“You gurt fool!” Jackdaw half turned towards his men. “I said wait for me! Wait!”
Thud of knuckles against flesh, quick patter. Grunt of pain. The bully-boy lurched back, tripped on his own feet.
“Blades stay sheathed,” Leavenworth said, low and calm.
The musket went off. Jackdaw swore, flailing towards the sound.
“Stowmarket!” A nasal whine. “Don’ wait ’till he says to unsheathe them cheese toasters!”
“Jackdaw—William Dempsey!” Peter spoke clear and strong, letting his Cambridge vowels drag. “You don’t want to let your men cause trouble before you hear what I have to say.”
He was watching his former boss, so he couldn’t watch the scuffle on the left. The nasal voice whimpered. Peter heard the whisper and ting as the second outrider drew his blade, but he didn’t turn. Peter trusted his men.
“They just want to play.” Jackdaw laughed, but there was an undertone of worry to it. “Just like your fellows.”
“Dempsey.” The proper name was more threatening in its incongruity. “You don’t want to do that.”
“Let’s see if I’ve got an offer that can interest you, then.” Jackdaw swore some more, pulled apart an incipient fistfight. The musket landed in the mud.
Peter had seen a thousand muskets dropped in a hundred fields of mud. It made him even more angry, the pain and danger wasted between two men who should have been colleagues.
“Talk to me, then!” Jackdaw swung his arm. “But call off your damned men!”
Peter stood straight and calm.
“Retreat, four paces,” Leavenworth called. “Hold.”
“Your turn,” Peter said.
“Back, you feckless idiots, back!” Jackdaw waved his arms some more. “We’re just rusticating, remember?Rusticating!”
The coves bustled farther from Peter.
“Four more paces,” Leavenworth said. Steady steps.
Peter flicked his fingers at Jackdaw’s men.
“Back!” Jackdaw plowed into them. “The man doesn’t want his tales all over Lunnun. Get back!”
“He’s pro’bly armed,” grumbled one of the men. “Just because he’s a gennulman—”
“Ofcoursehe’s armed! He’s the best goddamn spy in the department!”
“I don’t work there anymore,” Peter said. He was a husband now.
“But mebbe we can talk—”
The cove on the left bumbled forward, fists up. Marsh met him instantly from Peter’s side, blade drawn.
“Let’s talk,” Peter agreed.
Jackdaw trudged over to his man. Shook his shoulder, spoke low. Marsh retreated in exact proportion to the grumbling bully, until Jackdaw and Peter were facing each other alone.
“No funny business, Jackdaw.” Leavenworth spoke clearly from the rear. “JC has his pistol trained on your legs, and my men don’t miss.”
“How about you take off that cloak,” Peter said. “So JC doesn’t have to aim for your head.”
“Don’ think I’m afeard of you,” Jackdaw warned, but he half-threw his oversized garments towards his henchmen, holding up his bare hands as he walked back towards Peter. “Lissen. I know you’re off to be the proper country gennulman, right? But some years the crops are bad. The parties get dull. You might like to take a job here and there.”
