In the beginning there was the word. And the word was...

“Balderdash!”

Swiftnick looked up as he heard the word echo across the tap room of the Shepherd’s Lantern and flinched as he saw the vision in cerise velvet and satin that had uttered it. “Oh no, he’s in one of his moods....” he groaned as he watched Dick Turpin in his disguise and alter ego of Sir Willoughby Mallory turn to fix the gentleman who spoken to him with a withering look through his quizzing glass.

“I, sirrah, am Sir Willoughby Mallory and I can assure you that I would never believe Dick Turpin ever rode that cross tempered nag of yours in his life...Nor do I have any wish to buy said cross tempered nag. Begone, sirrah!”

Bowing hastily, the gentleman retreated leaving Turpin to mince his way across the tap room on elegant cerise heels. An unsettled, slightly awed silence fell over the pub as the display was watched and assessed by one and all. From the fluffy tips of his white feathered hat to the glinting red stones in his gold buckled shoes and the ruby pin nestling in the froth of white lace spilling over his waistcoat Dick was every inch the dandy.

Reaching Swiftnick’s table, Dick posed elegantly, leaning on his ruby tipped cane as he beamed down at his young partner. “Ah, there you are, Nicholas, my inestimable young ward,” he purred in delight as he flipped back his coat tails, dusted off the seat primly with his handkerchief and daintily seated himself.

“You’re drunk...” Swiftnick hissed in alarm.

“Nonsense, I have not touched a drop of the genial golden nectar...” Dick smiled upon his young partner as he delicately adjusted the white lace bursting from his sleeves in an explosion of froth.

“What?”

“I have not partaken of an alcoholic beverage...”

“What?”

Dick sighed heavily. “I'm not drunk...”

“You must be. You’re....chirpy...You’re never chirpy.”

Dick grinned at him. “There are other methods, my dear. Opium, mushrooms...”

“Mushrooms?” Swiftnick frowned in bewilderment. “But...”

Turpin interrupted hastily, realising he was possibly opening a subject that would only cause him harassment in the long run. “Oh, never mind. Don’t worry your fluffy self, little one. I am merely in a good mood....”

“That’s what worries me,” Swiftnick muttered. “You said to meet you here. You never said you’d be coming as, as....him...”

Turpin smiled indulgently. “Well, here I am for your edification....”

“What?”

“I really must do something about your education,” Dick sighed again. “At least see to it that you get one...Ah, miss? Oh miss....!”

The amply endowed young female who had been delivering drinks to the next table amiably swerved over to see what they wanted. “What can I do for you, sir?” she asked mildly.

“What is the house special, young lady?” Dick asked politely.

Her pretty face flushed. “Oh er.....that would be the strawberries and honey with the whip handle, sir....” she murmured. “Only if you require rope it costs more.....”

“What?” Dick choked. “I meant comestibles....”

“Sir?” She gave him a panicked look. “I don't think we do that, sir...”

“Cuisine, victuals, provisions...?” Dick pressed hopefully.

“Ooh sir....”

“Food!” Dick yelped, totally unable to look at Swiftnick’s fascinated expression by now.

“Oh!” She blushed even more, shooting an embarrassed look at Swiftnick as she hastily rattled off the memorised menu.

“I’ll have the duck,” Dick said faintly in relief. “With all the vegetables. And your best ale.”

“Roast beef with vegetables,” Swiftnick added. “Ale for me too, please. And can I have the strawberries?”

The girl went nearly as cerise as Turpin’s jacket. “Ooh, I don't know, sir. I think the master would say you’re too young....”

“He meant for dessert!” Dick practically screamed. “In a dish!”

“Oh! Oh! Sorry, sir. Yes, of course...I’ll get you your drinks....” Flustered, she scurried away to fetch the ale.

Swiftnick frowned after her in puzzlement. “What else did she think I meant? Funny girl....”

“Quite...” Dick said weakly, taking his hat off to fan himself at his narrow escape.

“So what’s the game?” Swiftnick asked, leaning on the table to look at him expectantly.

“Game?” Dick froze for a moment, then realised what he meant and continued innocently. “Can one not indulge himself occasionally with a little refinement?”

Swiftnick’s frown returned. “Is that allowed?”

“If I thought you meant that, I’d hit you with my stick. You are not the dim witted young rogue you pretend to be, my lad. I know you too well.”

Swiftnick flashed him a grin. “What are you up to then?”

Smiling, Dick twirled in his cane in his fingers. “Merely an errand for our dear Glenrae,” he answered.

“Oh...” Swiftnick drooped slightly. He had been hoping for something a little more interesting than that. They had recently made a nice rich haul of diamonds that Turpin had sold for a price fat enough to keep them in ale and meat for quite a while. That in turn meant that Dick would relax and disappear for a while to enjoy the spoils. The trouble was, Swiftnick found Dick’s style of relaxing rapidly became boring. He was too young to consider lazing around the hideout occupying himself with fishing or reading or sleeping entertaining for long. And when he saw Turpin appear as Mallory he had hoped that Dick had started to feel bored too.

“A gentleman approached our esteemed Highland colleague....”

“Talk English....” Swiftnick begged.

“Pay attention,” Dick rapped on the floor with his stick. “He offered to sell said highland colleague a set of maps and a journal purporting to belong to the infamous...” Dick took a dramatic pause. “....Black Fox!”

“Who?” Swiftnick asked innocently.

“Give me strength!” Dick groaned, started to slap a hand to his forehead then paused as he remembered his powdered face. “The Elizabethan highwayman, Nicholas. The one Fox’s Leap is named after? The cliff you nearly took a header off of?”

“Oh! Him!” Swiftnick nodded wisely. “He’s dead.”

“I know he’s dead, you idiot! He was an Elizabethan. He’d be ancient by now if he wasn’t....” Turpin paused, eyeing the spark of mischief in his accomplice’s bright blue eyes. “And so help me if you say anything remotely like ‘did I know him’? I will shoot you.”

Swiftnick grinned. “What’s so special about him then? Apart from the Leap, that is?”

“He was supposed to have accumulated a tidy little treasure trove that went missing when he did.” Dick smiled happily, his eyes dreamy with pleasure.

“And you think this journal will tell you where it is?”

“May-be...” Dick grinned.

“So we’re going to meet this Black Fox?”

“No, we’re not going to meet the Black Fox as you know perfectly well,” Dick explained with exaggerated patience. “We’re going to rendezvous with the esteemed scholar purporting to be purveying the merchandise...”

“Dick....”

“We’re going to meet the man with the goods....” Dick translated.

“Why didn't you say so?”

“I did....”

“Not in English you didn’t...”

“Give me strength....” Dick groaned then looked up suspiciously as the serving girl returned with their ales.

“I'm terribly sorry, sir,” she offered uncomfortably. “But would cream be all right with your strawberries? Only the Viscount’s used up all the honey see....”

“Cream would be fine,” Dick said firmly before Swiftnick could open his mouth.

“Well, fancy a Viscount wanting that,” Swiftnick said anyway, continuing blithely as they both stared at him. “Bit greedy to use up all the honey though....”

“Wanting what?” Dick asked faintly in fascinated dread of the answer.

“A face mask,” Swiftnick chirped. “All the girls I know insist that mashed strawberries and honey make the best face mask....”

“Amateurs!” the serving girl sniffed and flounced off in a huff.

Swiftnick frowned after her. “She really is strange....”

Dick was fanning himself with his hat again “Let us be grateful for small mercies....” he said softly. “And the innocence of youth...”

“What?”

“Never mind. Drink your ale...”

                                                            * * *

“Have you noticed,” Swiftnick commented, watching the bewildered gentleman who Dick had been quoting poetry at wander away; no doubt in search of a stiff drink. “That they all pretend to know about your poetry, even though they couldn't possibly have read it.”

Dick smiled beatifically. “They have no wish to appear as unsophisticated ruffians...” he said mildly. He rather enjoyed the flamboyant personality of Sir Willoughby; poetry and all.  “I am of course composing another epic extravaganza but in the meantime my visit here among the....rustics...is merely to gather information for my latest column on the dining habits of the erstwhile voyager of the boulevards.” He gave Swiftnick an expectant look.

“Er something about food....” Swiftnick guessed. “Of the er, the er....”

“Coach travellers...”

“I knew that!”

“Of course you did,” Dick said indulgently. “Mostly because you know the guise I usually travel under as a poet. The column is merely a cover for my gaining artistic verisimilitude for my poetry....”

“Money?” Swiftnick suggested doubtfully.

“No, colour....descriptions of trees and birds and flowers....”

Swiftnick stared at his partner in bewilderment. The closest he had ever come to composing poetry was the odd dirty limerick. Listening to Turpin wax lyrical over the countryside was a new experience for him. The only kind of birds Dick usually liked were the ones he shot for the pot.

“A sonnet to a linnet....” Dick purred, musing.

“When’s this man supposed to turn up?” Swiftnick interrupted hastily.

“Oh soon no doubt...” Turpin murmured absently.

“Oh....like now maybe? Could that be him?” Swiftnick nodded past Turpin towards the door where a new arrival was drawing as much attention as Turpin’s appearance had earlier.

The stranger was as flamboyant as Sir Willoughby. Clad in a vibrant green silk jacket and breeches so bright it was almost lime, he twinkled with gold braid and sparkling stones set in his jewellery and buckled shoes. Even his cane was topped with a shimmering green stone that sparked green fire as it caught the light spilling through the doorway.

“Oh dear, we shall clash horribly....Still one must bear up nobly....” Dick suppressed a wince and rose to his feet, waving a fluttering handkerchief at the apparition. “I say, sir. Are you looking for me perchance?” he cooed.

The vision blinked at him and minced towards Dick. “Do I have the pleasure of meeting Sir Willoughby Mallory at last?” he trilled.

“Oh indeed, you do!” Dick exclaimed. “Do sit down! Shoo, Nicholas....”

Swiftnick gave him an outraged look but retreated before the foppish young man who took his seat. “Your er...companion?” the dandy said doubtfully as he looked a somewhat scruffy Swiftnick up and down.

“My ward,” Dick responded casually. “Adorable boy...Total lack of dress sense of course, but one is doing one’s best to correct that....”

“Ah, quite.” The fop smiled at Swiftnick and then turned his full attention to Turpin. “Fothering...”

“What?” Dick said cautiously.

“My name, sir; Fothering. Mr Glenrae sent me?”

“Oh yes, quite. Good. Excellent....” Dick nodded, beaming at him. “You have it with you?”

“In a safe place,” Fothering assured him. “You know how it is. Highwaymen all over the place.”

“Ah yes, terribly ironic if it should be taken by a highwayman...” Dick smiled knowingly at him, nodding and ignoring Swiftnick’s snort of laughter in the background. “Perhaps a depiction of the commodities you are purveying?”

Fothering blinked with a faint air of panic. “Sir?” he said uncertainly.

“Another one....” Turpin sighed heavily. “Allow me to elucidate.....”

“Sir Willoughby?!”

“A description of the goods,” Dick translated wearily. “I understand there is a journal and some maps?”

“Oh, er yes, yes, quite,” Fothering beamed like an idiot. “The journal is leather bound and in excellent condition....”

“Not foxed?” Dick asked straight faced.

Fothering swallowed nervously as he gave Turpin an uncertain look. “Er no, no.....all hand written in fact. Excellent provenance.....The maps are also hand drawn and may be of incidental interest to the connoisseur; illustrating sections of the journal as they do....”

“Indeed,” Dick nodded wisely. “And how did you acquire them?”

“They were with the journal....” Fothering nodded earnestly.

“I see,” Dick said with remarkable patience. He could see from the corner of his eye that Swiftnick was watching with fascinated admiration. “And the journal?”

“Ah, part of a small collection I bought from the owner. Mr Glenrae bought a small portrait painting and suggested that you might be interested in the journal. I believe you study local history? He mentioned that you planned to compose an epic poem concerning the infamous highwayman and I thought that the journal might lend, lend....”

“Artistic verisimilitude?” Offered Swiftnick dryly, who was nothing if not a quick study.

Dick hid a gurgle of laughter in his ale at the look on Fothering’s face.

“Quite...” Fothering said weakly. “Although I personally would have thought a tale about a highwayman unlikely to sell....”

“You’d be surprised,” Dick murmured dryly. “The ballad sheets are full of highwaymen and they sell quite well I believe. Besides, my epic poem will be written for love, not money. Art for art’s sake, don’t’cha know. An extravaganza about the doomed love between the highwayman and his mistress....A dark and moody tale of passion and deceit.....” Turpin paused as Swiftnick nudged him in the back, realising he was letting himself get carried way. “But, enough....I must not reveal my secrets. I believe I may be interested in purchasing the items....er buying the journal that is. However I would like to see what I am buying first.”

Fothering gave him a pained smile “If you would care to step outside, Sir Willoughby, that can be arranged.”

Dick took a slightly firmer grip on his stick, caressing its tip with his thumb. The fact that the slender cane concealed a sword made him feel slightly better about the idea that Fothering could be leading him into a trap. “I believe you said you had them in a safe place...” he observed.

“Oh indeed. I have them in my carriage.”

Dick stared at him and decided that he really didn't want to know if Fothering was as much of an idiot as he seemed to be.  People like him were his and Swiftnick's bread and butter after all. “Why don't you show me?” he suggested blandly. “We may be able to come to an arrangement....”

                                                            * * *

“I don’t know why you bothered to pay him, Dick,” Swiftnick protested some time later as he followed Turpin into the run down cottage they were using as a hideout. Dick took his usual careful look round to check nothing had been disturbed while they were gone and then carefully set down the bundle he was carrying on the table. “We could have said we weren’t interested and then robbed him. He was practically asking for it.”

Turpin sighed as he peeled out of his jacket. The finery was all very well, but he was looking forward to getting back into his comfortable every day clothes. “Because it would have looked suspicious, that’s why,” he explained. “Now put the kettle on, there’s a good lad.”

“But that little trunk he had was full of stuff....” Swiftnick protested as he shoved the kettle on its hook over the hearth and started to stir up the fire.

“Most of which was junk,” Dick assured him. “Didn't you notice the stones in those baubles he was wearing? All of it paste. Dressing for the goose....”

Straightening up, Swiftnick wiped a smudge from his face and frowned. “It was?”

Easing himself into a chair, Turpin pushed off his shoes and wriggled his toes in bliss. “Tsk, my dear, t’was obvious. Lime green? Terribly unfashionable. And we clashed....” Dick smugly indicated his own deep pink outfit then sobered. “No, Swiftnick, Fothering was no more a gentleman than I am. He dressed to fit the part otherwise he’d never have got a real gentleman to buy the journal. Glenrae said as much....”

“Then why were you mad enough to buy that journal thing if it’s a fake?”

“Because it is the real thing. Do you think Glenrae would buy a fake painting? No, the miniature portrait he bought was real enough. He thought I’d be interested in the journal. That’s why he arranged for me to meet Fothering. He thinks it might be valuable if it’s real. No doubt he’s hoping it’ll give him tips for the road...”

“I hope you made him pay you for it then,” Swiftnick grumbled.

“Of course. I know how tight that Scotsman’s purse is,” Dick said loftily. “Now, I'm going to change while you make the tea.”

“Hmmh...Dick?”

Turpin paused halfway to his feet and leaned on the table to frown at him. “Now what?”

“You don’t think Fothering was setting us up for some kind of trap, do you?”

“Trap? How? You see anyone chasing us?”  It was only half a sarcastic question. Dick hadn't seen anyone, but there was always a chance Swiftnick had.

“Well, no....” Swiftnick admitted. “But it still seems a bit odd to me. Him dressing up and all....What if Vance put him up to it?”

“Vance?” Dick echoed in bewilderment. “Seymour Vance? What’s he got to do with it?”

“We made him look like a fool when we got away from him before. Using the Black Fox’s journal to trap us would be sort of....of......”

“Ironic?” Dick suggested.

“Maybe...” Swiftnick agreed cautiously.

Turpin raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, it’s an interesting idea, lad, but I doubt if he’d go to the bother.”

“What about Captain Darcy then?”

 “No,” Dick shook his head. “Besides, they don’t know about Glenrae and it’s not like we’re going to do anything with the journal anyway. If it was a trap, they’d have been there when we met Fothering. So, stop fretting and make that tea. I'm parched...”

                                                            * * *

Licking the end of his fingertip, Dick carefully turned the next page of the handwritten journal and smoothed it down lovingly before he started to read again. The candles of the candelabra beside him flickered, setting shadows dancing across the page. The highwayman was lying comfortably ensconced on his bed, his back pillowed by a couple of plump tasselled cushions recently acquired from a passing coach.

“It’s not as if he’s even reading it aloud....” Swiftnick grumbled across the room as he banged about making himself a cheese sandwich. “Oh no, it’s all a secret....”

Dick lowered the book slightly and gazed over the top of it, watching his apprentice curiously.

“Ignores me like I'm not even here. I might as well not be here....” Swiftnick complained, stabbing the knife into the cheese and hacking off a chunk. “I should take Toby and ride off....”

Turpin smiled faintly. “Are we in a mood perchance?” he asked mildly.

Swiftnick froze, looking at him in surprise. “What?”

“You were muttering aloud,” Dick told him.

“No, I wasn’t...”

“Then how do I know what you were saying?”

“You don’t....”

“You were complaining that I wasn’t reading aloud....”

“Oh well...” Swiftnick shifted uncomfortably and went on the attack. “Well, you weren’t....”

“I didn't know you were that interested,” Dick pointed out. “Not once you’d decided there were no gems stuck to the cover....”

Swiftnick glared at him. “You could at least tell me what it’s about.”

“The Black Fox....”

“Dick!” Swiftnick nearly screamed in frustration and Turpin laughed.

“I could make you read it for yourself,” he teased.

“But then I’d have to wait until you’ve finished and that’d take ages...” Swiftnick argued.

Dick ducked his head to hide a smile. It had at first amused and then pleased Dick to spend time improving the skills he thought his young friend should have. Swiftnick’s reading skills had improved remarkably since Turpin took him under his wing, but he still had trouble with handwriting. Turpin had to admit that the flourishing style of the Elizabethan’s handwriting was causing him the occasional spot of difficulty and he doubted that Swiftnick would be interested enough or determined enough to finish reading the journal for himself.  “Very well then,” Turpin said mildly, turning back to the start of the book. “It begins....I am Lord Peregrine Foxwell, better known perhaps as the Black Fox. I am, or was, a highwayman of some small fame....”

Swiftnick grabbed his sandwich and hurried across to perch on the end of the bed. Dick looked over the top of the book at him and grinned. “It’s no tale of fabulous treasure and daring exploits, sunshine,” he warned. “Highwaymen don’t hide their treasure....”

Swiftnick frowned. “Why not? You do...”

“That’s different. My....our stashes are so Spiker doesn't find it....”

“Maybe the Black Fox had someone he wanted to hide stuff from,” Swiftnick suggested.

Dick sighed. Swiftnick had a point. “Maybe,” he admitted. “At least we know he didn’t take a header off the Leap over a woman....”

“No?” Swiftnick sounded vaguely disappointed.

“No, according to this he got shot escaping after the farm wench turned him in for the reward., jumped the Leap – very proud of that he is – laid low for a while and gave up the road as too risky.”

“Oh...” Swiftnick frowned as he nibbled at his sandwich crust. “Why’s he supposed to haunt the Leap then?”

Dick shrugged against his pillows. “Who knows? People always tell stories about ghosts. Everyone thinks he got killed at the Leap. Maybe his ghost felt like haunting the place...”

Swiftnick shivered in delight. “Go on then. What else does it say?”

“I was born....”

“What?” Swiftnick gaped at him.

“That’s what it says. I was born.....”

“That doesn't sound very interesting....”

“You wanted me to read it to you....”

“Can’t we start a bit later?”

Turpin quirked an eyebrow at him but obliged him by thumbing over a few more pages. “Shakespeare can be a charming rogue....”

“Shakespeare?” Swiftnick echoed in disbelief.

“That’s what it says. Apparently Foxwell knew him quite well. Thought he was a bit of a rustic under the talent.” Dick paused, aware that Swiftnick was staring at him in bewildered disappointment. Lowering the book, he folded his hands on top of it. “It’s kind of a diary, Swiftnick. A dairy of the people and places he knew, of the things he did. Oh, he was a famous highwayman but he was a lot of other things as well. Not all of them very interesting to a young lad like you. Why don’t you have a look at the maps? You’ll like those much better. Maybe you can discover where Foxwell hid his treasure. I’ll read the good bits out to you....”

Swiftnick pouted, chewing his last bite of sandwich. “All right then. You want a cup of tea?”

“Excellent idea,” Turpin agreed comfortably as he started to read again. “And a sandwich as well....”

“Cheese and pickle or ham?” Swiftnick asked.

“Yes....” said Turpin absently, losing himself rapidly in the unfolding story.

Swiftnick sighed. He doubted he was going to get much out of Dick for a while at least. Maybe the maps would be interesting. Perhaps Foxwell had had a secret hideout somewhere where he hid his treasure...

As Swiftnick pulled a face at Turpin and went amiably enough to do his bidding, Dick turned back to the book. Lord Peregrine was an interesting character and Turpin would have liked to have met him. As he told Swiftnick however, Foxwell had done a lot other things besides being a highwayman. That seemed to have been something he did for many reasons; money, excitement, the thrill of the chase. But there were also hints that there had been other motivations behind his exploits; royal orders perhaps....

* * *

Dick looked up in annoyance as the guttering candle beside him flickered violently yet again, threatening to go out and plunge him and his book into darkness. “Swiftnick, fetch....” he began and then paused, belatedly realising that all sounds of movement had ceased long ago. Swiftnick, tired and fed up of being ignored, had given up his efforts to attract Turpin’s attention and gone to bed long since.  The youth was curled up under a light sheet in the warm night air, his curly blond hair rioting across the pillow.

“Oh....” said Dick softly, putting down the book to pick up his pocket watch and peer disbelievingly at the time in the dim light. No wonder Swiftnick was sound asleep; if it was much later, it would be time to get up. Regretfully setting aside the book, Dick eased off the bed to shed his clothes and pull his nightshirt over his head before he lay down gain.

The Black Fox was a fascinating character, but he would have to wait, secrets and all, while Turpin got some sleep...

* * *

Black Bess was galloping for all she was worth, pounding across the green velvet turf through a forest of heavy brocade trees. Flowers fluttered in a profusion of silken ribbon blossom with buds of pearl, tree branches heavy with gold thread dripped with emerald leaves beneath a sapphire sky that was adorned with pearl clouds. Birds of diamond sang silver notes as they fluttered past on wings of gold damask....

And a ghostly figure on a dark horse rode beside the highwayman, shouting silently as they hurtled up the hill past trees that clawed at them, bursting out into the open sky as Black Bess carried Turpin out over the edge of the Fox’s Leap....and downwards into the ice cold mists...

Turpin hit the floor of the hideout with a bruising thud, jarred out of sleep with his nerves rattled and his pulse pounding with the fear of falling...

Across the room a bewildered Swiftnick peered at him open mouthed, clutching the tea caddy to him. “Dick?” he said cautiously.

Turpin sat up, pushing his hair out of his face with a shaky hand before he picked himself up off the floor with as much dignity as he could muster. “I believe a cup of tea is in order,” he said stiffly as he seated himself on the edge of the bed. 

“Tea’s mashing now,” Swiftnick answered promptly. “Did you have.....?” He paused as Turpin glared at him. “Maybe I shouldn’t ask?”

“Good idea,” Dick growled sourly, feeling a little better as his pulse settled. He started to pull on his breeches. “You’re learning. But you should be checking on the horses.....”

“I did. An hour since,” Swiftnick retorted with a touch of smugness. “Breakfast is ready. I was about to wake you....”

Turpin glared at him, shed his nightshirt and stomped outside to stick his head in the water butt. The cool water chased away the last vestiges of panic and he straightened up, taking a few calming deep breaths as he looked around him. The sight of normal green grass speckled with daises and trees with proper leaves soothed him. “A dream,” he muttered as he turned back to the cottage. “Only a dream....”

“See,” Swiftnick said eagerly as he moved the jam pot aside to spread the crackling parchment of the map across the table. “I think the Black Fox left clues on this map to show where he hid his treasure. See, the other one fits over the top...”

Dick sighed; a breakfast of bacon and eggs had chased off the last remnants of his panic and he had actually told Swiftnick about his dream, able to laugh at his own fears in the morning sunshine. “Why would he do that, lad? He knew where his treasure was. Why go telling everyone?” he asked patiently, munching a last bite of toast. The bread had been stale, but it was good enough to toast.

Swiftnick frowned at him. “Maybe his memory wasn’t much good...?”

“Then why not simply write down where it actually was? No need for a map and clues...”

“Perhaps he wanted someone else to find it then....”

Dick chewed his toast and said nothing. That was a more likely explanation. “Even so, we don't have time to go looking for some non existent treasure....”

“Non-?”

“Non existent. Something that isn't real. Something that isn't there, Swiftnick....”

“But you had a dream about it...”

“And that’s all it was....”

“You said it’s in the journal. About all those gems....”

“He could have been making it up....” Turpin pointed out, reaching for his tea. He hadn't had enough sleep to cope with an overly enthusiastic apprentice. “Besides, even if there was ever something there in the first place, which I don’t think there ever was, then someone else will have found it long ago. We’re not the first to have seen the maps or the journal, lad.”

Swiftnick frowned at the map. Part of him knew Turpin was probably right, but he was young enough to believe in hidden treasure. “But....”

“Look, lad, we don’t have time to waste powder and shot over it....”

“Why not? What if there is a treasure?”

“There isn’t....”

“You can’t know that....And we do too have time....It’s not like we’re doing anything except sitting around fishing....”

“I thought you enjoyed fishing...” Dick protested plaintively.

“I'm bored!”

“Uh oh....” Dick groaned softly. Swiftnick and boredom equalled trouble and exasperation for Turpin. “Look, you know as well as I do that a fancy wig or a handsome jacket is worth a bit. That was probably true for the Black Fox too. But the fabric of these dress borders he’s on about will have long since rotted away. It’ll be worthless to us....”

“But you said he said they were embroidered with gold and gems. That can’t have rotted....”

“Exaggeration,” Dick said firmly. “Coloured silk embroidery....”

Frustrated, Swiftnick gathered up the map and folded it carefully. “Well, I'm going to look for it....” he said firmly.

“You’re not!” Dick snorted.

“I am! And I’ll bet I’ll find it too!”

Dick stared at him, startled by his defiance. “Look, sticky fingers,” he said sharply. “If there was a treasure, which there isn’t, you’d need to me find it...”

“I do not!”

“Swiftnick....”

“No! I...I’ll bet you I can find it before you do!”

“I'm not even going to look for it....” Dick growled in exasperation.

“That’s because you know you couldn’t find it!”

“That’s not true!”

“Is!”

“Is not!”

“Is!”

“Isn’t....” Dick caught his breath, realising he was bickering like an idiot. “I am not going to argue with you.”

“Too late....” Swiftnick muttered.

“Enough! There is no treasure. Now, I'm going to finish reading that blasted book while you wash up....”

“I....”

“And then maybe we’ll talk about it....”

Swiftnick shot him a fulminating look and grabbed for the plates.

“And mind you don't break any....” Dick warned.

Swiftnick said a rude word under his breath and turned his back on him.

Turpin eyed his apprentice’s eloquent back as he started nosily clearing up and winced. Dick might have won the first skirmish but he had the distinct feeling that he hadn't won the argument. Swiftnick appeared to be set on finding the treasure....

                                                            * * *

Dick sighed and rolled over in bed, reluctantly prying his eyes open on the sunshine spilling through the window. He assumed that since he couldn’t hear Swiftnick clumping about – the lad could make the quietest floorboard creak however stealthy he attempted to be – that it was still early and he could go back to sleep. At least he hadn't had any nightmares during the night this time. Of course, if he had believed in dreams, he would have had the uncomfortable feeling that the Black Fox had been doing his ghostly best to warn him of something in the last one. But that was obviously ridiculous. It was far more likely that his own conscience was warning him against being greedy. Chasing after a non existent treasure was foolhardy and would no doubt lead to trouble. He didn’t need any ghost to tell him that!

The more Dick thought about it though, the more it niggled at him. Why had the Black Fox hidden something and then left a map to lead to it? Was Swiftnick right about the highwayman hiding something to distract his equivalent of Spiker? And why, since Foxwell had abandoned the road and survived, would he not have gone back to collect whatever he had hidden?

Dick knew what the borders the Black Fox had mentioned were; the heavily embroidered panels that once adorned the fronts of Elizabethan ladies’ skirts. Some of them had been worth a fortune with the amount of jewels scattered over them as decoration. Once the jewels had been removed however, there would have been no way to identify them as far as Dick knew and therefore easily sellable.

If there was anything left, it would be worth finding...

Yet the Black Fox had kept them and hidden them and hinted at a secret concerning them....

And secrets meant trouble....

But....an Elizabethan secret? Surely such an ancient secret could hardly do him and his any harm...

Sapphires, the Black Fox had said as he lovingly described the lavishly jewelled and embroidered panels, sapphires and emeralds and rubies.....Sparkling and glittering like stars on the sea....

Foxwell had definitely had the spirit and eye of a highwayman interested in the finer things in life...

It wouldn't be that difficult to find an Elizabethan cache, would it? He had the journal and the maps. It wouldn't hurt to have another look at the maps and see if there was anything worth while in the tale?

It’d shut Swiftnick up for a while as well.

Dick smiled to himself as he folded his arms behind his head. The lad had a point. There was only so much rest and relaxation a man could take before he got bored. Fishing didn't really compare to the thrill of the chase and the wild excitement of hunting a coach and four....

Suddenly pleased and eager for the prospect of action, Dick flung off the sheet and rolled out of bed. Stretching energetically, he shed his nightshirt and reached for his clothes, glancing over his apprentice’s bed where his hair could be seen peeping over the covers. “Swiftnick! Up and at them, lad!” he called briskly as he pulled on his breeches. “We’re going treasure hunting. No point in sitting around here when there’s a fortune to be found...” Dick paused with a frown. There had been no drowsy mumble of complaint as Swiftnick was disturbed, no rustle of sheets as the youth burrowed down to avoid him. “Swiftnick?”

Abruptly suspicious, Dick strode over to Swiftnick’s bed and yanked back to sheets and stared in disbelief at the neatly mounded pillows, topped by one of Turpin’s wigs. Not quite able to believe it, Dick picked up the wig and stared at it, then flung it down and ran for the stables....

                                                            * * *

Black Bess was in her stall, idly munching hay. She gave him a sleepy look as Turpin burst through the door and then turned back to her breakfast. There was no sign of Toby and his harness was gone as well.

“I’ll kill him,” Dick growled in frustration, dragging one hand through his hair. “I will! I’ll bloody kill him for riding off on his bloody own....”

Spotting a flash of white on the stall partition as he turned to go, Dick stomped over to rip it down from the nail Swiftnick had used to pin his note up. Curious, Black Bess nuzzled his back and peered over his shoulder as he read it. “Gone treasure hunting. Back soon. Swiftnick,” Dick read aloud to the mare, continuing sarcastically. “Well, that’s all right then, isn't it? That’s fine and dandy. He’s gone off without telling me where! Goodness knows what the wet behind the ears wretched young snirp will get himself into!”

Black Bess snorted again and gave him a disapproving look for yelling in her ear. “Sorry, girl,” Dick apologised, rubbing her nose. “But he makes me wild at times....”

She snorted again, whiffling at him. “Yes, I know, I know. I’ll have to go after him, won’t I? But where? I don't even know which direction he took. Or how long he’s been gone....”

Turpin shook his head, controlling his temper to think straight. Frustration and exasperation with Swiftnick for wantonly disobeying him made his jaw clench, but he supposed he could see the youth’s point of view. Swiftnick was bored, he had said as much. He probably honestly believed he had figured out where the Black Fox’s treasure was and wanted to find it on his own to prove to Turpin that he could do it. It wouldn't be the first time he had done something irresponsible in an effort to impress Turpin. At least this one wasn’t as wild as some of his escapades....

Dick sighed heavily as his temper ebbed. “I should have listened I suppose....But don't you tell him I said that. He’s still doing to get a clip round the ear for this....”

Black Bess snorted, assuring him of her compliant silence and Dick chuckled, rubbing her velvety nose again. “You could do with a bit of a run too, girl, hmmh?” he said affectionately. ”But I’d better go get dressed first.  Someone would notice me riding around half naked and we don't want that, do we?”

With a final pat to the mare’s neck, Dick trotted out of the stable to search the ground outside. Sure enough, the ground still held faint traces of Toby’s hoof prints where the big bay had to let his rider mount up. Tracks led off towards the trees that fringed the hill behind the cottage.... 

Satisfied, Dick headed back for the cottage, looking for more clues to guide him. Black Bess obviously hadn’t finished her breakfast yet, she had plenty of hay left and some oats since she liked sample each in turn. So, it couldn’t have been that long since Swiftnick fed her.  There was food missing from the larder; bread, cheese and apples...so Swiftnick had obviously planned his excursion in advance. No doubt he had been making sandwiches while Dick was busy reading.

“I have to learn to pay more attention when he’s quiet,” Dick muttered as he gingerly tested the side of the kettle. It was still quite warm as he thrust it back over the fire and prompted the coals back to life. He doubted if Swiftnick had been gone for more than an hour or so....

At the time he was too busy swearing about it but later he blamed it on that fact that he hadn't had his first cup of tea before he realised Swiftnick had scampered. But it wasn’t until the tea was made and he sat down to look at the maps, that he realised that not only were they gone, but so was the journal he had left beside his bed....

                                                            * * *

“I'm sticking to you, ‘cause I'm made out of glue! Anything that you might do, I'm gonna do too....” Swiftnick warbled happily to himself as Toby ambled along the dusty track, heading down hill towards the pub. He was hungry; a natural state of affairs for a youth his age. He hadn't dared make breakfast while Turpin was still asleep, although he had dared a quick cup of herb tea before he left. The cheese, bread and apples in his saddlebags he meant to keep for later and his plan was to drop in at the pub for breakfast while he finished making his plans for treasure hunting. Besides, the Black Fox had mentioned it in his journal and he had to start somewhere in his search for the treasure...

The Giant’s Lodge was a pub he had visited before with Turpin. The food was good, the price of lodgings reasonable and Swiftnick didn't think Dick would come looking for him at a place so close to Dark Fell. Besides, the innkeeper was an inveterate gossip and Swiftnick knew he was a fund of local knowledge. Trotting Toby into the stable yard, he looked round curiously and was surprised to see a familiar wagon hauled up against the wall of the stable block. “Frank Dibblethwaite,” Swiftnick murmured to himself in delight, knowing the wagon‘s owner well. Dibblethwaite called himself an entrepreneur although Dick called him a lot of other things. But he was basically a vendor of almost anything you could ask for and even more of a gossip than the innkeeper. He was also safe to talk to. Dibblethwaite knew what Turpin and his partner were and would keep his mouth shut.

Leaving Toby in the stable hand’s care, Swiftnick slipped into the pub and looked around him curiously, wondering what Dibblethwaite would be selling this time. He soon spotted the man’s familiar black bearded face as he leaned on his cloth covered basket, dispensing home grown wisdom and innocuous herbs with amazing powers.

“Hello, love,” one of the serving women greeted Swiftnick amiably as he hovered in the doorway. She was an older woman, neatly dressed and with a friendly smile for a young visitor. “Can I help you?”

 “Could I have an ale, please? And what’s on the menu worth eating?”

“Hungry, are you? We have a nice bit of beef with gravy and vegetables with stewed apples and custard to follow. Or rhubarb if you prefer.”

Swiftnick was delighted and a little embarrassed by her chuckle when his stomach rumbled loudly as he ordered. Promising she wouldn't be long, she went off to the kitchen while Swiftnick found himself an empty table by the wall. A pot boy brought him a pitcher of ale and a platter of fresh bread and butter to keep him going while his dinner was prepared. Chewing happily, Swiftnick fished out the journal he had borrowed from Turpin and settled down to pick his way through a couple more pages while he waited for his food. He wasn’t really surprised when Dibblethwaite ambled over to his table to join him after a few minutes. “Hello, my young buck. What are you doing out on your onesy? The ram rarely lets the lamb out of the fold on his own...”

Hastily closing the journal, Swiftnick tucked it under his leg out of sight for safe keeping. “Oh, you know how it is. He’s gone off somewhere and I've got to eat....” he said, hoping didn't sound as if he was lying. He strongly suspected that anyone who knew he rode with Turpin tended to look out for him and report back to the highwayman.

“Mind if I sit with you then?” Frank asked.

“Help yourself....” Swiftnick gestured amiably, pleased to have got him to himself.

Dibblethwaite sat down with a grateful sigh, stretching his legs under the table and setting his basket down on the floor beside him. “Not selling much this early,” he told the youth. “Crowd’s better later when they’ve been drinking for a while.”

“What is it you’re selling this time?” Swiftnick asked curiously.

Frank winked at him. “A little of this, a little of that....Something every lad needs....”

“I'm not buying anything,” Swiftnick responded firmly. “Dick told me not to buy anything from you ever...”

“And do you always do what he tells you?” Dibblethwaite teased.

“No,” Swiftnick retorted, feeling himself flush. “But I don't need any parsnips...”

“And what makes you think I'm not selling the genuine article sea holly?”

“Are you?” Swiftnick challenged.

Frank laughed, making his heavy beard bristle. “No, sea holly this time, but love potions....”

“Why doesn’t everyone think you’re a witch?” Swiftnick demanded.

“Because, my lad, they all think I'm an apothecary.”

“But you’re not an apothecary....”

“They don’t know that though, do they?  The thing is, if they think something’s going to be effective, it somehow is....”

“Magic....” Swiftnick murmured uncertainly.

“No, lad, tis the power of suggestion. Like the shell and pea game?”

“Oh....” Swiftnick broke off as the first course of his meal arrived. The serving woman frowned at Dibblethwaite as she laid out the platters for her young guest.

“I hope you’re not leading this young lad astray, Frank,” she warned darkly.

“Who? Me?” Dibblethwaite gave her a shocked look as Swiftnick suppressed a giggle.

“He doesn't need any of your potions....” she added firmly. “And if I find you’ve been selling him any, I’ll take a broom to you. You see if I don’t.”

“Ooh, promise?” Dibblethwaite fluttered his eyelashes at her and, obviously despite herself, she laughed.

“Oh, go on, get out of it you!” she scolded, slapping him on the shoulder.

Frank grinned at her amiably. “I wouldn't mind a bite to eat myself. I'm partial to beef,” he said however. “And a pitcher of ale to share with my young friend here.”

She frowned at him and looked to Swiftnick for permission. “That all right with you, lad?”

Swiftnick nodded. “It’s all right, I know Mr Dibblethwaite.”

“I’ll bring you the beef then. Apples or rhubarb to follow?”

“Apples. Can’t abide rhubarb. Sour stuff. Unlike yourself, my sweet!” Dibblethwaite said slyly, sliding an arm around her waist.

“Flirt,” she snorted, but there was a twinkle in her eye as she slipped out of his embrace and went off to serve someone calling for more ale before disappearing into the kitchen.

“Mr Dibblethwaite, is it?” the vendor commented, turning back to Swiftnick who was busily making inroads into his meal.  “You can call me Frank. Dick not feeding you is he? Anyone would think you were starving.”

“I'm hungry,” Swiftnick protested, pausing for a bite of bread and a mouthful of ale to wash it down.

“I can tell. Best if I don't get too close then....” Swiftnick glared at him and Dibblethwaite grinned back, unabashed. “So, like I said, out on your own, are you? What are you up to?”

“If I told you that, I’d have to kill you, wouldn't I?” Swiftnick retorted.

Dibblethwaite chuckled. “Ooh, scary,” he teased. “Not in trouble, are you? Not run off from Dick?”

“No....” Swiftnick said firmly.

Frank gave him a thoughtful look. “Nothing to do with me if you have,” he said however. “But if you need somewhere to stay?”

“I don’t....” Swiftnick repeated firmly.

“Not very talkative, are you?” 

“Dick says I talk too much....”

Dibblethwaite raised an eyebrow. “You’re definitely up to something,” he decided cheerfully.

“What gives you that idea?” Swiftnick wondered, eyeing him warily over the rim of his tankard as he took another mouthful.

The vendor shrugged. “You learn to tell these things when you’re in my line of trade. So, let me see. You’re not in trouble or you wouldn’t be sitting here chatting to me. You’re not scared of Dick finding you, but you’re obviously avoiding him....”

“Who says?” Swiftnick protested indignantly.

“You did....”

“I did not!”

Dibblethwaite smirked. “So, you’re up to something behind his back that you don't want him to know about. Now what could that be? Not a coach. A girl maybe?”

“No...” Swiftnick hunched, wishing he had never let Dibblethwaite sit with him. He hadn't realised how nosey he was.

Resting his elbows on the table, Dibblethwaite folded his hands together and peered over to the top of them at his young companion.  “Anything to do with that book you were so keen to hide from me then?”

“Book? What book?” Swiftnick gave him best wide eyed innocent look.

Frank snorted. “Oh, you’re good, lad,” he chuckled in amusement. “If you ever decide to give up the road, you should take up trade. I almost believe you.”

Swiftnick sighed and slumped, adding a little pout as he drooped.  “You wouldn't understand,” he said forlornly.

“Here, don't take on so,” Dibblethwaite exclaimed, alarmed. “Daisy’ll be after me with her broom if she thinks I upset you. What wouldn't I understand?”

Swiftnick let his lower lip quiver a little bit. “I only wanted to get Dick a present. It’s his birthday soon.....”

“Dick has a birthday? I thought he sprang up full formed like a mushroom...”

Swiftnick had to bite his lip not to smile at that. “Well, he does....” he murmured.

“Well then, what kind of present did you have in mind? Maybe I can help.”

Swiftnick looked up at him from under his eyelashes. “He’s always wanted to find the Black Fox’s treasure....” he said, letting his voice quiver a tiny bit.

“The Black Fox’s.....Oh now, lad, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but that’s no more than a myth,” Dibblethwaite paused uncertainly as Swiftnick gave him a huge eyed look of sadness. “You know what a myth is?”

“A female moth?” Swiftnick said innocently.

Dibblethwaite’s jaw dropped. “A female.....Uh, you’re joking, right?”

“Of course I am,” Swiftnick sniffed. “So there are stories about a treasure?”

“There are no ends of stories about treasure. We’re close to Dark Fell here. Everyone’s supposed to have hidden treasure here. Duval, the Black Fox, even your namesake. Half of them never even come near the place!”

“But the Fox did,” Swiftnick pressed. “They named the Leap after him.”

Dibblethwaite paused, pursing his lips behind his beard as he eyed Swiftnick in sudden suspicion. “Aye, so they say. And did you know some have taken to calling it Fox Cub’s Leap?”

Swiftnick blinked. “Whatever for?”

Dibblethwaite grinned, but before he could say anything he was interrupted by the return of Daisy with the vendor’s meal and dessert for Swiftnick. She heard Swiftnick’s question however and had an answer for him. “That Turpin’s young partner is supposed to have jumped it to get away from Vance and his men,” she explained. “All nonsense of course, so don’t you go getting any ideas, lad. No one could jump that. Vance’s men lost the lad in the fog is what happened. Couldn’t tell Vance it was the fog though, could they? He’d have had the hide off them. Good for the young rogue, I say. Now, Frank, pay up...”

“What? Oh yes....” Hastily fishing out his purse, Dibblethwaite paid for his meal and she went off to pounce on her next customer. Frank turned back to Swiftnick who was mopping up the beef gravy with the last of his bread. “Did you?”

“Did I what?” Swiftnick gave him an ingenuous look.

“Jump the Leap?” Dibblethwaite pressed as he started his meal.

Swiftnick gazed back at him steadily, contemplating what he should say. “Dick says boasting is as good as lying,” he answered solemnly.

“What kind of an answer is that?” Frank exclaimed in disgust.

Swiftnick grinned. “Turpin’s partner jumped the Leap because he didn’t know any better. But the Black Fox jumped it first. And he hid his treasure around here.”

Dibblethwaite sighed. “Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. How should I know?”

“Dick says you know all the stories.”

“I bet he didn't put it that politely.”

Blue eyes sparkling with mischief, Swiftnick shrugged. “Is he wrong?”

“No, I am something of a raconteur.”

“A what?”

“Story teller,” Dibblethwaite translated. “Everyone likes to hear treasure stories. But I'm telling you now, lad, all sorts of men have come here looking for treasure and they ain’t found anything. Duval’s supposed to have a golden flute hidden up on Dark Fell somewhere. And I don't believe in that any more than I do in faeries.”

Setting aside his plate, Swiftnick pulled his dish of stewed apples and custard to him. “I heard someone found a hoard of silver coins...” he said slowly.

“Aye, Roman they say. Was a farmer who found them. Smart man. Took his wife and disappeared. Soon after that every man and his wife were up there digging up his farm. No one found anything else though.”

“But he did find the coins....”

“Only because he wasn’t looking for them. Serendipitous like.”

“What?” Swiftnick demanded irritably. He was getting really fed up of people using words he didn't understand. First Turpin and now Dibblethwaite.

“Lucky, lad, lucky. You really looking for a present for Dick?”

“It’ll be a surprise for him,” Swiftnick said dryly.

“Yesss.....” Frank gave him a dubious look. “Are you really looking for the Black Fox’s treasure?”

“Yes,” Swiftnick nodded firmly, at the same time looking bright eyed and innocent.

Dibblethwaite snorted. “As if I’d believe that. Well, I can tell you’re up to something that you don’t want me to know about either. So, what do you want to know?”

“Tell me about the Black Fox.”

“You could ask Dick....”

“Dick isn't here. And it wouldn’t be a surprise if I asked him, now would it?”

“You’re a twisty youngster, ain’t you?” Dibblethwaite observed in amusement. “Let’s see now, the Black Fox was a nobleman by the name of....”

“Peregrine Foxwell, I know that,” Swiftnick interrupted enthusiastically.

“Well now, according to the story, he was one of her majesty’s favourites, but he was a bit of a lad and turned highwayman for the excitement as much as the money. But after he came to his title, he settled down...”

“Boring,” Swiftnick commented.

“No doubt to you, lad. And apparently to him as well, because he still had a fling or two. One such fling was what led him to the Leap. Betrayed by a woman he was....”

“I know that bit....”

Dibblethwaite sighed. “Who’s telling this story? Me or you?”

“Oh you!” Swiftnick said eagerly.

“So, anyway, he decided to give up the road. Getting shot’ll clear a man’s mind wonderfully they say....” Dibblethwaite paused, giving Swiftnick an expectant look but the youth stayed silent. “But Foxwell had attracted the attention of Walsingham....”

“Who?”

“Her majesty’s spymaster. He knew about Foxwell’s exploits...or guessed. But he persuaded Foxwell to put his talents to use in protecting her majesty. There were all kinds of assassination plots against Elizabeth going on about then and Walsingham thought Mary Stuart was at the centre of them.  So, he set someone to spy on her.  According to the story, Mary was supposed to have written to the King of Spain proposing a plot to kill Elizabeth and put her on the throne in her place. The plans were supposed to have been smuggled out of the castle where she was held, in her lady in waiting’s skirts. Someone robbed the girl, but Foxwell denied it being him. So there were no plans and the girl denied all knowledge of any plot; not that they ever let her see Mary again of course, but then they didn't kill her either. Some say the girl was in Walsingham’s pay all along. But that’s your treasure, lad, a bunch of manuscripts in Mary Stuart’s own hand.”

“That’s not what it says....” Swiftnick belatedly remembered not to mention the journal and hastily rushed on. “So what happened to Foxwell?”

“Well, Walsingham couldn’t trust him and let him go. Foxwell must have had something on the spymaster though....”

“Why?” Swiftnick wondered, genuinely curious.

“Because Walsingham let him go. He’d have had Foxwell executed if he thought he’d been involved in the plot,” Dibblethwaite grinned. “And I’ll tell you something else...”

“What?”

“Remember the lady in waiting? After Mary was executed, Foxwell married her...”

“Married her?” Swiftnick exclaimed. “Then maybe he was in on the plot....”

“Maybe. Or maybe the girl really was involved instead of pretending and Foxwell found a way of getting her out.”

Swiftnick sighed. It was an interesting story, but he couldn’t see how it helped him with finding Foxwell’s treasure. Indeed, it didn't even sound like there was any treasure the way Dibblethwaite put it. On the other hand, the journal had mentioned the jewel embroidered borders...

Supposing the lady in waiting had been Walsingham’s spy, perhaps she had had the plans of the plot and she and Foxwell had conspired to conceal them to protect Mary Stuart. Perhaps that was why Foxwell had never retrieved the stash, perhaps he had meant to use them somehow to buy her freedom or simply hadn't dared to reveal he had taken the plans in the first place...

And that meant the jewels would still be there....

Swiftnick looked up, beaming at an uneasy Dibblethwaite. “So, where did the Black Fox have his patch?”

“You know, lad, there are times when you remind me so much of Dick, it’s scary,” Dibblethwaite told him dryly. “I suppose there’s a place or two around the shire where’s he’s supposed to have stayed....”

                                                            * * *

One of the reasons Dick loved his horse was the mare’s smooth gait. She had a smooth trot and a ground eating gallop, prefect paces for a highwayman’s mount. She was trotting now, making her way across the hillside as they headed for Dark Fell and the Giant’s Lodge. Turpin couldn’t remember all it had said in the journal, but he distinctly remembered a couple of references to the inn and suspected that Swiftnick would choose it as a likely starting point. It was what he would have done after all...

Dick was in no hurry, the day was warm and sunny, the flowers were speckling the grass like handfuls of idly tossed gems and the air was full of scent and insect buzzing.

The sound of angry voices drifting up from the road below disturbed his daydreams and made Turpin frown and nudge Black Bess over a little off the path, so he could peer down through the trees for a closer look. It was an ideal spot for an ambush, he reflected, making a mental note to remember the vantage point for a later excursion. Coaches used this road all the time and he suspected it was a spot of robbery causing the ruckus now.

Reining Black Bess in, he leaned over and parted the leaves to peer down at the road below. There was indeed a carriage below; a familiar one. As was the lime green clad gentleman involved in an altercation with the thug who had Fothering pinned against the side of the carriage and was waving a flintlock under his nose while shouting at him....

“Nothing to do with us,” Dick murmured. “I see no profit in it for me....” Black Bess snorted and shook her head, ruffling her mane. It was probably only an insect bothering her, but Turpin sighed heavily as he gathered up the reins and drew a pistol. “Eloquently put, lass. Swiftnick’s having a bad influence on me...Or is that a good influence?”

Tucking his heels into the mare’s sides, Dick sent her plunging down the hillside at the gallop, bellowing at the top of his voice. The thug whipped around to stare at him, then lunged for his horse, flinging himself into the saddle and taking off down the road at the run....

Exhilarated by the sudden explosion of action, Dick reined the excited mare in, controlling her dancing with a light hand on the reins as he peered down at Fothering. Fothering had collapsed to the road and was attempting to huddle and crawl under the carriage at the same time.

“It’s all right, Fothering. You can stop cowering now....I’m not going to hurt you.” Turpin told him dryly as he holstered the pistol. “The villain’s gone...”

Fothering nervously looked up at him, saw that his attacker was indeed gone and sat up shakily. “You mistake me, sir. I was merely looking for my weapon....”

“Ah. Quite....”

Fothering flushed but climbed shakily to his feet, displaying torn and dirt smudged clothes and a bruised face. “I think you have the advantage of me, sir....”

“Indeed I do...” Turpin agreed; a horse and a loaded pistol were always an advantage he found.

“You know my name, sir, although I do not know yours. You have a familiar look about you however....Do you know Sir Willoughby Mallory by any chance? Are you related perhaps?”

Dick hoped his smile didn't feel as frozen as it felt as he thought fast. Fothering obviously had a sharp eye to see a familiarity to his alter ego. “We are related,” he agreed stiffly. “I am Sir Richard Fortesque Smythe....”

“Ah!” Fothering brightened up, enlightened.

“I'm looking for my ward, Nicholas....”

“Oh....” Fothering drooped again, looking vaguely worried.

“Oh?” Dick echoed sharply, feeling a sharp chill prick his nerves.

“I thought he was Sir Willoughby’s ward.”

“He is. He’s also mine. We share....” Turpin paused, realising he didn’t have to explain to Fothering. “It’s a long story. Who was that villain who attacked you?”

“I have no idea....”

“You’re lying,” Dick said firmly.

Fothering flashed a quick look at him and grimaced. “I assure you that you need not concern yourself....”

Turpin frowned and lifted his head to look over the carriage. It was a small two seater vehicle with a rack for Fothering’s trunk at the back and a hood to protect the traveller from the weather. It was a trifle shabby, but no worse than the last time Dick had seen it in the yard of the inn. The trunk however was open and the contents had obviously been rifled. “The villain appears to have been looking for something which he didn't find,” Dick said deliberately. “Hence, he resorted to questioning you. Was it the journal you sold Sir Willoughby perhaps?”

Fothering shot him another nervous glance as he scrambled up onto the driver’s seat and reached for the reins. “I don’t know what you mean....”

“I wouldn't do that if I was you,” Dick warned dryly, patting his holstered pistol casually.

Fothering blinked and paled even more. “You wouldn’t dare.....”

“Your trunk’s still open....” Turpin pointed out mildly however.

Fothering closed his eyes wearily and climbed down again, going around the back of the carriage to haphazardly stuff everything back into the trunk and slam the lid shut.

“Fothering, you are obviously in some kind of trouble,” Turpin said quietly. “If that in any way, shape or form impinges on myself or my ward, I am likely to take it amiss that you didn’t mention it.”

Fothering leaned against the t