The Lion's Courtship: An Anna Kronberg Mystery by Annelie Wendeberg Page B

strikes at the whipping frame as though the beast needed testing. Garret knows this is done to initiate the terror. Pain comes eagerly when fear is there to welcome it.
    The hangman nods at Garret and asks him to take his shirt off before he ties his hands to the wooden frame.  
    How considerate , thinks Garret. At least, more tears are unlikely to be added to the many his once-best shirt has already received in this godforsaken place. A week ago, he sold his jacket in exchange for food. His boots would have been next, but luckily it hadn’t come to that.
    The first swish bites through the air and catches on Garret’s back. One drawn-out lightning of pain.  
    Two.  
    Three.  
    Four. His skin is growing raw, as though it’s about to peel off his back. Now, the cat’s tails feel more like flames than leather. She licks him again and again.  
    Fifteen.  
    Sixteen. Ah! Even his toes hurt with every lash. Garret clenches his teeth. Make no sound! he commands his throat.  
    Twenty-one. His lips vibrate with the grunt he cannot hold in. Every limb begins to quiver.
    ‘Lay it on fair, will ya?’ he squeezes through his teeth.  
    Twenty-eight.  
    Twenty-nine.  
    One more. Ah!  
    The hangman releases Garret’s wrists. Steadying himself on the frame, fighting to remain upright, he squares his shoulders, nods at the man with the whip, and is escorted out of Newgate.
    It takes him over an hour to reach his quarters. All the while, he swears to himself to be more careful next time. For her, at least.  
    Thoughts of the fragile woman, her softness when he holds her hand, her determination that could scare the devil, made his days in Newgate more bearable and harder at the same time. He was worried about her. She couldn’t know where he was and she’d surely try to find Poppy and run into danger.
    Two weeks in this sick place, without money to bribe the warden — all he received as food was mouldy crusts of bread. His stature protected him from violence, but every day he stood at the gates, with his hands stretched through the bars to beg for food. He often went hungry, for he didn’t appear as wretched as all others. One week into prison life, he felt so weak he was not sure he could fend off the other inmates any longer.  
    Luck came in the shape of a pickpocket who possessed a few coins and was in need of a bodyguard. His life for Garret’s, protection in exchange for food and drink. The man had already found a replacement when Garret met the cat.
    The latch key scrapes through the keyhole, his hand trembles. He has nothing to drink here, not even a slice of dry bread. He drops onto the mattress with a low thud, thinking that he’ll rest a little before he hunts down something to eat, and perhaps even an ale.

    He sees her crossing the street, jumping over mule manure, the hems of her skirts dancing around her ankles. Her head tilts as she spots him. Is it mistrust that narrows her eyes? he wonders.  
    ‘Oy, Anna!’ he calls. She stops her stride when he walks up to her.
    ‘Hello.’ She sounds as though she is disappointed to see him.  
    His mouth sags. ‘I took a vacation.’ Her left eyebrow pulls up. ‘In Newgate,’ he adds.
    ‘Why?’ A heavy voice, almost bored.
    That she’s obviously not happy to see him hurts more than his back. Her face is unusually still; no emotions flit across it.  
    ‘I’m a thief. You forgot that?’
    ‘How come you let yourself be caught?’
    ‘Let myself…be caught?’ Garret puffs up his cheeks and looks up at the sky, searching for words in the white-and-blue. He exhales, tells his heart to shut up, turns away, and lets her stand on the pavement. He is in no mood for a sharp retort. All he wants is to go home and digest his early dinner with a good long nap.
    He’s barely closed the door to his room when he hears a knock. A timid one, almost apologetic. One from delicate knuckles on worn wood. He opens and sees her face. Curiously, that face looks more tired than