'Watch your words! We don't take kindly to people who walk in here accusing us of smuggling and the like.'
Halt shrugged, unimpressed. 'I didn't say anything about "the like",' he rejoined. 'I simply said I'm not worried by the fact that you're a smuggler. I just want some information, that's all. Tell me what I want to know and I'll bother you no further.'
O'Malley had leaned forward over the table to issue the warning to Halt. Now he sat back angrily.
'If I wouldn't tell the boy,' he said, jerking his thumb towards the silent figure by the doorway, 'what makes you think I'll tell his grandfather?'
Halt raised an eyebrow at that. 'Oh, that's a little harsh. Uncle might be closer to the truth, I think.' But now the smuggler had decided enough was enough.
'Get out,' O'Malley ordered flatly. 'I'm done with you.'
Halt shook his head, and those dark eyes bored into O'Malley's.
'Maybe,' he said. 'But I'm not done with you.'
There was a threat and a challenge implicit in the words. And they were delivered in a tone of thinly veiled contempt. It was all too much for O'Malley.
'Nialls. Dennis. Throw this fool out into the street,' he said. 'And if his little friend by the door raises that bow an inch, cut his throat before you do it.'
His two henchman started round the table towards Halt, Nialls going to his right, Dennis to his left. Halt waited until they were almost upon him, then said one word.
'Horace…'
He was interested to see how the young warrior approached the problem. Horace began with a straight right to Dennis's jaw. It was a solid blow but not a knockout punch by any means. It was simply intended to give Horace a little room and time. Dennis staggered back and before Nialls could react, Horace had pivoted and hit him with a crushing left hook to the jaw. Niall's eyes glazed and his knees went slack. He dropped like a sack of potatoes and hit the floor, out cold.
But now Dennis was coming back, swinging a wild roundhouse right hand at Horace. The young man ducked under it, hammered two short lefts into the smuggler's ribs, then came up with a searing uppercut to the point of Dennis's jaw.
The uppercut had all the power of Horace's legs, upper body, shoulder and arm beneath it. It slammed into Dennis's jaw and sent an instant message flashing to his brain. The light went out behind Dennis's eyes like a candle in a hurricane. His feet actually lifted several centimetres off the floor under the force of that terrible blow. Then he too simply folded in place and crashed to the rough, sawdust-strewn boards.
The entire sequence took a little less than four seconds. O'Malley goggled in amazement as his two bodyguards were dispatched with such contemptuous ease – and by a young man he had dismissed as no threat. He began to rise. But an iron grip seized his collar, dragging him back down and across the table. At the same time, he felt something sharp – very sharp – against his throat.
'I said, I'm not done with you yet. So sit down.'
Halt's voice was low and very compelling. Even more compelling was the razor-sharp saxe knife that was now pressing a little too firmly against the smuggler's throat. O'Malley hadn't seen him unsheathe the weapon. It occurred to him that this greybeard must be capable of moving with alarming speed – just as his young companion had done.
O'Malley looked at those eyes, seeing in the foreground a blurred picture of the murderous steel that rested against his throat.
'Now I'll let the grandfather remark pass,' Halt said. 'And I won't even take offence at the fact that you just tried to have your bully boys assault me. But I will ask you one question and I will ask it once. If you don't answer me, I will kill you. Right here. Right now. Will!' he called in an abrupt aside. 'If that big fellow by the sideboard takes another step towards me, put an arrow into him.'
'Already saw him, Halt,' Will replied. He raised the bow in the general direction Halt had mentioned. The heavily built seaman who had thought he was unobserved suddenly held up both hands. Like most of the others in the room, he had heard of the two arrows that shot between Nialls and Dennis the previous evening. Initially, he'd thought it might be worth his while to lend a hand to O'Malley. But it definitely wasn't worth getting himself shot.
Will gestured with the arrow and the man sank down onto a long bench. The gleaming arrowhead was enough to worry him. But of even greater concern was the fact that the bearded man hadn't seemed to glance in his direction once.
'Now,' said Halt, 'where were we again?'
O'Malley opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again. This was new territory. He was used to setting the agenda, used to having others defer to him. He didn't deceive himself that he was liked by the other men who frequented the Heron. But he knew he was feared and that was even better. Or so he had thought. Now that the people in the crowded tavern could see someone who instilled more fear in them than he did, he was left totally powerless. Had he been liked, maybe someone would have interceded on his behalf. But without Nialls and Dennis, he knew he was on his own.
Halt studied him for a moment, understanding the thought process that was going on behind the other man's eyes. He saw the flicker of doubt and uncertainty and knew he had a winning position. Everything that Will had told him about his earlier confrontation with the smuggler had led him to believe that O'Malley was not a well-liked figure. Halt had been depending on that and now he saw that it was true.
'Some days ago, you transported a man called Tennyson and a group of his followers somewhere out of the country. Do you remember that?'
O'Malley gave no sign that he did. His eyes were locked on Halt's. Halt could see the barely suppressed fury there – fury fanned by O'Malley's helplessness in the current situation.
'I hope you do,' Halt continued, 'because your life may well depend on it. Now remember what I said. I'm going to ask this question once and once only. If you want to continue living, you will tell me what I want to know. Clear?'
Still there was no response from the smuggler. Halt took a deep breath, then continued.
'Where did you take Tennyson?'
There was an almost palpable silence as everyone in the room seemed to lean forward expectantly, waiting to see what O'Malley was going to say. The smuggler swallowed several times, the action causing the tip of the saxe knife to dig painfully into the soft flesh of his throat. Then, his mouth dry and his voice almost a croak, he replied.
'You can't kill me.'
Halt's left eyebrow shot up at that. A strange half smile twisted his mouth.
'Really?' he said. 'And why might that be?'
'Because if you kill me, you'll never find out what you want to know,' O'Malley told him.
Halt gave vent to a brief snort of laughter. 'You can't be serious.'
O'Malley's forehead creased in a frown. He'd played his only card and the stranger was treating it with contempt. He was bluffing, O'Malley decided, and his confidence, at its lowest ebb, started to grow once more.
'Don't try to bluff,' he said. 'You want to know where this Tennyson fellow went. And you want to know badly, else you'd never have come back here tonight. So take that knife from my throat and I'll consider telling you. Although it'll cost you.' He added the last four words as an afterthought. He had the whip hand, he thought, and he might as well use it.
Halt said nothing for a second or two. Then he leaned across the table. The knife point stayed where it was against O'Malley's throat.
'I want you to do something for me, O'Malley. Look into my eyes and tell me if you can see any sign there that I'm incapable of killing you.'
O'Malley did as he was told. He had to admit the eyes were a chilling sight to behold. There was no sign of pity or weakness there. This man would be capable of killing him in an instant, he knew.