Free Surrender by Sonya Hartnett Page B

outlaw nodded toward the road and said, “Look.”
    I looked and saw the Constable striding across the grass. It was Saturday, cold, and the park was deserted but for the three of us. I sucked in my breath, whispered, “Let’s go.”
    “No.” Finnigan idled on his swing, his toes scraped the ground. “He’ll wonder why.”
    McIllwraith slowed as he reached us, and finally stopped. His shoes were shiny, glossed with rain. Fog unraveled from his mouth. I clutched the heavy chains of my swing, my fingers pink and white; Finnigan sat calmly. “Cold day,” said McIllwraith.
    “It’s winter,” answered Finnigan.
    McIllwraith looked away; my heart jumped at my ribs. Above our heads a crying crow was blown like black rubbish through the sky. My face burned, chilled by the wind. McIllwraith was looking at me.
    “You’re Harry’s son, aren’t you? Anwell?”
    He wanted to talk about Father, not the fires. It was a relief; I nodded. Finnigan spun on his swing, smiling. McIllwraith, his hands in his pockets, hugged his coat to him. “Has Harry still got men roaming round town every night?”
    “Yes.” The policeman surely knew it. Finnigan and I were both fourteen now, and the Constable must once have been fourteen too, yet he was wary of us, guarded. He feared, I think, that we were untrustworthy. He worried he might say something that could be used against him. He was afraid of being seen with us; he was afraid of my father. I understood how he felt.
    “What about it?” Finnigan asked. His voice jarred the silence. McIllwraith looked at him.
    “It’s dangerous. They’re terrorizing people, not protecting them. Someone is going to get hurt.”
    “He wants to stop the firebug.”
    McIllwraith shook his head. “It’s not his job. No one asked for his help. Why is he doing this?”
    Finnigan shrugged, and they both looked at me. “I don’t know,” I said.
    “He’s crazy?” Finnigan offered.
    “He likes everything to be under his control.” I frowned, and held the statement up to the light. I’d never framed my life in so few words.
My father likes everything to be under his control
.
    “Including you?” asked McIllwraith.
    “Yes,” I answered: including me.
    “I don’t want to get you into trouble. Should I walk away?”
    Finnigan looked at me; I shook my head slowly. “No,” I said. “This should stop.”
    A cloud sighed widely out of the policeman. My hands fell from the chains to my lap. “Tell him,” murmured Finnigan.
    “Tell him what?”
    “What?” echoed McIllwraith.
    “Everything. What they’re getting up to on their little midnight jaunts. Where they go, what they do — you could spoil everything for them.”
    I was shocked. “You
want
me to tell?”
    “Would you?” McIllwraith’s gaze jumped over me. “Could you?”
    I faltered, uncertain. “I don’t know. If he found out I was doing that . . .”
    “Then don’t.” McIllwraith set his jaw. “If you think he’ll find out, don’t do it.”
    “But what about the fires?” asked Finnigan plaintively. “They need stopping too.”
    I nodded to this. “The fires have to be stopped.”
    “They will be stopped,” said the Constable. “But not by vigilantes. Not by spreading fear through the town. That won’t stop the arsonist.”
    “I agree,” said the firebug. “That won’t work.”
    “What your father is doing is wrong, Anwell — he’s just as wrong as the arsonist is.”
    “He’s
more
wrong,” said Finnigan.
    “His actions are equally dangerous — you know that yourself, don’t you?”
    “You don’t have to persuade us,” said Finnigan. “We’ll do it. Why shouldn’t we? The bastard deserves it.”
    “It will keep everyone safe,” I said. “That’s why I’ll do it.”
    McIllwraith paused, the wind rifling his coat. I could not tell if he was pleased. After some moments he said, “You too, though. Remember: you need to keep safe.”
    Finnigan replied immediately, “And you.”
    “Yes,” I