nodded.
“So there’s another reason why you can’t go back. Vicar Heskett and this Parmley of yours were friends, I hear, and so he’ll pester Skeats and Sheriff Prebble until they do something about it. If the best thing happens and this Isham Leith is arrested on the captain’s evidence, you’ll be found somehow — you’re a missing mother’s son and a stranger in Gwynnford — and hauled in as a witness. Remember: Venable saw
you
on that road, too. Your mother’ll be questioned as an accomplice, whether she had anything to do with the murder or not. And if Leith is questioned but talks himself out of charges, he’ll come looking for you. And there you are.” With another glance at the silent man, Blair added, “I’m telling you all this just to lay out the full course. My friend here says you can stay a day or two until your head’s clear again, ignorant of our names.” Blair paused, then exclaimed, “Bosh! This is useless! How can he know to think hard when there’s nothing for him to think on?”
“He knows our faces,” growled the silent man. But after a moment he said, “All right. Tell him your name.”
Blair rose and doffed his hat. “Rory O’Such. Also Jack Darling, Methuselah Redmagne, and Vivian Crisp, and now Matthew Blair — it all depends on which town I happen to be passing through. At your service.”
Jack Frake blinked. “What name were you born with?” he asked, astounded by the number of names.
“Unfortunately, John Smith. All my efforts to imbue that name with dreadful connotations and romantic allure have failed miserably. Thus, my civil list of preferred
nominae
.”
“Why?”
“To elude capture, to confound the sheriffs and the riding officers of the law, to charm the ladies, but, above all, to entertain myself.”
A stone of thrilling fear seemed to fall from his heart to the pit of hisstomach. Jack Frake turned to face the second man. “And you?”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Osbert Augustus Magnus Skelly,” he said.
“Margrave of Cornwall,” added Smith with respectful irony.
“Why so many names?”
“My parents thought if they gave me great names, I would become a great man.”
“It seems you’ve fulfilled their designs,” remarked Smith.
“They would doubt that, were they still alive,” answered Skelly. He bent down and put his hands on his knees to scowl at the boy. “You
know
who I am, don’t you, lad?”
“Yes, sir. The great smuggler.”
Skelly jerked back to his full height, as though insulted. “I’m that, by one set of mouths. By another, I’m villainous scum, fit only to be flogged and hanged without benefit of clergy.” He grinned. “What do
you
think?”
Jack Frake shrugged. “I don’t know you, so I can’t judge.”
Skelly’s mouth cracked in the suggestion of a smile. “Well, here’s someone who’s master of his own eyes.”
“So I said,” remarked Smith.
“Interview!” said Skelly, turning to his associate. “Feed your scullion, and I’ll talk to him after I’ve settled accounts.” He turned and went through the curtain.
“He wants to talk to you,” said Smith. “Come on. You can wash some of that sleep off your face, and have some stew. You’ll need a full stomach to think hard, and Skelly will give you plenty to think about.”
Jack Frake rose, put on his jacket, and followed Smith through the curtain.
Chapter 9: The Caves
S MUGGLING WAS A MAJOR ENTERPRISE IN EIGHTEENTH CENTURY E NGLAND , a phenomenon created, aided and abetted by a complex array of import and consumption taxes, imposed by a government that wished to promote prosperity and to tax it, too. The import or customs duties were designed to nurture the growth of English industry by adding to the cost of private purchases of foreign-made goods which the government rather wished to be made at home for domestic purchase and export; “consumption” or excise taxes were levied on both English and foreign-made goods for the purpose of
“So there’s another reason why you can’t go back. Vicar Heskett and this Parmley of yours were friends, I hear, and so he’ll pester Skeats and Sheriff Prebble until they do something about it. If the best thing happens and this Isham Leith is arrested on the captain’s evidence, you’ll be found somehow — you’re a missing mother’s son and a stranger in Gwynnford — and hauled in as a witness. Remember: Venable saw
you
on that road, too. Your mother’ll be questioned as an accomplice, whether she had anything to do with the murder or not. And if Leith is questioned but talks himself out of charges, he’ll come looking for you. And there you are.” With another glance at the silent man, Blair added, “I’m telling you all this just to lay out the full course. My friend here says you can stay a day or two until your head’s clear again, ignorant of our names.” Blair paused, then exclaimed, “Bosh! This is useless! How can he know to think hard when there’s nothing for him to think on?”
“He knows our faces,” growled the silent man. But after a moment he said, “All right. Tell him your name.”
Blair rose and doffed his hat. “Rory O’Such. Also Jack Darling, Methuselah Redmagne, and Vivian Crisp, and now Matthew Blair — it all depends on which town I happen to be passing through. At your service.”
Jack Frake blinked. “What name were you born with?” he asked, astounded by the number of names.
“Unfortunately, John Smith. All my efforts to imbue that name with dreadful connotations and romantic allure have failed miserably. Thus, my civil list of preferred
nominae
.”
“Why?”
“To elude capture, to confound the sheriffs and the riding officers of the law, to charm the ladies, but, above all, to entertain myself.”
A stone of thrilling fear seemed to fall from his heart to the pit of hisstomach. Jack Frake turned to face the second man. “And you?”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Osbert Augustus Magnus Skelly,” he said.
“Margrave of Cornwall,” added Smith with respectful irony.
“Why so many names?”
“My parents thought if they gave me great names, I would become a great man.”
“It seems you’ve fulfilled their designs,” remarked Smith.
“They would doubt that, were they still alive,” answered Skelly. He bent down and put his hands on his knees to scowl at the boy. “You
know
who I am, don’t you, lad?”
“Yes, sir. The great smuggler.”
Skelly jerked back to his full height, as though insulted. “I’m that, by one set of mouths. By another, I’m villainous scum, fit only to be flogged and hanged without benefit of clergy.” He grinned. “What do
you
think?”
Jack Frake shrugged. “I don’t know you, so I can’t judge.”
Skelly’s mouth cracked in the suggestion of a smile. “Well, here’s someone who’s master of his own eyes.”
“So I said,” remarked Smith.
“Interview!” said Skelly, turning to his associate. “Feed your scullion, and I’ll talk to him after I’ve settled accounts.” He turned and went through the curtain.
“He wants to talk to you,” said Smith. “Come on. You can wash some of that sleep off your face, and have some stew. You’ll need a full stomach to think hard, and Skelly will give you plenty to think about.”
Jack Frake rose, put on his jacket, and followed Smith through the curtain.
Chapter 9: The Caves
S MUGGLING WAS A MAJOR ENTERPRISE IN EIGHTEENTH CENTURY E NGLAND , a phenomenon created, aided and abetted by a complex array of import and consumption taxes, imposed by a government that wished to promote prosperity and to tax it, too. The import or customs duties were designed to nurture the growth of English industry by adding to the cost of private purchases of foreign-made goods which the government rather wished to be made at home for domestic purchase and export; “consumption” or excise taxes were levied on both English and foreign-made goods for the purpose of
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