But then Del came around the front of Devil’s desk. He relaxed against it and smiled at Sangay.
Sangay looked back. He didn’t smile, but his tension eased.
“Sangay, we need to tell these people where you came from, and all that you know of the evil-sahib, the man who bullied you into stealing the scroll-holder.” Del paused, then asked, “Incidentally, where is it?”
“In one of the bins in the big storeroom near to the back door, sahib. The bin nearest the back of the room.” Sangay started to slide off the chair, but Del waved at him to stay and looked at Sligo and Cobby instead.
“That’s the pantry,” Sligo said.
“I’ll fetch it.” Cobby headed for the door.
Del turned back to Sangay. “Meanwhile—”
With a series of simple questions, Del led Sangay through his story. He didn’t rush, didn’t let the ladies’ sympathetic murmurs and outraged exclamations distract him or the boy. Sangay’s answers came haltingly at first, but with each point he relaxed and grew more confident, until, when Del asked for a description of Sangay’s evil-sahib, an excellent word picture tripped off the boy’s tongue.
Del glanced at Devil, seated silently behind the desk. “Larkins.”
Devil frowned. “Why so sure?”
“The deeply tanned skin plus the close-cropped hair—not many Englishmen would fit that description.”
Devil conceded that with a nod.
Turning back to Sangay, Del saw the question in the boy’s face. “I think the evil-sahib’s name is Larkins.”
Sangay nodded solemnly, and they continued with their questions and answers.
When it came to the man’s instructions, and the place where Sangay was to meet him to hand over the scroll-holder, Devil and Demon, the two locals, were unequivocal in their interpretation.
“The big church with the big tower to the northwest can only be Ely Cathedral,” Devil said. “And Larkins was wise to warn Sangay not to attempt to get there across country but to stick to the roads. The fenland between here and there is treacherous.”
“So,” Del said, his gaze on Devil’s face, “Larkins definitely wouldn’t expect Sangay to arrive at the church until after the snow melts—at least enough to make travel by road possible?”
Both Devil and Demon nodded. “Clearly he knows,” Devil said, “that there’s no chance Sangay can make it to the church before at least the day after tomorrow.”
Del hid a smile. “Just so.” The little play had been for Sangay’s benefit. He looked at the boy. “So we have time to make a very good plan.”
Sangay said nothing. He shifted, bit his lip. Looked down.
Deliah glanced at him, then looked up at Del.
Del crouched so his head was level with the boy’s. “Sangay?”
Sangay lifted his gaze only briefly to Del’s face. He spoke in a bare whisper. “I’m afraid, sahib—not for me, but for my maataa. What if the evil-sahib gets angry because I don’t come, and then he might think I have failed, and been caught, and so….”
Del welcomed the reassuring noises the ladies made; they seemed to soothe Sangay.
“Listen to me, Sangay. The evil-sahib is a servant for a much more evil man, but that much more evil man is here, in England, so he can’t give any orders to make anything happen to your maataa. Just think—as neither the evil-sahib nor his master knew it was you they were going to pick to be their thief, they can’t have already seized your maataa. You know how long it takes to get letters back to India—you’ve sailed back and forth many times yourself, haven’t you?”
Sangay nodded, but his eyes remained filled with uncertainty. If there was one thing Del was sure of, it was that they—his mission—would need Sangay as a part of any “very good plan,” so he persevered. “The master of the evil-sahib won’t have sent any word back to India yet—there’s been no need, because you’ve been doing what the evil-sahib wanted. And all those here”—he gestured to those around them—“and lots of others who are helping with this mission, are going to make sure that the evil-sahib’s master is too busy to worry about sending any message, no matter what happens with you.”
Del could see from Sangay’s dark eyes—feel from the intensity of Deliah’s regard—that he hadn’t yet succeeded in allaying all fear. “And Sangay—regardless of what happens, I’ll make sure your maataa is safe. I’m a colonel, you know that?” When Sangay nodded, Del continued, “So, being a colonel, I can send a message back to India, to the Governor-General, who is the man I’m working for, and ask him to make sure that your maataa is safe.” He looked into Sangay’s eyes. “All right?”
Sangay’s fear dissolved into abject relief. “Oh, yes, please, Colonel-sahib. That would be very very good.” He hesitated, then said, his dark eyes locked with Del’s, “If you will do that for me and my maataa, I will do anything I can to help you capture the evil-sahib and his very evil master.”
Feeling relieved himself, Del allowed his features to ease into a smile, and rose. “That’s good—very good. Now”—he glanced at the other servants standing by the wall—“these gentlemen and I will need to sit down and make our plan. While we do, you can go down with the others to the servants’ hall. You must be hungry.”
“Oh, yes, Colonel-sahib. I am famished.” Smiling, Sangay slipped off the chair. He turned, and Matara waved him on ahead of her. With a little bow to Del, then another to the company, Sangay hurried to join the other servants as, with welcoming smiles for him, they filed out.
When the door shut behind Sligo, Del looked at Devil. “It’s not hard to see what we should do.”
Steepling his long fingers, Devil inclined his head. “If the Black Cobra or one of his senior henchman is going to be waiting in Ely Cathedral for Sangay to bring him the scroll-holder, I suggest we give him what he’s expecting.” He smiled, all teeth. “And just a little bit more.”
Del smiled back, equally predatorially. “My thoughts exactly.”
There were nothing but assenting sounds from the other men. The ladies, too, led by Deliah and Honoria, were in a distinctly bloodthirsty mood.
Of necessity they had to allow for the weather, but ultimately their plan wasn’t that hard to formulate.
Execution, however, was another matter.
Thirteen
December 18
Somersham Place, Cambridgeshire
The next day went in preparation.
At first light Demon, rugged up to the teeth against the bitter cold, rode out on the strongest horse in the stables—Devil’s Sulieman. Anyone who knew Demon would expect him to ride into Newmarket to check on his racing stables. That was his overt goal, his initial destination.
Once he was certain he wasn’t being followed, he would continue on to Elveden Grange to alert Royce to the developments and report their plan. If possible, Demon would return that evening in time to join the group going to the cathedral.
After an early breakfast, all the other men adjourned to the library. All the Cynsters were familiar with the cathedral, but Tony, Gervase, Del, and Gyles didn’t know the interior. Defining exactly where each of them would hide once inside, given they had to both protect Sangay and block all the numerous exits, wasn’t straightforward. In the end, Devil drew a detailed plan.
“As you can see”—he turned the sketch so the others, gathered about his desk, could more easily view it—“the cathedral’s both large and complex. The nave runs west to east. It’s extremely long, the longest in England, and the only place inside from which you can see all the principal doors is from the center of the octagon under the tower, which is where the altar sits. In other words, there isn’t any single concealed position that will allow us to cover even the main entrances. In addition, there’s umpteen smaller rooms off the various transepts, and some of them have external doors.”
He pointed to various areas on the sketch. “There’s a lady chapel and two chantry chapels at the east end. We have a presbytery here, and choir stalls separated fro
m the nave by a screen. There are stalls between four pairs of pillars in the octagon. In the south transept, we have the cathedral library on one side and the vestries on the other. The north transept contains two chapels on one side and another chantry chapel at the end. And right at the east end of the cathedral we have the chapel of St. Etheldreda. The prior’s door—here, off the south aisle of the nave—is one example of the many unexpected entrances.”
“So our evil-sahib chose well.” Gyles glanced at Del. “That suggests he knows the area.”
“He’s probably visited,” Del said. “As Ferrar’s gentleman’s gentleman, he would have stayed from time to time with Ferrar’s father’s household. I’ve heard the Earl of Shrewton spends his winters on an estate at Wymondham, outside Norwich.”
“So Ferrar himself would be familiar with the place?” Lucifer asked.
“Almost certainly. He was born at Wymondham.”
At that point, the ladies, having risen somewhat later from their beds, joined them. They asked questions, glanced at the sketch, reiterated that Sangay had to be kept safe, then subsided in various chairs and sofas around the room. Many had brought pieces of sewing, knitting, embroidery and the like to keep their hands busy while they listened.
The men all looked at them.
Honoria waved a haughty hand. “Carry on.”
The men exchanged glances, then turned back to the desk and got down to business, placing themselves like pieces on a game board, then assessing how well the arrangement satisfied their criteria.
“Not easy,” Tony concluded. “Covering all the exits is difficult enough, but because of this octagon with the altar at its center, to sufficiently protect Sangay we’ll need at least three men close in—inside the octagon, or within a few steps of it.”
They all looked at the sketch.
“The octagon’s definitely the place to stage the handover,” Devil said. “It gives us the best chance of catching whoever comes to get the scroll-holder, Larkins, Ferrar, or both. Anywhere else is more problematical.”
“True,” Richard allowed. “But Tony’s right—we need three men to cover that area. And there’s no way to have three men that close without them being seen.”
“Disguises.” Gervase glanced at Devil. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance of laying our hands on some monk’s robes?”
Devil met his gaze, then looked down the room at Honoria. “Monk’s robes?”
She raised both brows. “We have some, certainly. In the costume box, I think.” She rose. “I’ll go and hunt them out.”
“I’ll help.” Catriona rose, too.
“Three would be useful,” Devil called.
Honoria waved as she headed for the door.
Del studied the sketch. “Let’s assume we can place three men in monk’s robes close. Where, exactly?”
They worked that out, then, once Honoria and Catriona had returned with three passable monk’s robes and they’d been tried on and approved, with those three deployments settled, they made final judgments on their other positions. Lastly, they worked out who would go where.
They each had their strengths. In the end, it was decided Tony, Gervase, and Gyles would be the monks. Their primary aim would be to protect Sangay. With a glance toward the ladies, Del added, “At all costs.”
All the rest had only one aim, one goal. “We concentrate on apprehending whoever comes to fetch the scroll-holder.”
Gabriel frowned. “What are the odds Ferrar, or even Larkins, sends a foot soldier? All that’s required is to pick up a scroll-holder from a boy, after all. No urgent need to risk getting caught themselves.” He looked around at the others. “Surely by now Ferrar has realized that the critical point in Wolverstone’s plan is to tempt him to show his hand, and through that action to connect himself irrevocably with the scroll-holder, and therefore with the letter it supposedly contains?”
Del forced himself to weigh the chances, but then shook his head. “No. It’ll be Larkins who comes. He’ll definitely be there. Whether Ferrar will come, too, is anyone’s guess. Consider. Larkins has been the one throughout to deal with Sangay. He told Sangay he’d be there, and I’m sure he will be if for no other reason than to make sure Sangay hands the scroll-holder over and doesn’t get confused by someone he doesn’t recognize and instead slip away.
“In addition to that, Ferrar knows the letter—the real one—is damning. He won’t risk such a thing falling into the hands even of one of his cultists. He’ll send someone he trusts implicitly—Larkins—or he’ll come himself.”
After a pause during which they digested that, Vane asked, “So what are our chances of getting Larkins—presuming it’s he we catch in our trap—to point the finger at Ferrar?”
“Reasonable,” Del said. “Larkins has been with Ferrar for years, and has relished his time in the upper echelons of the Black Cobra cult. But when faced with the choice between a rope or transportation? I’d say it’s more likely he’ll cooperate than he won’t.”
Del looked down at Devil’s sketch, at their planning represented by the crosses and notes marked on it. “If we can hobble the Black Cobra before the others have to wrestle through his coils, I’ll be more than content.”
“As will we all,” Devil said.
An “indeed,” followed by soft “hear, hears” from the sofas, chaises and armchairs further down the room had the men exchanging uneasy glances. They were planning a dangerous foray, and their ladies were listening. All were aware of the looming problem. Only Tony and Gervase were immune.
But they had to make their plans, and there was no point trying to hide that—or the plans themselves—from the ladies.
Devil and Del studied the sketch of the cathedral yet again.
“Even though there’ll be ten of us—assuming Demon makes it back in time—we’ll be spread thin,” Del noted.
“True,” Devil returned. “But at least there are plenty of places to hide once we move away from the altar and that end of the nave.”
“One eventuality we haven’t considered,” Tony said. “What if he comes in force?”
Standing beside Devil, his fingertips brushing the desk, Del considered, eventually said, “I can’t see it. If I had to wager on it, I’d say he’ll come alone, or with only one, or two, others. More, and he’ll risk attracting attention—”
“Given the cultists are Indian,” Deliah put in from the nearest sofa, “it’s likely he won’t want them seen. They create too much notice. People will look, and remember which way they go.”
“Indeed.” Devil sat back, looked up at Del. “So we assume we’ll be facing no more than a handful, all most likely Englishmen.”
Del nodded. There seemed nothing more to add to their plan of action for inside the cathedral. Talk veered to the logistics of getting into position without alerting the enemy.
“A night march.” Lucifer sighed resignedly. “I’d hoped I’d left such horrors behind me.”
“At least,” Gabriel said, “there won’t be a bloody battlefield at the end of it.”
Ultimately they agreed they would leave at four o’clock the next morning. Despite the hideous hour, they would still have to travel by a circuitous route to make sure they didn’t inadvertently pass the enemy’s bolt-hole, wherever that might be.
“In order to circumnavigate the fens”—Devil pointed to the areas on a map he’d spread on his desk—“Chatteris, Horseley, and Langwood Fens, we’ll need to go up to Chatteris, then toward Sutton, but turn off onto minor lanes before we reach the village, and then progress by minor routes until we reach Ely and come down to the cathedral from the north.”
“What about Sangay?” Honoria asked. “You can’t seriously be thinking of having him walk that distance, not in this weather.”
“He’ll catch his death,” Catriona stated.
No one argued.
“I’ve thought of that.” Del turned to face the ladies. “We’ll have Sligo and Cobby dress as laborers and drive a loaded car
t away from the place, apparently heading for the market in Ely. Sangay can hide in the back beneath a blanket, as if he’s stowed away. They’ll take the obvious route via Earith, Sutton, and then the main road directly east to Ely. That way they’ll approach the main street from the south. There’ll be an inn there they can stop at. Cobby and Sligo will go in as if for a late breakfast, leaving Sangay to slip out of the cart and over the lawns into the cathedral.”
“With the scroll-holder,” Gervase added.
Del nodded. “Exactly. If Larkins is watching for him as he said he will be, he’ll see him, then he’ll follow him inside.”
“That will work,” Devil confirmed. “There’s an inn perfectly situated across from the cathedral, and the area between the street and the main cathedral door is open ground—easy to spot a boy scampering across, especially one dressed as Sangay will be.”
The men glanced at the ladies. As a group, they nodded approvingly.
“And once inside the cathedral, there’ll be three of you watching over him—all within easy reach?” Deliah arched a brow at Del.
He nodded. “He won’t be alone, and he’ll know that.”
Inclining her head, appeased, she transferred her attention to the ball of yarn she was rolling.
Interpreting the ladies’ subsequent silence as permission to proceed, the men huddled closer and quickly revisited the details of their plan one last time. Then, at a look and a nod from Devil, Vane stepped back from the desk, with a glance enlisted Richard, Lucifer, and Gabriel, then the four strolled the short distance to stand in a line, chatting with the ladies.
Distracting them as Devil, Del, Gyles, Tony, and Gervase left the room.
As the five men made their way to Devil’s study, Gyles sighed. “Honoria noticed.”
“So did Francesca,” Devil returned.
Gyles pulled a face. “Fifteen minutes, do you think, before they hunt us down?”
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