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

An oath that I did not understand flew from the lips of my attacker. While still trying to force his blade downwards, with his other fist he slammed me in the ribs. Winded, both hands shaking as I held his wrist, I let out a grunt of pain… and realised that I was losing the fight. Yakup was strong, and determined. So - was this how I would meet my death, I wondered? At the hands of a silent stranger?

With what strength remained I fought him, bringing up a knee to dig into his ribs, but to no avail. He was astride me now, pinning me to the gunwale, my head on the hard boards. The poniard hovered, trembling as we both strove for mastery of it… whereupon to my immense relief came shouts and hurried footfalls - and in a moment, it was over.

Strong arms seized my tormentor, dragging him away in the gloom. I heard muffled curses, a blow or two, and the blessed sound of the knife falling to the deck. Then I was forcing myself up on my elbows, shaking and panting… until a lantern appeared, and another figure loomed over me.

‘Are you hurt?’

Captain Darrett was peering down, his jowly features drawn into a frown. ‘What in God’s name were you-’

‘He tried to kill me!’ I exclaimed breathlessly, gesturing at my assailant. And there was Yakup on his knees, held at the shoulders by the Last Hope’s burly crewmen, arms about his stomach where a blow had been delivered. He too was breathing hard, but his eyes were cast down.

‘By the Christ.’

I looked up sharply to see the Captain nodding. Before I could speak, he added: ‘I had a feeling he was up to something… I was asked to take him, though I didn’t know why.’ He threw a look at the man in question, who refused to meet his eye, then turned back to me.

‘You must have upset someone mightily, Master Pride. I won’t ask who that is… but no-one attempts murder on my vessel.’ He straightened himself, drew a breath and addressed his men.

‘Get some rope and bind this varlet up, good and tight,’ he ordered. ‘What happens after can wait until morning.’ Facing me again, he put out a hand. I took it, and was hauled to my feet with a strength that surprised me.

‘You and that one had best change places,’ he muttered. ‘My fellows will keep a watch on him, while you’re coming under cover with me. I’ll wager you need a drink… am I right?’

To which I could only nod, letting out a long breath. I was about to give my unlikely saviour a smile of gratitude; but seeing his familiar doleful expression returning, I forbore to do so, and followed him.

***

The following days would bring revelations that astounded me – but once again I leap ahead in my tale. First let me speak of Captain Darrett, a man I had so carelessly misjudged.

He was a countryman as I have said, of a humble family, beholden to the Forest of Dean landowners as were so many. But he was not, I learned to my satisfaction, in the pay of Tobias Russell; nor did he owe allegiance to the Mountfords. He plied his river trade as his father had done, taking whatever cargo came to hand. He knew the foundries, of course, but rarely took their cannons, and only when the price was high enough. He had harboured misgivings about this return voyage, he admitted - not least when he had encountered the Lady Ann on the river on his way down to Bristol, and lowered sails to receive news from Captain Spry. He knew the man well enough, he said, though the two had never been friends.

‘But I came alongside, and heard him out. He gave me a fee, asked me to meet our friend the Turk at Bristol Quays and bring him back upriver. It was a favour, he said, that would not be forgotten.’ He sighed gloomily. ‘Now I see that I should have said no… but money’s money.’

I made no reply. We stood before the awning in the early morning, the Last Hope still rocking at anchor. I knew Darrett would not delay his return to Purton for long – but there was the small matter of the man who was now his prisoner, seated on the deck trussed like a fowl. I glanced towards him now and then, and received cold looks in return. The moment he was free, I feared, Yakup would again try to snuff out my life.

‘Then, you know nothing of him?’ I asked Darrett, watching him closely. I was falling into Belstrang habits, alert for any sign of duplicity.

The other shook his head. ‘Only that he’s a foreigner. I don’t even know what tongue he speaks, for he never opens his mouth.’ He paused, then: ‘Why in God’s name did he try to kill you? Do you truly not know?’

I hesitated; it was another turning point, I see now, yet at the time I was uncertain what to do. But for better or worse, I had decided to trust this dour trow-master… or perhaps I was merely tired of playing William Pride. Hence, I drew a breath and met his eye.

‘I might have a notion. And I owe you an explanation – as surely as I know you and your crew saved my life last night. So, shall I make my explanations now, or do you prefer to make sail and head for Purton? The choice is yours.’

Some time passed while he considered; he was not a hasty man. His crew were on deck ready to raise anchor, eying him with puzzlement at the delay. Finally he nodded to them, threw a look at the bound figure of Yakup, and turned to me again.

‘We’ll