‘It’s not that simple.’
Abi filled him in, speaking fast, ever mindful of the Master of Hounds in his quarters above. The kennel-keeper liked a drink, she’d discovered. So a couple of weeks ago she’d liberated several bottles of malt from the cellars and pretended they were a thank-you gift from the Jardines. He’d looked suspicious – plainly the Equals weren’t in the habit of showing appreciation to their slaves – but had taken them anyway. Thereafter Abi breathed a little more easily when making her night-time visits.
‘If I can get him speaking, walking,’ she told her brother, ‘then maybe they’ll let him do days normally like the rest of us.’
‘That won’t happen, Abi. You know it won’t. This isn’t just punishment. It’s too vindictive. You’re thinking too small. The only way you can end this is by getting him out of Kyneston. If you want to change something, you need to think big.’
His tone was earnest in a way she’d never heard from him before. He really believed what he was saying.
And the tiniest bit of fear for her brother crept into her heart. When did Luke become so . . . fearless?
Maybe that was what the unrest in Millmoor had been about. Perhaps Luke had heard people spouting these sorts of idealistic catchphrases. Smart words. Nice ideas. All totally impossible.
Luke plucked the key from her fingers.
‘We’ll take him out of these kennels for a few hours, at least. Standing up isn’t enough – he needs to be able to walk around, to run. Let’s head for the woods. No one will see us out there.’
And before Abi could stop him, Luke was kneeling in front of the cage, lifting the door in exactly the right way. She heard him mutter in dismay as the dog-man crawled out. Was that because of the way the man looked and smelled? Or just due to the unbearable fact of him: a man twisted by Skill out of all semblance of humanity?
‘I’m Luke Hadley,’ she heard her brother say in that new, confident voice.
‘Hello – Luke Hadley,’ the Condemned man rasped.
‘I don’t know your name.’
The captive’s shoulders shook. That awful, empty mirth. It still made Abi shudder.
What if we’ve got it wrong? she suddenly wanted to call out to Luke. What if we’ve made a terrible mistake? What if the reason there’s no humanity in him isn’t because it was taken away, but because it was never there in the first place?
‘Neither – do I. Your sister asks me – the same. Why not – call me – “Dog”.’
‘“Dog”? Don’t you remember your name?’ Luke asked.
‘I only remember – what he let me – keep. That’s just – the bad things.’
‘He?’
‘No one – you know. Someone I hope – you never meet. My jailer.’
‘Lord Crovan,’ Abi said. Luke shook his head. The name meant nothing to him. ‘Some kind of state-sanctioned sadist,’ she clarified.
‘Plenty of those.’
Dog reared up suddenly, like an animal pulling itself effortfully onto its hind legs. Now that she had another person to compare him against, she could see that Dog must have been tall once. And strong.
Was still strong. You didn’t notice when he was on all fours, but the muscles were there, clearly etched in his lean thighs and powerfully bulky along his upper arms. How many press-ups did he do in here every day?
‘Clothes,’ said Luke. ‘Let’s find you something.’
‘He can tolerate the cold.’
Abi didn’t want her brother hunting around disturbing the hounds or their masters.
‘I’m sure he can tolerate it. But three people out walking at night will be that bit more conspicuous if one of them is stark naked than if they’re all, you know, dressed.’
When did Luke get so wise? And so smart-mouthed.
No, wait. He’d always been that.
It was so good to have him back. This was how it should have been from the start.
Their night-time outing with the dog-man – Dog, as she supposed she should now call him, which somehow felt worse – was a success. They’d returned him to his pen without incident, and Luke was keen to make a repeat visit soon.
But that was going to become harder, because the advance wedding party had arrived. Not only Lady Hypatia, but also her eldest son and his family – the Vernays of Ide, a cadet branch of the Jardine line. Abi didn’t know anything about them, beyond the fact that Ide had been the target of Black Billy’s infamous, doomed revolt more than two centuries ago. With them came the bride-to-be’s widowed father, Lord Lytchett Matravers, and his chum Lord Rix.
These two were an ill-matched pair: one, a Christmas pudding of a man, sherry-scented and full of cheer. The other was rail-thin and suave, given to leaving pluming trails of fragrant cigar smoke in their wake. The other thing that seemed to follow them around was laughter, which made for a pleasant change.