What if no one knew where to find his remains should his scheme not prove fruitful?
Charles rode quickly, fearful that he might miss his appointment. He’d had to ask for favors heaped upon favors in order to secure this meeting and would run his horse ‘til it bled if it meant not missing this. The cobblestones of Windle became broader stones beside the river that served as both roadway and levee. Both of these had long since given way to a more comfortable dirt path that let his horse run with a surer footing. But as he approached the inn, the well-worn path became nothing more than foul, stale mud mixed with dull green algae and dung. It splashed up from his horse’s hooves with every step, filling the air with a distinct stench.
After more than an hour’s hard ride, Charles arrived at a run-down inn that sat beside a constable’s post, likely to afford it some protection from thieves and highwaymen who happened to pass. The rest of the village, pathetic as it was, consisted only of a chapel, a market of sorts, and a cemetery that made home to an odd assortment of tombstones leaning this way and that.
“More of the village must reside within those gates than in the ramshackle cottages beyond,” he muttered to himself, shrinking back from the sight of a freshly-dug grave awaiting its occupant. The grave digger looked up at him but made no notice of Charles’ fine clothes or well-kept horse. He stared blankly, a dark expression clouding his features, then returned to his digging without any comment.
He stopped short beside the inn and let the horse walk for a few moments while he searched for a place to dismount that wouldn’t sink him to the top of his breeches in the mire. When Charles finally managed to climb down from the saddle and tie the horse to a post out front, he looked around for any sign that a scoundrel may be lurking.
“I hope you’re still waiting on me when I’m through here,” he whispered to his horse, only finding a slight bit of jest in his words. There was a real chance he’d be walking back to Windle that day, and perhaps well into the night.
Inside the inn, the smell was almost as foul as it was outside. A dented black pot hung from a pole over the fire, its contents sending thick tendrils of smoke upwards and out the chimney. A hole or two, presumably from a musket by the look of it, had been patched with tar which melted and oozed somewhat down the sides of the pot.
The innkeeper looked up when Charles entered but didn’t pause the chopping of raw meat at the counter. It was beef from the looks of it, but the gamey smell of raw blood told Charles it could have been something else.
A flash of movement out of the corner of his eye made him turn to look. A tall man, his clothes far too fine for a place such as this, stood and came towards him, a grave look upon his face. He eyed Charles carefully and did not extend his hand, but rather uttered a command and turned back to his chair.
“Sit. I suppose you have the money you owe me,” he began, and Charles paled.
“Yes, Thomas. Or at least a good portion of it.” Charles reached inside his coat and brought out a small bag, placing it on the table. The clink of coins within only caused the other man to raise his eyebrows in question.
“A portion? It had the ring of a rather small portion, if you ask me.” Still, he picked up the bag and weighed it carefully in his palm, letting it rise and fall against his fingers as he judged its contents. “This will do for now, but I expect payment in full within the month. I have expenses of my own, and I do not run a philanthropy.”
“As well I’m aware,” Charles argued hotly, then remembered himself and lowered his voice. “But to the contrary, I need another loan.”
“Another? You dare ask for more when you’ve yet to pay me what I’m due? What do you take me for?” Thomas demanded, striking the table with his clenched fist. No one in the room bothered to glance in their direction, accustomed as they were to this kind of business.
“I’ve an opportunity that is not to be missed,” he insisted, trying to keep the pleading tone from coloring his voice. “I’ve found a buyer interested in foals from my stable’s lineage, but first those that I’ve got have to prove themselves to be champions. There are… certain expenses… that go along with winning at these events.”
“Oh?” Thomas raised an eyebrow. “What could possibly be so costly that you cannot front the money yourself? Surely you have stable hands and tack aplenty. The entry fees are not more than, say, a few pounds per month. If your horses are as good as you claim, they’ll win that back and then some.”
“That’s not the cost I’m speaking of.” Charles looked around and lowered his voice. “There are certain other stables producing some of the fastest horses you or I have ever lain eyes on. If those horses were not to enter the race, for some reason…”
He let his voice trail off rather than speak the words. Thomas looked stunned for a moment as he pondered what Charles was suggesting. Then he shrugged and resumed a more aloof expression.
“I care not for horses or racing, and I’m certainly not one to squander my fortune on either of those things. But I also care not what you do with your time and money, so long as your debts are repaid.”
“And they shall be. It only takes but a little time to ready the foals for racing, to win a few local events, then go on to higher stakes shows.”
Thomas smiled wickedly. “Ah, therein lies the problem. Time is something neither you nor I have, I’m afraid. I make my loans, I set the terms, and I expect my amount plus interest to arrive on the appointed day. If it does not, well, there will be consequences of a personal nature.”
“Personal? What are you implying?” Charles asked, his usually ruddy complexion turning paler by the moment.
“I understand you have two daughters. I might be convinced to take one in trade if you cannot produce the funds to repay me.” Thomas leered, never wavering in his stare at Charles’ horrified expression.
“I dare say, watch your tongue! My daughter is already betrothed, and to a far better man than you!” he very nearly shouted.
“Ah yes, to the Duke of Fenworth. Don’t look so surprised, I make it my business to know everyone else’s business. I can’t believe the old gimp agreed to take her as a wife, but perhaps he needed someone more fair than his gripe-ridden old sister to take his meals with. But never fear, your business arrangement there will be undisturbed. I was referring to your second daughter.”
“Harriet?” Charles whispered, his hands beginning to tremble with anger. “She’s but a child, you filth-ridden monster! I would never allow her to marry you!”
Thomas scoffed with a sneer before saying, “I never said a word about marriage. But those are my terms. Repay what you already owe and what you intend to borrow by the appointed time, or she’s mine to do with as I see fit.”
He pushed back his chair and stood up, then dropped a new bag of coins on the table. “Your silence is your agreement. Take the purse, it may be all you have left in the world if you’re not careful.”
* * *
Evan awoke to the sound of someone clearing his throat nearby. He lifted his head from the post where it had rested, blinking uncomfortably in the harsh light of morning. He looked around, trying to figure out where he was, then remembered that he’d slept beside the stalls. He sat up in alarm, unaware of when he’d fallen asleep or how long he’d been that way.
