A Matter of Principle (The Hansen Series) by Kris Tualla

Author:Kris Tualla [Tualla, Kris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Goodnight Publishing
Published: 2010-11-29T05:00:00+00:00

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It was late afternoon before the Hansen party was ready to head for Cheltenham. Satchels packed and loaded, Sydney and Vincent sat inside the carriage, while Leif drove under Nicolas’s watchful eye. The sullen gray sky threw sporadic moisture at them, some frozen, some not. Leif encouraged the horses to trot, keeping them warm. It made for a bumpy, but hopefully abbreviated, journey.

“Why did you mention Sam Stafford to the tavern owner?” Nicolas asked.

“May I tell you about last night now?” Leif countered.

“Go on then,” Nicolas’s curiosity nudged.

Leif told about following Sam into the night, how the man seemed to be trying to avoid being followed. “He was not successful,” Leif bragged.

Nicolas chuckled. “So it appears.”

“He went into the same building where you just let the apartment. And to the second floor.”

Leif’s mouth twisted and pinched. The color in his cheeks heightened. His eyes remained fixed on the road. “He met a man there.”

“Oh?” Nicolas frowned, puzzled by the boy’s discomfort. “Did you recognize him? This Falstaff? Or Fordham?”

Leif shook his head.

“Might you recognize him were you to see him again?”

The nod was jerky.

“Leif, what is amiss?”

Leif glanced at Nicolas, then turned back to their path. “I listened at the door.”

“As would any good spy worth his salt,” Nicolas commended.

Leif was silent.

Foreboding pressed Nicolas’s chest. “Tell me, son,” he whispered.

“There were sounds. Grunts and moans. Bouncing sounds. The kinds of sounds I used to hear in the stable, when the stable hands brought whores.”

Nicolas swallowed his disgust and draped his arm around the boy’s bony shoulders. “So Sam Stafford is a sodomite, is he? I wonder if Beckermann knows.”

Leif cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t think so, Sir.”

“No, you are most likely right.”

They drove in silence as the carriage moved down the road at a steady pace. The matched bays trotted easily; they could go for miles in their shared rhythm. The lazy winter sun never made an appearance and the cloudy sky grew darker by increments.

When they were only two miles from Cheltenham, a movement off the road caught Nicolas’s attention. Before he had time to think, two men stepped in front of the carriage and blocked its path. Leif jerked back on the reins. The horses stumbled to a halt, their snorted breath clouding around them. In the colorless twilight, Nicolas could not make out either man’s features.

“Is something amiss?” he called out, keeping his tone light.

“That depends. Are you in the mood for a fight?” The voice was rough like gravel.

“Not particularly,” he answered.

“Well, what if we are?” the second man taunted. “Are you man enough for the challenge?”

Nicolas rubbed his chin. “If you are looking for a likely victim to rob, we haven’t much with us.”

“Ooh, robbery. Now there’s an angle we hadn’t thought of!” said the first man.

“Is that so?” Nicolas leaned back. “You stand out in this freezing rain just to mock passers-by until they fight you? For what purpose?”

“Our own amusement.” Second Man did not sound amused. “Now, get down.”

“I don’t care to.” Nicolas pressed his arm against Leif’s.

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