He wished, more than anything in the world, that Jonah was here and he didn’t know.
The disaster that was overtaking him was too great for Ben to understand. Realisations burst in his mind like gunfire: the cottage that he could not afford alone, the appalling inevitability of the discovery that he had been living with Jonah, the likelihood that their true relationship would be discovered. The thoughts came on him sickeningly and died away, to be replaced by others just as bad, and at the centre of it all was the great airless darkness inside him where Jonah’s bright smile had been.
Ben stared at the ashes in their hearth, long after the candle guttered and died, until dawn greyed the windows, and then he got up and went to work because he couldn’t think what else to do.
Halfway through the morning, a messenger sent by Miss Nodder burst in.
“Men. Now. We’ve found Pastern.”
Ben and Marshall were among the last on the scene. It seemed Jonah had been hiding in the timber yard down by the canal, and it seemed as though he had resisted arrest. The justiciar Webster was nursing a bloody nose, there were hysterical sobs from somewhere in the milling crowd of bewildered people, and the great carved totem pole all the way from America that adorned the timber yard lolled drunkenly to one side. Jonah was face down on the ground, swearing and spitting, with three constables sitting on him. His wrists were handcuffed behind his back, and a fourth man was awkwardly cuffing his ankles together.
As Ben stared at the filthy, struggling criminal, his lover, he heard an ominous rumble from the timber yard, and a crash that shook the ground.
“That’s the bloody logpile going again!” Webster leapt up. “All men, get in there, follow Miss Nodder’s orders. Someone, get that flying bastard in the carriage and keep him in there.”
“I will,” Ben said.
He dragged Jonah up and hauled him, filthy and wild, to the police cab. The horse neighed nervously as he approached. He half pushed Jonah in, since his ankles were so tightly tethered he couldn’t go up the step, and then he shut the door and sat on the hard bench, opposite the man who had ruined him.
“Ben.” Jonah had a split lip, and his tongue dipped at the blood. “Oh God, lover. I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry,” Ben repeated. “You’re sorry.”
“I am. I didn’t mean… Ben, you have to let me go.”
“What?” Ben stared at him, incredulous.
Jonah’s absurdly blue gaze was melting him with its intensity. “You have to. I can’t go to gaol now.”
“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you became a bloody thief!”
“I know. I know, I’m sorry, but—” He hesitated, before rushing on. “They’ll hobble me, Ben. They’ll cut my tendons so I can’t windwalk. They’ll cripple me and take away my flight and put me in a tiny cell and I’ll go mad, I will.”
“I’ll get a lawyer.” Ben cursed himself for his weakness as he spoke. “Someone. Somehow. They’ll argue your case—”
“Lawyer,” Jonah said with scorn. “I won’t even get a trial. I’ll just disappear, and they’ll hobble me and…I can’t be locked up. Please, Ben. Don’t let them do that to me. Don’t let them take me.”
“Christ,” Ben said thickly. “Stop.”
“I’m so sorry and I shouldn’t ask this but I have to. Please just undo the cuffs. Give me a chance.”
“You had a chance. We had a chance and you—you just—Jesus, Jonah. I loved you.”
“Don’t.” Jonah sounded as defeated as he looked. “Don’t say that. Don’t stop loving me.”
“You’ve ruined me,” Ben rasped. “You lied, and you cheated, and you made a fool of me and if I let you go— Go to the devil. I won’t be your dupe any longer.”
“I didn’t lie about us,” Jonah said. “I promise. I love you.”
Ben clenched his fists. “I don’t care!”
“I do.” Jonah moved forward, and his lips were on Ben’s, warm and bloody and gritty with sawdust. Ben tried to push him away, got a grip on his shoulders to do just that, and Jonah whispered, “Ben, listen to me, love me,” and somehow Ben’s hands wouldn’t let go. Then he was kissing Jonah back, as desperately as that first time when they’d stumbled out of the pub and into the alley, sloppy and wild. Jonah leaned heavily against him, unbalanced by his restraints. He twisted around, and half fell sideways, and Ben went with him, and over him, sprawling on the hard benches of the police carriage. He kissed Jonah with a reckless madness, feeling the lust springing through him as they rolled together on the cramped space of the floor, legs bent and limbs tangled. Jonah squirmed round and hauled him upwards, onto the bench, hands cupping his face, warm and close on Ben’s skin. He stared into his eyes, his own cobalt gaze bright with tears.
“I’m so sorry, Ben.”