Turpin reined in Bess and studied the road ahead of them. The dense evening mist had been dissipated by the wind which had risen at sundown, but that had turned out to be a mixed blessing, since it had grown stronger as the night progressed and was now close to a gale. Even though the moon was full, the light flooding down was made uncertain by the way the wind was pushing the clouds across the sky. It was good enough to travel by at an easy pace, but he wasn't sure the treacherous illumination was to be trusted if they had to make a run for it. And then there was Swiftnick….

Feeling the familiar stab of worry which never seemed to completely leave him these days, Dick turned in the saddle to study Swiftnick, trying to make it look as though he was gazing beyond the lad down the road they had just travelled. The three weeks since Turpin had recovered from his chest cough had been tense ones. While it seemed that Swiftnick had been mercifully spared the same infection, he had never really been right since that night he had gone off in a temper and spent the night out in the open. His normally sunny and sweet-natured character had never returned and Turpin had found it increasingly difficult to carry on any kind of conversation with him without starting a quarrel of some kind. Never the most tactful of men to begin with, Dick had nevertheless grown to dread having to veto the increasingly bizarre ideas which Swiftnick had started to come up with.

"I thought the coach was coming from up ahead, not the way we've come."

Turpin's wandering attention was brought back to the here and now with a thud as he heard the edge to Swiftnick's voice. The lad had grown more and more restless as the wind had risen, and Toby had swiftly caught his rider's uneasiness and was dancing about in sharp contrast to his usual phlegmatic attitude. The hard yanks which Swiftnick gave the reins were just as awry; the boy might not be the most proficient of riders but he was always careful of his mount's mouth, a caution which Dick thoroughly approved of.

"It does, but I'm wondering f we shouldn't call it off tonight. The light's too chancy if we need to break across country."

"Spiker's not likely to be out on a night like this," Swiftnick argued.

"It's not likely," Turpin agreed, "but he'd be more than capable of sending out any subordinate who's annoyed him. A bullet's a bullet, lad, and it doesn't matter who fires it."

"So we come all the way out here just to turn around and go all the way back?"

Turpin frowned. There was definitely a difference in the way Swiftnick was questioning his orders these days and he knew he wasn't going to be able to overlook or tolerate it for much longer. The problem was that he couldn't shake off the nagging suspicion that there was something more than sullen rebellion behind the flares of temper and snide remarks. Sometimes he wondered if he had somehow turned Swiftnick into this perpetually angry creature, since he had certainly not been like this when he had first come to be Dick's 'apprentice'.

A strong gust of wind suddenly tore through the trees alongside the road, setting them into tossing motion and making a sound like the roar of surf. Bess took Turpin completely by surprise by rearing and trying to lunge out from under his control. It took every bit of his riding skill to remain in the saddle and prevent her from bolting. He was shaking a little from the close call by the time he quietened her again, but the sound of the wind wasn't loud enough to drown out the sound of Swiftnick's mocking laughter. White-hot fury claimed Turpin. A fall from a horse could easily break a man's neck if he was unlucky, but at the very least break some bones. To have his supposed apprentice find that funny….

"Stand to!" he snapped. "We'll take that damned coach!"

"Yesss," Swiftnick hissed, his eyes blazing in a face which was too pale and pinched to be healthy.

Shaking his head, Turpin prayed to a God he was all too cynical about that He lived up to his reputation of looking after innocents. He had a suspicion that Swiftnick needed a whole platoon of angels looking after him at the moment.

It was eerie waiting for the coach to arrive at the ambush point. Dick had chosen this point because the dense trees and bushes along the side of the road meant that it was impossible for traffic headed in their direction to have any idea of what was waiting for them. It also meant good cover if they needed to make a run for it, and Turpin was never so careless that he didn't have at least one escape route mapped out. Still, the trees made a strange and unearthly music as they waited and more than once the passage of a cloud across the face of the moon created a dancing shadow which made the hairs on the back of Dick's neck stand up. Having Swiftnick softly singing some childish-sounding song behind him didn't exactly make for a soothing accompaniment. He was going to have to have a serious talk with the pup after tonight.

"Quiet!" he hissed as he heard the sound of wheels coming towards them at speed.

Swiftnick laughed quietly and kneed Toby to come up to stand beside Bess. Turpin glared at him and opened his mouth the order him to take up his normal station of the other side of the road, but time ran out and the coach came around the bend and sped towards them. Dick focused his attention on the job, assessing the vehicle as he urged Bess forward. A post chaise and four, and the horses drawing it were prime bits of blood. With any luck they would have enough rich pickings from this night to be able to lie low for several weeks while he tried to get to the bottom of what maggot had got into his apprentice's brain.

"Stand!" he shouted, pitching his voice to be heard over the sea-roar of the wind in the trees.

The postilion on the near leader very nearly fell out of his saddle as Turpin seemed to materialise in the middle of the road from out of the shifting shadows of the undergrowth. There was a great deal of confusion as the leaders braked faster than the pair behind them, but luckily for the passengers of the chaise, the postilions were skilled riders and managed to recover from their shock swiftly enough the bring the vehicle safely to a halt. The body of the chaise rocked a little wildly but Turpin counted that as a bonus, knowing that it would contribute to the confusion and make the passengers all the more amenable to 'persuasion'.

"All right everybody out-" he started to say as he manoeuvred Bess alongside the side of the chaise.

The sound of a pistol going off inside was followed by the pellet exploding out through the window, showering Bess with shards of glass. She immediately lunged to one side in startlement the movement saving Dick's life as the barrel of another pistol poked out through the ruin of the window and discharged.

"Odds teeth, Blake! You can't shoot worth a damn!" came the cheerful explosion from inside the chaise. "Let me have a go!"

The voice was unmistakably slurred with the effects of alcohol and Turpin's heart sank as he saw his carefully planned ambush fall apart. Young bloods frequently chanced themselves against highwaymen, seeing it as a means of enhancing their reputation amongst their peers. Dick had once nearly got himself killed by a group who had decided that hunting a highwayman was far more exciting than chasing a fox.

Bess had already been restless from the effects of the wind storm and the fact that her rider was keyed up and tense. This latest disruption was the last straw and she half-reared and shied as Dick attempted to back her away from the chaise. Struggling to get her back under control as she snorted and plunged in alarm at the excited shouts coming from inside the vehicle, Dick didn't have time to wonder what was happening with Swiftnick. Habit made him assume that the lad would be keeping an eye on the postilions, who seemed mercifully to be unarmed. It gave him an unwelcome fright, therefore, when Toby suddenly appeared from behind the rear of the chaise prancing forward like some steed out of a fanciful story.

Turpin opened his mouth to give the young idiot a piece of his mind, but he was forestalled by a choice portion of Hell breaking loose. A blast of wind came raging through and with a crack loud enough to sound like artillery, one of the great limbs of an oak snapped off and came crashing to the ground. There were another retorts from all around as the wind finally took several tree limbs beyond their limits. Even though he had experience in battle Dick still felt his heart thudding in his ribs at the bedlam which was all around. Clouds raced and boiled across the face of the moon, sending vast shadow armies of attenuated forms dancing and marching across the landscape, while the postilions gave yells of fear as they tried to control the plunging horses.

"Now I have you, my bucko!"

One of the young bloods had somehow managed to claw his way out of the chaise and half-jumped, half-fell out onto the road, brandishing his pistol. The wind caught at the shoulder capes of his driving-coat making the entire ensemble billow around him like some living thing. He was distracted from his intention of putting a bullet through Turpin as he tried to drag the suddenly animated cloth down from around his head. Turpin had Bess under control again by now and he gathered the reins together and prepared to send her forward to crash into the idiot before he recovered his poise and decided to take another crack at him. The scream of pure terror which suddenly came from Swiftnick very nearly had him leaping out of his skin and he looked around in time to see the lad bring his pistol down to bear on the buck.

"Demon! Demon!" he was screaming, his face unrecognisable as terror contorted it.

Demon? Turpin thought in confusion. There was no time to consider the matter further, however. At this range, there was no chance of Swiftnick missing unless he tried and from the looks of things, he meant to kill the young aristocrat. Turpin turned Bess and sent her charging towards Toby, who was unsettled enough to jump back to avoid her approach. Swiftnick's pistol went off but his aim had been ruined by the sudden movement and he missed by a wide margin.

Convinced that total disaster was less than a whisker away, Turpin continued to urge Bess forward and leaned forward as they went past Toby to grab at the reins. The stocky gelding was only too happy to follow them, tossing his head and snorting a little as Swiftnick tugged at the reins in an attempt to bring him to a halt. Dick yelled at him to sit still and let him take control, but Swiftnick seemed to be lost in a wild nightmare of his own, shouting that there was demons pursuing them. Turpin was seriously alarmed by now. The uncertain light was creating strange and eerie shadows, but to see 'demons' was something he would have expected from a drunk or fevered mind. Neither of them had drunk anything stronger than coffee before they had set out and he knew that Swiftnick had no fever. That left the third possibility; one he shied away from with all his heart and soul but the one which kept returning with ever-increasing strength the longer they rode through the haunted night.

By the time they got back to the current hideout, Dick had managed to terrify himself into near incoherence. He nearly had his arms wrenched out of their sockets after he had flung himself off Bess as he tried to get Toby into the outbuilding. Since the only thing which seemed to be on Swiftnick's mind was to keep running, Dick alternated between hauling on Toby with all his strength and dodging the gelding as he swung around in confusion at the conflicting orders he was receiving. When he finally got the two horses inside, Dick went against the habit of a lifetime and left them standing with their tack on as he manhandled Swiftnick down from the saddle and through into the main house. What Swiftnick lacked in fighting skill he more than made up for in frenzied strength.

"Stop it, you idiot!" Turpin gasped, forcing the words past the constriction in his throat. "I'm trying to help you!"

He might as well have saved his breath for all the notice Swiftnick took of him. Lost in some nightmare inside his head, the youngster kicked and fought Turpin every inch of the way, yelling incoherently. At least he no longer railed about demons since they had left the storm-tossed darkness behind them, but it was difficult to manoeuvre around the furniture without the aid of some light. After nearly tipping the both of them onto the floor after tripping over a chair he had forgotten the location of, he gave in. Kicking the legs out from underneath Swiftnick, he mustered all the authority he was capable of and told him to stay where he was while he got them some light.

Dick could still hear him moaning softly to himself as he groped towards where he figured the lamp was, but being released seemed to have taken the edge off his frenzy. Sighing with relief, Dick finally located the lamp by feel and scooped it up to take it over to where the banked up fire was glowing faintly. He used a taper to light the wick, blinking a little as the wick flared up into a pure blaze of light which was doubly dazzling after the unrelenting darkness of before. The light drove back that darkness, constraining it into shadows which went to skulk at the corners of the room.

The howl which erupted behind him was the only warning Turpin got. He spun around to see Swiftnick hurtling towards him, his blue eyes wide and unfocused in a blue blaze of terror. Before he realised was what happening, Dick had reacted instinctively and thrown a punch which connected with Swiftnick's chin and dropped him to the ground in an unconscious heap. He blinked down at the boy in consternation. He had been so wound up that he had reacted without thinking. He hurriedly bent down to check Swiftnick and was relieved to find the pulse beating strongly at his throat, although it seemed faster than it should be to him.

Deciding to take advantage of the fact that Swiftnick was in no condition to quarrel with him Dick hurriedly lifted him from the floor and manoeuvred him onto his bed. Then he reluctantly tied him down after loosening his clothing so there was no possibility of his throttling himself during any wild lunges. He felt thoroughly treacherous doing this. He should be protecting Swiftnick not treating him like a rabid animal, but until he could understand what had happened to his young friend, he had to make sure that Swiftnick was safe from himself.

He leaned down after he had finished and rested his hand against Swiftnick's forehead, hoping against hope that he would feel the flush of fever, but if anything Swiftnick felt cooler than usual, the sweat clammy on his skin. Turpin drew in a shaky breath, then gave a start of surprise as he smelt a familiar aroma. He leaned closer and sniffed again, deliberately. He had been right the first time; there was definitely the scent of alcohol on Swiftnick's breath.

He felt as though an immense weight had lifted from his shoulders. How and where Swiftnick had got the alcohol from was still a mystery, but it gave a solid reason why he been acting so strangely and Turpin to finally lay the spectre that Swiftnick had been losing his mind to rest. But where had he got the stuff from? Turpin frowned as he straightened up again and glanced around. He had deliberately kept Swiftnick away from the stronger drinks available, having seen the kind of tragedy and ruin which inevitably followed. Dick very rarely indulged in anything stronger than good ale but when he did he usually chose brandy or port rather than the rough gin which was so readily available. He certainly didn't keep any of the stuff in their hideouts!

It was unpleasant to think that Swiftnick had been drinking behind his back, but it was a lot better than the idea that Swiftnick had been losing his reason while he hadn't even noticed! He started to search the place, ignoring the obvious places which Swiftnick would know he went to regularly. As he searched he found his gaze drifting towards the small cupboard which he had given Swiftnick in order to store his few treasures. It had been an attempt to give the lad some small illusion of privacy in the cramped quarters they shared. Turpin had promised that he would never look in there without Swiftnick's permission and he had the feeling that promise had been used against him.

"Stay out of there!"

The softly snarled words made him freeze with his hand on the handle and he looked over his shoulders to see that Swiftnick had regained consciousness once more and was straining at his bonds. "Take it easy, Swiftnick," he said. "I just want to see what kind of poison you've been feeding yourself."

"What business is it of yours? I can do what I like."

Turpin blinked. He wasn't used to hearing that note of viciousness in Swiftnick's voice. Generally speaking, the lad's idea of vitriol was Turpin's idea of a short sharp spat. Still, he had been drinking behind Dick's back and there was the little matter of re-establishing his authority.

"You'll do as I tell you, lad, and smile while you're doing it," he snapped. "I made it clear that you were only to drink ale or cider while you're with me. It's pretty obvious that you've been drinking something a lot stronger behind my back. I won't tolerate disobedience like that."

Swiftnick gave a howl of fury at that and started to struggle against his bonds. Knowing that his knots would hold, Turpin did his best to ignore him and swung back to investigate the cupboard. In an attempt to salve his conscience - which was smarting despite his harsh words to his apprentice - he carefully avoided investigating anything which was soft to an investigative prod, or which was too small to contain anything of any size. He was looking for a bottle of some kind and it wasn't long before he found the wooden box. Dick opened it and stared at the bottle of cognac inside. From the label he identified it as being both expensive and rare, but there was no way something as fine as this could have had such an effect on Swiftnick. And yet this was the only alcohol stronger than their small stock of beer which he had been able to find.

When Swiftnick saw that he had the cognac, his struggles increased to the point where Dick started to worry that he would hurt himself. He moved closer and frowned when he saw that all of Swiftnick's attention was on the bottle. Despite the fact that he couldn't see how the cognac could have had such an adverse effect, this bottle was obviously familiar to his apprentice. He held the bottle up to the light and could see that the level was about three-quarters of the way down. If it had been full when Swiftnick had got his hands on it, he had drunk quite a bit.

"Dick, I need some of that. Let me have some?"

The aggression had gone from Swiftnick's voice, but Dick disliked the wheedling note which replaced it. He'd had Swiftnick trying to get his own way before, but there had been a playful quality to it which had always amused him. This time there was something in the younger man's voice which raised every hackle which Turpin possessed.

"Where did you get this from, Swiftnick?" he demanded.

"It's mine!" Swiftnick hissed, his eyes glittering as he strained upwards. "I stole it fair and square."

"You've been hanging around me too long," Turpin said absently as he went to put the box down. The small folded paper inside suddenly caught his eye and he fished it out, opening it out and deciphering the spidery writing with difficulty. "A gift to enliven your evenings, Sir Glutton, from your esteemed associate, Lord Malvern," he read after a moment.

His eyebrows rose. He knew of Malvern only by reputation, he was happy to say, since the man made Glutton look like a pillar of the community. About the only reason he hadn't been brought to book was because he had powerful friends at Court. There was no love lost between him and Glutton, from what Turpin had heard, so why would he be sending his rival an expensive gift?

Turpin swore and hastily opened the bottle to sniff cautiously at the contents. The scent of fine cognac was there, but he was almost positive that there was something else, something he could only detect because he was looking for it. He hesitated for a moment, then sighed and took a cautious sip. He felt the warm burn of the cognac against his throat and savoured it carefully in an attempt to find something else in the taste. There was a suggestion of bitterness in the aftertaste which he wouldn't have expected in a vintage this fine. He doubted that Glutton would have noticed anything amiss. For all the man's prating on about blood and lineage, he had very little taste when it came to wines and liqueurs. Turpin knew that his butler had been discreetly feeding him inferior vintages whenever he dined alone, only bringing the good stuff out when there were guests with more discerning palates. If Turpin's suspicions were correct, something had been added to the cognac. Glutton was too big a snob not to accept such a fine gift (although Dick was willing to wager that someone like Spiker would have been invited to sample it before any of it passed Glutton's lips). Malvern was too canny to add something which would work immediately, but something which would work over an extended period of time….

"That would work," he muttered to himself. "Make it look like Glutton's lost his mind and gets committed and Malvern destroys an enemy with no-one the wiser." He could admire the tactical genius behind the idea even as his anger flared that Swiftnick had become an unwitting victim.

So what do I do now? he wondered a trifle helplessly. This was far beyond his limited knowledge of doctoring and he was afraid to leave Swiftnick while he went for help. The boy was still thrashing about like a mad thing, stopping every now and then to plead with Dick to be released and allowed to take a small drink.

"No, Swiftnick, I'm not letting you drink any more of this stuff," Turpin said firmly. "It's been poisoning you."

"But I need it," Swiftnick moaned, twisting on the bed. "I need it, Dick!"

"You think you need it," Turpin said grimly, "but you'll soon think differently." I hope he added to himself fervently.

"You've no right!" Swiftnick spat, the rage rising up inside him again.

"I've every right!" Turpin shot back, his own temper fuelled by fear. "You might not have the sense God gave a March hare, but I've been around a little longer and I'll be damned if I let you kill yourself."

"You'll be damned all right," Swiftnick snarled. "You're too black-hearted a soul to ever go anywhere but to the Devil!"

"That's as maybe," Turpin managed after a moment, "but when I go, I'll go alone, no matter how hard you try."

After that, things blurred into one long exhausting night. Accompanied by the eerie howls of the wind rattling the walls of the house, Turpin battled to keep Swiftnick from doing himself an injury, not knowing if the effects of whatever drug had been in the cognac would release its grip on the youngster before it killed him. Swiftnick alternated between wild fits of convulsive struggling and bouts of piteous begging. When they failed, he hurled a torrent of abuse at Turpin which would have done a sailor proud except that he mixed in barbed comments which slid past Turpin's outer armour with ease and hit home with considerable force.

Eventually it got too much and Dick had to leave the room, unable to bear the sight of Swiftnick's suffering any longer. He went outside and let the wind cool his heated skin, feeling it lift his sweat-soaked hair away from his neck. He lifted his face to the sky and was dimly surprised to see the faint blush of dawn painting the eastern sky. He had completely lost track of time as he had waited to see if Swiftnick would recover. He still didn't know what was going to happen and he was amazed to feel tears prick the back of his eyes.

This was ridiculous! He dashed a hand across his eyes and bitterly admonished himself over his sentimentality. Despite his best efforts, he had become attached to Swiftnick and he knew that he would blame himself if anything happened to the boy. He should have realised that something was wrong when he had started to behave so uncharacteristically, but he had allowed his own temper to get the better of him instead of backing off and using his brain to figure out what was happening.

"How in God's name am I going to face Mary?" he groaned. It was bitter to know that she had made Dick take on her son's 'apprenticeship' because she had trusted him to keep Swiftnick safe and free from some of the darker temptations which so many young men fell prey to these days. "Fine mess I made of it," Turpin said bitterly.

He heard a cock crow somewhere in the distance and decided that he had shirked his responsibility for long enough. Feeling far older than he had a scant day ago, he turned and went back into the house. His heart immediately shot up to lodge somewhere in his throat when Swiftnick turned a gaunt face towards him and Turpin saw that his lips were stained with blood. He shot forward and his horror turned to disbelief as he realised that the blood came from one of Swiftnick's wrists. The boy had taken advantage of his absence to try and gnaw his way through the rope holding his wrist to the bed. The skin had already been chafed and broken by his insistent attempts to break free, but he had just made the wound far worse.

"Are you completely out of your mind, you young idiot?" he yelled as he went to get some water and a cloth. He was thrown further off balance when he came back and Swiftnick shrank back against the bed as he approached. "Swiftnick?" he said softly, concern overwhelming the anger.

"Don't hurt me," the youngster whimpered.

"Hurt you?" Turpin echoed, appalled. "Ah, Swiftnick, I'd rather cut off my right arm than hurt you, you young fool. Not when you mean more to me than anyone else alive."

It was frightening to realise that that was the simple truth. As the years had passed, Dick had grown adept at keeping people at a distance and putting a strong guard on his emotions. He might have friends, but he allowed them in so far. No-one was permitted to reach his inner heart, the place where his parents had been before grief had hardened it beyond feeling. But then Swiftnick had barged into his life. The boy had infuriated, frustrated and terrified him in equal measure. He did things which made Dick's hair stand on end, and what was even more bewildering, he persuaded the older man to do them as well. From being a silent, largely introverted person with a savage temper, Dick had found himself mixing more and enjoying some of the simple things in life again. Glenrae had commented on it, annoying Dick by telling him that he was almost bearable again, after too many years.

Doing his best to keep his movements gentle and reassuring, he carefully bathed Swiftnick's wrists and wiped the blood from his mouth. "Would you like some water?" he asked, more out of habit than any real hope. Every time he had managed to get some water into Swiftnick, the kid had spat it back out again and whined that he wanted the cognac.

"Thirsty," Swiftnick agreed, moving restlessly.

Turpin did his best to keep control on his sudden surge of hope. This was the most coherent Swiftnick had been yet. He quickly went to get some fresh water and carefully lifted Swiftnick's head so he could safely take a mouthful without choking. He held his breath as the first mouthful was taken, then had to choke down a wild whoop when it was swallowed and another one was taken. Half the beaker had been taken before Swiftnick pulled back and Dick immediately desisted, not wanting to trigger another emotional storm.

"Feeling better lad?" he asked kindly. He pushed back some of the sweat-soaked curls and felt Swiftnick's forehead. Still no sign of fever, thank heavens, but the sweat was cold and clammy on his skin.

"I don't feel so good," Swiftnick admitted. He gave Turpin a nervous look. "Why am I tied up?"

That gave Turpin pause and he felt the familiar fear nibble away at him again. He thrust the feeling away determinedly. He'd had his share of waking up after a hard bout of drinking and not being able to remember a thing. It needn't be the effects of the drug making Swiftnick forget. He hastily cast about for something reassuring to say, then realised that anything other than the simple truth would just frighten Swiftnick. Not that he was going to be overjoyed with hearing what Dick had to say.

"Recognise this?" he asked quietly, lifting the bottle of cognac into view. Swiftnick obviously did, and the mixture of guilt, embarrassment and anger on his face was almost amusing.

"You went to my secret place," he said accusingly.

"That I did," Turpin agreed grimly, "and I found this, hidden away. Care to tell me where you got it from?"

"I stole it" Swiftnick growled. "That's what I do now I'm with you: steal things."

The barbed comment was sharp enough to sting and Dick felt his mouth tighten against the hot comment that automatically rose to his lips. The lad wasn't as recovered as he had hoped. "Where did you steal it from? The note inside the box was addressed to Glutton. Did you go to his house?"

For a moment, it looked like Swiftnick was going to stay mutinously silent, but something in the expression on Turpin's face must have warned him that he had pushed his luck as far as it was going to go. He somewhat sullenly told Dick how he had found it during their robbery of Glutton's supply coach and how he had decided to keep it for himself. Turpin's initial relief that Swiftnick hadn't taken to breaking and entering was swiftly overtaken by alarm at the realisation that Swiftnick had probably been drinking the cognac for a little under a month. More than long enough for some permanent damage to have been done.

He certainly didn't look well. His skin was still cold and slightly clammy to the touch and his face was drawn and haggard. While he hadn't exactly been lying down and resting, Dick knew how much effort was normally needed to put a dent in the younger man's energy. For him to look so exhausted just wasn't right. Still, he knew better than to allow his concern to show through. At this moment in time, Swiftnick needed him to be strong and confident, not wracked with guilt and fear.

"Well, my lad, it looks like you sprang a trap set for Glutton," he told Swiftnick coolly as he went to put the bottle back down and turned back to him. "There's more than alcohol in this bottle and you've been taking it in every time you went behind my back and had a drink."

Swiftnick looked away, a dull flush staining his cheeks. "You're always telling me I can't do this and I can't do that," he growled. "I'm old enough to decide for myself what I do."

Turpin gave a snort. "Oh, yes, this has really shown how adult you are!" he snapped. And I should have been keeping an eye on you and realised what was happening long before this crisis happened, he added to himself.

Swiftnick turned his head back to glare at him and opened his mouth to make some hot rejoinder. Instead his eyes widened and he let out a gasping scream, his entire body convulsing in a single spasmodic movement which nearly bent him double.

"What the-?"

Taken by surprise, Turpin reached down to try and stop Swiftnick from hurting himself, but he snatched them away again when Swiftnick started to make an eerie keening sound as he twisted and writhed like a madman on the bed. His eyes were wide and staring and when Dick regained his courage and reached out to grab his head, he saw that the pupils had shrunk down to a pinpoint, leaving them a wide expanse of pale, unseeing blue. As the fit continued, Dick began to worry that Swiftnick might swallow his tongue, so he frantically searched for a suitable twig from the firewood and jammed it between the lad's teeth in-between another bout of panting between screams. As soon as he felt the wood between his teeth, Swiftnick snapped down with enough strength to break through the outer bark and Turpin made a mental note not to let his hands stray anywhere near the lad's mouth while he was like this.

At least the wood muffled the screams , which was a blessing. Sick with fear, Dick did his best to keep Swiftnick on the bed and safe, but the lad was strong and he fought against Dick's attempts with near-demonic strength. At one point, Dick had laid his hand against Swiftnick's stomach and he could feel the strong ripples of muscular contractions running under the skin. He wasn't all that surprised when Swiftnick began to retch and he grabbed a convenient pot and held it under his apprentice's face as he brought up the water he had drunk a little while ago. There was nothing else in his stomach and Swiftnick was soon heaving hopelessly and miserably as his body tried to rid itself of non-existent contents.

Eventually exhaustion took its toll and he flopped back onto the bed, sobbing in angry fear as his body continued to be wracked by long, painful tremors. Dick wet a cloth and cleaned his face, murmuring wordless reassurances and constantly petting him in an effort to keep him calm and as relaxed as possible. His own stomach was clenched with stress as he took in the torn skin of Swiftnick's wrists, the blood staining the ropes and dripping down his arms. While he wanted to free Swiftnick from the restraints, he was also afraid that he might do himself even more of an injury if he was free during one of his fits.

"Hurts, Dick," Swiftnick whimpered. "Make it stop."

"Ah lad, I would if I could," Turpin groaned as he rested a hand against the side of Swiftnick's face. There was still no sign of fever but the skin was too cold still. "Could you eat some soup if I made some? You need proper food in your stomach."

Swiftnick paled at the thought of food. "I don't think I could eat anything, Dick. I feel sore inside."

Dick felt the knot inside him tighten even further, to the point of being physical pain. He had to believe that this was just the effects of Swiftnick's body throwing off the effects of the poison he had unwittingly been drinking. He had seen something similar with some of his old Army comrades, when they had been addicted to the laudanum given to them to ease their pain when wounded. Sometimes the craving continued long after they had been healed and they went to increasingly desperate lengths to satisfy the need.

He found himself picking up the bottle and studying the liquid left inside. He remembered Glenrae telling him of a time he had successfully weaned one man off laudanum by gradually tapering off the dosage until the man was free of his addiction. There was a chance that if Dick gave Swiftnick a little of whatever was inside the bottle, he could alleviate most of Swiftnick's pain. The debit side to that was that, since he had no idea what was actually inside the bottle, he could just as easily make things worse. The risk was too great. Turpin put the bottle back down again and turned his attention back to Swiftnick. He was shivering and Dick went to get some more blankets off his own bed.

A strangled wail from Swiftnick brought him spinning round in time to see the lad beginning to convulse again. With a fervent curse, Dick dropped the blankets and lunged back to pin him back down to the bed again. It was easier to keep him down, but Dick was uneasily aware that that was because Swiftnick was so exhausted that he simply couldn't summon up the energy to throw his body around the way he had been. Stretched out across him, Dick could hear the younger man's heart thudding against his chest while his breathing was a sequence of ragged sobs which tore in and out like someone spent from running.

This can't last, Turpin thought in despair. It's killing him!

The attack ended as swiftly as it had begun and Swiftnick collapsed back on the bed again, his body trembling with exhaustion. Turpin remained where he was until he was sure that the attack had come to an end, then he pushed himself up and studied his friend worriedly. He'd seen men on their deathbeds who had looked healthier, he decided morosely, almost inured by now to the cold breath of terror which swept over him. A very small voice in the back of his mind whispered that it was possible that Swiftnick wouldn't survive this. Angry at the realisation that he had actually listened to it, Dick cast around for something positive he could focus on. His eyes came to rest on the ropes which still held Swiftnick.

"I'm positive I hate those damn things," he growled.

Deciding that Swiftnick was now too exhausted to do himself any real damage, Turpin decided that he was going to let him go. That proved easier said than done, since the blood had soaked through the fibres of the rope and left it slick and difficult to handle. The heat from Swiftnick's body had also made the rope expand a little, binding the knots even tighter together. Dick made a tentative effort to unpick them but desisted when Swiftnick gave a cry of pain and tried to shift away from him. Abandoning the idea of being patient, Turpin went and got the scissors and came back to snip delicately away at the rope until eventually it parted.

Knowing better than to just pull it away, Dick pulled over the bowl of water he had been using to bathe Swiftnick's face with and used it to dab at the encrusted ropes softening them before easing them away as gently as possible. Swiftnick still made small noises of pain and trembled under his touch, but he bit his lip and made an obvious effort to hold still. Dick's eyes briefly met his and the older man nearly broke down at the sight of the trust in his apprentice's gaze. It took a while because he was being careful, but he eventually lifted away the last of the ropes and threw them to one side.

"There you go, lad. No more ropes, so you behave yourself now. No running off to find some pretty wench to doctor your wounds."

It was a pretty feeble joke, but Swiftnick managed to summon up a wan smile, albeit a shaky one. Dick smiled back then cleared his throat and went to get some fresh water and some clean cloths. It took a while, but he eventually managed to clean all of the weals up and snagged some of the herbal ointment Green Mary had sold them. He had no idea what was in it, but it had proved itself to be far more effective than the foul-smelling salves the more conventional doctors sold. After that he bound both wrists up with the clean bandages which bitter experience had taught him to always have handy.

"Thanks," Swiftnick said when he had finished.

Turpin gave him a sober look. "Odd as it may seem, lad, I don't want anything to happen to you," he said gruffly.

"I'm sorry," Swiftnick said miserably. "I didn't mean to cause you trouble. I guess I'm not a very good apprentice."

Dick couldn't help but chuckle. "You never listen, you attract trouble the way jam attracts wasps, you act first and then wonder if you should have thought about it a bit more and I don't think you'll be happy until you turn my hair white." He watched as Swiftnick's tired face fell before laughing and reaching out to tousle his young charge's hair, leaning to bring his face close to the boy's. "And I wouldn't swap you for someone destined for sainthood and set to inherit a fortune," he said softly.

Swiftnick's eyes widened and he stared at Dick for a couple of moments before blushing bright red and ducking his head, his eyes bright with pleasure. "Thank you," he whispered.

Turpin cleared his throat, realising that he had been uncharacteristically emotional. "I must be going off my head from lack of sleep," he growled. "Now, I'm going to put some soup on to heat and I expect you to eat some."

"I don't feel hungry," Swiftnick said anxiously.

"And what does that have to do with the price of chickens?" Turpin demanded. "I tell you to eat and you eat, my lad."

"I like chicken soup," Swiftnick said drowsily.

"What?" Turpin said in bafflement.

"You said we were going to have chicken soup," Swiftnick yawned.

"No, I didn't," Turpin said, then realised what had happened and grinned to himself, giving up on the argument before it got started. He knew what Swiftnick was like once he'd got an idea in his head. Besides, the soup was a stockpot creation and probably had had a chicken carcass in it at some point. He pushed the heavy saucepan to the side of the fireplace and started to set the kettle on to boil, then hesitated. He wasn't sure Swiftnick's stomach would be up to either tea or coffee. After a moment, he went over to the dairy cupboard and took out the milk and measured out a couple of mugs of it into a saucepan and set that to heat through. He had yet to see Swiftnick turn down hot chocolate, no matter how tired or ill he was.

He kept a wary eye on the milk while occasionally stirring the soup to make sure it warmed through properly. He took a little time out to cut a few slices of bread, missing the almost inevitable giggles he got from Swiftnick when he did so. Up until he had had the youngster foisted on him, it had never occurred to him to consider his bread slicing skills but it was rapidly brought home to him by an incredulous Swiftnick that Turpin's bread-slicing skills were about equal to his talents as a wood carver.

"Am I going to die?"

The soft words didn't really register for a moment, but when they did, Dick very nearly tipped over the soup pan as he whirled around to give Swiftnick a horrified look. One look at the pinched, frightened look of misery on his apprentice's face stopped the hot angry words which threatened. "No you're not going to die," he managed to say calmly. "You're going to wish you were dead and I hope this teaches you a lesson about drinking out of strange bottles," he finished, forcing a severe note into his voice to cover over the crack which threatened.

"I didn't mean any harm," Swiftnick said miserably.

Turpin sighed. "If I had a groat for every time a child's said that to an adult…. I know you didn't, lad, but good intentions don't count for naught when it comes to other people's malice. Next time you do something like this, just ask yourself what kind of man would send Glutton a gift and leave well alone."

Swiftnick nodded vaguely and turned listlessly over onto his side, curling up into a protective ball. While Turpin didn't exactly think this was cause for celebration, at least there weren't any further signs of convulsions and at least the boy seemed a little more coherent. Deciding to leave well alone for the moment, Turpin turned back to the soothingly mundane ritual of getting the meal ready. The milk had soon heated through and he put that saucepan a little to one side before serving up the soup. He strained all the pieces out of Swiftnick's serving and poured it into a large earthenware mug, reasoning that that would be easier than a bowl under the circumstances. Going back to the bed, he tapped Swiftnick on the knee.

"Come on, move over," he ordered. He made an approving noise as Swiftnick shifted obediently and settled down beside him. "Now, drink your soup," he coaxed. "I've let it cool down a mite, so you won't burn your tongue."

"I'm not hungry," Swiftnick mumbled keeping his eyes shut and turning his head away. When Turpin said nothing, he cracked open one eyelid to give him a wary look. The look of patient determination on Turpin's face made him groan. "I know, I know. What does my not being hungry have to do with the price of chickens? Why you have this thing about the price of chickens when we often as not steal the things is beyond me," he pouted as he struggled to lever himself up.

His strength failed him almost immediately and he would have fallen back on the bed if Turpin hadn't altered position so as to make himself a convenient rest against which Swiftnick could lean back on. He casually swung his free arm around to rest loosely across the lad's chest and raised the mug up to his lips. "Try a sip" he urged. When Swiftnick looked like he was going to turn his head away again, Dick tightened his grip fractionally in warning. Swiftnick tensed for a moment as if contemplating rebellion, then relaxed again and leaned forward to take a cautious sip. Turpin didn't push him, letting him set his own pace, and after a while, Swiftnick had managed to take in half the mug before he turned his face away with determination and Dick realised that he had had enough.

"That's better," he said encouragingly as he rose to get his own meal.

"It doesn't feel like it's going to stay down," Swiftnick observed with doleful satisfaction.

"Even if it's only in that stomach of yours for a few minutes, it will still do you more good than having nothing inside it," Turpin pointed out. "Now settle down and try and get some rest."

It was a sign of how bad he was still feeling that Swiftnick actually did as he was told without any arguments. Turpin finished the soup and filled up any empty corners with bread and butter and cheese. He kept a watchful eye on the younger man all the time, but to his relief there didn't seem to be any sign of his wanting to bring up the soup he had taken. Once Dick had finished his own meal, he set about making up the chocolate and waited for one of the cups to cool before taking it over to Swiftnick, who objected peevishly to being disturbed until he realised what was in the cup Turpin was offering him. As soon as he realised it was chocolate he came as close to being animated than Dick had seen him so far as he gleefully grabbed at the cup and almost dropped it in his lap as a result.

"Hold still," Turpin said gruffly and then settled down beside him to feed him the chocolate as well. "Don't think this is going to become a habit," he said warningly. "And I'm marking all the times I'm having to get the meals and wash the dishes and I'll be docking it out of your wages."

Swiftnick almost choked on the chocolate. "You don't pay me any wages!" he pointed out indignantly.

"Well I'll start to, then, and dock all this out of them," Turpin said with an exaggerated sniff. "At this rate you'll wind up owing me money!"

Swiftnick managed a small chuckle as he settled back sleepily. He was definitely looking a lot better than he had been and Turpin felt some of the pressure against his heart begin to ease. It looked as though that old adage about God looking out for babes and innocents might be true, after all. Turpin could only hope that that was correct, since he didn't think either of them could continue like this for much longer. Swiftnick was physically exhausted and Dick had just about come to the end of his emotional tether. If this state of affairs lasted for much longer he would have to run the risk of capture and go to one of the local doctors. That was always a risky business, since the average physician was just as likely to turn them in as treat them. If it meant that Swiftnick got proper treatment, though, Turpin would run the risk and hope he could come up with some escape plan before their necks got stretched at Tyburn.

He watched as Swiftnick settled himself more comfortably, curling into a loose ball and tucking one hand under his chin before sinking into a deep sleep. Dick kept an eye on him for a little while longer, half-expecting the lad to start twitching and moaning in his sleep, but there was no sound apart from the occasional mumble from him as he shifted in his sleep. After a while, Turpin felt safe in moving away to his own side of the bed. He settled down on top of the covers, not wanting to go to sleep just yet, but wanting to relax a little bit. He'd wait until the worst kinks in his muscles had eased and then he'd get up and tend to the fire….

A hard impact against his face made him jerk in surprise and as he sat up he realised that he had fallen asleep without realising it. The lamp had burned itself out and the fire was nothing more than a dully glowing bank to one side in the darkened room. Shaken out of a sleep, it took Turpin a few minutes to realise what had hit him, but then he felt the bed shake as Swiftnick twisted and bucked in another attack.

"Hell and damnation!" Turpin swore, realising that he had relaxed a little too soon.

He started to get off the bed to go and light the lamp, then stopped as his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he realised that Swiftnick had somehow managed to tangle himself up in the sheet Turpin had tossed over him and was now in danger of throttling himself. With another heartfelt curse, Dick realised that he didn't have the time to go and deal with the lamp. At least his night-vision had been honed by the life he had chosen so he was able to see enough of what was happening to respond quickly enough to save Swiftnick's life.

Reaching out he grabbed the boy and pulled him towards him, tugging at the sheet and finding it far more tightly wound around Swiftnick's throat than he had expected. Dick's initial pull didn't loosen the sheet in the slightest and he could hear Swiftnick making the same little gurgling noises he'd heard from people who had dropped wrong on the scaffold and were condemned to a lingering death. Panic sliced through the last of the sleep confounding him and he shifted position to make a more determined attack on the sheet, hampered by the fact that Swiftnick was still thrashing about. Those struggles seemed to be lessening, but Turpin felt little pleasure at that since he wasn't sure if that was because the attack was ending or Swiftnick was losing consciousness through lack of air.

He finally felt the sheet begin to shift and he redoubled his efforts, half-wishing that he had a knife even though he knew he wouldn't have been able to risk using it when the material was so tightly wrapped around the soft vulnerable skin of Swiftnick's throat. When one tangle finally separated, Turpin heard and felt Swiftnick take in an enormous sobbing breath which was more like a strangled scream. He started flailing with a vengeance, what little light there was in the room shining on eyes wide with terror.

Realising that he could still hurt himself, Turpin looked around and grabbed one of the blankets from the bed before turning back to drag Swiftnick up and wrap the heavy woollen material around him pulling it as tight as possible given the fact that Swiftnick was fighting him every inch of the way. Once he had the blanket wrapped as securely as possible, Dick wrapped his arms around Swiftnick and hitched himself back until he was leaning against the headboard pulling his apprentice back with him and gathering his patience for a long night. To his surprise, however, the tremors which had been wracking Swiftnick's body soon began to subside and he was soon able to loosen his grip a little as Swiftnick calmed. A quick look told him that the lad was still awake, although he started sobbing very softly to himself as he lay back against Turpin.

"It's all right, lad," Turpin said softly once he was certain that the attack was over.

"No, it's not," Swiftnick said brokenly. "I'm not ever going to get better!"

"Tosh," Turpin said roughly. He let Swiftnick go and swung his legs off the bed. "I'm going to get the lamp lit again. You mind yourself while I'm away from the bed."

He spent the time it took to trim the lamp and fill it with fresh oil to marshal the arguments he knew he was going to need with Swiftnick. When he turned back to bring the newly-lit lamp back with him to the bed, he studied the boy covertly as he approached. Swiftnick was lying as he had left him, the misery on his face accentuated by the red-rimmed eyes which stared away into the distance. Turpin had little doubt that he was seeing all kinds of dire futures before him and it was up to him to put a stop to that.

"Well, I'd say that proves you're on the mend," he said as cheerfully as he felt capable of.

"You what?" Swiftnick croaked in disbelief, staring up at him.

Turpin raised his eyebrows. "What, you don't think so?"

Swiftnick clawed himself free of the blanket and struggled into a sitting position. "I n-nearly strangled myself!" he did his best to shout, only to start coughing when his abused throat protested.

"That'll teach you," Dick said reprovingly as he went to get a mug of water. "You got yourself tangled up in the sheets when the attack hit, that's for sure, but that could have just as easily happened if you were sick from some ordinary fever. Or even having a wild dream given the way you've nearly kicked me out of bed on a few occasions," he finished wryly.

Swiftnick managed to look embarrassed and confused all at the same time. Having seen the effect that look could provoke in the average female's breast, Turpin was more than able to quell the impulse to ruffle the brat's hair affectionately. "Stop being so determined to look on the dark side, you daft idiot," he said severely. "This attack barely lasted quarter of hour. That's hardly a hiccup compared with the others you had."

Swiftnick gave him a wide-eyed hopeful look. "Do you really think so?" he demanded.

Turpin had realised the truth of what had started out as a reassurance as he spoke the words, so he was able to look the lad square in the eye as he nodded. "I do" he said firmly. "Whatever was in that drink, it's loosening its grip on your body. With any luck, I'll soon be getting a decent night's sleep soon."

Swiftnick reddened as he settled back on the bed. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"Stop saying that!" Turpin said in exasperation. "I'd be more likely to take a strap to you to beat some sense into you if you weren't sorry. You made a mistake. A really big, stupid mistake" he added to make sure he rammed the lesson home, "but still a mistake. You've lived to profit from what you've learned… which is?" he finished meaningfully.

"Don't drink and ride?" Swiftnick asked innocently. He managed a small smile at the exasperated look that earned him. "Don't drink out of strange bottles?"

Turpin snorted. "If that was the lesson you'd probably die of thirst," he observed. "The lesson you should have learned, you young imp, is to trust your teacher and ask his advice when you're not sure of something." This time there was no levity in the look he gave Swiftnick and the youth reddened and squirmed uncomfortably under that too-knowing gaze.

"I didn't think there'd be any harm to it," he said, guilt making him sound a little peevish. It was on the tip of his tongue to remind Turpin that he hadn't exactly been acting like a responsible adult at the time. Dick had displayed a remarkably selective memory in the past.

"I think you did know you were doing wrong Swiftnick," Turpin said quietly, "otherwise you wouldn't have gone to such pains to hide the bottle from me." He settled down on the bed and made sure Swiftnick was listening before he continued. "I've lived this long because I've learned the hard way that a solitary beast has to be twice as cautious and three times as lonely as someone who has a person he trusts to watch his back. I wouldn't wish my life on anyone else, Nick. I certainly wouldn't wish it on you."

Swiftnick wanted very much to point out that Turpin no longer had to live that kind of life now that he had an apprentice in his life, but he couldn't quite find the right words. He knew that he had nothing to worry about and that Turpin would never abandon him if a situation went sour, but deep inside there was always that little seed of doubt which never quite died. There had been a few times in the past when he had wondered if Dick would be happier if he was on his own once again, but that wasn't the kind of question you asked him out loud. Besides, Swiftnick was so tired that he was finding it difficult to keep his eyes open, let alone start an argument with someone he already knew to be a master at changing the finishing post as he went along. He contented himself with a sleepy smile and an obedient nod before settling back down to sleep.

"Go to sleep," Turpin said softly. "I'll watch over you."

Swiftnick half-saw, half-felt the hand which came down to rest against his head as sleep swept over him in a healing wave.

oooOooo

"Right," Turpin said briskly as he dismounted from Bess and handed the reins to the ostler who had run out to see who had ridden into the yard. "Off you get and come with me."

A baffled Swiftnick did as he was told and watched with amusement as the ostler deftly caught the coin which Turpin tossed his way, his carefully blank face breaking out into a grin when he realised how generous Turpin had been. There had been a time when Swiftnick had done that kind of job at his mother's inn and he knew that the tips given by the rich nabobs who passed through could make the difference between barely living and being able to afford the simpler luxuries of life. Dick tended to be cautiously generous with those less fortunate than himself, tipping well enough to please but not so lavishly as to be especially memorable.

"Where are we going?" he asked as he trailed after Turpin into the taproom.

"You'll see," Turpin tossed over his shoulder before turning his attention on the curious landlord as that worthy approached.

Swiftnick shook his head and stood back to let Dick spin whatever yarn he'd chosen for the day. The White Swan was a new place for them, on the very edge of Turpin's chosen territory, so no-one was likely to recognise them, but it paid to be cautious. It was a little over a month since he had gone a little mad thanks to whatever had been in that drink of Glutton's and Swiftnick still went hot and cold at the thought of what he might have done while under it's influence. He could easily have shot Dick, despite Turpin's scoffing assertion that Swiftnick couldn't hit a barn door unless it fell on him. Swiftnick knew that he was an excellent shot, and if he had a mind to it, he could culp a wafer any time someone was fool enough to bet him on it.

His recovery had been slow but steady, and his sleep had been undisturbed by either nightmare or convulsion for the past week. What was an even greater relief was that Dick had started to ease up on his insistence that Swiftnick pace himself, allowing his apprentice to come out on hold-ups again. Since Swiftnick had been going slowly mad with boredom, that had been the greatest blessing of all. His return to Turpin's side had coincided with three successful hold-ups which had netted enough to make them comfortably well-off for the immediate future.

"Come along, James," Dick ordered briskly as he finished his conversation with the landlord and followed him into the small parlour off to one side.

James? Swiftnick hastily riffled through the small stock of aliases they had set up and realised that Turpin had settled on the comfortable glass merchant and his apprentice from Norfolk scenario. Reasonably well-off but not obviously so. Middle-class and willing to pay so long as the price wasn't too extortionate. It was one of Turpin's more intricate aliases and he only used it occasionally, but Richard Thomas and James Smythe only appeared when Turpin was up to mischief, rather than devilry. As he followed after Turpin into the snug little parlour panelled with a rich dark wood, with red velvet drapes and cushions Swiftnick felt himself relax fractionally as he followed the older man's lead in shrugging off his coat. The landlord smiled and bowed fractionally before bustling off again.

"Sit yourself down," Turpin ordered, taking one of the seats next to the unlit fire and stretching himself before settling back.

Still feeling baffled, Swiftnick obediently settled into another seat. Experience told him that trying to pry information from Turpin would only make the man twice as bad, so he did his best to curb his impatience and waited for Dick to say something. Most of the time Turpin could always outwait him, but this time the landlord bustled back into the room carrying a large tray on which there were several bottles and some glasses. He put them down on the table and turned to give Turpin an inquiring look.

"Will you be needing a bite to eat, Mr Thomas?"

Turpin nodded and put his hand in his waistcoat pocket to pull out some sovereigns. "Something to keep us going until tonight" he agreed. "I'll leave the menu to your discretion, Mr Mullins."

"Thank you, sir. I'll get my good lady to put a few dishes together for you and your lad."

With that Mullins withdrew, leaving a grinning Turpin to advance on the tray. "Nice to be respectable now and then, eh, Swiftnick?"

Swiftnick smiled back and shrugged. "Never seems to last long," he observed, more in satisfaction than annoyance.

"True, but then I don't think I was born to live a respectable life and die in my bed of old age," Turpin snorted.

Swiftnick gave an inward snort at that. Anyone less suited for a life of normality he had yet to meet. Ever since he had been summarily handed over to Turpin by his mother, it had been Swiftnick's mission in life to find out all he could about his new mentor. He'd known Turpin for many years, of course, but it had always been as a distant person who sometimes dropped by the inn and who seemed to be uncomfortably familiar with Mary for Swiftnick's peace of mind. It had been easy enough to hear all kinds of stories about him - many of them supplied by Dick himself - but the trick lay in weeding out the truth from the exaggeration and the outright lies. That had proved to be the stumbling block and Swiftnick often thought that he was no wiser now than he had been when he had first been apprenticed to him.

"Right, come over here," Turpin ordered briskly.

Swiftnick went over to join him and flinched when he saw the various bottles of liquer on the tray and the dozens of glasses. It looked like Turpin felt like a serious afternoon of drinking. He blinked as he realised that Dick had poured two small glasses of a dark ruby drink and was handing one of those glasses to him. He took it without thinking, giving the older man a bewildered look.

"This," Turpin informed him with a mischievous grin, "is port. A very good port, I'll have you know, so savour it."

"You want me to drink it?" Swiftnick squeaked in surprise.

"No I want you to bathe in it," Turpin said in exasperation. "Of course I want you to drink it! At least this way you'll know what it's is supposed to taste like, and I'd much rather you get a taste for the good quality stuff rather than the rotgut a lot of landlord's try and pass off as the genuine article. Go on, but sip it."

After another incredulous look, Swiftnick realised that Dick meant it. He gave the older man a wide, wondering smile, realising that this was as close to an apology as Turpin could get. He'd tried to say sorry himself, several times during his recovery, but Dick had always changed the subject abruptly. Swiftnick took that as a sign that Turpin knew he had been equally at fault but was incapable of admitting as such. He sniffed at the port. Truth be told, he didn't particularly want to drink from any of the bottles, but he was just a little bit curious and this was too big a victory for him to turn down. It looked as though Turpin was finally beginning to admit that Swiftnick was an adult in his own right, and that was something Swiftnick had been working for too long to let the shadow of a fear spoil it for him.

With a cautious sip, Swiftnick put his latest scrape behind him, missing the look of protective affection Turpin gave him when he promptly started coughing as the port hit the back of his throat. With an amused snort, Turpin gave him a friendly clout on the back, breathing a silent prayer of thanks that he still had the lad around to drive him crazy. Maybe he should slacken the reins a bit and let him have his head. One thing no-one could say about Dick Turpin and that was that he didn't learn from his mistakes.

"Don't you worry, lad," he assured a gasping Swiftnick. "After the first few tastes, the back of your throat gets burned out and then you won't be feeling a thing."

The look of aghast horror Swiftnick gave him had been laughing out loud and revelling in the feeling of doing so. The lad might drive him mad but he'd take all the aggravation and fear in return for moments like this. He brought his glass down to bounce lightly off Swiftnick's.

"To new experiences and established partnerships," he toasted.

Swiftnick gave him one of the smiles which were going to make him a menace to any woman for miles around in another year or two. "I'll drink to that," he wheezed, "but I'd rather do it with ale!"

oooOooo