Page 31 of By Marsh and By Moor (Marsh and Moor #1)

Was the inn on fire? Jed was about to hurry down to help, but then he saw something that chilled him to the bone: a burly fellow armed with a cutlass guarding the inn’s front door.

In the yard, other dark shapes milled around, and Jed caught another glimpse of candlelight on a drawn cutlass.

His breath caught in his throat. The press! A dawn raid!

He ran to the ladder to shout a warning—but then swallowed the words. Two burly gangers had already entered the stables. They stood blocking the main door, looking about them. Jed drew back from the ladder, skin crawling with the sick feeling of being trapped.

He stepped back out of sight, quietly and cautiously retreating into the corner of the loft. Through the wooden boards under his feet came confused noises: stomping footsteps, shouts, horses neighing in alarm.

Through the confusion, Jed heard one sentence, in Solomon’s voice, quite clearly. “There’s an able seaman up in the loft.”

For one long, horrible moment, Jed couldn’t move. He stood frozen, crouched under the beams. All the breath had been driven from his body as though he’d been punched in the gut.

Then footsteps approaching the ladder broke the spell.

He turned and ran to the opposite window, the one at the back of the stables overlooking the moors.

He leaned out, heart in his mouth, looking at a sheer drop to the ground twenty feet below.

Movement caught his eye: a tall, fair-haired figure fleeing down the lane behind the inn. Wallace!

Behind him, boards creaked as someone climbed into the loft. In desperation, Jed wondered if he might survive the jump out the window. But the gangers were already on top of him, dragging him back into the loft.

He struck out wildly, flailing with fists and feet, biting any flesh that came near enough.

But there were two of them, and soon he was on his face with his arms twisted behind his back and a knee on his shoulder.

Cold steel was pressed to his neck. A rough hand searched him and took away his pocket knife.

“I’m going to let you up now, and you’re going to climb down that ladder,” a voice said in his ear. “Otherwise we’ll truss you up and throw you down. All right?”

The knee on his shoulder pressed down harder. Jed swallowed around the pain. He nodded.

At the bottom of ladder, he made a break for the door and ran headlong into the guard they’d left there, cutlass drawn.

The two gangers behind him caught him and trussed his hands behind his back with the efficiency of men who spent their days taking prisoners. They marched him out into the yard.

The rising sun lit a scene of confusion. Men armed with cutlasses were everywhere. Three of them guarded a group of prisoners by the stable doors. Solomon was among them, his hands tied behind his back. His gaze met Jed’s, his eyes bright with some wild emotion.

Jed’s captors pushed him towards the rest of the prisoners. “Keep a close eye on this one. He’s trouble.”

Jed found himself next to Solomon. By now, he had figured out what had happened.

“Well, was it worth it?” he demanded, bitter bile rising in his throat. “Your little distraction… At least it let Wallace get away. One out of three of us en’t bad, eh?”

Solomon leaned closer to him, speaking in a low, urgent voice. “Don’t worry, it’ll be all right. Just follow my lead.”

“Don’t talk to me.” Jed leaned back against the wall of the stable, letting his head fall against the wooden boards. His whole body was trembling. He turned his head away so he wouldn’t have to see Solomon’s expression.

“Jed, listen, I promise—” Solomon fell silent when one of the gangers stepped closer.

Besides Solomon, there were five other prisoners: the stable hand, the day labourers who had come as passengers from Barnstaple, and two middle-aged men Jed had seen in the taproom the previous night.

And there were more than a dozen gangers, cutlasses drawn, outnumbering the assembled crowd of prisoners and bystanders two to one.

The innkeeper was in heated argument with a boy in Naval uniform. With a shock, Jed recognised him as the midshipman who had been with Lieutenant Vaughan at the coaching inn three days ago. There was no sign of Vaughan, however.

“You can’t take him,” the innkeeper was protesting.

“He’s my chief stable hand. He’s never been to sea in his life!

He’s never even been on a riverboat. And that fellow”—he pointed at Solomon—“he’s the Barnstaple carrier, and so is his friend there.

And”—he waved his hand at the rest of them—“those are all guests at my inn.”

“Oh, they are, are they?” The midshipman had the hoarse tones of a boy whose voice was breaking. “And where are the five seamen who are guests at your inn?”

“There are no seamen, you dolt! You come here, harassing honest folk—”

“We have a warrant from his Majesty to press. And a report of five seamen staying at your inn.”

The innkeeper drew himself up and said icily, “If you mean the group of five farm labourers I had here recently, they left two days ago.”

“Where did they go?”

“How should I know? I’m not in the habit of interrogating my guests before they may leave. Now let my stable hand go, if you please!”

The midshipman didn’t answer. He was looking nervously in the direction of the roadway, where villagers had begun to appear, drawn by the noise.

At their head stood two stout, muscular men.

They were empty-handed, but they were giving instructions to a little girl, who then went running off into the village.

The midshipman turned to his chief ganger. “Have you finished searching the place?”

“Only other men in the inn were an elderly gentleman and two children, sir. And we got these other fellows in the stableyard.”

It was almost daylight by now. The midshipman’s gaze fell on Jed, and his eyes widened. He strode over. “Where did you find this one?”

“In the hay loft, sir.”

“We’re carriers,” Jed spat. “That’s our waggon standing out in the yard. You can’t just haul us off, there are laws against that.”

The midshipman ignored Jed and spoke to his underling.

“I have orders to arrest this person and any tall, thin, dark man or tall, broad, fair man found in his company.” He ran his gaze over the other prisoners, settling on Solomon.

He gave a nod of satisfaction. “There’s one of them, most likely. Any sign of a broad, fair-haired man?”

“We’ve turned the place inside out, sir.”

The crowd out in the road had grown. The midshipman cast another nervous glance at it.

“All right. Get him, him, and those two into the cart”—he pointed at Jed, Solomon, and the two young labourers—“set the others free, and let’s be gone from this place.”