At the Dying of the Year by Chris Nickson Read Free Book Online

hope and wonder. All that had vanished quickly enough and left him out here.
    The bustle of the market seemed a world away, the noise baffled by brick and stone. Back here there was only silent desperation. He kept his eyes on the ground in front of him, listening closely for the smallest sound.
    â€˜Are you all right?’
    The Constable raised his head slowly. ‘Aye, lad, I’ll be fine,’ he said with a smile. ‘I just needed somewhere quiet. Come on out if you want. I’ve got some food.’
    He waited patiently, careful to say nothing more. Too much and he could scare the boy away. This way he seemed harmless, just another old man. He took a little more of the pie and chewed it slowly.
    When he looked up again the boy was standing in front of him, leaving enough distance to run. He was small and thin as twigs, his shirt ragged at the cuffs and neck, worn through at the elbows. Tattered breeches hung off skinny legs, hose gathered loosely on his calves, the shoes at least three sizes too large for his feet.
    He looked about twelve, but Nottingham knew that was just a guess. Whatever his age, his face had seen far too much for his years. His eyes were sad, filled now with hunger as he looked at the pie, and he clenched a knife tight in one fist.
    â€˜Help yourself. Take it all if you want.’
    The boy glanced around quickly, then slipped forward, grabbing the food. Nottingham thought he saw a small form move deep in the shadows, a fleeting impression of a girl who vanished somewhere.
    â€˜It’s good,’ the Constable said as the lad took a bite. ‘What’s your name?’
    â€˜Caleb,’ the boy answered as he began to chew. He stared suspiciously at Nottingham. ‘Why are you back here, anyway?’
    â€˜To learn something.’
    Caleb cocked his head, taken by surprise. ‘What? There’s nowt back here.’
    â€˜There’s you. And your friends. I see you’re keeping some of the food for them.’
    â€˜We share.’
    The Constable smiled gently. ‘We used to do that, too.’
    â€˜Oh aye?’ He looked doubtful. ‘When was that, then?’
    â€˜Back when I lived like you.’ He said the words evenly, as if they meant nothing, watching the boy’s eyes widen in disbelief.
    â€˜You? You never did.’
    â€˜It was a long time ago.’
    â€˜What do you do now?’ Caleb took another bite of the pie before carefully stuffing the rest in his pocket.
    â€˜I’m the Constable of Leeds.’
    â€˜No you’re not,’ the boy said confidently. ‘I’ve seen him. He’s younger than you and taller.’
    Nottingham laughed loud. ‘That’s Mr Sedgwick. He’s my deputy. I’ve been ill for a long time.’
    â€˜Oh aye? What was wrong with you?’ Caleb asked warily.
    â€˜Someone tried to kill me.’
    â€˜Really?’
    He knew he had the lad’s attention now. All he had to do was keep it, and make him believe. ‘Someone knifed me. It took a long time to heal. Look.’ He pulled up his shirt to display the wound. Much of the redness had vanished, but the scar still stood livid against his flesh.
    Caleb stared, staying quiet for a long time.
    â€˜Did you really live out here, then? You’re not just saying?’
    The Constable answered slowly. ‘I did. I know what it’s like. More years than anyone needs.’ He cleared his throat. ‘We found three bodies yesterday.’
    â€˜Aye, we know,’ the boy told him, his voice as weary and aching as an old man’s.
    â€˜I want whoever killed them,’ Nottingham said. ‘I’m hoping you and the others out here can help me.’

SIX
    C aleb stared coldly at him. ‘Why should we?’
‘Because I saw what someone did to those three and I want to make sure he can’t do it to anyone else.’ He looked at the boy. ‘Is that enough for you?’
    Caleb lowered