Free Guns of the Dawn by Adrian Tchaikovsky Page B

‘The Ghyer? I thought he was dead.’
    ‘We all hoped it, but no. He was merely elsewhere, and now he appears to have returned to his old haunts. Two houses have been robbed by his men, isolated places just like Grammaine. There
has been a death. I would have your man Grant keep loaded pieces to hand.’
    ‘He shall, Mr Northway. The Ghyer shall find Grammaine too hot for him.’
    In this sudden ceasefire between them, Mr Northway’s smile grew crafty and calculating. She thought she saw a dozen separate overtures forming on those lips, only to be weighed and
discarded as he sought to capitalize on his small gains. In the end all he said was: ‘I imagine you wish me to depart, now that I have given my warning.’
    ‘Thank you for it,’ she made herself say, watching him lever himself from the chair.
    ‘Just doing my duty, Miss Marshwic.’ He paused on his way to the door, hovering closer to her than she liked. ‘If there is any other small hardship here I can alleviate . .
.’
    ‘We will cope, I am sure,’ she told him, not harshly but firmly.
    After he had gone, her thoughts touched on the man, Griff, that Alice had been speaking to in town. Perhaps he had been a creature of Mr Northway keeping an eye on them. After
all, the Mayor-Governor certainly seemed to be showing a great deal of interest in Grammaine these days, although possibly he just enjoyed vexing her with his presence and his impenetrable
conversation. Or perhaps this Griff had been something even more sinister than that.
    Stepping out of the front door, she could just see Mr Northway’s horse heading away down the path and out of sight. When he was gone from view, she called for Grant.
    ‘I think you had better take out and load Father’s guns, and keep them to hand,’ Emily told him. ‘There are brigands at large, I hear.’
    ‘Shall be done, ma’am,’ Grant promised.
    Perhaps this Griff was working for the Ghyer. It was hard enough that the infamous robber had returned at all, but that he might be showing an interest in Grammaine, yet again . . . Perhaps he
had come for vengeance upon her father, little knowing that such revenge had been cold and stale for many years.
    Emily clenched her fists, trying to summon her determination. If the outlaw Ghyer turned up at Grammaine, then she and Grant and Poldry would treat him just the same as her father had, all those
years ago. She would drive him and his villains away, or have Grant shoot them dead if he could. She was living in a world where men were shot dead, after all. She had the evidence of her own eyes
for that.
    She went back into the drawing room, but the spectre of Mr Northway still hung in it with the residue of his expensive, intrusive scent.
    Perhaps this Griff had told Alice the truth, and he really was the King’s agent. Perhaps – and she found the thought too delicious to contemplate – he genuinely was
investigating the misdeeds of Mr Northway. The Mayor-Governor’s corruptions were so many and manifest that word must surely have reached the King, and the idea of a spy investigating all
Northway’s little treasons was vastly appealing.
    *
    In the weeks that followed, Mr Northway’s generosity continued to alight on them sporadically – though never regular enough to rely on, giving Grammaine’s
finances a constant and literal feast-or-famine air. The man himself did not personally accompany his deliveries, though. Instead, he insinuated his way into Emily’s head every time she saw
the kitchen filled with another load of unearned bounty.
    She had discussed with her two sisters what they should do with such an embarrassing harvest. Northway plainly thought that he could secure an advantage over them, and if they simply hoarded it
all for their exclusive use, then that would become true. They would be making themselves conspirators with him while the rest of Lascanne endured short commons.
    It was Mary’s idea to simply go round the other isolated homes