Deliverance: A Justice Belstrang Mystery John Pilkington (story reading .TXT) 📖

and saw that it was no bluff - and on a sudden, a chill swept over me. John Mountford… had he thwarted this man, and paid the price? Had he learned of underhand dealings, and intended to take action? Justice Belstrang would have demanded an answer – but William Pride saw which way the wind blew, and made his decision.

‘Understood,’ I said, letting out a breath. ‘Now shall we go somewhere private, and talk of culverins and demi-culverins? Or shall we talk first of money?’

SIX

Well now, here is the plain truth I learned that day from Tobias Russell: that unbeknown to Sir Richard Mountford, and no doubt unbeknown to King James too, the Cricklepit foundry was quietly shipping cannons to the Great Turk.

At first, I could barely compass what I heard. But I listened intently, hiding my feelings. Sultan Osman the Second, it seemed, had usurped his uncle a while back and was eager to strengthen his position. English guns were prized throughout Europe and beyond… and naturally, there was money to be made.

‘So… the man Yakup,’ I said finally, still struggling to grasp the matter. ‘Is he there to oversee shipments?’

Russell gave a shrug. The two of us sat in a small, cluttered room close to the furnace-house, where the smell of burning charcoal was strong. ‘It’s a long voyage from Bristol to Constantinople,’ he murmured. ‘The Sultan don’t trust Englishmen to keep a bargain, though we trade all the time.’

‘Surely the whole of your cargo doesn’t go there? I asked. ‘It would be too obvious-’

‘Of course it doesn’t,’ Russell growled. ‘The dividing is done at Bristol…’ he was frowning. ‘I think I’ve told you enough. Let’s hear what you have to say – your proposition.’

I tried to assume a hard look. ‘It’s simple enough. How many can you supply, and what’s your price?’

I waited, making an effort to control my shock at what I had stumbled upon. Now I seemed to have become a dealer in armaments – or William Pride had. Perhaps I should adopt a more brutal manner, I thought: Russell was suspicious of me, and would remain so. It sobered me to think what Sir Richard Mountford would think, if he knew where some of his cannons ended up. As for the King… my pulse quickened. Surely what Russell did could amount to treason?

Then something sprang to mind: the last words I had heard from Thomas Peck… perhaps the last words, I realised, that he had ever spoken. ‘The Concord Men,’ I said. ‘Are they the ones who have set this trade in motion?’

But I had missed my mark: in a moment Russell’s gamester’s face was back.

‘Who?’ He enquired.

‘No matter…’ I looked away, cursing inwardly. ‘I’ll forget I heard the words.’

He eyed me, and for a moment I feared he would refuse to proceed any further. I had touched a nerve: the Concord Men, whoever they were, would have to wait.

‘Given time, I could supply twenty culverins,’ he said, in a bland voice. ‘To be mounted on carriages, at buyer’s will. Long-barrelled ones, if they’re for ships. Iron cannonballs too, eighteen pounders.’

The man’s directness was unexpected. Gathering my wits, I pretended to consider.

‘How many shipments are we talking about?’

‘It depends how many you want. Five cannon trunks can be diverted on the quays at Bristol at one time, for transfer to another vessel. That’s yours to arrange – my part of the business ends as soon as they’re unloaded from the trow.’

‘That’s four river voyages,’ I objected. ‘The goods would need to be stored, until the whole consignment had arrived.’

‘Again, that’s your affair,’ Russell replied tersely. ‘It’s not a trade for the witless - or the faint-hearted. And I don’t want to know who your buyers are, any more than you need concern yourself with mine.’

‘I know that,’ I said, putting on a frown. ‘Mayhap it’s time we spoke of prices.’

At that, Russell relaxed. Whether he had decided I was a bona fide arms trader, or was merely relishing the prospect of a lucrative payment, I did not know… but on a sudden, I was uneasy: in truth, I realised, I had not the least idea what an iron-cast cannon should cost.

The matter was compounded when he gave another shrug and said: ‘Why don’t you make me an offer?’

I lowered my gaze, fumbling for an answer… whereupon a solution occurred, which brought a mixture of hope and alarm. It was rash, perhaps, but it seemed the best way forward, if not the only way. Drawing a breath, I looked up.

‘I want to see for myself how the shipments are handled between here and Bristol, and then at the port.’

‘Why?’ Russell demanded at once. ‘How the goods reach Bristol is already known to you. You only need take delivery.’

‘Nevertheless, I want assurance,’ I persisted. And when he continued to look displeased: ‘It’s a large investment. My fellows would want a report before committing themselves.’

‘You haven’t yet said how much you’re willing to pay,’ the other replied.

‘No, I haven’t,’ I agreed. ‘But I say this: let me sail downriver with Spry on the Lady Ann, and observe what happens at Bristol. If I think all is safe and watertight, I’ll return here and agree a price, with a sum paid in advance.’ On impulse, I added: ‘If I’m satisfied, there’ll be a purse for yourself, that won’t appear on the reckoning.’

For a while Russell eyed me with evident mistrust; I could almost hear him calculating. It was a taut moment, until to my relief, he let out a sigh and nodded.

‘Very well, if it will set your mind at ease.’

He stood up, glancing towards the half-open door. ‘I’ll give you a note for Spry, telling him to take you to Bristol and back.’ With a thin smile, he added: ‘There’s no comfort