His Mask of Retribution Read Online Free PDF Page B

pardon, sir,’ said the man to the highwayman. ‘We thought you would be gone. Excuse us and we’ll leave you to your business.’ And then in roughened tones to the children, ‘Out, the lot of you.’ His head gestured to the still-open door.
    One of the boys emitted a harsh hacking cough and the puppy began to whine. The family smelled of dampness and dog and unwashed bodies.
    ‘Our business is done for today,’ replied the highwayman. ‘Here...’ He slipped his hand into his pocket and she saw the glint of gold. The children gathered around him like flies round a honeypot. Her gaze slid to the open door and the woman standing beside it. All eyes were on the highwayman’s gold. Marianne did not hesitate. She hitched up her skirts and she ran.
    ‘Stop her!’ She heard the highwayman’s shout. ‘Marianne, no! This place is danger—’ But she slammed the door shut behind her and did not look back.
    She hurled herself down the close, through the gaping main door and out into the street. The clatter of her shoes was loud against the stones, seeming to echo against the crowding walls all around. Shabby clothing hung on washing lines strung high between the houses, flapping dark and grey and damp. Marianne dodged beneath them and kept on running, ignoring the sharp press of the cobbles through her thin leather soles. A quick glance behind and she could see his dark figure further down the street, running so fast that the tails of his greatcoat were spread and billowing behind him like great black wings.
    ‘God help me!’ she whispered and, ignoring the stitch in her side, pushed herself to run faster, knowing that she could not afford to let him catch her. The paving was uneven and covered in filth. A dog snapped at her heels and a woman sitting in a doorway swigging from a bottle shouted something at her and laughed, but she kept on running. She stumbled, almost sprawling her length as she caught her foot in a hole in the road, but righted herself without slowing. Round the corner, she dived up a narrow alleyway to her right and the next one on her left, crisscrossing, desperate to find a way out, but every turn just seemed to take her deeper into the forest of houses.
    The streets were growing narrower and darker, the buildings taller and more rickety; the people she passed were more sharp-faced and beady-eyed. Her breathing was so hard she could taste blood at the back of her throat, so loud that it masked the sounds around her. She knew she could not keep going, that she was spent. She dodged into another narrow street on her right and shrank back against the wall, closing her eyes and gasping air into her lungs. Her side ached like the stab of a knife blade with every breath.
    There was no sound of the highwayman’s footsteps. No sound of anything except the distant hum of everyday life and her own panting breath. She had lost him. She had escaped. She breathed her relief.
    And then the scent of tobacco smoke drifted to her nose and Marianne knew that she was not alone. She opened her eyes and looked around her. A little further up the street, three men lounged completely motionless against the fronts of the houses. Their clothing was all browns and greys, merging with the stonework of the buildings. Two sucked on long thin clay pipes. All three watched her with sharp hungry faces.
    And for all that Marianne had sought to escape the highwayman, she knew these men were different. They would give her no assurances. Their fight was not with her father.
    Her stomach dipped with dread. She made no sudden movement, even though every muscle was primed and tensed to flee. She glanced to her right towards the mouth of the street. Another two men were taking up the breadth of it, silent in their drab dirty clothes, and blocking her exit. There was a hollow sickness in her stomach and her heart was pounding in the base of her throat. She looked to her left, wondering if she stood a chance of running past the men, but a