Battier would be ruthless, but at least it was something they could work with. He was fairly loyal to the cause, but as a smuggler, and shrewd businessman, he also greatly valued funds and power.
The Faction would care little for Poppy and would see her as expendable once they got what they wanted.
Neither choice was particularly pleasant, but he could work with Battier.
The Faction could require greater sacrifice.
He wasn’t sure which he preferred.
The Faction had never specifically beaten, thrashed, or tormented him. Battier had. At their direction and discretion, it was true, but his was the face that Alex saw in his nightmares.
Whoever had Poppy, whatever the risk or the cost, he would pay it, do it, fulfill it. It could be the end of him so long as it was not the end of her. In that respect, he supposed he was still Trace. He’d always been Trace, and now he knew he always would be Trace. There was an odd comfort in that, though it seemed a poor moment for comfort. Yet Alex Sommerville couldn’t have saved Poppy from this danger.
Trace, on the other hand…
This was his specialty.
Well, not saving women in particular, though he had done that before, but the dangerous unknown of England’s darkest aspects? That was more familiar to him than any ballroom ever had been, and he could manage.
Odd how the habits of years past hadn’t fully left him, despite his certainty of that.
Alex looked up as he rode on, another horseman joining them in their ride. They’d picked up a handful on the way, and Fritz seemed to know them all.
Fritz seemed to know everyone.
He’d come back from Chester in the early morning hours just before dawn, though what it was he’d actually done was far less clear. He’d only told Alex that they would have the assistance required no matter what the task was and that his contacts were working hard to arrange matters for them when they arrived in Liverpool.
How Fritz had known their destination would be Liverpool without being present for that discussion was a mystery, but Alex wasn’t prepared to get into that discussion.
Now, they all rode on together with contacts and operatives, of whom Alex only knew a few, and all were armed appropriately. It seemed that the weapons cache at Parkerton, though discovered, had not been emptied or disrupted like the rest of the house, which had proven quite useful. Once armed, they’d ridden off and were now almost to the city limits of Liverpool, which meant they would need to proceed with more caution.
Liverpool was an expansive place, and there was no telling where Poppy might be kept. This ought to be where Fritz’s contacts would be of use. Gabe and Alex could have done extraordinary things in London, but Liverpool was completely different. Other offices had operatives there, and they’d need to rely on them to accomplish the mission.
Alex had never been comfortable relying on others, preferring to take care of matters himself, but he would hardly argue the point now. Poppy’s life and safety were at stake, and he would do everything to secure her. Accept any help, submit to any torment, and go to any lengths.
Fritz suddenly rode up fast beside him, moving to the front of the pack, and gesturing down a lane skirting the edge of the town. They all followed with the fluid grace of skilled horsemen, reining in only a few moments later at a boarding house which seemed less than appealing from the exterior. Cracked windows, warped wood, and no sign of life evident from within, aside from a faint light.
“Weaver…” Alex murmured uncertainly as they dismounted.
Fritz gave him a quick look. “Trust me. Go on in, ask for Harper.”
Alex glanced at Gabe, who shrugged, but gestured for them to do as instructed. He followed as the others saw to the horses, brow furrowing.
“What’s that look for?” Gabe asked as they entered.
“I don’t want to stop,” Alex grunted, nodding at the burly doorman who let them in. “Harper?”
The large man tilted his head towards the back of the inn without saying a word, glancing out the window as though anticipating someone or something else.
Gabe snorted and rounded a table as they moved on through the taproom.
“It’s not as though we’re taking a rest in the rooms upstairs, Trace. We need a location to gather, collect, and plot our move from. We’re the London League, not the Liverpool League, and we need their resources. Unless we do, we’d be scouring the city all night for any sign of Poppy.”
“I know that,” Alex scoffed, sliding a chair out of his path. “I know all of that, but it doesn’t help in the least, because at this moment, I would prefer scouring the street for her.”
“Believe me,” his cousin replied, clapping him on the back as they proceeded to the kitchen at the back of the inn. “I entirely comprehend that sentiment myself.”
In the kitchen, leaning over a worn table covered with maps, documents, and even a few disguises on one corner, was a large man smoking a cigar, his long, dark hair pulled back with a dark ribbon. His clothing was faded and washed out in a way that Alex was all too familiar with.
Life on board a ship tended to affect all clothing similarly.
He was glad to see such a thing at this moment. If they had a contact who understood the ways of the docks and the shipyards, smugglers and privateers, he would be all the more use to them now.
And when the man looked up at them, darker eyes glinting in the candlelight, Alex gaped outright. “Jackal?”
He grinned back at Alex. “You look much better now than when last I saw you, Trace. Glad they got you off.”
Alex swallowed, suddenly finding his throat dry and raw. “You got me off, didn’t you?”
Jackal shrugged one broad shoulder, his smile fading. “Might have been me, or it might have been a sound decision by the captain. You were a pathetic waif by my eyes, and that couldn’t serve any captain well.”
Alex grinned unabashedly and came further into the room, rounding the table. “In case it happens to be the first, let me shake your hand.”
Gabe was hard on his heels. “And then me as well, sir. The name’s Rogue. London League.”
Jackal snorted and shook both hands firmly, the hard callouses scratching against their palms. “Charmed, chuffed, and all that. Can we move on?” He gestured to the maps and documents on the table. “I’ve only got a few hours before my crew comes off leave, and I can’t be anywhere near here when they do.”
Immediately, Alex and Gabe snapped back into character and took up position on either side of him. “How well do you know Liverpool?” Alex asked as he eyed the maps of the docks.
“Better than most,” Jackal replied without looking over. “Better than London, not as well as Lisbon.”
Gabe glanced up at Jackal with furrowed brows. “How is it that you are here, Jackal?”
“I do occasionally come into port, Rogue,” Jackal sighed heavily, glancing up at him.
“I mean here,” Gabe insisted, not put off in the least. “You’re too valuable, aren’t you?”
“He is, undoubtedly,” Fritz announced as he entered. “We’re not risking him, but when he heard Trace’s lady had been taken, he offered his services while he could.”
Alex looked at Jackal in bewilderment. “You what?”
A slight, lopsided smile crossed Jackal’s face as he returned the look. “It’s not often I get to participate with brothers in arms anymore, and we’ve been contacts for ages, Trace. I may not be able to ride out with you, but I’ll give you everything I can to succeed.” A mischievous glint entered his eye. “If I can actually get anywhere with all of this. May we get on?”
They all laughed and turned their attention to the table, drawing up battle plans and waiting for the scouts to return with intelligence they could act upon. Still, Jackal’s information was enough to give them a fair idea of the area they would be going into, what to expect, and the best way to remove themselves from the scene of the action before it drew too much attention.
“
So, your opinion is that this is bigger than Battier,” Alex surmised after Jackal had given him all that he could.
Jackal nodded once, taking a long draw of his cigar. “Absolutely. I’d doubt the Cardieus are directly involved, but Mainsley will likely have a part. Battier isn’t bright enough or conniving enough to form a plot on his own, though he does a fine enough job of pretending otherwise. I can’t imagine he’s pleased about losing you, but even Torchon isn’t worth all this trouble. Trace, however…”
Alex swore under his breath and punched the table, then folded his arms and looked at the papers again, grinding his teeth.
“Mainsley doesn’t know me from Adam. He only met Mr. Turner once, and Mr. Turner doesn’t look anything like me.”
“You hope,” Gabe muttered under his breath, wiping his brow.
He glanced at his cousin severely, though he knew the point was all too true. They may never know just how his identity had been compromised with the smuggler’s ring, and if there was too much resemblance…
Still, Poppy was worth the risk.
“The point is,” Alex went on, “that if it is down at Cardieus and Mainsley is there, there is no reason for him to think it’s me.”
Fritz nodded slowly. “True, very true, and he won’t know Rogue or myself.”
“But there’s no saying that Mainsley is the one who has her,” Gabe pointed out.
Alex shook his head. “Mainsley was always just the enforcer, he never gave his own commands. The occasional judgment call, but he takes orders with the rest of them. He may have her, but someone else will be pulling the strings.” He looked over the maps in thought, then drew an imaginary circle around three warehouses in a seemingly forgotten corner of the docks. “If I were up to something less than savory, even by smuggling standards, I’d go here. Not necessarily convenient for the shipping interests of Cardieus, but this isn’t in their interest, particularly, and it’s close enough for their resources if need be. Once scouts come back to us, I’d say we start there. Small groups, two to three at most, and we keep an eye on the water at all times.”
Fritz raised his brows in surprise. “At this time of night?”
“Best time for smugglers, Weaver,” Jackal told him, Alex nodding beside him. “Less foot traffic, less patrol, more inclined to look the other way for a price…”
“And,” Alex broke in, “less inclined to pay any attention at all, particularly if we’ve purloined a stock of liquor from an unsuspecting warehouse store and bestowed it upon them.”
There was an appreciative round of chuckles from the group, and Alex grinned at them, feeling the thrill of impending action rising within him.
Gabe looked over at Alex, grinning without reserve. “I know this is a terrible time to say this, but… it is very good to have the real you back.”
Alex gave him a wry look, snorting softly. “You’re right. This is a terrible time to say that.”
How could it be possible for opening one’s eyes to be painful?
Poppy had been well awake for bursts of the trip, jostling about in a wagon and on horseback on what must have been yesterday, if not the day before. The knock to the back of the head had been compounded by opium, whenever her consciousness was noticed by her captors, and there was so much confusion with being asleep and awake that she’d quite lost all sense of it. Everything hurt all the time, her head pounded so fiercely she was nearly incapable of thought, and for the present, she could only presume she was upright because she couldn’t feel her head touching anything at all.
Upright was the first new position she’d been in in ages.
What a thought.
She swallowed with some difficulty, her throat raw and parched, resisting the thought of moisture of any kind. With her captors being reluctant to have her awake and alert, they’d forgone any semblance of food or drink but for the very faintest amount of water at times.
The only sense she’d ever made of that came when one of them had muttered, “Can’t ‘ave Trace comin’ to find a corpse. ‘Eads would roll.”
It took her quite a long time to process that, given her state, and given that she couldn’t quite remember who or what Trace was. Once she did, she felt worse than when the opium had left her.
Alex.
Oh, Alex…
After all they had been through, she was now going to be the cause of his troubles. No matter who he had been before or what he had done, what dangers he had faced, she had never been part of it. Now, she was bait for him, and his pursuit of her, should he have done so, would lead to his ruin.
She would never be able to forgive herself for that.
The men were quiet now, and the room was dim, which was better for her at the moment. A bright room would have made her squint, and they would have known she was conscious once more.
She couldn’t bear another dose of opium, and she needed to somehow find a way out of here. Or, at the very least, she needed to find something that might be useful to Alex when he came for her.
If he came for her.
Poppy kept her eyelids lowered, though open, and scanned the room. It wasn’t especially large, but it was filled with crates and boxes, large barrels, and a few wagons sparsely filled. A large desk sat in a corner of the room, its wood grey with age. A large man sat behind it, his filthy boots propped atop. Another sat on the floor against the desk, whittling at a piece of wood, sniffing frequently as though his nose dripped. Both looked as though they had seen their share of fights and may have even won a few of them.
A deep creaking sound seemed to come from beneath the floorboards, and the smaller man on the floor paused his whittling, eyes wide.
“Wha’s that, Ernie?” he half yelped.
“Don’t pay it no mind, Fleet,” Ernie grunted, cap over his eyes. “It’s a dock, the water below makes it creak.”
Fleet scowled and moodily resumed his whittling.
“I don’t see why we has to sit here and play nanny to a bound and unconscious woman. This ain’t what that Mainsley bloke promised when he hired me.”
“You’d better forget your complaint before tha’ Sir Vincent comes tonight. ‘E is the one paying us, and you’ll not get any clink wif your whining so much.”
Fleet snorted softly, his eyes widening with derision. “Sir Vincent. What sort of grand sir is he to come all the way up here from London to see to the docks? Stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. As if Mainsley ain’t puffed up enough to make one sick, now we’ve got a sir to contend wif? Not worth the coin, Ern. Not worth it.”
Ernie thumbed his cap back and looked down where Fleet sat.
“Want me to tell the captain tha’ later? He’s comin’ in, too, you know. Got a load to take back wif ‘im, an’ I ‘ave no doubt he’ll see us and Mainsley afore he goes.”
For the first time, Fleet looked apprehensive.
“No’ the cap’n. I’ve no complaints against him. I jus’ don’t see the point in tending the miss when she’s not made a peep.”
Ernie sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair again. “Me neither, but it’s better than being on patrol on all the docks.”
“I’d rather be on the docks,” Fleet insisted with a firm shake of his head.
“Then tell Mick when he comes in, and you can trade,” Ernie told him, clearly exasperated. “It’ll save my ears the trouble of hearing you! Now, go check the girl.”
Poppy snapped her eyes completely shut, forcing her body to go limp as Fleet got to his feet and made his way over.
He reeked of alcohol and fish and sawdust with a hint of cigar smoke, and the stench of him was enough to nearly choke her, but somehow, she managed to contain her reaction.
Fleet tugged at the ropes at her ankles, still painfully tight and tied to the legs of the chair. He moved up to test the ropes around her stomach, which were also quite secure, and then moved around to the back of the chair and tightened the ropes around her wrists. Those were also fastened to the back legs of the chair, and tightening them
forced her arms further down and her back to arch.
It couldn’t be painful for her were she unconscious, so she couldn’t show the strain of it now, though the urge to screech in distress rose.
Fleet chuckled darkly as he tightened the ropes further. “Look at this, Ern. Look what I can make her do.”
Poppy waited with bated breath, praying he wouldn’t do anything despicable while she was in such a vulnerable position. She couldn’t fight as she was, and she couldn’t let them know she was alert, or they would have drugged her yet again, or subjected her to something far worse.
She was utterly and completely helpless.
Fleet suddenly lifted her head, which she had been hanging off to the right, up to a natural position. His fingers tickled the underside of her chin as he moved to stand in front of her, and then his thumb moved to pull her bottom lip down a little.
Please, no, Poppy silently begged, her fingers tensing against the ropes at her wrist.
“Wha’ if Trace doesn’t come, Ern?” Fleet asked in a dark tone. “Fink they’ll let us have a taste o’ her?”
“Leave her be, Fleet. Poor lass has been through enough without you touching her.”
Fleet’s hand dropped, and she heard him turn. “Poor lass? This here is Trace’s tart, an’ you feel sorry for her?”
“Don’t pretend you know Trace enough to ‘ave ‘ard feelings about him,” Ernie barked, “and aye, I do feel sorry for her.”
“Don’t. Look at this.”
Suddenly, Fleet lashed out and struck Poppy across her face, her head snapping back, then lolling to her left side.
“I can hit her, and she don’t wake. Don’t even stir. Not a whisper.”
The sound of a gun cocking rang through the warehouse.
“Don’t hit her,” Ernie growled. “Step away.”
“Ernie,” Fleet stammered, his voice growing distant from her. “Ernie, put the gun down.”
Poppy strained to hear Ernie’s response, wondering why he’d stopped Fleet’s mischief.
Fall from Trace Page 24
