‘Well, well, well,’ says a reedy voice. ‘What do we have here?’
I look up to see a fifth man waddling towards us, his fair hair thin and oiled, his large nose purple with broken blood vessels. Round his neck he wears a plum-coloured silk cravat, and stretched across his portly frame is a green-velvet waistcoat that looks in danger of popping a button.He peers at us through watery-blue eyes, one of which is oddly magnified by a gold-rimmed monocle.
‘We caught them trying to escape, Baron,’ my captor responds, twisting my arms painfully behind my back.
‘And what of my wolf?’
‘Gone,’ Fox says bluntly.
For a moment I think one of the hunters might spear him through the throat.
The Baron tuts. ‘A pity. It would have made an excellent addition to my fighting pit.’
My captor sneers. ‘Do you know what happens to thieves in Wellwall?’
‘I don’t,’ Fox tells him. ‘But I’d wager it’s not pleasant.’
‘Now, now, Garrick,’ says the Baron. ‘No need to be hasty. I agree they must be punished, but there’s more than one way to skin a cat.’
‘You would know,’ Fox mutters.
‘One more word,’ says Garrick, gripping me so tightly I cry out. ‘Just one more word and I’ll snap her neck.’
Fury spikes. Howdarehe? I could end him right here, without so much as lifting a finger. I could drown him where he stands.
Fox’s eyes are dark with rage, but when he speaks, his voice is calm. ‘She did nothing. It was all me.’
The Baron tilts his head. ‘And who are you, boy?’
‘No one of any consequence.’
‘And yet you break into my grounds and steal my property. That sounds rather consequential to me.’
‘All right,’ Fox concedes. ‘Then I’m someone who believes that men who slaughter innocents for sport are not men at all.’
I tense as a spearhead grazes his neck.
The Baron chortles as if he’s said something amusing. ‘You certainly have a great deal of backbone for a common thief. I should hate to see such courage go to waste. But Garrick is right – no crime should go unpunished. So I’m going to offer you three choices.’
‘Which are?’
‘First, the standard sentence for stealing – having one’s hand cut off.’
Nausea curdles in my gut.
Fox merely grimaces. ‘Pass.’
‘Second, I ask Garrick to kill your pretty little friend here.’
‘He can try,’ I mutter.
Garrick chuckles, and I recoil as he reaches down to stroke my cheek. Fox watches him with an expression that suggests he’d like to sever each of Garrick’s fingers and feed them to him one by one.
‘Again, I must decline,’ he tells the Baron.
‘Then what do you say to putting that admirable courage to the test?’ the Baron asks.
‘In what regard?’
