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Ashcombe hated being stuck in this bed, he’d have much rather gone to find the boy himself, but the explosion and the fight before that had made movement difficult. So instead he had to wait while the boy, this young Christopher Rowe, who had spent the past several days giving him the run-around, came to him.
Physicians were mulling around him, wrapping his bandages, changing his bandages. When Christopher came in, he shooed the physicians away, he didn’t want or need them to hear this conversation.
He looked at the boy even out of one eye he could see how shaken the boy was. He could see how young the boy was and wondered how he could have possibly believed this boy was capable of murder.
“You set a trap,” Ashcombe told Christopher.
Christopher stared at him confused. “I don’t understand.”
Blast these damn bandages they were covered around his mouth, muffling his words, making it hard for him to be understood. Ashcombe spoke again, slowly. “You set. A trap.”
Christopher bowed his head, “I’m sorry my lord. I never meant to get you hurt. I wanted Master Colthurst to confess so you’d realize he was the killer. I didn’t realize he’d bring so many men.”
Ashcombe had figured as much. He waved away Christopher’s apologies, he’d more than made up for it by saving his life. “No. In the. Underground lab. The Archangel’s Fire.”
Christopher nodded, “Yes, my lord. I couldn’t take the chance that Oswyn might find it and escape.”
It was a reasonable thing to prepare for. “Your trap. You knew. You could get him. If he. Went down.”
Christopher nodded, “I hoped so.”
But then… Ashcombe had been so out of it, but he remembered Christopher screaming as Oswyn tortured him. He had to know. “Yet you. Let him torture you. With that liquid. First.” Why? If the trap was already in place why allow the pain?
Christopher’s fingers traced something on his chest – the scars? “I did.”
“Why?”
He was quiet for a long moment. Ashcombe didn’t push for answers, he wasn’t in a position to demand answers, especially not quickly. Besides this boy, Christopher Rowe had saved his life after having every reason to just leave him to die. The least he could do is give him time to collect his thoughts.
“Oswyn knew I loved my master,” Christopher said, “He knew after Master Benedict had tried so hard to keep the Archangel’s Fire safe, for me to turn it over to him – to anyone – would betray everything my master had given me.”
Ashcombe stared at the boy, so, that young Bailey boy had been right. Christopher did love his master. Perhaps the abuse had been a one-time occurrence if Lady Brent had even seen the abuse in the first place.
“If I’d just told him about the lab, Oswyn might have suspected another trap. I couldn’t take that chance. He needed to think he’d beaten me. He needed to believe he’d won.”
Ashcombe tilted his head. “You used. His nature. Against him.” It was impressive for a boy so young.
Christopher nodded.
Ashcombe was impressed. This boy, this young 14-year-old boy, who only a few days before had lost his master was so much smarter than he’d given him credit for.
Yet even after all this only one thought stood among all the others.
All this time, he’d
been so certain that he was chasing after a murderer. When in reality he was chasing after a child, a brilliant creative child, who’d lost everything, and it turned out the boy was only trying to do what Ashcombe was.
Solve his master’s murder.
It could have been so much simpler. The boy, Christopher, could have just told him what that ledger page said. What hadn’t he?
Not that that was a choice after he put that bounty on his head.
He leaned back and closed his eyes. Never before had he ever screwed up this badly before. Had it not been for the child’s plan. Had it not been for Christopher manipulating events for Ashcombe to hear Colthurst’s confession he’d likely still be chasing the wrong person.
They must have assumed he’d fallen asleep because he heard the King’s men escort the boy away.
That was fine, he’d gotten what he’d wanted. He could find a way to make it up to him later.