The Chessmen by Peter May Page B

into Whistler’s eyes for the first time. ‘There was no contract. Your father trusted me, as I trust him.’
    ‘Well,’ Jamie smiled, knowing now that he had the upper hand, ‘we only have your word for that. And since my father is still in a nursing home following his stroke, that won’t be easily verified.’ He paused. ‘And I can assure you, there will be no money forthcoming until it is.’ He lifted his pint glass from the bar to take a sip, supremely confident now that he had prevailed in the exchange. ‘So if you don’t pay up within the next week, you can expect that visit from the bailiffs.’
    The glass never reached his lips. Whistler flew at him. A feral growl like the war cry of a wild animal issued froma mouth baring yellowed teeth. Jamie’s pint glass went flying, drenching several of the nearest bystanders, the sound of breaking glass accompanying the crash of the two men as they landed on the floor. The noise of the air being forcibly expelled from Jamie’s lungs was painful. Whistler’s full weight had come down on top of him. A big fist swung through the air and caught the young landowner high on the cheekbone. Another sank itself into his gut. Jamie gasped in pain, but didn’t have enough air in his lungs to cry out.
    Umpteen pairs of hands pulled Whistler away, Fin’s and Kenny’s among them. And in the confusion of thoughts flashing through his head, Fin remembered that it wasn’t the first time that he had helped drag Whistler off some helpless soul. But Whistler was not about to be subdued easily. He swung his arms wildly, breaking free of the hands that grasped him, turning, eyes blazing and filled with the highlights they had earlier lacked. His fist flew through the air again, catching Fin squarely on the jaw, sending him sprawling back through the crowd to hit the floor like a dead weight, lights flashing in his head.
    More than a few of the men there that night knew of the history between Fin and Whistler, of their almost unbreakable teenage bond. It made the fact that Whistler had struck him all the more remarkable. Voices which had arisen out of the earlier silence to bay for blood subsided once again. Feet shuffled backwards, and a space cleared around them. Kenny helped Jamie to his feet, and Whistler just stood there, breathing hard, glaring at Fin lying on the floor. ‘Nevertook you for a landlord’s lackey,’ he shouted, as if trying to find an excuse for what he’d done.
    Fin pulled himself up on to one elbow and put a hand to his face to check if his jaw was broken. It came away with blood on the fingers where his lip had cut itself on his teeth. Hands reached down to help him up. He stared back at Whistler, and the hush which had descended became one of anticipation. But Fin had no intention of getting involved in a brawl. His hurt went deeper than any external injury. He shook his head. ‘Never took you for anything but a friend.’
    Whistler’s remorse was apparent in moist eyes, and in the tightness of his lips, but it wrestled for ascendancy with the anger that still gripped him. ‘I’ve no quarrel with you.’
    ‘You just hit me!’
    ‘And you’ve taken sides against me with him.’ He turned and almost growled at Jamie, who flinched involuntarily.
    ‘I’ve taken sides with no one, Whistler. I’m on the side of the law. And you’re breaking it.’
    ‘Sometimes being on the side of the law’s being on the wrong side, Fin.’
    ‘I don’t think so.’ But no sooner were the words out of his lips than he thought of Donald.
    Whistler snorted, like a horse impatient to be off at a canter. ‘Well, let’s see. It’s a full moon the morn’s night. A great night to be out and about at Loch Tathabhal. Fish’ll be biting, for sure. Maybe you’ll see me there, and maybe you won’t. But if you do . . . well, maybe then we’ll see who’s right and who’s wrong.’
    It was clear to every man there that Whistler was issuing a challenge. Catch me if you