The coaching inn was a small one, but well kept, clean, warm and cosy on a snowy night. The last thing Thomas Ryan and his wife, Betsy, expected was thieftaker Lacey and his men to arrive with a young blond lad as a chained captive. They barged into the empty taproom, scattering snow and mud in all directions as they swore at the weather and demanded drink and food. Sending his wife scuttling to do their bidding, the innkeeper eyed Lacey dubiously as he and a burly Sergeant hustled the youth over to a corner and fastened his chains to the seat. The lad was bruised and dazed and shivering with cold, hatless and coatless despite the weather and with his miserably thin and worn cloak wet through. As Ryan watched the lad huddled in on his himself, tucking his hands under his arms to warm them as he gave Lacey a half-sullen, half frightened look. Lacey lifted his hand in a rough gesture of threat and the youth winced away from him, ducking his head in submission. Satisfied that his captive was suitable cowed, Lacey barked an order at his Sergeant to guard him well and then stalked over to inspect the innkeeper.

"Our rooms are all spoken for, sir," Ryan warned. "We've got a coach due; held up by snow I expect."

"Rooms won't be necessary. I won't be leaving this rogue unguarded for a moment. Food and drink for my men and myself and the use of your taproom for the night is all we require."

Ryan didn't take to Lacey's lofty tone, but then he had never liked the man's arrogance since the man had arrived to cover for Glutton's thieftaker Captain Spiker while he was away doing Glutton's bidding in London. "What's the lad done? "

"Young bastard's a highwayman, ain't he?"

"I wouldn't know, sir. Is he?"

Lacey looked down his nose at him. "Aye, innkeeper, he is. We're taking him to Newgate."

"Bit young for the road," Ryan observed. "And by the look of him he hasn't done to well for himself on it either…"

"His age and skill doesn't come in to it. He'll swing well enough."

Ryan winced. "Who is he then?"

"Swiftnick. Dick Turpin's apprentice," Lacey said smugly. "Caught him myself with his hand in the pickle jar so to speak."

"A highwayman stealing pickles?"

"No, you fool! He was stealing from a coach," Lacey snapped in exasperation. "Turpin upped and left him." Lacey turned to glare at the young highwayman, his blue eyes narrowing in cunning. "Ain't that right, boy? Turpin abandoned you to swing in his place."

The youth's head came up, his eyes defiant despite the dark bruises marking his face. But he didn't say anything, simply stared at Lacey in loathing until the thieftaker looked away disdainfully. After a moment, the youth slumped again, his shoulders sagging in bruised defeat and teeth chattering cold.

"I'll get the lad a bowl of soup and a blanket," Ryan said automatically, taking to the lad for his mute defiance of his captor.

"You'll do no such thing!" Lacey retorted in outrage.

"If you want him to live to hang, you'd better feed him and get him warm," Ryan dared to warn however. "I'll not have you blaming me if he curls up his toes in my inn."

"He's had no food since he was captured and I intend him to stay that way," Lacey snarled. "First he tells me where Turpin is then he can eat!"

"And he hasn't talked so far?" Ryan shrugged, hiding his disgust at Lacey's treatment of the lad behind his plain features. "If you ask me, you’d do well to feed him a little or he'll never make Newgate. Look at him…"

Lacey looked and hesitated, torn between continuing cruelty and common sense. Swiftnick was looking somewhat the worse for wear; the dark purple shadows under his eyes where he had been denied sleep looked like the bruises that dappled his face. When they had dragged him to his horse to take him to London, Lacey had been prepared to take him as he stood; he only had the cloak because one of the soldier's women had wrapped it around him, pointing out he would be no good to anyone if he froze.

"If you need the lad alive…" Ryan murmured.

"A few scraps then if you insist. Stale bread. I will not pay to feed him," Lacey told him icily, swearing under his breath about do-gooding nobody's.

"As you wish," Ryan grunted and turned to stomp into the kitchen, slamming the door behind him. His wife looked up in surprise from her hasty preparations for feeding the soldiers.

"Whatever's the matter?" she asked in alarm.

"Bloody Lacey's got some young lad captive; he's taking him to hang. He's no older than our lass."

His wife paled, pressing one hand to her lips. "Oh, the poor boy…"

Ryan gritted his teeth. "Lacey says he's Dick Turpin's apprentice."

"Is he?"

"How do I know? All I do know is, Lacey ain't been bloody feeding the boy, thinks he can make him talk if he starves him."

"Language, Thomas!"

"Sorry, dear. But the man's a sadist. Want us to give the lad scraps because he won't pay to feed him."

Betsy frowned, wiping her hands on her apron. "That's unkind," she protested.

"I know. But what can I do? Lacey won't let him have what we cook for him and his men."

"He could have some of our stew," she suggested. "Lacey will think its gruel."

Ryan smiled and came over to give her a sound kiss. "You’re a good girl."

"That's as maybe. You see to the stew and I'll take it out to the boy. Lacey won't dare to argue with me!"

* * *

Swiftnick looked up uncertainly as Lacey came to loom over him once more, wondering whether to expect more blows or harsh words this time.

"And don't you go thinking I'm going soft on you because I let the innkeeper feed you," Lacey snarled however, slamming a large fist down on the table in front of the youth.

Swiftnick flinched, having felt the strength of that fist. He wasn't too sure what Lacey was talking about however. Days without sleep had left his thoughts slow and fuzzy and although the prod of the Sergeant had kept him awake, his mind had switched off to the point where he paid little attention to his surroundings at all.

Seeing the glazed look in the youth's eyes, Lacey scowled and cuffed him round the ear. "Stay awake, boy!" he ordered.

"Can't be anything else with you shouting at me all the time," Swiftnick muttered in a surly tone.

Lacey laughed and leaned on the table, bracing his fists on the rough wood and flexing his brawny shoulders. "I've broken stronger men than a lad like you," he told him. "You want to sleep? You want to eat?" Stubbornly, Swiftnick stayed silent. Lacey went on, purring in a reasonable, persuasive tone. "Tell me where Turpin is. That's all you have to do."

"I wouldn't tell you even if I knew," Swiftnick snapped.

Lacey shook his head and rubbed one finger under his wig to scratch his head. "Don't be a fool, boy. Turpin doesn't care about you. He rode off and left you. He abandoned you to the gallows. You don't owe him a penny. All you have to do is tell me where he is and you can sleep. I'm sure the innkeeper can find you a nice warm bed to curl up in…."

Swiftnick swallowed but shook his head. Oh but it sounded tempting…He was so tired he couldn't think straight any more, but he wasn't so tired as to betray Turpin and fall for the trap Lacey was setting - no matter how tempting the bait.

"We're having roast chicken, lad. Nice crispy, succulent roast chicken with a rich onion gravy. Doesn't that sound good? No reason why you can't have some if you tell me where to find Turpin."

"I hope you choke on it," Swiftnick growled then gasped as Lacey cuffed him hard enough to make him see stars.

"You're the one who's going to choke, boy, on the gallows!" Lacey shouted in his face. "You ain't heavy enough to make it quick!"

Swiftnick bit his lip, but he refused to look away from Lacey's sharp cruel gaze. .

Lacey controlled his frustration with an effort. "Be sensible, boy. You mean nothing to Turpin. You’re going through all this for nothing. Tell me what you know and you can have what you want; food, drink, a bed…."

"My freedom?" Swiftnick gibed quickly and went on when he saw the devious glint in Lacey's eyes. "No, I don't think so. I'll hang. I'd rather do it on my own with a clear conscience."

"A clear conscience? You?!" Lacey flung back his head with a sarcastic laugh.

Flushing with anger, Swiftnick glared at him. "At least I'll only be a highwayman and not a traitor!"

Lacey's jaw shut with such a snap that Swiftnick heard his teeth click together. The young highwayman recoiled, but was sent crashing back against the wall behind him as Lacey hit him anyway. Grabbing him by the front of his shirt, Lacey dragged the dazed youth back upright. "You’re going to tell me one way or another," he snarled into his ear. "Think on it, boy. Turpin abandoned you, he betrayed you by letting you be caught in his stead. He used you so he could get away. He left you to hang in his place."

Swiftnick licked dry lips, tasting blood from where Lacey had hit him. "So what if he did?" he retorted. "It's every man for himself on the road…"

"And you don't feel anything about the way he used and betrayed you?" Lacey sneered. "A real man would want revenge for that. Why should Turpin go free in your place?"

"I don't care what you say. I'm not telling you anything."

"Ah. But then you’re not a man, are you? You’re only a boy running to do his master's bidding."

Swiftnick gritted his teeth, stung by Lacey's words.

"Turpin told you to hold your tongue, did he? Told you how he'd get even with you if you talked? It's nonsense, boy. He can't touch you now; you’re safe from him. I'll protect you…"

Swiftnick looked up at him, blue eyes burning with febrile fierceness. "Do you really think I'm going to believe lies like that? I'm young, not stupid."

Lacey ground his teeth, torn by frustration. He badly wanted to beat the young fool senseless to get the answers he craved, but the boy would never be able to ride if he did and Lacey could not stomach the idea of delays getting him to the gibbet. "You realise that Turpin's relying on your loyalty, don't you?" he spat. "He's using the fact that you’re fool enough to trust him to get clean away."

"By which token, anything I tell you won't make any difference. He’ll be long gone."

"So why not tell me?"

Swiftnick lifted his chin proudly. "Because I'm not a traitor."

Lacey shook his head, genuinely bewildered by the stripling's stubborn loyalty. "You don't think he'll be grateful, do you? You don't mean anything to him. You probably never did. So why should you owe him anything?"

"You wouldn't understand," Swiftnick replied stubbornly.

Lacey sighed and rolled his eyes, grabbing the youth by the chin and squeezing hard enough for his fingers to leave more bruises. "Well then, if you won't tell me where to find him, tell me of his hiding places. Tell me where you stash your loot."

"What loot?" Swiftnick mumbled, instinctively grabbing at Lacey's wrist even though the older man was twice his size and far too strong for him to pry off.

Lacey shook him hard enough to rattle his senses. "You know what I mean!" he roared. "Tell me who helped you!"

Swiftnick swore at him and lashed out under the table, his booted foot catching Lacey hard under the knee. With a curse of pain, Lacey let go and hopped back out of reach, rubbing his knee. It was the Sergeant who leaned over and walloped the young highwayman with casual callousness, hitting him hard enough to knock him flat along the trestle seat.

"Here now, that's enough of that!" Ryan barked as he and Betsy emerged from the kitchen in time to see what the Sergeant did. He slammed down the heavy tray he was carrying on the table and strode over to Lacey as the thieftaker reached for his heavily buckled belt. "What do you think you’re doing?"

"The little bastard kicked me! I'm going to give him a bloody leathering he won't forget in a hurry! And maybe a whipping will loosen his tongue."

Ryan seized his arm in a powerful grip. "You'll not lay a belt on that lad under my roof," he snarled as Swiftnick slowly and dizzily forced himself back into a sitting position.

"Have a care, innkeeper," Lacey snapped, shaking him off.

"Have a care yourself. You’re not on Glutton's lands here. This inn belongs to me and mine and I'll have no violence under my roof or the lot of you will be out in the snow. What kind of a man are you to beat a chained boy anyway?"

"I told you who he is!"

"Aye, you told me. But he doesn't look like a vicious violent rogue to me…" The unspoken words 'and you do' hung in the air between them.

Lacey glared at him, but Ryan was a match for him and it was the thieftaker who reluctantly backed down. Rudely, he turned his back on the innkeeper and strode over to the table where his men were eagerly helping themselves to the hot soup. Even the Sergeant had come over to grab a bowl. Betsy had set aside a tray for Lacey at a separate table however and Lacey flung himself into the chair in a surly temper.

"The chicken will be ready soon, sir," she told him politely as she poured him a cup of the coffee to set beside the bowl of soup and bread rolls.

Lacey grunted an answer, then grabbed for her wrist as she picked up a smaller tray. "What's that for?"

"Gruel for the boy and a drop of coffee, sir," she answered calmly.

Lacey flung her hand away and jerked his head towards the boy, turning his attention to the soup.

Sunk in misery, Swiftnick barely stirred as the woman came over to him. The scent of lavender from the swish of her skirts reminded him of happier times though and he looked up at her warily as she set the tray in front of him. Her hand was cool when she touched his forehead and brushed back his damp curls with a kind hand. "Poor mite," she said sympathetically. "Here, love, take off that wet cloak and I’ll dry it for you."

Swiftnick stared at her uncertainly; his confidence in the good nature of strangers battered into unconsciousness by Lacey's hands. He sat still as she unknotted the tattered cloak ties and peeled the damp fabric off him, still half expecting some new torment to be inflicted Instead, she put the cloak over her arm and pushed the tray towards him. Swiftnick hesitated, half convinced it was some new trick of Lacey's.

"Go on, eat up, lad," she urged. "It's only gruel and a bit of bread, but it'll keep you going."

Swiftnick eyed her warily, but lifted the cracked lid off the bowl and blinked at the rich smell of beef stew and dumplings that wafted up to him. He gave Betsy a startled look and she winked at him before turning away with the wet cloak. Worried someone would notice, Swiftnick tucked in urgently, cramming his mouth with bread and stew as fast as he could and washing it down with the coffee. It was hot enough for him to feel it going down, but he didn't care if he did burn his mouth. It tasted wonderful and he was starving and frozen to the bone.

The thump of a booted foot on the floorboards made him hunch instinctively, his chains clinking on the table as he wrapped a protective arm around the bowl. It wasn't one of his guards however, but Ryan with an old blanket that he slung casually around the youth's shivering shoulders. Swiftnick gave him an awed look for the sudden comfort that earned him a faint smile from the burly Thomas.

"What do you think you're doing, innkeeper?!" Lacey roared, spotting him.

"What does it look like? And the name's Ryan," the innkeeper roared in reply.

Lacey opened his mouth to bellow back at him then broke off in surprise as the taproom door slammed open, letting in a gust of snow laden air and a vision in pink silk and velvet.

"What ho!" cried the feather hatted, dandified apparition that tottered over the doorstep and fought feebly with the door to shut it again. "Terrible weather, what?! Innkeeper, my good man, a bottle of your best claret and a mulled wine, if you please? And perhaps a small repast? A pheasant or two….I say, your door seems to be broken…."

Ryan stomped over, grabbed the door and slammed it firmly shut.

"Why thank you, sir! You’re a gentleman!" the dandy exclaimed, smoothing down his wind mussed lace ruffled strawberry pink velvet cloak and then inspecting Ryan through a gold rimmed quizzing glass. He then turned his limpid gaze on the rest of the taproom, taking in the gaping dragoons one by one, inspecting a stunned, chained Swiftnick with a widening eye and finally turning back to Ryan. "My, my, you do seem to have a full house, my good man. Could you possibly squeeze in one more small one? I shall ask no more than a corner to warm my toes in before I ride valiantly on once more into the very maw of the blizzard!"

Despite himself, Ryan found himself starting to smile. "I think we can manage that," he admitted.

"Oh excellent, sir, excellent!" Stepping back slightly, the man swept off his hat and bashed the innkeeper with the feathers as he bent a leg and swept him a deep bow. "I am Sir Willoughby Mallory. Poet. Perhaps you have heard of me?"

Spluttering and waving off the feathers, Ryan shook his head. "Thomas Ryan, innkeeper, sir. And no, I'm afraid I haven't."

"No? Shame," Mallory drooped with disappointment then brightened. "Perhaps I can regale you and these good gentlemen guests of yours with a few sonnets later then. Something to entertain us all. Do introduce us, Mr Ryan."

Swallowing a smile, Ryan managed to keep a straight face as he introduced Lacey and his men then he had the satisfaction of seeing Mallory sweep down on a horrified Lacey. "I am sure the good Mr Lacey, won't mind if I join him." Willoughby purred as he gracefully discarded his cloak and hat and extracted a lace handkerchief from his sleeve. Carefully dusting off the seat, he then settled himself elegantly at the table with a display of a well-turned calf in a pink silk stocking. His shoes were of finest pink leather and sparkled with diamond buckles despite the snow and mud on the high heels.

"I'm afraid we don't have any pheasants, Sir Willoughby," Ryan ventured, genuinely apologetic at having to disappoint such a vision in pink.

"Oh tsk!" Mallory exclaimed. "What do you have then?"

"Roast chicken, peas, potatoes…"

"That will do. But I must absolutely insist on the mulled wine."

"I'll bring it straight out to you, sir," Ryan assured him.

As the innkeeper strode off to the kitchen, Mallory turned bright eyes on a discomfited Lacey. "Terrible weather, what?"

"Er, yes, terrible," Lacey agreed, not knowing quite what to say to the fop.

"Beastly. Never would have set out if I’d known how it would turn." Mallory said, wafting his handkerchief. "But you know how it is, one's public calls and an artiste must go."

"Er, quite…"

"One's muse is never silent for long." Mallory sighed, patting at his wig. "I should perhaps have taken the coach, but the wheel had to be repaired and well, 'tis so dramatic to ride alone through the blizzard to one's love."

"I thought you were going to your public," Lacey said dubiously.

"Well, yes, obviously," Mallory sniffed. "But the lovely Lucinda, would surely burn to a cinder if to her side I did not ride…" He gave Lacey an expectant look, but Lacey only stared back sourly. Mallory sighed heavily. "Lady Lucinda Roebuck is holding a party to which I have been invited to present a few worthy lines. I could hardly resist my love's ardently phrased request - despite the weather."

"No…er quite?" Lacey was saved from having to say any more by Ryan emerging from the kitchen with a pitcher of mulled and spiced wine. Mallory promptly called for a second glass and filled it for Lacey.

"Mustn't drink alone, what? Dashed unsociable."

"Quite," Lacey agreed, delighted by this sudden windfall. The money for food and lodging for himself and his men hadn't quite stretched to such luxuries. "So, er, you decided to stop here?"

"Quite," Mallory said dryly, leaning forward to confide in him. "To tell the truth, I was glad of the excuse to stop when I saw this quaint little establishment. I can console myself that Lucinda will absolutely fling herself into my arms when I turn up late for her party; no doubt she will be distraught thinking me lost in the snow. Why she might even send out search parties…" Mallory's eyes glazed as he sipped from his glass. "Yes, the muse calls…Bravely through the snow, he trudges on. Alone, bereft, he cries her name, a vision that calls him on as to her side he bravely marches on…"

"I think the chicken's nearly ready…" Lacey said hopefully.

Mallory blinked and smiled self depreciatingly. "Only a rough outline of course," he murmured with a flourish of his handkerchief that nearly dipped it into the wine pitcher. "But I was extemporising…"

"Of course," Lacey muttered, wondering if the fop was allowed to do that sort of thing in company.

"So, tell me, good sir Lacey, what are you and these stalwart fellows doing here?"

Lacey's lips twitched. "We took a wrong turn in the snow and had to take shelter at the first inn we found," he replied. "We were avoiding the main road because of our captive."

"Ah?" Mallory's eyes slid towards Swiftnick, their darkness glinting in the firelight as he watched the Sergeant stomp over to thump the table and startled the youth fully awake once more. "Is that strictly necessary?"

"What?"

"Waking him up."

"He's not to sleep until we get what we want from him," Lacey said curtly. "Bad enough that the innkeeper insisted on feeding him."

"You haven't been feeding him?"

Lacey blinked wondering if he had imagined the faint edge in Mallory's voice. The man's dim-witted peering through his quizzing glass at Swiftnick however assured him that he had been wrong. Sir Willoughby was nothing more than a fop in search of a bit of titillation to beak the boredom of the road. "Not until he tells us what we want to know."

"Which is?" asked Mallory inquisitively.

"Never you mind."

Mallory sniffed. "The chains seem a bit over the top for such a slip of a lad," he murmured.

"Not for this one. His master's as slippery as an eel and I've no doubt he taught the boy a thing or two."

"Oh?" Mallory turned his glass on Lacey.

"That's Dick Turpin's apprentice; Swiftnick."

"You don't say!" Mallory exclaimed. "Well, I never. Who would have thought I would share an inn with such an illustrious captive! Why, I shall have to compose a poem, perhaps even a sonnet…."

"About him?" Lacey exclaimed in disgust.

"Well, only in passing perhaps. Fair youth, innocence shed like the petals of the wind tossed rose…Brave…what was your name again, sir?"

"Lacey," grated the thieftaker.

"Lacey, hmmh, a tricky rhyme. Racy Lacey? No, me thinks not…" Mallory drummed his fingertips lightly on the table, his seal ring glinting in the candlelight. "I shall have to think on it. Ah, mine good host returns…." Mallory beamed on Ryan and Betsy as they emerged from the kitchen with trays of roast chicken, some cold beef and dishes of potatoes, peas and carrots. As Betsy served Mallory and Lacey, Thomas dished out the food to the men then ambled over to Swiftnick with a chunk of bread.

Lacey scowled, starting to his feet. "It's only stale bread, sir," Betsy murmured. "Do sit down before your food get cold." The thieftaker hesitated, but he was hungry and soon sat down again to grab a bread roll while she served him an extra helping of the roast chicken.

Mallory looked thoughtfully over at Swiftnick, noting with some curiosity the way Ryan was casually hovering over him, concealing the hungry youngster from Lacey's view as he devoured the bread. He laid a silent bet with himself that that 'stale' bread was stuffed with onion, gravy and beef and chicken.

"Stale bread?" he said to Betsy however.

"I'm not paying for the brat's food," Lacey growled around a mouthful of chicken. "Don't matter to me if he's starving when he hangs."

Betsy's lips thinned and she gave him a disapproving look. "We won't miss a few scraps," she said coldly.

"Quite," Mallory murmured, smiling faintly to himself in amusement that Lacey couldn't see what was going on under his own nose. "My good woman, a bottle of claret if you please?" He produced a couple of gold coins from a pink silk and gold lace purse and pressed it into her hand.

"That's more than enough, sir," she exclaimed as she realised how much he had given her then was startled when Mallory gave her a quick wink.

"For the scraps," he whispered then added aloud. "And mulled ale for my good Lacey's companions."

Lacey looked up sharply at that.

"You don't mind, do you?" Mallory beamed at him. "Hot ale to warm them on the road. Why, the men that captured the young rascal should be rewarded." He lowered his voice. "You, of course, as their gallant leader, shall share my claret with me."

"Why, thank you, Sir Willoughby," Lacey exclaimed, chuffed.

"My pleasure, sir!" Mallory said effusively, waving Betsy away. "Come now, sir, tell me your tale and I shall compose an epic in your name. Tell me, do you plan to capture Dastardly Dick Turpin himself? How so?"

Wiping the gravy off his chin with his napkin, Lacey grinned at him. "Well, it all began when we set up a trap for them…."

* * *

"And then and then came my most famous poem, A Sonnet To Her Bottom!" Mallory exclaimed, leaning heavily on the back of the Sergeant's chair. The Sergeant was warming the dice in his hands for his next throw and was having difficulty tuning the fop out and staying awake at the same time. He did wish the man would stop fluttering that damn handkerchief of his around. It always seemed to be wafting about in a dainty pink blur every time he offered to pour them all another round from the ale pitcher. "No, no, tell a lie, shame on me. Not to her bottom, spectacular though t'was. T'was a Sonnet to Her Bonnet! Yes, quite that's what it was…."

The Sergeant grunted and threw the dice, struggling to focus on the blurring shapes as they tumbled across the table. He wasn't quite sure which way up the dice landed, but it didn't seem to matter much as he yawned. Mallory was wittering on,

"A sonnet to her bonnet with all the roses on it…."

Did the man never shut up? The Sergeant turned bleary eyes on the soldier next to him as his head fell forward on the table with a thud, concealing the dice from his view.

"Oi! Wake up!" complained the Sergeant, looking round to see if anyone else had noticed this outrageous bit of cheating. Odd, everyone else seemed to be asleep too… "'Ere…" Concerned, the Sergeant peered around him anxiously, noting that their captive had his head down on his folded arms on the table and was obviously sound asleep. Swearing, the Sergeant lurched to his feet, his burly fists clenching as he started towards the boy - if Lacey realised he'd let him doze off even for a minute he'd have his hide.

A pink shoe suddenly between his feet and a hand hit him between the shoulder blades. "Oops, clumsy me…" murmured Mallory as the dragoon fell. By the time he hit the floor however, the Sergeant was already sound asleep and snoring.

Mallory leaned down to check him, his drunken air vanishing, as his languid movements became crisp and sure. With skilled fingers he searched the Sergeant for the keys to Swiftnick's chains, then straightened up hastily as the door banged open and Lacey lurched back into the room on his return from the necessary.

Befuddled, Lacey stood on the threshold, staring around him at his snoring men. "What's going on?" he asked in narrow eyed confusion, his head clearing at the shock.

"Er, not quite sure," Mallory exclaimed, fluttering like a moth. "They all seem to be asleep…"

Swearing, Lacey strode over and kicked the Sergeant in the ribs; the rhythm of his snoring broke, stopped then started again with a noisy snuffle. "Drunk by damn," he snarled viciously as he spotted Swiftnick and started towards him.

"Drugged actually," muttered Mallory taking a quick step after him to grab Lacey by the shoulder and swing the startled thieftaker around into as hard a right as he had ever walked into. Lacey dropped out cold to the floor, pole axed by the blow. Standing over him, Mallory shook his aching fist and swore in a most ungentlemanly fashion. "And if you’d drunk the damned claret I wouldn't have had this problem. Who'd have thought he'd prefer the bloody mulled wine? Ah well…." Stepping back to the Sergeant, the fop rifled another couple of pockets, picked up the pistol the dragoon had left on the table and then with keys in hand trotted over to Swiftnick.

With a light hand on his shoulder, he shook him gently awake and ruffled his blond curls. "Wake up, Swiftnick," he urged quietly.

"What? Who?" Swiftnick woke with a start, flinching back from the figure stranding over him, then his blue eyes widened in awed surprise. "Dick?!"

"Ssh! Not so loud," Dick Turpin hushed his young apprentice's joyful yip with a grin as he dragged off his wig and tossed it aside. Catching up Swiftnick's bruised and manacle cut wrist, he turned his hand over to find the lock. "You could have stayed awake for my daring rescue…"

"I didn't know it was you. I was so tired and I had a chance to sleep…"

"You don't have to explain, lad. I understand," Turpin assured him as he slipped the first manacle off him.

"How'd you find me?"

"Been following you waiting for a chance to get you out, haven't I? Thought I’d lost you when Lacey turned off the road then I picked up your tracks and realised where he was headed. Had to be here, it's the only inn nearby. So, I waited until the coach came by, robbed it, got myself a new outfit and sent the coach on back to the last village then came up here to get you."

"What would you have done if the coach hadn't come?"

"Changed my plan," Dick said cheerfully then sobered, taking in Swiftnick's bruised face and dazed eyes. "You going to be able to ride, Swiftnick? I heard Lacey hasn’t been treating you too well…"

"I can manage. I…someone's coming!"

Turpin had heard the creak of the door too, pressing the keys into Swiftnick's hand, he whipped around, pistol held straight and level on Ryan as the innkeeper came into the taproom. The two of them stared at each other. Ryan swallowed uneasily.

"If I call out I’ll wake the whole inn," he warned.

"If you call out, your wife will grieve," Dick responded coldly. "Do you want your wife to grieve?"

"No…" Ryan admitted. "Do you want to shoot me?"

"No," Dick said amiably. "I came for Swiftnick. Nothing else."

"Ah…" Ryan slid a look at Swiftnick as the youth pried the manacles off his ankles, wrestled his way out of the last of the chains and then pushed unsteadily to his feet. "What about them?" he asked, inclining his head towards the dragoons and Lacey.

"I drugged their ale," Dick said mildly, slipping back into Mallory's sprightly tones and fluttering his handkerchief once more. "La, sir, let me pour…"

Swiftnick eased past him and tottered over to kneel beside Lacey with the manacles, there was a determined expression on his face as he started to chain him up.

"He's going to be mad when he wakes up," Ryan moaned.

"True. But since you and your lovely lady will be tied up in the kitchen, no blame will fall on you," Dick said easily.

"We will?" Ryan said warily.

"Aye." Turpin grinned at him wickedly. "By the time anyone wakes up, the lad and I will be long gone."

Swiftnick looked up uncertainly. "Do we have to tie them up?" he asked dazedly. "They were nice to me."

Turpin softened slightly as he looked down at him. "Aye, I thought as much. So we won't tie them up too tightly, hmmh?"

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Dick straightened up from tugging a last knot into a more comfortable position on Ryan's wrists and patted him on the shoulder. "I apologise for the inconvenience, but it's safer than letting Lacey think you helped Swiftnick get away."

Ryan looked over at Betsy and smiled ruefully. "You know, don't you?" he sighed.

"Why you were still up when you should have gone to bed? Aye. You were hoping to let Swiftnick go when they'd fallen asleep. Risky."

"I couldn't in all conscience let that bastard…."

"Language, Thomas!" Betsy exclaimed, blushing.

"Sorry, love. I couldn't let him go on treating the boy like that. Highwayman or no."

Hitching one hip on the kitchen table, Dick perched and studied them. "You’re a good man, Thomas Ryan and my lady Betsy." Betsy blushed even more, disconcerted by the handsome highwayman's charming grin. "So, you'll blame me for all this as agreed."

"Aye," Ryan nodded. "Sir Willoughby Mallory."

Turpin chuckled. "Nay, Thomas. You'll tell Lacey the truth; Dick Turpin came for his own."

Ryan's jaw dropped. "You’re Dick Turpin?"

"Aye. And Swiftnick is my partner. And I'll not let the likes of Lacey take what's mine." Turpin looked tensely to the door, lifting the pistol and only relaxing when Swiftnick walked in. His lips thinned as he studied how weary his accomplice looked, noting the lack of his usual bounce.

"They’re all tied up," Swiftnick told him as he went over to warm himself at the fire. "Do we have to go now?"

"Aye, lad. I'm sorry, I know it's cold but we have to go." Turpin straightened up.

"Take my coat," Ryan urged. "It's a bit big for the lad, but it's warmer than that rag he was wearing."

"I can't do that," Swiftnick protested.

"You can and you will," Ryan said firmly.

"And there's food you can take," Betsy urged. "You'll both be hungry in this cold."

"Swiftnick, you could go to fairyland and find someone to coddle you," Dick chuckled as he fetched the coat from its hook by the door. He wrapped it around his apprentice's shoulders, leaving him to wriggle into it while he helped himself to the food from the larder; taking what could be carried easily and would keep. Tossing a pork pie to the youngster to eat as he pulled the ragged but dry cloak back around from where it had been drying by the fire, Dick turned back to Ryan. Holding up the jug he had found in the larder, he dropped a handful of gold coins into the milk where it wouldn't be seen by Lacey. "For the food and your help," he told them.

"Aren't you going to gag us?" Betsy wondered. Turpin had tied a handkerchief loosely around their necks as if he had intended too.

Turpin looked round at the solid stone walls of the inn's kitchen. "I don't think anyone would hear you if you did yell," he said mildly. "But no, no gag. Besides, I think you should yell after we’ve gone. You can tell them it took you a while to get loose so you could call for help. Ready, lad?"

"Mmmhh," Swiftnick answered from around a mouthful of pie.

Turpin shooed him over to the door and swung it open, shivering as he looked out into the cold night. It had stopped snowing, but it lay in a silvery sheet in the darkness. "The horses are in the stables," he told Swiftnick, swept Ryan and Betsy a bow and then hustled Swiftnick out into the night and closed the door behind them

* * *

Swiftnick shivered, wrapping the cloak closer around him as Dick caught his arm, steadying him in the snow. "We don't have far to go," Dick reassured him. "There's a place a few miles from here where you can rest."

"I'm all right."

Turpin snorted and tucked the lad under his arm, shielding him with his own velvet cloak from the cold bite of the wind. "You needn't think I'm riding far dressed like this! I have my reputation to think of."

"Hmmh, pink isn't really you, is it?"

"Hah! I want my decent cloak!"

Swiftnick chuckled, suddenly aware that he was free again. "Bite of pie?" he asked, offering up the other half of his pork pie.

Dick looked down at him and flashed him a grin. "Nah, you eat it. You’re the one Lacey was starving. Don't you go repeating this, but I missed you, brat."

Swiftnick smiled smugly. "I didn't tell him anything."

"I know you didn't," Dick said, equally smugly as they ducked into the stables. Telling Swiftnick to keep watch at the door, he quickly saddled the horses, ignoring Toby's irritated snap at being woken and Black Bess' disgruntled snort. He hauled his black cloak out of his saddlebag to wrap around him while he hastily dragged on his boots again. "Good thing, the dragoons kept you on Toby," he commented as he boosted Swiftnick into the saddle and then quickly mounted Black Bess. "I wouldn't have wanted to go back for him too."

"I knew you’d come after me, Dick," Swiftnick told him.

Turpin inclined his head. "Good," he said simply. "Now, let's ride." He nudged Black Bess out of the stable, waited for Swiftnick to clear the doors so he could close them for the other horses inside sakes and then led the way onto the road. With a glance back to check on his partner, he then urged Black Bess into a gallop and led the way into the night. Riding after him, Swiftnick let out a whoop of glee at the feel of the wind and freedom and heard Dick's laugh carry back on the wind, telling him that the highwayman was only too glad to have his young partner back again safe and sound and riding beside him.

oooOooo