Simon shot red as Hurley almost shouted that word. But he was unable to speak. When the man grabbed his by the collar, he winced, because the skin on his back was still sore and the sudden movement hurt. But he hardly resisted.

Hurley was right. His power over Simon was based on more than money alone. There was that irrational fear of the unpredictable man, sometimes merciful, sometimes cruel, and apparently all-powerful. Simon hated him, and yet he was afraid to anger Hurley. He hated him, and yet whenever a boy had brought a message, he had come to him like some obedient dog. And even now, when the man was mocking him and threatening him, Simon hardly resisted. A mere change of tone in Hurley's voice was enough to force Simon back into submission. The current display of rage made him feel paralyzed.

The owner of the pub approached the men, ready to break up a fight and kick them out for vulgarity, but when he saw Hurley, well-dressed and moneyed, he walked away. How he would regret it.

"I am going to York and not coming back..." Simon said, wishing he would sound more convincing, even to himself.