‘I thought Lord Percival was to send constables to arrest you,’ replied Jack fiercely. To his dismay, he saw the coach turn a corner and it was gone.

The upright-man snorted a laugh. ‘He did, but they didn’t send enough men to handle the likes of me.’ He leant in, his stale breath wafting in Jack’s face. ‘So I’ve a bone to pick with you, young Jack Fletcher.’

With the man so close, Jack drew his katana – fast and hard – to hit him in the gut with its pommel. But Rakesby seized Jack’s wrist first and forced the sword back into its saya.

‘Now, now – that’s no way to treat an old friend,’ he said through gritted teeth, his iron-like grip crushing Jack’s wrist.

With practised light fingers, Hazel relieved Jack of his daishō. Then she gave another prod of her dagger, just to remind him of his predicament.

‘Talking of friends,’ said the highwayman, his gaze raking the crowd, ‘where are yours?’

‘They’re around,’ Jack replied boldly. ‘So you’d better let me go if you don’t want to be felled like a tree again!’

Rakesby spat on the ground. ‘That pint-sized monk got lucky! Next time I’ll crush him under my foot. Now, where are they?’

Jack defiantly held his tongue. But he, too, wondered where his friends had got to. Were they still waiting back at the inn? Or had they followed him in his mad dash after Jess? Wherever they were, he desperately needed their help right now.

‘No matter,’ said Rakesby, when Jack didn’t reply. ‘We’ll find ’em soon enough.’

He nodded to his gang, and Jack found himself roughly seized by the arms and ferried through the market, his feet barely touching the ground. He struggled to free himself. To have seen his sister, only to have her snatched away and himself apprehended by Rakesby and his motley crew – it was beyond torture. He kicked and spat, a wildcat in their unyielding grip.

‘Help!’ he shouted. ‘I’m being kidnap–’

Rakesby whipped his staff around and caught Jack across the jaw, the heavy blow stunning him into silence. As Jack reeled drunkenly, his captors holding him up, Rakesby apologized to the onlookers for Jack’s delirious behaviour, blaming it on too much wine. The townsfolk, some equally merry, laughed and paid him no more attention. The gang moved swiftly on.

Jack tried in vain to spot his friends in the crowd. He let out a desperate cry – ‘Tasukete! Abunai!’ – calling for help in Japanese, in the faint hope that they might hear him above the hubbub.

‘Go ahead, Jack! Wail all you like,’ said Rakesby, grinning. ‘When the piglet squeals, the mother comes running!’