"I won't stand for it," Dick Turpin complained aloud as Black Bess trotted steadfastly through the gathering fog across Dark Fell. "I'm telling you, Swiftnick, I won't! I’ll have Deville's guts for this!"

"But it's Dark Fell, Dick," his accomplice protested miserably. The youth was all eyes, frantically straining to see in all directions at once to be prepared for whatever was about to leap out of the fog and eat them. "It's haunted. Horrible things happen to people up here. Can't we forget it and go after another coach? In daylight, huh?"

Turpin hardly heard him. "Three weeks! Three bloody weeks I've been planning to do that bloody coach. And then that low life dog's breath toe rag comes along and pinches the bloody lot from right under me bloody nose! I'm not having it! This is my bloody patch! I’ll have his bloody guts for garters!"

"You don't wear garters," Swiftnick muttered under his breath, hitching his cloak up further around his ears and shooting a nervous glance around him. Was that footsteps he heard? Something hideously awful prowling alongside them through the fog? Or was it his imagination? He hoped it was his imagination…

They had watched incredulously as an armed and masked man in a red greatcoat had robbed the Stanswick coach and ridden off cross-country. Outraged by the sheer effrontery of it, Turpin had insisted on giving chase to rob the robber to take back what should have been theirs. It had been the fifth time someone had plucked a ripe fruit before they could and Dick had had enough. It took a lot to set off his temper, but when it went it was scary. Swiftnick would rather have been stood next to a keg of gunpowder with a lighted candle than be the source of Turpin's rage.

"What?" Dick shot an angry look at his accomplice, finally noticing he was there.

"Nothing," Swiftnick said hastily. "Only I'm cold and wet and its getting dark and…"

"Did you hear something?" Dick cut him off, peering suspiciously into the swirling fog and drawing his pistol from his saddle holster. The fog up here on the fell had a different quality to it than that of his more familiar hunting grounds. That was a friendly, useful fog that could hide a highwayman from his prey; an almost civilised kind of fog. Up here, it was thicker and colder, full of damp breaths of air and windy sighs as if it was made up of ghosts. It was altogether a more primitive fog that made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle and reminded him of all the stories he had been told about the area.

Peering into the fog now, Dick could understand why Dark Fell attracted such stories. He could also understand why Swiftnick was so obviously jumpy. The lad had a vivid and uncontrollable imagination at the best of times, in a haunted place like this he was likely to believe anything.

"No," Swiftnick squeaked, clutching at his own pistol. "Can we go back now?"

"Not without catching the bastard….Yike!"

The explosion of a pistol shot exploding though the muffling fog made him jump and Black Bess half reared in fright, neighing in alarm at the sudden noise. Toby bucked, frog-leaped sideways and went down with a crash as he caught a hoof and tripped. Swiftnick was flung off, landing in a tangle of bushes. Dick fought his mare back to the ground, glad that she responded instinctively to his hands on the reins rather than panic and bolt.

Toby floundered, struggling to get his hooves under him.

"Swiftnick! Are you hurt?!" Dick couldn't see a damn thing for the fog, only make out the black flapping shape on the round that was his accomplice through the swirling swathes of vapour. He could hear some horrible squelching noises too and his breath caught in alarm.

"No…. yipe! Yes! And I'm sinking!" Swiftnick's voice scratched with the sharp edge of fright and pain.

With a curse, Dick holstered his pistol in his belt and flung himself off Black Bess, ignoring the stab of fright as he realised his young friend had landed in one of Dark Fell's notorious bogs. "Don't struggle, lad. Lie quiet. I'm coming…"

"Easy for you to say!" Swiftnick whimpered, but the wet flailing sounds stopped.

The ground was soft under Dick's feet as he trod lightly around the bushes and he could feel mud squishing up around his boots as he crouched and reached for Swiftnick. He could see the lad now, his blond hair a patch of light in the darkness. "Come on, grab my hand…" Dick urged anxiously, reaching for him. He didn't dare go closer, he could feel the bog squelching under his weight as he flattened across it.

Swiftnick writhed, straining towards him with his right hand. His left arm was stuck under the marshy surface of muck as it rose swiftly around him. "Dick, I can't reach…" he whimpered and Dick could hear the barely suppressed terror underneath.

Turpin gritted his teeth. Swiftnick was fractionally too far away from him to grab. He needed more reach. With a flash of inspiration, he whipped off his cloak and wound it tight as if he was going to wring it out. Then he tossed it out across the bog to the youth. "Grab it and wrap it round your arm," he ordered, keeping his voice calm and steady. Swiftnick didn't need to know how scared he was. "I'll pull you out."

Swiftnick nodded, struggling to keep his head above the surface now as he scrabbled after the makeshift rope and wound it around his arm with several twists.

"Good lad! Hold on now!" Dick shifted position, sitting now with his feet towards the bog as he hauled on the cloak. Swiftnick wasn't a heavy lad, but the bog had him tight and was reluctant to let him go. Dick could feel his hands slipping as it sucked with remorseless hunger at Swiftnick. Maybe if he tied it to one of the horses, used their strength to pull him out…

It'd only take a minute, but a minute would be too long. Swiftnick didn't have that much time…

"Don't struggle! It'll make you sink faster!" Dick yelled as he felt Swiftnick pull on the rope. The bog bubbled around him as if the lad was kicking furiously. Swiftnick obeyed, but it was clearly with an effort from the dimly seen look on his face.

The crackle of dry bracken made Dick tense in alarm, cursing under his breath.

"Edgar! Over here! Someone's in the bog!" a male's voice bellowed and thickset, broad shouldered man appeared out of the fog. "Let me give you a hand there, mate." His brawny hands closed over the cloak between Dick's own. "On three, pull. One, two, three…heave!"

Not questioning the man's sudden appearance, Turpin laid to with a will, heaving with all his strength. To his relief the bog gave with a gurgle, letting them pull Swiftnick free inch by reluctant inch.

A scrabble of footsteps behind him told Dick that someone else had arrived, but he was too intent on Swiftnick to look round.

"Brace him now, lad!" the stranger ordered and Turpin felt arms wrap around his waist. "Good lad. Right now, heave! Again, heave!""

This time the ooze gave up its grip with a squelch and a plop and Swiftnick came slithering free to where Turpin could scoot forward and grab his upper arm, towing him the rest of the way to safety with the two strangers hanging on to the highwayman grimly. The bigger of the two gave Dick a hand in half carrying Swiftnick away from the bog to dry ground where the horses waited. "Easy now, lad, easy. I've got you," Dick soothed gruffly as Swiftnick's knees buckled under him and he sank to the wet grass. Turpin knelt with him, wiping the mud off his face with one hand. "Where are you hurt?"

"I landed on my shoulder," Swiftnick whimpered through gritted teeth. "I think it's broken."

Turpin flinched, but turned his attention to examining the joint; a broken shoulder could cripple him. Swiftnick hissed, cringing away from his probing fingers. The big man leaned over them, his voice deep and concerned. "Can you move your fingers, lad?"

"It hurts," Swiftnick protested.

"Aye, no doubt, but can you?" Dick prompted.

Swiftnick shot a tearful glare at both of them but obeyed, his grimace of pain being followed by a flash of surprise as his fingers obeyed his command. He looked up at Dick hopefully.

"I think you've twisted your shoulder, Sw-….Nick," Dick told him, ruffling his muddy hair. "There's nothing broken. A bandage and a bath and you'll be fine."

"Where's Toby?" Swiftnick wanted to know, snuffling and scrubbing at his face with his good hand as his immediate fright faded.

"If that's the bay, my son's catching him for you. I'm right sorry for the trouble we’ve caused you," the big man said gloomily.

"You caused?" Dick eyed him suspiciously, surreptitiously gliding one hand down to his pistol.

"Aye. It was my son loosed off the pistol shot that must have spooked your horses from what we heard. I know it's no excuse, but the lad was afeared of the Beast. Like I said, I'm right sorry and I should take a strap to him for it. But I didn't expect there to be strangers up here."

"Neither did we," Dick responded dryly. "No need to beat the lad though. It was an accident. As soon as I check the horses have come to no harm, we’ll be on our way."

Swiftnick grimaced at that, cradling his left arm close to his chest in pain. But he didn't protest aloud. He didn't feel like thinking for himself and he had learnt that Turpin usually knew best; even though the feel of the mud sliding into uncomfortable and extremely personal places was making him shiver and long for a hot bath.

"At night? You'll end up in a bog again," the man warned.

"Sit still and rest a minute, Nick," Dick urged Swiftnick softly as he rose to his feet and spoke to the man again, "Even so, we should be on our way."

As Edgar led Toby slowly back to them, it was clear that the horse was limping. The gelding snuffled at the hand Dick held out to him, managing to look apologetic and sorry for himself. Edgar looked equally worried, he was a stocky lad of about Swiftnick's age with a mop of black hair. He shot a quick look at his father and responded hastily to his gesture. "I'm sorry, mister," he stammered. "I saw your black horse and I thought it was the Beast."

"Next time you'll know better than to take pot shots at shadows," Dick told him sternly as he ran a hand down Toby's leg, urging the horse to pick up his foot. "What if it had been the Beast? You’d have missed and disarmed yourself."

Edgar's eyes rounded and there was a disgruntled snort from his father. "You've heard of the Beast of Dark Fell then, mister…?" the big man said.

"Turner," Dick answered easily. "Oh, aye, I've heard of it."

"Might a man ask what you were doing up here? Travelling alone at night's a mite risky these days. You never who or what you might meet."

"We were taking a short cut to Beck's End and got a little lost," Dick answered.

"Ah, planning on going a-hunting then? You've heard of the reward?"

"Reward?" Turpin gave him a sharp look as he let Toby lower his hoof. The gelding had thrown a shoe and bruised his fetlock. He needed to rest it with a cold compress on it; much like Swiftnick really.

"Aye, for killing the Beast."

"Oh, that reward," Dick managed not to sigh with relief. For a horrible moment he thought the man might have meant the one on his and Swiftnick's head. "Would that be what you were doing out here at night? Doing a little hunting of your own maybe?"

A wry grin crossed the big man's face. "Aye and maybe finding a rabbit or two for the pot. How's the horse?"

"Coming up lame. He's thrown a shoe," Dick sighed.

"It wasn't my fault," Swiftnick protested.

"No, lad, I know." Dick trusted Swiftnick to take care of any horse of his. The lad had a deft touch with horses and loved Toby. "You couldn't help it."

"I’d be the man to help you with that then," the big man chuckled. "I'm the blacksmith at Beck's End." He stuck out a muddy hand to the highwayman. "Edwin Pike. You and your son would be welcome to stay with me and mine until the lad and his horse are up to moving on. It's no more than a mile or two over the ridge."

"We couldn’t put you to that much trouble," Dick protested automatically, avoiding correcting him over Swiftnick. The assumption wouldn't do any harm and would help conceal their identity. The alternative was pretending Swiftnick was his servant and it would raise eyebrows if Dick fussed over a mere servant.

"Now, it's no trouble. Dark Fell isn't safe to ride at night at the best of times and with the Beast about…" Pike shook his head. "The Beast killed again not two hours ago. It's best not to travel alone if you can help it."

"And you and Edgar?" Dick asked warily.

Edwin glanced at his boy and smiled. "We were on our way back from the market at Hawkmere when we met up with a hunting party out looking for the Werewolf."

"Werewolf?" Swiftnick echoed as he looked up wide-eyed, then shot a nervous look around him at the fog.

"Aye, they say it's a werewolf. They heard the howls. Any road, Edgar had a yen to go a-hunting himself. Changed his mind now, haven’t you lad?"

Edgar nodded furiously, hair flying. "Can we go home now?" he asked hopefully.

"Aye," Edwin soothed. "How about it, Mr Turner? Will you and your son be joining us? We have a couple of spare rooms for guests. The inn don't have much space."

Dick hesitated. Toby needed that poultice and a glance at Swiftnick was enough to tell him that his young accomplice was in a lot of pain and fighting back tears of shock. He was getting paler by the second.

"My wagon's only a few yards over that way," Edwin urged. "And you won't be tumbling into any more bogs if you ride with us."

Turpin gave in with a chuckle. "Then we’d appreciate your hospitality. If your lady wife won't object to the smell of mud, that is."

Edwin snorted. "We live next door to a stable, it isn't mud Aldyth will mind!"

* * *

"You missed a bit, Swiftnick," Dick chuckled as he watched Swiftnick rinsing the last of the mud from his hair. The youth was sitting in the big wooden tub before a blazing fire in the Pike's scullery, finding it hard to wash thoroughly with only one arm. Dick had had to do his back for him and rinse him off with a bucket of warm water.

Turpin had his feet up and was supping a pint of Edwin's ale while he finished off a cheese sandwich. Aldyth made the best pickle he had tasted in a long time. They had ridden in to the village a couple of hours before with Swiftnick perched miserably in the wagon bed with Edgar while Dick rode Black Bess and led Toby. Mrs Pike had met them at the door of the smithy, obviously worried over Edwin and her son being late.

Dick rather liked Edwin's plump, blond wife, Aldyth. She hadn't turned a hair when two strangers landed on her doorstep in practically the middle of the night. She had had Edwin and Edgar filling the tub with hot water for first Dick, then Swiftnick rather than have them sleep dirty in the beds she made up for them. She'd cut a huge pile of sandwiches for them while Dick bathed, poured a herbal tisane down Swiftnick to ease his pain and then bustled off to bed to leave the menfolk to their own devices.

"Don't care," Swiftnick grumbled, hissing between his teeth as he moved awkwardly and sent a spasm of pain through his shoulder. The soap promptly slithered out of his hand and skittered out of reach across the flagstones.

Dick dropped his feet to the floor and got up to retrieve it. "You’re clean enough. Out you come. That water must be getting cold and you don't want to get a chill," he urged, eyeing the dark spongy bruises swelling Swiftnick's shoulder. The lad wasn't going to be able to move his arm come morning. He helped him climb out of the warm water and briskly helped him dry off, then wrapped a towel around his middle and made him sit down while he examined his shoulder again. Swiftnick ignored him, more interested in getting some of the cheese and pickle sandwiches inside him. "Whaffmmbnl?" he asked questioningly when Turpin finally stopped prodding him.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Dick scolded as he grabbed a dry towel and started to rub Swiftnick's hair dry for him. The youth couldn't dry it one handed and he'd get a chill if he slept with it wet.

Swiftnick swallowed his bite of sandwich. "I said, what's the matter? You said it wasn't that bad…"

"Oh, you'll be all right, lad. Stiff and sore, but nothing broken. I was thinking about the Beast," Dick told him as he absently towelled away. "There have been stories about the Beast since before you were born. Why, I can remember them from when I was a lad."

"That long ago huh?" Swiftnick grinned mischievously.

Dick swatted him with the towel end but chuckled. "Less of your cheek, my lad," he scolded. "No, tales of the Beast have been around for a long time. From before I was born come to that. A story to keep youngsters from a-wandering the fell. Put a cramp in spooning when you think the Beast's watching you. It's been seen more than once. A big black cat like creature it was supposed to be, black as night. But I never heard tell of it attacking people before. Sheep, cows, pigs, goats, aye, it had a love for chickens too, but never a man. Closest it ever came was it starting for a lone rider, but even then it was probably after the horse. Soon as it saw the man it took off. Started quite a hunt that did, though they never caught it. But I never heard tell of it being a werewolf before."

"Nothing to do with us though, is it?" Swiftnick asked anxiously, peering up at Dick from under a froth of damp curls and towel. He pulled the towel down around his neck as Dick released him.

"There's a reward," Dick mused as he sat down and helped himself to another sandwich. "And we'll need to do something to keep ourselves occupied while we’re here."

"But I don't want to get eaten by a werewolf!" Swiftnick protested. "I'm still a virgin!"

"And you'll be staying a virgin if I have anything to do with it," Dick growled, then paused and did a double take. "What the hell does that have to do with it anyway?!"

"Werewolves like them. You'd use me as bait!"

"That's unicorns, you moron!" Dick exclaimed. "And I certainly wouldn't use you as bait. You’re too likely to get eaten!"

"I'd still feel safer if I…"

"No, don't you go using wild stories as an excuse for debauchery," Dick scolded firmly. "I've told you before, stay away from cheap booze and cheap women. One will kill you and the other will make you wish it had."

"Which way round would that be?" Swiftnick muttered sarcastically.

Dick eyed him, not sure whether Swiftnick was really that naïve or not. "Both of them," he decided. "Now, if you're decent, I’ll go and get Edwin to show us to our room. He was poulticing Toby for me. In the morning I’ll strap that shoulder of yours up. Finish those sandwiches up. I don't want you keeping me awake saying you’re hungry."

* * *

Dick stirred awake, feeling a prickle of unease even in the depth of sleep.. Turning over, he slid one hand under the pillow for his pistol and looked around the darkened room from under lowered eyelashes for the source of the disturbance.

The room was as empty as it had been when Dick had searched it earlier.

Swiftnick, who had tumbled into bed the moment they walked through the door and fallen sound asleep, was currently curled up and sleeping with the sweet innocence of youth, his arm tucked up under his chin as he lay on his good side.

Dick sighed ruefully. He envied Swiftnick that ease. He rarely slept well in a new place for he was too aware of how precarious a life he lived and with people close by that he didn't know well enough to trust, he was doubly uneasy

Oddly enough, even when they first started riding together, the lad had never affected his sleep. Subconsciously, Dick supposed he had known even then that he could trust the youngster. Those first few weeks it had been nerve-wracking to see the hero worship in his eyes though, even harder to realise how much he would do to keep Swiftnick's view of his hero untarnished. The days had turned into weeks and while he knew the lad didn't worship him any more, he occasionally caught the hero light still in the lad's eyes and felt a surge of pride that Swiftnick still thought well of him. Reluctant though he was to admit it, he valued and needed Swiftnick's friendship.

There was still nothing to tell him what had disturbed him and he released the pistol, rolling over onto his back again and straightening the covers across his chest, telling himself he was being silly. It was a chilly night and the fog was making it damp. Much to his annoyance, the tale of the Beast was playing on his imagination. He usually managed to keep the fanciful part of his mind under firm control; at least he had until Swiftnick came along to remind him of what being young was all about.

And according to Glenrae that was a good thing. The Scot considered Dick to have been getting….staid.

"I’ll give him staid," Dick muttered under his breath, turning over onto his side and hitching the covers up around his ears for warmth. "I'm a highwayman for crying out loud!"

Across the room Swiftnick made a drowsy questioning sound at his voice, obviously still asleep but aware of Turpin on some level. Dick lifted his head and his voice, "Go back to sleep, Swiftnick," he urged kindly, keeping his voice soothing. If Dick had called him properly, he would have woken. He wasn't totally oblivious to living a dangerous life, but he trusted Dick to take care of his safety. He was old enough to start thinking of looking out for himself, but still young enough to yield his independence to the man who had gained his respect; especially when he was hurt.

Swiftnick snuffled and burrowed deeper, a small squeezed out whimper indicating he was in pain. Dick held his breath, but sleep won and Swiftnick settled again without waking. Letting his breath out with a silent sigh, Turpin concentrated on relaxing his body so he too could get back to sleep. It still felt odd to be considerate of another person. He supposed he had ridden too long with men who didn't give a damn about anyone except themselves and it had started to rub off on him.

Not staid, no, but he had been starting to form calluses on his soul…

And Swiftnick had somehow burrowed under his armour and stayed there as if he belonged…

The howl echoed through the night, thin and sharp as a broken glass; eerie in the midnight stillness.

Feeling that primitive prickling sensation run down his back again, Turpin sat up, straining to listen and hoping in the corner of his mind that Swiftnick wouldn't wake and hear that desolate cry in the night. It had been a long time since there had been a wolf in these parts, but Dick had travelled North with Glenrae and heard their unmistakable music many a time. The sound of a howling wolf pack was both beautiful and frightening, touching something primitive within his soul that sometimes made him want to join in.

Dick grinned and chuckled softly, his initial alarm fading as common sense took over. Wolves didn't attack men. They stayed out of their way.

Expectantly, he waited for the other wolves to answer the first and felt his unease return, as they stayed silent. The first wolf howled again, the cry spiralling up through the darkness to fade away on a knife blade.

That's no normal wolf, Dick reflected. There was a note in its cry that wasn't…natural somehow. Maybe it was how a wolf driven mad by hunger or loneliness sounded. Maybe it was how a werewolf sounded…

Turpin found himself burrowing back under the covers, fighting the urge to pull them over his head in primitive dread. It was nonsense! There was no such thing as a werewolf…

But how about a robber driven mad by fear and loneliness and anger? The man he and Swiftnick had pursued that night had fired on the coachman and wounded him, forcing the coach to a halt. He had threatened the occupants at gun and knifepoint and lashed out at men and women alike. When Turpin and Swiftnick had arrived, he had fired on them too and ridden off in a fury.

Turpin smiled mirthlessly. No, he wouldn't, though he had to admit he had been tempted a time or two by some. Sebastian Deville. Now there was a name he hadn't heard in a while. He'd hoped the bastard was long mouldering at the end of a rope. And now he'd had time to calm down, he was almost tempted to let sweet reason have its way and give up on finding him. Deville wasn't a man he wanted to introduce Swiftnick to if he could help it. It had been a kind of madness of his own that had spurred him to pursue the robber across Dark Fell.

Spicing up the story of a Beast was something Dick might have come up with as a cover for his activities and he could see the werewolf idea being the same kind of thing. But if Deville was behind it, then he had as always taken it one step too far and killed. If so, then like it or not, Turpin was going to have to help the villagers stop him. But he was going to need a lot of good luck to do it.

And he needed to get some sleep as well. Firmly putting thoughts of werewolves and robbers alike out of his mind, Dick closed his eyes and mentally started to count the number of robberies he had pulled off…

He was asleep before he got past number five…

* * *

As usual Turpin was awake before his youthful accomplice, but for once Dick let the lad sleep. He had had a rough day the day before and he needed the rest. Dressing quietly, he slipped out of the room and went down to check on the horses. A half-asleep stableboy was mucking out when he arrived and was too busy yawning to take much notice of the highwayman as he looked the horses over. Black Bess was happily munching hay, while Toby gave Dick his best 'oh woe is me' type look as he held his hoof off the straw covered floor. Knowing the bay better, Dick examined the horse's leg and was pleased to find that the swelling was greatly reduced. He wrapped the fetlock in a cold poultice slathered with the herbs he kept in his saddlebag for such eventualities, gave the stableboy a couple of pennies for feeding the horses and strolled back into the house.

Mrs Pike was in the kitchen preparing the breakfast and gave him an amiable nod as he came in. "That lad of yours is still sound asleep," she observed. "Looked like an angel he did…"

Dick didn't quite manage to restrain a snort. "Some angel," he muttered under his breath.

"I hope you don't mind that I looked in on him." Aldyth said primly, misreading his expression. "I didn't disturb him."

"Very little could disturb him when he's asleep," Dick chuckled, grinning at her. "But it's about time he was up anyway. He wouldn't want to miss breakfast."

"Oh, I wouldn't do that to the lad. Why my Edgar isn't up yet and I've called him twice!" She smiled back at the highwayman, her dark eyes twinkling. "But the porridge is almost ready and there's eggs and bacon waiting."

"You don't have to go to so much trouble," Dick protested even as his mouth watered at the prospect of a meal he and Swiftnick hadn't had to cook for themselves.

"Nonsense. I like having guests but since the Beast started to prowl, well…" She shrugged her ample shoulders.

"I noticed you had quite a few rooms," Dick observed carefully. There were certainly more than a normal blacksmith had anyway and his paranoia had twitched over it.

"We get the coach trade going over the Fell," Aldyth explained. "Edwin shoes the horses and holds the replacements animals and we keep a few rooms up for late travellers and so on. There's rooms at the pub of course if you want to change, but ours are better."

"Ah, I see. We're not in your way then?"

"Oh no, dearie. Last night's coach didn't turn up. It's be those highwaymen rogues again I expect."

Dick smiled weakly. Although he hadn't known there was a coach stop at Beck's End, he knew exactly why the coach was late. Deville… "I'd best go and get Nick up. He won't want to miss out on porridge."

* * *

Half an hour later, Swiftnick somewhat dubiously eyed the grey gluey substance in his bowl and then gave Dick a doubtful look. He had already sprinkled it with as much sugar as he thought he could get away with and was still having second thoughts.

"Go on, eat it before it gets cold," Dick urged briskly, sampling his own milky porridge. "It's good."

Swiftnick looked round to check Aldyth was out of earshot so he wouldn't hurt her feelings and leaned towards the highwayman. "It looks like the hot mash you give horses," he whispered.

"But it tastes better," Dick assured him. "Eat up. Be grateful I let you have sugar. Glenrae would insist on salt."

"Salt?" Swiftnick squeaked.

"Yes," Dick nodded firmly.

Swiftnick sighed and spooned up a mouthful of porridge. He was finding it a little awkward to eat one handed, since his twisted shoulder had been firmly bandaged and bound up in a sling by Turpin. To his surprise, the porridge was better than he had expected. Not what he would choose, but it was edible and his stomach was grateful for its filling warmth. He ate more slowly than usual and was still finishing off his bowl while Dick sat back and watched him, giving him a teasing wink of encouragement every now and then.

Aldyth brought over plates of bacon and eggs and a pot of tea for them, then bustled off to tend to Edgar as the boy wandered in, yawning widely. Dick took the lid off the teapot and sniffed the contents dubiously, then poured himself a cup and took a cautious taste. Pronouncing it drinkable, he poured Swiftnick a cup, adding milk and sugar the way the lad liked it.

The rattle of the scullery door as it opened nearly made him drop the pot. The cosy scene of domestic harmony had taken him off his guard for once and he cursed, remembering that he had left both his pistol and sword up in the room.

"Yoohoo, Aldyth," a bright feminine voice called however as the door was pushed open by a sweetly curved hip in a blue skirt. "It's me. I've brought the eggs…" The young woman stopped as she turned in the doorway, both hands full of the heavy basket she was holding. She was lovely, fresh skinned and blue eyed with long dark hair tumbling in curls over her red shawled shoulders. "Oh, my. Guests…" she whispered, blushing prettily.

Dick blinked as he estimated her age. She was too young for him, more like Swiftnick's age. As the thought hit him, he shot a quick look at his apprentice. Sure enough, Swiftnick had a gobsmacked expression on his face as he stared at her, but he was starting to smile that shyly impish grin that Dick knew damn well was going to cause him one huge heap of trouble when Swiftnick realised what kind of ammunition it could be. That smile usually had a reason behind it though and Dick turned hastily back to the girl. She was wearing a cream-licking grin as she gazed back at Swiftnick.

Sod it, Dick thought irritably. Sod it, sod it, sod it. Don't I have enough to cope with without Swiftnick getting a crush on a bloody dairymaid?!

"Oh, hello Cherry," Aldyth exclaimed as she hurried back in, wiping her hands on her apron. "That basket looks heavy."

"Let me help!" Swiftnick scrambled eagerly to his feet, then blushed furiously as he remembered his sling.

"Oh, that's all right, I can manage," Cherry said sweetly, dimpling at him in gratitude for his offer. Aldyth helped her put the basket on the side and she started to look through the eggs. "There should be plenty of double yolks for Edgar," Cherry went on. "I know how much he likes them."

"You’re a sweet girl," Aldyth replied absently. "Here, let me get your money." As she bustled out again, Cherry turned to look at Dick and Swiftnick again.

"I didn't realise there were guests or I’d have knocked," she murmured.

"Oh, I, we don't mind," Swiftnick blurted, correcting himself as Turpin glared at him.

Look at the idiot, he's practically drooling. And she's no better than she should be… Dick grumbled in irritable silence, folding his arms and giving the young hussy a glare.

"My name's Nick uh Turner," Swiftnick mumbled, blushing furiously.

At least he remembered who we're pretending to be this time, Dick thought grumpily.

"I'm Cherry," she replied.

"Oh…."

Oh, great conversation, Swiftnick, impress her why don't you…Dick thought sourly, totally ignoring the fact that Swiftnick was too young to have much experience with girls that he wasn't pulling the pigtails on.

"From the dairy," she elucidated helpfully.

"Oh…" Swiftnick said again and shot a pleading look at Turpin for help.

Dick wanted to growl sullenly, but the appeal in the lad's blue eyes was as usual too much for him. "Richard Turner," he introduced himself. "I'm a merchant." There, that should put her off if for a while if she was dangling after a lad with prospects.

Cherry's blue eyes widened ingenuously. "From London, are you?"

"Bristol," Dick said flatly. "In the sugar trade."

"Ooh," her eyes got even bigger and Dick started to wonder if they were going to fall off her face. "You mean like them that's got the plantations in the foreign places?"

"Yes!" Swiftnick yipped before Dick could get a word in edgewise. "In the West Indies…"

"Ooh," she gasped again.

Sod it, thought Turpin gloomily. Sod it, sod it, sod it…So much for that bloody bright idea.

"Have you ever been there?" Cherry asked, fascinated.

"Yes…." Swiftnick began.

"No," Dick cut him off desperately, giving the lad a quelling look. "But I'm thinking of sending you any day now."

Swiftnick opened his mouth to argue, read the expression in Turpin's brown eyes and wisely shut up. Cherry seemed to sense the tension between them, for she started to murmur excuses about having to go and greeted Aldyth gratefully when she returned to pay her for the eggs and order some cream.

As the two women walked outside, probably to share some gossip, Dick turned a glare on his accomplice. "I want to talk to you," Dick growled darkly.

"It was an accident," Swiftnick blurted hastily, doing his best to look waif like and contrite.

Turpin paused, taken aback. "What was?" he asked warily. When Swiftnick made a comment like that it always paid to find out what he was up to before Dick returned to his thought track.

"Whatever you wanted to talk to me about."

Dick snorted. "I wanted to talk about cherry picking," he said dryly.

"Huh? I thought it was the wrong season for cherries."

"It's never the wrong season for this kind of cherry," Turpin observed wryly.

"Huh?" Swiftnick repeated even more blankly.

"Yours."

Swiftnick stared at him and started to blush as furiously red as any cherry as he caught on. "Oh…." He mumbled.

"Uh huh," Dick said dryly, leaning towards him. "And if I find out you've been letting that girl do the picking, I'll come after you with a bloody horse whip."

"But, she seems nice…"

"Don't they bloody well all? You mind my words, lad, she's after your fortune."

"I haven't got one," Swiftnick pointed out.

"She don't know that and it won't stop her if you tell her. And if you get her in trouble, you'll be on your own on the way to the altar."

Swiftnick swallowed nervously. "I ain't ready for the altar," he said uneasily.

"You ain't ready for the other either," Dick snorted. "Look, lad, there ain't no hurry and there's no set time for it. It ain't a race. And whatever your friends tell you I'll bet most of them have still got their cherries too."

"When'd you lose yours?" Swiftnick blurted curiously.

Dick floundered. How the hell did Swiftnick always manage to find a question that could throw him for a loop? "I don't remember," he mumbled awkwardly.

"That long ago, huh?"

"Long?…Why you little….!" Turpin lunged round the table, grabbing Swiftnick by one ear as the lad made a dart for the door. Swiftnick yelped and squirmed, unable to suppress a giggle. "I'll give you long ago, my lad!" Dick barked, getting a headlock on him. "I ought to throw you in the trough!"

"I'm sorry," Swiftnick giggled breathlessly, struggling. "But the look on your face…Yow! Ow!!!" This time the yelp was of genuine pain and Dick let go in a flash, supporting the youth as Swiftnick clutched at his shoulder.

"What's going on in here?!" Edwin slammed through the door, his face dark with fury. The look he gave Turpin would have made a lesser man reel in his tracks.

Dick ignored him, his concern to make sure he hadn't inadvertently hurt his partner. "You all right?" he pressed.

Swiftnick nodded shakily as he leaned on him, cradling his elbow with his good hand for support. "Yes, yes, I twisted wrong…." He assured Dick, glancing up at him and the following his gaze to the blacksmith. "I'm fine, really." Turpin gave him a gentle push back to his chair and turned to face Edwin, defying him to make something of it.

"I don't think kindly of men laying into youngsters," the blacksmith said grimly, as Dick met him glare for glare.

"Neither do I," Turpin retorted, his eyes narrowing. "Nor do I take kindly to men making assumptions about me. I've never laid a hand on Nick and never will."

Edwin considered this, giving Swiftnick a thoughtful look. "Aye," he said slowly. Swiftnick's rueful grin convinced him that Dick was telling him the truth and he nodded slowly. "Aye, well, then, I'll be off to the smithy. Like as not there'll be men up for a hunting party later. They’ll be wanting to go roust out the werewolf if they can in daylight. Would you be interested in joining them? I'm a busy man and I’ll not have time myself."

Turpin hesitated, aware of the trepidation in Swiftnick's eyes. "I'll think about it," he said calmly. "But I think I’ll finish breakfast first. Your wife is a very good cook."

"Aye, that she is," Edwin's face softened with a smile.

"She's outside with Cherry," Swiftnick offered helpfully.

"Oh, aye," Edwin chuckled. "The dairymaid…" Catching the exasperated look Dick gave the youth, he gave the highwayman a friendly nod. "Every lad old enough to notice her skirts is dangling after her," he observed. "A fine catch she’ll be what with the dairy and all. She's a sweet lass, but a bit of a one for the airs and graces. My Edgar not the only one to fancy her."

"And what do you say?" Dick asked, noting the way Swiftnick's expression had drooped a little at the edges. It'd do the lad good to realise he had competition for the fair Cherry's…hand.

"The lad's too young for her," Edwin said meaningfully, glancing at Swiftnick. "There's no smoke without fire so they say and that one loves to light the kindling." He broke off as his wife briskly trotted back in and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek in passing. "Aye, well, me for the smithy then. I'll let you know about the hunting, Mr Turner."

"You do that," Dick agreed as he pulled up his chair and reached for the teapot again.

"Are we really going after the werewolf?" Swiftnick wondered nervously.

"I might be but you’re not. Not with that shoulder of yours. Best if you stay safely out of the way for once," Dick retorted, guessing that from the relief on Swiftnick's face he would for once stay put. Werewolf hunting was not Swiftnick's idea of fun.

* * *

"Come, sir," Ralph Fortesque urged an hour or so later. The sun was up, struggling to warm up a chilly day and burn off the last of the lingering fog. "Every lad should have a taste for hunting and shooting and fishing. Bring the youngster along, what?"

"No," Turpin said firmly. Edwin had brought the main representatives of the hunting party up to the house. Ralph was their leader; a portly, rich merchant type who clearly had ideas of grandeur and had the biggest house in town. George Medwick was the most prosperous of the local farmers, but was more down to earth than the somewhat foppish Ralph. "Nick's staying here."

"Come now, sir, the lad will come to no harm with us to protect him."

"No," Dick repeated, wondering what part of the word Ralph couldn't understand. The man was clearly used to getting his own way.

"A cowardly decision," Fortesque sniffed, waving a lace handkerchief under his nose. "For you to hide away in the corner while the rest of us are out risking life and limb…."

"One, I'm no coward," Turpin growled, interrupting him. "Secondly, I will come with you. And thirdly, I repeat, Nick is staying here. The lad's hurt and in no shape to ride, even if his horse wasn't lame. I also fail to see why you are so determined to make him join us."

"Fie, sir, every lad needs a bit of excitement!"

"He had quite enough of that falling in the bog!" Dick said grumpily.

"Let it be, Ralph," Medwick urged, his slow soft voice filling the room and hushing the flightier tones of the other man. "Turner's got a right to say what the lad does."

"The man's frightened for him," Ralph sniffed. "Is the lad a lap dog to be coddled so?"

Turpin clenched his fists behind his back and resisted the urge to reach for his sword. "I take it you have no boy of your own or you’d understand," he responded grimly. To his astonishment, Ralph flinched and his expression turned grim.

"My son is no concern of yours, sir," he snapped back at Turpin. "If you care to join us, bring your nag to the pub. We shall ride out after lunch." As the portly merchant stalked out, Dick found himself left alone with George.

"His son's turned into a rake trawling the fleshpots of London," the older man sighed heavily. "Ralph thought he'd make a man of him with all this hunting and fishing lark, instead he turned him into a selfish little fop. Can't say as I'm surprised; what with Ralph and that shrew of a wife of his he didn't stand much of a chance to be anything else. You stand by your lad, Mr Turner, and you'll make a better man of him than Ralph's done with his son."

Dick smiled, half embarrassed at Medwick believing in his lie, half-pleased at the compliment. He hoped Swiftnick would turn out well too. The lad was a bright spark and learned quickly. At least he knew what a teacup and saucer was for now. "I thank you for the compliment, sir, and I will meet you at the pub."

"Good, good. See you there," George said in relief and briskly strode out, presumably to go and soothe Ralph's temper. Dick relaxed and sank into a comfortable chair, glad to see the back of them.

The door creaked as it was pushed open and Swiftnick put his head round the edge. "Um…?" He hadn't decided what he should call Turpin with the current roles they were playing.

"Come on in," Dick beckoned the lad inside, putting on his best gentlemanly tones, "It seems I shall be joining the hunting party, my boy."

Swiftnick pushed the door shut and leaned on it. "Do you want me to come?"

"After spending half an hour arguing against you coming? No. I doubt if we’ll catch anything anyway." Dick didn't miss the reluctance in his apprentice's voice.

Swiftnick smiled ruefully. "But you will be careful, won't you?"

Turpin blinked and looked at him in surprise. "Caution's my middle name," he snorted. "And it'd had better be yours too. You stay away from that dairymaid or I'll feed you to the werewolf myself."

* * *

Munching on an apple, Swiftnick leaned against the smithy's doorframe and watched Turpin ride out an hour later with the other men of the village. Seen in daylight without the fog, Beck's End was quite a pretty place with a lot more houses than Swiftnick had expected. There was a prosperous looking inn further up on the main street that was run by another of the hunters and was where the hunting party had met. Several farmers from near by farms had also turned up to join in. Dick had borrowed one of Medwick's horses; obliging the man by agreeing to exercise the showy filly. Swiftnick would have preferred his mentor to be riding a horse he trusted, but Dick was delighted by the prospect and quietly pointed out to the youth that the less he was seen on Black Bess the better.

"Nick?" Edgar had trotted out of the smithy behind the young highwayman and peered after the hunters. "Your old man out of the way then?"

"My old man?" Swiftnick gave him a startled look.

"Sorry," Edgar looked sheepish. "I meant your father…."

"Oh, yeah, he's gone hunting with the others."

Edgar nodded. "I'm not needed in the smithy today. You want me to show you around?" he suggested hopefully.

"Why not?" Swiftnick tossed his apple core in the direction of the midden heap and straightened up. "Where we going?"

Edgar grinned and set up off the road. "There's not much to see, but it's better than pumping the bellows. You like fishing?" he asked him as Swiftnick fell into step with him.

"Aye," Swiftnick admitted. There was nothing better than sitting with his feet in the water in the sunshine while he did some fishing. It wasn't so much fun when there was a chill in the air like today though. "But it's a bit cold for that."

"I suppose," Edgar looked disappointed for a second then shrugged. "I heard your father has got a plantation in the West Indies. You been out there?"

Swiftnick hesitated. "No," he admitted reluctantly. Turpin was always telling him to keep lies simple. If he said yes, then Edgar would probably want details and Swiftnick would have to make up more lies. Then he'd have to remember those lies and it'd all get out of hand and he'd get caught out. "But I want to go."

"Bet you've travelled through," Edgar said eagerly, looking at him with avid interest.

"Some but not much," Swiftnick said slowly. He hadn't even been to London yet, despite his best efforts to persuade Dick to take him. "We stay at home a lot. My….father travels more than I do. He's told me about foreign places." Well, that was true enough. Turpin enjoyed telling of his own travels.

"Furthest I've ever been is Ford's End," Edgar confided wistfully, then brightened up. "My friend Jack is apprentice to the smithy there. He's met Dick Turpin."

Swiftnick blinked then it dawned on him that Edgar was waiting for him to be impressed. "Wow," he obliged him. "The real Dick Turpin? My father says he got hung at York."

"Nah," Edgar shook his head. "Not Turpin. They’ll never catch him."

"How'd your friend meet him then?"

"You know Turpin's got a sidekick riding with him now? Seems like something had happened to the lad and Turpin was all of a dither looking for him. Jack found the lad's horse. It were Turpin what took Jack over to Ford's End personal like and apprenticed him to the blacksmith."

"Wow," Swiftnick said again. Dick had been in a dither? He knew Turpin and Glenrae had searched for him when he lost his memory, but he hadn't known Dick had been that upset. Course, Edgar could be exaggerating.

"Turpin must have found the lad," Edgar went on. "They robbed the Bristol coach a few days back."

And got barely a handful of coins for the effort, Swiftnick grumbled mentally. "Hmmh," he said absently. "They say they’re a bloody menace."

Edgar frowned. "I suppose," he said slowly.

Swiftnick slid a look sideways at him. Not too long ago, he would have thrilled to hear of a highwayman's exploits. "I think it's…. exciting," he offered.

Edgar's eyes lit up. "Yeah. Better than being a smith's lad," he agreed. "All them riches and pretty women….I heard Turpin danced a gavotte with one lady."

"That was Duval," Swiftnick said firmly. Dick always complained about that one. "I heard he knocked down the Bristol Butcher though."

"Wooo," Edgar was impressed. "Bet he kisses all the women …"

"The pretty ones anyway," Swiftnick sighed, wishing he got the chance occasionally.

"And Swiftnick gets the girls…"

"What?" Swiftnick jumped in alarm at the sound of his own name.

"That's his partner's name; Swiftnick," Edgar confided, carolling aloud, "Oh bold Swiftnick once did ride, though Turpin he did chide…."

"'Ere hold it down you young ruffian," a drink slurred male voice bellowed from an upstairs window of the pub as the youths passed below.

Edgar grabbed Swiftnick by his good arm and dragged him into an alleyway before a pitcher of water splattered the street. He grinned cheekily, catcalling back up at the disturbed and hungover sleeper. While the man was yelling imprecations and threatening to come after them with his belt, the two youngsters raced giggling up the alleyway.

Panting for breath, they found refuge under the orchard wall where frost still shimmered in the shadows. "You ever kissed a girl?" Edgar asked curiously.

"Yeah…" Swiftnick could feel himself blushing. There had been a girl or two who had found him pleasing enough to kiss - not that Dick knew. "You?"

Edgar sighed. "I kissed Milly once; she slapped me."

"Oh…" Swiftnick thought about this, remembering what Edwin had said. "What about Cherry?"

Edgar sighed even more lugubriously. "Don't I wish. She wouldn't kiss the likes of me though."

"No?" Swiftnick felt a surge of disappointment.

"Nah, she used to be all right. But she's got all these airs and graces these days. Milly reckons she's up the spout by the highwayman."

"Turpin?!" Swiftnick squeaked in shock.

"Nah, he's supposed to a be a gentlemen. I mean Deville. Devil by name, devil by nature that's how introduces himself they say." Edgar took a surreptitious look around and eased closer to the blond youth. "They say he's made a pact with the devil. That's why he's never been caught. He can turn into fog and disappear and he's got a temper like the devil himself."

Swiftnick's eyes widened. And that was the kind of man Turpin had chased across the haunted lands of Dark Fell? No wonder he had ended up in a bog! It was probably witchcraft!

"I reckon he put a spell on Cherry to get her in his bed," Edgar went on.

"More like a coin or two in her pocket," a prim woman's voice sniffed. "What are you up to lurking about my orchard, Edgar Pike? Be off with you before I take a broom to you…"

Edgar stuck out his tongue at the skinny woman glaring at them from the orchard gate and ran off. Swiftnick scraped an apologetic bow and raced after him, missing the woman's amused smile as she closed her gate again. Boys will be boys after all and they looked like a harmless enough pair….

* * *

Turpin was bored. Dark Fell wasn't good hunting land; there wasn't enough cover for man or beast and any deer they sighted were off and away long before they could get close. After a long afternoon of riding the most the hunting dogs they had brought along had put up had been a brace of pheasants that had managed to escape with the loss of only a few feathers.

Truth to tell, Dick wasn't much of a hunting man anymore. He had enjoyed it when he was little more than Swiftnick's age and surrounded by his cronies; back then the thrill of the chase added zest to coming back to a warm pub and an even warmer tavern wench. But as he had matured he had lost interest in the so-called sport, seeking more intelligent pursuits. Nowadays, he only hunted to fill the pot and found a greater attraction in robbery. After all where was the danger in chasing an animal that couldn't fight back?

"You seem distracted, Mr Turner," George Medwick commented as he rode up beside the highwayman.

"Truthfully, sir, I am little inclined to hunting," Dick replied smoothly.

"Takes a man to take to the hunt," Fortesque sniffed as he rode past.

Turpin glared at his back, considering him a pompous prig of the worst kind. Under all that posturing was undoubtedly a coward. He had seen men like him squirming at his sword point when he robbed them.

Medwick sighed heavily. "How goes the filly for you?" he asked.

"She has a tender mouth and a smooth gait," Dick answered absently. "But she’ll not make a hunter."

"No," Medwick agreed. "What think you, sir, is she too much for a lady?"

Turpin thought that over. "If she's good rider, they'd do well enough together. But I fancy the filly to be a little flighty," he paused and smiled wryly. "Like the dairy maid my lad's crooning over."

George chuckled at that. "Aye, you’d have the right of that," he agreed in amusement. "A sweet lass, but flighty as you say. Best you keep the youngster away from her."

"I'm told all the village lads are sweet on her," Dick said carefully, fishing for more information.

Medwick nodded. "Like bees to honey. But like all bees, she has a sting. Rumour has it she's been making honey with a highwayman and now he's upped and left her in the lurch."

"Ah…" Dick said easily, but was thinking Damn it …No doubt the girl was looking for a way out of her plight and the young and inexperienced son of a presumably rich merchant would suit her perfectly. Me and my big mouth…. "Which highwayman was this then?" he asked casually, wondering if he was going to have to defend his reputation.

"Sebastian Deville they call him. He's stayed in Beck's End more than once until we realised who he was. We almost had him but he took to his heels too fast for us. He had his dogs to protect him; damn savage beasts. Constant trouble they were. I reckon someone warned him…"

"You mean Cherry?" Dick guessed.

"Nay, we’re not fools. She'd have tattled to him. We had her watched and kept it among ourselves; me, Ralph, young Meakins, Edwin Pike, Harris…" There was a sudden commotion from up ahead and George perked up. "Looks like the dogs have picked up a scent at last. Shall we go?"

Dick nodded and smiled politely, urging the filly to lengthen her stride to keep up with Medwick's big gelding. Last time the dogs had found something it'd been a hedgehog; not exactly the most thrilling of prey to hunt; unlike Deville. So Cherry knew him did she? Maybe she was worth cultivating after all.

The rest of the hunting party where gathered in a loose knot around a man called Harris who owned the dogs. "Tracks," he announced as Medwick and Turpin joined them. "And like none I've seen before."

Turpin dismounted to join him on the ground and crouched to examine the strange tracks Harris had found. Dick was no expert in tracking since there wasn't that much call for it in his trade, but he could track his dinner and follow a horse and he could tell that Harris was right, these tracks were indeed strange. Longer than a man's foot and broader, they left oddly flat depressions in the soft ground that were marked at the toe tips with deep pits. Following them by sight, Dick could see that they led across the path they had been following, disappearing among the bushes in the direction of the smooth green surface of a bog.

"The werewolf," someone moaned from behind him.

"Finding it was the general idea, Meakins," Ralph Fortesque sniffed.

Dick straightened up, giving Harris a thoughtful look. "They look like fakes to me," he commented.

Harris gave him a surprised look and nodded slowly. "Aye, my thoughts exactly…"

"What are you talking about, man?" Fortesque demanded irritably.

Dick strolled back to his filly and took up her reins. "The tracks don't look real," he told him coolly. "Too flat and too perfect. It seems to me they were made deliberately, maybe by something carved from wood…"

"Stuff and nonsense," Ralph snorted, hitching up the reins and nudging his gelding forwards. "We shall follow them and see where they lead."

Turpin scowled after him as the others followed him. Medwick grimaced but followed with an exasperated glance at Dick. Meakins hung back, looking nervous. "Do you really think there's a werewolf?" he quavered.

Dick gave him a dirty look, then softened as he realised that Meakins was the youngest of their party. He was a lanky young man, with a permanently panic stricken expression; a farmer's son who probably wasn't much older than Swiftnick and had probably seen the hunt as a bit of a lark to get out of mucking out the pigs. So, he told him what he would have told his accomplice. "No," he said easily. "There's no such thing. If you ask me, it's someone playing games. Maybe this highwayman that George was telling me about."

"Deville?" Meakin's eyes widened in his thin face.

"You've heard of him then." Dick mounted up, gathering up the filly and asking her to trot on. With a bit of curvetting and side-stepping she reluctantly obeyed. Meakins rode along beside him.

"Oh aye, everyone's heard of him. He stayed in the village for a while; quite a one with the ladies he was." Meakins looked faintly embarrassed. "We were all glad to see the back of him."

"I'm not surprised."

"Bad temper though. Right nasty. Least thing would set him off. You should have heard him when they found out who he was; swearing and a yelling at everyone. They did their best to hang him, you know. But he got away. Swore vengeance he did."

"That sounds about right," Dick muttered.

"Sorry, sir?"

"About right, for a highwayman that is. Threats. How'd he get away?"

"Rumour has it Cherry from the dairy was his lover and she helped him."

"So I heard," Dick mused, frowning at the others ahead of them. The fog was starting to come up again, rising thick and fast in concealing grey white veils. "We'd better catch up with the others. I don't know my way here and I’d rather not get lost."

Half an hour later and the fog was impenetrable, lying like skeins of twisting wool in the air around them. Odd shapes loomed up out of it, making them all nervous. Somehow Turpin and Fortesque had gotten separated from the rest of the hunting party, although every now and then odd echoes drifted out of the fog.

"Spooky isn't it?" Dick commented with a certain amount of malice, having observed how jumpy Fortesque was. "You can almost hear the howling of ghosts lost in the fog."

"That isn't funny," Ralph snapped. "I am not a mere stripling to be frightened by ghost stories."

Dick chuckled, enjoying his baiting of the older man. The fog muffled the hoofbeats of the horses, making it seem as if the two men and their mounts were the only creatures left alive.

"I do believe we're near Headman's Rock," Ralph went on as if he needed to hear the sound of his own voice filling up the silence. "We should be able to find our way back to the village from here quite easily."

"Quite," Dick said dryly. He was pretty sure he knew where he was too now. They had come this way earlier he was sure. "Did you hear something?"

"No…" Ralph snapped stiffly. "I do not find your puerile jokes amusing, Mr Turner."

"Hmmh," Dick murmured absently, straining his ears to hear. "Sounds like dogs. Could be the rest of our party."

"Oh, of course." Fortesque flushed, looking both relieved and embarrassed.

Dick's filly suddenly snorted and leapt, catapulting herself sideways in an ungraceful frog like leap that would have had a lesser horseman than Turpin out of the saddle. Even so it took him several yards to control her and stop her bolting. Finally pulling up her head, Dick controlled the snorting animal and hastily dismounted, wondering what had startled her so much. The filly stood trembling, her nostrils flaring wide as she scented the air and looked around him wild-eyed at the little hollow beneath a rocky outcrop that they had ground. The fog here was thinner and Dick could see Ralph clearly as the older man reined in his own gelding a few paces away.

"Here, hold her while she calms down. I’d better see what startled her," Dick ordered as he took his pistol from his saddle holster. Handing the reins to Fortesque to hold and ignoring his indignant expression, Turpin backtracked to the spot where the filly had shied, picking his way through the fog over the rough ground. It was easy enough to see what had startled her. The smell alone was enough to give it away.

After a wary look round, Dick shoved his pistol through his belt and moved closer. There was a body lying half-concealed in the brush, one pale leg sticking out onto the path. Turpin hesitated, steeling himself to pull aside the branches and peer in. He couldn't see much in the poor light but it was enough to make out the back of a man's mangled head and neck, that looked as if he had been chewed on by wild animals.

The sudden howling of a dog made his hair stand up on end as he leaped back from the body and looked around wildly. Fortesque shrieked in the fog and hooves pounded suddenly away. Swearing, Turpin raced back up the path.

"Fortesque! Ralph! Stand you, swine!" he roared, but the horses receded into the distance and he could hear the frantic baying of a dog in pursuit. Bursting out of the fog into the hollow, Turpin skidded to a halt and looked around in alarm. The fog was closing in again, throwing off his sense of direction. He could hear the dogs close by, but he could tell how many there were. At one moment it seemed like only one, at another as if there were hundreds.

"Harris? Medwick?!" Dick called hopefully.

Above him on the rocks there was a scrabbling sound and Dick looked up, reaching instinctively for his gun as he saw the black and tan dog bound out onto a boulder and stare down at him. This was no friendly tail wagging hound from Harris' pack, but an angry drooling monster straight out of a horror story.

Holding his breath, Dick very, very slowly started to back away. The dog crouched, snarled, then flung back its head and bayed before it leaped, charging down the rock and racing towards the highwayman. Turpin brought his gun up but wasn't quite fast enough as the dog slammed into his chest and bowled him over, sending him tumbling down the grassy slope of the hollow. Turpin lost his grip on the gun as he fell. Teeth snapped at his face and throat and he punched the dog wildly in the head, grabbing for one torn ear and twisted savagely. The dog yelped and twisted, back paws scrabbling as it snarled and turned its teeth on his upper arm. Cloth ripped under those vicious teeth as Dick rolled over on top of the animal, jabbing his knees into its ribs and squeezing as he gripped its neck and viciously wrenched and twisted…

Bone snapped and the dog went limp under him…

Panting and shaking, Dick collapsed on top of the animal, feeling blood running down the inside of his sleeve. His good coat was ripped, but that could be mended easily enough and he was grateful to the heavy cloth for saving him from worse.

Somewhere too close by a dog bayed in the fog and another answered…

Dick shoved to his feet and nearly fell over again, then dropped to his knees, questing through the long wet grass to find his pistol before the rest of the pack found him…

* * *

Swiftnick and Edgar were playing a game of conkers in the stables when they heard the clatter of hooves coming down the street and the sudden commotion of voices. Abandoning their game, they rushed outside. Swiftnick was hoping it was Turpin returning; he was getting anxious about his partner.

The majority of the hunting party had returned and there seemed to be an argument going on. "The hounds of Hell, I tell you!" Ralph Fortesque was bellowing. "The very hounds of Hell. I saw them myself and had to take to my heels to escape. "

Swiftnick shoved through the crowd with Edgar on his heels, the pair of them ignored by the excited men.

"Where's...um...my father?" Swiftnick demanded as he searched the crowd for a familiar face.

"I don't know," Medwick admitted. "We were separated by the fog."

"I saw him with Mr Fortesque," Meakins offered.

"Nonsense," Fortesque snorted.

Swiftnick frowned, feeling uneasy and his fears growing as he spotted the filly, sweat soaked and shivering, by Fortesque's gelding. "That's his horse! Where is he?"

"Nick, you can't go yelling at Mr Fortesque," Edgar protested. Swiftnick shook him off, pushing his way right up to Ralph.

"His horse?" Fortesque blustered. "Why how should I know where he is? As George said, the fog…"

"You had the filly with when you came up on us in the fog," Harris observed.

"Nonsense…"

"Had her by the reins you did…."

"I found her, roaming loose…."

"And you didn't look for him?" Swiftnick yelled.

"I…the dogs….I…couldn't…"

"You mean you saved your own stinking skin, you lousy coward!" Swiftnick shouted at him, wanting to kick the man where it hurt for betraying his mentor.

"Now, that's enough!" Medwick barked. "You've got no call…"

"Where?" Swiftnick ignored him. "Where did you last see him?"

"He come up on us by Headman's Rock," Harris offered when Fortesque stubbornly refused to answer.

Swiftnick swung away immediately. He knew where Headman's Rock was. "Edgar, saddle our black mare…." He ordered and raced off, tearing back to his room at the smithy for his pistols. Edgar ran for the stables without a word.

Medwick turned and gave Fortesque a slow look. "Ralph?"

"I told you, I found the filly roaming loose with no sign of Turner. What was I supposed to do? The man's no friend of mine and the dogs were on my scent."

"Why didn't you say something?" Meakins demanded impatiently.

"Say what? We were all in a dither! There was no time. We had to get away from those dogs. I did nothing wrong."

"You left Turner alone and on foot…." Harris muttered, shaking his had.

"Anyone would have done the same if I had done such a thing which I have not!" Fortesque roared. "The dogs were after me! If anything I must have led them away from Turner."

"Leaving him out there alone on foot, maybe hurt…" Meakins wondered, shocked.

"Or dead," Harris commented.

"Aye, dead!" Ralph snarled. "Was I supposed to risk my life for his body? I hallooed for him but there was no answer! I heard nothing except the dogs. All this because one fool of a boy gets hysterical?"

"The boy was angry not hysterical," Medwick observed grimly. "We'd best lay hold of him and stop him being foolish enough to…..By damn….!"

The last exploded out of him as Black Bess exploded out of the stables with Swiftnick astride her, the mare lunging into her effortless ground covering stride as she plunged through the crowd, startling men and horses aside in her flight as her rider urged her on. "Go on, Bess, go on…find him…"

"Nick! Nick, come back here you young fool!" Medwick roared after him. "We'll start a search party for your father, lad! Come back before you get yourself killed…."

* * *

Dick trotted as quickly as he could, his breath panting as he loped over the rough, ground, stumbling now and then as exhaustion nipped at his heels. He was a fit man, he couldn't afford not to be. But a horseman isn't a runner and he had run a long way all ready. It wasn't the exhaustion nipping at his heels that worried him though, it was the dogs that were doing the same. They were close, he could hear them through the fog. Every now and then they would howl and bay in their excitement at the chase. Despite his best efforts to throw them off the track, they had picked up his scent again and again. No detour through bog or stream dislodged them from his tail and he knew they were closing in.

Finally admitting he could run no more for now, Turpin came to a gasping halt, leaning on his knees for a moment before he sagged into the soft green turf to get his breath back. Someone had taught these dogs to hunt a man, he had decided. Someone who knew how human prey would think and react.

He couldn't help remembering the torn body he had found in the bushes. He didn't doubt that it was these same dogs that had done for the stranger as would do for him if he didn't come up with a plan soon.

The village wasn't that far off now; a mile or two maybe. But too far for him to reach before the dogs reached him. Nothing in his surroundings offered a safe shelter or even a place to make a last stand. The fog was lifting a little too now, now that he wished it would linger and conceal him. If the dogs caught sight of him they'd be on him that much sooner.

Dick forced himself back to his feet, feeling his legs trembling with exhaustion under him. He had one shot in his pistol, a knife in his boot and his bare hands. Not much to fight a pack of savage dogs with. He limped a few more feet, picking his way through the thorny bushes until an outcrop of rock looming up from the fog brought him to a halt. He sank against the cold damp stone and swore under his breath, then started to trace a path around its side.

Maybe he wasn't as close to the village as he had thought. There were no outcrops like this near by…

Turpin came to a halt and peered up through the fog above him, making out the bulky familiar outline….

Sod it, he'd gotten turned around in the fog. This was Headman's Rock! He was nowhere near the village…

The dogs bayed close by and Dick whipped around, putting his back to the rocks as the first of the pack hurtled out of the fog straight at him. Gritting his teeth, Turpin levelled his pistol on the slavering animal and shot it before it could reach him. It yipped once and went tumbling as two more mongrels burst out of the fog. One went to sniff at the twitching body the second came straight on for Turpin. Dick pulled the knife from his boot and stepped forward, shouting at the dog in the vague hopes it might obey an order.

"Down, you brute!"

The shaggy grey dog hesitated, cringing from his tone for a second then leapt at him anyway. Dick attempted to dodge and slashed, ripping one brindled flank with his knife. With a whine of pain, the dog recoiled and retreated but the other beast closed in. Turpin dodged again, managed to grab the dog's ears and twist its head back. As it snapped at him, he cut its throat and was covered in the gush of scarlet blood. Out in the fog he heard the other dogs barking furiously and for a second he thought he heard a horse, then another dog was lunging for his throat and he was bowled off his throat by the impact against his chest. Turpin rolled with the animal, hurling it over his head and heard a wet, squishy thump and a howl of panic from the beast as it landed.

Bog, Dick thought groggily, dragging himself back to his feet as three more slavering dogs slunk from the fog, eyes gleaming in the brassy light. He set his feet, taking a firm grip on his bloodied knife and groggily wandering how many more of them there were.

The throbbing of hooves suddenly seemed to explode around him, filling the air and distracting him as the next dog lunged at his legs, hoping to hamstring him and driving him back as he dodged desperately.

A black horse burst out of the fog like some wild apparition, screaming in fury as she rode over the dogs, trampling them in her rage. Dick gaped in disbelief as a pistol cracked out and the dog at his feet jerked, snapping at the blood on its side as it convulsed.

"Dick!" Wild eyed and scared, Swiftnick hauled Black Bess to a halt beside the highwayman.

"How the….?!" Turpin blurted, then changed his mind as Black Bess snorted and kicked, smashing a dog away from her hindquarters. Swiftnick kicked his foot free from a stirrup and Dick, tucked his own toes into it, vaulting astride the mare behind his young accomplice. Wrapping one arm around the lad, Dick caught at the reins. "Hyup, Bess!" he yelled and the mare leaped forward, trampling over the mongrels as she bounded forward into a gallop and away from the enraged pack.

The dogs did their best to pursue the galloping mare, but even with a double load Black Bess easily outdistanced them. When he finally decided that they had reached a safe distance, Turpin reined the mare in, letting her walk and catch her breath.

"Are you all right?" Swiftnick blurted as soon as he could speak. "Are you badly hurt?"

"I don't think so…" Dick admitted, slowly taking stock of himself. Apart from his arm, it seemed to be mostly aches and pains.

"But the blood…"

"Mostly dogs blood…."

Swiftnick twisted, anxiously looking over his shoulder at him. "Mostly?"

"Nothing I can't take care of," Dick assured him. "What are you doing out here, Swiftnick? I told you to stay put…"

"Fortesque came back with your horse without you and said about the dogs…"

"So you came out here on your own to look for me? You daft h’apporth…"

"You’d have done the same for me," Swiftnick responded defiantly.

Turpin pursed his lips, ruefully admitting Swiftnick had a point there. "How'd you find me then?"

Swiftnick started to shrug, then winced. He had pulled off his sling so he could ride and was now starting to regret it. "They said when they last saw you, you were near Headman's Rock. I knew where that was so I rode up here and started looking. I told Bess to find you. Then I heard the dogs…"

"And rode straight for them instead of in the opposite direction…" Dick snorted.

"Yes, I knew that's where'd you be. I thought you’d head for the nearest landmark so a search party could find you…"

Dick was glad of the fog and the gathering gloom to hide his expression from Swiftnick. He wasn't about to admit he had gotten lost in the fog.

"Are you sure you’re all right?" Swiftnick pressed anxiously.

Turpin chuckled and gave him a rough hug with one arm. "A hot bath and a good meal will set me up fine, my lad," he told him. "That and punching out Mr Fortesque's lights for him."

"Then he did ride off and leave you! I knew it!" Swiftnick yelped in triumph.

"Aye," Dick said grimly. "And he and I will be chatting about that…"

* * *

"Right," Medwick began, rubbing his hands together. "Let's be having you then. Headman's Rock first and spread out from there. We'll find the pair of them…"

"George," Harris interrupted. "Lookee there…."

Medwick broke off and turned to look, gaping in astonishment at the sight of Turpin and Swiftnick riding down the street. Dick halted the mare outside the stable and slid off, letting Swiftnick slip down beside him.

"Mr Turner, I had given up hopes of seeing you alive!" Meakins exclaimed, gawping at the blood soaked Turpin in shock.

"If it hadn't been for Nick here, I wouldn't be," Dick reported, winking at Swiftnick's delighted look as the youth patted Black Bess.

"But you're hurt, sir," Meakins pressed.

"Looks worse than it is," Dick assured him, too tired to care what anyone thought.

"We were about to come after you," Medwick explained, gesturing at the gathered men.

Turpin nodded wearily, grateful if a little cynical over the delay. Fresh horses and men had taken time to gather, he supposed. He was lucky Swiftnick was more impatient than sensible.

"We wanted to come after you straight away, but Mr Fortesque insisted on regrouping…" Harris observed dryly.

"Ah, did he now," Dick muttered, then looked round at explosive curse from Swiftnick. He was in time to see his young accomplice dart through the crowd and square up to Fortesque himself. Edgar, who had come out of the stables to hold Black Bess' reins, gaped after him.

"You cowardly creep!" Swiftnick yelled at the rich merchant. "You snivelling molly!"

"You watch your mouth," Fortesque spat and lashed out, backhanding the startled youth. Swiftnick ended up on sitting in the dirt and holding his jaw in surprise, but a second later he was up and lunging in fury. Turpin caught him by the collar and yanked him back. "Yes, you hold him, sir!" Fortesque barked, outraged. "Why I've fought duels for less! He needs a strap taking to him! The lad needs a good whipping for such language!"

Turpin let go of his partner, hauled off and punched Fortesque right in the teeth. The merchant went over and down, landing in a heap of horse droppings. "That's not half of what I'd like to call you!" Dick snarled. "You want a duel? Go ahead! Challenge me! I'm the one you left out there, you snivelling wretch! Call yourself a man?! You’re a milk sop!"

Swiftnick gaped at Turpin in astonishment, a slow admiring grin crawling across his face as he listened to Dick's increasingly inventive tirade of invective. Fortesque had gone bright red with rage and embarrassment, but he also looked terrified.

"Where's me gun?! I'll give you a bloody duel if that's what you want…" Dick raged, venting the fear he had felt out there in the fog.

"Here now." Edwin had emerged from the smithy and stepped in before it turned into a brawl, not daring to touch Turpin but speaking gently. "You'll be scaring your lad if you keep on. Best if you leave it now."

Dick caught a breath, stared at Edwin as if he had never seen him before and then looked at Swiftnick, shocked by how easily he had lost his temper. Fortesque raising a hand to his apprentice had been the last straw, he realised. But he could tell he hadn't scared Swiftnick. The lad merely looked impressed and grinned at him shyly. "Aye," Dick said slowly. "Aye, best if I say no more. Would you mind taking care of my horse for me, Edwin? Come on, Nick. I need to get cleaned up."

As the highwayman and his accomplice walked away, Fortesque heaved himself back to his feet. And if he walked back to his lodgings alone, then it wasn't only the powerful whiff of horse droppings that kept people away from him.

* * *

"Ohh-hhh, I'm a highwayman and I'm all right! I sleep all day and I rob all night! I kiss the girls and I sow my oats and I chase the lads with my John O'Groats!" Dick carolled at the top of his voice an hour later or so later as he scrubbed his chest vigorously with the soap. He was sitting in the big wooden tub in front of the scullery fire, rinsing off the last of the mud and dirt he had accumulated on his race across the fell and waving a half-full glass in his free hand. "Ohhhh, I'm a highwayman and…"

"Don't you mean to John O'Groats?" Swiftnick asked in exasperation from where he perched on a chair watching Turpin. He had managed to escape Aldyth's efforts to get his sling back on him and was regretting it. He had also been listening to Dick singing for most of the last hour and was regretting that as well.

Dick paused in mid verse and squinted at him. "Oh to be sweet sixteen and still innocent," he cackled. "Nay, lad, I know what I mean. Now, where was I? Ohh-hhh….."

"You’re drunk!" Swiftnick snorted.

"Happen as I am," Dick agreed amiably. "Does a man good to let loose once in a while."

"But you’re so loose you’re practically falling off the bobbin!" Swiftnick wailed. "What are you drinking?"

Turpin considered this. "Lemme see now. There was that fine drop of ale to start off with, then the bandy and this is…." He peered into his glass. "Um…. something green. Elderberry I think. Bit of a bite to it…."

Swiftnick's eyes widened in astonishment as Dick Turpin, highwayman extraordinaire, giggled. Yes, giggled… "Bandy?"

"Bandy Brandy," Dick assured him gleefully. "S'very good brand, s'from Bangor you know…"

"No, I don't know. And I think you've had enough!"

"Ooh, listen whose talking," Dick hugged his glass to his chest and gave Swiftnick a calculating look. "Want a sip, laddie buck? Do you good…"

Swiftnick hesitated, eyeing the bottle on the table. He had taken an inquisitive but cautious sniff of the contents while Dick's back was turned, but hadn't tasted them. "I don't think so," he decided warily.

"Ah, come on Sweet Nick," Dick teased. "It'll stop you looking so prim and proper…"

"Me?" Swiftnick gaped at him,

"Aye, lips all pursed up like a Dowager Duchess," Turpin demonstrated, puckering his mouth up as if he'd been eating lemons and making his apprentice laugh despite himself. "Better," Dick chuckled, relaxing lazily back into the warm water and studying his upper arm where the dog had bitten him. He had been lucky and he knew it; the bite had torn the skin and bruised his arm, but the animal hadn't managed to get a decent hold on him thanks to the thick cloth of his now ruined coat. Lifting his glass, Dick toasted his tailor and promised himself a new and better one next time he got to London. Come to that, he should probably order one for his apprentice too. The lad was going to need something to keep him warm when the weather really turned nasty. "Ohh-hhh…."

"Please don't start singing again," Swiftnick begged urgently.

"And why not?" Dick asked, miffed. "What's wrong with my singing?"

"Nothing. But I'll be the one you scold for listening to you singing rude songs." Swiftnick pointed out diplomatically. Turpin's voice wasn't exactly nightingale material.

Turpin contemplated this then toasted the lad with his wine and rested his head on the edge of the tub, studying the beams of the ceiling overhead. He couldn’t help his grin as he admitted to himself that his accomplice had a point. "There once was a lady called Sadie, whose habits were decidedly shady…"

"Dick!" Swiftnick yelped.

Turpin cackled wickedly. "All right, my lad," he chuckled, pushing himself reluctantly out of the water and climbing unsteadily out of the tub. Swiftnick scooted to steady him and grab him a towel and managed to relieve him of his glass in the process. Dick dried himself off, then pulled on his breeches and collapsed into a chair. "Glass…." He ordered briskly.

"Don't you think you've had enough?"

"Nope…glass…."

Swiftnick sighed but reluctantly handed it over. Dick took a small sip and then deliberately set the glass down on the table. "You should be proud, you know," he observed.

"Who? Me? Proud? Why?" Swiftnick blurted, having been doing his best to get a peek at the highwayman's bitten arm. He was none too sure it was the minor wound Dick said it was. What if it had been a werewolf? Even now Dick could be starting to change…. He jumped as he realised Dick had leaned forward and was peering in amusement into his face.

"I don't get drunk without someone I trust to watch me back," Dick told him, following Swiftnick up as the youth sat up hastily. "Do you want to check my teeth too?"

"Your teeth? Why would I want to do that?" Swiftnick wasn't sure whether to be flattered or annoyed with his partner.

"Well, you've been looking to see if I've grown any fur yet," Dick observed.

"Have not," Swiftnick protested, blushing.

"Have!" Dick snorted, wagging a finger at him. "Shame on you, Nick, for being so gullible. This is the age of science and reason…. There's no such thing as werewolves!"

"But something strange is going on here," Swiftnick argued. "Why can't we go home?"

"Toby needs to rest…"

"When then? I don't feel right lying to people I like and the werewolf scares me."

Turpin smiled faintly. Hard as it was to believe, considering that the lad was shaping up to be a fine if inexperienced young highwayman, Swiftnick was an honest lad inside; honest and honourable and innocent and Dick loved him for it. Swiftnick could no more dream of betraying Turpin or anyone else he cared about, than he could fly. "Ain't no werewolf," Dick reminded him firmly, however, sipping his Elderberry wine.

Swiftnick leaned forward, his blue eyes dark with worry. "But there is a dog pack. And the Beast did kill someone. Edwin said so…"

Dick scowled, remembering the torn body he had found up on the fell. How had Edwin known? Turpin pulled himself up short. Maybe he had had too much to drink. Swiftnick meant the man Edwin had mentioned being killed by the Beast when they first met the blacksmith. "It's all a game," he told Swiftnick slowly.

"A game?"

"Sebastian Deville's kind of game."

"The highwayman we were after? The one who robbed the coach? But why would he do such horrible things?"

Dick waved the glass at him. "Because he's a horrible man and mad as they come. Always has been…"

"You know him?" Swiftnick didn't look impressed for once.

"I met him a time or two," Dick admitted. "Back when I rode with Tom King that was. Tom never did get along with him. Neither could I. He had a funny way of looking at you, like he weren't sure you were really there. Thought more of his damn dogs than he did of people. Good looking blighter though." Turpin paused, studying the now visible bottom of his glass and considering the idea of a refill. Finally he decided against it and set the glass down. "He started out as a kennel lad of some Earl or other, always wanted to be Master of Hounds. When the toff took on someone else to be Master over him, he complained a bit too loud. The Earl took a whip to him and nearly killed him. When he recovered Deville's mind had gone and he murdered the toff. After that he took to the road." Dick paused again, sorting his thoughts slowly back into order and wondering if he had told Swiftnick too much. "He's a bad man, Swiftnick. He has to be stopped."

"But why by us?"

"Because I know him and I know what's he's capable of," Dick sighed. "And because the damn toe rag robbed me. I'm not going to forget that in a hurry."

"He probably didn't know it was you or he wouldn't have dared…"

Turpin gave his accomplice a level look. Swiftnick had a touching belief in his mentor's abilities, but Dick doubted that Deville would loose any sleep over crossing him. "Look, lad, what Deville's doing is dangerous for all of us," he told him, lowering his voice. "If the likes of Spiker find out what he's capable of, then we'll all be tarred with the same brush. We have to make sure he's stopped."

"What? And let everyone know it was us what did it?"

Turpin hesitated. Even he had to admit it sounded more like one of Swiftnick's schemes than his own. What was in that wine anyway? "Maybe, maybe not," he hedged carefully, deciding that whatever was in the stuff it was making him far to garrulous. Wine and exhaustion were never a good combination. "I need to sleep on it. And you need to get your sling back on my lad. You’re starting to hunch."

"Am not."

"Don't argue. Go find Aldyth and tell her we’re ready to eat while I finish getting dressed. I need some food to soak up all this alcohol."

"So you are drunk," Swiftnick said smugly.

"Get out of it!" Dick threw a wet towel at him as his apprentice ducked out of the scullery, leaving Dick to eye his last clean shirt with a sigh at the thought of mending his best and now torn cambric one. At least his boots were unscathed if muddy. Smiling ruefully as he realised he could hardly order Swiftnick to clean them, Dick started to get dressed….

* * *

The following morning dawned bright, chilly and far too bloody early for Dick Turpin's liking. The curtains were open, letting the light pour cruelly in on his open eyes and the room was cold since the fire had gone out completely. He had only the vaguest memories of the night before. He did remember telling Edwin about the body he had found and being told by the blacksmith that they would go out to find it the next day. He remembered stuffing his face with Aldyth's bacon dumplings and then the drink had really hit him. He thought Swiftnick had helped him into bed but after that there was nothing…

Reluctantly, Dick crawled out of bed, flinching at the rattle of a cart in the road and the roar of someone responding to Pike's friendly bellow and then starting a loud conversation with him right under the window. Cringing away from the light, Dick dragged on his breeches, resisting the urge to whimper as his arm throbbed painfully at the movement. It didn't hurt anywhere near as much as his head did though and his legs felt almost too stiff and sore to move after all that running. He paused to examine the wound, glad that Swiftnick wasn't there to fret. The wound was clean enough with no signs of redness swelling up his arm. The soreness was only to be expected. As long as he kept an eye on it, it should be fine. That decided, Dick took a slow groggy look around him and reluctantly decided that he might as well make the rest of the effort and get up. There had to be coffee somewhere in the village. Dick clawed his shirt over his head and groped about under the bed until he found his boot. Then he had to limp over to the door to find the other one.

Swiftnick's noisy exit from the room earlier had driven Turpin to bad language and hurling a boot at him. He had missed, but then his aim was never that good when he was hungover. Quiet had not followed Swiftnick's departure, however, as the world started to wake up. Edwin seemed to have taken it into his head to start bellowing at his wife from the far end of the house, while young Edgar seemed to be taking great delight in racing up and down the landing in pursuit of what sounded like a herd of pigs. When they finally settled down and Dick gingerly started to drift back into a doze with his head stuffed under the pillow, until Edwin's stentorian bellow greeted the carter.

Finally tottering from the room, Dick made his way gingerly along the landing and down the stairs, suppressing a moan of pain as every wooden step squeaked noisily under his weight.

Making it downstairs, he wobbled uncertainly in the direction of the scullery, hoping it would be empty so he could have five minutes to pull himself together. It wasn't of course. Life was never that kind to Dick when he was hungover.

Swiftnick was ensconced by the fire where he was happily and noisily chewing toast. Dick peered at him, deciding that his accomplice had no bloody right to look that bright eyed and bushy tailed. And if the little wretch dared to so much as mention how bad he knew he must look he bloody well would shoot him. "Where is everyone?" he demanded gruffly.

"Market day. Aldyth left me to get breakfast."

"Don't talk with your mouth full." Dick groaned at the mention of food. "Why are you up so bloody early?" he then snarled at the youth as he staggered over to the well-scrubbed kitchen table and collapsed into a chair.

"You were snoring," Swiftnick answered cheerfully.

"I do not snore."

"Yes, you were. You were inhaling your pillow," Swiftnick said firmly. "I could hear it vibrating as you sort of sucked it in. I suppose it was struggling to escape its ghastly doom."

Dick gave him a hostile look. "You have a vivid imagination. I do not snore," he repeated firmly.

"Well, someone was and it wasn't me. You always start snoring when you're drunk."

"I wasn't drunk either. A little merry maybe…"

Swiftnick gave him a narrow eyed look and a wicked glint entered his eyes. "Ohh-hh, I'm a highwayman and I'm all right. I sleep all day and a rob all night…."

Dick could feel himself pale. "Where'd you learn such a song?" he exclaimed in horror, already knowing the answer and sincerely hoping he hadn't sung all the verses he knew. Some of them were enough to make his hair go white, let alone Swiftnick's.

"From you, last night," Swiftnick responded, all wide-eyed innocence. "You almost managed to carry a tune too. I still say it should be to John O'Groats, not with my John O'Groats."

"Where's me gun?" Dick moaned his normal threat.

"Upstairs. But you couldn't hit a coach at close range right now. Are you sure you remembered it right?"

"I was drunk."

"You said you weren't…"

"Don't push me, lad," Turpin growled murderously.

"You always said I was to ask questions if I didn't understand…"

"Yes, but not bloody now!"

"But…"

"Ask Glenrae," Dick said desperately. "He's the one who taught me the damn thing! Now shut up before I shoot you."

Swiftnick merely gave him a dazzling grin and munched noisily on his toast, unimpressed.

"Bloody little sadist," Dick growled, knowing that Swiftnick would be quite certain to remember to ask Glenrae.

"Whatever I am, you made me," Swiftnick said sweetly, fluttering his eyelashes at him.

"As soon as I find a plantation, I'm sending you there. Even if I have to pay a pressgang to take you." Dick paused, steadying his reeling head in hands. "Mind you, any pressgang that grabbed you would probably pay me to take you back." He didn't bother to look up, he could almost feel Swiftnick's pout. The lad had the noisiest and most productive pout of anyone he had ever met. "Get me some coffee, you little monster."

"Yes, master. Right away, master. Anything you say, master." Swiftnick mocked even as he hopped to his feet to get a cloth and take the pot down from over the fire. "Will there be anything else, master?"

"How about if you shut up?" Turpin moaned. He lifted his head enough to squint through his fingers and look at the mug Swiftnick set down in front of him. The hot black contents steamed gently as he reached for it.

"You want I should go and pack now then?" Swiftnick asked.

"Huh?" Dick peered at him blearily. "Pack? Why?"

"So we can go home. Like you said last night."

Dick took a cautious mouthful of black coffee and blinked at him slowly, letting this sink in. Swiftnick stood there looking as fluffy and cute as a kitten that had eaten the roast chicken. "I wasn't that drunk, you cunning little begger," Turpin said at last. "I told you Deville has to be dealt with."

Swiftnick plumped down in the chair opposite him. "But why does it have to be by us?" he protested.

Dick took another mouthful of coffee, feeling it start to chase away the fuzzy feeling in his thoughts. At least it was killing the rotten taste in his mouth. "Because I know how to handle him," he said grimly.

"You nearly got eaten by his dogs."

"Aren't apprentices supposed to be seen and not heard?" Dick said hopefully.

"And you said you didn't really know him," Swiftnick continued insistently.

Turpin sighed heavily. "Swiftnick, there are enough bad things in this world of ours, without letting the likes of Deville make it worse. Either you do something to stop his kind, or you’re tarred with the same brush."

Swiftnick frowned, thinking this through. "But what can we do?" he said anxiously. "We don't know where his hideout is and he's got all them dogs besides…"

"Several less now," Dick observed with a touch of smugness.

"And it's not like we can kill him."

Turpin gave him a sharp look and a faint smile of approval.

"And we can't hand him over to Spiker or we’ll swing alongside him!"

Dick nodded; gingerly because he was afraid his head would fall off if he moved too fast. "I'm still thinking on it," he told him.

"Well, think faster. Edwin was talking about the coach that was due. He reckons that Spiker will have his men out looking for whoever attacked it. They could come here, Dick!"

Turpin tensed uneasily then shook his head. "No, no he won't. Spiker won't come over Dark Fell if he can help it. The coach would have turned back to its last stop. Spiker's got no reason to come to Beck's End."

"Are you sure?"

"Aye," Dick said firmly. "Now, make me some of that toast. Dry, mind. I need something to soak up that ale."

"Brandy and Elderberry too," Swiftnick observed as he reached for the toasting fork.

"What?"

"Brandy and Elderberry. That's what you were drinking."

Dick suppressed the urge to swear. No wonder he felt so terrible if he had been mixing his drinks like that. Elderberry was always insidiously lethal!

"Want some jam with the toast?"

"No…" Dick protested.

"Should I slather some dripping on it for you then?" Swiftnick asked, all sweet innocence.

"No!"

"But it's your favourite. Look, see…" Swiftnick scooped up the pottery crock and stuffed it under Turpin's nose. "Nice and thick the way you like it…"

Dick took one look and an incautious sniff and his stomach revolted. He bolted for the door with his plaintive cry of, "I'm going to shoot you!" echoing back to Swiftnick as the youth grinned wickedly after him.

* * *

A couple of hours later, Turpin slowly made his way up the main street towards the inn in search of his apprentice and a little light exercise to loosen up his stiff muscles. Swiftnick had been careful to avoid him since the dripping incident and Dick had been inclined to let him stay out of his way while he plotted his revenge on the lad. Now that he was feeling a little better, he had asked Edwin where Swiftnick might be and been told that he and Edgar had gone up to the inn to deliver the brand new fire grate the blacksmith had made for the inn's snug.

Strolling into the inn's yard, he soon spotted Swiftnick's bright blond head and Edgar's darker one as the two lads surreptitiously watched a couple of the tavern wenches flirting with some of the customers who were drinking at the table outside.

Dick snorted, unsure whether a tavern wench was a better prospect for Swiftnick than the dairymaid. Probably not, he thought. If was Swiftnick going to insist on getting his feelings bruised, then it might as well be with a nice respectable girl who would let him down gently when she dumped him for being a highwayman. Dick had no doubt that it would happen; no girl in her right mind would consider a highwayman as anything more than an adventurous fling. Which brought him back to Cherry the dairymaid and her involvement with Deville. He really was going to have to talk to her.

Swiftnick had spotted Turpin strolling toward him and was looking nervous. At least the lad was still alert, if out of character. A rich young merchantman's son wouldn't have got his hands grubby delivering fire grates. Dick beckoned to him and Swiftnick somehow managed to look away at the right moment to avoid seeing the gesture. Dick lengthened his stride; he was in the right mood to make Swiftnick's life a misery for a few minutes. Dripping? Hah! He'd give him dripping!

"Good morning, Mr Turner," Edgar greeted him cheerfully. "Do you feel rested now?"

"Rested?" Dick gave him a blank look.

"After fighting those dogs. Nick told me all about it. He said you were ever so brave. And you killed at least twenty of them."

Turpin glanced at his accomplice and caught Swiftnick out in a blush before he ducked his head. "He's exaggerating, lad. I don't think there were that many of them," he said dryly.

Edgar shot a disappointed look at Swiftnick. "Were they wild dogs then? Real mean, vicious, ferocious ones?"

"Ferocious aye, but I don't think they’re wild," Dick said slowly. "I think they belonged to Deville. They’re probably what makes folk think there's a werewolf up on the Fell."

Edgar's face fell even further. Having werewolf tales to tell made life seem a bit more exciting to the village lad. "Maybe they’re hell hounds then," he guessed hopefully. "Deville made a pact with the devil."

"He hasn't made a pact with the devil and they weren't hell hounds," Dick scoffed irritably. "That's a tale he tells to scare people. He's only a very nasty man who likes to hurt and rob people." He gave Edgar a sharp look. "So don't you go telling tales like that to everyone. Rumours like that cause trouble."

"I suppose," Edgar admitted sulkily.

Dick gave him a stern look. "Time you were getting back to the smithy. Edwin was looking for you. Not you Nick."

Swiftnick winced and reluctantly stopped sidling after Edgar as the blacksmith's lad started to head back to the forge. "Oh, I’ll see you later then, Nick. Thanks for the help." Edgar called back, clearly disappointed at losing the young highwayman's companionship.

Swiftnick murmured something polite as Edgar trotted off, too busy watching Turpin in trepidation to pay much attention to him. Dick folded his arms, winced as his bitten arm protested and as casually as he could manage unfolded them again.

"Dripping"? he said dryly.

"I'm sorry," Swiftnick apologised, managing to look both contrite and innocent. "I thought you might like breakfast. I didn't know."

"Ah, don't give me that, you young monster," Dick growled. "You know perfectly well that I…." The highwayman broke off warily, eyeing the farm cart turning slowly into the yard. Medwick and young Meakins were riding alongside the grim faced driver of the wagon. "Sod it…" Dick murmured. Edwin had mentioned that a party was going out to fetch the body but he had forgotten about it. "Stay here, Nick."

"But…"

"Do as you’re told," Dick retorted coldly then softened his tone at the rebellious look on Swiftnick's face. "You don't need to see this, lad. Trust me on this." He told him grimly before he strode across the cobbled yard to the wagon. "You found him?" he asked as Medwick reined in alongside the wagon as it halted.

"Aye, we found him," Medwick agreed grimly. "Go and have a drink, Meakins. You look a mite green there."

Meakins gave him a weak smile as he slithered off his horse. Letting the ostler take the animal, he headed for the inn with barely a glance at the tavern wench who attempted to intercept him as he dodged around her. Dick noticed that the other one; a buxom young woman with obviously fake red hair - it was way too bright to be natural - had spotted Swiftnick and was eyeing him up in thoughtful calculation.

"Bad is it?" Dick asked, keeping a wary eye on his apprentice as the woman sashayed up to him. The doxy was way too old for him; most of her looks were painted on and Dick was pretty sure that the hair was a wig.

"Been chewed on pretty bad and he's been out there a few days, what do you think?" the wagon driver snorted. "Poor bastard. That bloody werewolf did for him."

Medwick pursed his lips and shook his head. "Nay, was a bullet what did for him. Someone shot him in the back. Looked like dogs went for him afterwards."

Turpin gave him a sharp look. "Shot? You're sure?"

"I know what a bullet wound looks like. He was shot," Medwick said grimly.

"Any idea who he was?"

"Name of Jonesy. He was a poacher. Not the best of men, but he didn't deserve this. Why anyone would want to shoot him though? Now that's a mystery. He was a harmless type."

Turpin had his doubts about how mysterious it might be and he had met a few poachers that he certainly wouldn't consider harmless; some of them he wouldn't want to meet on a dark night. But this was different. The dogs attacking the body suggested deliberate thought. A bit of gruesome horror added to the werewolf rumour distracting anyone from looking too close and discovering a murder. But why was he shot? Dick smiled grimly. Because the man had seen something he shouldn't have. The poacher's murder and the way the dogs had gone for him and Fortesque told him that Deville must be close by. The highwayman must have his hideout near Headman's Rock somewhere.

Habit made him glance over at Swiftnick in time to see the lad make a frantic gesture to him to come and rescue him. Turpin however pretended not to notice and turned casually away, enjoying the look of desperation on the youth's face as he realised he was being abandoned to his doom.

"Something amuses you, Mr Turner?" Medwick said stiffly.

"Oh, no," Dick said hastily. "Not this poor man, but my lad over there…" He nodded towards Swiftnick, not wanting to reveal what he was thinking. Medwick followed his gesture and Dick did the same. His forced smile turned rapidly into a scowl as he realised that the doxy had moved closer and got the lad cornered against the wall. Swiftnick was looking somewhat desperate as the woman fluffed her cleavage practically in his face and Dick did not want to know what she doing with her other hand. Turpin could have kicked himself; he should never have said he was a merchant. Normally, the mercenary baggage would have left the likes of Swiftnick alone as too young to be profitable. Maybe he shouldn't have ignored the lad's signals for help.

"I see what you mean," Medwick said dryly.

"If you'll excuse me…" Dick muttered darkly.

"Perhaps you should let the lad be," George suggested however, making Turpin look at him in disbelief. "We all have to learn some time and he's old enough."

"I’ll decide when he's old enough," Dick replied. "And in the meantime, he's not picking up bad habits off the like of her. Or anything else come to that!" Ignoring Medwick's huff of laughter, Turpin stalked back across the yard and came up behind the red haired wench. He tapped her briskly on the shoulder. "Lay off the lad," he growled the order at her.

She jumped in surprise at his unexpected approach and swished her grubby skirts as she turned to look at him. "Easy there, lover. Plenty to go around…" she said with a professional smile.

"Not of him there ain't," Dick retorted, ignoring Swiftnick too as the youth spluttered incoherently.

The doxy laughed callously. "So that's the way the wind blows, is it?"

"No, that isn't the way the wind blows," Turpin snarled, leaning in close to give her his best stony glare. "If you want to pick a cherry, at least pick a ripe one. I'll thank you to keep your paws off him."

Her eyes widened slightly and she shot a calculating look at Swiftnick. "Well now, so I'm not good enough for the likes of him, am I then?" she began nastily.

"No, you’re not," Dick interrupted forcefully.

"Oh no? Well, what do you think lad?" she turned her smile on Swiftnick and hitched at her cleavage again. "How about free one so's you get the taste for a bit of loving?"

Swiftnick flinched. "No! You’re too old…" he exclaimed, aghast.

For a second the doxy stared at him in shock then a scowl of outrage crossed her painted face and she flung herself at him, slapping and clawing in fury. Turpin grabbed her by one arm before she could reach his accomplice and whipped her around. She went for him as well, but Turpin lifted his own hand in warning and she subsided. As she opened her mouth and let loose a torrent of abuse instead, he gave her a shove towards the door of the inn. "Get lost, wench." She stumbled to the door where she swung back to face him, planting her hands on her hips as she swore at them. Deliberately ignoring her, Turpin turned a glare on Swiftnick and pointed out of the yard. As red as a cherry with fury and embarrassment, Swiftnick went, herded along by the older highwayman to the sound of Medwick's laughter.

"Why do you always have to make fun of me?" Swiftnick complained indignantly once they were out of earshot.

"I don't," Turpin retorted. "But you do leave yourself open to it at times."

"I do not! I was only talking to her!"

"Another minute and she'd have had her hands in your breeches. One way or another she was after your purse." Swiftnick blushed even more and muttered sulkily under his breath. "Haven't you got any sense? If you've got to turn a woman down, at least show some manners and be polite! She nearly had your eyes out."

"But she was old! She shouldn't be doing that sort of thing at her age. It's disgusting."

"She was probably younger than me," Dick pointed out darkly.

Swiftnick gave him an uncertain look. "But that's different!" he protested. "You don't do…that."

"I don't?" Dick exclaimed, startled.

"Besides, you only pretend you're old. And you’re not a woman anyway."

"Swiftnick, you’re too young to have sex," Turpin told him bluntly.

"I am not!" Swiftnick exploded, even as he went pink with embarrassment.

"You’re too young and at times you act younger. Now leave it." Dick gave up attempting to understand Swiftnick's youthful brand of logic and changed the subject. Embarrassing the youngster was one thing, he didn't want to scar him for life. "Look, Medwick brought back the body of the man I told you about. It seems he was shot in the back before the dogs attacked him. Why do you think someone would shoot a poacher like that?"

"You're asking me?" Swiftnick was surprised out of his anger.

"Aye. One of these days I'll teach you to think for yourself if it kills me."

Swiftnick glared at him but his busy mind was already worrying at the problem. "Because the poacher saw something, or someone, he shouldn't have?" he suggested.

"And?" Dick prompted.

"The body hadn't been moved you said, so it probably happened more or less on the spot," Swiftnick said slowly. "Which means he saw something important close by. And since the dogs attacked you at the same spot…" He paused, frowned and looked up at his mentor. "Deville has a hideout at Headman's Rock?"

"Good, lad," Turpin exclaimed, pleased. "That's the way I see it. And, a werewolf doesn't need to shoot someone, now does he?"

"Unless he wanted to hide that he was a werewolf."

Turpin groaned. "You do like to get my hopes up, don't you?"

"Huh?"

"Oh never mind. Where's Cherry?"

"How would I know?" Swiftnick protested.

"As if you wouldn't," Dick snorted. "I remember what it was like to be your age."

"You can remember that far back?"

"Less of your cheek!" Turpin exploded, aiming a quick clip at his ear that Swiftnick easily dodged. "Where is she?"

"I'll show you," Swiftnick surrendered gracefully. "She's got a stall up at the market."

* * *

Ten minutes later they strolled into the village square where the market was being held. The bustle and noise spilled over them as the cries of the traders mingled with the chatter of conversation of the buyers. It wasn't a huge market; Dick had seen plenty bigger in his time. But it was a chance for the locals to get together and meet people that they otherwise rarely saw. Farmers brought their produce in from all over the Fell, gathering at Beck's End or Hawkmere over on the other side to sell their goods. Tinkers and travelling merchants appeared to sell trinkets and potions, ribbons and pots and whatever else the locals might be willing to spare a few coins to buy.

Cherry had a stall on the far side of the square where her buxom charms drew more attention than her display of fresh cheeses. Dick resisted the urge to groan as he heard Swiftnick sigh wistfully at the sight of her. "You remember my lad, she's been rolling around in the hay with more than one man. Deville among them from what I hear."

Swiftnick flushed. "Yes, but…"

"But nothing. You can do better than her."

"I can?" Swiftnick gave him a startled look and Turpin hastily lengthened his stride before he was called on to explain his comment.

Cherry saw them coming. She brightened on seeing Swiftnick and tweaked at the bright blue ribbon lacing her bodice, but on seeing Turpin her smile wavered and drooped; a faint hint of sulky anger crossing her lovely young face.

Dick snorted. Sweet Cherry had got him marked. She knew perfectly well Mr Turner wasn't going to let her anywhere near his son and Dick knew that she knew he knew it too. She clearly didn't fancy her chances of getting around him even if Swiftnick was smitten with her.

"Hello Cherry." Swiftnick's eager greeting made Turpin practically jump out of his boots. He hadn't realised the youth had caught up with him so fast.

"Hello Master Nick." The dairymaid greeted him with a come hither smile. "What can I do for you?"

As if I can't guess what that might be, Dick thought sourly. "I’d like to talk to you," he said aloud, overriding Swiftnick's attempt to reply.

"Oh?" she gave him a wary look.

"About Sebastian Deville." Curt, sharp and straight to the point, Dick thought in satisfaction as he watched her go as pale as her milk.

"I don't know what you mean," she managed to say calmly.

"I think you know exactly what I mean," Turpin responded. "Everyone in this village knows you were flattening the mattress with him."

"That's a bloody lie!" she exploded.

For a split second Dick almost believed her, but something in the way her eyes slid away from his despite her display of anger told him otherwise. Swiftnick started to speak, but Dick grabbed his arm and squeezed, giving him a warning look. "You know what he is, Cherry. He's a highwayman and a stone cold killer. How long have he and his dogs have been terrorising the Fell?"

"That's got nothing to do with me."

"Hasn't it?" Dick sneered. "How'd he get you in his bed? Did he lie to you? Tell you he'd leave the village alone? Or did he promise you riches? Fine dresses and pretty jewellery?"

"Like your boy there, you mean?" she spat maliciously.

"I never did!" Swiftnick exclaimed.

Turpin didn't even bother to look at him. "I know you didn't, Nick," he said quietly. "Same as I know she's lying."

Cherry's complexion had gone as whey faced as her cheese. "What's it got to do with you anyway?" she demanded bitterly. "It's over and done with. You can't threaten to expose me. Like you said everyone knows. You want me to stay away from Nick, is that it? That's up to him, not you."

Dick hesitated and didn't answer her barbed question. "I want to know what you know about Deville. I want to know where to find him."

Cherry's eyes narrowed calculatingly. "Why?" she asked. "And what's in it for me?"

Turpin glanced at Swiftnick, glimpsing the disillusionment in his blue eyes. He felt sorry for the lad. Despite knowing better he suspected that Swiftnick had hoped Dick would be wrong about her. "That would depend on what you want," he replied.

"Money. Enough money to get me out of this village and away from the gossip."

Turpin gave her stomach a pointed look and raised an eyebrow.

"No, Mr Turner," she spat. "I ain't up the spout despite what the bitches are saying about me. It's only bloody jealousy that I can have the excitement of a stallion of a highwayman in my bed while the cold fishes have to put up with stolid boring farmers!"

Dick winced. He had experienced the kind of lust the romantic air of a highwayman could inspire in some women. Early on he had indulged himself and them, but there had been one or two close calls too many and he had abandoned the sport. He had had never enjoyed being a trophy anyway. "All right," he said grimly as he reached for his purse. Behind him Swiftnick let out a huff of disgust and stalked away indignantly. Dick ignored him; better to be disillusioned now than trapped later. "Tell me what you know, Cherry. You know as well as I do that Deville's mad and a cruel, cold blooded killer."

"Madness is a kind of genius too," Cherry observed sardonically as she held out her hands for the coins Dick offered.

"Only a soulless thug would shoot a man in the back for being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Soulless?" Cherry shuddered a little as she stared at the coins. "Maybe, maybe so. There was always something not quite right about him. As if he wasn't there even when we were in bed together."

"Then tell me where he is…"

* * *

Swiftnick sipped his ale and glared at the table, wishing he knew what to say to Turpin that would make the older man listen to him. He had left Turpin to talk to the dairymaid and headed for the inn and some time to himself.

"You're pouting," Turpin observed darkly, startling the youth by looming up seemingly out of nowhere.

"I am not," Swiftnick shot back. His shoulder was starting ache again and it wasn't improving his mood any.

"Then you’re doing a pretty impression of someone who is," Dick snorted as he seated himself at the table with his own tankard of ale. "What's put a bee in your bonnet this time?"

"Nothing."

"Then why the huff?"

Swiftnick glared at him. "You’re a hypocrite!" he blurted.

"Ooh, big words. You know what it means?"

"Yes! It means you say one thing and you do another!"

Turpin considered this, eyeing the angry young man thoughtfully. "This is about Cherry, isn't it?" he said seriously.

"Yes! You had no right to bribe her like that!"

"She wanted the bribe, lad."

"You shouldn't have tempted her."

"She didn't have to accept it."

Swiftnick glared at his mentor in frustration. "You only did it to make me feel like a fool!" he spat.

"No, you can manage that all by yourself. I need to know where Deville is."

"And you expect her to betray the man she loves because you wanted her to!"

Dick sighed heavily. "I doubt if she ever loved him," he said wearily. "I didn't force her to tell me anything."

"You’re nothing but a cynic! You're always complaining people have no honour. So what's honourable about what you did? You expected her to betray Deville for a few coins." Swiftnick floundered, struggling to explain. "How would you feel if I gave you up for a few lousy coins?"

Turpin winced. "You’re right," he sighed, startling Swiftnick into gaping at him. "I shouldn't have done it and I don't feel good about it. But it was the only way." He lifted his head and gave Swiftnick a sad smile. "And you’re not like Cherry anyway. The fact that you wouldn't betray me for a few coins gives me hope."

"I wouldn’t betray you for anything," Swiftnick whispered earnestly.

"I know, lad. Nor I you," Dick said affectionately then realised he was becoming dangerously sentimental and pulled himself together. "But that's beside the point. Cherry didn't have to sell because I wanted to buy. Deville probably dumped her because she knew too much. I'm surprised he didn't kill her."

"Maybe he loves her," Swiftnick suggested.

"You are too romantic for your own good," Dick retorted in amusement. "Look, I understand how you feel. You took a fancy to the girl. It always hurts when the veils come off and you find out she's not what you thought she was."

"Didn't you ever fall in love with someone?" Swiftnick wondered with wistful curiosity.

Dick hesitated. "We're not talking about me."

"That isn't an answer."

"You fancy yourself in love with Cherry?"

Swiftnick glared at his mentor in exasperation, realising that he wasn't going to get a straight answer. "No," he said gloomily. "What chance would the likes of me have with her anyway? She can pick and choose anyone she wants."

Turpin raised an eyebrow at the youth's self-depreciating tone. "And has from what I hear," he commented. "You're well out of it, my lad."

Swiftnick scowled and sighed and took a pull at his ale. "Did she tell you anything useful?" he asked in a sarcastic tone.

"More confirmation than fresh information," Turpin replied coolly. "We were right about him having a hideout up at Headman's Rock, but she says she's never been there."

"You believe her?"

"No. They had to meet somewhere safe. I think she's lying."

"What's the point then?"

"You'll see," Dick said mysteriously. "In the meantime, I want to take a wander round the village and ask a few questions."

"But why?" Swiftnick protested, baffled. "If she's already told you where to look for him…"

"Don't you ever listen to anything I tell you? You always check any information you get. You can never tell when a lie can lead you into a trap." Turpin went on hastily as Swiftnick started to scowl again. "Look, lad, this area's not exactly the best for a highwayman, but Deville's stayed even after he got chased out of Beck's End. Why would he do that?"

"Because he loves Cherry?"

"He dumped her and she's bitter about it or she wouldn't have told me where she thought he was hiding."

"Unless she wants to send you into a trap."

"Exactly. But I reckon there's something else to him staying here."

"Such as what?"

"I don't know yet. But someone told Deville they were on to him when he was staying here and I’d take a bet on it that it wasn't Cherry."

Swiftnick's eyes widened. "But…"

"Think about it. Everyone knew about her affair with him, they made sure she didn't know because they expected her to warn him and they had her watched so she couldn't. But someone did warn him." Dick paused. "You know, lad, that might be why she wants him caught now, to protect herself from him. If he broods long enough on her not telling him, he might decide she betrayed him and kill her."

"But who told him then?"

"Now there's the rub," the highwayman said thoughtfully. "Did he find out by accident? Or did someone tattle?" He gave Swiftnick a sorrowful look. "Wouldn't be the first time someone turned spy for a few coins. Or maybe more than a few coins…"

Swiftnick eyed his partner expectantly, knowing that wickedly thoughtful sparkle in his dark eyes. "Well?" he prompted when Dick remained silent.

"A highwayman needs someone to sell his stuff; a fence," Turpin said quietly.

"You mean someone might be in league with him and selling his stuff like we…"

Turpin slapped one hand over the youth's mouth and frowned at him in exasperation. "Not so loud," he scolded over the sound of Swiftnick's muffled complaints. "But aye, you’re right. Now, finish your ale and let's go."

* * *

The rest of the day was spent asking casual questions and getting nowhere fast. Swiftnick soon grew bored, but Turpin was made of sterner stuff and persisted long after his accomplice wanted to go back to the smithy. At lunch time Dick succumbed to Swiftnick's pleading for food and they made their way back to the inn for a meat pie and a pint of ale before Turpin insisted they return to their investigations.

"We're wasting our time," Swiftnick complained as they made their way back down the main street an hour or so later. He was polishing off the last of a cheese sandwich, although where he could find room for it after the pie Dick didn't know.

"Don't whine, lad."

"I'm not," Swiftnick retorted. "No one knows anything or they would have said so. We’re only making people suspicious."

Turpin smiled darkly. "I'm a merchant, remember?"

"What's that got to do with the price of ale?"

"All my questions have been subtly steered towards suggesting that I am interested in setting up an establishment here."

"You mean a bawdyhouse?!" Swiftnick nearly choked on his last bite of sandwich.

"No, you dimwit!" Dick yelped in exasperation, taking a quick swipe at him. "Not that kind of establishment. And how do you know about such things anyway?" Swiftnick looked shifty and wisely decided to keep his mouth shut. Dick snorted. "I suppose boys will talk," he muttered to himself. "I mean something like a warehouse. A place to keep items I want to sell."

"Oh," Swiftnick frowned. "But would anyone believe that? We're miles from the nearest river. And if you're suggesting it's overland travel, then why stop here? It doesn't make sense."

"Exactly."

"Huh?"

"It's suspicious enough to suggest I'm tied in with the smugglers, lad. If Deville's got a fence here, then he’ll jump at the chance of hooking up with someone in the smuggling trade. I'm betting that Deville won’t take too kindly to someone muscling in on his territory."

"Like you, you mean?"

Turpin gave him a dirty look. "That has nothing to do with it. Deville is dangerous and needs to be stopped."

"So you’re not simply going to tell him to move on?"

Dick hesitated. "No…" he admitted reluctantly.

"Then you’re going to rat on him." Swiftnick came to a stop, staring at him angrily.

"I don't know what I'm going to do yet."

"You’re lying," Swiftnick spat. "You want to turn him in."

Dick grabbed him by the upper arm, oblivious to Swiftnick's quick grimace of pain as his strained shoulder was pulled. "You listen to me, I know more about Deville than you ever will and you should be grateful that you don't know him. The man is a madman and a monster. He's roasted people alive for a handful of coins. He's flogged the life from a man for spilling his drink. He's had those damn dogs of his tear people to pieces for sport and laughed while he watched. He is one of the few men I have ever of heard that I could watch hang and know he damn well deserved it. I don't want to turn him in, but I can't walk away from him and let anyone else be murdered for his pleasure." Suddenly realising his young partner was squirming in pain, he let go abruptly. "Damn, I didn't meant to hurt you…" he muttered and stalked away. After a moment, he heard Swiftnick lope after him. Coming up beside the angry highwayman, he tentatively touched his arm.

"Dick?"

"What?"

"I understand, kind of," Swiftnick said uncomfortably. "But how are you going to do it? We can't tell Spiker. He wouldn't believe us."

Turpin smiled mirthlessly at that 'we'. "I think Spiker might surprise you," he said dryly. "He's a greedy braggart and a bully, but he's no coward. And he's honest."

"Spiker? Honest?" Swiftnick snorted in disbelief.

"Aye, laugh if you want, but he is in his own way. He knows about Deville and if it's a choice between him and me, he’d rather hang Deville."

"He would?" Swiftnick sounded quite put out that someone could be considered more of a threat than his hero.

Dick chuckled, knowing what he was thinking. "Spiker knows that I'm no murderer whatever else he thinks of me. But you're right, we can't tell him. We need to be subtle. We need to get the villagers to do it. If we can find out where he's hiding and who his spy is, then we can drop hints to Edwin. I'm sure he’ll know what to do."

"Oh, right. Then what are we waiting for? We haven't been to the carpenter yet…."

Dick smiled as Swiftnick bounded on ahead, once more afire with enthusiasm. He wished he had that much energy. His own seemed to have started to run out after the exertions of the day before and he had a feeling he needed to conserve his strength. Sooner or later he suspected he would end up in a direct confrontation with Deville. Whatever else he was, Sebastian was no coward and he couldn’t conceive of anyone having the temerity to defy him. He would see Turpin as a challenge and although what he had told Swiftnick had a kernel of truth in it, Dick's main aim was to draw Deville out of hiding to face him. Deep down he couldn't shake the feeling that he was about to betray the man whether his intentions were honourable ones or not. One way or another Deville had to be stopped, but he still nurtured the hope that he might be able to persuade Deville out of his cruel ways; forlorn hope though it might be.

"Hey, mister!" the high-pitched young voice startled Dick out of his gloomy thoughts and he came to a halt, looking around him warily. Swiftnick had stopped too and came back to his side quickly, cautiously curious.

The young boy who approached them was grubby and scruffy, but was obviously well fed underneath it all. "You promised me a guinea…"

"I promised you a shilling," Dick retorted promptly. "Where's your brother?"

"Still watching the girl."

Turpin could feel Swiftnick's eyes boring into him as he fished out the promised coin and held it up so it gleamed in the weak sunshine. "And?" he prompted.

"She didn't leave the village. She went up to Mr Fortesque's house."

"Fortesque?" Dick blinked in astonishment.

The boy nodded. "She went in but didn't come out. Mike stayed to keep watch on her like you said."

"Show me where this house is then you and your brother can go home."

"I'll do it for another shilling," the boy bargained.

"I can find the house on my own and you'll lose the first one." The boy scowled and pouted, but Dick had gotten used to his accomplice's expertise and was unmoved. "Well?"

"Oh, all right, skinflint. Come on…" the boy set off back up the alleyway he had come down and Turpin followed him. Swiftnick looked thoughtful as he tagged after his mentor.

"Why'd she go to him?" he wondered.

Turpin was too busy watching his surroundings to look at the youth. It had struck him that the back ways of the village were a nasty place for an ambush. Buildings jostled up against each other, pigsty against lean to, making the twisting path the boy followed a maze. Chickens and ducks scurried and squawked underfoot and a dog barked furiously as they passed its gate making Dick twitch nervously.

"Dick…" Swiftnick hissed impatiently.

"All right, I heard," Turpin retorted. "Maybe Ralph's our man. He probably needs money for that rake of a son of his."

"But why'd she go running to him and not Deville?"

"I don’t know," Dick answered, not in the mood to upset his partner with what he really thought; that Cherry was having an affair with Fortesque behind his wife's back. He lengthened his stride, seeing that the boy had come to a halt beside a somewhat bigger lad who was crouched beside some barrels.

"She's in there, sir," Mike announced. He was somewhat cleaner than the younger boy but had the same dark looks that made it obvious that he was his brother.

Dick peered around the corner and pursed his lips in surprise at the small but elegant house before him. "Mr Fortesque has done well for himself," he observed softly to Swiftnick.

"Mr Fortesque's wife has done well for him, you mean," young Mike sniffed.

"His wife?" Dick pressed sharply.

"Aye. She's the one with all the money they say. She runs the mercantile and him."

"Ah…" Dick murmured thoughtfully. "Is she here then?"

Mike snorted. "What? You think Cherry come to see her and discuss embroidery? Nah, she went off to Bath a few days ago."

"For the waters!" the younger boy added with a shudder of distaste.

Turpin smiled thoughtfully and flipped the boys a coin each. "You've done well, lads. Now, go on, off with you."

"Don't you want us to stay and watch any more?" the youngest protested.

"No, you've done enough. Go on now."

Mike gave him an amiable grin and grabbed his brother by the collar of his torn shirt, dragging him off down the alleyway. "Come no, weasel, we've got to get you cleaned up before we both get a hiding."

Swiftnick eased up beside Turpin and knelt beside him. "I suppose you want me to keep watch while you go and ask your questions," he sighed.

With Cherry in there? No thank you! Dick thought wryly. The chances were as soon as the lad figured out what she was up to, he'd be up there pressed against the windows to see what he could see. "No," he said carefully. "We're going to send Mr Fortesque a message and ask him to meet us at the inn, where I will have an advantageous deal for him."

Swiftnick frowned. "What? To join us on the road? I don't think he’ll go for that."

"No, you ninny," Dick snorted in exasperation. "We're merchants, remember? I'll suggest setting up a storehouse here with him to run it. If we're right about him being under the lady's thumb, he'll jump at the chance."

"But what good's that going to do?" Swiftnick protested, then his eyes cleared. "Ooh, I know. You want to get him out of the way so I can sneak into the house and see if Deville's hiding in there!"

"Stap me, no!" Dick exclaimed in shock. "The very idea makes my blood run cold!"

"You don't trust me to do it?" Swiftnick pouted.

"Oh, I’d trust you to do it if that's what I wanted. But if there is the vaguest chance that he might be in there, I'm not having you anywhere near the place, let alone him!"

"I can take care of myself."

Turpin grabbed him by the front of his leather waistcoat and pulled the lad close. "You listen to me, my lad, you don't want anything to do with Deville. He'll kill you as soon as look at you. You wouldn't stand a chance."

"But…"

"You haven't seen the size of the bastard. He's twice as tall as you and built like a bloody castle. He could snap me in two without breaking a sweat, let alone you."

"Oh…" Swiftnick was starting to get the idea.

"Oh is right. Now come on, back to the smithy to send our message."

"You want me to deliver it?"

Dick rolled his eyes in exasperation. "A wealthy merchant doesn't use his son as an errand boy! No, we'll send that stable lad of Edwin's. Fortesque won't be suspicious of him."

* * *

"It's getting awful foggy out," Swiftnick worried several hours later as they walked up the main street back to the inn. He had wrapped his cloak around him against the nip in the air and to Dick's practised eye was looking distinctly nervous.

"We'll be inside in the warm soon enough," Dick said easily. He was feeling a tad smug as his plans started to come together. Fortesque had finally responded to the message Mr Turner had sent him. Swiftnick had been complaining about the length of time it had taken, but Dick told him that he was merely being fashionably late. Personally, Turpin considered that if he was having an affair with the delicious Cherry then he'd be taking his time over answering a message that would take him away from her. Dick might not approve of the girl when it came to her attentions to Swiftnick, but he had to admit she was a tasty armful to tempt any man into straying.

"I still don't see why he had to leave it so late," Swiftnick grumbled. "Or why we couldn't meet at the smithy."

"Neutral territory," Dick responded absently, looking around him warily and lowering one hand to his sword. A pistol might have been a little too conspicuous a threat, but a sword could be carried openly. Which wasn't to say he wasn't carrying a small derringer in his vest pocket for emergencies. "If you want to go back to the smithy, you can. I told you, you didn't have to come with me."

"Fortesque said he was looking forward to meeting both of us," Swiftnick pointed out.

Turpin hid a grin. Swiftnick was determined not to be left out of his mentor's plans. "You’re frightened you might miss something," he chuckled. "That curiosity of yours will get us both killed." Spotting the inn wall looming up ahead of them through the fog, Dick came to halt and gave his apprentice a stern look. "Now, do I have your word that you won't go near Fortesque's house?"

Swiftnick glared at him.

"Do I?" Turpin demanded. "If not, I'm going to take you back to the smithy and lock you in your room."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"After making sure I got your lockpicks I would," Dick snorted. He had been startled to learn that his young accomplice was a dab hand with a lockpick, far better than Turpin himself would ever be. Dick didn't dare ask him where he had managed to acquire such a skill without Mary finding out.

Swiftnick pouted but surrendered. "I promise," he sighed irritably, then smirked. "…father…"

"Funny. Now listen and learn." Turpin strode briskly on ahead to the door and pushed inside with Swiftnick on his heels.

After the chill damp of the evening fog the muggy warmth of the pub made Dick reel slightly, but he recovered swiftly and strode inside, removing his cloak with a flourish that Swiftnick came nowhere near matching for grace. Turpin gave him an exasperated look as the lad struggled, but didn't comment as he spotted Fortesque lifting a hand to him. The merchant had found a table near the fireplace and beckoned them over.

Snagging a waitress, Dick haughtily ordered a bottle of port for himself and ale for Swiftnick and then strode briskly over to the table.

"Mr Turner," Fortesque half rose to greet him with a bow, his portly frame making the gesture awkward.

"Mr Fortesque," Dick returned the bow with gentlemanly grace and shot a glare at Swiftnick to remind him of his manners. Swiftnick pouted, but managed a passable bow. One more lesson Dick had been endeavouring to teach him.

Fortesque gave the youth a sardonic look. "Ah, I see you brought your lad along with you. Are you ready to apologise, young master Turner?"

Swiftnick gave him a blank look. "Apologise? For what?"

"Why for your uncommonly bad manners earlier," Fortesque sniffed. "I really must protest at your bad language. It was most uncalled for. I trust you gave the boy the whipping he so soundly deserved?"

Turpin had been goggling at the man in astonishment, amazed by the merchant's sheer arrogance. Did he really have no idea how close he had come to be called out by the highwayman?

"Why you, pompous, stuck up…." Swiftnick started to splutter.

"That will do!" Dick roared, shocking his accomplice into silence. Fortesque wasn't going to fall for a word of his plan if Swiftnick ran his mouth off. "I've heard quite enough out of you."

"But…."

"Enough!" Turpin bellowed and raised his hand threateningly. Swiftnick flinched at the suddenness of the sharp movement and gave Dick an appalled look. Feeling like a complete heel, Dick half turned in his seat to face him and winked at him, hoping Swiftnick would understand. For a second the youth didn't seem to catch on, then he ducked his head and shuffled his feet and managed to look contrite and innocent at the same time.

Fortesque was watching suspiciously. "Really, sir, you have obviously spoilt the boy. He should be taught his manners A scolding does no good. Spare the rod and spoil the child, don't you know?"

Turpin could see Swiftnick's jaw clench. Under that froth of blond curls and sweet-faced youth was a stubborn temper nearly as fierce as his own and, thanks to his youth, nowhere near as well controlled as Turpin's. "He's usually well behaved," Dick said carefully, catching Swiftnick's eyes in warning. "He was afraid for me. A little lenience goes a long way."

"Nonsense, sir. Take the strap to him. Let him escape once and he'll only become more disobedient. Here, I have a good sound belt myself. Bring him out to the stable and I shall give him a whipping for you. Why, as I was the one who was insulted, it's my very right to do so!"

The look Turpin gave him had made stronger men than the merchant quail and it turned Fortesque to so much dirty dishwater. The merchant shrank back in his seat, staring at Dick as if he had seen him turn into an adder before his very eyes.

"No one lays a finger on him," Dick snarled dangerously. The arrogant offer had been hard enough to stomach, but the greedy light Dick had seen in the man's eyes had sickened him.

"Now really, sirrah, I must insist…an apology at the very least…" Ralph sputtered, grimly hanging on to some shred of dignity and aware that he had shown cowardice in the face of a mere glare.

"When he's ready to apologise, he'll do so," Turpin told him icily. "Nick, return to our lodgings and stay there."

"But…" Swiftnick began indignantly, then paused uncertainly as Dick glared at him. It occurred to him that Dick hadn't actually told him to apologise; thinking about it, he realised Dick probably didn't even expect him too.

"We'll talk about it later. You can speak to Mr Fortesque again when you feel you can apologise." Dick urged, giving him a meaningful look in the hopes that Swiftnick would get the message and go.

"Yes, father." Swiftnick shot a venomous look at Fortesque then spun on his heel and stalked out, snatching up his cloak and swinging it around his shoulders. To angry to be self conscious about the gesture, he managed it perfectly and Dick had to suppress a small grin as his apprentice flounced out of the inn with a crash of the door.

"Well, really…" Fortesque sniffed, filling his almost empty glass.

"He's young. They’re all fire and fury at that age. He'll apologise when he calms down," Dick said absently, settling back in his seat and grinning at the waitress as she arrived with his bottle of port and the ale he had ordered.

"If you'll excuse me saying so, you should have made him apologise immediately! You're teaching the lad bad habits."

Well, now that was true, Dick had to admit. Robbing coaches was hardly a good habit. On the other hand, bowing and scraping to stuck up prigs like this one was a habit Swiftnick didn't need. "But nothing he won’t grow out of," he said aloud, refraining on commenting on what he had heard of Fortesque's own son.

"You’re far to lenient with him," Ralph complained.

Dick eyed him over his glass and frowned. If Fortesque had shown as much tact and sensibility with his son as he was showing now, he wasn't surprised the lad had turned out a wrong one. "Ah, well, I'm soft on him for the sake of his dear mother. He reminds me so much of her, you see," he sighed, feigning sadness as he toasted his imaginary lady. "You know how it is, the lad can do no wrong."

"Ah quite," Fortesque mumbled uncomfortably, draining his glass and refilling it. "Can't say as the lad looks much like you…"

"Takes after his mother," Dick said quickly, embellishing furiously. "Fair as flower she was. He's got my temper mind."

"Ah…" Ralph looked even more embarrassed. "Well now, only child is he?"

"Aye…" Dick agreed.

"Thinking of marrying him off yet?"

Dick almost choked on his drink. "He's a bit young."

"Quite, quite. I understand. All you have an all that. But one must think of the lad. I have a daughter a little younger than your boy. She's a pretty biddable young thing. She's in Bath with my lady wife. I was thinking that we might come to an arrangement."

Somehow Dick managed not to goggle at him. "Such as?"

Fortesque leaned towards him, pressing his ample girth against the table edge as he spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. "You were indicating an interest in establishing yourself here in Beck's End. An admirable idea. No doubt you wish to start your son out on your own road."

Turpin managed to swallow his mouthful of port this time and carefully set his glass down on the table. If only Fortesque knew what road was involved. "You could say that," he admitted.

"Excellent. Your son and my daughter would be an excellent match. I would be honoured."

And never mind what the girl thought. Or Swiftnick come to that, Dick thought dazedly. Fortesque was out to feather his own nest with whatever happened to be available. He supposed that if he was the rich merchant he was pretending to be, it was the sensible match for the merchant to propose. Swiftnick was his potentially rich heir.

Come to that once the marriage was completed there would be little Fortesque could do about it when he found out who they really were. By then, Swiftnick would be in a nice position and Fortesque wouldn't be able to do a thing about it without ruining his reputation and wrecking any chance of marrying the girl off to someone else. Deville would be effectively squeezed out…

Woah there! Dick hauled himself up and gave himself a mental slap for what he thinking. Ally Swiftnick to this odious twerp? He couldn't do that to the lad! As soon as he found out he'd been double crossed Ralph would run straight to Deville with his tail between his legs, whining for help. And what would Deville do? Murder the lad in cold blood without a qualm. On top of that Mary would kill him for it!

"What do you say, Mr Turner?" Fortesque urged eagerly.

"I shall…consider it," Dick said slowly.

Fortesque nodded. "Do so," he said steadily. "Such an alliance would be agreeable to both of us, I think. We could help each other. As you know I am quite a wealthy merchant myself. You are interested in setting up an trading establishment here. Such a mutual arrangement would be practical, would it not? I have a great many trade contacts who would be of use in an expanded organisation."

Turpin considered him thoughtfully, suspecting that Fortesque was now getting to the point at last. The marriage was a bribe and a possible seal on what Ralph saw as the beginning of a lucrative partnership. "What exactly do you trade in, Mr Fortesque?" he asked quietly.

"Tea and coffee mostly. I am also establishing a name in the slave trade."

Dick resisted the urge to curl his lip in disgust. "I deal in sugar," he said curtly.

"Exactly. To tell the truth, my lady wife is a bit of shrinking violet when it comes to the slave trade. She considers it barbaric. But there is a great deal of money to be made in it. You own a plantation, do you not?"

"Yes," Dick admitted, daring another sip of his port. "Your point being?"

"You need slaves to do whatever ever it is you do sugar plants. I can supply them for you at excellent prices. If we were to establish a warehouse here and combine our efforts, why we could take over the market. What does everyone want with their tea and coffee? Why sugar of course!"

Turpin smiled vaguely, listening to Fortesque spill out his plans for market domination and wondering how he could steer the conversation round to Deville. A light entered his eyes and he leaned back in his chair, signalling for the waitress as he realised that Ralph's glass was empty yet again. "Talking and planning makes a man thirsty," he commented as he filled Fortesque's glass with his own port. "And I must admit that I am hungry for my dinner. Shall we eat together, Mr Fortesque, while we discuss matters?"

"An excellent idea. I find myself quite famished. The roast beef here is excellent."

"Two roast beef dinners then," Dick told the waitress, adding an order for more port. He turned back to the merchant as she left. "Exercise always gives a man an appetite I say," he said, winking at Ralph. "The ladies of this village are very friendly."

Fortesque stared at him for a moment then grinned salaciously. "Found yourself a bit of hotty-totty, did you Mr Turner?"

"Indeed. And quite cheap and clean."

"I do not pay for such things."

"Ah, but you understand me. We are both men of the world and you have a wife."

"My wife is away," Fortesque smirked, sampling his port.

"You have a paramour, sir?" Dick asked with mild curiosity.

Fortesque looked around him, his smirk widening. "Cherry the dairymaid," he confided.

"Ah? A sweet armful. But I understood she was the highwayman's bit of fluff."

Ralph nodded, downing his port. Dick leaned forward to oblige him with a refill. "She was. But he grew bored with her whining for him to marry her. I took her on our of kindness and she has repaid me many times." He winked drunkenly at Dick. "The highwayman taught her many a trick to entertain a man."

"And does your lady know of this?" Dick asked casually.

Fortesque froze, staring at him. "No…" he said slowly.

"Ah," Dick commented and said no more. "Tell me, what do you know of this Sebastian Deville?"

"The highwayman? Nothing. Why should you ask?" Fortesque asked, suddenly nervous.

"If I am to establish anything here, I am concerned that such a man would be able to roam loose. What say you, sir? You have taken on his mistress without a qualm. Do you not fear him?"

Fortesque's eyes were darting about like fish looking to escape a shrinking pond. "I have no need to."

"Then you are a brave man, sir."

Ralph's smile was twisted. "We have, shall we say, an arrangement."

"Indeed?" Turpin raised an eyebrow at him. "I was hoping you would say as much."

"You were, sir?"

Turpin gave him a wolfish smile. "A few coins early save a great many later," he observed. "It's said that some unscrupulous men bribe the highwaymen to stay away from their goods. And in return they sell on the highwayman's takings for them"

The merchant's smile was definitely twisted by now. "Quite," he said feebly.

"I have even heard that some merchants actually make deals with the highwaymen to rob particular wagons so they can claim for more than the goods are worth and share it with the villains. Why, I say that makes them no better than villains themselves!" Dick paused, giving the plump merchant a considerate look. "Why, you look quite green with horror, man!"

Fortesque looked as if he was going to be sick. "I fear I have had a trifle too much to drink," Ralph said weakly. "I am sure a good dinner will fix me right up."

"Or telling me the truth about your dealings with Deville," Turpin told him harshly.

"I don't know what you mean! You were merely rumour mongering!"

"You and I both know better. Cherry was the go between you and Deville, wasn't she, until he cast her off and you took over."

Fortesque swallowed hard. "No, no…"

"I suppose your greed led you into it at first, but now you're in so deep you can't get out for fear of him."

Ralph stared hard at the table for a long moment, then lifted his head and gave Turpin a narrow eyed look. "You think you’re so clever, don't you, Mr Turpin," he sneered.

"What did you call me?" Dick froze, feeling a ripple of uncertainty run down his back.

"Oh, aye, I know who you are. And you’re quite right. I did all those things. I bribed Deville to stay away from my wagons. I arranged with him to rob a poor shipment and split the money I claimed for it with him. After that, we became something of a partnership. And aye, I sell his stuff up in London for him and take a bit for myself. I took on Cherry because I fancied her and he didn't want her any more." Fortesque was leering. "And I ain't telling you a damn thing more about where he is or what he's up to because I don't have to."

"Don't be too sure of that," Dick snarled. "The man's a killer. Don't you care about the men he's murdered to make his werewolf story sound true?"

"No," Fortesque said simply. "Life is cheap."

"A slaver would think like that," Turpin said bitterly. "But how cheap is your life?" He pushed to his feet, reaching deliberately for his sword.

Fortesque sat back in his chair, his eyes glittering. "Lay a finger on me and your young lad will pay for it."

"What?" Dick hesitated, his fingers itching to draw.

"Why do you think I asked you to bring the lad? Deville said you'd fall for it."

"Tell me what you mean before I split you for the spit," Dick spat.

"Deville was outside waiting for him. You’re a lucky man, Mr Turpin. I wasn't sure he'd let you walk in here alive. But a murder in the village would be a bit hard to explain. It'd attract attention." Fortesque hesitated, watching Dick with a flicker of uncertainty. Turpin's eyes had gone strange; flat and lifeless and cold as coal.

"What does he want with the boy?" Dick snarled and lunged around the table, grabbing Fortesque by the front of his highly embroidered waistcoat and yanking him from the chair.

"Let me go. I'm warning you…"

"And I'm warning you," Turpin interrupted, shoving the merchant hard up against the wall of the fire. Fortesque flinched, feeling the heat of roaring flames on his bare hand as it dangled near the grate. "If Deville harms so much as a hair of that boy I'll roast you alive and have him for dessert."

"You wouldn't dare…"

"Don't bet on that," Dick snapped. "What did he want with him?"

"I don't…"

"Tell me!" Turpin roared, shoving him closer to the fire until the flames licked dangerously close to the sleeve of his jacket.

"He said he'd hide him somewhere, use him as a hostage to call you out. He wants to set his dogs on you and hunt you over the Fell. If you don't go, he'll feed the boy alive to the dogs, bit by bit he said…" Fortesque babbled, the words gushing out of him in terror.

"And you agreed with that? You helped him?! He's only a bloody boy!"

"He's a highwayman like you," Fortesque shot back.

"Where's he taking him?"

"I don't know!"

"Where?!" Drawing his sword, Dick tucked the point under the merchant's chin and wished he could drive it through his fat head.

"I don't know!" Ralph squealed. "He never let me or the girl near his hideout! It's near Headman's Rock! That's all I know! Oh please, please don't kill me! Please!" "

Turpin lowered his sword in disgust. Fortesque was too terrified to tell him anything other than the truth. "You’re nothing but a snivelling coward and I wouldn't soil my blade with your blood. But if the lad comes to any harm, I'll bloody well kill you anyway." He snarled and lashed out with his blade hilt, slamming it into his chin and knocking the man out cold. Stepping back, Dick slashed the blade in front of him and glared around him as the silently watching occupants of the inn. "Anyone want to say anything?" he demanded icily.

The waitress stirred, lifting the tray of food she was carrying. "Will you still be wanting dinner, sir?" she asked nervously.

Dick grunted, tossed her a handful of coins and raced for the door. He had better things to worry about than the cost of a meal he wasn't going to eat.

* * *

Swiftnick was really starting to wish the thick fog would go away as he hurried back towards the blacksmith. Its thick oily consistency gave him the creeps and he kept imagining faces made up of shadows leering at him, twists of grey mists turned into arms and hands that snatched at him as he barged past them.

He was angry at Fortesque, annoyed with Dick sending him away and nervous of the fog. Determined not to show his unease, he strode along briskly, refusing to give in to his imaginations. So when the dark figure loomed up ahead of him he didn't at first register it as anything more than a foggy phantom and practically ran into it. Finding it unexpectedly solid, he stumbled back, looking up in shock and sudden terror into a horribly pale face in which eyes burned with a fierce greenish light as they blinked down at him. Panic stricken, Swiftnick whipped around to run and was promptly grabbed and plucked off his feet to be bundled into an alleyway and slammed painfully against a wall. The hand covering his mouth there let go of him and Swiftnick instantly drew breath to yell for help.

"You scream boy and it’ll be the last sound you ever make," a low, gravely voice snarled at him as the ghostly figure wrapped a rope around the lad's wrists.

"Who, who are you?" Swiftnick stammered.

"Devil by name and devil by nature; I'm Sebastian Deville. The man your master's been looking for," came the answer and Swiftnick shivered in terror. "I know everything that goes on in this village. Don't you think I don't."

"You, you let go of me right now, or, or…"

"Or Turpin will come after me? I hope so. I do hope so. I want to watch him squirm and beg and whine for mercy…." Deville yanked the ropes cruelly tight and finished off with a secure knot. He looked down at Swiftnick with sudden interest. "Are you going to do that?" he asked hopefully, his tongue a black blob in the darkness as it flicked along his lower lip.

"I don't know what you’re talking about," Swiftnick protested. "My name's Nick Turner…."

"I don't care what your name is."

"I don't know anyone called Turpin. I'm the son of a merchant…"

"Oh? And he'd pay a ransom for you, would he?"

"Yes," Swiftnick agreed, nodding urgently.

"Liar!" Deville roared and lashed out, his doubled fist catching Swiftnick hard first across the face then across the temple as he backhanded him for good measure. Swiftnick's knees buckled and he sank groggily groundward, held up only by Deville wrapping his fist in his shirt and almost strangling the lad in the process. "What kind of fool do you think I am? I don't take kindly to being lied to, boy," he sneered, leaning down close to the youth's glazed eyes. "I know who and what you are. You ride with that bastard Turpin. You listening to me? Are you? Are you?!" Swiftnick managed a vague whimper, his head spinning with clouds of darkness. Distantly he head Deville grunt, then he was suddenly lifted off his feet and flung over a very hard, broad shoulder. He squeaked in protest, then the darkness closed in on swooping wings of black velvet and he passed out.

* * *

"Nick's not here, Mr Turner," Aldyth protested after Turpin had hurtled into her scullery. "I haven't seen the lad since he went out with you."

"Sod it," Dick snarled in fury. "I should have known the bastard would pull a dirty trick like this. I should have bloody known it!"

"What are you talking about?" Edwin demanded sharply.

"Deville. He's grabbed Nick."

"But why?" Aldyth asked in bewilderment.

"He's a highwayman. Who knows why he does anything," Edwin soothed, patting her shoulder. "He'll be wanting a ransom I suppose."

Dick gave him an odd look, struggling to hold on to his false persona. "I need my guns," he growled and stomped past them. His footsteps could be heard pounding up the stairs to his room.

"I'd best get me blunderbuss," Edwin sighed.

"You can't mean to go with him!" Aldyth exclaimed.

"Aye, happens as I will. It's for the best." Edwin paused, looking at her thoughtfully. "Our Mr Turner is a might more than he seems to my way of thinking. But he cares about that lad of his right enough. That's plain to see."

"But Deville's a madman! Everyone knows that."

"Nick's not much older than our Edgar. I'm supposing as Mr Turner would help me if it was the other way around. Now I’d best get me gun. He won't want to be waiting for me."

* * *

When Swiftnick woke up, his feet still weren't touching the floor but at last he wasn't upside down any more. His sore shoulder was screaming in pain though from the way he was tied up with his hands over his head. Cracking his eyes open and doing his best to ignore his throbbing head, he sneaked a look up to see what held him. He seemed to be hung by his bound wrists from a hook in a ceiling beam that had once held either hay nets or a lantern. Cautiously, Swiftnick dared to sneak a peak around him and wriggled his wrists tentatively as he considered his surroundings. He seemed to be in the old run down stables on the very edge of the village. Edgar shown him the outside while they were exploring, claiming that Deville used to hide out there. It seemed that Edgar was right; Deville was over in what was left of a stall saddling up a vicious looking bay horse. He was muttering to himself, occasionally interspersing it with snatches of gloomy song. More to the point he seemed to be oblivious to Swiftnick.

Grateful for that at least, Swiftnick continued to look around him, noticing that the door had been shut but that the walls boards were broken, leaving a gap wide enough for someone small and agile to get through.

Swiftnick swallowed, looking up at his wrists as he heard a creak from the beam. His weight was helping to hold the knots tight, but the hook - never meant to hold a lot of weight - was starting to come out of the old wood. Swiftnick chewed his lip and started wriggling, hoping to hurry things up a bit as a plan started to form in his aching head.

"What are you doing?" Deville looked over his shoulder at him, frowning.

"Nothing," Swiftnick blurted.

"Aye, well, see that you don't." Deville patted the horse, then started towards Swiftnick. A nasty grin turned his face ugly as he walked towards Swiftnick and drew a knife from beneath his cloak. "We'll be leaving soon you and me. But I think I should leave Turpin a little present, don't you? A little of you as a keepsake for him. You won't miss a toe or two, will you? Or maybe there's something you haven't used yet according to Cherry."

Swiftnick stared at him in horror as he came closer, his whole body tensing with the need to run or fight or do something. "Where, where…how…?" he stammered. Paint had turned Deville's face into a white mask highlighted by the hideous green eyelids that Swiftnick had thought to be eyes in the fog.

"Oh, I may not bed her any more, but I still talk to her. She came to see Ralph while we were having a tot together."

Swiftnick's eyes widened as Deville came into range. "You’re mad…" he whispered.

"Aye so, they say. I think we’ll go for a toe first. Leave something for later, eh?" He reached for Swiftnick's ankle and with a yell of fright, Swiftnick pulled himself up on the ropes and lashed out in a wild kick. It was a lucky blow, catching Deville under the jaw and sending him sprawling, stunned.

The young highwayman's sudden movement proved too much for the hook and it gave way, the beam splintering away to drop Swiftnick to the ground. Swiftnick landed in an untidy, breathless heap but managed to scramble to his feet as Deville rolled over and sat up, staring at him with a bloody light. The green phosphorescent paint he had used around his eyes had smudged, leaving horrible dribbles like green blood running down his face as he lunged towards the youth.

Swiftnick ran for it, hearing Deville's heavy footsteps pounding after him. The older man's hand grasped at his shoulder and Swiftnick flung himself flat, his shirt ripping as his waistcoat parted at the seams. With a bellow of rage, Deville stooped to grab at him, but Swiftnick rolled and kicked and managed to dive free, scrabbling through the gap in the wall. A large hand closed painfully on his ankle and started to pull him back, but Swiftnick kicked again and his heel connected with the side of the highwayman's face. Sebastian fell back, but he kept his grip. Squeezing up his toes, Swiftnick twisted and pulled his foot out of his boot, leaving the outraged Deville nothing but his footwear.

Outside in the cold, foggy air, Swiftnick staggered to his feet and looked round desperately for somewhere to hide. The fog confused him and he didn't know which way to run. Then he heard the chilling sound of a dog baying behind him as Deville roared an order and knew it didn't where he ran to; away was the important bit.

Swiftnick grabbed for the first weapon he could see - a broken lathe from the wall - and as the dog burst through the hole, he belted it over the head with it. The wood snapped but the dog dropped, whining in pain. Swiftnick took to his heels, limping from his lost boot until he got around the first corner where he hopped frantically on one foot, yanking off his other boot. He hurled it at the dog as it came around the corner, snapping and snarling at him in fury as it dodged the missile. Swiftnick was already off and running again, stumbling on the rough ground in his stockinged feet as the dog turned to savage the abandoned boot.

"You can't get away, boy!" Deville roared from behind him. "I'll catch you and I’ll skin you and Turpin can have what's left. Leave that alone, you bloody mongrel! Get the boy!" There was a whine and a yelp as Deville obviously kicked the dog, then the skitter of claws as the animal came after Swiftnick.

Swiftnick didn't have the breath to shout the rude thoughts he was thinking as he rounded the next turn and found himself cornered. He looked round wildly, then scrambled on to the stack of old barrels as the two dogs came around the corner, slobbering and snarling in hunger. Panting for breath, Swiftnick balanced precariously on the barrels and then jumped for the roof of the house, grabbing the edge of the tiles and pulling himself up. Below him the dogs whined and barked in frustration, then one of them took a leap onto the barrels, looking up Swiftnick with an eerie light glinting in its eyes. It snarled and jumped, struggling to get onto the roof after him. Swiftnick yelled and threw a broken tile at it, knocking the animal off as the tile hit it in the muzzle. Barking furiously the dog scrambled up, still slavering up at him while the second hound took its turn at jumping at the barrels. The barrel wobbled and dumped the animal, but the first one took another turn and made it, crouching precariously on the top as it stared up at Swiftnick.

"Go away!" Swiftnick yelled, grabbing for another loose tile and starting to scramble up over the roof. The creak of tiles and wood under his weight warned him a second too late before the tiles started to slide and he went slithering back the way he had come in a torrent of slate. He made a wild grab for the gutter, hung for a second and then fell as his abused shoulder gave way as his hand spasmed, making him lose his grip. The thud as he hit the ground knocked all the breath out of him and his head spun with the effects of Deville's earlier blow.

The dogs yelped and retreated from the sudden crash, then regained their courage and started to sneak furtively closer to the dazed youth as he lay at the foot of the wall. Groggily, Swiftnick attempted to struggle up, some vague thought of being more intimidating to them if he was upright wandering through his confused thoughts.

The first dog crouched, its bared teeth glinting with drool then it leaped…

The pistol shot took it in the side, driving it over sideways as the ball ploughed straight through its body and killed the animal instantly. It sprawled across Swiftnick's feet as the youth recoiled against the wall. The second dog turned at bay, crouching and snarling at the intruder.

"Sod it," Dick Turpin growled as he took aim with his second pistol. "Nice doggy. Down, boy. There's a nice doggy. Don't make me kill you…"

The shrill blast of a whistle echoing through the fog made the highwayman jump and jerk his shot as the dog leapt. Instead of crashing into him though, the animal raced between his legs and vanished into the fog.

For a second Dick stood still, shaken by the close call and slowly picking up the fired pistol that he discarded. Then he remembered young partner. "Swiftnick!" he strode forward, shoving the pistols in his belt and grabbing Swiftnick by the shoulders as the youth struggled up. "You young idiot! I told you to go back to the smithy!" he bellowed. "Are you hurt?"

"I d'don't know," Swiftnick stammered, adding defiantly, "You almost hit me with that second shot."

"I missed, didn't I?" Dick growled, shoving the hair out of Swiftnick's face so he could get a proper look at him. "Looks like the bloody bastard hit you a time or two…Why didn't you go back to the smithy like I said? You think I like the sound of my own voice?"

"I did go! He was waiting f'for m'me….Dick…"

Turpin whipped around, hearing the footsteps at the same time as his accomplice and levelling his empty pistol at the figure that looked up out of the fog. He shoved Swiftnick protectively behind him as he took aim….

"It's me," Edwin said hastily, holding his blunderbuss well away from his sides.

"Did you see Deville?" Turpin demanded, lowering the pistol

"I heard a horse being ridden off in a hurry, but I couldn't see who it was in the fog."

"Coward wouldn't stay and face me," Turpin snarled then spun around and caught Swiftnick as the youth whimpered and swayed forward, his hands touching the highwayman's back. "You bloody young fool," Dick growled bitterly.

Edwin started to protest than he could be a little more considerate when the lad was obviously in a state, but paused as he saw how gentle Turpin's hands were as he supported the lad even if his voice was gruff. Some men were like that; gentle words coming hard to the tongue whether they were felt or not.

"I asked you if you were hurt. What did he do to you?"

Swiftnick shook his head and winced, holding his temple as his senses spun at the movement. "He hit me a couple of times…"

"Aye, I can see that." Dick muttered as he slid an arm around him ostensibly to hold him up, then he sighed and pulled Swiftnick against him, cradling his lad's head gently against his shoulder as he gave him a consoling hug. "What am I going to do with you, hmmh? You're not safe to be out of my sight."

"I'm s'sorry…"

"Not your fault. Let's get you to bed."

"Aren't you going after Deville?" Swiftnick asked, looking up at him with surprised eyes that were distinctly dazed.

"Not this time. If he wants another go at me, he knows where to find me. Right now, you’re more important, my lad. Edwin, I’d be obliged if you’d point that blunderbuss of yours the other way. I'm not in the mood to be shot right now…"

Edwin smiled as he turned the gun away. "Aye, my apologies. But the lad seems to be barefoot…"

Turpin gave him a blank look then looked down at Swiftnick's now filthy stockinged feet. "What did you do with your boots?" he asked in bewilderment. "Did you decide to go paddling or something?"

"It wasn't my fault," Swiftnick mumbled, acutely embarrassed. "Deville pulled one off and I threw the other one at a dog."

"You couldn't have found a better weapon?"

"I hit one with a plank," Swiftnick offered.

Turpin snorted. "Well, you get points for improvisation anyway," he teased. "Edwin, would you mind staying with him while I have a look for his boots? He's too big for me to carry."

"I can walk."

"And step on something? No, you stay here…"

"But…." Swiftnick started to blurt a protest, then bit his lip and fell silent. Now Turpin had found him he didn't want to be left again. The highwayman made him feel safe.

Dick gave him a funny look as if reading his mind and squeezed his shoulder gently. "All right, you can come along. But mind where you step…"

* * *

Back at the smithy, Aldyth went into frenzy of fussing, insisting on Swiftnick having a foot bath, clicking her tongue over his scraped and rope burnt wrists, bringing him a huge bowl of stew that made Dick's stomach growl in envy and generally crooning over him. Swiftnick sat quiet and droopy under all the attention, wincing only a bit when his bruises were examined and cradling his arm to take his weight off his shoulder.

Watching him from where he leaned against the mantelpiece by the fire, Dick could see him getting more and more tired and upset with the need to be left alone for five minutes. Bestirring himself he came over and rested his hand on the top of the lad's head, ruffling his curls before he let his hand drop to rest consolingly on the back of his neck.

"Aldyth, might I trouble you for a bowl of that stew myself?" he suggested casually. "And Nick needs to eat up and get to bed, I think."

Edwin stirred too, spotting Turpin's faint frown. "Aye, love, Mr Turner has the right of it. I dare say the lad would like a bit of peace and quiet to settle himself like."

Aldyth looked faintly put out but a quick glance at Swiftnick's face told her the men were right and she took herself off to get another bowl of the stew. Returning with it and a plate of bread, she gave Swiftnick a brisk kiss on his unbruised temple, lightly scolded Dick to make sure he got the youth to bed and then left them. Edwin went with her, leaving a bottle of his best homemade Elderberry wine for them.

Turpin seated himself at the table across from Swiftnick and gave him a stern look. "You look all in," he observed.

Swiftnick smiled weakly as he sampled his mutton stew, finding it rich with meat and carrots and onions. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"For what?" Dick paused with his spoon halfway to his mouth and a chunk of bread in his free hand.

"Getting caught. Did I ruin your plans?"

Very carefully, Turpin swallowed his mouthful of stew. "No," he said simply. "Fortesque is a cunning begger. He knew Deville was after you. If it's anyone's fault, it's mine…" Dick paused, startled by his own announcement. When had he last admitted to being….not right? Swiftnick always seemed to bring out the best in him whether he wished it or no. Somehow the boy had discovered his long forgotten conscience. "I should have known Deville would be on to us. I wouldn't put it past him to have been watching me when he set the dogs loose."

"But what's he got against you?" Swiftnick protested, pouting a bit. "You said you didn't know him."

Turpin hesitated. "That doesn't signify," he said slowly. "He knows of me. He knows I'm here and I'm looking for him. He thinks I'm a threat and he thinks he can get to me through you."

"Then why stay here? Why not get out while the getting's good?"

"Deville doesn't think that way. He's like one of his cornered dogs. He comes out fighting. I told you he's mad. Didn't you believe me?"

"I believe you now," Swiftnick murmured with a violent shudder.

Turpin said nothing, eating in silence as he watched Swiftnick finish his stew slowly. The lad was bruised and battered and still holding up bravely. It hurt something inside Dick to know he had failed to protect him. He could have kicked himself for not realising how far Deville would go to get at Turpin. It didn't help knowing that he couldn't think like a madman.

"Dick? Can I have some wine?" Swiftnick asked a little too casually.

"The Elderberry? Not after the way he hit you," Dick retorted. "You need something to settle you down, not keep you awake all night…"

* * *

"Hot milk?" Dick said an hour later, staring at the tray Edwin had brought to the door of their room.

"Hot milk with a drop of sugar," Edwin confirmed, nodding. "It's what Aldyth always gives our boy when he's out of sorts. Sets him up a treat."

"Aye, well," Dick took the tray, wondering how he was going to break it to Swiftnick.

"I’ll be saying good night to you then," Edwin said cheerfully.

Turpin murmured an acknowledgement and, as Edwin closed the door for him, carried the tray over to the bed. Swiftnick was wearily pounding the pillow into submission and looked up at him as Dick set down the tray and offered him the mug.

"Don't argue," Turpin told him sternly. "It'll help you sleep."

Swiftnick took the mug with a pout that turned into a smile as he recognised the contents. He snuggled down into the pillow, taking a sip with obvious enjoyment.

"You like hot milk?" Dick exclaimed in disbelief.

"Mmmh," Swiftnick purred happily. "My mother always made me hot milk at bedtime when I was young."

When? Dick thought in amusement. "Aye well, I always knew Mary had odd ways."

"My mother says it's good for you," Swiftnick retorted darkly.

"Well, it doesn't seem to have done you any harm," Dick said soothingly. He didn't want to upset the lad now that he seemed to be settling down at last. Leaving him to his hot milk, Dick ambled over to stir the fire up a bit more and pick up one of Swiftnick's boots. It was looking a bit worse for wear and had obviously been chewed. At least Swiftnick's foot hadn't been in it at the time, Dick mused. The other boot was in better condition although some of the stitching had give way when Swiftnick wrenched out of it. Dick had seen the purpling bruises Sebastian's cruel grip had left on his accomplice's ankle. The soles of both needed repairing before they wore through as well he noted. Swiftnick was too young to be practical yet.

"You could polish them for me if you like," Swiftnick offered mischievously.

Turpin snorted and flung a boot at him, being careful not to actually hit him. "You can clean your own," he retorted.

"Good thing you’re a better shot with a pistol," Swiftnick taunted, then yelped and ducked as Turpin forcefully tossed the other boot at him for good measure.

"I can see you’re fine," Dick said sarcastically as Swiftnick pushed the boots off his bed to the floor. "Even if your boots aren't. There must be a cobbler in the village. We'll have to get them mended. And maybe order you some new ones."

Swiftnick grinned and settled down comfortably, feeling safe with Turpin to scold him. He turned back to his hot milk, content to relax.

Dick watched him warily for a moment then ambled over to lock the door before going to peer out into the foggy night from the small window. It was late and there were no lamps lit out in the darkness. Beck's End wasn't big enough for such niceties.

If Deville was out there, then he was going to have a long cold wait. Dick had had enough. He wasn't going to expose Swiftnick to any more danger from the likes of the madman. He had a responsibility to his young partner and the village would have to look after itself. As soon as Swiftnick was able to ride, they were out of here and they weren't coming back. The further away they got from Deville the better.

* * *

"Leave?" Aldyth exclaimed the following morning when Turpin announced his plans. "So soon? With your lad so chased up?"

"Now, Aldyth, Mr Turner has the way of it. Deville's not his concern," Edwin soothed. His wife glared at him while Turpin resisted the urge to shuffle his feet. Deville wasn't his concern; not really. Seeing him captured wasn't his problem. If anything, his loyalty to a fellow highwayman should have made him ride away as soon as he realised what was going on. Fellow highwayman? Now there was a fine joke.

"But poor young Nick…"

Dick resisted the urge to sniff. Swiftnick was milking their sympathy for all he was worth. Only the occasional genuine twinge Dick caught him in saved the lad from a proper scolding. The young highwayman's shoulder was paining him from where he had been tied up. "My dear lady," Dick interrupted carefully. "I can assure you that it is not for want of your care and good food that we must be moving on, nor yet fear of the dread highwayman Deville. Nick's horse is fine and we must be getting back to Bristol. We have an invitation to a ball that I am loath to miss."

"But I'm sure a few more days wouldn't hurt when the lad needs to rest," Aldyth begged. "Nick and Edgar get along so well." Her eyes brightened. "Why perhaps Nick could stay here for a few more days while you go on ahead. We’d take good care of him and set him on the coach to Bristol to join you. You could even take the coach yourself, sir. I am of the opinion that you are not yourself quite over your mishap on the fell"

Dick hesitated. He was still a little stiff and it had been pleasant to stay at the smithy, but still, it was time to move on. Deville wouldn't give up as long as he knew Turpin was near by and that put Swiftnick in danger. It wasn't a risk Dick was prepared to take. "I couldn't leave Nick here alone," he argued. "And we have imposed on your kindness too long as it is."

"Stuff and nonsense," Aldyth exclaimed primly. "You've been no trouble at all. I insist you stay, at least until the coach comes in a day or two."

Turpin glanced helplessly at Edwin. The blacksmith shrugged, clearly believing that his wife would get her own way. "Your horses could do with new shoes," he observed casually. "So could young Nick from what I saw of his boots."

"That's right. And I haven't finished mending his shirt yet."

Dick sighed and reluctantly gave in. "Very well, until the coach comes," he agreed, deciding that leaving by coach would be a more likely exit for a merchant after a couple of rough days. "But I insist that I shall pay for our keep. I know how much Nick eats. And I find myself partial to your fine cooking myself."

Aldyth blushed, flustered by the comment. "Then I shall make you a fine breakfast, Mr Turner. But I think you flatter me, sir."

"I speak only the truth," Dick assured her, then cocked a glance at Edwin as she hurried off to her kitchen. "New shoes, Edwin?"

"Your mare needs a new set. And the boy's mount has a loose one on his near fore."

"Ah. Then you'll make a new set for each perhaps?"

"If you wish it, Mr Turpin. Although it seems to me you have a spare set yourself."

Dick didn't miss a beat. "The name is Turner, Edwin."

The blacksmith smiled darkly. "Now, I know you don't take me for a fool and who you pretend to be is none of my concern, but I know you for who you are. You and the lad both."

Turpin felt a chill creep through him. Swiftnick had gone off to the stables with Edgar to spoil the horses with a handful of apples and carrots so he at least was out of range of any immediate danger. Dick's pistols were upstairs for he hadn't thought to need them indoors with people he had come to trust. Edwin shifted slightly, suddenly seeming much bigger. Dick wasn't scared of him, he knew himself to be a good bareknuckle fighter who wasn't afraid of getting hurt but that wouldn't prevent one of them from getting hurt if it came to a knock down fight.

Edwin continued carefully, "Now, I've a mind to hold me tongue. There are worse than the likes of you taking to the road; such as that lowlife Deville. And it seems to me you've done us no harm while you've been here and you've done your best to help us find the werewolf."

"There is no werewolf. It's Deville," Dick told him firmly. "He's been using the dogs to play up to the idea that people think there's a monster up on Dark Fell.

"Ah, happen as you’re right," Edwin said slowly. "I've always had me doubts, but since they brought Jonesy back shot like that. Well…" He paused and shook his head, giving Dick a level look. "So what does he want with you and your lad?"

"He's a madman. Who knows?" Dick responded. "Like you said last night, he was after ransom."

"From a fellow highwayman?"

"As I said…"

"I heard what you said. I heard what you said last night too. I heard you call the lad Swiftnick and him calling you Dick. It ain't my concern, like I said. But I though as you should know I know and I won't stand for any trouble. I won't stand by and let you hurt me or mine."

"There won't be any trouble. I'm a merchant and that's the end of it."

"Aye, as you want, Mr Turner," Edwin agreed amiably. "But you might want to be a bit more cautious of Ralph Fortesque. The man's as twisty as an adder. If he suspects who you are, they’ll be measuring you and the lad for a rope collar. Now, I'd best be seeing to those shoes. You'll be wanting good ones."

Dick said nothing, his mind seething as the blacksmith ambled out. For now, he was willing to trust that Edwin would keep his mouth shut otherwise he wouldn't have said anything to Dick about what he knew. He hadn't mentioned a bribe to keep silent either. But that didn't mean others in the village would be so helpful. As he had told Swiftnick, it only took one greedy man to betray them. And Fortesque was a very greedy man…

Shaking his head, Turpin headed for his room and his pistols. Now it was definitely too risky to stay however tempted he had been. Even if Edwin could be trusted, there were others who couldn't.

* * *

Five minutes later, Dick stalked along the Tudor beamed side of the smithy house on a course set for the stables. Swiftnick probably wouldn't be happy about leaving so suddenly. He hadn't time yet to become bored. The youth was comfortable with village life and was enjoying having some one of his own age to talk to. But at least it meant he could stop lying about his identity. Swiftnick wasn't much good at lying and Dick couldn't hold it against him.

Rounding the corner into the stable yard, Dick strode briskly towards the stable door, hoping to find his apprentice still lingering with the horses rather than on his way to wash up before breakfast. Dick wanted a quick word with him first.

The faintest flicker of movement from the arched gate of the stable yard caught Turpin's attention and he looked towards it, seeing the puff of smoke from a pistol before he heard the crack of the shot…

Letting out a cry, Turpin fell back onto the hard stone cobbles of the yard and lay still…

In the warmth of the stables, Swiftnick looked up in alarm from petting Toby's nose as he heard the shot. Edwin had taken Black Bess off to have her shoes fitted and Swiftnick had stayed to explain to Toby that he too would have new shoes and feed him another carrot or two.

Without thinking, Swiftnick left his horse and raced to the door. Outside Dick lay sprawled on his back on the cobbles, his arms flung wide as he lay horribly still.

"Dick!" With a yelp of fright, Swiftnick abandoned the safety of the stables and ran out to his mentor, flinging himself to his knees beside him. "Dick..." He tugged at him frantically, half sobbing, seeing no sign of life in the older man as he looked round wildly for help…

And saw Deville standing in the gate of the stables. The highwayman was smiling in satisfaction as he walked slowly towards them…

"You bastard!" Snarling with incoherent grief, Swiftnick snatched at the pistol in Turpin's belt and bolted to his feet, meaning to gun the monster down for the murder of his friend….

Sod it…. Dick thought irritably as he heard Swiftnick's yell and the skitter of his boots on the cobbles a moment before his accomplice landed beside him. He had hoped Swiftnick was out of earshot. But he lay grimly still as Swiftnick pulled at him with shaking hands, doing his best to ignore the lad's shaken sob. His plan could still succeed, Swiftnick's overacted anguish might even help to lure Deville within range…

Except, it belatedly occurred to Dick that Swiftnick's grief wasn't acted at all as he heard him swear at Deville and fumble at Turpin's pistol. And Deville wouldn't let Swiftnick go…

Dick's eyes popped open as Swiftnick swung around on his knees to face Deville. Sebastian had a second pistol already on aim for the youth and smoke puffed as he fired. By then Turpin was already rolling over, grabbing Swiftnick around the waist and flinging the youth to the ground, covering him with his own body. The shot barked over their heads as Dick grabbed the pistol back off the youth and fired back at Deville. Sebastian ran for cover as Dick bodily hauled Swiftnick up and flung his accomplice ahead of him into the safety of the tack room.

Yanking Swiftnick around the doorjamb with him, Dick flattened the lad against the solidly plastered wall and peered around the door into the yard. There was no sign of Deville following them…

"I thought he'd killed you, I thought he'd killed you…."

Dick blinked and looked down at Swiftnick as the babble of words got through to his adrenaline spiked senses. Swiftnick had both hands wrapped into Dick's leather waistcoat and was shaking all over. "I thought he'd killed you."

"Here now, steady. He missed me by a mile…"

"But you went down and you didn't get up. He shot you…" Swiftnick burbled.

"He missed me," Dick repeated insistently. "I stayed down to lure him closer. Only you got in the way, you nit. I almost had him…"

Swiftnick shut up, staring up at him; the pain slowly leaking out of his eyes to be replaced by a spark of fury. "You let me think he'd killed you…"

"Ah now, no," Dick blurted hastily. "I didn't know you were there. And when I did, there wasn't much I could do. Deville wouldn't have come closer if he thought he’d missed. Here, stop that…." Swiftnick had started to shake him furiously by his waistcoat.

"I thought you were dead, you great loon!" he yelped.

"I know, I know," Turpin growled, brushing him off and mumbling awkwardly, "Look, I didn't mean to scare you. What did you think you were doing running out into the line of fire like that anyway? He could have killed you too."

"That doesn't signify. I thought you were hurt."

"It bloody well does signify. Show some bloody common sense. You thought I was dead," Dick corrected sternly. "What good could you have done me?"

"I could have killed Deville!"

"Happen as he'd have killed you," Turpin retorted. "You think I’d want you dead?!"

"Why not? You always moan I'm in your way! You always want to get rid of me!"

Dick took a step back, staring down at him in surprise. "Hold your horses now, Swiftnick. I may do me best to get you off the road at times, but that's only because you’d be safer that way! Why if I’d wanted you dead, I’d have left you in the bog. I want…." Turpin paused uncomfortably, very much aware of Swiftnick's fierce cornflower blue eyes locked on his own. "I want you safe and out danger," he said quietly. "You’re not in my way. But I don't want Deville using you to get to me." Turpin raised his voice determinedly as Swiftnick opened his mouth for another protest. "Not because he could, which should tell you something, you ninny. But because he'd hurt you. Do you know what it'd do to me if anything happened to you because of me?"

Swiftnick shook his head slowly, his eyes turning thoughtful. Dick relaxed a little and put his hand on his shoulder. "You've got to stop going off half cocked before you get us both killed," he told him quietly. "And we have to leave before Deville saves you the bother."

"I didn't mean…"

"I know you didn't. But think first, hmmh?" Dick rapped his knuckles against the youth's temple. "Now, you stay here while I go and see if Deville's gone or not."

"I’ll come with you."

"No, you'll stay here and do as you’re told."

"But…"

"Stay!" Turpin barked.

"You’re not armed!"

Turpin sighed and fished his derringer from his pocket. The weapon was small and only held one ball, but it was enough to kill a man if you were as good a shot as the highwayman was. "Stay," he repeated sternly and slipped away from the youth, sliding out of the tack room and around the edge of the yard, using the various crates and barrels and accumulated junk for cover.

Long before he reached the gate and slipped out onto the street beyond, Dick was sure that Deville was long gone. Mad though he might be, Sebastian had always had an excellent sense of survival. Shooting a man from ambush was his style, not a direct confrontation. He enjoyed having an advantage and was unscrupulous enough not to care if it was unfair.

Nonetheless Turpin took a quick lope up the street, checking to make Deville wasn't lurking anywhere near by. He was about to go back to fetch Swiftnick when he saw Medwick striding grimly towards him with Meakins in tow.

"Mr Turner, sir!" George greeted him, lifting his voice to make sure Dick didn't miss his hail.

"Mr Medwick, how goes your day?"

"Badly, I am afraid, sir. Mr Fortesque has been found murdered in his own house."

"Murdered?" Dick stared at him blankly, not quite able to grasp the idea for a moment.

"Aye, knifed, he was," Meakins added with a certain amount of grisly relish. "And it was the highwayman that done it."

"Aye, it was Deville right enough. That's what Cherry's saying." Medwick agreed.

"Cherry saw it happen?"

Meakins nodded, but Medwick shook his head. "She was coming to the house to deliver milk…"

"So she says," Meakins grinned.

George gave him a quelling look. "Seeing Deville leaving, she took fright and hid from him. But after he had gone, she became concerned. The door had been left open and she entered the house to find Fortesque lying murdered on his own best rug!"

"What about the servants?" Dick said warily.

"The servants are all off with his wife apart from the cook and she doesn't live in," Medwick explained.

"If you ask me Deville's been staying there. Lying up like," Meakins confided, clearly excited. "I always thought there was something a bit rum about Ralph. He wasn't best pleased when Deville had to leave the village when he was discovered. Why, I believe they were in cahoots!"

George looked annoyed and sighed heavily. "Deville broke into the house to rob Ralph and was discovered," he corrected primly.

"Then why the note?" Meakins argued. "Oh, a grand gesture that was."

"Merely a ploy to distract us."

"Fortesque left a suicide note?" Dick wondered, growling more baffled by the minute. "If there was a such a note…"

"No, no, not a suicide note! It was obviously a murder!" Meakins exclaimed. "No, a note was left pinned to the front door with the blood stained knife that did the horrible murder!"

Medwick gave him an exasperated look. "Don't be so melodramatic, Meakins," he scolded mildly.

"What was in this note then?" Dick demanded, growing impatient and suspecting that Swiftnick was probably about ready to explode with worry at the delay by now.

"The ravings of a madman," Medwick said grimly however. "It implied that Fortesque was the werewolf and had attacked him and that he, he being Deville of course, had been sent to track down the beast and all its kin."

"You mean he plans to go after Fortesque's wife?" Dick exclaimed, genuinely shocked.

"No, no, it is my belief that he means to come after you, Mr Turner," Medwick answered. "Why, he claims you to be Dick Turpin himself and a spawn of the devil; a werewolf and the creature that turned Fortesque into a ravaging beast."

"I haven't been here long enough to turn anyone into a werewolf," Dick protested vaguely. "And I've never been here before."

"Quite, quite," Medwick nodded. "The man is obviously deranged. I mean who would believe that you are Dick Turpin? You are obviously a gentleman of quality. If anyone is a spawn of the devil, it's Deville himself. The man is obviously moon turned!"

"He's said to have made a pact with the devil," Meakins murmured. "Imagine that; a pact with the devil to have anything you want…"

"I imagine you’re a touch moon turned yourself," Dick said sharply. "I for one would not wish to be Deville. And I am certainly not a werewolf! Why, it is my belief that Deville himself started the rumours with his dogs!"

"I think you have the right of it, Mr Turner," Medwick agreed. "Enough is enough. A highwayman is one thing, a murderer another. Deville must be hunted down and stopped. Will you join us, Mr Turner?"

Dick hesitated and then inclined his head. He couldn’t see that he had a choice any more. To refuse now would be to draw suspicion.

"Excellent. On to the smithy then. I've a mind to ask Edwin to join us. He's a good man at the hunt," George told him as he started to walk on towards the stables. Turpin fell in beside him, still keeping a wary look out for Deville. Meakins followed, chattering amiably. Dick tuned him out, fretting over the frame of mind Deville must be in to have murdered someone who had to be useful to him.

Entering the stable yard, Turpin spotted Swiftnick and Edwin. The blacksmith was standing guard over the lad with his blunderbuss. Worried about what Edwin was up to, Dick lengthened his stride. Seeing Dick, Swiftnick bounced to his feet and hurried to meet him. Edwin merely looked relieved to see Turpin, which settled the highwayman's mind as to his presence.

"Did you find him?" Swiftnick asked as he reached him.

"No," Turpin put his hand on his shoulder and slipped it to the back of his neck, pulling the youth against him. "Ralph Fortesque's been murdered by Deville."

Swiftnick's eyes widened in surprise as he gazed up at the highwayman.

"Did I hear you right?" Edwin asked as he joined them.

"He was knifed," Meakins added with ghoulish satisfaction. "And he thinks Mr Turner here is Dick Turpin."

The blacksmith glanced at Dick. "A foolish notion," he observed dryly. "But I shouldn't go repeating it. There are some as might think the worse of Mr Turner for hearing such a tale."

"Aye. Why the gun, Edwin?" Medwick asked warily.

"I heard shots and came to see what was happening. Young Nick here says Deville took a shot at him and his father."

"You never mentioned that," George said sharply, frowning at Dick.

Turpin stopped glaring at Swiftnick in exasperation to answer him. "I was quite distracted by Mr Fortesque's murder," he said dryly. "Why the idea that I and Nick could have been murdered without even knowing why quite chills me. Doesn't it you, Nick?"

"Oh yes, father. But why would he think you're Dick Turpin? You’re far too old." Swiftnick said with a flicker of impish humour.

Turpin's hand tightened on the back of Swiftnick's neck as the youth gave him a look of limpid innocence. So that's the way of it, is it? You’re going to make me pay for scaring you…

"Maybe Deville thinks your father has the look of the rogue, lad," Medwick soothed.

"Really?" Swiftnick exclaimed, playing the part of the innocent for all he was worth.

Dick gave him a narrow eyed look of threat.

"Aye, lad. Now don't fret. There's no need to be afraid. We'll be going after the madman. This time he won’t get away. Your father is going to come with us and I'm sure you know he'll stop Deville."

All teasing vanished from Swiftnick's eyes and he gave Dick a worried look that chased away Turpin's exasperation. Giving the other men a nod, he led Swiftnick out of earshot. "I'll be careful, Nick," he assured him. "But Deville has to be stopped. You know that."

"I want to come with you!"

"No. I can't watch you and…"

"They want to use you as bait!" Swiftnick interrupted.

"I don't…."

"If they think Deville thinks you’re you, then they'll think he’ll come after you if he sees you. And he will! They'll be too busy saving their own hides to worry about yours like Fortesque was. They want to use you to catch him."

Turpin raised an eyebrow, surprised to find he followed Swiftnick's logic however incoherently expressed. "You've changed your tune. What about the werewolf?"

"You said there isn't a werewolf. It's one of Deville's tricks. Please, let me come with you," Swiftnick begged. "I can watch your back. And if things go wrong, at least we'll be together. You won't have to come back for me. We can ride on and keep going."

Dick frowned uneasily, wondering why he felt it was a bad idea when it seemed logical to take Swiftnick along. Everything his young partner was saying was true, so why did his skin crawl?

"Please?" Swiftnick urged. "I don't want to stay here on me own; not with them dogs around. I'd be scared."

Turpin resisted the impulse to shudder. He could sympathise with Swiftnick's fear of the dogs and he had a valid point. If Deville had a mind to come after them, he only had to set his dogs loose. They had Swiftnick's scent too now. At least in the middle of a hunting party, Dick could keep an eye on him and be reasonably sure the dogs wouldn't pick up his scent. "All right. Get your pistols."

"You won't leave without me?"

"You'll only follow me and end up in a bog," Turpin sighed heavily. "Go on. We'll wait for you. I doubt if the others will be ready yet anyway."

* * *

A couple of hours later, Dick was having doubts about the wisdom of the hunting party. For a supposedly serious expedition out to catch a murderer it had turned into something of a circus. Medwick and Edwin were taking it seriously enough and Meakins, while overcome with enthusiasm for the excitement of the thing, was at least keeping a wary eye open. Harris had joined them again, although he had left his dogs behind. He had no desire to see them torn apart by Deville's hounds. The handful of other men who had joined the group though were noisy and jovial as they hallooed each other through the fog, cracking bad jokes as they planned what they would do with Deville if they caught him. Turpin doubted that Deville would come anywhere near them if he had any sense at all left. He'd be able to hear them coming a mile off and it didn't take a genius to figure out what they were after when they were announcing their intentions at the top of their voices.

Dick was also a little concerned about Swiftnick. His partner had gone very quiet in the last half-hour, riding in silence apart from the occasional wan smile as someone made a bad joke that required a response from him. The lad had also dropped back towards the rear of the group; a position Turpin was far from happy about him keeping. His army experience told him that it was usually the man at the back who got picked off first.

"I'm surprised you brought the lad along," Medwick observed, his comment so closely following Dick's own thoughts that the highwayman jumped. "He looks a bit peaked."

"I was thinking that myself," Dick admitted.

"Why did you bring him then?"

"He was determined. If I’d left him behind, he'd have followed me and ended up in a bog or worse," Turpin explained. "He didn't looked peaked then. If you'll excuse me…"

"Certainly. I was thinking we might be heading back soon anyway." Medwick looked irritably over at the others as an explosion of drunken laughter caught his attention. Dick could feel his own teeth grind in exasperation as he murmured his excuses and reined in Black Bess, turning her to trot back to Swiftnick and circle round to come up beside him.

"They’re passing a bottle round," Swiftnick commented as Turpin fell in with him.

"You noticed that, hmmh?" Dick said dryly.

"Potter offered me a drink."

"I hope you turned it down." Swiftnick nodded gingerly and rubbed his forehead with one hand. "You all right, lad?" Dick asked gruffly.

"I'm fine."

"Liar. What's wrong?"

Swiftnick gave him a miserable look. "I've got a headache," he admitted, deciding not to mention the nausea.

Turpin frowned. "A bad headache?"

Swiftnick grimaced and nodded again. "I don't know why. I was all right before we rode out. I suppose I'm tired."

Dick didn't answer, recalling that Swiftnick had told him how Deville had knocked him out the night before. The youth had seemed fine earlier as he said, but that was when he was pottering around in the fresh air and under no real strain. "You should be in bed," Dick muttered, annoyed at himself for not taking better care of the youngster. The last thing he needed was to be jostled about on horseback after a bang on the head. He should have ignored Swiftnick's pleadings to come along. "Mr Medwick!" he bellowed, ignoring Swiftnick's wince at his volume.

George glanced back at them and reined his horse about, riding back to the highwaymen. He gave Swiftnick a critical look and then turned an expectant gaze on Turpin.

"I'm taking him back," Dick told him simply.

"Oh, no, there's no need," Swiftnick protested. "I'm not a milksop!"

"No one said you are," Turpin retorted firmly. "But you’re not right either."

"Huh?" Swiftnick gave him a blank look.

"Hush," Dick scolded lightly. "Mr Medwick; you heard that Deville had a go at kidnapping my lad here last night? Well, I'm afraid he got a bit more knocked about than he told me."

"Ah, youthful exuberance for the hunt got the better of you, did it lad?" George exclaimed. Swiftnick gave him a weak smile, doing his best to be polite. "Well, not to worry. I doubt if you'll miss anything. These yahoos are making too much noise for us to catch the monster. If you'll wait a moment and allow me to spread the word and we shall all ride back together. Safety in numbers, what?"

"Quite," Dick murmured. Medwick gave Swiftnick a sympathetic smile, a quick pat on the arm and then rode off to hail Harris and Meakins.

"I could go back on my own," Swiftnick offered shyly. "I know you want to catch Deville."

"He'll have to wait," Turpin replied coolly.

"But…"

Dick turned warm dark eyes on him. "Deville's not going anywhere. I'll worry about him later and you first."

Swiftnick smiled faintly, realising Dick was worried about him. It was nice to know the highwayman cared about him. "I'm really not that bad…"

"Besides," Dick continued blandly. "If I let you go back on your own, you’d get yourself caught or land up in a bog or…"

"I get the idea," Swiftnick grumbled. "I'm not safe to be let out on my own."

Turpin surprised him with a quick flash of a grin. "You don't do so bad, sproggin. But I'm not letting you out of my sight with Deville around and that's the truth. You'd be fair game for him. Besides, looks like the fog's coming up again…"

* * *

"Sod it," Dick commented, peering through the thick grey fog that had smothered the world in swiftly thickening veils over the last half-hour or so. The poor visibility had gradually made the hunting party spread out, separating them off into their own little pockets. At first they had kept in contact, hailing each other nosily through the fog but eventually the calls had faded into the distance as they rode further and further apart. Medwick and Edwin had been with Turpin, but they had vanished into the fog a while ago and now Turpin had mislaid his young partner too. "Nick!" he bellowed aloud, careless of who else might be around to hear him. He had been backtracking for the last few minutes, guessing they had been separated when Dick turned off the path to go around a bog and uphill.

"I'm here!" Swiftnick yelled back suddenly and Turpin felt a flash of relief that he sounded unharmed.

For a moment though Dick couldn't tell from which direction his voice had come from as the fog distorted his call, then the youth had the sense to call again and Black Bess pricked her ears, turning her head towards the sound. Gratefully Dick patted her neck. "Go on, girl, lead me to him." The mare snorted and stepped out, daintily picking her way through the long wet grass over the sodden ground. Dick suspected they had wandered into a dangerously marshy patch of the Fell and a stab of alarm made him call out again. "Nick! Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I'm coming…"

"No, stay where you are, I’ll come to you," Dick yelled back, urging Black Bess to lengthen her stride.

They emerged after a minute or so onto a rocky slope where the grass was a rich, dank green and the ground squelched under foot. Swiftnick was waiting for him, astride the chestnut Medwick had loaned him.

"It wasn't my fault," Swiftnick blurted as soon as he saw him. "We went round the boggy bit and when I looked up you’d gone!"

Turpin scowled. He should have known better not to check where his apprentice was. Swiftnick probably wasn't thinking too clearly and his concentration had wandered. In the fog, it would only take a moment's inattention to end up lost or in a bog. It probably wouldn't even have mattered if he'd been riding Toby. Dick thought that the big bay was a mite smarter than his young rider at times.

"I stayed put so you could find me like you said I should," Swiftnick offered hopefully.

"All right, it couldn't be helped," Dick sighed. "Let's go. But this time stay close!"

Swiftnick caught up the reins of the chestnut and nudged him forward, controlling the skittish animal as it fought the bit. Dick scowled again.

"You want me to ride him?" he suggested, thinking the youth might be better off on Black Bess for once.

"I can handle him," Swiftnick protested indignantly.

"Aye, I’d agree you can normally. But you’re not up to snuff , are you?" Dick pointed out reasonably, reaching for the chestnut's bridle. "Here, let me…"

The dog erupted out of nowhere, bursting from the fog with its eyes gleaming in fury as it jumped onto the chestnut's hindquarters. With a scream of fright, the chestnut bucked, hurling Swiftnick off over its shoulder as it wheeled, slamming into Black Bess and sending the mare snorting and dancing aside. Turpin hauled on the reins, pulling her head up as the chestnut bolted into the fog.

"Swiftnick!" Dick blurted in alarm seeing his young apprentice down and motionless in the grass. The dog snarled and barked furiously as it bounded towards the lad. Without a thought, Dick drew his pistol from his saddle holster and shot the maddened animal, killing it on spot. Snorting and shivering, Black Bess stood still, answering to Dick's hand on her reins as he made her stand. Flinging himself from the saddle, Turpin lunged to his partner's side, dropping to his knees beside him as he reached to roll the lad over onto his back. He had a glimpse of blood on the youth's face, saw Swiftnick's eyelashes flutter then came the faint squishy sound of footsteps in the mud behind him and started to whirl around to face him…

He had a glimpse of a shadowy figure in the fog, of eyes that burned with a weird greenish light then something scrunched down on his skull and the world vanished …

Deville grunted in satisfaction as Turpin slumped unconscious across his apprentice's body. He hefted the pistol he had hit him with smugly and then wiped the butt on Dick's coat. Black Bess started for him, her lips rolled back to expose her long teeth. Deville lashed out at her, smacking her across the nose with the pistol and making her pull back in shock. Snarling Deville went after her, but the mare shied off and retreated into the fog out of his reach. Instantly dismissing the horse from his thoughts, Deville turned back to his unconscious captives.

"Shoot my dogs, will you? You bloody bastard," he muttered bitterly, slamming a vicious kick into the highwayman's side. "Oh, but I’ll have to make you pay for that. Worth more than you are they were." Bending down, he was careful to keep his loaded pistol ready to fire as he seized Turpin's shoulder and rolled him off Swiftnick. Absently noting that the youth was still breathing, Deville nonetheless ignored him and crouched to bind Turpin securely hand and foot with cords before he turned his attention to Swiftnick.

"Now, what shall we do, with you?" he mused, prodding the youth with his pistol to see if he would stir. He didn't, though his nose bubbled with blood as he breathed. Deville pursed his lips, contemplating the young highwayman. He didn't want to go to the trouble of dragging both him and Turpin back to his hideout; although it was tempting to take the boy along so he could torture him in front of Turpin. But that would delay the satisfaction of getting to Turpin himself and Sebastian had always been an impatient man….

A slow ugly smile spread over Deville's face as a thought occurred to him. There was a bog near by. Turpin had killed his dogs, what better way to get back at him and make him suffer as he had suffered than to kill Turpin's own pet. Dropping him still alive in a bog would make it nice and slow…

Smirking, Deville grabbed Swiftnick by the front of his vest and pulled him up, slinging him roughly over his shoulder. A big man, easily topping six foot two, it was an easy matter for him to stride across the rough ground and drop Swiftnick to the dirt at the top of the incline. Shoving one foot against the youth's hip, he rolled him over the edge and watched him disappear into the fog, bouncing and rolling down the rocky slope into the bog Sebastian knew lay below.

* * *

How long he was out for Dick didn't know, but when he came to his senses he could feel his skull throbbing all over and a fierce ache in his ribs and shoulders. Ignoring the pain, he kept still, keeping his breathing slow and even as he assessed his situation as best he could. He was bound by thongs that were cutting into his wrists and his hands were secured over his head to what felt like a metal hook to his questing fingers. His face was resting against rough wood ande He was

he could feel the length of what felt like a wooden pole of some kind supporting the rest of his body. Gingerly, Dick eased his eyelashes open a fraction, looking around him from under their shelter. The first thing he noticed was that there was no sign of Swiftnick anywhere in sight and he could only hope that Deville in his mad arrogance had decided the boy was beneath his notice and let him lie.

He was in some kind of building that was mostly lit by tallow candles that guttered in a chill breeze blowing through the gaps in the planking of the walls. At the corner of his vision he could see a table that had been knocked together out of bits of old wood and there was a lit lantern standing on it among the platters of a recent meal. A bottle stood beside the lantern and the smell of tallow and gin hung on the air. In the shadows beyond that he could make out a brooding figure; luminous eyes flashed now and then in the gloom. Dick swallowed, suppressing his instinctive flash of alarm.

"I know you're awake, Turpin," a husky disembodied voice growled from the shadows. "I've been watching and waiting for you."

"And I know it's you, Deville," Dick retorted, glad to drop the pretence and straighten up to ease the ache on his arms and ribs. "Your tricks are no good on me. I know about the paint."

Deville snorted and eased his chair upright, letting the feet thump to the filthy floor as he sat up. He set a coiled whip down on the table, casually sweeping the remains of his meal to the floor as he did so. "You should have ridden on," he said grimly. "Kept on going over the Fell. Now see what you've done. What you've made me do."

"You should have left the coach alone. It was mine," Dick retorted. "This is my lay and you know it."

Deville shook his shaggy head and took a noisy slurp of the gin. "Mine now," he observed.

"Is it now?" Turpin hissed. "Your werewolf tricks are over now. The villagers know about your dogs."

"You mean the ones you murdered?" Deville hissed, his big hands twitching and curling about the whip handle.

"They were as mad as you are," Dick retorted, even though it was at the back of his mind that it was never a good idea to call a madman a madman. Deville's hands clenched on the whip and his upper lip writhed back in a snarl. Turpin kept talking. "You’re a fool. You should never have killed anyone then maybe they could have ignored you."

"They deserved it," Sebastian growled.

"You shot the poacher in the back!"

"He found my hideout. He was on my lay," Deville countered.

"My lay," Dick corrected angrily. "You killed Fortesque in cold blood!"

"Hot blood," Deville smirked, leaning forward. The gleam in his eyes was every bit as discouraging as the ghostly paint he wore. "You should understand, Turpin. They betrayed me. They all betrayed me. They drove me out."

"Maybe you should have kept better control of your dogs then," Dick spat. "People won't protect you if don't give them cause to trust you."

Deville shook his head. "I can't trust anyone. No one. Everyone betrays me. They're all out to get me, to kill me…like you."

Turpin gritted his teeth. "No, Sebastian, it isn't like that…"

"You were going to turn me in, weren't you? Turn me in and watch me swing." Deville pushed to his feet, the chair scraping back. "That's what Ralph was going to do, you know. You'd got him scared over that bloody lad of yours. Afraid you’d tell he'd been helping me out a bit…"

"So he was selling for you…"

Deville ignored him as he picked up the whip and examined it thoughtfully. "They all talk about you, you know. That's all I hear. Turpin this and Turpin that….You want me to swing don't you? You want to see me fitted for a rope collar."

"You need help…"

"Oh, you want to send me to a madhouse? I've been in the madhouse, Turpin." Deville's great shoulders twitched and a look of something like fear crossed his face. His eyes gleamed, catching the candlelight like some feral cornered beast. "I won't go back there, I won't. I'll shoot myself first." His expression glazed over, his eyes going distant as if he stared at something only he could see.

Turpin suppressed a shiver and looked up at the knots that held him, wondering if he could loosen the ropes enough to pull free of the hook. Strung up like a pig to be butchered…. The thought wasn't a pleasant one.

Deville suddenly jerked back to life and walked towards him. "You want me out of your way. You know I'm better than you. You're scared of me taking your reputation away from you…" He uncoiled the whip as he walked, strolling casually up behind Dick and resting the handle on his shoulder as he tugged at his shirt. "Aren't you going to ask me about your brat?" he asked softly as he pulled the fabric from Dick's breeches.

"What?" Dick felt icewater pool in the pit of his stomach.

"Your pretty blond boy," Deville whispered, the soft coo of his voice belied by the violence of his strength as he ripped Turpin's shirt open down his back and then with mocking gentleness folded back the torn fabric over his arms. "You didn't think I’d let him live, did you?"

Turpin half twisted, straining to see his face as Deville moved back. "What have you done?!" he hissed in rage, fighting the anguish that threatened to overwhelm him. Not Swiftnick! He couldn't be merely another of Deville's victims!

Deville's face twisted into a half smile, half grimace. "What do you think?" he responded.

Turpin wrenched furiously at his bonds. "I think that if I could get free I’d knock that stupid bloody grin off your ugly face!" he roared. "What did you do to him?!"

Deville let loose the whip with a lazy snap as he took up position. "I killed him of course. I dropped the little bastard in the bog and watched him drown. Oh, you should have heard him squalling and begging…"

For a moment Turpin went very, very still; shock silencing him. Then his rage and pain exploded into life, "No," Dick choked. "No, no, no! I don't believe you, you evil bastard! I won't believe you! This is all one of your evil lies."

"Believe it," Deville snapped curtly and lashed out, the whip biting across Turpin's back, laying a line of burning fire from shoulder to hip. "It's not the worst deed I've ever done and it won't be the last. I enjoyed it, Turpin and I'm going to enjoy flaying you alive…"

Dick gasped aloud once, but the pain in his soul was greater than the pain in his body. "You bastard, you filthy bastard….he was only a boy!"

"An acorn grows into an oak," Deville answered philosophically, admiring the bloody weal rising on Turpin's skin. There was a tracery of fine silvery lines already adorning the highwayman's skin and Sebastian frowned, feeling a flicker of disappointment. Not to worry though. He'd be the one to finish what some other weakling hadn't.

"What harm could he possibly have done you?" Turpin groaned in anguish.

"You think I'm fool enough to make a rod for my own back and leave him alive?" Deville sneered. "You had the training of him. Alive he was a threat. Bobbing about at the bottom of a bog he's no threat at all. I left him to drown, Turpin, you should have heard him gurgling and gasping as he went down…" He lashed out again, laying his whip on with precision to leave another weal diagonally across Turpin's back. "X marks the spot…" he cackled gleefully.

Turpin closed his eyes, struggling to control his breathing and the rage burning like wildfire in his soul. He would not let Deville get the better of him. He would not give him the satisfaction of crying out. The pain in his back was nothing compared to the pain of having his heart ripped out by Deville's cruel words. Somehow, some way he was going to get free and make the bastard eat the barrel of his pistol. He'd ram the damn thing down his bloody throat and make him swallow a musket ball….

And as long as he lived he'd have nightmares about Swiftnick drowning in some filthy hole of a bog because he hadn't protected him…

"It's your own fault, Turpin. You should never let yourself get close to anyone. They make you vulnerable," Sebastian was feeling chatty, enjoying inflicting pain both mental and physical on his captive.

Turpin gritted his teeth, clenching his hands in the ropes. He wanted to strangle Deville with his bare hands, to rip his tongue out for his words. Partly because part of him felt they might be true; it was his fault. Deville would never have bothered with Swiftnick if he hadn't been Turpin's accomplice. No, Dick shuddered, Deville wouldn't have bothered if that had been all Swiftnick was. The youth meant more to Turpin than that and Sebastian had it used to his advantage to hurt him.

"What was that?" Deville had stepped back and was looking around him nervously.

"You’re mad enough to be hearing things. I didn't hear anything," Dick spat. He didn't care if a whole army's worth of dragoons broke down the door and hung them both. At least it'd end the grief that was barely starting to gnaw on him. And at least he'd know Deville would pay…

"Yes, you did! It was a howl! A horrible howl.."

"A bloody ghost come to haunt you I hope," Dick hissed viciously. "You've killed enough people to have a whole bloody horde of them after you."

"Shut up, Turpin," Deville snapped, a flash of trepidation crossing his face. "I'm not scared of ghosts."

"Maybe you should be then. Maybe it's Swiftnick. They say the young and innocent are the one's who come back; the one's with something left undone. Like killing you…"

The sound came again and this time Dick was not so distracted that he didn't hear it. The howl quavered, bouncing eerily as it echoed through the fog.

"There, you heard that?" Sebastian pressed, jabbing Dick viciously in the back. "You did, didn't you? You heard it?! That's no bloody ghost."

"Maybe it's the werewolf come to get you…"

"There is no werewolf! I made it up!"

"The Beast then. You've heard of the Beast?" Turpin saw the uneasy glance Deville threw at him before the nerve-ripping howl sounded again, closer now, almost outside…

"Maybe it’s the Devil come to get you. You made a deal with the Devil, didn't you? Looks like your time's up…"

There was scratching at the door as if something was pawing at it, scrabbling to get in…

"No…." Deville whined, clutching the whip to his chest then his eyes narrowed. "No, a lie. It's only one of my dogs…" He strode to the door and flung it open, stepping out into the fog as he looked this way and that.

Straining to see, Dick caught a shadowy movement and heard the thud as Deville went down as if pole-axed. A figure hovered over him for a second, then dropped a length of wood on top of the highwayman and darted into the ramshackle building. Turpin felt his heart leap in panic as he recognised his bedraggled young accomplice under all the mud and filth; maybe it was a ghost.

"Dick!" Swiftnick yipped in relief as he limped to his mentor's side, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to get to him.

"Swiftnick…" Turpin breathed in bliss, not daring to release the yell he wanted to.

"You've alive!" Swiftnick started to hug him then paused, his eyes huge in horror as he saw the blood running down Turpin's back.

"I could say the same about you," Dick gasped in awe. "He told me he'd dropped you in a bog and left you to drown! Don't stand there dithering, cut me loose!"

Swiftnick hastily drew his pocket-knife at the reminder and started sawing at the highwayman's ropes. "Maybe he did…"

"What?!" Turpin yelped, wondering again second if a ghost was rescuing him. But no, Swiftnick's fumbling fingers were cold but very much alive and ghost's didn't fall over their own feet. He peered at the youth as best he could, noting the faint glaze in his eyes and the blood on his face. "You’re hurt…" As soon as I get free I'm going to kick Deville's ribs in for that…

"Not really. I think Deville must have pushed me down the slope but I landed against this old tree branch instead of falling into the bog at the bottom. By the time I managed to climb out you were gone, but Black Bess was waiting for me so I knew you hadn't gone off and left me. She seemed to know where you were so I let her bring me to you. As soon as I saw Deville's horse in the lean to, I knew he must have brought you here. So I came up with a plan to lure him away."

"That was you howling?"

"Uh huh," Swiftnick gave him a bright, dazed grin.

Turpin swallowed. "You little idiot,. Why didn't you fetch help? You should have got Edwin or Medwick or someone…"

Swiftnick blinked at him. "Oh, I didn't think of that," he admitted. "Besides, there wasn't really time…"

"Damn straight there isn't," Deville snarled as he lurched through the door and leaned heavily on the doorjamb. There was blood trickling down his face where Swiftnick had hit him with the plank. "I am getting very tired of you, you little bastard. C'mere…."

Swiftnick stared at him then shot a panic stricken look at Dick. Turpin was mentally kicking himself for not thinking to get Deville tied up in his relief at seeing Swiftnick alive. "You didn't hit him hard enough," he observed darkly aloud.

"I didn't want to kill him," Swiftnick said miserably.

"Pity," Dick commented. "Leave him alone, Deville."

"Stay out of this, Turpin. You'll get your turn! I said, come here!" Deville roared. He started forward, a maddened scowl crossing his face at the young highwayman's defiance.

Swiftnick swallowed and reluctantly lowered his hands, but not before he had pressed his knife into Dick's fingers. "You killed me once," he told Deville as he edged towards him. "You can't kill me twice."

Deville's eyes narrowed and a malicious look crossed his face. "We'll see about that," he hissed, drawing a pistol from the deep pocket of his greatcoat. "Maybe it was a mistake not to shoot you the first time." He beckoned Swiftnick closer with the gun then moved with appalling speed, grabbing Swiftnick before the youth could dodge. "Ah hah! You’re real enough! No ghost!" he cackled and lashed out in a smashing blow, backhanding the youth across the face and slamming him into the wall. Swiftnick slid down it and landed in a dazed heap at the bottom. Smiling cruelly, Deville stalked over to him and landed a kick in his ribs that knocked the last vestiges of air out of him.

"Leave him alone!" Turpin screamed in fury as he heard Swiftnick's breathless squeak of pain.

"Oh no, since he's seen fit to join us, I might as well make use of him," Deville shot back, not even bothering to turn and look at the highwayman. He leered down at Swiftnick as the youth gazed up at him with wide frightened eyes. "Now, let's see, how to stop you running away. Ah yes, I know…" Deville bent and grabbed Swiftnick by one ankle, pulling him out into the middle of the floor. "What to do, what to do…" he murmured, glancing around and then shrugging. "Never a hammer when you want one. Well, never mind…" He yanked at Swiftnick's leg and aimed the pistol at his knee. "Can't have you running away…"

"Noooo…." Turpin bawled as he ripped loose of the frayed ropes and flung himself at Deville. Sebastian looked up, too startled to react as Turpin slammed into him and hurled him away from the terrified youngster. The pistol went off with a bark of sound as Dick jabbed the knife into his wrist, the shot fortunately missing everyone as the two men crashed into the wall and went down, kicking and biting and gouging at each other.

Swiftnick scrabbled out of the way as they rolled across the floor and pulled himself up by the table, clutching at his bruised ribs as he watched the fight in dismay. A moment later the table went over with a crash as they slammed into it. Turpin got caught under its weight as Deville hurled him off. Swiftnick dived out of the way, grabbing a chair to put between him and the big man. Deville however ignored him and plunged for the door, flinging it open to dive out into the fog.

"Cowarrrd!!" Turpin screamed as he flung the table aside and scrambled up.

"Dick…" Swiftnick took half a step towards him then froze at the murderous expression on the highwayman's face. Turpin barely seemed to recognise him

"Stay here!" Dick shouted at him and ran after Deville. His temper was well and truly roused by now. He had had never been able to stomach cruelty of any kind and Deville had lost any hope of his sympathy the first time he raised a hand to Swiftnick.

Swiftnick stayed, frozen to the spot as he heard the pounding of hooves racing off into the fog outside. He heard Turpin yelling, giving vent to an impressive range of invective then the hammering of hooves as Dick went after the madman. Left alone, Swiftnick shuddered and looked around him, very much afraid of being left alone. His gaze fell on Deville's fallen pistol…

* * *

Deep down inside, Turpin knew he had lost it. His control had snapped completely. Over the last few days, he had been scared, enraged and threatened; none of which had put him in a good mood. Worse, Swiftnick had been hurt because of him and Dick badly wanted to damage something to make up for it. He needed something to take his frustrations out on and Deville was a likely and deserving target as far as he was concerned.

Black Bess was waiting outside where Swiftnick had left her, standing as she had been taut to the brush of her reins on the ground. As Deville pounded off into the fog, Dick swung astride and sent the mare galloping after him.

Deville might be a good rider, but Turpin was better and he had the better horse. By the time Deville's bigger horse had crested the rise, Black Bess had caught up and was pulling up alongside.

"Get away from me!" Deville screamed, kicking at him wildly.

Turpin didn't answer, but reined Black Bess up tight beside the bigger man and flung himself out of the saddle at him. Deville howled as Dick caught him off balance, the sudden weight of the smaller man pulling him from his horse's back. They crashed to the soft ground as the two horses galloped on. After a few strides, Black Bess slowed and turned back, baring her teeth and snapping at the other horse as it too slowed. Getting the idea that it was unwanted, Deville's steed trotted on into the fog and the mare headed back to find her master.

"Bastard! I'll see you hang!" Dick snarled, endeavouring to get his hands around Deville's throat. Deville's initial panic had faded however and he was fighting back, Kneeing Dick in the groin, he headbutted him and flung Turpin off. Dick managed to dodge the knee but was taken by surprise by the second blow and fell where he was flung. Deville lunged after him and Dick rolled, managing to avoid having Sebastian land on him.

"Stay still!" Deville demanded, lashing out in a kick that caught the stunned Turpin on the hip with bruising force.

"Why? So you can knock me out and drop me in a bog too?" Turpin snarled back, gathering himself for another lunge. "Only you didn't, did you? You couldn't even do that right. You’re a coward, Deville! You always were! You're afraid to get your hands dirty with a killing!"

Deville's face twisted with rage as Turpin goaded him. "I killed Fortesque, didn't I? And that bloody nosy poacher!"

"And what about the man the night of the robbery? That was my damn coach!" Dick couldn't help the complaint; the loss of that sweet peach still niggled him. And taunting Deville gave him time to get his breath back. A few moments of hand to hand had soon reminded him of how big and strong Deville was.

Deville gave him a blank look. "I killed no one that night," he spat. "I had you riding my coat tails! There was no time."

Dick stared at him and felt a tiny quiver of doubt. Deville looked as if he meant the denial and he had no reason to lie…

Sebastian moved suddenly, drawing a knife hidden in his coat sleeve and taking advantage of Dick's distraction to fling himself on the highwayman again. This time Dick wasn't quick enough to dodge and Deville grabbed him, pinning him with a knee in the stomach as he slashed the knife across Turpin's throat.

Dick grabbed his wrist, hanging on with all his strength as Deville dug his fingers into his throat. He punched him one handed, his heavy ring drawing blood from Sebastian's face but still the man hung on with all the vaunted strength of the madman.

Through his swimming senses, Dick could hear a roaring sound as if the ground itself was complaining. He rolled, flinging himself against Sebastian to hurl him from his perch. Deville toppled, losing his balance, but he refused to let go of his grip as they slithered over the sloping ground. Abandoning the last shreds of pretence at gentlemanly behaviour, Dick resorted to dirty tactics. Lunging up against Deville, he sank his teeth into his wrist. Sebastian howled in pain and dropped the knife, jerking away from Turpin who promptly borrowed Deville's own tactic and attempted to knee him in the groin. The angle was wrong and he missed, but his knee thumped into Deville's thigh hard enough to numb the madman's leg for a moment and allow Dick to squirm free.

Scrambling out of reach, Dick looked round frantically for the knife. The blood haze had worn off to be replaced by common sense and the knowledge that he was acting like a complete fool. He couldn't defeat Deville without some kind of weapon…

Deville screamed wordlessly and flung himself on Turpin, his broad burly arm around his waist flinging him to the ground. Dick twisted wildly, struggling to get free as Deville gripped him between his knees and grabbed a rock in both hands, meaning to bring it down on the highwaymen's face and smash his head in.

The ground rumbled and shook beneath them and for a moment Deville hesitated, looking panic stricken. "No, not yet…."

Hoofbeats rumbled through the fog coming closer and closer…

"No, not me! It's Turpin you want!" Sebastian screeched and swung back to Turpin, "You shan't get free, you shan't! The devil wants blood, the devil will have blood!"

The ground moved and shuddered and Dick felt the earth sliding away from beneath him. Deville wobbled dangerously, dropping the rock as he struggled to catch his balance. Dick gave him one hard push and shoved him off, then scrambled away as the earth started to crack and crumble away beneath him…

Deville screamed as a fissure opened beneath and he clawed at the earth, clinging to the lip of rock and grass.

Conscience made Dick attempt to reach for him, then the rock gave way and Deville fell backwards into the gaping maw of darkness…

And Turpin went sliding after him…

Swiftnick reined up his horse in shock, staring in horror as the ground opened up beneath the two fighting men dimly glimpsed through the fog. Great clouds of steam and smoke boiled up from the earth as a gaping maw of darkness opened up to swallow them whole. Rock crashed and roared away as the ground collapsed inward and the horse shifted, dancing nervously into retreat. A torrential roar of sound filled the air as if the earth itself was groaning…

But slowly, the ground quieted and became still except for the quiet slithering sounds of mud and rock sliding into the chasm. Swiftnick let his horse back away, not wanting to be sucked into that horrible pit even if….

A dark, filthy figure crawled over the lip of the rock, muttering mysteriously to itself. Gulping, Swiftnick grabbed for the pistol he had reloaded and aimed at the creature.

"Hold!" he commanded, his voice wavering nearly as much as the gun. "Be gone foul fiend…"

"Oh, don't be bloody ridiculous!" Turpin snarled back at him. "It's me! Stop waving the bloody gun at me…" He slipped as a loose clod of mud sent him to his knees. "Oh, sod it!"

"Dick!" With a yip of relief at the familiar curse, Swiftnick slithered off his horse and ran to help his mentor. He slipped under Dick's arm, helping him away from the still steaming chasm despite Turpin's protests for him to stay at a distance from the danger.

"Don't you ever listen to me?" Dick snarled indignantly. "I told you to stay put! Where'd you get that gun from anyway?"

"It's Deville's. I reloaded it. Where is he?"

"Who? Deville? In bloody Hell for all I care. He fell in. I hope he went straight bloody down," Turpin snarled, then caught the quick frightened glance Swiftnick threw towards the gaping chasm. "Don't be ridiculous, that isn't Hell."

"But the smoke…"

"It's spray, Swiftnick, you loon. There's an underground river under the Fell. Where did you think the bogs come from?"

Swiftnick stared at him doubtfully. "But it opened up right underneath you. And Deville made that deal…"

Turpin tightened the grip he had on the lad's shoulders. He was glad of the excuse of needing to lean on him for a bit to touch him and reassure himself the youngster was safe. I dropped the little bastard in the bog and watched him drown. He wasn't going to forget Deville saying that to him in a hurry and he wouldn't forgive him for it either. Deville hadn't known it wasn't true until he saw Swiftnick himself.

"Maybe he thought he did, but I didn't and he came too close to killing me. It was a landslide, lad, which helped me not him. Too much rain on top and water underneath. Make of that what you will." Dick paused, deciding he was getting entirely too fanciful for his own good. "Where'd you get the horse from?"

"It was in the lean to. I suppose Deville took it off someone. Do you think we should look for him?"

"I suppose Edwin might know if someone's lost a horse. It probably belongs to that poacher though…," Turpin admitted somewhat dazedly. Swiftnick's rapid changes of direction could always baffle him.

"I meant for Deville!" Swiftnick exclaimed in exasperation.

Dick looked down at him; at his bruised and blood covered face, at his torn and dirty clothes and sighed heavily. Long may you keep your innocence, Swiftnick, and help me find mine while you're at it, he thought wistfully and smiled. "Not without ropes," he replied blandly, then stiffened as he heard hollow hoofbeats echoing through the fog. Silently, he took the gun from Swiftnick's hand and took a step forward, putting himself between his young partner and whatever was approaching.

"Halloo there!" Medwick's voice echoed through the fog. "Is anyone there?"

Dick exchanged a look with Swiftnick and patted his shoulder reassuringly at his worried expression. "It's all right. It's Medwick. Over here!" he called. He could see no point in concealing their presence. Neither of them were in any shape to vanish mysteriously back to their own haunts.

"Ah, there you are!" Medwick greeted them a few moments later as he trotted out of the fog with Edwin and Meakins. Meakins was somewhat gingerly leading Deville's horse. Taking one look at the bedraggled pair, George exclaimed, "Oh my, fall in a bit of a bog, did you?"

Turpin could feel the scowl settling across his face and was about to make a tart retort to the inane remark when Swiftnick started giggling. He gave him a startled look then started to smile as he too realised the absurdity of the situation. "Something like that," he said wryly. "It's a long story…"

"Hurry it up then," Swiftnick urged.

"So I will summarise…" Dick continued, ignoring him.

"Good. I'm starving. Aldyth said we could have bacon butties when we got back…"

Dick floundered, thrown completely off track by the cheerful comment. He gave Swiftnick an incredulous look, saw the bright-eyed expectant look under the grime and felt a surge of fierce joy. Swiftnick was alive! Giving in to impulse, Dick grabbed the youth, gave him the biggest fiercest hug he could manage and landed a sound buss on his forehead that made Swiftnick squawk and scrabble free. Chuckling broadly, Dick turned back to the confused hunting party then jumped a foot, as there was a wet snort down his neck. For a split second he thought it was Deville and whipped around in alarm, only to find Black Bess snuffling at him.

Somewhat shakily, Dick rubbed her proffered nose and began again, "As I said, it's a long story…"

* * *

"Ow!" Dick yelped. He was lying flat on his bed while Swiftnick gingerly rubbed the - what he referred to as - Turpin's Turnip Goop into his back. It was actually an herbal ointment Dick bought from Olwen the herbalist and the highwayman had more than once been glad of its soothing and healing abilities. Hopefully, his back would heal with barely a scar if he used it often enough.

"Well, stop wriggling then," Swiftnick complained somewhat shakily. He had been called on a time or two before to patch his mentor up - thankfully not for anything serious - but he was always scared of doing it and his hands tended to tremble.

"I do not wriggle," Dick complained indignantly, half rolling on to his side and giving his partner a dark look from under his brows. Without the layers of mud and blood and dirt, Swiftnick looked far too pale in the lamplight Dick noted. Once he had sent Swiftnick back to the smithy with Meakins despite the youth's protests, Turpin had spent most of the afternoon on the Fell, watching Edwin and Medwick organise search parties to venture down into the chasm. There had still been no sign of Deville when Dick finally surrendered to Edwin's urgings and left the others to continue the search while he rode back; ostensibly to check on Swiftnick. Dick hoped the highwayman had been washed away downstream and into the depths of the earth.

Swiftnick glared back, his wan face making him look more petulant than anything else. To his surprise however Dick sat up gingerly and reached up to ruffle his blond hair with only a small hiss of pain as the movement pulled at his back. "What's the matter?" Dick asked him quietly. "What are you moping for?"

"I'm not!"

"You could have fooled me. Come on, spill it."

Swiftnick bit his lip as he struggled to put the top back on the ointment jar. His fingers were clumsy with tiredness and Dick took it away from him, stoppering it carefully and putting it to one side.

"I didn't mean the goop," Dick teased him affectionately. "What's wrong?"

Swiftnick took a deep breath, meaning to hold back, then the walls gave way and he wailed, "I failed you! I meant to rescue you and I messed up. Deville nearly killed you!"

"Only nearly," Dick pointed out. "And you didn't fail. You found me, didn't you?"

"You mean Black Bess did."

"She didn't whap Deville with a plank and cut me loose."

"But I wasn't any good at fighting him!"

Turpin gaped at him. "Is that what's bothering you? That someone twice your size and three times your experience got the better of you? After he'd knocked you out and dropped you in a bog I might add? You didn't see me winning any fights with him. He knocked me out too, remember?"

"Only because of me," Swiftnick sniffled. "Dick, you’d be better off without me. I'm nothing but trouble. All I do is get in your way. You don't need me."

Turpin sighed heavily and caught the youth by the hands. He knew perfectly well that Swiftnick occasionally run this woebegone unloved act past him on purpose, but this time Dick could tell from the quaver in his voice and the expression in his eyes that it was genuine. "Yes, I do," he said kindly. "You've taught me how to smile again."

"You mean I'm a joke to you?" Swiftnick blurted, his blue eyes brimming with hurt and a faint hint of anger.

Dick rolled his eyes in exasperation. "No, lad, I mean I wasn't a very nice person before you met me. I'm still not. I can be bad tempered and grouchy and you can charm me out of it; most of the time anyway. You remind me of the way I used to be. You're good for me. So don't you go wanting to be too much like me. I love you the way you are…" Turpin paused, floundered and scowled in chagrin even as the hurt disappeared from Swiftnick's eyes to be replaced by surprised pleasure. "I didn't say that," Dick growled gruffly. "Go to bed. You look worn out."

"Dick…" Swiftnick ventured, suddenly shy.

"Bed, you look done up." Turpin gave him a push out of his way and got up, prowling over to the window.

"I slept while you were up on the Fell," Swiftnick pointed out. "And I had a bath…"

"Without me forcing you in at gunpoint? Wonders will never cease! Stop arguing and get to bed." Turpin snorted as he gazed out into the gathering fog. He had had his own bath on returning from the Fell and been mightily glad of the hot water to ease his aches and pains. The tisane Aldyth had produced to help was wearing off and while the ointment was soothing, he still didn't feel comfortable. "I need a drink…" he muttered. His back hurt, his ribs hurt, his head ached and the rest didn't bear thinking about. Thinking about Deville didn't help either. Although he had seen him plummet into the pit with his own eyes, the fact that his body hadn't been discovered bothered him. He wouldn't put it past the madman to somehow survive. And then there was that other comment he had made; about not killing the man murdered the night Dick and Swiftnick arrived on Dark Fell. He had had no reason to lie and his words had had the ring of truth. So what had killed him? The Beast? Or was there really a werewolf out there?

Dick shivered and drew the curtains across the small window, glad to shut out the encroaching fog. He needed to get back to his own lay and the safety of his hideouts. One way or another Deville was gone and was no longer his problem. Turning to speak to Swiftnick, he found the youth had sat down on his bed and slid over sideways as he fell asleep waiting for Dick to notice him. With a soft chuckle, Turpin bent somewhat stiffly and lifted his partner's feet onto the mattress, then pulled the covers over him as the stripling curled up. Asleep Swiftnick looked younger than ever and twice as innocent.

A soft tap at the door drew Turpin to attention. Grabbing his gun, he hurried over to answer it before Swiftnick could be disturbed, self consciously wiping off the beginnings of a daft grin as he went. It was Pike outside and Dick slipped out onto the landing with him, pulling the door to behind him and hiding the gun behind his back.

"Edwin; did you find him?"

"Not hide nor hair of him," the blacksmith admitted reluctantly, knowing who he meant. "We’ll go back up in the morning and make sure, but I don't expect to see him alive again. I came to see if there was anything else you need."

"Thanks to Aldyth's tisane, I think we'll both be fine," Dick assured him. "Nick's already asleep."

"Aye," Edwin hesitated, looking faintly worried.

"We won't be staying if that's what you're wondering," Dick said stiffly. "Time we were on our way."

"Aye," Edwin nodded slowly. "It was, well, I fear Fortesque sent a message to the dragoons before he was killed. Edgar said he overheard Cherry talking about at the pub. She was in her cups and showing a vicious streak. Blamed you for everything."

"And do you do the same?" Dick asked warily.

Edwin gave him a level look. "You didn't kill Fortesque, I know that. You've dealt with Deville. I'm inclined to think you’re a good man whoever you are. But you’re a stranger here…"

"And the villagers will listen to Cherry's stories. Aye, best if we’re on our way," Dick agreed sourly.

Edwin nodded again and wordlessly offered the highwayman the bottle he had been holding concealed in the folds of his coat. "A tisane of my own making," he said with a wink.

"Oh? Oh!" Dick caught on and took the bottle with a grin. "I'll miss your er tisane, Edwin."

"You're welcome," Pike said amiably and with a murmured farewell took himself off to his own bed.

Turpin let himself back into the room, latched the door and settled back on his bed to take a slow pull at the bottle of Elderberry wine. After he'd finished wheezing, he set it aside and settled down to sleep; hopefully without dreaming of werewolves.

* * *

Late the following morning, Dick gave Aldyth a kiss on the cheek that made her blush and giggle and shook hands firmly with Edwin. Having said his farewells, Swiftnick was already perched astride Toby and the big bay was shifting restlessly, eager to be off.

"You’re welcome any time," Aldyth assured them both. "Are you sure you won't be waiting for the coach? It must be along soon."

Turpin shook his head as he swung somewhat stiffly astride Black Bess. "No, we really must be on our way. We're off to er Hull. I need to find a ship." Swiftnick gave him an odd look but didn't comment. "Besides, we need a good ride to shake off the dust."

"Will you be off to the West Indies then?"

Dick could feel himself colour under Swiftnick's interested gaze. "I'm thinking of sending Nick here," he said dryly, glaring back at his young accomplice. Before Swiftnick could reply to that however, Edgar raced into the yard.

"Dragoons!" he panted. "Mr Medwick met them up on the Fell and he says the chasm's closed up and everything and there's no sign of any pit and the dragoons don't believe it. They'll be here in a few minutes…"

"Woah. Slow down," Edwin exclaimed, catching hold of his shoulder. "What's this about the pit?"

"Mr Medwick says there must have been another landslide during the night because when they got back up there with all the ropes and that it'd had closed up again. And he met the dragoons up there looking for Deville and Turpin. Only when he told them what happened they didn't believe him and now the dandy wants to meet Mr Turner and Nick."

"Dandy?" Dick asked, managing to keep his voice even.

"Aye, said his name was Spikenard or something…"

"Spiker?" Swiftnick blurted, shooting an alarmed look at Turpin.

"Oh aye, that was it! Spiker!"

"Sod it," Dick said succinctly then floundered as Aldyth gave him a shocked look, "Oh, I mean…er, we'd better go, Nick. Don't want to get tangled up with the nincompoop! Man's a fool. Thinks I'm that rogue Turpin of all people! Ridiculous."

"Aye, ridiculous," Edwin agreed wryly. "Everyone knows they hung Turpin at York."

"Quite," Dick managed.

"Oh no, he's been heard of since then," Edgar insisted.

"Hush, lad," Aldyth urged.

"But he has! Unless maybe it’s his ghost…" Edgar's eyes rounded in awe.

"Haunting all the pubs from here to London no doubt?" Edwin snorted. Shaking his head, he turned back to Dick. "You go on, Mr Turner, sir. We'll tell him how you took the road for Hull if he wants to catch up with you."

Turpin nodded his gratitude, although he as slightly put out by the blacksmith's comment. He didn't go that many pubs! "I’d be obliged, Edwin."

"No trouble at all," Edwin grinned back. "Be careful on the road."

"And you, Edwin. Nice to meet you; Aldyth, Edgar." Dick nodded to them both politely then turned to his accomplice. "Come on, Nick. Let's ride..."

Lightly drumming his heels against Black Bess' side, Turpin rode her quickly out of the yard and down the lane, heading the opposite way out of the village to the route Spiker and his men must take down from the Fell.

"Dick?" Swiftnick queried, coming up alongside.

Dick flashed him a grin, enjoyment at the idea of confounding Spiker sparkling in his eyes. "We'll be gone before Spiker even finds Edwin," he assured the lad. "We'll take the long way round. I know a place or two when we can hole up and take things easy for a day or two."

"You don't think Edwin will talk?"

"Nah, he's a good man and we’ve done him no harm. Want to race?" Swiftnick's blue eyes lit up in delight and he nodded, following Dick's lead as he urged Black Bess into a gallop and letting Toby have his head. Side by side they galloped down the lane and out of the village, racing the horses out onto the grassy moor and disappearing into the mist, the sound of hoofbeats filling the air and their laughter echoing behind them.