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by Linda Chapple

It was all Turpin's fault, Swiftnick thought to himself angrily as he curbed Toby's restlessness. If the older man hadn't been so quick to blame Swiftnick for the failure of their last two hold-ups, if he hadn't told his apprentice that he was a waste of his time, if he hadn't yelled at him to keep out of his sight.... If he hadn't done all of those things, then Swiftnick wouldn't be out on this deserted road, determined to rob a coach. 

To be truthful, now that the first edge to his anger had dulled, Swiftnick wasn't sure if he would end up the victor in this little professional quarrel.  There was a full moon, which was always useful, but it was appearing and disappearing behind scudding clouds driven by a strong, cold wind that sliced through cloak and clothes to chill the bones.  Toby was less than happy to be out of his warm stable on such a night, and Swiftnick's arms were beginning to ache from keeping him poised and ready for any coach that might appear.  He'd chosen this place as a suitable ambush point, using the knowledge he'd acquired after a year of being Turpin's apprentice, but no amount of clever use of terrain could offset the fact that most people would have the sense to remain indoors on a cold night such as this, rather than venture out in a dark and drafty coach.  Swiftnick had a nasty feeling that he would have to eat humble crow before the morning came, and that fact kept his anger hot and steady long after his body had been chilled to the bone.

It wasn't fair!  When would Turpin be willing to treat him as an equal?  Swiftnick had done his best to become the kind of apprentice that Dick could be proud of.  Someone whose name people would know.  Someone who was spoken of with the same respect as Turpin.  Swiftnick knew he still had a lot to learn and that he was still going to make mistakes, but he rarely made the same one twice and Turpin had to know that Swiftnick would never sell him out to save his own skin.  So why did the older highwayman, whenever things went wrong, swear that the reason for it all was his 'addle-witted so-called apprentice'?  What did Swiftnick have to do in order to prove himself?

A small inner voice tried to point out that he was over-reacting, that his flare of temper sprang from the niggling thought that Dick might have been right to yell some of the things he had on this occasion.  The voice was drowned out by the thin, high keen of the wind and the miserable inner fear that Turpin might, just might, be angry enough to cast him off and strike out on his own.  Dick was a loner by habit and nature.  Most of his bad temper stemmed from the fact that he suddenly had a shadow following him around all the time.  Swiftnick, on the other hand, was a person who liked the company of others.  It was a recipe for sure disaster and Swiftnick sometimes wondered how they had managed to cope so far.

His increasingly bleak thoughts came to a halt when he realised that he could hear the sound of coach wheels in the distance and gradually coming closer.  Even though this meant that he was vindicated, he still felt a little bit startled as he manoeuvred an increasingly unhappy Toby into the dark shadows cast by the beech and oak trees that crowded up close to the side of the road.  He noticed that a light mist had formed during the time he had spent brooding and the moonlight was turning it into gauzy curtains of silvery smoke and shadows.  It could help him disappear after he had held up the coach.

His prospective victim swept around the curve of the road, taking him a little by surprise, as the sound had made him think the vehicle was still some distance away.  It loomed up out of the mist like some dark monster out of myth, no lanterns lit to throw a cheery glow.  The sombre mood carried over to the horses.  All four were a dead black, without so much as a speck of white on them.  In the uncertain light of the moon and with the mist eddying around, they seemed more like restless presences than flesh and blood animals.

Swiftnick hesitated for a moment.  There was something almost eerie about the approaching coach.  The coachman was another mass of darkness on top of the gently swaying vehicle, but Swiftnick could see no sign of footmen or other servants, unless they were inside.  He pushed his unease to one side.  He was unlikely to find a riper plum than this, even if he stayed out every night this week.  He kneed a reluctant Toby forward and brandished his pistols.

"Stand and deliver!"

It was always interesting to see how different people reacted to those feared words.  Turpin had taught Swiftnick that the first few moments told you how much of a problem the people outside the coach were going to be.  Some panicked, which might lead to foolhardy actions if they felt personally threatened.  Others were aggressive, which invariably led to trouble when they tried to put the highwayman 'in his place'.  Dick reminded him constantly that he had one, maybe two pistols to rely on, and that once he'd discharged them, he was vulnerable to the people who were supposed to be his victims. 

The coach pulled up smoothly and the coachman seemed to turn and look down at him.  Swiftnick thought that was what the man had done, but it was difficult to tell as the driver was nothing but a black mass on top of the coach.  All of his clothing was of a dark material, and there wasn't a single glimmer of metal anywhere to be seen.  Swiftnick might have expected to see a gleam of pale skin caught by the moonlight, but there was nothing.  Must be a Moor, Swiftnick thought to himself nervously.  A black man was a rare sight around these parts, but not inconceivable.  He hefted his pistol suggestively, making sure the man could see it.

"Don't you go giving me any trouble," he warned the man, hoping against hope that the words came out as a gruff command and not as 'the nervously worded request' that Turpin had once rather scathingly described it.

The coachman stayed as he was for a long moment, then shifted back to look ahead.  He made no move to start the horses, though, so after an unnerved moment, Swiftnick switched his attention to the occupants of the coach.  There had been no indignant roars or startled screams and he was extremely cautious as he approached, wary of a trap having been laid.  It was not unheard of for some young bloods to take out decoy coaches with the express intention of 'bagging' themselves a highwayman.

Silence met him as he finally got Toby to approach the coach - albeit at a sideways angle, since the sturdy bay was still showing an unusual degree of skittishness.  Such restless behaviour would normally make Swiftnick equally nervous, since he knew that Toby was an intelligent horse who could pick up on clues that humans ignored.  Now, however, Swiftnick was hell bent on proving a point, and he pushed the bay forward despite the laid-back ears and ceaseless snorting.

Bending down a little, he could see a dark shape inside the coach.    His eyes seemed to have trouble focusing on it, at first, but gradually the mass resolved itself into the form of a woman, clad in fine clothes of dark colours, with an equally dark cloak over her shoulders and a deep hood concealing her face.  Swiftnick caught only the smallest glimpse of milk-white skin glowing in the moonlight, and he dismissed out of hand the foolish whimsy that he had seen two sparks of blue fire where eyes would normally have been.

"Your pardon, my lady, but I must ask you for your jewels."

There was a long minute of cold silence, then the woman stirred.  "Why must you?" she asked.  Her voice was strangely husky but undoubtedly genteel.

Swiftnick blinked.  "What?"

"You said that you must ask me for my jewels.  What forces you to do this?"

Swiftnick laughed a little uneasily.  "A fondness for eating and a hard master to please," he responded.

"So you have no other means of support than to steal?" she asked.

Swiftnick was aware of a small flicker of discomfort.  Turpin had done his best to find him another apprenticeship, if only to be rid of a burden, but Swiftnick had been determined not to be palmed off like some unwanted pet and eventually Turpin had given up.  Still, there had been other opportunities....

"No, my lady.  I'm afraid it's the road for me, or nothing."

She sighed and dipped her head.  "A pity.  You had so much promise."

Swiftnick was baffled and not a little worried.  Maybe she was touched in her upper works?  "Your jewels, my lady.  I didn't stop you for your conversation, or for your opinion on my life."

"You should have thought of that before you shouted out your challenge," she answered a little frostily.

She reached up inside the dark shadows of her cloak, and when her hands came back into view, Swiftnick gasped as the blazing cascade of light that flared into life.  He leaned forward, momentarily forgetting caution, and reached out his hand.  Those had to be diamonds!  Nothing else could possibly catch the moonlight and throw it back with such pure intensity.  There was a momentary pause and he got the impression that she was gazing at him intently.  Before he could say anything, however, she gave another sigh and dropped the jewels into his hand.

Swiftnick bit back a cry of surprised pain.  The jewels were as cold as midwinter ice, so cold he nearly dropped them the moment they touched his skin.  He braced himself, however, and drew himself back out of the coach window, lifting the treasure to study it.  A marvellous necklace made out of silver and clear gems that could easily be diamonds; stones of marvellous size and clarity.  Swiftnick was enthralled by the way the moonlight seemed intensified by passing through them.  After a moment, the feeling of cold grew too intense and Swiftnick stashed the necklace away in a deep pocket.  He wondered if he should insist that the lady give him the rest of her jewellery, but after a moment he decided against it.  He had wanted to prove a point and he had.  That was good enough.

"My thanks for your generosity, my lady.  Drive on."

"You will rue this night's work, my young thief, but not for too long," the lady answered.

She made no other sound, but the driver seemed to sense that it was time to move off.  The horses started off smoothly and the coach was soon swallowed by the mist.  Swiftnick stayed where he was for a moment, trying to fend off a feeling that something had just gone very wrong, then he shook himself and directed a grateful Toby onto the path back to their latest hideout.

His triumph soon started to fade as he realised that he was getting colder and colder, despite the fact that he was now out of the cutting wind and had his cloak wrapped snugly about him.  By the time he was halfway back to the hideout, his teeth were chattering and he half-expected look up and see snow beginning to fall.  The single glance he allowed himself revealed a clear sky thick with stars and a full moon, but there wasn't a hint of frost gathering anywhere around him.  Toby was showing no sign of discomfort now they were on their way back and Swiftnick was finding it ever harder to keep control when his hands were too numb to keep hold of the reins.

Hands? Swiftnick knew a small shiver of deep-seated fear when he realised that one of his hands was far, far colder than the other one.  His right hand was simply chilled, but his left hand felt as if he had held it in a winter stream until all the feeling had gone out of it.  It was his left side that was the colder, he realised in confusion which rapidly became unease.  And coldest of all was his left hand - the hand which had held the woman's necklace....

Almost without realising it, he urged Toby to go faster.  The big bay horse snorted and willingly increased his speed.  As they started to canter, Swiftnick told himself firmly that it was his imagination that made it feel as though the cold was spreading through him, eating away at his flesh the way a flame devoured a spill.  His teeth were chattering by the time he got back to the hideout; an abandoned cottage close by a stand of trees.  It looked thoroughly decrepit from the outside, but Turpin and Swiftnick had spent some time making the kitchen proof against the elements.  It kept the elements out and the heat in, and while it might be a little snug when it came to making up a bed, it was a lot better than spending a night out in the open. 

Swiftnick was thinking longing thoughts of hot soup and a hunk of fresh bread and cheese as he led Toby into the main part of the cottage.  Part of the outer wall had collapsed and Turpin had decided to use what had been the main room as a stable for the horses.  Most of the roof was still intact and the rest of the walls kept the wind from the horses.

Getting the tack off Toby proved more of a challenge than Swiftnick felt up to at the moment.  His left hand was totally useless, a fact that quietly terrified him.  There was no feeling in it at all, and even when his eyes told him that he was touching the leather and metal of the tack, there was no sensation to prove it.  Taking the tack off a horse one-handed was a time-consuming process and even Toby's patience had vanished by the time Turpin loomed up in the gap in the wall.

"What are you doing in here?" he asked testily.

Swiftnick said nothing, mainly because he didn't have the extra breath necessary to speak.  He was acutely conscious of Turpin's presence behind him and waited for the inevitable sarcastic comment as he struggled with the girth.  He jumped when he suddenly felt Dick's hand close over his own as he fumbled with the buckles.

"Here, your hand is cold as ice!  Get inside and grab some soup.  I'll get Toby settled."

Turpin shoved him more-or-less gently in the direction of the kitchen and Swiftnick was glad to go.  All he needed was something hot inside him and to be away from the wind and he would be fine.  He repeated that to himself as he let himself into the kitchen and made for the warmth of the fire.  It wasn't until he was standing right in front of it that he felt his bravado crumbling.  Even though he was standing in front of the open grate in the range, and could see the soup simmering and the kettle steaming, he still felt as cold as someone standing in a winter's icy stream.  A winter that was never going to end.

ooOoo

Turpin lifted his head sharply as he thought he heard the sound of hooves.  He thought he'd heard them a dozen times already, this cold October night, but it had always been his imagination.  He resisted the urge to take out his pocket watch and see what the time was.  It would only tell him that another hour, or maybe even two, had passed by, and there was still no sign of his apprentice.

Apprentice?  Turpin snorted.  More like a millstone around his neck!  Why he had let Mary persuade him to let the boy ride with him was a mystery that Turpin could never quite get to the bottom of.   It wasn't as though he needed either an apprentice or a partner.  He had always been a lone wolf and his one abortive run with a gang had taught him the danger of relying on other people.  As for the idea of a partner... The spectre of Tom King was never far from his thoughts whenever that subject came up.

This time his hearing hadn't played him false and Turpin slipped through the outer door at the side of building to risk a quick look.  Opening the shutters to check would have let out the gleam of firelight, even if he blew out the candle, and while the odds were good that it was Toby who was returning, Dick hadn't lived this long without learning that Lady Luck smiled most often on those who did most of the work for her.  Recognising his apprentice in the bright moonlight, Turpin went back inside to wait for him to finish with Toby.

 Time continued to seep by with all the speed of a mud trickle.  Despite his attempts to curb his impatience, Turpin couldn't hold down all the anxiety he was starting to feel.  It didn't take this long to unsaddle and rub down a horse.  Perhaps Swiftnick was injured and afraid to come in and let Dick see?  Lashed by his newly reborn conscience, Dick could admit that he might occasionally come across as a little unsympathetic when he was worried.  Still, that was no excuse for Swiftnick to stay lurking outside in the cold night air.  He might catch something and then pass it on to Turpin.

Pleased with that line of reasoning, Turpin wasted no time in making for the makeshift stable.  He paused at the entrance out of habit, knowing better than to just dash into a place just because he thought it was safe.  Swiftnick was unaware of his presence, although Dick knew that wouldn't last for long.  Provided he wasn't distracted by something, Swiftnick had a nice instinct for knowing he was being watched.  Right now he was fumbling at the tack in a way that hinted at extreme tiredness.  Served him right for being out until practically dawn, without so much as a word to those who were responsible for him, Turpin thought to himself.

Dick finally decided that they were both going to get old and grey at this rate, and dismissed Swiftnick back into the kitchen.  His frown deepened as he watched Swiftnick's meek exit.  Not even a growl over being treated like a child?  That wasn't like the lad, especially given his prickly attitude of late.  Knowing how difficult he was to get on with, Dick had been silently impressed at the way Swiftnick had always managed to get along with him in the past - even if he did so by ignoring his supposed mentor until Dick had come out of his current mood.

These last few weeks, though, he had started to take every little thing to heart.  Unused to having guard his tongue, Dick had found himself on the defensive and his temper had started to fray even more quickly.  The two of them had started rubbing against one another like two dry sticks aiming to start a fire.  And Turpin was afraid that it was a fire that would consume them both.  Highwaymen were a breed apart, and trust was a precious commodity they rarely possessed or were given.

It didn't take him long to get Toby settled.  Dick was relieved to see that there was no sign that the bay had been ridden hard, and he was happy enough to bury his nose in his feed and start eating.  Turpin paused to give Bess a carrot and a quick pat before going to join Swiftnick.  He was startled to find the youngster with his cloak still wrapped around him and standing so close to the grate that he was in danger of setting himself alight.  Striving for some measure of control, Turpin choked back his initial sharp comment.

"Not in the mood for soup, then?"

Swiftnick hunched over, but made no reply.  Turpin felt a flare of familiar anger, then hesitated when it occurred to him that the lad might actually have been injured and was afraid to tell him.  After all, Dick had no idea where he had gone after he had dashed off like that on Toby.

"Swiftnick, are you all right?" He struggled to keep the sharpness out of his voice, in case Swiftnick heard it and misread the concern for censure.

"I don't know," Swiftnick eventually whispered, so softly that Dick had to lean forward to hear him.  "I feel... cold."

"Well, I don't wonder that you're cold," Turpin said in relief, "if you're going to wander all over the-"

Turpin broke off his mild lecture when Swiftnick turned to show him a pale, frightened face.  Too pale, was Dick's immediate thought, as he started forward.  Swiftnick reached out to him, looking lost, and Dick took the extended hand without thinking.  It felt like he had grabbed hold of metal left out in the depths of a deep frost and he snatched his own hand away.  Then he saw the stricken expression in Swiftnick's eyes and shook himself free of the shock that gripped him.

"What have you done to yourself now?" he demanded.

He gritted his teeth against the unnatural coldness of Swiftnick's flesh as he took his hand again.  Not even a corpse felt this cold, unless it had lain out on a freezing cold battlefield in winter.  It certainly wasn't the right temperature for a healthy young lad to be.  The eerie chill seemed to extend up the arm to the shoulder.

"Take your cloak and coat off and we'll see what's to do," Turpin ordered briskly, covering his own alarm with brisk action.

He went to ladle some soup into a cup and handed it to Swiftnick.  The youngster's right hand was also cooler than Turpin might have expected, but he could still use it and accepted the soup eagerly.  Once Swiftnick was occupied by the soup, Turpin switched his attention back to the affected arm.

There didn't seem to be any feeling in the hand at all.  Seeing that Swiftnick was looking away, Dick pinched the back of the lad's hand sharply, but there was no sign that Swiftnick had felt anything.  The cold extended all the way up to the shoulder before reducing slightly to just being cooler than might be expected, but Dick was almost certain that the flesh there was also growing colder, as if there was some kind of infection spreading.

"So what happened to you out there?" Turpin asked, admitting to himself that he had no idea what was happening.  He couldn't find any kind of mark or wound anywhere.

"I robbed a coach,” Swiftnick said, giving him a sidelong look.

"Oh, you did, did you?  Remember to load your pistols?" Turpin snorted.  Inwardly, he calculated the risk Swiftnick had run and shuddered at what might have gone wrong.

"Yes, but I didn't need them," Swiftnick said triumphantly.  "I didn't have any trouble and got away with a diamond necklace as good as anything we've ever taken."

Turpin pursed his lips, feeling an odd tingle run up his spine.  "Who did you rob?"

Swiftnick shrugged.  "Don't know.  Don't care.  Some woman in a black coach.  She was a bit touched, but the necklace was too good to pass up."

"Things that are too good to pass up are usually too good to be true," Dick observed.  He glanced across to Swiftnick's coat.  "Still got the necklace?"

Swiftnick gave him an outraged look.  "Of course I've still got it!  It's in my pocket."

Turpin went over to investigate, more as a stalling measure than out of any real curiosity.  Swiftnick had said that he hadn't had any trouble, so the idea of a wound gone bad was no use - even if Dick could work out how a wound could go bad so fast and produce cold rather than the heat of infection.  He dipped his hand into the left pocket - left! - but instead of the cool smoothness of metal and gemstones, he found himself touching and then pulling out a large handful of what looked like twine, leaves and acorns.  He turned to find Swiftnick staring in blank disbelief.

"Where did that lot come from?  Go on, get the necklace out."

Dick swallowed and tried again, but the pocket was empty.  Swiftnick came over to investigate and Dick backed away to give him room, but he didn't expect the youngster to find anything.  Looking down at the shabby detritus in his hand, Dick remembered old, old stories told to him by his nurse when he had been very young.  Stories of fabulous treasures gained or stolen from mysterious individuals, only for the precious gems and metal to transform into useless rubbish later on.  He tried to tell himself that he was being ridiculous, but when he went to pull Swiftnick away from his fruitless hunt, it wasn't his imagination that the eerie cold had now spread up over his shoulder and was seeping down into the lad's chest.

"But... but the necklace was there!" Swiftnick insisted.  "It was, Dick!"  His protestations were cut off as he suddenly clutched at his left side and shuddered violently.

"I don't doubt that it was there, Swiftnick," Turpin soothed hastily, "but it isn't there now and have to decide what to do about you."

He drew the still-protesting Swiftnick over to sit on one of the chairs, then quickly put together a hot compress.  He didn't expect it to do much, but he was seriously taken aback by how quickly the hot cloth cooled down.  In less than five minutes it was cold enough to make his fingers start to go numb and he tossed it to one side.  Even more worrying, to his mind, was the dazed look that was slowly creeping into the lad's eyes.

"Swiftnick?"  Dick snapped his fingers a couple of times until he was certain he had his apprentice's attention.  "Tell me everything that happened when you held up that coach."

"But I already-"

"Everything, Swiftnick!  Right down to the colour of the cushions in the coach."

"It was moonlight; I don't know," Swiftnick said grumpily.  He did as Turpin demanded, though and elaborated where he could when Dick questioned him.  "I'm so tired," he said finally.  "Can I get some sleep?"

It was on the tip of Turpin's tongue to deny him this.  He had a crawling conviction that if Swiftnick lay down and went to sleep, he would never wake up again.  Another look at Swiftnick's heavy-lidded eyes and drooping posture, and he realised that he probably wasn't going to get a choice.  Short of becoming physically abusive, he didn't think he was going to keep Swiftnick awake for much longer.

Besides, he had his own battle to wage at the moment.  Swiftnick's description of the coach had been admittedly vague, but the woman didn't sound like any of the local gentry and Turpin had made a study of them all as potential prey.  She could be a stranger to the area, of course, but there was the unpalatable fact that Swiftnick's symptoms had started right after he had robbed her.  And, no matter how drunk or feverish the lad might get, there was no way he could mistake a bunch of twigs and leaves for a magnificent diamond necklace!

Despite his misgivings, he managed - through a mixture of cajoling and bullying - to keep Swiftnick awake past dawn, but somewhere in the early hours of the morning, Swiftnick passed out.  There was no warning.  One moment he was complaining of feeling light-headed and the next he had keeled over and would have struck his head against the table if Turpin hadn't lunged forward and caught him.  The cold radiated out from him now, beyond any attempt at denial, and Turpin's worry became fear as he felt how close the cold was to Swiftnick's heart.

What to do?  The question ate away at Dick like a poisonous worm as the day progressed.  Swiftnick would not rouse, even when Turpin gritted his teeth and stuck the tip of a dagger into his flesh, and as the cold progressed along his chest and down his left side, his breathing slowed until Dick had to use a mirror to convince himself that there was still life in the younger man.

What could he do?  He had no idea what was wrong with Swiftnick and even less idea what the cure might be.  He also doubted that appealing to the local doctor would make any difference.  Apart from Glenrae (who was always quick to deny that he was a real doctor, anyway), Dick had seen enough of the medical profession to be more likely to trust the local hedge-witch.  Some of their home-made cures did more good than the potions and cupping the doctors recommended.  Unfortunately, this area wasn't a regular haunt of Dick's, so he didn't know who to contact locally.

By midday, Swiftnick had sunk into a sleep so deep that only the ever-present mirror could reassure Dick when he saw the mist of his apprentice's breath cloud it.  Another couple of hours passed with no change.  The only comfort Turpin could find lay in the fact that there was no further deterioration. 

He had to find that woman.  Against all sanity, that was the belief that Turpin kept coming back to.  He had no reason for the conviction, and plenty of facts to say that it would make no difference, but he kept coming back to it, again and again.  Nothing had happened until the necklace was taken.  Swiftnick had described the intense shock of cold when he had first touched it and cold was what was claiming him now.  Maybe there had been some kind of poisoning done.  Turpin deliberately turned a blind eye on the question of how the necklace had then turned itself into a handful of rubbish.

By the time late afternoon had arrived, he had worked himself up into a state of angry restlessness.  He was doing Swiftnick no good by simply standing around and wringing his hands like an old woman.  He could wish that there was someone that he could leave Swiftnick in the care of, but Glenrae was away and they were too far away from the people Turpin felt that he could trust.  Besides, there had been no sign of movement from the lad for nearly four hours now and Dick was deathly afraid there never would be unless he found that woman and found out what she had done.

Mind made up, he went to get his cloak and guns and scooped up the leaves and twine almost as an afterthought.  He banked up the fire and left a flagon of ale beside Swiftnick's bedside. He hesitated for a moment, gazing down at his apprentice and allowing the mask of cool detachment to fall away as he took what might be his last look at his living...friend.  Yes, he could admit that to himself, if not to anyone else.  Pulling in a deep breath, he turned away and made for where Black Bess was waiting for him.

It took a while to find the place where Swiftnick had carried out his robbery, since one country lane looked much like another in winter.  Twilight had settled like a soft blanket across the countryside by the time that Turpin was satisfied that he was in the right place, and he studied the track with practised eyes.  This wasn't a regular road for the gentry to use, since it led to nothing more than a hamlet in one direction and a few farms in the other.  The only time they tended to use it was when the main road was flooded - which it wasn't at the moment.  Swiftnick wouldn't have realised that, and Dick remembered pointing it out when they had ridden past, recalling the time he had robbed someone there.  He was secretly impressed that the youngster had remembered both the anecdote and the way back here.

He still didn't really know why he was here.  The odds on the woman deciding to take the same route again, two nights running, were astronomical.  Even if she did return, and Turpin held her up, what on earth was he supposed to say?  'Stand and deliver: please lift the curse you put on my young apprentice'?   It wouldn't do his reputation any good for people to get the idea that he was a total imbecile!   And yet there was nothing else to do and nowhere else to go.  He had no idea what was wrong with Swiftnick, but he was certain that he wouldn't last the night.  Dick couldn't stand the thought of just standing by and letting that happen in front of his eyes.  He had to do something, no matter how stupid.

Night fell and Turpin drew the cloak about him, feeling the cold as it bit into him.  Bess tossed her head and fidgeted slightly, not best pleased to be out of her warm stable, but she had stood these kinds of watches too often to be more than mildly annoyed and Dick soothed her occasional complaint with ease.  He was in a state of half-expectancy, but he was still conscious of a deep start of surprise when he heard the sound of coach wheels in the distance, but coming closer.  He told himself that it was highly unlikely to be the same coach that Swiftnick accosted, but he was aware of a wash of relief when the vehicle turned the corner and proved to be a jet-black coach drawn by equally dark horses.

"Stand and deliver!"

The driver drew the coach up smoothly and the horses stood obediently still as Turpin urged Bess forward to gaze up at the coachman.  The man, dressed in a heavy cape, hat and muffler, turned his head to gaze down at Turpin, but he made no sound.  Dick caught the briefest flicker of dark red sparks where eyes should have been and every hair on the back of his neck stood to brisk attention.

"On the ground, where I can see you," he ordered, gesturing slightly with his pistol.

The driver made no move at first, but when Dick hefted the gun meaningfully, he complied.  When the man was on the ground, Turpin made him back up, until he was far enough away from the coach not to be able to interfere before Dick could put a ball in him.  Then Dick turned his attention back to the coach itself.  It hadn't escaped his notice that Bess didn't want to get any closer to the coach horses than she was made to go and he filed that little piece of information away to be considered later.  Right now, he had a job to do.

"Come out of the coach," he called.  There was total silence for a long moment and Turpin quelled a flare of irritation.  "You'll go no further until we finish our business and the night will come to an end.  Do you still want to be here at sunrise?"

It was a shot in the dark, but it had the desired effect.  There was the sound of movement and the door to the coach opened.  Turpin tensed, but the woman who came through the door and stepped to the ground showed no sign of being dangerous.  Dick had to prevent the driver from hurrying back to the coach, though.

"Just this once, your mistress can fend for herself," he said sardonically.

Not having the steps set out for her meant she had to jump down, but she managed the feat with grace and an aplomb that made it look like she leapt from her carriage on an everyday basis.  When she was safely on the ground, she took the time to smooth out her dress and adjust her hooded cloak, then she turned to face him in the same silence that the coach driver had adopted.

"Drop the hood, milady," Turpin snapped, using irritation to offset the unnerving way the silence settled on his nerves.  "I like to see who I'm talking to."

"Don't you mean, who you are robbing?" the woman asked in a cool, musical voice.

She did as he had ordered, however and Turpin felt his eyes widen when he saw her face.  He'd seen many beautiful women in his life, but this woman had them all beaten at the starting gate.  She was absolutely flawless, like a perfect diamond held up to the light.  Her skin glowed in the moonlight, with no hint of any blemish.  Her hair was piled up in a fashionable style, and looked to be blonde, given the way it shone silver in the moonlight.  Her eyes were dark pools that studied Turpin with an air of calm.  Dick had the unshakeable conviction that nothing he could do would destroy that calm, no matter how violent or savage he might become.

"Now who said I was going to rob you?" he asked in a deliberately affable tone.

A delicate eyebrow was raised.  "That is generally the purpose a highwayman has when he holds up a coach."

"True," Turpin conceded, "but I like to think that I am a little out of the ordinary, as well as having a taste for confounding expectations of me."

"So you have not stopped my coach to rob me.  Did you feel a pressing need for polite conversation?"

Despite himself, Turpin found a smile tugging at his mouth.  The voice might be pure honey, but the bee's sting was still in the words.  "As a matter of fact, I stopped you to return you your property."

He thrust his hand in his pocket and bit back the cry of astonishment that threatened as he felt cool metal instead of the rough twine he'd expected.  He drew his hand out and gasped at the sight of the necklace now dangling from his fingers.  A thing of utter beauty, testament to some master jeweller's talent, the diamonds in their settings caught the moonlight and threw it back tenfold.  Looking up, he saw the expression on the woman's face and knew that all his fancies and wild imaginings were true and he was in the presence of one of the faerie.

"You are the child's guardian?" she asked sharply.

Turpin had a ready denial on his lips, then stopped it.  "That and his teacher, for my sins.  I didn't think I needed to warn him against your kind, though."

She smiled.  "Your thoughts follow a different path, when the sun is in the sky and shadows are few and ordered in their pattern.  Now you are in the moon's domain, and your thoughts run free of their solar fetters."

"You're not supposed to exist," Turpin snapped.

The woman inclined her head.  "So your kind has ordained, with all of your heart and soul.  We can be driven back, but we are not so easy to banish altogether.  And sometimes we choose to travel in your world, rather to stay on our own paths.  It is wiser for your kind to treat us with courtesy when that happens, not rob us of our possessions."

"He wasn't to know," Turpin argued.

"The fact that he was ignorant of my true nature does not detract from the fact that he stole from me.  He is lucky I did not strike him down where he stood."

"You did, though," Turpin shot back.  "He's back at the hideout, his flesh turning to ice.  Maybe you didn't kill him outright, but your mark is on him."

"I warned him against taking my necklace," she said coldly.  "I played fair.  If he had drawn back, I would have left him untouched.  He chose his path."

"He thought you were an ordinary woman!  We're always threatened, when we seek to take their pretty toys away from the marks.  Swiftnick would have thought you meant the gallows and that's a shadow he's used to falling over him.  He meant you no harm and did you none.  If you had been what you seemed, the loss of a necklace would have been annoying, but nothing more."

She studied him in silence for a moment, then moved closer.  Bess shifted restlessly, and Turpin could feel her tensing, as if to turn and bolt.  He started to gather the reins, but then the woman reached out and rubbed Bess's nose, murmuring something in a language Dick couldn't place.  Bess shuddered all over, then abruptly calmed.  The woman came closer, gazing up at Turpin with curiosity replacing the mask she had previously worn.

"What is your name?"

Turpin snorted.  "Oh, no you don't!  I know the tales.  You give me your name before I give you mine,"

She laughed.  "Ah, the moon is running strong in your veins tonight and you remember all the tales you were told in your cradle!  I have had many names in my time, highwayman, but one of my favourites was Kore.  I gift it to you with a measure of goodwill.  I have ever had a soft spot for the impudent rogues."

Kore?  The name teased at Dick's memory, but he couldn't immediately place it.  "Do you swear, on all you hold sacred, that Kore is a true name to you?" he demanded.  She nodded and he relaxed fractionally.  "The name's Turpin," he told her.

She looked mildly surprised and a small smile flickered across her face.  "I am honoured.  Not everyone can say that they have been robbed by the infamous Turpin."

"If you counted all the people who have said that I've robbed them, you'd call back the statement," Turpin said dryly.  "Most of England claims to have been robbed by me.  And I haven't come to rob you.  I've come to return your property."  He offered her the necklace, but she made no move to take it.

"And do you think that returning the stolen article cancels out the crime?" she asked.  "I was still robbed."

"You were robbed of something made out of moonbeams and dead leaves.  It has no worth beyond the illusion and it certainly isn't worth the life of a young man who bore you no malice!" Turpin growled.  He thrust the necklace at her and swore under his breath when she still refused to take it back.  Something told him that it was extremely important that she accept her property back.

"There is still the fact that a crime was committed," Kore said with gentle finality.  "Some form of redress must be made."

"You're as bad as the bloody gentry in this world!" Turpin exploded.  "All they care about are their possessions and to hell with the fact that the poor starve to death while they parade around in their finery!"  He would have flung the necklace at her, except that it refused to leave his hand, holding fast as if bound to him.

"You do not loose your burden so easily, Turpin," Kore said coolly.  "The one who robbed me makes redress for his crime.  There was no repentance in him for what was done, no thought for the consequences of his actions."

"And you'll kill him for that?  A slow death?  Slower even than the noose?  And you have the gall to stand there and talk to me about justice?  If you want justice, then take me instead of him.  I taught him his trade.  I made him think he needed to prove himself.  If there's any blame here, then it falls on me.  Let Swiftnick go free."  He could have bitten off his tongue the instant the name was out, but it was too late.

"Swiftnick?"  Kore's eyes momentarily turned to hammered silver, reflecting the moon with eerie intensity.

The coachman, forgotten by Turpin, cleared his throat.  "Begging your pardon, m'lady, but he's not on the list."  His voice was deep and velvety, a shock to someone expecting the rough tones of a servant.

Kore frowned.  "That doesn't mean anything."

The coachman shifted and a slightly worried note entered his voice.  "It'll mean a lot to m'lord.  He gets a mite upset when the list gets messed up."

Kore gave a gurgle of laughter, savouring some secret joke Turpin wasn't privy to.  She gave Dick a severe look.  "I still think that I am entitled to some kind of recompense.  I had to appear at the party without my best necklace and some of the others teased me about it.  Still, I suppose a life is too much for what was only inconvenience."  She gave Turpin a long, thoughtful look.  "If I surrender Swiftnick to you, then you are beholden to me.  I shall consider a favour owed to me that I may claim back at my convenience.  Do you agree to that?"

"What kind of favour?" Turpin asked warily, then gave a hiss of pain as cold agony lanced up his arm.

"Any favour I choose to ask," Kore said flatly.  "Yes or no.  Choose now!"

"I don't have much bloody choice, do I?" Dick snapped.  "All right, I agree, but just me.  Swiftnick stays out of this."

"If that is what he chooses, then I agree to that condition," Kore agreed.

He'll agree, if I have to shoot him in both legs and tie him to the bed! Turpin thought grimly.  He was unhappily aware of the smile on Kore's face, but decided that it would be best to ignore it.  He felt his hand spasm and then the necklace dropped to the ground.  The coachman glided forwarded and picked it up.  He glanced up at Turpin as he passed and once again Dick caught sight of twin sparks of red fire underneath the hat.    He decided that he would ignore that, as well.

"Swiftnick will be safe?" he demanded of Kore, as she accepted her necklace from the coachman and put it back on.

"The curse has been lifted.  He sleeps and will awake when you return."

"Oh, I'm going to return, then?" Turpin asked hopefully.

"I do not have need of you as yet, Turpin, but the time will come when you hear my summons and you will attend.  I hold you to your word.  In the meantime, take this as a token of my forgiveness."  She tossed something to him that he caught out of sheer reflex.  "Until we meet again, my highwayman."

She turned to get back into the coach, and once she was settled and the door closed, the coachman set the horses in motion again.  The coach moved away, and as Dick watched it go, it faded into nothingness, like mist in the morning.  With an inner shiver of fright, Dick tossed the gift Kore had given him to one side and turned Bess in the direction of the hideout.

ooOoo

Swiftnick awoke to the sound of a door closing, his senses immediately alert to the possibility of danger.  He sat up, automatically thrusting his hand under the pillow to grab for the pistol that was there and had time to become alarmed at its absence before he realised that it was Turpin who had disturbed his slumber.

"Where'd you go?" he asked, with a jaw-breaking yawn.  "Um, Dick, are you all right?" he asked, when he realised that Turpin was looking at him like he had never seen his apprentice before in his life.

"What?"  Turpin seemed to shake himself out of the daze he was in.   "Oh, yes, I'm fine.  I... just went out to check on the horses, that's all.  You sleep all right?"

"Yes, but I don't remember falling asleep," Swiftnick said in confusion.  "I had a weird dream, as well.  Something about holding up a coach and stealing a necklace that turned into leaves."  He paused when he saw that Turpin had that strange look on his face again.

"That'll teach you to have cheese on toast last thing before going to bed," Turpin said sarcastically.  "Diamond necklaces don't turn into leaves."

"I know that," Swiftnick said petulantly as he got off the bed and stretched.  "It was just a dream.  Weird things happen in dreams.  Do you want me to make some tea?"  There was no reply and he turned to look at Turpin.  "Dick?"

Turpin had just taken off his cloak and was staring down at something that had fallen on the floor.   Ever-curious, Swiftnick went to have a look and saw it was a pin, like the ones the gentry used to keep their cravats in place.  He picked it up and admired the workmanship.  It was fashioned in the shape of a serpent coiled around three poppies.  The serpent had its head facing outwards and had two tiny chips of sapphire as its eyes, with a body of silver.  The poppies looked to have been carved out of rubies, while their stalks were of gold.  The entire thing was no longer than Swiftnick's middle finger, but the workmanship was exquisite and detailed.

"Where did you get this?" he asked innocently, as he handed it to Dick.  Turpin shied away from it, then seemed to resign himself to something and took it from him.  The expression on his face as he glared at it was Turpin at his most irritated.

"I got given it," he growled when he realised that Swiftnick was waiting for an answer.  "And it seems that it's the kind of gift that doesn't get lost very easily."  Somewhere, he was very sure, a sapphire-eyed woman wearing an exquisite necklace was smiling to herself.