A thin smile formed on the Irishmans face. Said youd kill me if I showed my face.
Offer still stands.
The gunmans eyes flickered. The grin faded. Think youre king of the castle, dont you?
An you got plans to the contrary, I take it?
Do it, Patrick, the second gunman urged; the brogue as strong as his companions. Bloody do it now.
Whats up, Declan? Jagos gaze flickered to the speaker. Arms gettin tired? He moved his gaze back. In the second it had taken to divert the first gunmans attention, hed already braced himself. His hands cupped the edge of the table.
Going to enjoy this, Shaughnessy gloated.
Made for close-quarter combat, the blunderbuss was a fearsome weapon and capable of inflicting appalling damage. From where Jago was standing, the muzzle looked as big as a howitzer. He wondered if the table top would absorb any of the guns load and if hed be able to move in time. Unlikely, but it was worth a try. At this stage, anything was worth a try, to avoid the murderous hail that was about to be unleashed in his direction.
But it wasnt Shaughnessy who opened the bidding.
As the Irishmans trigger finger tightened, a sharp grunt and a clatter from the direction of the taproom stairs drew everyones attention. Shaughnessy pivoted, in time to see his companion sinking to the ground, hands clasped about his throat, blood spurting from between his fingers. As the body toppled, another figure moved into view. The Barbar, Shaughnessy saw, had changed hands.
With a curse, he turned back and fired.
The roar from the gun was deafening. A woman screamed. Downstairs, the music trailed off and the fiddlers dog let out a shrill bark of alarm.
But by then Jago was already hurling himself aside.
Having anticipated the move, Del and Ned were also flinging themselves backwards. As the table went over, dominoes, coins of the realm, alcohol and broken glass flew in all directions. The table top did absorb a lot of the charge but it wasnt enough. Jago, still travelling, felt the impact as shot scored across his right shoulder. The window took the rest. He heard the panes shatter as he hit the floor. And then he was rolling, or trying to.
Around him, panicking customers, undeterred by the second gunmans threatening stance, were throwing themselves behind tables or towards the back stairs and sanctuary.
Jagos legs were caught up in Neds abandoned chair. He kicked it away. His shoulder felt as if it was on fire. He looked up. Shaughnessy stood over him. The Irishman had drawn the back-up pistol from his belt. He levelled it, eyes black with rage.
Christ, Jago thought wildly.
The second gunshot was as loud as a whip crack.
Jago flinched and then watched in disbelief as Patrick Shaughnessys head snapped back, the air misting red as the body fell away.
Declan, whod already turned to face the new threat, bellowed an obscenity at seeing his comrade cut down and brought his own gun to bear.
Which was when Jasper, who was still half-prone, rammed the edge of his boot heel into Declans left knee. It was enough to send Declans aim wide. Shot slammed into the rafters and then there was another ferocious roar and Declan went over backwards, the discharged weapon falling from his grip. Something warm and viscous landed across Jagos left cheek. Wiping it off hurriedly, he stared down at his hand and the ragged piece of flesh adhering to it. His sleeves, he saw, were flecked with blood. Flicking the offending gobbet on to the floor, he raised his head cautiously as the echo from the guns died away.
It was hard to make out details. The room was filled with dissipating powder smoke and the sulphurous stench of rotten eggs, while the scene was more reminiscent of an abattoir than a public house. Around the room, people were slowly regaining their feet, transfixed by the carnage. Astonishingly, from below there came the screech of a fiddle starting up, indicating that, to the downstairs clientele, whod only heard the gunshots and not witnessed the effects, it had sounded like just another drunken night in the Hanged Man.
Jago stood groggily, ears ringing. He stared down at the bodies and then at the two men whod come to a halt beside him.
One was the former occupant of the far table who now held a discharged pistol. The second man, whose hands gripped the still-smoking Barbar, was taller and might have been mistaken for an associate of the dead men, for he, too, was dressed in a long military greatcoat. The difference was that he wore no hat, which, now that he had drawn closer, rendered his features visible, in particular the powder burn below his right eye and the two ragged scars that ran across his left cheek.
Jago stared at him. The other man gazed back, a grim smile on his face.
Cant leave you alone for a minute, can I? he said.
Several seconds passed before Jago found his voice.
Nice to see you, too, Officer Hawkwood. Its been a while.
2
So who were they?
Hawkwood looked down at the body being hauled unceremoniously towards the back stairs by the boot heels, Del and Ned having taken a leg each. A trail of blood, black in the candlelight, marked their passage across the uneven floorboards.
Jago followed his gaze. That ones Patrick Shaughnessy. The one missin half is brains good shot, by the way; those things have quite a kick is his younger brother, Declan, who didnt have that much reasonin power to begin with. The one who had the drop on Micah, I dont know; never seen him before. Neer-do-well cousin, I expect. They tend to hunt in packs. Christ, go easy, Padre!
The former physicians name was Roper. His manner and the way in which Jago had summoned him to tend to his wounds indicated to Hawkwood that this probably wasnt the first time his services had been called upon. There had been a faint tremor in the mans hands as hed helped Jago remove his bloodied shirt, which either suggested he was fearful of his patient or else he had an over-fondness for the Genever, which might have gone some way to explain why he was reduced to performing crudely lit examinations on the floor of the Hanged Man rather than by chandelier in a set of well-appointed consulting rooms in Berkley Square.
Jago winced as a pea-sized nub of black gravel was prised from the meat of his shoulder and deposited with a plunk on to a tin plate by his elbow. The physician was extracting the projectiles using a pair of tweezers hed taken from a black bag that had been resting beneath the table hed recently vacated. Some pieces of shrapnel had gone in deeper than others and among the paraphernalia set down were several rolls of lint bandage, two scalpels, scissors and a collection of vials with indecipherable labels which could have contained anything from laudanum to cold elderberry tea. If Hawkwood hadnt known any better, it looked as though the former doctor had come prepared for surgery.
The room was gradually coming to order. Chairs and tables had been righted and free drinks dispensed. Conversations had resumed, albeit warily and with startled glances whenever somebody coughed or scraped a chair leg inadvertently. It was plain that around some tables nerves were still a tad jittery.
Despite the air of jumpiness, Hawkwood couldnt help but consider the way in which most of those present seemed to have recovered from the shock of having had their evenings drinking so startlingly interrupted. He knew the ways of the capitals rookeries, of which there were several nurseries of crime, as the authorities had christened them and had meted out his own form of justice in their diseased enclaves often enough. Even so, the speed with which equilibrium had been restored in this particular hostelry spoke volumes for the manner in which the inhabitants of the rookeries went about their daily lives: their casual attitude towards death and summary justice, and their complete lack of faith in anything approaching legitimate authority; not one person had suggested calling the police. In this place, any support there might once have been for the forces of law and order had evaporated a long time ago.
Despite the air of jumpiness, Hawkwood couldnt help but consider the way in which most of those present seemed to have recovered from the shock of having had their evenings drinking so startlingly interrupted. He knew the ways of the capitals rookeries, of which there were several nurseries of crime, as the authorities had christened them and had meted out his own form of justice in their diseased enclaves often enough. Even so, the speed with which equilibrium had been restored in this particular hostelry spoke volumes for the manner in which the inhabitants of the rookeries went about their daily lives: their casual attitude towards death and summary justice, and their complete lack of faith in anything approaching legitimate authority; not one person had suggested calling the police. In this place, any support there might once have been for the forces of law and order had evaporated a long time ago.
Hawkwood studied the body of the second Shaughnessy brother, which wasnt yet on the move. The shot from the Barbar also loaded with gravel, he guessed had torn into the dead mans upper torso as effectively as grape cutting through a square of infantry. Death would have been close to instantaneous. If the brothers had just woken up together, either in Hell or Purgatory, theyd be wondering what had hit them.
They seemed a tad annoyed, Hawkwood said.
Jago grunted as another piece of gravel was levered out. They were annoyed? State of my shirt; Im bloody livid. Ruined my game, too; specially as I was up.
What were they mad about?
Idiots had ideas above their station. Thought they could work their way around the natural peckin order. I had to set them straight. They didnt like being chastised. Patrick in particular.
Newcomers, I take it?
St Giles was often the first port of call for the poorest of the Irish immigrants who came looking for a new start in a new city. Those inhabitants whod failed to welcome the influx with open arms referred to it as Little Dublin.
Jago nodded. They were warned. They didnt listen.
There could be more of them.
Wouldnt surprise me. The buggers breed like rats. Ill cross that bridge when I come to it.
Be interesting to know how they came by the guns, Hawkwood said, eyeing the three blunderbusses that were taking up space at the other end of the table. These look like Post Office issue.
You askin as a police officer or a concerned citizen?
Both.
The blunderbuss was the weapon of choice for mail coach guards, who were the only Post Office employees allowed to carry firearms. Designed to protect the cargo from interception by highwaymen, they had served their purpose well. There hadnt been a serious attack on a mail coach for more than two decades.
Money talks, Jago said. How many villains you know have been caught carryin an army- or navy-issue pistol? Bloody undreds, I should think. Scatterguns aint that hard to get hold of, you know the right person.
And youd know that how? Hawkwood said.
Jago grinned and tapped his nose with his left forefinger and then said, Shit! as another bit of gravel was extracted and dropped on to the plate.
Hawkwood counted them up. Five tiny olive-pit-sized fragments occupied the platter, while a couple of puncture wounds had yet to be probed.
Still, he thought, Jago had been lucky.
You were lucky, Hawkwood said.
Jago looked up at him. Really? An how do you work that out?
Youre still here. You should be as dead as Shaughnessy, the range he fired from. Im wondering if his powder was damp. Either that or it was low quality.
Tell that to the bloody window, Jago said. From where I was standin, Id say it was dry enough.
Nah, your mans right. The bastard shouldve taken your head off. Good job you moved when you did. Del, whod arrived back with Ned, jabbed a thumb at Declan Shaughnessys lifeless corpse. Else youdve ended up like is nibs.
Youre a real comfort, Del, Ned said. Anyone ever tell you that?
Only your missus, Del retorted, grinning.
There, the physician announced. Done or as far as I can tell. Putting down the tweezers, he cut off a length of lint. Taking one of the vials, he removed the stopper, soaked the lint with the contents and proceeded to dab the wounds, much to his patients further discomfort.
Keep the area as clean as possible. If the wounds become inflamed, you know where to find me or else get another doctor to take a look. Ive done the best I can but I may not have got them all.
Using the rest of the lint, the physician began to fashion a bandage around Jagos shoulder. His hands, Hawkwood saw, were now perfectly steady and the dressing was expertly applied. Roper was clearly no quack. The man may have lost his standing among his former peers and patients and been ostracized by the more reputable areas of society, but from what Hawkwood had seen, if he was now using his medical skills to aid the less fortunate in Londons back streets, the people of the rookery were lucky to have him.
Hawkwood watched as the physician restored his equipment to his bag before moving to attend to those customers whod been caught in the crossfire. Thankfully, there werent many. Serious peripheral wounds had been prevented as most people had used the tables and furniture as cover. The majority of the injured were suffering from the effects of flying splinters and glass fragments rather than gravel pellets.
The landlord, a dour-looking character whom Jago had addressed as Bram, was already nailing boards over the broken window. Hed looked ready to take someones head off when hed first inspected the damage, but a look from Jago and a promise of financial restitution had cooled his ire, as had an immediate contribution to the restoration fund following a search of the dead mens pockets.
Jago grimaced as he eased his shirt back over his shoulder. Wounds, my arse. Pin pricks more like. Typical bloody bog trotter. Had me in his sights and he still cocked it up.
Got the drop on Jasper, though, Ned said, grinning. He lifted his chin. Come on, Del. Its Declans turn for the cart, and dont forget his bloody hat.
Like youdve fared any better, Jasper countered. Bastard crept up on me when I was takin a piss. I was distracted. He watched as Del and Ned rearranged Declans ragged corpse into a manageable position for carriage before looking contritely towards Jago. Sorry, big man; my fault they got up here.
Jago shook his head. Couldve happened to any of us.
Not you, Del said as he took hold of Declans right ankle. If itd been you in the pisser, hedve shot you where you stood. Youd be dead and wed be none the wiser as to whod done it.
An youd have split my winnings between you, Jago said. Right?
Del grinned. Too right. No sense in letting all that spare change go to waste.
Bastards, Jago said, but without malice, as Ned and Del began to manhandle the second Shaughnessy brother towards the back stairwell.
Whatll you do with the bodies? Hawkwood asked.
Jago shrugged. Give em to the night-soil men. Either that or feed em to Reillys hogs.