Page 34 of The King’s Man (Guardians of the Crown #2)

K it had faced death in many forms and had always managed to stare it down.

Now he lay wrapped in his cloak on the rough bunk bed praying for a speedy demise.

God had never intended him to be a sailor.

He had puked until he had nothing more to puke and dry-retched into the noisome bucket by his bunk and now woke from a fitful sleep.

The lantern, illuminating the cabin in a sickly yellow light, tossed and swayed with the motion of the boat.

He closed his eyes to avert the wave of nausea and realised that what had woken him was the sense of another person being in the room, of a shadow obscuring the light and a furtive shuffling.

He opened his eyes again and saw Fitzjames bent towards a lantern. He held Kit’s jacket in one hand, and in the other were Bampfield’s papers. The paper crackled as Fitz opened one of the letters.

Kit shifted his weight slightly to allow himself leverage from the bunk, and through half-closed eyes, he saw Fitz turn to him.

With his normally sharp reflexes dulled by seasickness, he had not anticipated the speed with which Fitz could move.

Fitz turned on him, grabbed his shirt and pulled him into an upright position, his eyes burning with anger.

‘You bloody traitor!’

‘What?’

Fitz waved the paper in Kit’s face. ‘What the Hell is this about?’

‘I have no idea. Bampfield asked me to deliver them in London. He told me they were love letters.’

‘Love letters?’ Fitz spat. ‘They contain reports of all our meetings. Reports that leave me in no doubt that you are the one referred to as ‘our friend’. How long have you been in Thurloe’s pay, Lovell?

’ He stared at Kit as the realisation of the extent of Kit’s duplicity crossed his face.

‘Every move we’ve made, every discussion we’ve had has gone straight back to Thurloe, hasn’t it? The Ship Inn, was that your work?’

‘Let go of me, Fitz. You are talking nonsense.’

The anger began to die in Fitz’s face and the grip on Kit’s shirt slackened. ‘I’d heard whispers after The Ship Inn but I couldn’t believe them. Not of you, Lovell. I thought I knew you better.’

Kit removed Fitz’s hand from his shirt. ‘Fitz, as God is my witness, I had no idea what these letters contain. You know Bampfield’s reputation.’

‘And Henshaw and Wildman, but you, Lovell … ’ Fitz shook his head.

‘Bampfield told me they were for his mistress.’

‘How can I believe you?’

‘You can’t, Fitz. You just have to trust me.’

Fitz thrust the paper he was holding into his pocket. ‘I need fresh air.’

Kit looked at the pitching, swaying lantern. ‘Fitz, it is blowing a gale up there.’

But his friend did not hear him. With heavy steps, he dragged himself to the ladder and up into the cold air of the Thames Estuary.

Kit sat on the edge of the bunk for a minute, his head in his hands.

Slowly he pulled on his boots and jacket and climbed the narrow ladder.

It still lacked a few hours to dawn. The night was dark and the sea a boiling, angry cauldron.

Only a dark mass on the horizon gave any indication of their proximity to land.

Fitz leaned against the rail, his hair and cloak blowing in the gale. They were alone except for the helmsman who stood at the wheel, seemingly impervious to the pitching deck.

Kit grasped the rail beside Fitz.

‘Why, Lovell?’ Fitz did not even turn to look at him.

Kit sighed. No more lies. ‘I have my reasons, Fitz.’

‘Is that reason anything to do with Daniel?’

Kit was silent for a moment. ‘Yes. It is everything to do with Daniel.’

‘He’s dead, Kit. You sold your soul for a vain hope.’

‘No,’ Kit said with emotion choking his voice. ‘No, I won’t believe he’s dead until I dig his stinking corpse from the ground.’

‘I thought I knew you,’ Fitz said with dull resignation in his voice.

‘Nobody can really know another person, Fitz.’ Kit grimaced.

‘Well, I must give you credit, you are very good at what you do. You had me completely fooled.’ Fitz could not hide the bitterness in his voice.

Kit turned to look at his friend. ‘What are you going to do, Fitz?’

‘I have no choice. I have to advise the King and the others that you are not to be trusted. You’re finished, Lovell. When word gets around you will probably be a dead man, and it will all have been for nothing.’

Kit felt a momentary panic. ‘Give me time, Fitz. Let me fade into the background. I will go to the Colonies as I planned, as we discussed so often.’

‘I can’t, Lovell. You know that. You know too much and we don’t have the time. I have no choice.’

Fitz turned to face him, the light from the helm flashing on his pistol. Kit didn’t flinch. He lifted his hands away from the rail and turned to face his friend.

‘I’m unarmed, Fitz. My sword’s below. You can kill me now if you have to,’ he said quietly, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on his friend’s face.

Fitz hesitated, and in that fraction of a second, the boat pitched, throwing them both off balance.

Fitz staggered backward, falling against the rail.

The boat righted and Kit fell forward towards Fitz.

He put out his hand to hold onto his friend but in the space of a heartbeat, Fitz had overbalanced, tipping over the rail of the boat.

Catching at the rail to stop himself from falling as well, Kit saw his friend’s mouth open in a silent scream, his arms flailing as he dropped into the dark abyss.

Kit’s hands grasped frantically at thin air.

He screamed Fitz’s name, the wind carrying his voice away unanswered into the dark, foul night.

He pulled himself up and leaned over the rail, but the dark, seething water had claimed the only man he had called his friend.

He looked up at the helmsman. ‘There is a man overboard!’

The man shrugged. ‘I saw. There is nothing I can do, m’sieur . He is gone.’

Kit stared at the man, torn between seizing the wheel and beating him to a pulp.

‘Why do you care? He would have killed you,’ the helmsman observed. ‘It wasn’t your fault he is dead.’

The boat pitched and Kit staggered against the rail, his hands clasping at the slimy wood.

He cast the sea one last regretful glance and like a man in a daze, returned to his bunk in the cabin, where he was violently ill.

This time it had nothing to do with seasickness.

He curled up on the narrow bed and faced the damp wood and waited for the morning.