Angels

already been working hard piling up the debris and sweeping the piles of paper, flowers, flags and anything else that the crowd had dropped, towards the refuse carts placed at regular intervals along the road. Other groups of men and women were lifting the rubbish into the rear of the carts to be taken away.

  'In fairness to them,' Cromwell said, 'they have made a good start. I would have though that they should be finished well before midnight.'

  'That would indeed be a good shift, Lieutenant,' Winterburne agreed.

  The sun had dropped low on the horizon and Winterburne estimated that there was only about twenty minutes of day light left. It would soon be time to get back and finish up for the day.

  'So, is everything in order at the Watch House?' he asked.

  Cromwell nodded. 'It is,' he said. 'Most of the men have been dismissed to their homes and the Night Watch has taken over. It’s a double shift for them, which is always hard, but the men are willing enough. It's not often that we get a day like this one so it's exciting for most of them, and there'll be plenty of chatter to keep them going all through the shift, I'd say.'

  'Try not to be too tough on them, though. They've worked hard today.' That was especially true if the aching of Winterburne's own feet gave any indication as to how his men felt. He was already looking forward to climbing into his bed and he yawned as he thought about it.

  The two men continued walking and before long they found themselves on the harbourside. Small groups of people were still hanging around and Winterburne guessed that their main topic of conversation would be the events of the day.

  'I was just thinking,' Cromwell said. 'I could do with a mug of soup from that stall down there. Want to join me?'

  Winterburne nodded. 'Go on then.'

  Around them, the cleaning duty continued on with their work. At the edge of the harbour, opposite the East Road, the owner of the soup stand had lifted one of the two large copper urns off the fire, emptied after the day's events, as she was packing up for the evening. The two men ordered their soup from the woman on the stall, who seemed grateful for the last minute business, then carried on walking a little until they reached the pier wall.

  Winterburne looked out to sea where the sky had now become very dark and storm clouds were moving in from the west. The sun had vanished behind their mass as they pillowed up into the evening sky but streams of light still lit the edges of the cloud and the bright halo painted them quite a sight. The daylight was now almost done and as he took a deep breath of the sea air he could smell the distinct aroma that always seemed to accompany imminent thunder.

  'By the look of that sky,' Winterburne said, 'I'm guessing that we have the mother of all storms on its way.'

  Cromwell looked over in the same direction but did not reply. He seemed to be deep in thought. 'You know, Sir,' he said, eventually, 'I hope you don't mind me asking a personal question, but I never really understood why you came to Highport.'

  Winterburne looked around at Cromwell, surprised by the unexpected probing from the man. 'Where did that come from?' he asked. Since the incident with the officer at the South Gate his Lieutenant was finding a new courage from somewhere.

  'Well,' Cromwell said, 'you have lands, Sir, and a title given to you, but you choose not to use it.'

  Winterburne looked down at his soup, then took another mouthful. The bitter taste of the concoction was heavy on his tongue. 'Heaven knows what's in this,' he said, 'but it must be the dregs of the last three days brew, scraped from the bottom of the pan.'

  'It's not the best she's ever made.' Cromwell agreed.

  Cromwell was still looking across at Winterburne and he sensed that he was not going to let the topic of his private life go by just yet and without some sort of answer.

  'I just never understood why you stayed,' Cromwell continued. 'Not when you could go back home to those things and all the luxury you would have enjoyed.'

  Winterburne looked back out to sea. He sighed as he watched the approaching clouds, the wind bringing them ever closer. 'It’s complicated, Milo,' he replied. 'Right now, with everything that's going on, it doesn't feel like the most important thing that we should be thinking about.'

  'Well, I think it's odd, Sir,' Cromwell said. 'And I'm not the only one who thinks so too. It’s a strange thing to do. Most people could only wish that they might have what you had. I just wondered why you decided to give it all up.'

  'Sometimes,' Winterburne replied, 'a new life is easier to cope with than an old one. There were so few reasons to stay, and Highport was full of possibilities.'

  'I'm still not sure I understand. It must have been a difficult decision swapping being the Lord of the Manor for this place. Highport has its good points, sometimes, but no one can say that it's the most beautiful place in the world.'

  'That's true enough.' Winterburne smirked. He searched his mind for the best way to explain his answer. 'When my mother and father were killed,' he said, 'I mean my birth parents, I was lucky enough to be adopted by a good man, and a good family.'

  He really had no idea where this discussion was going, but he supposed there was no harm in sharing some of his thoughts with Cromwell. 'They did their best to make me feel a part of their family, but I never did really feel at home there. I tried, but I always felt empty, out of place.

  'I tried to forget about my previous life, the village, and all my friends, but it was hard. For a long time my adoptive brother and I never got along. Why would we? I was the cuckoo in the nest, after all. He saw me as a threat, rightly so as it turned out, and took out his resentment on me, to the fullest.'

  'You mean you were bullied?'

  Winterburne nodded. 'I never complained, though,' he said. 'What was the point? So, when he had his accident, and I was told that I would be made the new heir to Lord Winterburne's estates, that put me in a difficult position.'

  'Why?'

  'Well,' Winterburne continued, 'I was ceded the lands and title even though Lord Winterburne's first born was very much alive. I can only imagine how that felt for him.'

  'I didn't know that part,' Cromwell replied. 'What happened?'

  'When his Lordship died, I tried to gift the title back to my brother, but under Imperial Law that is not possible. The law says that the title can only be passed on through death, unless some other factor comes in to play that means that the line is broken. The Emperor decides, based on the case presented by the petitioners, so even then it must be with good reason. Lord Winterburne invoked the clause in his will and the Emperor deemed that Robert was not a fit enough person to succeed him, at least not while the alternative was perfectly acceptable to the state.'

  'You?'

  'Me.'

  Winterburne paused, the memories of that time were still painful to him, as if the events had happened only yesterday. 'It is irrevocable law and cannot be reversed. My brother and I did not always get on when were children, but even so I never thought that fair. So, to balance the scales, I gave effective control of the castle and lands to him, together with the freedom to run them as his own.'

  'But what happened to your brother that would make the Lord take such an action?'

  Winterburne thought back to that day, and sighed. 'It was the second biggest moment of my life, as it turns out, behind only the death of my real parents. Although I hadn't realised it at the time, my life would never be the same again.

  'It was a riding accident,' he said. 'It was as if the stag himself taunted him. And, he couldn't have that, no, he was arrogant in those days. Well, he was heir to the manor, so why shouldn't he be, he was immortal, invincible. He went after it, of course. His horse stumbled and he fell.'

  Winterburne paused, seeing the image of the broken man before him in his imagination. 'To my brother, being crippled was worse than death. Afterwards, in his dark days, when he was learning to cope, he told me he wished he had died that day. We both cried.' He looked over at Cromwell and smiled. 'We became good friends soon after that and I never had the heart to take h
is birthright away from him completely.'

  'So...,' Cromwell said, 'you ran away?'

  Winterburne laughed. 'I suppose you could say that,' he replied, 'although I never imagined at the time that I would become Captain of the Watch.' He still smiled. 'Some escape, eh? I guess having titles and lands do give people some advantages in life after all.'

  'But it is true that you are still Lord Winterburne?'

  'Yes,' Winterburne replied, 'it's true. But I've never wanted to hide behind the title. And to be honest, although it opened a door for me when I first came to the city, I think I've done alright on my own.'

  He finished the last of the soup and handed the empty mug to Cromwell. 'You can take it back.' It was only fair that after sharing so much, that the Lieutenant return it. 'Rank has its privileges, Lieutenant.'

  Cromwell took it and smiled as he held both mugs tightly.

  Winterburne watched him walk across to the stall, handing the mugs back to the woman and then return to where he was standing. He had shared much more with the young man than he had ever imagined he would, but in the long game, maybe that was not such a bad thing.

  'Some of the men have been talking,' Cromwell said. 'They are worried. They've heard rumours saying that there will be a war.'

  Winterburne could see the look of concern on his face.

  Cromwell added, 'Do you think there will be a war, Sir?'

  Winterburne raised his eyebrows and looked out to sea. 'You should never listen to rumours, Milo. Most of the people that spread them don't know their ass from their elbow.' Despite trying to make a joke of the question, he could see by the look on the man's face that he was genuinely worried, so he felt he should offer more. 'Honestly,' he said, 'I don’t know.' He thought about what he did know of events, 'But, I do believe that the Emperor is doing everything he can to prevent one. If anyone can, it will be him.'

  The two men looked out into the harbour where a merchant ship of the Commonwealth lay at anchor. The water had become choppier and the ship rocked, rising and falling as the waves washed against it. On the deck, several crewmen worked hard to secure the hatches to the hold in a semblance of protection against the coming storm. Winterburne could have sworn that one of the sailors was looking back at them with distrust on his face, although it could just as easily have been his over-active imagination playing tricks.

  'Even the Commonwealth ships look less friendly than they used to,' Cromwell said, as he too noticed the man on the deck.

  Winterburne looked up at the sky again. The dark clouds gathered over head, a tapestry of black and grey that extended as far as he could see to his left and his right, from almost one side of the horizon to the other. 'Well then,' he said, 'let’s pray that this storm won't be a sign of things yet to come.'

  As they both gazed upwards, large drops of rain fell on their faces as a prelude to the main event, until moments later the heavens opened and the cloudburst hit, a deluge of water teeming in sheets from the clouds. The rain bounced as it hit the ground forming a mist that rose waist high above the street. The few people that remained outside, including Winterburne and Cromwell, ran for shelter.

  8

  Lawrence Draper closed the case of his pocket-watch and slipped it back into his waistcoat, raising his eyes to look across at the soldier as he stood in the alcove at the far end of the corridor. Candles burned on either side of the man, fixed into their black cast-iron holders, ornate stands forged in the Palace smithy.The double doors opened and a draught passed down the corridor causing the candle flames to gutter, their reflections dancing wildly across the guard's polished breastplate and helmet. A ceremonial drum made of shining steel and tensioned animal hide hung from a white leather strap resting over the man's