Liars and Thieves (A Company of Liars short story) by Karen Maitland Page A

as far as she could reach.
    ‘Grab it, Pecker!’ she urged. ‘Reach for it! I’ll get you out. I won’t let you drown, I won’t!’
    She was stretching as far down as she could, holding the unwieldy branch out with every grain of strength she had, but it was futile. Even if the branch had been twice as long, she could not have reached him, for he was so far below her.
    Pecker splashed frantically, trying to bob upwards and grasp the branch, but each effort only sent him down under the filthy water. He’d rise again, choking, only to sink once more.
    ‘Hold on, Pecker,’ Dye begged. ‘Here, wait, I’ll take off my hose  . . . tie them to the branch.’
    She pulled the branch back and made to wrench off her boots, but I grabbed her.
    ‘It’s no use, Dye. You’ll never reach him that way, not without a long rope and—’
    ‘I’ll get one. I’ll be back, Pecker. Hold on. Hold on!’
    She tore herself from my grip and raced off in the direction of the camp. I heard her crashing through the bushes.
    Pecker’s strength was failing fast. He made a wild grab for the only solid thing he could feel, the corpse of what we’d thought was Holy Jack. As Pecker seized a handful of his rags, the body slowly rolled over in the water, and we saw the sightless eyes of Weasel staring up at us.
    As Weasel’s body turned in the water, the peeling arm of the naked corpse beneath him drifted across Pecker’s face, the cold white fingers caressing him like a lover. Pecker gave a shriek of horror and, throwing both hands up to fight it off, he sank beneath the grey-green water. Weasel’s corpse, freed now from the bloated body beneath it, sank down on top of Pecker and both men vanished from our sight.
    We left Dye sitting in the ruins, Holy Jack beside her, his arm about her shoulders. This time, they did not try to stop us leaving. Dye was staring fixedly into the flames of the fire. She’d shed not one tear and, in truth, I wouldn’t have expected any woman to weep over a man like Pecker, but I’d seen her frantic attempts to save him, and I knew in her own way she’d loved him.
    Then again, perhaps she was right not to judge him as harshly as some might have done. He’d been shown no mercy by men, and they’d taught him to give none. I touched my own puckered scar. A blade only cuts the flesh, but words that wound the mind leave a far more twisted scar. I hoped that Holy Jack would be kinder to Dye, though I had little conviction such kindness would extend to any travellers unfortunate enough pass their way. I had the feeling that the water in the gullet might rise still further and not just because of the rain.
    Jack was adamant Weasel had stolen the salamander stone. Afraid that Pecker might attempt to kill him while he slept, Jack had kept himself awake and he’d seen Weasel sneak back to the camp. Weasel had wrapped himself in Jack’s own cloak, doubtless to disguise himself in case anyone stirred, then crept across to Pecker’s bothy. If anyone could have removed a stone without waking a man, it was Weasel, and Jack was certain he’d done just that.
    ‘You don’t steal from your own, that’s the rules,’ Holy Jack said. ‘We made a bargain and Weasel broke it. “He who breaks the covenant shall be put to death.”’
    Jack had followed Weasel as he slipped back into the forest and stabbed him. But when he searched Weasel’s body he could find no trace of the stone. He was certain Weasel must have dropped it when he was stabbed or as he ran from the camp. Jack had spent the rest of the night and morning hunting for it, finally returning to the gullet, thinking it might have fallen out as he’d carried the body to the pit. But he hadn’t given up hope. He was determined to keep searching until he found it.
    I felt Zophiel’s eyes upon me as we led Xanthus limping back through the forest to where we’d hidden the wagon.
    ‘You see, Camelot,’ he said. ‘That is what hope does to you. Jack and that