the ground. He split open my head and blood flowed down my face and neck. The blood and my lifeless appearance saved me from the bayonet that would surely have followed. But when I saw what lay around me, I began to wish I had been killed.
“My mother, who had never harmed anyone in her life, was dead. My lovely sister... my father, who taught me to hunt and to fish... my friends, my whole village— all dead. All dead. All dead. . . .” Tonsahoten broke off from his story and hung his head.
“I’m sorry for it,” said Tom after a little while, but still the Mohawk did not reply. They sat in silence for several minutes until Tonsahoten finally spoke again.
“I tell you all this so that you will leave this hunt. Shepton is the man you seek, but he is mine, promised to me by my oath. Nothing must stand in my way.” The words hung in the air between them, part threat, part warning. Then the Mohawk took a quick look around and said, “Come, I will see you safely home.”
Tonsahoten replaced his wig and hat and carried Tom down from the high beam. As they walked through the city, the Mohawk kept his head bowed to hide the markings on his face. His bow and arrows were in a long leather bag thrown over one shoulder. He was far less noticeable than many of the strange inhabitants of the City of London.
When they reached the alleyway leading to the Lamb and Lion printing house, Tonsahoten bid Tom farewell. He turned to leave but, as he did so, his way was blocked and four pistols were pointed at his head. Tom suddenly saw that Dr. Harker was standing nearby with his father.
“I am Under-marshal Hitchin,” said one of the men. “You are under arrest.” He struck Tonsahoten in the stomach with a short staff.
“No!” shouted Tom. “Don’t hurt him!”
“What do we have here?” said Hitchin, ignoring Tom and pulling off the Mohawk’s wig. “Some sort of cannibal, here in our fair city.”
The Mohawk stared impassively into Hitchin’s eyes and the under-marshal moved to hit him again.
“Execute your duties fairly or the mayor will hear of it,” warned Dr. Harker.
Hitchin did not acknowledge the doctor, but he did not hit the Mohawk again. “Take him away,” he said with a smile, then tipped his hat at Tom’s father. “Mr. Marlowe.” He turned to Tom. “Master Marlowe. You continue to keep strange company. I shall have to keep my eye on you.”
“Don’t you dare to talk to my son like that!” said Mr. Marlowe.
“My apologies if I caused any offense. To be sure, this savage is a vast improvement on that flea-bait Piggot.”
Tom lurched forward but his father caught him by the arm. Hitchin smiled again and walked away as Tonsahoten was put in chains and thrown into a carriage bound for Newgate.
Dr. Harker stepped forward and greeted Tom with relief. “Your father sent for a constable when I told him you’d gone missing. We feared for your life. Hitchin got to hear of it and wanted to grab some glory. What a vile creature he is. I think I shall be keeping
my
eye on
him
.”
“Thank God you’re safe at any rate, Tom,” said Mr. Marlowe. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“I’m fine, Father,” said Tom, watching the carriage disappear into the distance. What was going to become of the Mohawk now?
BOUND FOR ENGLAND
Tom and Dr. Harker took their place in the line outside Newgate prison. As always, it contained a motley collection of people. They paid their entrance money and stepped into the raucous world of the Common Ward.
Inmates and their visitors were drinking at the bar, and a fight was erupting in the corner over a game of dice. Pigeons cooed from their perches and flitted in and out of the open windows. A pig trotted past, chased by a one-eyed dog.
A flight of stairs took them to the Stone Hold, where they found the Mohawk crouched in the gloom. His feet and hands were manacled and chained to the floor, his head was bare, and he stared ahead with a fixed expression. He did not
“My mother, who had never harmed anyone in her life, was dead. My lovely sister... my father, who taught me to hunt and to fish... my friends, my whole village— all dead. All dead. All dead. . . .” Tonsahoten broke off from his story and hung his head.
“I’m sorry for it,” said Tom after a little while, but still the Mohawk did not reply. They sat in silence for several minutes until Tonsahoten finally spoke again.
“I tell you all this so that you will leave this hunt. Shepton is the man you seek, but he is mine, promised to me by my oath. Nothing must stand in my way.” The words hung in the air between them, part threat, part warning. Then the Mohawk took a quick look around and said, “Come, I will see you safely home.”
Tonsahoten replaced his wig and hat and carried Tom down from the high beam. As they walked through the city, the Mohawk kept his head bowed to hide the markings on his face. His bow and arrows were in a long leather bag thrown over one shoulder. He was far less noticeable than many of the strange inhabitants of the City of London.
When they reached the alleyway leading to the Lamb and Lion printing house, Tonsahoten bid Tom farewell. He turned to leave but, as he did so, his way was blocked and four pistols were pointed at his head. Tom suddenly saw that Dr. Harker was standing nearby with his father.
“I am Under-marshal Hitchin,” said one of the men. “You are under arrest.” He struck Tonsahoten in the stomach with a short staff.
“No!” shouted Tom. “Don’t hurt him!”
“What do we have here?” said Hitchin, ignoring Tom and pulling off the Mohawk’s wig. “Some sort of cannibal, here in our fair city.”
The Mohawk stared impassively into Hitchin’s eyes and the under-marshal moved to hit him again.
“Execute your duties fairly or the mayor will hear of it,” warned Dr. Harker.
Hitchin did not acknowledge the doctor, but he did not hit the Mohawk again. “Take him away,” he said with a smile, then tipped his hat at Tom’s father. “Mr. Marlowe.” He turned to Tom. “Master Marlowe. You continue to keep strange company. I shall have to keep my eye on you.”
“Don’t you dare to talk to my son like that!” said Mr. Marlowe.
“My apologies if I caused any offense. To be sure, this savage is a vast improvement on that flea-bait Piggot.”
Tom lurched forward but his father caught him by the arm. Hitchin smiled again and walked away as Tonsahoten was put in chains and thrown into a carriage bound for Newgate.
Dr. Harker stepped forward and greeted Tom with relief. “Your father sent for a constable when I told him you’d gone missing. We feared for your life. Hitchin got to hear of it and wanted to grab some glory. What a vile creature he is. I think I shall be keeping
my
eye on
him
.”
“Thank God you’re safe at any rate, Tom,” said Mr. Marlowe. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“I’m fine, Father,” said Tom, watching the carriage disappear into the distance. What was going to become of the Mohawk now?
BOUND FOR ENGLAND
Tom and Dr. Harker took their place in the line outside Newgate prison. As always, it contained a motley collection of people. They paid their entrance money and stepped into the raucous world of the Common Ward.
Inmates and their visitors were drinking at the bar, and a fight was erupting in the corner over a game of dice. Pigeons cooed from their perches and flitted in and out of the open windows. A pig trotted past, chased by a one-eyed dog.
A flight of stairs took them to the Stone Hold, where they found the Mohawk crouched in the gloom. His feet and hands were manacled and chained to the floor, his head was bare, and he stared ahead with a fixed expression. He did not
Similar Books
