Flight of the Earls by Michael K. Reynolds Page B

not to blame,” she said.
    â€œNot long when he came to port, Pence saw ’em being met by the O’Donnell brothers.”
    â€œWho are they?”
    â€œThieves of the worst sort,” Pence said. “Swindling the farmies is sport to ’em. Cruel as you can imagine.”
    â€œWhat was Seamus doing here?” Pierce said.
    â€œCards. Bones. Games of chance. Doesn’t matter. Just a cat toying with the mouse. Not sure why they don’t rob ’em and be done with it.”
    Pierce put his hand on his forehead. “He had all of our passage fare.”
    â€œDon’t even whisper that,” Clare said. “The trip will be ruined.”
    â€œWe’ll be finished. We got to take it back.”
    The boy grabbed him by the arm. “You didn’t hear Pence. He might be dead, and you’ll be too. As well as Miss Clare.”
    Just then the wooden door of the building creaked open, and two men with lanterns argued as they headed toward them.
    â€œHide!” Pence whispered urgently. “They’re coming.”
    Pierce ushered Clare toward a crevice in the alleyway, which offered barely enough space for them to tuck in with their packs. Once settled, Clare was horrified to see Pence reclining against the wall with his arms folded, the pack he was carrying for her beside him.
    The rancor approached.
    â€œYou’re a liar and you always have been. There was no less than twenty quid on the table the other day, and if Billy knew you pinched him, he’d run you through and pull out your guts. I’m inclining to tell ’em meself.”
    The two figures rounded the corner into view, illuminated by the lantern held by the man who was speaking; who was stocky, bald, and raven faced.
    â€œWho goes there?” he said, startled by Pence. “Why are you lurking about?”
    â€œIt’s just the orphan boy,” said the other man, whose face was scarred from eye to lip.
    â€œIt’s just Pence, Mr. O’Donnell,” the boy said to the bald man while stepping into their light.
    Mr. O’Donnell grasped Pence by the collar and put a knife to his neck. “Wanna join your mam and pa?”
    Clare could feel Pierce’s muscles tensing, and she held him back with all her strength while fighting her own instinct to leap to the boy’s defense.
    â€œI’m just here to collect what’s due,” the boy said with surprising calm.
    Mr. O’Donnell spat out a hacking laugh at Pence’s gravitas. “Due to you? We owe you something, laddie?”
    â€œNo sir.” Pence edged his neck away from the blade. “It’s the farmie. The man named Seamus. He owes five pence, he does.”
    â€œIs that so?” Mr. O’Donnell grinned as he put his knife in his pocket. “What’s in the pack?”
    â€œIt belongs to the farmie. Pence is keeping it ’til he pays.”
    Mr. O’Donnell snickered and with a wave the scarred man grabbed the pack. “We’ll help you keep him honest, laddie.”
    Clare sighed deeply. Her entire life was in that bag. But it was the least of her worries.
    â€œWould you mind tellin’ me where Pence can find him then?”
    The scarred man knocked Pence’s hat off. “We’ll ask the questions.”
    â€œAh. We’ll give you that, orphan,” Mr. O’Donnell said. “For a few pence, ’tis all.”
    â€œThat’s what he owes me.” Pence seemed conflicted but relented, pulling out a leather pouch and beginning to count out some coins before it was yanked from his grasp.
    â€œThe fee went up a wee bit, if you don’t mind.” The bald man nodded to his companion, who flung Clare’s pack over his shoulder. They departed, passing the nook where Clare and Pierce cowered breathlessly.
    After a few steps Mr. O’Connell shouted back to Pence, his voice echoing through the alleyway. “My brothers took your boy for a