The King's Man Read Online Free PDF Page B

on their hats and shoulders but melted before reaching the slushy filth of the ground.
    "Well, your damned luck hasn't changed,” Dutton remarked, swaying to one side of the road. Kit took his arm and propelled him back in a straight line. Dutton was a heavyset man some years older than he was. As with the rest of the company at the Ship Inn, the recent conflicts had dealt ill with him. He had lost his home and family, and the war had left him embittered and penniless and with a fondness for wine that loosened his tongue and made him dangerous.
    "Plenty of time in the Clink to hone my skills. You should try it some time,” Kit said.
    "Prison!” Dutton spat into the gutter. “I did. Remember those stinking cells after Worcester?"
    Kit suppressed a shudder. There were some memories he preferred not to recall. “Tomorrow night, Dutton? You and me, a couple of comely wenches...?"
    Dutton stopped in the middle of the street, swaying slightly. “Tomorrow ... No, tomorrow I must go away."
    Kit deftly caught the man as he staggered forward. “So where are you off to then, Dutton?"
    Dutton tapped the side of his nose and gave Kit a heavy, conspiratorial wink. “Secret."
    "Good God man, we don't have secrets from each other. Look at all we've been through. Remember Naseby? Damn it, you saved my life that day.” This was so far from the truth as to be almost the opposite but Dutton's wine-soaked mind would remember what he wanted.
    "Oh yes, my friend, I remember Naseby and Worcester. Can't forget Worcester."
    "That's right. God's death Dutton, we've been through a lot together."
    They had reached Dutton's squalid lodgings. Kit helped him up the stairs and set him down on the bed, pulling off the scuffed and shabby boots. The stench of Dutton's feet made his lip curl.
    "So where did you say you were going tomorrow?” he asked.
    Dutton lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. He patted his jacket. “All over. Letters to deliver. Tell you next meeting."
    "Let's get that jacket off you then."
    Kit hauled Dutton's bulk up and undid the jacket. Dutton let himself be ministered to and when Kit had pulled his arms from the jacket he fell back on his bed, snoring stentoriously.
    Kit jerked the covers over the man and pulled the letters from the jacket. Dutton was known to be a fool and only other fools would entrust him with such a mission.
    There were twelve letters sealed with a plain seal and addressed to well known royalists in the neighboring counties. Kit looked at the names and shook his head in disbelief. If these men had any sense they would give Dutton short shrift.
    He heated his knife over the candle and slid it under the seal of one of the letters. The signature was that of a Robert West. Not a name known to Kit but he doubted it was real. The message read simply that their uncle was anxious for news and hoped that the recipient would be able to join him soon as the time was almost upon them.
    Really , Kit thought as he carefully resealed the letter, they made a poor fist of using code . The meaning was plain to even the most untrained observer; “uncle” was a thinly veiled reference to the King, although he doubted Charles knew anything about this latest scheme.
    His unfortunate sojourn in the Clink meant he had some catching up to do. He scoured Dutton's room and found a pen and some paper and carefully copied the message and the names of the recipients. When he was done, he resealed and replaced the letter with its companions and blew out the candle. He cast poor, stupid Dutton a regretful glance and slipped from the room.

Three
    Every time the door to the taproom opened, Thamsine looked around in anticipation. It had been a week since she had last seen Kit Lovell, and as the other men slipped into the private parlor, she knew tonight he would come.
    Nan passed her with two full jacks of ale. “You're like a she-cat on heat,” she remarked. “He'll be here soon enough. In the meantime go and make yourself useful.