The English Killer (An Ennin Mystery) (The Ennin Mysteries Book 31) by Ben Stevens

Author:Ben Stevens [Stevens, Ben]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Nanbanjin
Published: 2015-01-19T05:00:00+00:00

There was only the single cell, in a small building that was next to the Captain’s private residence. The room next door could be used as a court – for we have our own laws and punishments here on Leaving Island, and that includes the power to execute a man for the crime of murder. Things, it had to be said, already looked black for young Plummer.

He sat in the cell, on a wooden cot fixed to one stone wall. He stared at us through the thick wooden bars. There was Captain Spillard, myself – and also Ennin, his servant and the translator Nakayama. It was due to Nakayama that the famous Japanese detective (and also his servant, whose name I gathered was Kukai) were also able to hear Plummer’s incredible story.

‘You said earlier that I and Figg had the same accent, Mr. Bradley – something I’m sure others here had already picked up on. Well, we both come from Devonshire – or came, as it is in Figg’s case now – and in particular from a small set of villages, which lie no great distance from the city of Plymouth and thus the sea.

‘You should know that I have an older brother, who was kicked in the face by a horse in childhood and so left blind in one eye. In time, also, the sight in his other eye began to fade, so that he was effectively half-blind. Depressed by this, he took to drinking more than was good for him, in the local inns.

‘He was near mortal-drunk one evening when Figg – then a young man – and his gang of bully boys entered the same inn he was in. I wasn’t there (I was still effectively just a child), but by all accounts, as my brother made his way to the toilet – feeling his way by using the walls and the wooden bar, what with his poor sight and also the effects of the drink – Figg tripped him up. My brother went flying into a table, upsetting a load of drinks on its surface.

‘Maddened, he demanded to know who’d tripped him.

“It was me,’ returned Figg, sneering at him. ‘And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll just laugh about it same as us.’

‘Well, my brother always had a short temper, especially when he was in drink. Also, despite his poor sight, he was no slouch with his fists.

“Laugh about it?’ he returned, picking himself up. ‘You’ll be laughing on the other side of your face in a few minutes. Outside with you, now.’

‘A few men – those who’d had their drinks upset by my brother’s falling body – spoke quietly to him, warning him against pitting himself against Figg. Figg’s torso was powerful in a collarless white shirt, his hair then long, black and curly. He was feared throughout the county as a bare-knuckle boxer; and here was my poor, half-blind brother challenging him out.

‘Well, my brother would not listen to the other men’s good advice.

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