“Thank you for coming round,” Jack said to his visitor. “I’d have nipped round to see you, but I’m chained to a great bloody window-grille most days.”

The Visitor twitched and coughed.

“Thought you might like to know,” Jack continued, “that I have been receiving offers from other quarters that are right tempting. More attractive, by a long chalk, than aught that I’ve heard from you.”

The Visitor murmured some hot words, and, when words failed him, made flat slicing gestures.

“Oh, I’ve no illusions as to that,” Jack assured him. “All has changed since we met here on the 28th of July. There is abundant evidence-as people never tire of telling me-to send me and the boys to Tyburn. So, I am not about to ask you for what we spoke of before: the farm in Carolina. That is a pipe-dream. But for Christ’s sake! A man of your intelligence must know that this is no kind of tempting offer! A merciful hanging, that is to say, a long drop, a short stop, and a decent burial for me and the boys. You cannot seriously expect me to assist you in exchange for such floor-sweepings. Bloody hell, if I want to die fast, I can make it so in the privacy of my own apartment!”

The Visitor spoke for some little while now, but was cut off, at the end, by a coughing fit; which seemed to bring him such discomfort that he shifted about and writhed on his chair.

“Sore ribs,” was the diagnosis of Doctor Jack Shaftoe. “Oh, I’ve had what you’ve got, sir, a time or two. Bloody torture, ain’t it? An arm or a leg heals in a trice, but ribs take forever.” This seemed to be a sort of patter while he waited for the Visitor’s fit to subside. When the other had finally stifled himself with a handkerchief to the lips, Jack went on: “It is easy enough for me to stand up before anyone you like, put my hand on a Bible, and testify that the coins I took out of the Pyx-your coins-were sound, and the ones I put into it-my fakes-were debased. But you quite correctly ask, who the hell is going to take my word for it? No one in his right mind. So. Yes. Indeed. You, sir, require hard evidence, in the form of the hard currency that I stole. Where is it, you’d like to know? Well, I already told you before that I gave all of that swag to the late Marquis of Ravenscar. I hoped that’d satisfy you. But as you have been so tiresome on this topic, I have, since the Marquis’s death, made certain inquiries among those of my friends you’ve not yet murdered, thrown into prison, or chased out of the country. And they tell me, sir, that those Sinthias from the Pyx were taken out of Ravenscar’s house after he died by that friend of his, that Daniel Waterhouse, and that this Waterhouse cove placed ’em for safekeeping in a vault or something below the ground out in Clerkenwell-I see by your face that you know the place I mean!” For the greasy wig had begun to bob up and down as the Visitor nodded.

The Visitor pointed something out, and then it was Jack’s turn to nod. “You’ll never come out and say what you mean, but I can translate it well enough into plain talk: without the King’s Messengers to act as your bully boys, you must go through channels now. You can no longer just raid a place like Clerkenwell Court on your personal say-so. You must secure the Authority first. If you would like me to testify before a magistrate that the Pyx coins are secured in that vault, why, I’ll do that, sir, I will. But in exchange I must have freedom for Jimmy and Danny and Tomba. And for myself I want life, is all. Keep me locked up forever, if that is your will; but I’ll not be subjected to all of that rudeness out at Tyburn, and my parts pickled in Jack Ketch his Kitchen.”

The Visitor mumbled something, and clawed at the tabletop until he’d dragged himself to his feet. “See you in a week, then!” Jack said. The Visitor said nothing in return, but turned round, keeping his face to the wall, and tottered out of the Black Dogg.

NOW SOME OF THE GAOLERS were of a mind to jump up and fetch Jack straightaway back to his parlor up in the Castle. But others had not yet finished their pints. Jack himself had ordered a round for the house only a minute earlier, and had not even begun to quaff from the fresh mug that had just been set before him. It seemed indecent to drag him out just now. So Jack sat, and shook hands and exchanged pleasantries with several prisoners who had the temerity to approach his table, and even kissed a Common-Side wench-almost certainly a Felon, by the looks of her-on the cheek. But after a few minutes there was movement from an adjacent table. Two free men had been sitting there all through Jack’s interview with his visitor: one, younger and quite bulky, the other, of indeterminate age (because of a wig and a turned-up collar) but with the bony physique of one of those fortunate chaps who has found the knack of spiting age. The big one stayed in his chair, only shifting position so as to bring Jack’s table into the corner of his eye. The slight one got up, went into the corner, and helped himself to a seat. He was gripping a mug-courtesy of Jack! He had not, however, brought it to his lips. Rather, he kept it clenched between his hands so that they would not shake so much. They wanted to shake with rage. No, they wanted to close round the throat of Jack Shaftoe.

Jack enjoyed watching his new visitor for a few minutes. For it took that long for the old man to contain his fury enough to speak.

“How long,” he finally said, “how long have you been whispering those-those abominable lies into the ear of Sir Isaac Newton?”

“For as long as I have been privy to his eager ears,” said Jack, “going on two months now. It is something I never looked for. Great men in this town will do backflips to get Ike’s attention for even a moment. Who’d have thought he would listen so avidly to a Vagabond? And yet since he clapped me in irons, I’ve had better entree to him than the bloody King of England himself. I snap my fingers-there he is, ready to listen for hours.”

“Since the Marquis of Ravenscar went to his long home,” said Daniel, “Isaac Newton is my oldest friend. Or was; for your lies have made him into a bitter and dangerous enemy.”

Jack snorted. “I could see what excellent friends you were when you came here to parley with me on the evening of July the 28th. The suspicion on old Ike’s face was quite obvious. Oh, not suspicion of you only but of everyone. I knew then that a few words from me would set him off. And so now you are enemies. Which is of as much significance to me, as that flies are, at this moment, swarming on camels’ arses in Cairo. Your old friend, enemy, or whatever he is, wishes to tear me limb from limb. Now. This bloke, who would do this terrible thing to me, is, it seems, a sorcerer or alchemist of some stripe, straight out of a bleeding f?ry-tale! Just like elves and trolls, his sort are fading away, and soon to vanish from this world. A state of affairs that is as plain to them, as it is to you and me! But where you and I look on this as a dying-off-and good riddance!-Ike and his chums mistake it for an Apocalypse that will be their great and final triumph. Ones such as he used to come and pester us in Vagabond-camps, and we would sport with them, lacking other diversions. Just as the proprietor of a gin-house uses his customers’ lust for booze to get money to feed his family, why, I am using Ike’s lust for the Solomonic Gold to get what I require for myself and the boys. Which I’ll go on doing until I have achieved satisfaction. If the result is a raid upon the Whig Mint hidden at Clerkenwell Court, and if in consequence you and your learned associates are brought hither in chains, it is nothing to me.”

“Fine. It is all clear. What is it then that you want?”

“Jimmy, Danny, Tomba, and I, free men, on a ship bound for America.”

“It is so noted,” said the other. “However, there is a complication of which I am obliged to make you aware.”