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Harry Cobtree hid a yawn behind his fist and then wiped his eyes. He didn’t need his vision blurring when he was trying to keep watch.
It had been a long night – he figured it was probably near dawn by now. His father would be annoyed if he found out Harry had been out all night, but Harry didn’t care much. He loved his father, but only in the same distant way his father loved him. His annoyance only meant Harry might not be allowed to go riding this afternoon. That was a small matter; there would be other days.
Harry had more pressing matters on his mind. It had come to his attention that there were adventures happening in secret here in the village – adventures to which he had not been invited. That was unacceptable to him. Here he was, young and strong and quick, and excellent at keeping secrets, and no one had thought to bring him in? He may be only fourteen, but he was certain he could be valuable! And besides, being the squire’s son shouldn’t mean he was punished by being forced to sit on the sidelines, bored beyond belief.
That was why he had waited all night. He finally had the proof he needed to confront the person he had sussed out as the ringleader and make him bring Harry in. He wouldn’t give him a choice, he had already decided. Taking no for an answer meant going back to dull village life, only this time with the knowledge that he wasn’t allowed to participate in something actually exciting.
The clopping of hooves alerted him that his quarry was approaching. He ducked a little more behind the headstone he had chosen as his hiding place, peeking over the cold stone, his proof clutched in one sweaty hand.
It was still dark, even with the dawn approaching, and a mist had drifted in from the marshes during the night, giving the torches outside the church doors an eerie glow. That was nothing, though, compared with the skeletal glow of the horses and riders who approached out of the cloak of night, and Harry had to swallow down a gasp.
The ringleader was the only one of the three riders who was missing his mask, so he appeared to be a faceless skeleton dismounting as one of the other riders held his horse.
“Thank you, Mr. Mipps,” he said, his voice even but weary.
“See you in the morning,” Mr. Mipps replied, equally tired but still his usual friendly self, sounding faintly amused about life in general.
The two remaining riders turned and rode back towards the village, leading the third horse with them.
Harry’s quarry entered the church, his cloak billowing with his movements, and Harry darted out from hiding, scampering up to the church door to catch it before it could latch. He hid his proof behind him and stepped inside, squaring his shoulders. He hoped he looked bolder and more confident than he felt.
His quarry was walking slowly up the aisle between pews, pulling off his skeleton-decorated gloves as he went, oblivious to Harry’s presence.
“Dr. Blyss,” he said in the most authoritative voice he could muster.
The parson wheeled sharply, eyes wide and face hard. Harry very nearly flinched back from that expression, but sheer force of will kept his chin up and his spine straight.
Blyss relaxed only marginally when he registered that it was Harry. In fact, Harry didn’t think he had ever seen their genial parson look so…unfriendly, to put it mildly. Being under the scrutiny of that cold blue gaze made him realise just how unwise this course of action may have been – confronting the person he strongly suspected to be the ringleader of a smuggling ring, at night, alone, with no one aware of where he was….
His noisy swallow broke the stillness that had settled between them. Blyss’s shoulders relaxed another fraction and his gaze seemed less intense, allowing Harry to breathe again.
“Harry,” he said, but his tone was more guarded than Harry had ever heard it. “What are you doing out and about so early?”
Harry steeled himself with another swallow and a deep breath. Unwise it may be, but he had already committed to this course of action, and he would see it through. He couldn’t live with himself if he showed himself a coward now.
“I could ask you the same thing,” he said, slow and deliberate so that he could focus on keeping the tremor out of his voice. “But I already know.”
Blyss’s brow rose and his face tilted down as though to look over his spectacles, even though he wasn’t currently wearing them. “Oh? Do you, now.”
In another boy, that condescending adult knowing tone would have folded them like cards, but in Harry, it only incensed him enough to banish his nerves. His eyes flashed and his free hand clenched around the opposite wrist.
“I do,” he said. “Or didn’t you notice you’d dropped something?”
He brought the skeleton mask in his hand around his body and threw it before Blyss in one swift, angry motion. It made only a light skittering noise as it came to rest before Blyss’s booted toes – the matching mask to his skeleton gloves and coat, Harry’s proof of the parson’s midnight misdeeds.
But Blyss only looked from the mask to Harry with a smile that even in his youth and inexperience, Harry could see was false.
“I see,” he said lightly. “And my little costume bothers you?”
Harry was past being coy, since he was still angry at the slight he had felt at Blyss’s dismissive tone. “The costume you and the others wear when you pretend to be the marsh phantoms – when you’re out smuggling French wine. I’ve seen you all. I know what you’re doing, and I know you’re the leader of the outfit. Are you even a parson at all?”
The smile fell from Blyss’s face. Harry felt another shiver of doubt race down his spine, questioning his own judgement in this course of action. The look on Blyss’s face wasn’t the cold look from before, but this expression was no friendlier. Harry might almost call it a calculating one, as though Blyss had just slotted Harry into the category of “enemy” and was deciding what to do about it.
He stooped and picked up his mask, placing his gloves in it neatly before he offered Harry another thin, false smile. “Have you ever had cause to doubt that while I’m giving you sermons every Sunday?”
“No,” Harry admitted. The sermons certainly seemed parson-like – not that he would know the difference between a fake parson’s sermon and a real one. He was only half-listening at the best of times.
Blyss hummed. He took a slow step forward, towards Harry.
Harry took an instinctive step back and immediately regretted it. He lifted his chin defiantly to try to cover his fear, but he had a feeling it was unsuccessful.
But Blyss did stop moving towards him, and at that moment, it was a relief.
He studied Harry for a moment longer before he spoke again. “What is it that you want, Harry?”
Harry struggled not to frown. “I…. What do you mean?”
“You must have had some reason for coming to me with your suspicions, rather than reporting the operation to the revenue men or to your father,” Blyss said calmly and patiently, despite continuing to pin Harry with his stare. “Since you have chosen to confront me about this supposed smuggling ring, I can only assume that you intend to blackmail me with the rumour.”
“It’s not a rumour, I saw you,” Harry protested, only to wince at the way his voice cracked.
It was embarrassing, but – he found himself grateful for it when Blyss responded by softening again. Something like pity eased the tightness around his mouth and he set down his mask, removing his cloak and coat before leaning against one of the pews, his body language more relaxed and open than it had been since Harry said his name.
“Very well then,” he conceded. “You saw it. You have no proof, but you saw it.”
Harry let out a breath, unaccountably relieved, as though he had passed some trial he didn’t know he was standing. He nodded.
Blyss tilted his head. “The question remains: What is it that you want?”
This was his moment. He wasn’t going to fail to seize it.
“I want to join,” he blurted.
Blyss stared at him blankly.
“I want to help,” Harry tried again, taking two steps closer in his earnestness. “I can help. Not even you knew I was following you around, spying out what you were doing. I could be useful to you.”
The blank stare remained for another moment, and another.
Slowly, Blyss’s expression changed. His lips twitched, then twisted. His eyes began to squint. The muscles in his cheeks tightened.
Harry saw Blyss’s shoulders shake and realised he was trying not to laugh a moment before Blyss’s composure cracked and a laugh sneaked out of him, low and rasping from his efforts to contain it.
His cheeks burned with heat. Humiliation took a chokehold on his chest, only growing tighter as his eyes began to burn. He blinked rapidly to try to stave off the embarrassment of any gathering moisture – he would not cry like a little child. His hands clenched into fists at his sides and he lifted his chin high again. Anger was better than tears, and he clung to it while Blyss laughed quietly.
Blyss regained control of himself in stages, but he was still smiling when he spoke again. “And if I refuse? Will you then tell your father, or perhaps the King’s men directly?”
Harry was too upset even to flinch at this point. That was it, then – he was being refused, because Blyss considered him a child and laughed at the thought that he could be helpful.
His gaze dropped to the floor. He shook his head. “No,” he murmured. “I wouldn’t do that.”
Because he wouldn’t, ever. Harry might be young, but even he could make the connections between the money made by the smuggling activities, Dr. Blyss’s many charitable activities in the village despite his small income as their parson, and the corresponding betterment of the villagers’ lives since his arrival as parson. He would never take that away from the people around him who needed it.
He was considering how to leave with some semblance of his dignity intact when a hand touched his shoulder.
He jumped, looking up at Blyss in surprise. He hadn’t heard his approach at all. The warm look on his face was even more surprising; Harry didn’t know what to make of it, nor the way he squeezed his shoulder after he jumped, as though to reassure him.
Blyss didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at him so kindly that Harry wondered if he had hallucinated the previous conversation somehow.
“You can keep a secret?” Blyss asked at last, though he seemed to already know the answer was yes.
Harry nodded anyway.
Blyss squeezed his shoulder again, this time in approval. “Very well. I must change, and then we’ll return to my house and have some breakfast, where I can explain to you how we operate and we can discuss how you might fit in.”
Harry couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. “Fit in? You mean – I’m in?”
Blyss looked amused again, but Harry didn’t even care this time. “You’re in,” he agreed.
He bounced in place with excitement. “Good,” he said, breathless. “Good. I want to learn everything, and help, and – good!”
Blyss chuckled, patting Harry’s shoulder one last time before he stepped away. “You’re a good lad, Harry. I’ll be glad to have you aboard. Wait here, I won’t be a moment, then we’ll go.”
He picked up his mask and gloves and cloak, heading back towards his office.
Harry waited obediently near the door, bouncing on the balls of his feet from time to time, his nerves alight with anticipation. He was going to be part of something bigger than himself for the first time in his life, and he couldn’t wait.
But more than that, he had felt the warmth of Blyss’s approval, and he was eager to earn it again. He had never had a mentor or father figure he respected before; now, with all he knew, Dr. Blyss had earned that position in his life, and Harry’s loyalty was instant and steadfast. He would be a fast learner, and the smuggling operation would for several more years run more smoothly than ever, with Harry counted among its ranks.