at him, until he realised Dick didn't actually mean it. By now Swiftnick had also learned that Dick wouldn't raise a hand to him either; although he knew many an apprentice could expect the strap or worse for even a minor error. For all that he was highwayman, Dick didn't really approve of violence; certainly not when it came to someone who couldn't fight back. "Even when I'm right, he never admits it," Swiftnick muttered, hoping to bolster his resentment and feeling it wash away instead. He sank down on the remains of a stone seat, putting the candle down between his feet and resting his head in his hands, fighting the urge to start coughing.

He was so tired.

And he was lost. Somewhere one turn had become two and then three and now he had no idea where he was. He was pretty sure he had wandered out of the part of the castle Turpin had said was safe and he was now in the decrepit ruined past of the sprawling edifice. At some point fire had swept through the building, weakening stone and wooden beams alike with the heat. He had been noticing some of the tiles underfoot were cracked and blackened; mostly since he had tripped over one section and gone sprawling, scraping his hand and nearly dropping the candle.

Sitting back, Swiftnick rested his shoulders against the cold stone wall and closed his eyes. He had a choice. He could either sit and shiver until Dick came looking for him, or he could retrace his footsteps as best he could in the hopes of finding his way back to the keep. The way he felt, he didn't fancy the idea of exploring any further. Actually, he didn't fancy the idea of moving at all. If he hadn't been so cold, he could probably have fallen asleep on the spot.

Whether he dozed or not, Swiftnick didn't know, but he abruptly jerked fully awake as he realised he could hear the music again. It seemed to be coming from the other side of the stone balcony. Shivering, he slid off the seat and crawled over to peek between the carved stone lions that made of the barrier between him and the huge hall below. For a moment he could see nothing even in the gloom, then he started to make out shapes, splashes of colour swirling and dancing below. The music was strange, high and fine and rhythmic like the tunes he had heard of old fashioned dances. Fascinated and scared, Swiftnick huddled against the balustrade and watched in awe; making patterns from the shapes as he would see pictures in the fire. A host of lords and ladies danced below him in strange costumes; men wore hose and puffed short breeches while the women were resplendent in huge skirts and ruffles, but there wasn't a fashionable wig in sight. Distant laughter and music swirled up to him, the murmur of conversation. Through the throng of brightly dressed dancers three black cowled figures walked, solemnly marching across the hall towards the far wall.

Swiftnick could suddenly feel the hairs crawling on the back of his neck. These people couldn't possibly be here, couldn't possibly be holding some expensive ball in a falling down ruin. Why they danced as if the rubble of stone and crushed furniture wasn't even there….

Swiftnick gulped in panic as it dawned on him that some of them were actually dancing through the rubble…

One of the black garbed men walked through a trio of lords, brushing past them as if they weren't there.

On hands and knees, Swiftnick scrabbled backwards, his breathing coming thick and fast in his fright. As he groped for his candle, his chest tightened and he wheezed, swallowing hard as he fought the urge to cough down. He pushed to his knees, feeling the cough wrench at him.

A wisp of mist swirled around him and something cold covered his mouth, pressing down as he started coughing. He felt fingers press over his lips, smothering him into silence. As he looked around him wildly, hoping it was Dick, he realised that there was no one there. He was alone on the balcony except for a pair of disembodied brown eyes that appeared out of nowhere, hovering in the shadows. Terrified he struggled to get free, clawing at the invisible hand that gagged him. Panic and coughing snatched the air from him. He was suffocating. He couldn't breathe and he couldn't scream…

And there was nothing but cold chill darkness surrounding him as the candle went out…

* * *