Earl brings on the open market these days. Damn your shaky legs, Alastair Lowell, you’ve got to find something to wear and get the blazes out of here before the baddies get back!”
Just as Alastair was becoming desperate enough to consider draping himself in the tattered blanket that had covered him, the door to the hovel burst open. A wide shaft of sunlight sliced through the cottage, nearly blinding him, to be followed by a sudden and nearly total eclipse as the doorway was filled with the largest man he had ever seen.
“Hell’s Gatekeeper!” Alastair breathed incredulously, involuntarily backing up until the edge of the cot caught him behind the knees and he sat down, covering his nakedness with the blanket. He knew he hadn’t led the most exemplary of lives, but had he really merited this?
The giant advanced into the room, his huge head tipped inquisitively to one side as he looked at his guest, before his attention was distracted by something near the fireplace. He turned slowly toward the fireplace and growled deep in his throat. The dog, which had been curled up asleep at the bottom of the wheel, leapt to his feet and began running as fast as he could, the singed joint on the spit spinning about so rapidly that hot meat juice flew off it to sizzle against the stones of the hearth.
The giant grumbled in satisfaction, turning his attention once more to his guest. Advancing toward Alastair, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a greasy piece of much-folded paper and extended it to the smaller man.
“For me?” Alastair asked, hating the slight tremor in his voice. “You want me to read this?” The ogre nodded. “All right,” the Earl said, gingerly accepting the scrap of paper. He looked up into the larger man’s face, searching for some sign of intelligence. “I’m going to have to get up now, and move closer to the window to get some light. Is that all right with you? Good.”
Alastair, the tattered blanket wrapped about his muscular frame like a toga, moved slowly toward the small window—doing his utmost not to make any disaster-causing sudden movements. “I’m Alastair Lowell, by the by,” he said, making what he hoped was idle conversation as he unfolded the paper. “I’m the Earl of Hythe—which should not be too far from here, unless I somehow ended up on the wrong side of the Channel. Parlez vous français, friend ogre? No? Well, that’s some small relief. All right, let me see what this says.”
He read for a few moments, then looked up at the giant, who was hovering just a mite too close for comfort. “Hugo, is it?”
The giant nodded vigorously, a large smile cracking his face to expose a childish, gap-toothed grin. He slammed one hamlike fist against his barrel chest and growled low in his throat as if repeating his name.
“Uh-huh,” Alastair said dryly. “Obviously Hugo. And this letter was written by your mother—dictated from her deathbed, actually, to someone who wrote it for her. How touching.” He lowered his head to read the remainder of the short note. “Good God!” he exclaimed, looking up at Hugo, then down at the note once more. “Cut out your tongue? I can’t believe it. Why in bloody hell would anybody want to—”
Hugo’s left hand came down heavily on Alastair’s shoulder, nearly buckling the Earl’s knees. “Aaarrgh,” the giant groaned, opening his cavernous mouth to let Alastair view the damage for himself.
“Yes, indeed,” the Earl concluded quickly, trying not to gag, “it’s gone, all right. My condolences. Your mother says you’re a good boy, Hugo, and that I should be nice to you. You’re seven feet tall if you’re an inch, old man. I’d like to meet the fellow who wouldn’t be nice to you. Besides, unless I miss my guess, you saved my life.”
Nodding his head several times, Hugo stepped back to begin an elaborate pantomime Alastair believed was meant to depict Hugo’s daring rescue at sea. As the performance took some time, and the Earl was beginning to feel slightly giddy from being on his feet so long, it wasn’t too many minutes before Alastair could feel the small room begin to swirl in front of his eyes.
The giant, apparently sensing Alastair’s imminent collapse, broke off his performance to scoop the smaller man into his arms and lay him gently on the cot. His movements swift and economical, he had a meal of meat, thin broth, and boiled potatoes in front of Alastair before another ten minutes had passed, and he fed this to the patient from his own spoon, grumbling compliments for every bite of stringy meat Alastair swallowed.
Later, after watching Hugo wash the plates in a bucket of seawater he had carried into the cottage, and while the spit dog hungrily wolfed down the remnants of the meal, Alastair, his strength at last beginning to return, began a fact-finding conversation with his nurse-savior.
“How long have I been here, Hugo?” he asked as the giant unearthed the Earl’s clothing from a small chest near the hearth.
Hugo held up three fingers.
“Three days? No, my beard is too long for that. Three weeks?” Hugo nodded his head in agreement. “Good God—the whole world must think me dead! Hugo—do you have a newspaper?”
The giant looked puzzled for a moment, then removed one gigantic wooden clog and pulled out the folded layers of newspaper that served as a cushion for his feet. Alastair accepted it gingerly, unfolding it with the tips of his fingers to see that the newspaper was six months out-of-date.
“Thank you, friend, but I fear I need something more recent than this,” he said politely, quickly returning the paper, which Hugo replaced inside the clog. “We’ll need money. Did I have any money with me? I should have—I was a big winner, as I recall, and hadn’t as yet gone to my cabin to change out of my evening dress. But no, doubtless the man who hit me made sure to empty my pockets before dumping me overboard—why else would he bother with the exercise at all? I should have known that at least one of them would prove to be a poor loser. Good Lord, Hugo, I think I’m babbling.”
Within moments Hugo had laid a considerable sum of money in Alastair’s lap, amazing the Earl with his honesty. The man couldn’t have spent so much as a single copper on himself the whole time the Earl was unconscious. But, relieved as he was to see the money, it also seemed to eliminate his disgruntled gambling companions as possible suspects in his “murder.”
Counting out a hundred pounds, Alastair handed it to Hugo, who refused to take it. “Here, here, man, don’t be silly. I owe you my life. Besides, I want you to go into the nearest town and buy every newspaper you can find. Where am I anyway, Hugo? East or west of Folkestone? West? Good. That means I can’t be more than a stone’s toss from Hythe—and Seashadow. That fits my plan exactly—did I fail to mention that I have a small plan building in my head? Tell me, my large friend, would you like to be a part of it?”
“Aaarrgh!” Hugo agreed, clapping his hands.
“Good for you, Hugo, and welcome aboard! All right, let’s get down to cases. I’ll need some clothes—nothing too fancy, just a shirt and breeches, and perhaps a vest and hat. Oh, yes, I’ll need smallclothes and shoes as well. The salt water has made my own clothes unwearable, even if you were so kind as to wash them. Do you think you can take care of that for me? Of course you can. You’re very intelligent, aren’t you, Hugo? Your mother said you are.”
Hugo’s gap-toothed grin was curiously touching.
“I’ll need paper, and pen and ink, of course,” Alastair added, thinking aloud. “I should think I’ll want to get word to that Captain Wiggins fellow in the War Office that I’m still alive. He may prove useful. But I don’t think I would wish the knowledge of my survival to go beyond him for the moment.” He looked across the room at Hugo, then smiled. “Not much fear of that, is there?” he
