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Chapter Sixteen

The cold water sluiced over Richard’s head and neck like a thrill of midnight, and his breath left him in an ardent gasp. 

He should feel shaken, fearful, ashamed. Instead, the water sparkled like brilliants in the dark, and a great vitality flooded his veins, triumphant, glorious. Against the buttons, his prick was hard and insistent. Lifting his face to the stars, Richard drank in air as though it were cool wine on a hot day. 

How long had it been since he had been obeyed so utterly? 

In that moment, pointing the gun, his every muscle had been tight, heavy with the certain knowledge that his actions were righteous, justified. In his mind, hot, wild, had been images of what he might do with his fists, his boots, his prick. Arousal had coursed through him, heady but distant. 

He need do none of it. None of it meant anything compared to the simple fact that he had told the boy to kneel, and the boy had knelt. 
Again, he splashed cold water upon his face, and could not prevent a fierce grin. 

All the grubby frustration of the evening had been rinsed away, all the tight and sensible frustrations of nearly a decade had been washed from him. He had not felt this powerful, this invincible since his father had died, since long before that day. 

There was no urgency, no desperation, no need to make himself mannerly and proper, no need to make himself humble and small.
 Mr Richard Thornton, the modest man of the Treasury, was dead. He had been betrayed, cast out. May he now rest in peace. 

Richard did not need to spend the rest of his days edging around the ruins of that life.

He had lost so much simply to become that man. 

Tonight, it all came flooding back, all the wonders and intoxications which the decent world, the adult world, had stolen from him. 

Even when he had first received his Prefect’s whip, the seeds of that loss were well sown. He had listened dutifully to the lecture he received from the Masters, from Mr Rainworth on every permutation of responsibility, fitting pride, school spirit. None of it, though, not a single hollow word meant a single thing the first time he gave a reprimand, and watched a schoolboy’s face blanche with fear. 

For all its rules, constraints, expectations, the world of school was a lawless sort of place, and the true rule was one of violence and domination. He had, in his turn, suffered under it, but eventually he had risen to command. 

That power was his. 

Perhaps it always had been, and he had needed only to wield it. In the world of rational men, yes, it was a brutal, primitive sort of behaviour, and so Richard had ceased to seek it, to take such pleasures in it. Then had come his father’s death, and slowly, Richard had let the weight of the world convince him that – robbed of wealth, position, influence – he was no longer entitled to authority of any kind. 

But here, in the world beyond the law, the power was granted not by position, or wealth but by the arm, the pistol, the whip. It was a power granted by certainty, of one’s right to take command, to place oneself above those that might subdue one. 

This was the certainty came upon Richard, stark and terrible in the night. 

So, in the courtyard darkness, he waited for the boy. 

For the first time, it was clear to him, as it had never been clear hitherto, that if he wished to revenge himself upon Valance he could not come as some ragged trousered underdog, some laughable challenger with a pistol he could not use, the butt of every joke in a low tavern.

No. 

He must descend upon Valance as a creature of judgement and consequence, a being unconstrained by the strictures of the world.

Besides, was it not to be expected that agents of justice placed themselves outside the constraints of the laws which they enforce? As a Prefect, he had used blows to punish boys for fighting, had confiscated contraband and kept it in his own possession. In endorsing his command, the authorities of the school had winked at that which – strictly – would be called misconduct, so long as it made wretches like Valance toe the line.

Surely, then, the same held true in this greater court, when he answered to superiors more elevated than mere school masters, answered to nothing less than divine providence? Surely he was entitled use any means to achieve his ends – rescuing his Serafina from infamy, and punishing the man who had wounded them both?

To do that, he would need money, lodgings, the ability to get close to Valance undetected. 

Therefore, he waited in the still, cold night. 

It was some time before he heard the footsteps scuffing across the cobbles. Richard’s eyes had long since accustomed themselves to the dark, so he was able to watch the stable-hand slope in to the yard, while he himself remained little more than a shadow.

For all that, the boy stopped, hesitating, some distance from Richard. 
When the silence had stretched for some seconds, Richard said, “I have changed my mind.”

The boy moved, sudden, defensive. 

“I still have your knife, my boy, and my pistols, so whatever you’re planning: don’t.”

A shift that might have been a nod.

“You are not going to do anything foolish. I only need raise my voice in order to summon assistance.”

“Aye, but I can do the same.” 

“Indeed. But I don’t believe you will. After all, anything you say is my word against yours, and this time, you don’t have me at quite so much of a disadvantage.”

No response.

“Therefore, I see no reason why we shouldn’t talk like civilised beings. Or, at least, as close to it as you can manage.”

“Int nothing I want t’say to you, sir.”

“Then you can listen. The thing is, my boy, I find myself in need of a valet.”

The sound of spitting. “What’s it to do with me?”

Richard permitted himself a little laugh. “You seem an enterprising sort of lad, I thought you’d welcome the promotion.”

“I int in the market for none o’ that. Int no Mary Ann.”

“No, you just sham at being one, I understand the distinction. Rest assured I have no further interest in your physical charms. I shan’t even say that I’ve taken a liking to you. It is merely that I find myself in need of the services of someone with your peculiar talents.”

“I said, I int a Mary Ann.” 

“No, but you are devious, vicious, and singularly lacking in scruples. Would you dispute that?”

“If you didn’t have pistols, sir, I wouldn’t hear owt you was saying.”

Richard laughed again, “But I do have a gun. And what is more, I am offering you the hand of friendship, when by rights I should be dragging you before your employer to inform him that his stable brat attempted to rob me. Does that not warrant even a shred of gratitude?”

“Can’t say as it does.”

“Even though I’m offering you a position?”

“What, and it’ll pay more’n I get working here?”

“Oh, I doubt it. Nevertheless, I believe you’ll find it in you to accept it.”

“Why’s that, then?”

“Because I can have you dismissed without reference.”

“You got nowt on me, sir. We just standing, talking friendly, like.”

“So we are. And, naturally, I am the first traveller you have accosted in this way, and the first time anything has gone amiss with your little scheme… You’re quite safe - should any of your victims complain, doubtless your employers would trust you implicitly.”

There was the sound of breath being drawn in, slowly, angry. 

“With you being such a trustworthy and well-liked fellow.”

“All right, sir.”

“Then you accept my offer?”

“Looks as if I int got a choice in it.”

“Of course you have a choice, my lad. You enter my employ, or I go and have a quiet word with the proprietors about your conduct.” Again, Richard smiled. “What is your name?”

“George.”

“Your surname.”

“Pennyworth.”

“Well, Pennyworth, I suggest you get some rest. I will want my horse at six tomorrow, and shall discuss your notice with the landlord then.”
There was the grunted sound of assent. 

“No,” Richard corrected, “You say, ‘Will that be all, sir?’”

“Will that be all, sir?” said Pennyworth, spitting it out as though it were poison.

“Yes, Pennyworth,” Richard said, “That will be all. Six sharp, now. Don’t forget.”