“I’m not,” Ben said, the denial instinctive.
“It wasn’t a criticism. I found myself that a brush with the law from the wrong side gives one a much more nuanced appreciation of crime and punishment.”
Day sighed. “Do be quiet, Lucien. Spenser, I fail to see how your eloquent defence ties into the fact that Pastern was a professional thief for years, but do continue.”
“That’s all. I know he’s done a lot of bad things, but Jonah’s not a bad man. He’s not…like other people, but I don’t know how many of you practitioners are.” Crane’s expression suggested he agreed with that. “But he’s got a chance now—with honest work to do and people who treat him decently and someone to show him right from wrong—”
“Some might suggest he could have taken up honest work at any time he chose,” Day remarked. “Or that the individual is responsible for himself, for his own actions and morals—”
“No. Or—yes, but— For God’s sake, I can’t manage alone. I need other people so I can be better myself. I need to know who I’m doing the right thing for. I need help sometimes. Don’t you?”
“He’s got you there,” Crane said.
“Perhaps. All right, yes. Granted. But… I could be persuaded that Pastern behaving himself, out of sight and out of mind, would be the best outcome for everyone—you, us, the Met and my people. The damage has been done, the wounds are healing, and there’s something to be said for letting them scar over. But I need to know he would stay out of sight, because if he causes any more trouble it will rip those wounds back open, and affect a lot more people than just him and you.” Day looked at Ben, eyes very golden. “I need an honest answer. I won’t repeat it to him. Do you truly believe he’s trustworthy?”
“He’s done nothing wrong here—” Ben began.
“In three months. Remarkable.”
“We only heard of him via the pawn shop,” Crane observed. “And we wouldn’t even have been in the country to hear that if Mrs. Gold didn’t have the gestational period of a pachyderm. I thought those babies would never appear. It was like waiting for the Second Coming.”
“For heaven’s sake, Lucien!”
“He’s done nothing wrong here,” Ben repeated, loudly. “I don’t believe he will. I trust him, and I’m staying with him. Whether you hobble him, gaol him or leave him alone; here or in Land’s End or John o’Groats. I am staying with him, and he is staying with me, and I can’t promise he won’t do anything reckless ever again, but I trust him to try his best. I’d bet my life on that. I have bet my life on it. If you need a stake, or a surety for his good behaviour, or anything else, I stand for him. For God’s sake, Mr. Day, give him a chance.” Ben knew he was pleading, didn’t care. He’d beg on his knees if he had to. “He hasn’t had many.”
“I can’t comment on Spenser’s judgement, Stephen,” Crane said. “But I would remind you I won my bet this morning.”
“And I’ll pay up tonight.” Day’s voice was quite casual but the look he got from Crane in answer made Ben flush. Day caught his expression and gave a little, rather self-conscious shrug.
“Judging by my narrow escape from lockjaw this morning, there are quite a few people placing faith in Pastern,” Crane went on, not noticing or, more likely, ignoring that brief connection. “And if you can just bring yourself to join them, there’s a ship waiting for us at Plymouth now.”
“Thank you, I’m well aware that’s your reason— What was that?” Day was on his feet as the distant shriek cut through the air. Ben leapt too, in immediate panic. It was a woman’s cry, and he sprinted for the door, praying. Jonah, Jonah, please, nothing stupid, not now… He ran through the kitchen, into the garden, came to an abrupt halt as he saw what was happening, and was sent stumbling by Crane’s sizeable frame colliding with his back.
Dora leaned on the fence, one hand clutching her heart, mouth open. Merrick was beside her, shaking his head. The windwalkers stood together. Mrs. Merrick’s eyes were wide with excitement; Jonah wore a manic grin. And in the air, Agnes was windwalking. The little girl squealed with glee as she hopscotched madly through the sky, ten feet above the lush grass.
“Oh my God, it’s another one,” Crane said.
“No, that’s Pastern doing it.” Day gazed up. “Good Lord, he’s talented. That’s astonishing.”
“It’s wonderful,” Ben said. Agnes shrieked his name, flailing her arms. He waved up and saw her laugh. “You have no idea how wonderful it is.”
“Look at that.” Dora came over, head tilted back, watching her daughter. “My Agnes, flapping round like a kite. Lord above. That Jonah.”
“What if he drops her?” Day asked, and got a look that should have made him curl up like a salted slug.
“If I thought he’d drop her,” Dora said, voice pure ice, “then I’d not let him do that with her. Would I?”