Sturridge gave him a look. ‘Black, what d’you think?’
‘Anything else?’
‘Red if they ain’t ripe.’ He pondered. ‘Green if they really ain’t ripe.’
‘What sort of red?’
‘What d’you mean, sort of red? Red.’ Sturridge rolled his eyes and walked off.
Daizell turned back to Cassian, who said, ‘I feel exceedingly foolish.’
‘Some people will have understood you. Sturridge is more than usually uninterested in the world around him. Nevertheless . . .’
‘Nevertheless, I have wasted two days by asking the wrong question. I should have realised it was the wrong question. I didn’tthink. And now I have lost time and doubtless the trail by making that assumption. Nobody ever said,what do you mean by mulberry?’
No, they’d just taken his money, and Daizell didn’t blame them. Ask a silly question, get a useless answer. Still, he looked genuinely upset and Daizell felt a stab of sympathy. ‘Do you know what? I think we should start again. Let’s go back to Gloucester, to the Bird in Hand. I might be able to get more out of the landlord than you did, since you were in an awkward position at the time.’
Cassian’s shoulders sagged. ‘You probably could. I asked him about Martin, where he’d gone, but he was shouting about his bill, and I was only wearing a blanket, and I couldhardly assert myself – or, I should have, I know that, but to start making a fuss in such humiliating circumstances—’
‘Hey,’ Daizell said. ‘You had a cursed nasty time of it. You were robbed by someone you considered a friend, or at least a pleasant acquaintance. That’s a distressing thing to happen even without the embarrassment of being caught in a state of nature. You needn’t blame yourself for not being at your best.’
Cassian just looked at him for a few seconds. Daizell said, ‘No?’
‘No. I mean, yes. I mean . . . Do you realise, you haven’t said a word of blame or ridicule to me about the whole affair?’
Daizell blinked. ‘Why would I?’
‘Everyone else has.’
If Daizell went around telling people when they’d been fools, it would be very like Cassian searching for ordinary men: they should both look in the mirror first. ‘I dare say everyone else must have led a very sensible, secure, consistently well-judged, and exceedingly fortunate sort of life where they have never made a mistake,’ he said. ‘I envy you your acquaintance. That or they’re a pack of hypocrites.’
‘They are not!’ Cassian said strongly, with a flash of colour into his cheeks, which was overtaken by a lurking grin. ‘Perhaps a touch inclined to pass remarks. But it was foolish of me, so they have every right.’
‘Mmm,’ Daizell said. ‘Let’s find the Gloucester coach.’
They went to the yard. Cassian strode ahead with a determined stance, as if signalling his intention to take the lead. Daizell followed happily along.
Cassian found out about the Gloucester coaches without difficulty, paused, then asked the ostler, ‘I wonder if you can help me. I’m looking for a man, who would have comethrough here perhaps three days ago, or more recently. A little taller than me, dark brown hair.’ He gave the rest of the nondescript description. ‘And he may have been wearing a coat in a dark purple-pink colour, like an over-ripe raspberry on the turn.’
‘Oh, him?’ the ostler said. ‘Two days ago, that was.’
‘Yousawhim?’
‘Saw him?’ The man snorted. ‘You might say. Passed me a dud shilling, he did! Me, done like a right Johnny Raw!’
‘I will be very pleased to replace it for you, with another for your trouble, if you can tell me where he went,’ Cassian assured him.
The ostler put out his hand, and made a point of biting the coins he was given. ‘He took a seat to Worcester.’
Cassian turned to Daizell with a grin of triumph. ‘Then we shall need two seats on the Worcester coach.’
Daizell couldn’t help a moment of optimism as he smiled back. Perhaps they could track down this Martin fellow; perhaps his aid might make the difference. It would be very pleasant to have a success chalked up to his name.
It was harder to maintain that optimistic frame of mind when they joined the stage. Stagecoaches were punitive things at best and this, a six-seater, was particularly bad. The interior was a little over three feet wide, so to wedge three adults onto each seat was difficult even when they were of slender build.
They were relatively fortunate to grab a centre and corner seat, less to have their backs to the direction of travel, significantly less so to be sharing the coach with several well-built and well-fed men. Daizell pushed Cassian into the corner,and wedged himself next to him, taking the middle seat with the fifty pounds firmly in mind.
He was quickly glad he’d done it. Cassian’s knuckles were white on the strap as the coach bounded its bone-jolting way along the road, and Daizell, pressed up tight against his slim frame but not in an enjoyable way, could feel his tension.
