Page 7 of The Death Wish

‘I don’t care.’

‘Pitch.’

‘Silas?’

‘Be nice.’ With Pitch glowering but holding his tongue, Silas turned his attention to the young man once more. Lalassu was enjoying a scratch behind her ear, her eyelid heavy, her head lowered so the youth could reach the spot. ‘Thank you, Herbert, but our companions are likely already at the Golden Rule, arranging rooms.’

‘You’d do better at my Pa’s place. And he and my Uncle Samuel would be mighty happy to be hosting fellas just the same as them.’

‘Like us? I doubt very much they are the same at all,’ Pitch scowled. ‘What the blazes are you on about?’

‘It’s all right, you two together. I think its fine, and really nice. Don’t matter the shape our affectamations come in. That’s what my pa says.’

‘Do you mean affections?’ Silas asked, amused.

The lad nodded vigorously. ‘That’s the word.’

‘Oh good gods, this trite nonsense again,’ Pitch groaned. ‘The sooner you purebreds decide to just fuck whoever you like and make no bones about it, the better, I say.’

‘Pitch,’ Silas glared. ‘He’s a child.’

‘Who knows exactly what I’m talking about, thanks to Pa and Uncle Samuel.’

‘My name is Herbert, and Pa says it’s best I don’t be doing any fornimications just yet, on account of being barely fifteen summers.’

‘Your father is a monster,’ Pitch exclaimed. ‘It’s called fornication, and you’d best get out there and get to it, boy. Dip that wick at once. To hell with Pappa.’

Silas grabbed Pitch’s arm. ‘Will you stop?’ He sought to sound stern but saw how much Pitch was enjoying the tease, the way a food connoisseur enjoyed dining in a fine restaurant. His impish happiness was a delight.

‘I’m trying to save Harold’s life, Silas.’

‘My name’s Herbert. Do you really think I should be doing that, mister?’ he asked, another wet sniff coming. ‘The unholy things?’

‘The more unholy the better.’

‘Absolutely not, young man.’ Silas decided the teasing must end.

The young fellow was simple, a true innocent, and Silas suspected his father was protecting him from the very things Pitch sought to encourage.

‘Sheer cruelty,’ Pitch huffed. ‘Of the highest order, depriving Herman of bodily delights.’

‘My name’s Herbert.’

‘I still do not care.’

‘But I do. I like my name.’ The boy’s bravery had Silas’s thoughts shifting to Charlie with a pang. ‘And I’m real good with horses, and my Pa has the nicest inn you ever did see. It’s called the Churchill. That’s our name.’

‘Herbert tells you the truth. Always does. The Churchill is a right welcoming place.’ A comely woman with the most astonishing brunette curls called out from the steps of a nearby residence, where she’d seated herself with a half-woven basket, preparing to finish the task. ‘But don’t tell Paul at the Rule I’m taking any sides, there’s no arguing his whisky is the cream of the crop in Ambleside.’

Pitch sucked in a breath. ‘Fuck the inn, Silas.’

‘Pitch, language.’

‘He’ll hear a lot worse than that if you keep me from a whisky a moment longer. The others are probably already halfway into their cups by now. Let’s go.’

He reached for Lalassu’s dangling reins again, but again the mare denied him, shifting her bulk so he ended up catching his fingers on her stirrup.

‘Sodding bloody horse, do you wish to take a one way journey to the glue factory?’ Lalassu stomped her foot, dangerously close to Pitch’s boot. And the brown horse’s flick of the tail was coincidentally near to his face.