*
From a dark, damp, and dirty alleyway they watched Bufford and his men exit a tavern close to where the Courted Anne was moored. A developing mist from the harbour shrouded their feet, making their gliding progress seem ethereal. The four dark spectral shapes moved silently under the faint glow of nearby street lamps, eventually disappearing towards the brightly lit hotel on the other side of the port.
“Well that’s the whole Grey Pack,” Sean whispered after they had left. “Looks like they were able to bust Ivan out after all.”
“Aye.”
“I wonder if they’re staying at that tavern,” Sean mused after a few moments silence. “We could probably pop in and check their room, see if there’s anything useful inside.”
“If you were Liam I’d think you were trying to get a drink. But that’s not a bad idea. We’ve probably got some time to kill before the shipment arrives and it’s loaded on the ship.”
“Plus a change of scenery wouldn’t go amiss,” Sean sniffed and shivered in agreement.
“Aye.”
They gladly left the alley and walked across the street to the ramshackle tavern that sat on the harbour front. The building had no doubt initially been a shipping office or something respectable, made of stone and solidly built. However its fall into disrepute was not measured by what had fallen off the building, but by what had been added. A series of additions made of rough wood timbers and planking jutted out from the sides and the second floor, doubling the original building in size. They had already passed similarly built establishments that marked the increased prosperity of the port, and the subsequent need to alleviate the endless thirst of the sailors who brought it.
The dim flicker of lamps and the sound of drunken revellers escaped through the tavern’s thick grimy windows as they approached, momentarily distracting them from the prone body stretched out beneath the sill. They sidestepped the drunk at the last minute, forcing a slight detour to the front entrance. This proved lucky a moment later as the solid wooden door forcefully swung open, disgorging another drunken body onto the street.
A myriad of sounds and smells greeted the two members of the Brown Pack as they entered the tavern and walked across the sawdust covered floor. Stale wine and beer fought for prominence with smoke and sweat. Sean and MacDuff were no strangers to this sort of establishment and easily altered their behaviour to fit in. The large room was filled with boisterous men and women, fuelled by booze and the music of a fiddler and an accordion player by the fireplace. Servers circled tables that were filled with singers, story tellers, and gamblers.
“Nice place, let’s get a drink first to blend in,” MacDuff suggested as they approached an opening along the utilitarian bar. This was not the type of place with mirrors or polished oak.
“What does his Lordship want now?” huffed an older women in a dirty apron as she poured a drink from behind the bar. Much to the surprise of both men, she was addressing them in a quick cockney accent.
“His Lordship?” Sean asked quizzically, wondering if she was actually speaking to them.
“You’re one of his men aren’t you? You’re dressed just like the rest.”
“Don’t mind him, lass, he’s a bit slow,” MacDuff offered, quickly realizing that she was talking about Bufford. Both had changed into their long brown hunt uniforms, which were almost identical to the grey ones worn by Bufford’s pack.
“A Scotsman is it?” She asked, clearly taken with the large rugged man before her.
“Scotsmen and we’ve come for his luggage. But I suppose we’ve time for a wee drink first.”
She flashed him a toothy smile and turned around to the bottles lined up behind her. While searching for the right bottle, she undid the top button on her shirt and plumped up her bosom with both hands. These were then replaced by a dark green bottle and a pair of glasses.
“A taste of home,” she winked, pouring the golden liquid into both glasses.
They each sipped it, unwilling to waste the well aged Scotch. It was indeed the taste of home, the smoky peat almost slapping them across the face with its flavour.
“Another for me and have one yourself,” MacDuff saluted after draining his glass and throwing a couple coins on the table. “That’ll give us something do while the young one here fetches the bags.”
The barmaid took Sean’s glass with delight and refilled it along with MacDuff’s. After a quick cheers, they each took a sip, heedless of Sean’s continued presence beside them.
“Which room then?” Sean interrupted after clearing his throat.
“Number 5, second right at the top of the stairs,” She replied, carelessly handing him the key while her eyes remained locked on MacDuff.
Sean smiled to himself, glad that he didn’t have the job of charming the aging barmaid. He even had to stifle a laugh after he turned to the stairs and overheard MacDuff continue his task. So what’s a London lass like you doing in a place like this?
Walking up the main staircase, Sean could tell that it belonged to the original building. It was wide and sturdy, providing a good view of the main bar below. However a few steps after reaching the top, the craftsmanship dropped considerably. Lights from the rooms below shone through gaps between the floorboards, private rooms from the sounds that were emanating. Well this place might as well be a brothel too, he thought.
He reached a door with a crooked 5 on it without trouble. The key slid into the door easily, but took some jiggling to turn until he heard a click. But when he took the key out he noticed a single strand of hair stuck across the door and door frame. Sean immediately stopped opening the door and took a quicker look at the hair. It only took him a second to figure out it hadn’t simply fallen there, but had been put in place deliberately. Strands of hair had long been used by operatives to let them know when their doors, drawers, or chests had been tampered with. With a simple lick, human hair could be easily stuck to hard surfaces and would remain until disturbed.
Sean took a mental note to replace the hair when he was finished his search, and to keep vigilant for more tricks left behind. He cautiously opened the door, wondering how far the Grey Pack would go in safeguarding their room. Based on Bufford’s normal demeanour he wouldn’t have been surprised to find some large bear traps strewn across the floor.
But nothing as blatant as that greeted Sean when he carefully entered the humble room. He was actually shocked that Bufford was staying in such a dreary place. Three small beds with rough blankets were lined against the far wall with a pair of heavy wooden chairs on the opposite side, underneath dirty crooked windows. A dark wooden travel trunk was the only other piece of furniture in the room and didn’t seem like it was part of the décor, immediately grabbing his attention.
A quick inspection of the case revealed another hair across a solid brass latch. A second latch had a lock built into it with a small keyhole in the middle. Sean reached into his jacket and removed the tools of the trade for any respectable thief.
Although picking the lock would be no problem, Sean had seen this type before, doing it covertly might. The latch face was polished brass and there were no scratches or scuffs on it, making any mistake with his tools completely noticeable to the owner.
Sean’s steady hands went to work, opening the lock cover and then feeling inside for the mechanism with his delicate tools. Despite his experience, it was not an easy task. Hunched over the case, both hands had to work in unison feeling rather than seeing, the tools acting like extensions of his fingers.
Despite the age of the case, Sean could tell the lock was more advanced than it appeared. Locks of the current period were simplistic, some batches produced with the same key so as to be interchangeable. But this lock had more modern aspects to it, forcing him to work harder than he’d expected to. But within a few minutes the lock yielded with a satisfying click.
To use such a lock on a simple case had to mean that whatever was inside was important. Buoyed by this knowledge and from the success of
picking a difficult lock, Sean opened the case with unusual eagerness. He flipped the lid open hoping to see something significant or valuable.
But to his instant shock and horror, Sean only saw a trip wire snapping as the lid fully opened and slammed against the wall.
Chapter 29
A Malevolent Manner (Patrick Pierce #1) Page 94
