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 trunk, resting his head against the wood for a moment. Dick could see the tension in his shoulders. 

“Nicholas has run off to search for the Black Fox’s treasure,” the highwayman told him coolly. “I wouldn’t want to think that that villainous cur who attacked you, would accost my ward....”

Fothering gulped and lifted his head again. “What did Sir Willoughby tell you?” he asked faintly.

“Merely that he bought Foxwell’s journal and some treasure maps from you. He collects such things. He’s one of them new fangled poets....Don’t hold with it myself....”

The dandy was definitely starting to fray round the edges as he opened the trunk, fished out a bottle of rum, took a swig and slammed the trunk lid shut again. “Care to join me?” he asked dryly as he Turpin eyed him curiously.

“A trifle early for me. Rum?”

“A taste I acquired while travelling in the West Indies,” Fothering replied loftily as he pranced back round the carriage with new vigour and climbed back to the driver’s seat. “I find it quite refreshing...”

“About the journal,” Dick reminded him ruthlessly.

With a heavy sigh, Fothering slumped again. “It’s a long story....”

“Is that thug after the Black Fox’s treasure or not?” Dick demanded.

“Oh, I doubt if there is any. I looked for it when I was young, never found a thing....”

“Nicholas’ age perchance?” Dick prodded sarcastically.

“Oh, yes, probably so. At that age, one always thinks there’s treasure to find. Highwaymen seemed so exciting....” Fothering paused, eyeing Dick cautiously. “You probably won’t believe it, but I am a Foxwell.”

“I thought your name was Fothering.”

“Oh it is. Frederick Fothering Foxwell. Three F’s....”

“Naturally,” Dick said sourly. “So the journal is genuine?”

“Oh quite....”

“And the maps?”

“Oh ah....”

“Fothering.....”

“Well, mostly....”

“Mostly?!”

“Well, the original map were getting a bit tatty so I copied it when I was doing my treasure hunting. But that’s only the one of the area, the other one is the one the Black Fox drew himself. That’s real. It’s the other...one....”

“What other one? There were only two with the journal!”

Fothering winced. “Yes, well....”

“I am starting to get impatient; it’s only a short step after that that I lose my temper....” Turpin warned.

Fothering swallowed and took a hasty gulp of rum to soothe his shattering nerves. “Well, there might have been another map hidden inside the journal....” he admitted weakly.

Dick stared at him silently. He couldn’t see why that would make a difference. Unless.... “Let me guess, your mate the thug....”

“Oh, I say I wouldn't call him my mate! More sort of.....I think I should be quiet now. Yes?” Fothering quavered to a halt as Turpin glared at him.

“He hid his own map in the journal. And it happens to tell where he’s been hiding his stash?”

“Well...”

“Exactly why did he do that, Fothering? How well do you know him?”

“Well....”

“Fothering....” Dick said in a sweetly warning tone.

“When I came back from the West Indies and became Lord Foxwell, I ran up some gambling debts. To pay them off, I needed money. I was reluctant to sell off the family heirlooms and so on, of course, but there seemed no other way. I encountered Silver and Stone by chance while I was at an inn attempting to make my first sale. I knew them as sailors from the ship I came home on, you see. They had a proposition for me. I would sell the family heirlooms and they would retrieve them for me. And from time to time, they would supply me with certain other articles that I could sell for them....”

“Retrieve as in rob?” Dick said steadily.

“Er well....yes. But no one really lost out. They could collect their money back from the shire... Following in the Black Fox’s footsteps so to speak.....”

“So you were planning to rob Sir Willoughby,” Dick said dangerously.

“Well, no actually....I wasn’t. That’s what the er minor contretemps with Stone was about. I have paid off my gambling debts, you see, so I wished to end the arrangement with them but they proved somewhat intractable about it. So, I decided to sell the journal and pay them off.....”

“Only they’d hidden their map inside the blasted thing thinking you wouldn't sell it?”

“Quite....” Fothering said faintly.

“And you told them who you sold it to?”

“Er yes....”

“So they’re looking for Sir Willoughby....” Who they obviously weren’t going to find. “And Nicholas. Who’s roaming around on his own, treasure hunting...”

“Oh dear....”

“Oh dear? Why oh dear?!”

“Well, Silver and Stone are staying at the Giant’s Lodge I'm afraid. And I gave them quite a good description of your ward....”

 “Who will be heading straight to the Giant’s Lodge to start his treasure hunt. And no doubt start waving the journal around and asking about the Black Fox...Give me strength!”

“Terribly sorry....” Fothering mumbled. “Do forgive me...”

“I’ll give you a bloody bullet in a minute,” Dick snarled. “You’re coming with me.”

“What? Oh, I don't think so....”

“Did that sound like a question? No. I didn’t think so. Stir up that that horse and get a move on....”

“I think perhaps with a little reasoned discussion, we can come to...”

“And if you slow me down, I’ll shoot you....Move!”

                                                            * * *

Swiftnick had spread one of the maps out on the table to show Dibblethwaite and the vendor was nodding over it, noting landmarks. The young highwayman had quickly established that both maps were needed to find the treasure; the one he was showing Frank was simply a map of the area, the second when overlaid on the first showed the Black Fox’s own map with carefully marked clues to his treasure.

“Course the landmarks will have changed a bit,” Dibblethwaite mused, rubbing his bristly chin. “Maybe some of the names too, but it all seems clear enough. This here mill’s still there. The river of course....”

“What about this place?” Swiftnick tapped a spot he knew was marked on the other map.

“That’s the Leap, lad,” Dibblethwaite chuckled. “Lover’s Leap as it was back then.”

Swiftnick frowned, studying the map thoughtfully as an idea started to take shape. The local well was there, long abandoned as was the village it had once been the centre of. The pub named after it was over there at the edge of the forest sweeping down from the long ridge leading up to the Leap. The Well Inn and the Giant’s Lodge where he was now were both on the road leading around the edge of Dark Fell where they could pick up the coach trade. It was, as Turpin had already noted, a good spot for highwaymen since there were several large estates and hunting lodges in the area that attracted wealthy visitors, plus it had the added advantages of plenty of escape routes and a nice assortment of ambush spots. Swiftnick could see no reason why that should have changed since the Black Fox’s times, except perhaps the passing coach trade had improved. 

Dick had said the Black Fox had ended up jumping the Leap when he was chased up the ridge. The journal had mentioned that the girl who betrayed him came from a local farm, so Foxwell had probably been in the village the night he made his daring jump across the ravine. It still seemed odd to Swiftnick that a man who had presumably known the area like the back of his hand should make such a mistake or be willing to deliberately take such a risk. Maybe there was another way down off the ridge that being wounded had made him miss somehow? And maybe the map wasn’t a list of clues at all, but merely indications of safe hiding paces for a fleeing highwayman!

“Something pleasing you?” Dibblethwaite asked interestedly as Swiftnick grinned suddenly.

“I think I know where to start looking,” Swiftnick chirped, then paused, his smile fading as he noted the tall, grey haired man who had moved slowly within listening range of the table. “Yes? Can I help you?” the young highwayman asked in his coldest and most inhospitable tone, making it quite clear that help was the last thing the stranger was going to get. Dibblethwaite glanced at him in surprise, impressed by the chill in his voice.

The grey haired man smiled at them, but his grey eyes remained cold. “Am I by any chance speaking to Sir Willoughby Mallory’s ward?” he asked politely.

“Who?” Dibblethwaite blurted automatically.

Swiftnick glared back at him. “Never heard of him,” he responded coolly.

“Ah...perhaps I was mistaken. The name’s Silver....?” 

Swiftnick ignored the questioning note in the man’s voice and started folding up the map. “Never heard of you either,” he said calmly, although he was quivering inside. Dick efforts to teach him caution were starting to pay off.

“Ah....I couldn’t help noticing the map. Seems quite old....An odd thing for a trader to have...” Silver glanced at Dibblethwaite.

“A curiosity.... Not worth much,” Frank replied blandly.

“I collect such things....maps, old books....” Another questioning look.

“This one belongs to the lad....” Dibblethwaite said with a shrug.

Swiftnick shoved the map into his saddle bag, pushing the journal in with it. He hoped he had kept it out of sight, but he had a feeling Silver’s sharp eyes had spotted it. A glimpse however might not be enough for him to have identified it...if it was what he was looking for.

“And would you be willing to part with it?” Silver asked mildly enough, but his eyes were intent with demand.

“No,” Swiftnick said flatly.

“The book then?”

Swiftnick shot him a sharp look, certain now that Silver was definitely after the journal. “Why so interested?” he responded.

“As I said, I collect such things...”

Swiftnick looked him up down, taking in the serviceable but worn clothing. “Really...” he said sarcastically and had the satisfaction of seeing Silver’s jaw clench in irritation. “Well, I don’t want to sell it. So, if you’ll excuse us-?”

Other than admit it was no casual interest he had in the maps and journal, Silver had no choice but to smile with chill politeness and retreat, his eyes never leaving Swiftnick. Swiftnick pretended to ignore him, but he had a feeling he hadn't seen the last of him.

“Cleverly, but perhaps not wisely done,” Dibblethwaite said softly. “I thought you weren’t in trouble.”

“I didn't think I was.”

“I think I should take you back to Dick.”

“No!” Swiftnick protested indignantly. “But I should probably get out of here...”

Dibblethwaite nodded. “And not on your own. Best travel with me a way, lad.”

“I don’t need....”

“Dick would have my hide if I didn't help you. Travelling with me will confuse him a bit at least. Unless he mistakes me for this Mallory....”

Swiftnick laughed at that. “Frank, no one could ever mistake you for Sir Willoughby!”

“Ah, then you do know him...”

Swiftnick grinned. “It’s a long story...”

“Then you can tell it to me as we ride. Here, you can carry this....” Dibblethwaite dumped his heavy basket into Swiftnick’s arms. “And pretend you’re my apprentice....”

                                                            * * *

Dick was starting to feel uneasy. Despite his efforts to keep up Fothering had slowed him down and lunchtime was long gone by the time they reached the Giant’s Lodge.  There was no sign of Swiftnick’s horse at the stables, nor any sign of his accomplice in the pub itself. Since Fothering was complaining nervously about being hungry and Dick himself was feeling more than a mite peckish since he hadn’t had time to pack any food, he ordered them a meal and ales and settled down in a corner to keep watch.

“You seem awfully familiar with this area,” Fothering commented as he dusted off his chair before he sat down.

“I hunt a lot,” Turpin said flatly, letting a grin hook the corner of his mouth.

“And, if I may so, you hardly dress like a gentleman....”

Dick looked his lime green companion up and down and sighed. “We don’t all dress like limes,” he commented sourly. “I leave such fripperies to Willoughby. Along with the poetry and his other peculiar fancies. Like buying old journals off complete strangers...”

“Oh, I say....That’s a tad unfair...”

“Do you indeed,” Dick sniffed. “And the painting you sold to Mr Glenrae?”

“Oh, genuine, quite genuine....”

“And belonging to-?”

Fothering swallowed. “Myself actually. Been in the house for ever....Never could stand it...As I explained, the money....”

“That had better be true. Otherwise I am likely to take it amiss...” Dick told him in a voice made menacing by his mildness.  He glanced up as a serving woman approached with a tray that she set down on the table. Dick eyed her speculatively enough to make her frown at him, but it was information not assignation he was seeking. “I wonder if you could help me....” he began.

“I doubt it, sir. It’s not that sort of pub....”

“Oh, I can see you’re a respectable woman,” Dick said quickly, adding his best smile to soothe her. “But I'm actually looking for...er...my ward.....Young lad, about so high, blond as a buttercup....”

“I see, sir. Know his name do you, sir?”

“Nicholas,” Dick answered coolly.

“I’m Daisy,” she told him, frowning faintly. “Would you be knowing a Frank Dibblethwaite, sir?”

Turpin gazed back at her blankly. “Frank Dibblethwaite?” he echoed. “I would, yes....”

Daisy raised an eyebrow at him expectantly.

Turpin frowned at her, baffled, but he rattled out a description of the peddler and added a guess. “Did he mention a Mr Turner might be looking for the lad as well?

Daisy still hesitated. “You know him do you, sir?”

“You could say we’re old friends,” Dick said dryly, rubbing his fingers and noting the way Daisy’s eyes settled on his ring. “About my ward....”

 “Oh, yes, the polite one. Nice lad. Yours you say?”

“My ward. Gone off on his own looking for a bit of excitement. You know how the young are....”

“Oh, I do, sir, I do. Came in for a bite of lunch he did. I suppose his horse must have thrown a shoe or something as he went off with Frank on his wagon after. Your lad will come to no harm with him, sir. A good man is Frank. He told me to look out for Mr Turner...” Clearly Daisy had decided that Dick fitted the description Dibblethwaite had given her. No doubt the peddler had mentioned Dick’s ring.

Dick felt a surge of relief that Swiftnick had hooked up with someone trustworthy. Dibblethwaite would keep an unobtrusive eye on him and probably send him back to Turpin.

“Mind you, I couldn't say as much about some of the men hanging around here,” she went on.  

“Oh? Anyone in particular?” Dick prompted calmly. “My friend and I wouldn't like to run into highwaymen...”

“Well, there was one man who might have been. I saw him watching your lad close like, even came over to talk to him, asking if he was someone or other’s ward. Wiggly or giggly something...”

“Willoughby Mallory?” Fothering said faintly.

“Aye, that’d be it!” Daisy beamed at him. “Anyway, he was asking about some map the lad had. Your lad was right snippy with him. He went off in a bit of snit and the lad went off with Frank.”

“Idiot,” Dick groaned under his breath. Swiftnick should have had more sense than to wave the map around in full view. “What about the man? Is he still here?”

“Oh no. He went off with some other man who came in a while before you did. You probably saw them on the road.”

“I don’t think so,” Dick murmured, ignoring Fothering’s alarmed expression. “What did this man look like?”

Puzzled, but helpful she described Silver. “Didn't take to him myself,” she admitted. “But I suppose he was only curious. Your lad wouldn't have had anything on him to attract his sort. Not like they were following him like.”

“No,” Turpin agreed politely. “You’re been very helpful. But one more thing, could you tell me which way Frank went?”

“Oh, on up to the Well Inn, I should think. He had a couple of hams for the innkeeper....”

Dick thanked her again, gave her a large tip and then turned back to his roast beef as she bustled away.

“It was Silver, I know it!” Fothering hissed in alarm once she was out of earshot. “And the other one was Stone.”

“And they’ve got....Nicholas spotted,” Dick agreed grimly. “Still, a wagon’s slow and they’ll have to follow the road. We can cut across and catch up with them at the pub.”

“But what about Silver and Stone?” Fothering protested.

“How well do they know this area?”

Fothering hesitated, dithering over a forkful of carrot. “Well enough to rob people, I suppose,” he said guardedly.

Dick suppressed the urge to swear as not fitting in with his portrayal of Sir Richard. Silver and Stone would have an hour’s head start on them at least, perhaps longer and, if they knew the area, probably knew where to ambush the wagon. The question was, would Swiftnick realise that and would he and Dibblethwaite be able to give them the slip...

                                                            * * *

Swiftnick slid gratefully down off the seat of the wagon in the yard of the Well Inn, stretching his legs in relief. Dibblethwaite grinned down at him. “Sorry about the bumpy ride, Swiftnick, but I thought the short cut might be a good idea.”

“I'm surprised we didn't lose all the wheels,” Swiftnick exclaimed as the peddler swung down to the cobbles beside him. “Can I help you unload?”

“You’re a good lad. And an extra pair of hands is always useful. Come in and have an ale with me while I talk to the innkeeper first. Then you can be off and away.”

“To find the treasure,” Swiftnick said in satisfaction.

Dibblethwaite smiled indulgently and led the way into the pub. Swiftnick however paused on the threshold as he gazed around him in astonishment, taking in the wooden beams and plastered walls. “I thought it’d look...older,” he exclaimed when the peddler glanced at him enquiringly.

“Older?” Frank echoed, puzzled.

“Well, the Black Fox stayed here. It said....That’s what I heard....”

“Ah, no, sorry, lad. This isn't the Well of his time. That was over in the village as used to be. Before the Roundheads knocked it down with their cannons....The innkeeper rebuilt it, see. Closer to the main road...”

“Roundheads?”

“Parliamentarians, lad, parliamentarians. Doesn't Dick teach you anything?”

“Of course he does!” Swiftnick protested indignantly. “But that’s all old stuff. It doesn't mean anything.”

Dibblethwaite raised an eyebrow. “The Black Fox is only an old story....”

“That’s different,” Swiftnick retorted firmly. 

Frank chuckled. “Maybe so,” he said in amusement. “But you come and talk to the innkeeper with me. Giles knows all about the Black Fox....”

                                                            * * *

An hour or so later, Toby trotted across the flower speckled grass, happily lengthening his stride into a gallop at a nudge from his rider. Swiftnick wanted to reach the abandoned village before it got dark and hoped to have enough time to explore before he made camp for the night.

Dibblethwaite had suggested he stayed at the inn, but Swiftnick was eager to be off and away. He had chafed at the delay of the peddler’s slow moving cart, but hoped it had thrown Silver off his track. The stranger’s casual reference to Sir Willoughby and the way he had obviously identified Swiftnick had made the young highwayman uneasy. He didn't know what Silver was after, but he had seemed all too determined to get whatever it was for Swiftnick’s comfort. His professed interest in the journal and maps seemed unlikely and Swiftnick was aware that since Mallory appeared to be wealthy, his ward was a target for ransom. 

Since the best thing he could think of to do besides heading back to Turpin was make himself scarce, Swiftnick had ridden off on his own once more. Not towards the village, but in the opposite direction so that anyone who saw him go could point his direction out to Silver.  Once he was safely out of sight of course, he doubled back, circling the Well Inn and riding on for the village.

He had been to the village a couple of times before, mostly passing through with Turpin on their way to somewhere else. Once they had taken shelter in a tumbledown cottage when they were driven to take cover by sudden bad weather and Swiftnick hadn’t got much sleep, fearing ghosts in every corner. It was a gloomy place, the huddled buildings with their sagging walls and roofs huddling in around its only street as if seeking consolation from each other. Swiftnick, arriving as the summer dusk crept in, felt as if the empty darkened windows were watching him, giving the place a haunted air. Given a choice, it wasn’t a place he would come on his own.  It was too close to edge of Dark Fell and he could feel the brooding dark presence of the moor looming up behind the village as if it was only waiting for him to turn his back before it devoured it whole.

“I’m not surprised everyone moved out,” Swiftnick murmured to Toby as the Toby ambled peacefully along the street. Toby only snorted and took advantage of his rider’s distraction to stop and snatch a mouthful of grass growing up between the broken cobbles.

Smiling ruefully, Swiftnick patted the bay’s neck and nudged him into a walk again. What remained of the pub lay at the far end of the street; its broken rain washed sign dangling on one hinge and creaking in the breeze. Thunder rumbled far off as Swiftnick slid to the ground and tied Toby to the sign post. “I’ll have a quick look round, then we’ll find some shelter....” he told the bay, giving Toby a soothing pat before venturing through the pub’s broken door.

There was little to see inside. Anything useful had long since been removed and carried off and there were gaping holes in the walls that Swiftnick presumed had been made by Dibblethwaite’s cannonballs. The roof had gone and the upper floor had collapsed into the tap room, leaving the footing treacherous.

There didn't seem much point in exploring too far, but Swiftnick picked his way around the walls, finding his way to the stairs that had once led to the upper floors. The stairs had given way halfway up and Swiftnick could see there wasn’t enough left of the upper levels of the pub to be worth the risk of attempting to climb up

Ruefully, he retreated into the dusk and fresh air outside, scenting the hint of rain in the cooling breeze as it grew darker. Untying Toby, he led his horse around the side of the pub, looking for the orchard he knew lay at the back. Dick had shown it to him and he remembered that one wall of the orchard had been set with three large seating alcoves where Turpin said the fancy guests had been able to come outside to sit and take the air.

The alcoves were still there, their stone seats covered with cushions of moss and lichen, but there was room for the youth to stretch out and sleep and to tie his horse up in the next alcove along. As much to Toby’s delight as his own, the trees were also in fruit and Swiftnick had soon had filled his hat with ripe apples and pears to add to the meat pie from the pub for his supper.

The storm finally arrived as Swiftnick was perched in the alcove, munching pears while idly looking through the journal and pausing now and then to read interesting bits.

“The fox in a mirror. Back to back. Four paws to four paws....as the wheel turns....Well, he couldn’t spell...” Swiftnick snorted disparagingly then looked up with a start, as with a rumbling burst of thunder, the rain came rattling through the trees, hissing through the leaves and for a few moments filling the air with water so that he could hardly see the other side of the orchard.

Awed by its ferocity, Swiftnick sat and watched as the lightning lashed the darkened sky with flashes of pale violet amongst the clouds until he grew chilled and it was too dark to read anymore. Then he unpacked his cloak from his saddlebag, wrapped himself up in its warm folds and made himself comfortable on the stone seat to watch the lightning until he fell asleep....

                                                            * * *

Swearing silently under his breath, Dick looked up at the darkening sky, scenting the summer storm simmering behind the gathering clouds. Black Bess had thrown a shoe, considerably slowing their journey. Dick supposed he could have left Fothering to his own devices and taken a short cut to the pub on foot with his mare, but he somehow felt responsible for him without quite knowing why. He had a feeling it had something to do with Fothering’s naïve gullibility. He had obviously been taken in by Silver and Stone. How he could ever have imagined he could buy his way out of trouble was beyond Dick. Obviously, once they had him in their pocket, they weren’t going to let him go...

“That’d be killing the golden goose....” Dick muttered under his breath.

“Excuse me?” Fothering prompted. He was riding behind Turpin with his arms around the highwayman for support since he had fallen off three times in the first hundred yards if he didn't. Dick was leading Black Bess and they had left Fothering’s cart in a thicket when the wheel threatened to come off.  

“Silver and Stone. They knew who you were. No doubt that’s why they approached you.  Once they'd got you involved, they were never going to let you go. If they had accepted your money, they'd have come back for more. Didn't you realise that?”

“I do now,” Fothering sighed. “Been a bit of a nincompoop, haven’t I, what?”

“That’s one way to describe it,” Dick said dryly.

“I don’t know what I'm going to do....”

“Fight fire with fire.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re Lord Foxwell. That must count for something. Who’s going to believe you rode with them?”

“Oh, I say. I didn’t ride with them. They t’aint gentlemen.”

Dick sighed wearily. “Figure of speech, old chap.”

“Ah...quite....”

“The point is, they’ve got no proof. The only hold they have over you is your wish to keep them quiet....”

“But the scandal....”

“The wicked Lord Foxwell? It has a certain ring to it....”

“I don’t think me mother would care for it...”

“Who?”

“Me mother. Lady Fothering Foxwell...Doesn’t approve of scandal.”

Turpin suppressed the urge to sigh again. “You’ll have to think of something then, won’t you?”

“Oh, er yes, quite.....er Sir Richard?”

Dick didn't bother suppressing his exasperated sigh this time. “Yes, I’ll think about it. First of all I have to find Nicholas and I feel the need for a stiff drink as well....I can see the pub from here....”

                                                            * * *

Fothering having gone off get himself washed before eating, Dick found himself alone for the first time since had had rescued him from Silver. Despite the uproar of the busy pub, he was finding it relatively soothing to sit alone and cuddle his pint of ale while he decided what to do next. The last thing he needed was the sight of Frank Dibblethwaite purposefully making his way towards him through the crowd. Hastily, he covered his face with one hand hoping the peddler wouldn’t notice him. Dibblethwaite however came right up to his table and leaved over him.

“Dick? You alone?”

“The place is packed, Frank. Go bother someone else....”

“Is it safe to talk to you?”

“Not in the mood I'm in....”

“It’s about Swiftnick...

“Blast it....” Dick lifted his head and motioned for him to sit down as he belatedly remembered what Daisy had said. “You gave him a lift. You didn't bring him here, did you? I’d hoped you’d sent him home.”

Dibblethwaite shook his head.  “You know what he’s up to? Treasure hunting....”

“I know,” Dick snorted sourly. “You shouldn’t have encouraged him.”

“Never said I did. No harm in it though. Young lads like him are always up to some kind of mischief. Seemed harmless enough...”

“Harmless?!” Turpin snarled.

“Compared to riding with you, aye....”

“Sod it!”

Dibblethwaite grinned. “Only I don't think he was counting on anyone coming after him. Bloke called Silver? And another one, riding with him, name of Stone. You know them?”

 “I've met Stone, not the other one,” Dick muttered. “What happened?”

“Took Swiftnick up on the cart with me and took a short cut here. Thought we’d lost them, but no. Turned up here looking for him soon after the lad left.”

Turpin nodded. “Where is Swiftnick now?”

“Gone. Rode off back towards the Giant’s Lodge and Ford’s End. That’s what I told Silver and Stone when they came looking. Ah! Before you get violent....” Dibblethwaite held up a hasty hand to forestall Turpin’s temper. “I said that’s the way he rode off, didn't say that was where he was going. Lad only did that so if they asked anyone else, they'd get the same answer. He’s gone to the old Well Inn at the village. Treasure hunting like I said...”

Dick subsided into his chair and took a slow mouthful of his ale, telling himself to calm down. “You think he’s going to find anything?”

Dibblethwaite shrugged. “Who can tell?  He’s young; they’ve all got their fancies about something or other. Maybe he’ll come back rich.”

Turpin nodded and then winced as he saw Fothering appear in the tap room doorway. Fothering waved brightly and started towards them. “Look, Frank, buy yourself a drink and make yourself scarce, will you?” he urged, pressing a coin into his hand.

“That overgrown lime someone you know?” Dibblethwaite wondered, eyeing the green dressed fop curiously.

“It’s a long story. He’s the reason Silver and Stone are looking for Swiftnick and I don't want him knowing who I am.”

“Ah, gotcha. Good fortune to you, Dick.” With a firm nod, Dibblethwaite rose to his feet and marched briskly off towards the counter and the beer barrels.

Fothering gazed after the peddler curiously as he sat down at Turpin’s table. “Who was that?”

“Interesting sort of chap. Helped Nicholas get away from Silver. Offered to sell me some sea holly....”

“Oh, I say? Really?! I must buy some. I've always wanted to find out what it was like....”

Grabbing his arm, Dick hastily pulled him back into his seat. “Later, Frederick. You don't mind if I call you that, do you?”

“Oh no, no, not at all...”

“Excellent.  I do believe our dinner is about to arrive....”

“Oh, what ho! I'm ravenous....”

Dick sighed and took another swig of his ale. Rain or no rain, he was going to have to find another horse for Fothering - since he didn't dare leave him behind with Silver and Stone so close  - get Black Bess shoed and go after Swiftnick, who could be anywhere by now. Being a highwayman had been a lot easier when he hadn’t had an apprentice obsessed with treasure...

                                                            * * *

The air was fresh and cool the next morning when Swiftnick woke to the light creeping into the clear sky, turning black to grey then blue with puffs of blossom pink and gold clouds that promised a nice day. Keeping his cloak wrapped around him for warmth, Swiftnick reluctantly clawed his way to his feet, stretching to chase out the kinks from sleeping on the stone seat.  Breakfast turned out to be a couple of apples and some cheese he had left over which he munched while he packed his saddle bag again.

Toby snorted at him, nibbling at his hair when Swiftnick came to fetch him. Swiftnick pushed his nose away, ducking under the bay’s neck to fetch the tack he had left on the seat. “We’ll ride down to the well and get some water,” he told his mount as he saddled him then fed him an apple before he put the bridle on and mounted up.

A brisk trot out of the orchard, round the pub and down the lane to the well warmed them both up and Toby whiffled happily over Swiftnick’s shoulder as the youth hauled the bucket up for him,, then plunged his nose into the cool water before Swiftnick could fill his flask. “You know, I could do with a cup of tea,” Swiftnick said thoughtfully as he leaned against the cool stone wall of the well and gazed round him thoughtfully. Toby only snorted and blew bubbles in the bucket. “That’s Dick’s fault that is. He’s always on about vices and then goes and gets me stuck on tea....Have you finished yet, greedy?”

Pushing Toby’s nose out of the bucket, Swiftnick let it rattle back down into the well again, hearing the splash as it hit the water below then leaning over to peer down inside. “Think if I drop a penny in I’ll get my wish?” he wondered aloud as Toby peered helpfully in beside him. Toby snorted and shook his head. “No? Well, maybe you’re right. I'm starting to think there is no treasure. The Black Fox was making fun of us. I mean, if we let Spiker find a treasure map, he’d go hunting for it and get off our backs....” Swiftnick paused thoughtfully at that as he hauled the bucket up again. “Maybe I should suggest that to Dick....” he mused as he shoved Toby’s head aside so he could fill his flask from the bucket. “Not that it’ll make any difference. He’s going to be mad at me for going off on my own. He always is. And then he’ll get all smug and superior and ‘I told you’ so if I don't find the treasure....”

 Toby snorted and nuzzled at him. “I’d be more comforted if I didn't think you were looking for apples,” Swiftnick laughed, petting the bay’s nose anyway. “Ah well....” Fishing out a penny, he flipped it into the well, made a silent wish and then went to dig out the maps out of the saddle bag for a last look.

“You see, Toby,” he explained as he laid them over each other and spread them out on the well wall. “We’re here...This funny looking thing’s a compass Dick says....’though it’s got paws instead of pointy bits and it doesn’t tell you which direction is which....That’s Dark Fell and we’re not going there....” Swiftnick tapped the map then pushed Toby’s nose away again. “No, you can’t eat the map....here....” Distracting his horse with an apple, Swiftnick turned back to the map with a frown and did his best to ignore Toby’s happy slobbering noises as he chomped the fruit.

Although he had looked at the maps numerous times before, Swiftnick mused, he hadn't really looked at obvious things like the compass or the drawing of a sitting fox beneath it on the top copy. All the little points the Black Fox had sketched in and marked with a running fox made sort of sense, indicating a farmhouse here, the forest ridge, a couple of cottages..... Foxwell had mentioned the farmhouse as a fine one for cheese, but none of them were indicated as a stash.   “The fox in a mirror....” he murmured and out of sheer curiosity, carefully turned the top map over, laying its fine paper back over the heavy manuscript of the second map. At first he thought it had done nothing except confuse things, then he realised that the compass now lay over the one on the second map; not only filling in the compass points, but where the heavier ink on the manuscript showed through, forming an arrow pointing towards the fox drawing beneath it.

Other marks made a new pattern too; what had indicated the farmhouse, now sat over the Well Inn, the cottages were where the Giant’s Lodge was and what he had thought was an old road crossing the ridge was now the river that flanked Dark Fell and sliced through the ridge at the Fox’s Leap. 

And the drawing of the fox that had meant nothing at all, now sat squarely over the old water mill on the river....

                                                            * * *

“Not a bad nag, considering...” Fothering mused as he trotted alongside beside Turpin on a bay hunter borrowed from the innkeeper. It was still early and a faint mist shivered silver wisps through the trees and swirled around the horses legs as they trotted though the wild flower speckled grass. Puffs of cloud were slowly changing colour as the sun rose, chasing off the grey night blankets and dressing themselves in shades of gold.

Turpin glanced at him irritably and held his tongue. He had really seriously wanted to leave Fothering behind, but some last grain of conscience kept rubbing him the wrong way. Having rescued Fothering from Stone, he felt responsible for him. He supposed it was something he had learned from having Swiftnick foisted on him; the lad had certainly discovered a long lost streak of scruple in him that reminded him he had once had ethics and principles. “Hah!”

“Sorry, Sir Richard?” Fothering gave him a puzzled glance. “This mare has an easy pace on her....”

Dick frowned at him, running back over what the fop had been wittering on about while he wasn’t listening and turning his attention to the mare. The bay was a little small for a hunter, which was probably why the innkeeper had her, but she was well shaped, sweet tempered and had a nice stride. Fothering rode surprisingly well and had a light hand on the reins.

“I might buy her...” Fothering offered tentatively.

“Wouldn't hurt. Assuming you don't want her to pull that cart of yours...” Dick conceded.

“That ramshackle old thing? Certainly not! That was part of my cunning disguise....”

“Disguise?”

“Indeed. I didn't want to be recognised as Lord Foxwell, hence the name change and the costume....hardly by the best of tailors of course....”

“And the colour...” Turpin sniffed depreciatingly.

“The colour? Terribly fashionable, I know. But one must have some standards....”

Dick goggled at him. Fothering thought lime green was fashionable? It was a horrible thought. If Fothering was right that meant Sir Willoughby would have to reconsider his entire wardrobe....but lime green? Thank goodness he was a highwayman most of the time!

“And my jewellery; paste fakes, of course. Sir Willoughby will have noticed of course. I dread to think what he must have thought....”

Don’t ask.... Dick thought silently, gloomily recalling that he had told Swiftnick that Fothering was no more a gentleman than he was.  There would be no living with his accomplice once he discovered that Fothering was a gentleman.

“Of course, I wouldn’t have dared to wear the real things with Silver and Stone around. Why, they would probably have robbed me!”

“Quite. Didn't it occur to you that you could sell some of your jewellery? That emerald tie pin would probably have cleared anything you owed....”

“Sell it? But I'm partial to that tie pin! And some of them are heirlooms. I couldn’t do that. Someone would have noticed!”

“But you sold some of it and Silver and Stone presumably got it back for you....”

“Ah, yes, well...no... not really. T’was the silver I sold. Ghastly stuff. No style at all. Grape holders, salt cellars and the like....tasteless bits and pieces....”

“Which Silver and Stone retrieved for you?”

Fothering frowned. “Well, they said they did....Said they'd hidden it away for me.....”

Turpin gave him an exasperated look. “You do realise that if they did take it off the unsuspecting idiot they sold it to, they probably promptly sold it to someone else...”

“I had started to wonder about that....”

“....assuming they didn’t melt it down.....”

“Well, I don’t think I’d mind about that. It was terribly tasteless.....There was a milk jug of this woman and a swan...”

“Thank you, Frederick, that’s quite enough information,” Dick interrupted hastily, making a mental note to make sure Swiftnick never heard about the milk jug. He’d probably want to know what she was doing with the swan and Dick didn't think his nerves could cope. “Now, do you think your nag’s loosened up enough for a bit of a gallop?”

“Oh, I think so. She seems happy enough. But are you sure about going to this mill first? Wouldn't the village be better? I'm sure your ward would have gone to the old pub there first.”

Dick frowned at him. “Nick’s been to the village and wasn’t too keen on it. The lad’s got a lively imagination and thinks the place is full of ghosts. The mill would offer better shelter from the rain and...” Turpin broke off with a shrug. He had been about to say that the mill was a better hideout with more escape routes. “...it’s mentioned in the journal. Didn't you Foxwells own it?”

“Yes....Er, look about last night....I'm sorry....We should have ridden last night....The port you know....I’m surprised you didn't leave me....”

So am I, Turpin glowered at him. “Wouldn't have been gentlemanly,” he said stiffly. “Besides, my mare needed her new shoe.” It taken half the night to find the blacksmith to do the shoeing and while his back was turned, Fothering had made inroads on the inn’s best port.  Then he’d had to pour coffee down Fothering to wake him up...And the torrential rain had further slowed his pursuit of his accomplice....

The only thing he could think of was that the rain would have had to have slowed Silver and Stone down as well and Swiftnick had become fairly adept at hiding. Turpin and necessity had taught him that. The village was the obvious place to go, which meant Swiftnick had probably gone there first. But he’d also had all night to plan his next move and Dick was remembering what he could of the journal. “Forepaws to forepaws....as the wheel turns....” he murmured, then looked sharply at Fothering. “That sounds like a mill to me. Mean anything to you?”

Fothering was frowning. “It does sound vaguely familiar,” he admitted. “But perhaps your ward would have turned back to the Well Inn by now, you know? Out in the rain and all that....”

“I doubt if a bit of rain will dampen his enthusiasm. Look, if it makes you happier we can go through the village to get to the mill...” Dick said dryly, gathering up the reins as Black Bess fidgeted. She had had enough of a dainty trot and was eager to gallop, springing ahead at the tough of her rider’s heels.

“Oh, I say!” Fothering yelped, urging his own horse into racing after the fleet footed black mare. “Steady on, Sir Richard! My nag’s no Black Bess!”

                                                            * * *

“Well,” Swiftnick observed as he draped his arm over Toby’s neck and leaned against his solid warmth. “Not much of a mill now is it.”  The bay snorted and went on munching the long grass growing along the river bank. The water wheel had long since fallen silent, choked with weeds, its wood decayed and softened until the buckets sagged. Reeds and purple and golden irises which would have once been cut back now filled the banks and narrowed a once deep river channel to slow moving stream that gurgled as it undercut the banks. A tree stooped across the water, throwing deep shade on a warm morning across the battered mill itself.

Giving Toby a final pat and making sure the reins were securely tied, Swiftnick picked his way through the flower strewn grass to push open the creaking door of the mill. Inside the mill the massive wheels that had once ground wheat to flour stood silent, looming up in the shadows through the sunshine coming through the holes in the roof. Curious about the machinery, Swiftnick padded over to take a closer look, poking about inquisitively among the huge cogs and grindstones and wondering how the whole thing would have looked when it was grinding. He must it must have been incredibly noisy with the noise of the waterwheel churning and the huge stones grating, busy with people rushing here and there as they filled the hoppers with grain, the air full of chaff and flour dust...

Swiftnick shivered, glad he had never wanted to be a miller. Those wheels looked as if they could crush an unwary man as easily as they would grain.

Turning away from the wheels to explore further however, his sharp eyes spotted a familiar looking sign on the wall. Someone had drawn a picture of a seated fox on one of the wall’s stones. Swiftnick frowned at it, sure it was laughing at him. But it struck him that all the signs on the map had been marked with a running fox; so far this was the only seated fox he had come across.

“Oh...” he said softly as his thoughts raced. He remembered thinking that perhaps the map wasn’t a treasure map, but a list of safe houses; hideouts for the Black Fox. What better sign to mark them with than a running fox? And if so, what would a sitting fox mean? Perhaps a place where something could be safely hidden?

“But where?” Swiftnick wondered, looking around him in puzzlement. Surely the mill would be far to busy a place to hide anything....

Unless the miller was in on the Black Fox’s secret and had hidden something for him. Dick had a few places like that; a couple of them marked hiding places for him with an arranged sign. The fox was obviously the sign here, but that didn't get him any closer to finding the treasure.

“Dick’s going to say I told you so in that snooty voice of his if I go back without anything!” Annoyed, Swiftnick scuffed irritably at the floor, stirring up the wind blown debris of leaf and dirt that had sifted in under the door. Some of it dribbled away, disappearing through the cracks between the floorboards.

“Cellars make good hiding places,” Swiftnick mused as he kicked up a bit more dirt and started looking for a trapdoor in earnest. He found it soon enough by tripping over the big iron ring that formed its handle. Wincing as his toes protested, he hauled it open with youthful muscle and peered down into the darkness below. The cellar that had once held the finished flour bags and grain awaiting grinding now stood dusty and still and no doubt full of spiders and cobwebs instead. Sunshine spilling through the door illuminated the rough wooden stairs leading down, but the rest of the cellar was hidden by shadows.

Swiftnick shook his head. “Being a highwayman is much easier than this,” he sighed then trotted back outside to fetch the candle he had stashed in his saddle bag.

A few minutes later, he nearly broke his ankle when the next to last step of the cellar steps gave way and sent him staggering. He used a couple of Dick’s favourite swear words while he sat on the bottom step and rubbed his throbbing ankle, while he looked around him in the candle’s dim light. There was nothing very interesting to see; lots of the expected cobwebs, a few empty bags, bit of broken mill machinery and a rusty lantern. Swiftnick limped over to pick it up and shake it and was delighted to find it was still half full. He managed to light it from the candle on the second attempt and was pleased to find that the lantern shed a much better light that he could explore in.

Not that it did him much good. The cellar wasn’t that big, but there weren’t many places to hide anything in either. Frustration got the better of him and he gave up, determining to go and have another look at the journal. Maybe there was a clue he had missed, some reference to the mill that would help....

Concentrating on recalling what the journal had said, he clambered through the trapdoor without looking round and froze as a large hand landed squarely on his shoulder.

“Well, well, Mr Silver, look what we have here....I do believe we’ve found Sir Willoughby’s ward.....”

Alarmed, Swiftnick looked up at the unfamiliar face looming over him, then at the grey haired man behind him. “And no doubt Sir Willoughby will be terribly pleased to get him back....intact....”

Swiftnick gulped. “I've no idea what you’re talking about...” he began and then froze as Silver held up the journal in front of him.

“You’ve been through my saddlebags!” he yelped indignantly.

“Quite right. And lucky for you, you didn't find this...” Silver held up a sheet of grubby parchment in his other hand.

“Another map?” Swiftnick said in bewilderment.

“Our map,” Stone said smugly.

“Oh....” Swiftnick was able to put two and two together fast enough. Silver and Stone had to be footpads and they'd clearly hidden their stash map in the journal. But how had it gotten there?

“You found the treasure yet?” Stone asked him curiously.

“What treasure?” Swiftnick blurted. “I was only exploring....”

“Foxwell’s old mill? Whatever for?” Silver snorted.

“Er....I like old mills?”

Silver laughed. “A likely tale. You were following the Black Fox’s map. We even looked for it once, but there weren’t nothing to find.”

“Maybe that’s why Fothering decided to sell it,” Stone suggested.

“Wanted to get rid of us more like,” Silver retorted. “Not that that’s likely either, eh Mr Stone?”

Stone had an ugly grin, Swiftnick decided uneasily. “What’s that got to do with me?” he demanded. “You’ve got your map and the journal. So take it and go.”

“Pushy young brat, ain’t he?” Stone commented, giving Swiftnick a shake that rattled the youth’s teeth.  “You sure you ain’t found anything down there?”

“Look for yourself....” Swiftnick snapped sullenly. “I think it’s all a folly. There isn't any treasure. The Black Fox spent it all.”

“More than likely,” Silver agreed. “So, we’ll have to find another way to get rich, won’t we?”

“What?” Swiftnick said uneasily, sliding a sideways look at him. Stone had struck him as a thug, but Silver was the scarier one; he knew how to think. It was a combination footpads often came in according to Turpin; brawn and cunning.

“You’re Mallory’s ward, ain’t you?”

“Who?” Swiftnick asked.

Stone shook him again; hard. “Are you or aren’t you?”

“What if I am?” Swiftnick shot back defiantly.

“Where is he?”

“How should I know?”

“Wrong answer!” This time Stone cuffed him hard enough to make the youth see stars.

“Now, now, we don’t want to mark him....” Silver scolded in amusement and tucked grubby fingers under Swiftnick's chin. “I'm sure he’ll be reasonable, won't you, lad?”

“What do you want?” Swiftnick demanded shakily.

“I told you, where do we find Mallory?”

“Why? So you can rob him?” Swiftnick retorted defiantly.

“Something like that. Mostly so we can return his ward to him....”

“I can find my own way back....”

“If we let you, I'm sure you could. But we’re not going to let you. You see, I don't think you told Sir Willoughby know where you were going, so he’s not going to have the faintest idea where to look for you. Now, if you want to go home, you’re going to tell us where your guardian is hiding himself.”

Swiftnick swallowed hard, unnerved by the glitter in Silver’s eyes.

“If there’s no treasure, we’ll have to find another way to make ourselves rich.  And that’s you....” Stone put in. “So, where’s Mallory?”

Swiftnick looked up at him uncertainly. He could hardly tell them where to find Turpin and unless Dick knew someone was looking for Sir Willoughby, no one was going to find him. “The Shepherd’s Lantern,” he babbled hastily when Stone lifted a meaty fist again.

Silver stared at him. “Why there?” he demanded. “Fothering said you weren’t staying there. He saw the two of you ride off after he sold you the journal.”

Swiftnick thought fast. “We were going to meet my other guardian,” he said hastily.

“How many have you ruddy well got?” Stone exclaimed.

“Two,” Swiftnick answered glibly. Maybe if Dick was out looking for him, he might have tracked Fothering down to see what he remembered about the map. He could be pretending to be Mallory again. But the Shepherd’s Lantern was far enough away to give Swiftnick time to escape while they were gone. “Sir Willoughby wanted to go back to Shepherd’s Lantern to er...soak up the er air.....for his poems....”

Silver gave him a hard stare. “You’d better not be lying....” he warned.

“Why should I?” Swiftnick protested and gave him his best ‘light shining through from the back of his head’ look.

Stone snorted. “This one’s not sharp enough to lie....”

“Oh, I don't know about that,” Stone mused. “But it sounds like it might be true enough. I’ll go take a look.”

“What do we do with him in the meantime?”

“He seemed to be enjoying exploring the cellar. Tie him up and leave him down there. No one ever comes here. He’ll be safe enough....”

                                                            * * *

Turpin hadn't managed to become a successful highwayman with a talent for staying alive without developing a sixth sense and the second he saw someone riding up the twisting path from the river in their direction, he leaned over to grab Fothering’s reins and hustled him and his mare off the path and into the trees.

“I say, what...?” Fothering began indignantly.

“Shut up.”

“But....”

“Silence, Fothering!”

“But....”

“Someone’s coming....Now, be quiet....”

“But if they’ve seen....” Turpin turned a fulminating stare on him and under those hard dark eyes Fothering shut up with a sudden stab of alarm.

After a few moments, a grey haired man rode by on a sturdy brown cob that Fothering recognised only to well. He was suddenly glad he had been warned to silence. Stone was bad enough, but Silver scared him silly...

Dick noted the sudden trepidation on Fothering’s face, but was more interested in making sure Silver was out of sight before he relaxed. “Been to the mill, no doubt,” he murmured once Silver was safely out of ear shot. “He must be looking for Nick...”

“What about Stone?” Fothering hissed in a strangled whisper.

“What about him?”

“Stone’s never far away from Silver.”

Dick smiled wolfishly. “Not a problem....”

“Oh he is, trust me. You were lucky to scare him off before....”

Turpin raised an eyebrow at him. “I think I can handle Stone,” he said dryly. “Come on....”

                                                                        * * *

Stone was bored as he sat on the river bank staring into the water. The youth had been trussed up hand and foot and tossed in the cellar; none too gently since Stone didn't like mouthy young striplings who fought back when being tied up. A small smirk crossed his face at the bruises the youth would have. Rich brat had needed a lesson or two. Maybe if this Sir Willoughby was reluctant to pay up he might be able to hurt him properly; slice off a finger maybe, or an ear....

“Hello....” The voice was soft, almost gentle but it had a certain predatory quality that sent a chill running up his back like a frightened mouse to set his hackles quivering. He started to move, then froze at the all too familiar sound of a flintlock being cocked. A cold barrel nuzzled up to his right ear in counterpoint to the voice and he could feel the looming presence of the man behind him.

“What do you want?” Stone demanded. “I ain’t got no money....”

“Where’s the boy?”

“What boy?”

“The one’s whose horse is grazing over there....” came the chilly answer.

Stone rolled his eyes towards the big bay. The horse had done its best to kick him when he got too close and he had let it be. Good thing for them the brat had unsaddled it otherwise Silver would never have got near enough to get the map back. “Oh....him....”

“Yes.....” The voice had a slight hiss now, reminding Stone of an angry snake.

“In the cellar....” he blurted.

“And why would that be? He’s not hurt is he....?”

Stone was suddenly very, very glad he hadn’t done more than rough the lad up a bit. “No, no, not hurt, tied up is all....It was Silver’s idea....”

“Really? And what idea was this?” the voice purred.

“To ransom him to Sir Willoughby Mallory.”

“Was that where your mate was going?”

“Silver? Aye, yes....”

“Ah....” The man behind him shifted and Stone gulped closing his eyes and fearing the blast of the pistol.

“Look....there’s no need for this. We can share the ransom....”

“Share? I never share what’s mine....” came the cold response and the man shifted again. Stone nearly screamed as he felt the pistol lifted then came the sudden welcome rush of darkness....

Turpin stepped back from Stone as he slumped at his feet with a disdainful sniff. “Honestly, you get a lower class of villain these days,” he snorted as he lowered the hammer on his pistol again.

“These days?” Fothering quavered, edging closer to peer down at the unconscious heap in the grass. “You didn't hit him too hard did you?” he fretted.

“Barely tapped him. I think he fainted....”

“Fainted?”

“Are you going to repeat everything I say?” Dick demanded.

“Everything?” Turpin gave him a sharp look and Fothering grinned impishly at him. “Sorry, couldn’t resist, old bean. Now what?”

“You tie him up, I’ll fetch Nick and then we’ll get out of here.”

“We’re going to leave him here?”

“Why not? Be a lesson to him....”

“But, shouldn’t we take him to a thieftaker? Captain Darcy....”

“Do you really want to take him to a thieftaker so he can explain how you got involved with them? Not everyone will be as understanding as I am about your er...little peccadilloes.” Besides which, Dick really didn't want to go anywhere near Captain Darcy if he could help it.

“You have a point,” Fothering admitted, flushing as he knelt to remove Stone’s grubby neckcloth to tie him up with.

Dick nodded and bounded off towards the mill itself to fetch Swiftnick.

                                                            * * *

Swiftnick shifted miserably on the cold stone floor, easing his aching ankle. Despite his best efforts, he hadn't been able to free his hands and didn't know what to do next. If Silver returned from the Shepherd’s Lantern before he got away, he didn't now what he’d do. He needed to come up with a plan....

What would the Black Fox do in a situation like this?

Probably get rescued by his fellow spies according to the journal.

Best to wonder what Dick would do instead. Turpin was far more resourceful....

The sudden clunk of the trapdoor being heaved back and the burst of sunshine spilling down the steps made him blink against the light. Stone had left the lantern on the bottom step, well out of Swiftnick’s reach but it cast enough light for anyone coming down the steps to see the captive.

“Swiftnick?” a familiar voice called urgently.

“Dick?!” Swiftnick forgot all about the scolding he had been expecting in sheer relief at hearing his partner’s voice.

“Aye, you wretched young pest. What have you got yourself into this time?”

“I didn't do anything!”

“Except run off....Are these steps safe? They look a bit dodgy....”

“The next to last one is broken. Dick, there’s two men up there....”

“One. Silver’s gone off somewhere to find Mallory and I took care of Stone. Fothering‘s watching him.”

“But, he’s with them....”

“Not exactly,” Dick stepped carefully over the last step and strode briskly across the cellar to where Swiftnick sat against the wall. He crouched beside him, expecting him curiously. “You look a bit ruffled...” he said, noting a flowering bruise across the youth’s cheekbone.

“So would you,” Swiftnick shot back indignantly. “Untie me....”

“Say please?”

“Dick!”

“Ah!”

“Oh, all right. Please!”

“Such graciousness....” Dick said dryly. “Now listen, Fothering thinks I'm Sir Richard and you’re my ward. Got that?”

Swiftnick nodded, leaning forward so Turpin could untie his hands. “But they said...”

“I know. They’ve been using him as their dupe and robbing the people he sells stuff too. Can’t have that now, can we? Gives highwaymen a bad name....what’s the matter with your ankle?” Dick had noticed him flinch as he untied his feet.

“I didn’t notice the broken step,” Swiftnick grumbled. “And he tied me up a bit tight. It’s all right...”

“Well, as long as it doesn't stop you riding....”

“It won’t.”

“Ah, but I'm afraid I will....”

Dick met Swiftnick's eyes as the youth looked past him in trepidation and then back to the highwayman. “Let me guess; Silver?” Turpin twisted round to look at the steps as Fothering descended them, hands held over his head. Silver was behind him with a pistol while Stone stood above them, weaving slightly and rubbing his head. “Watch your step, my Lord....” Silver said mockingly. “Wouldn't want you falling...Disarm yourself, sir....”

Dick scowled, but unbuckled his sword belt and let it fall. Fothering had already been disarmed.

Fothering grimaced but stepped carefully to the cellar floor. “Sorry, Sir Richard. He took me by surprise. Stone was swearing at me you see....”

Dick nodded gloomily. “Could have happened to anyone,” he sighed, glancing at Swiftnick.

“That’s not fair!” Swiftnick protested promptly.

Turpin shook his head and turned back to Silver. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d ridden off, did you?” Silver smiled coldly. “It occurred to me that Mallory might want some indication that I did in fact have his ward, so I came back. Imagine my surprise to find my Lord here...”

“Never mind all that,” Dick snapped as he got up and glared at him. “What do you want?”

“First of all, who are you?”

“Sir Richard Fortesque Smythe. The boy’s guardian.”

“Ah, the other one,” Silver smiled again, a knife edge thing. “Presumably as rich as Sir Willoughby?”

“Oh, quite,” Dick said dryly, hoping Swiftnick wasn’t going to snicker.

“Excellent. It seems, we have made ourselves quite a collection, Stone,” Silver said cheerfully as he stepped onto the cellar floor. “Now, if you, young master, would care to take those ropes Sir Richard is holding and tie him up....”

Swiftnick looked at his partner and then shook his head. “I’ll do no such thing....”

Silver levelled his pistol at the youth. “You will.....or I will shoot your guardian in the leg....”

Swiftnick closed his mouth on a protest and reluctantly took the ropes as Turpin handed them to him. Head bowed, he bound Turpin’s wrists behind him as Dick put his hands back for him.

Silver watched closely as Stone stomped irritably down the steps. Dick held his breath hoping the man would trip on the damaged step, but Stone stepped over it deliberately.

“You sure this is a good idea?” he demanded of Silver as he glared at Turpin.  “They’ll hang us for kidnapping....”

“They’ll hang us anyway,” Silver pointed out. “But our tame Fothering here is going to do exactly as we say or have the scandal come out about how he took to the road with the villains and robbed his own kind.”

“That’s not true! I didn’t rob anyone. You tricked me!” Fothering wailed, jerking towards them and then retreating hastily as Stone moved menacingly forward.

“But you’ll still have to protect us...” Silver smirked.

“No, he won't,” Dick interrupted coolly. “No one will take your word against his. Especially if I and Sir Willoughby support Fothering and explain how you forced him to help you by threatening him...” Swiftnick cast an admiring glance up at his partner and Dick winked at him. “I might also add, that since he took no part in any robberies you carried out, he’s never been seen to be identified.”

Stone was by now staring at Turpin uneasily and shot an uncertain look at Silver. “Is that so, do you think?”

“He’s talking through his hat,” Silver snapped. “You, boy, stop dithering and tie Fothering up. You, Sir Richard, turn around....”

As Swiftnick went to tie up Fothering, Dick turned obediently, letting Silver see his bound wrists and knowing perfectly well that neither he nor Stone would be stupid enough to get close enough for a proper look.

Fothering was spluttering indignantly over being tied up, drawing Stone’s attention into swearing at him. Satisfied that Turpin was tied up and Fothering no threat, Silver turned his attention to Swiftnick. “Good enough, boy,” he said with a quick look at Fothering’s wrists. Catching Swiftnick’s arm, he pulled him over to the steps. “Now then, what are we going to have as a souvenir for Mallory, hmmh?”

Stone laughed as he shoved Fothering down to sit on the cellar floor and then turned to Turpin. “How about a finger or two? Maybe his guardian here can choose which ones?”

Dick looked at him in loathing, a filthy look which made Stone hesitate to approach closer for a moment.

“I think a little more discretion is called for,” Silver said however as he stuck his pistol through his belt and drew a knife instead. Swiftnick’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the blade and he took half a step back before Silver grabbed his arm. “Now, now, none of that. I won’t harm you....not if you behave. A snippet of hair should do your guardian....”

As Silver grabbed for a handful of curls, Stone snorted and grabbed Turpin’s shoulder. “Should have gone for the finger if you ask me,” he cackled.

Turpin snapped and twisted, jabbing his knee up hard into Stone’s podgy stomach. Stone grunted and doubled up and Dick hurled him aside with his shoulder as he wrenched his wrists free of the fake knots Swiftnick had tied. “Silver!” he roared as he snatched up his sword. “Let him go!”

Silver was goggling at him in shock, but had the presence of mind to tighten his grip on Swiftnick’s hair and yank him up close, twisting him so that he could lay the knife across the youth's throat. “I think not....”

Dick took an angry step closer then stopped as the blade drew a bright thin line of blood. “Hurt him and I’ll kill you....”

“I almost believe you mean that....Or at least you think you do. But still...” Silver mocked and his eyes flickered past Turpin in the same moment that Fothering cried out.

“Look out, Richard!”

Dick twisted as Stone lunged at him from behind, staggering from tripping over Fothering’s feet as the fop desperately stuck his legs in his way. Stone was agile for a big man, catching his balance as he raised his pistol to shoot Turpin in the back.

Infuriated, Dick smashed his sword down on his hand, then as the pistol blasted its shot harmlessly into the floor, slammed his sword hilt into Stone’s face, sending him crashing into the wall to slither down it in an unconscious heap. Turpin whirled back to face Silver, blade flashing.

“You’re good, sir, but are you good enough?” Silver mocked.

“Let the boy go and I’ll let you and Stone go and say no more about it.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I’ll kill Stone here....” Dick touched his sword point to the man’s throat.

Silver’s eyes flickered then he shook his head. “No, you won't do that. You won’t kill a helpless man....” He yanked at Swiftnick, towing the reluctant youth with him towards the steps. “So, I think we’ll be going....”

Dick prowled after him, keeping as close as he could. “If I let you take a horse and escape, will you let him go?” he demanded.

Silver shook his head. “I don't trust you. The boy comes with me. You can pay to get him back the same as Mallory. I’ll let you know where and when. And you can let Stone go as well. If you don’t, I’ll take his advice and start cutting off the boy’s fingers.”

Turpin’s free hand curled into a tight fist and it took a conscious effort for him to loosen his grip on his sword.

“You’re a monster!” Fothering said angrily. “I don't care about the scandal. I’ll hunt you down myself!”

“You’ll change your tune soon enough....” Silver sneered. “The first time you get snubbed at a party....”

“Never was much of a one for parties,” Fothering retorted.

“I can assure you Fothering neither Willoughby nor I will snub you,” Dick put in calculatingly to bolster Fothering’s confidence.

“Might have known you bunch of popinjays would stick together,” Silver sneered, jerking roughly at Swiftnick and taking his first step onto the stairs. Taking the second was his mistake as his foot went straight through the rotten board, flinging him off balance. He flailed wildly as he lost his grip on Swiftnick, then he grabbed angrily for the youth as he started to pull away and seized a handful of the youth’s waistcoat, pulling him backwards and jabbing the knife at his side.

Turpin’s sword flashed, slicing the back of his hand to force him to drop the knife. Snarling, Silver promptly flung his arm around Swiftnick’s throat, half throttling the youth as he pulled him in front of him as a shield. Dick wasn’t having that either, his sword darted between them to rest against the soft flesh above Silver’s collarbone. “Let him go,” he ordered icily. “Or so help me, I’ll skewer you....”

Silver convulsed, hurling Swiftnick into Turpin as he made a lunge for the highwayman. A second later he cried out and collapsed to his knees, hugging his shoulder in disbelief as he looked up at Turpin. His sword point red with blood, Dick grabbed the pistol from Silver’s belt and stepped back, pulling a shaken Swiftnick to his feet and putting the youth behind him. Then he coolly aimed the pistol at Silver.

“You.....” Silver began with a venomous snarl.

“No swearing in front of the boy,” Dick sniffed. “I did warn you. Consider the fact that I could have killed you....”

Silver glared at him, fuming in rage but conceding the point as he gingerly touched his throat and felt the burning slice where Turpin’s blade had scored his collarbone to sink into his shoulder. “Now what?” he demanded. “You take us to Darcy so he can hang us?”

Turpin raised an eyebrow at him. “Fothering, you want them to hang? Or perhaps we shall bargain with them?”

“Bargain?” Fothering asked in bewilderment as Swiftnick went shakily to untie him.

“What kind of a bargain?” Silver said warily.

Dick pursed his lips. “Your silence in return for your lives,” he suggested. “You keep quiet about involving Fothering in your sordid little robberies. And Nicholas and I shall stay silent about your kidnapping attempt. Nicholas? Do you agree with that?”

Swiftnick sank back on his heels as he knelt beside Fothering. “Whatever you say, Richard,” he said quietly.

“Fothering?”

“It seems fair, but....if they break the bargain....?” Fothering said slowly as he rubbed his wrists.

Dick nodded tightly. “They won't or we shall tell of their kidnapping efforts.” He smiled with cool savagery. “You see, Silver, if you talk you will already have done all the damage you can. There will be no reason why we shouldn’t hunt you down. Understand? I suggest you take the money Fothering gave you and get out.”

Silver said nothing for a long moment, staring at Turpin in frustrated rage. Then he lumbered to his feet, making Dick step warily out of reach. “I’ll remember you....” he growled. “You’d better watch your back from now on....”

Turpin gave him a chilly smile. “I already do....Get your mate and get out of here....Nick, go fetch our pistols...”

Silver grunted and staggered over to prod a groaning Stone awake. He explained the situation curtly to his groggy accomplice, then helped him lever himself to his feet. By the time he was able to move, Swiftnick had returned with Dick’s pistols and his own. He stood guard at the top of the steps then stayed out of reach while Turpin and Fothering herded their captives out of the cellar and up to their horses. Neither Stone or Silver were in any condition to put up a fight as they mounted up and rode off, although the look Silver threw back at them said he would not forget them in a hurry.

“I think they’ll be back...” Swiftnick whispered to Turpin.

Dick nodded. “But they won't find us, will they?” he pointed out with a wink.

“Nasty people,” Fothering said with a shudder as the footpads disappeared into the trees. “Are you all right, Master Nicholas?”

“Huh? Who...? Oh me? Oh, I'm fine....” Swiftnick blurted.

“Ah, a little more shaken then stirred perhaps?” Fothering smiled. “Quite an adventure for you, hmmh?”

“It’ll teach him to go off treasure hunting on his own....” Dick said sourly, reminding Swiftnick that he was overdue for a lecture. Swiftnick gave him a rueful smile and gingerly felt the cut on his neck; it was shallow but sore and messy.

“Bear up, young man,” Fothering urged. “I shall fetch the horses and we shall go to the pub for a feast of celebration!” Slapping Swiftnick briskly on the shoulder, he strode off to get their mounts while Swiftnick goggled after him.

“Is he for real?” he exclaimed.

“Genuine Fothering. He reminds me of you a bit....”

“Hey!” Swiftnick spluttered.

Dick laughed and tucked his fingers under the youth's chin so he could see the cut. “You got off easy there, sunshine....”

“I thought he was going to kill me....”

“Not if I had anything to do with it. You’d better go help Fothering with the horses before Toby bites him...”

                                                            * * *

Several hours later, Dick and Swiftnick rode peacefully through the trees in the soft warmth of the sunshine, both of them finally relaxed. Fothering had gone off to retrieve his cart on his newly purchased mare and Dick had decided that he Swiftnick had had better be on their way; to meet Sir Willoughby as he told Fothering.

“And another thing, if I hadn't met up with Fothering I’d have had no idea where to find you,” Dick was growling as he lectured.

“Yes, Dick....” Swiftnick said absently, enjoying the play of sunshine through the leaves.

“Anything could have happened to you. What do you think Silver and Stone would have done when they couldn’t find Sir Willoughby?”

“No, Dick....” After a moment of silence, Swiftnick realised it was the wrong answer and looked round uneasily. “Er, I mean....”

“Were you listening to a word I said?” Turpin demanded.

“Er, I stopped after you started repeating yourself for the third time?”

Dick glowered at him then startled Swiftnick with a sudden explosion of laughter. “Oh never mind. You’re safe, that’s the main thing. And I was right....”

“Right?” Swiftnick said suspiciously.

“There was no treasure to find....”

“Silver and Stone interrupted before I’d finished looking!” Swiftnick protested indignantly. “It’s at the mill somewhere. I know it is!”

Turpin stared at him. “The mill’s not marked on the map. I know. I looked.”

“It is if you turn it over. Forepaws to forepaws as in the compass. Only he spelt it wrong....”

Dick blinked. “Four paws?” he said slowly. “Like the number?”

Swiftnick nodded. “As the wheel turns it said, so I knew it was at the mill...Dick? Where are you going?”

“To the mill, lad! Come on!”

                                                                        * * *

Swiftnick followed his partner somewhat uncertainly back inside the mill they had left only a few hours before. This time Dick was taking no chances and had come fully armed. He also went over to stamp on the trapdoor down to the cellar and check it was empty before he turned back to Swiftnick. “Right then...” he grinned at him.

“I don’t understand. I thought we were going to search the cellar...”

“No, sunshine. Take a look around you, what do you see?”

Swiftnick looked around in bewilderment. “Cobwebs?”

Dick shook his head and caught his hand, leading him to the machinery. “Wheels, my lad,” he told him, waving at the giant cogs and the hoppers. “As the wheel turns....so....look at the floor....”

Baffled, Swiftnick looked down at the floorboards, his eyes widening as he looked at the four paw like marks burned into the floor. “Dick?” he said softly.

“Foxwell mentioned it in the journal. How the hopper reminded him of huge paws...” Dick explained as he dropped to his knees and started prying at the boards with his knife. “Help me....”

Swiftnick knelt beside him, eagerly helping pry at the creaking filthy floorboards until they finally came up, long nails bending noisily in the process. In the narrow cobweb and dust filled gap between the floorboards, was a cloth wrapped bundle. Since he had the longer arms, Dick lay down flat on the floor, stretching as far as he could to reach it and hauling the bundle out to lay in Swiftnick's lap. “Go on then....” he urged.

Swiftnick gave him a shaky grin and unwrapped the bundle, aware of how fragile the once thick cloth was as it tore in his fingers, but finally it spilled free of the binding cords, spilling black velvet across his knees with a dazzling display of an embroidered flower garden, each blossom set with a precious stone and twined with gold vines and tendrils. 

“Now there’s a pretty sight indeed....” Dick breathed in admiration.

“There’s paper here....” Swiftnick said absently as he caressed the nap of the velvet, amazed it could have stayed so fine after so long.

Dick picked them up, opening them to examine the spidery handwriting. “Oh,” he said softly. “No wonder Foxwell hid these....”

“Hmmh?” Swiftnick tore his eyes away from the sparkling rainbow on his lap.

“It would see the lady in waiting knew more about Walsingham than was good for her. No wonder Walsingham left Foxwell alone if he knew he had these....”

“Any good to us?” Swiftnick wondered absently.

“No,” Dick admitted. “But I think perhaps I’ll send the papers to Fothering, along with the maps and the journal.”

“What? But you paid for them!”

“Well, Glenrae did. But I’ll settle with him....” Dick grinned and nodded at the gems in Swiftnick’s lap. “Only fair though. We’ve got that little lot. Some of those will be fakes, I expect....And I can see some are missing. I dare say Foxwell used a few here and there....”

“Oh....” Swiftnick murmured in disappointment.

“But there’s enough for us to have a spree,” Dick chuckled. “Bath I think...”

“Bath?”  Swiftnick repeated suspiciously.

“Aye, you can go swimming in the hot baths. And I shall flirt with the ladies and buy myself a green suit. Tis all the rage I'm told, my dear.”

“I won't have to wear green, will I? Or pink? The girls all say I look sweet in pink.”

“Exactly the point!”

“I don't want to look sweet! If I have to dress up, I don't to look like a little boy...”

“Would you prefer a girl?!”

“You know blasted well what I mean!”

Dick’s grin broadened. “I know, sunshine. See if you can fold that up while I get a saddlebag to put it in.”

Ruffling Swiftnick’s mop of guinea bright curls, Dick strode back out into the sunshine to the horses. A fortune in jewels, the prospect of a bit of a holiday and excitement and his young friend safe and sound to share it with. What more could he want to be happy?

                                                            oooOooo