He was going to miss his rendezvous with the Brigadier again, Malone mused dismally.

     He and the small group of activists he'd been put in charge of were sitting in the dining room of the ‘Hound and Hare’ inn in the Kelvon town of Locksley, eating breakfasts of pastries and beans. Farwell, and the King's Shilling, were three hundred miles away. This would make the third rendezvous he'd missed. The Brigadier would be worrying, but the more important concern was that he hadn’t yet been able to report what he’d learned about Benjamin, one of the top leaders, perhaps the top leader, of the popular uprising. That information would be vital in helping to foil the Radiants’ attempt to plunge the Empire into civil war. If he died before he could pass it on, it would be lost, a prospect that bothered him a lot more than his own death.

     He sighed. There was nothing he could do about it, so there was no use in fretting. The Brigadier would just assume he was deeply embroiled in the mission he'd given him, which he was, and hopefully they'd be able to met up next week, if he was back in the capital by then.

     That was by no means certain, though. Jamie Fry seemed to have decided that Malone was the perfect man to be his delivery boy, probably in order to get him away from his side as much as possible. He’d made no secret of the fact that he didn't trust him, and Malone was fairly sure he still resented him for being chosen above him by John Martin. By giving him this job, and probably others like it afterwards, Jamie Fry was sending him far away for days at a time, and he suspected that the three men who were supposedly under his command had been told to keep a close eye on him. He’d certainly seen one or another of them looking in his direction now and then during the journey, although that may just have been because he was new to the team while they'd clearly been working together for some time. Also, the fact that he was the one with five hundred crowns in gold coins in his pouch was undoubtedly a factor.

     They were chatting together, sharing jokes and anecdotes that referred back to things they'd done together before Malone joined them, and which he therefore couldn’t join in with. It was a deliberate act of disrespect, no doubt inspired by the fact that he, an outsider, had been put in charge over them, instead of one of them being given the job. It made him feel lonely and nervous, and he looked forward to the day when he could leave these unpleasant people and go back to the Brigadier.

     “Some sausages would be good,” said Porto, using a piece of bread to mop up the last of the bean juice. “Glob pastries are good, but they ain’t sausages.”

     “You could've had sausages if you'd paid for ‘em,” pointed out Sykes. “You could've had a whole plate of sausages if you'd paid for ‘em.”

     “Don’t see why we should have to pay for our own grub. If they can afford to pay that kind of money for guns, they could afford to...”

     “Watch you mouth, Porto!” snapped Malone, looking around to see if any of the inn’s other patrons had overheard. “Could be spies listening.”

     The big man turned his head to look at him with eyes that burned with hostility. “Watch how you speak to me, dog man. I’m not a man to cross.”

     “Watch what you say and I'll quite happily not speak to you at all. And the name's Malone.”

     “People have names,” growled Porto. “Dogs don't.”

     “Actually, dogs do have names,” pointed out Lewis helpfully. “My mum and dad had a sheepdog called Shep. Ended up becoming my younger brother...”

     “Shut your trap, Lewis. Nobody cares about your stupid brother.”

     “Okay, mate,” said Sykes soothingly. “Calm down. We got a job to do. We'll do it best if we don't attract attention.”

      Malone saw one of the serving girls looking in their direction nervously. Not close enough to overhear, but clearly aware that there were tempers and tensions brewing at their table.

     “All I said was that some sausages would have been good, that's all.”

     “You got any idea what goes into sausages?” said Lewis. “Everything, that's what. Everything that's left over when they've used everything that can be used, with breadcrumbs to bulk it out. If you'd seen what went into sausages, you'd never eat one again.”

     “They taste good. ‘Specially with a bit o’ mustard. Can’t beat sausage to set you up for the day ahead. Set you up right proper, they do. Globs just ain’t the same.”

     “Well, get some sausages, then!” said Sykes. “We got time, ain’t we, Malone?”

     “Yes, I suppose,” conceded Malone. “We've got twenty miles to go today, and they're expecting us before sunset. So long as we set off before nine or so we should be okay. I'd prefer to set off a bit earlier than that, in case we run into problems. If the carriage throws a wheel or something.”

     “There, you see?” said Sykes to Porto. “Go get yourself some sausages.”

     “And who'll pay for ‘em? You?”

     “You'll pay for them, you idiot! You're eating them so you pay for them!”

     “Well, that's not right. We're working for Benjamin so he should pay. I gave up a good job for this lark, I got no money coming in any more. All I've got is what I put by, and that won’t last forever.”

     Malone was forced to agree that he had a point, but they were all in the same boat. It was just another ploy to make them angry, of course. The adoptees at the top of the organisation wanted them snapping and arguing at everyone they met, wanted any confrontation between them and the authorities to end in violence. He wondered how Porto and the others would have reacted if they'd known that Benjamin was, in fact, a millionaire, and could probably have bought up every sausage in the Empire if he’d wanted to. Not well, he guessed. In fact, he was rather surprised that he, who knew who Benjamin was and how rich he was, was trusted not to reveal it to the men.

     He dug around in his purse and found a silver crown, which he slapped down on the table. “Here,” he said. “Buy sausages and beans for everyone. We can wait a few more minutes before leaving.”

     Porto stared at him in outrage and anger. “What do you think I am?” he demanded. “A charity case?”

     Malone stared back in astonishment. “I just thought...”

     “I never lived off charity in my life! I work for what I've got! Always have, always will!” He pushed the coin angrily back towards Malone. “Keep your charity, dog man. I pay for my own food.”

     “Just now you said...”

     “That's different. We're working for Benjamin, so he owes us a fair wage, but I don't take charity. Never have, never will.”

     “But you’re quite happy to let someone else buy the drinks,” said Lewis with a chuckle. “Last night at the bar...”

     “We take turns to buy the drinks. That's how it is. You buy a round, I buy a round...”

     “But somehow it never seems to be your turn. Who was it bought the drinks part night? Let me think. Hmmmm...”

     “We had to turn in before it was my turn, you know that perfectly well. We got in late, there was only time for a couple of ales before we had to turn in. Tonight, when we get to Shellton, I'm first shout. Nobody calls me tight. No-one!”

     “So, how come you’ve got money to flash around, Malone?” asked Sykes. “Where'd that silver come from?”

     “Yeah,” agrees Porto, staring at Malone suspiciously. “How come you’ve got that kind of coin?”

     Malone thought quickly. It was one of the last of the coins the Brigadier had given him, but he could hardly tell them that. “Had a bit of luck on the dogs a few days back,” he said. “Bessie came good for me.”

     “Never heard of a mutt called Bessie at the Works,” said Sykes. “He one of Picker’s dogs?”

     “This was back in Farwell, before I joined the movement. Place called Daisyfield, just round the corner from the glue factory. Know it?”

     “Heard of it, never been there. Bit of a dump, I heard. Second rate dogs, second rate races.”

      He seemed placated, though, Malone was relieved to see. Even Porto seemed mollified. Sharing a gambling win with friends didn't count as charity, it seemed, but Malone didn't repeat the offer, just to be on the safe side. Porto would just have to do without his sausages for now.

     A few minutes later, they were leaving the inn and walking around to the stables where they'd left their wagon and horses. Malone made sure their decoy cargo was safe and sound in the back of the wagon, and then he and Lewis took their places on the drivers’ seat, Malone taking the reins and the other man cradling a large shotgun in his arms. Porto and Sykes climbed into the saddles of the two horses that would ride escort, as a defence against bandits, and then they set off, the wagon clattering and bouncing its way down the narrow road that led through the small town and out into the brightly sunlit Kelvon countryside.

     Porto and Sykes rode a little way behind the wagon, so they could keep and eye on it and anything that might threaten it. “Here’s to a quiet day,” said Lewis, his eyes scanning the lands on either side of the road. He had particular reason to be watchful. If they were ambushed by bandits, the man riding shotgun was always the first to be killed.

     “It's the trip home when we’ll have to be careful,” Malone replied. “If we’re ambushed on the way, we just show them the turnips we’re carrying in the back. They'll just let us go and wait for a better prize. If we’re ambushed on the way back, though...”

     “If they ambush us on the way back, we’ll have a load ‘o guns to defend ourselves with.” They both chuckled. “Seriously, though, we do have one thing they could nick if they stop us on the way. All that gold you’re carrying. If you try to keep it from them and they find it, they’ll gut all of us just for the fun of it.”

     “It’s well hidden,” replied Malone. “They won't find it. We’re just a bunch of farmers off to sell our turnips at market. Why should we be carrying a fortune in gold?”

     “Jamie must trust you an awful lot. Five hundred crowns! How's he to know you won't just ride off with it? Five hundred crowns could set you up quite nicely for a long time.”

     “And what would you do if I did? Would you just let me go?”

     “Jamie might think we'd all ride off with it. Share the money.”

     “Five hundred crowns isn't enough to be worth the risk. Imagine if they catch up to us one day. Take a risk like that for just five hundred crowns? If it was five thousand I might be tempted. No, Jamie knows we’re not going anywhere but where we're supposed to go.”

     Lewis nodded, his eyes still scanning the trees, bushes and hedgerows that lined the road, any of which might hide a lone bandit with a shotgun. There wasn't enough cover here for more than one man to be hiding. Further down the road, yes, but not here. Lewis remained alert, though, as did Malone. Would a single man be desperate enough to attack four men? Until just recently he would have answered with a definitive no, but nowadays? With things the way they were? So many starving, desperate people? Even turnips might be tempting to someone who hadn't eaten for several days.

     “Never known things as bad as this,” muttered Lewis to himself. “Never known this much crime. Used to be, this was a fairly safe road. Never completely safe, of course, but someone getting killed on this road made the news all the way from Puddleton to Shrewsby. Nowadays, we can pretty much count on trouble of some kind before we get there. Just hope Betsy here’s enough to see them off.” He patted his shotgun fondly.