corner where you can hand yourself in. Otherwise, we’re getting out of London with money that did not originally belong to me, but our need is greater than theirs, do you see?”
It was, in that moment, all too tempting to head for the police station. Ben clenched his fists. “No more of it. Once we’re out of London, no more stealing.”
“As you wish,” Jonah snapped, in anything but an accommodating tone. “Meanwhile, let’s get on a train, shall we?”
It wasn’t just all the things done, and the things yet to be said lying between them, Ben realised. It was fear. He was so tightly tensed it hurt to move his shoulders, and though Jonah affected his usual casual stance, Ben knew that terror was gripping him too. The white girders of Paddington Station’s roof arched over them in a metal spiderweb, and he had a sudden, appalling vision of the justiciar Saint perched above him, waiting to drop. He had to restrain himself from craning his neck to look up.
Instead he bought food with the stolen money, slabs of veal pie, buns and plum dough, and bottles of ale as well, and the serving girl did not hold up the note and cry him a thief. She grumbled about making change and found him a paper sack, and he met Jonah in the middle of the platform laden with spoils.
“There’s a train to Gloucester leaving in fourteen minutes,” Jonah announced. “So we’re going there.”
The train was not busy. To Ben’s surprise, Jonah waved him into a second-class carriage, and an empty, comfortable compartment.
“Why aren’t we travelling third?” he asked. “It’s a waste of money, and I don’t look—respectable.”
“Leave that to me,” Jonah assured him. “Really, it’ll be—oh, bother.” That was as the door opened and a fussy-looking man in a suit entered, putting his newspaper on the seat. Jonah smiled at him and leaned over to touch his hand as he said, clearly, “Now, listen, you don’t want to sit in here.” The man mumbled an awkward excuse and backed out, leaving the paper in his haste to get away.
“How did you do that?” Ben demanded. “Did you affect his thoughts?”
Jonah shrugged. “We need privacy.”
“Yes, but—”
“But we need privacy. He can sit somewhere else.”
“You can’t just shape the world to your own convenience like that,” Ben protested.
“What does it matter where he sits?—No, listen to me, you don’t want to come in,” Jonah added to a young man fumbling at the door. “Goodness, it’s like Piccadilly Circus.”
“It matters because…it’s wrong, that’s why.”
“Oh, well, wrong ,” Jonah said dismissively.
“But—” Ben gave up, for the moment, and sat back in silence, until at last the train jolted away with a cloud of steam and a screech of metal. The ticket inspector came in a few moments later, and Jonah handed over the scraps of pasteboard.
“What’s this, now?” demanded the inspector. “These are third-class—”
“Second class.” Jonah’s hand snaked out to the inspector’s fingers. “Listen to me. Second class, and you don’t need to disturb us, for any reason.”
“Very good, sir.” The inspector touched his cap and departed.
Jonah pulled the door closed. “Now, don’t fuss. You were quite right about husbanding our money, especially if you’re going to make difficulties about replenishing the funds.”
“I’m happy to have third-class tickets and sit in third.”
“I’m not,” Jonah said. “It’s uncomfortable, and we wouldn’t get any quiet, and does it really matter?”
“It seems to me that it’s all of a piece. You’re not honest, Jonah.”
Jonah’s cheeks reddened, just a little, but he gave a careless shrug. “Perhaps not. Well, no. If you want to be provincial about it.”
“I am provincial,” Ben said grimly. “I’m a provincial copper, or I was, till a few months ago. And if you’ve got an explanation of why I’m not one any more, I’d like to hear it now. No excuses, no
It was, in that moment, all too tempting to head for the police station. Ben clenched his fists. “No more of it. Once we’re out of London, no more stealing.”
“As you wish,” Jonah snapped, in anything but an accommodating tone. “Meanwhile, let’s get on a train, shall we?”
It wasn’t just all the things done, and the things yet to be said lying between them, Ben realised. It was fear. He was so tightly tensed it hurt to move his shoulders, and though Jonah affected his usual casual stance, Ben knew that terror was gripping him too. The white girders of Paddington Station’s roof arched over them in a metal spiderweb, and he had a sudden, appalling vision of the justiciar Saint perched above him, waiting to drop. He had to restrain himself from craning his neck to look up.
Instead he bought food with the stolen money, slabs of veal pie, buns and plum dough, and bottles of ale as well, and the serving girl did not hold up the note and cry him a thief. She grumbled about making change and found him a paper sack, and he met Jonah in the middle of the platform laden with spoils.
“There’s a train to Gloucester leaving in fourteen minutes,” Jonah announced. “So we’re going there.”
The train was not busy. To Ben’s surprise, Jonah waved him into a second-class carriage, and an empty, comfortable compartment.
“Why aren’t we travelling third?” he asked. “It’s a waste of money, and I don’t look—respectable.”
“Leave that to me,” Jonah assured him. “Really, it’ll be—oh, bother.” That was as the door opened and a fussy-looking man in a suit entered, putting his newspaper on the seat. Jonah smiled at him and leaned over to touch his hand as he said, clearly, “Now, listen, you don’t want to sit in here.” The man mumbled an awkward excuse and backed out, leaving the paper in his haste to get away.
“How did you do that?” Ben demanded. “Did you affect his thoughts?”
Jonah shrugged. “We need privacy.”
“Yes, but—”
“But we need privacy. He can sit somewhere else.”
“You can’t just shape the world to your own convenience like that,” Ben protested.
“What does it matter where he sits?—No, listen to me, you don’t want to come in,” Jonah added to a young man fumbling at the door. “Goodness, it’s like Piccadilly Circus.”
“It matters because…it’s wrong, that’s why.”
“Oh, well, wrong ,” Jonah said dismissively.
“But—” Ben gave up, for the moment, and sat back in silence, until at last the train jolted away with a cloud of steam and a screech of metal. The ticket inspector came in a few moments later, and Jonah handed over the scraps of pasteboard.
“What’s this, now?” demanded the inspector. “These are third-class—”
“Second class.” Jonah’s hand snaked out to the inspector’s fingers. “Listen to me. Second class, and you don’t need to disturb us, for any reason.”
“Very good, sir.” The inspector touched his cap and departed.
Jonah pulled the door closed. “Now, don’t fuss. You were quite right about husbanding our money, especially if you’re going to make difficulties about replenishing the funds.”
“I’m happy to have third-class tickets and sit in third.”
“I’m not,” Jonah said. “It’s uncomfortable, and we wouldn’t get any quiet, and does it really matter?”
“It seems to me that it’s all of a piece. You’re not honest, Jonah.”
Jonah’s cheeks reddened, just a little, but he gave a careless shrug. “Perhaps not. Well, no. If you want to be provincial about it.”
“I am provincial,” Ben said grimly. “I’m a provincial copper, or I was, till a few months ago. And if you’ve got an explanation of why I’m not one any more, I’d like to hear it now. No excuses, no
Similar Books
