Solomon swallowed, and Jed watched the column of his throat move; let his gaze fall to the neckerchief he’d like to tug loose—
“Dyer!”the yardman called.“I’ve been looking for you.En’t you leaving in half an hour?”
Solomon stepped away.“Soon,” he mouthed at Jed before he left, and Jed grinned to himself.
Jed was still sleeping at the boarding house—if you could call it sleeping.The long, close-packed line of beds reminded him uncomfortably of the crowded gun deck, and the men grumbled when he woke them with his nightmares.
After yet another unsettled night, he set off to walk to Drake’s yard.It had rained overnight, and the streets glistened in the pale light of dawn.Seagulls flocked around a baker’s cart on the street corner, hunting for scraps that had fallen into the gutter.Their harsh cries stabbed at Jed’s aching head.
As he crossed the street in front of the merchant’s exchange, something terrifying caught his eye: shiny brass buttons on a blue coat, and the glint of the rising sun on a sword-hilt.
He stopped short, all the breath leaving his chest.There was nowhere to run.It would be foolish to run.Insane.It would only attract attention.But how could he stand here and risk being taken as a sea-faring man?
But even as these horrified thoughts chased through his head, he realised his mistake.It was no Naval officer, but only a smart young merchant, and the sword-hilt was only a large pocket-watch he’d pulled out to consult.
Jed sank onto a nearby stone step, his hands clenching his knees to stop his fingers trembling.
What the devil was the matter with him?It was several weeks now that he’d been free of the lash.More than long enough to be done with letting every little thing spook him like a road-shy horse.
But it was a long time before he could get to his feet and go on.
The town clock was striking seven as he reached the gateway that led to Mrs Drake’s yard.Outside the inn next door, Solomon’s friend Wallace Acton stood on a ladder, cleaning the gutters.The dark-haired barmaid was holding the ladder, and the two of them were deep in conversation, but Wallace broke off long enough to wave a greeting to Jed.
Jed, his mind still elsewhere, barely managed to gather his thoughts long enough to return the greeting.He turned through the gateway into the yard, stomach still taut with nerves.
A carrier’s yard was the perfect place to hear the news from all across the county: three smugglers pressed out of a lugger off Ilfracombe; a seaman arrested in Exeter for killing a ganger; the Minehead press gang seen as far inland as Taunton.
The danger of the press had always come and gone in waves, with the tides of war and decisions taken up in London.But now, after years of war, it seemed to be a hot press all the time, with no respite, and Jed was suffocating.
He and Norris were taking the Ilfracombe route that morning, and Norris was already in the yard, arguing with a man who wanted to send a live goat by the train of packhorses.
“Truss it up by the legs, it’ll be very well.Sure ‘tis only a small goat.”
“No animals bigger nor a hen, them’s the rules,” Norris said.“We en’t drovers, friend.”
He cast an appealing glance at Jed, who stepped in to deal summarily with the man, sending him packing with his goat trailing after him on a length of rope.
Norris eyed Jed.“Taking out all your spleen on him, were you?”
Jed shrugged.
“Well, so long as you don’t take it out on me,” Norris said.“Come on, we’ve any number of parcels to strap up.”
As they loaded the train of packhorses with the parcels and packages for Ilfracombe, Jed’s burst of temper cooled.
“I was a bit short with that man with the goat, weren’t I?”he said finally.
“Just a bit, yes,” Norris said.
Jed ruminated on that.Something must be ailing him, for he never used to be so ill-tempered.He wished he could find the man again and apologise to him.
“Uneasy about going to Ilfracombe, are you?”Norris said.“Being just along the coast from Minehead as it is.”
Jed looked up sharply.
“Uneasy about the press gang, I mean,” Norris clarified.
“En’t you?”
