Aleksey acknowledged there wasn’t all that much difference between a safe place and a trap when you thought about it.
They were a bit stuck now. There were enough of these men to rotate a permanent watch. Could they starve them out?
He realised it was time to confront the munchkin.
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The little man wasn’t a child, as Aleksey had first thought when he’d seen the back of him in his sou’wester, but appeared almost elderly. It was actually hard to judge, for he had an ageless quality about him. He was pottering around the galley, muttering to himself when Aleksey and Ben ducked beneath the lintel and came in. The very act of having to bend their heads was indicative of the different between them all, and Aleksey was reminded of his entry to Tim’s farmhouse for the party, the feeling of just how much he and Ben dominated any room. Now, the contrast between them all was almost painful, and so he went immediately to the table and sat down, Ben doing the same.
‘Hello.’ It seemed a good start to him.
The little man was dressed in a warm fisherman’s jersey and old trousers that were held securely by a frayed leather belt and rolled many times at the ankle. He had grey hair, which was longish and combed over and patted down in a neat, but slightly eccentric fashion. Out of the boots he’d been wearing, he now had tartan slippers on, and some of the shuffling appeared to be because these were too big for him.
Aleksey glanced at Ben and flicked his head: your turn.
Ben gave him a slightly snarky glare. ‘My name’s Ben. This is Nik—Aleksey. What’s your name?’
‘Billynomates.’
Ben pursed his lips, narrowed his eyes, and repeated quietly to himself with a frown, ‘Billy no mates?’
The little man was shyly eyeing Aleksey’s face, and he muttered, ‘Mum’ll fix that for you when she gets back. Mum always makes nasty bumps go away.’ He had a strong Cornish accent and spoke slowly, articulating each word with difficulty.
‘Your mother is coming? Here?’ Aleksey glanced at Ben, mystified. ‘Why did you open the door, Billy? And help us?’
‘Bad men.’
Aleksey thought this summed it up pretty nicely.
‘Well now the bad men have got us trapped. I don’t suppose you have a…gun?’
The little man turned from his pottering with a wide beaming smile that made Ben immediately grin in response, and the odd thought crossed Aleksey’s mind that smiles could be infectious, too, and that therefore not all contagions were bad. It seemed a good thing to remember, given the current situation. ‘Nottrapped. Comes and goes as he pleases, does Billynomates.’
Ben turned to him and stressed in a low voice, ‘Then we have to go. Now. This isn’t over and we can’t lose our momentum.’ Aleksey couldn’t actually remember any momentum from them; all he recalled of the last few hours was running and hiding and nearly being forced to end it together in one great last plummet to their deaths. But as he’d been falling since the moment in Hereford fifteen years before when he’d first seen Ben’s face, that end had seemed oddly fitting to him.
Aleksey could see deeply suppressed emotion in Ben’s stunning eyes now—his worry for Molly, his terrible fear that these men could still harm her, despite the scuttling of their boat. Aleksey could tell that Ben had still not grasped the true nature of their situation: Molly would be only one tiny casualty in a world of horror should this plague get released. But it was always the best motivation to get someone to fight: personal concern. There wasn’t a soldier alive who’d ever really fought for political abstractions: they fought for their mates and for love.
These men needed killing, and Aleksey could see the desire to get this job done in Ben’s expression.
He rose to his feet.
Their tiny respite was over.
‘Can you show us how you come and go then…Billy?’
‘Got slippers on now. Can’t go down with slippers on, silly.’
Aleksey was used to being called this, but it almost broke his heart to have her brought into his mind. The little boat carrying them all to safety had not been visible, even from the top of the lighthouse. He could not even fathom what it must be like for them all jammed into that cabin, tossed on the swells. He thought once more of Harry and the moron standing side by side, bracing to the storm, and an interesting thought flickered across his mind that he pushed to one side immediately. He didn’t have the capacity to worry about anything else. Just as he was ducking to go back under the low stone arch of the doorway, he saw carved into the lintel the wordsFor Those In Peril On the Sea. Words written on a bench at Hartland Quay for a dead man who had now come back to life. This resurrected man’s words, oft quoted.
Round and round on the same carrousel, events and now even prayers. Sometimes, he reflected, it was very hard to not believe.
Ben crouched down so he was more eye level with Billy and said in his no-nonsense, Molly’s-dad voice, ‘Let’s take them off and leave them safely here, and then you can put your boots on again.’
‘And coat.’
‘Yes, good idea. Maybe your hat as well? Come on then. These are very bad man and I need to…my little girl needs me.’
