A Wicked Way to Burn Read Online Free Page B

customers?”
    Those seated by Peter Lynch eyed the Frenchman in the shadows expectantly, while the speech drew groans from some at the back tables.
    “You know, you’re the very first to complain, Peter, since Mr. Fortier joined us yesterday evening.”
    “Maybe you can explain what brought him to Bracebridge, where he’s got no proper business that I know of. And then he can tell us if he imagines he’s going to spend another quiet night in a bed upstairs.”
    “He’s very likely staying here,” the landlord responded patiently, “because it’s cheap, as you all know … unlikeMr. Pratt’s fine lodgings up the hill. Show me he’s a bit of trouble to anyone, and I’ll have him out. Meanwhile, my guests may come and go as they please. It’s still a free country. As to his business—” Phineas Wise regarded the miller with a gleam in his eye.
    “—as to his business, well, I think many of us know what that might be, don’t we, gentlemen? And I say good luck to him, as I would to any man trying to coax a young lady—or any other kind of female, for that matter.”
    “Especially a young colt like Mary!” someone called, and several of the men joined in with loud good humor.
    “You know what else the ladies say about Frenchmen, don’t you, Peter?” called an older man, before hooting with laughter.
    For a moment, it looked as though the red-faced miller might leap over his seat. But instead, a determined look crept across Peter Lynch’s broad features, while his great voice softened to a syrupy growl.
    “Oh, he’s not afraid to walk in here, bold as brass, and sniff around—as long as I’m off trying to get custom for my mill. I suppose he saw me riding into Worcester on Monday, and came running here to try his luck. But I’m back now; and I’m only saying God’s truth when I tell him he’d be better off keeping to his own kind. I’ll just add what we all feel—that any of his kind that hope to get half-breeds by our women will soon be escorted
straight to
hell!”
    At this, the silent young man jumped lithely to his feet, throwing out a curse and nearly overturning the table in front of the red-cloaked stranger. The miller, too, rose up and spit on his hands in preparation, followed by a wobbling Dick Craft. While others braced themselves, the two old men silhouetted against the leaping firelight spun their chairs around eagerly, hoping for a new tale to add to their threadbare stock. And Phineas Wise hurriedto the back of the bar to pick up a stout ash stick he’d often found handy in a brawl.
    It was in this final moment of relative calm, when calculations of positions and odds were swiftly being made, that a sound—not a very loud sound, but one that is frequently found to be commanding—gained the attention of each and every one of the Blue Boar’s inhabitants, calling an immediate truce.
    Its cause was simple. The old stranger, who had been in the process of rising when the excitement began, had taken a purse from an inner pocket of the scarlet cloak he wore. In the confusion, he’d tipped the open bag until its contents fell in a glittering stream onto the table before him. There, more than two dozen pieces of gold sang out loudly as they danced and reeled against each other, and finally settled down before an audience that was as fascinated as a swaying cobra hearing a snake charmer’s horn.
    The stranger bent his head quickly. He picked up the coins from the table, then dropped them back into the leather pouch, one by one. Around him, eyes narrowed in speculation.
    Phineas Wise quietly set his club against the wall. He bent to retrieve a few more pieces that had skipped to the floor. While he held them, he was surprised to see that they were Dutch gold—guldens, from God knew where. He stood and gave them up a little wistfully. Then he retreated a few paces, to be well away from the circle of staring faces.
    Slowly, the men sat down to their tables again. But they continued to