by Gaelen Foley
Rose bent down to watch more closely while Phillip crouched and tried to figure out the best way to pick up the animal.
The octopus stared at them, its arms waggling, its big, weirdly human-looking eyes blinking.
“How are you going to get him?” Rose asked.
“Not . . . quite . . . sure. He’s all . . . squiggly.”
Rose was silent for a moment. “I guess he’s kind of cute.”
“Too bad he’s headed for the frying pan.” Then Phillip gently picked him up, and Rose shrieked again when the octopus suddenly wrapped all its legs around Phillip’s hand, as though it had just decided that its safest course was to hold on tight.
“Ho!” Phillip tried in vain to shake him off, his victory turning to panic. “Captain, get him off me!”
“He just a-wants to say-a buongiorno.”
Rose was now giggling uncontrollably. The rest of the Fabrianos roared with laughter.
“Do they bite?” Phillip cried.
“Only if you are a starfish.”
Relieved by this news, Phillip offered his octopus-gloved hand to Rose. “You want to hold him?”
She shrieked and jumped back, laughing. “No!”
“Stop fooling around. You want me to cook him? You gotta kill him.”
“Aw,” Rose murmured in sympathy.
Phillip met her saddened gaze, then glanced over at the cook. “How do you want me to kill him?”
“Bite the head off. Quickly.”
“What? Did you say . . . ?”
“Bite the head, yes. Is the traditional way.”
“Oh, that’s horrible!” Phillip exclaimed. “I’m not biting his head off! You didn’t tell me that before!”
“Give him to me, I will bite it.”
“No, Phillip, no! Set him free!” Rose shouted.
“Give him!” Antonio repeated, holding out his hand.
Nick didn’t dream of interfering.
“I say!” Phillip protested. “There’s got to be a better way than decapitating the poor thing with your teeth!”
“Ah, come, little signore.”
“No!”
“Run, Phillip, run!” Rose shouted, as Phillip climbed over the rails to escape the cook, still trying to shake the octopus off his hand.
Nick merely shook his head, watching in bemusement as a wave suddenly splashed up and caused Phillip to lose his footing.
Phillip plunged into the sea with a shout.
Rose raced to see if he—or more importantly, the octopus—was all right. When it hit the water, the creature realized it was home and unwound itself from Phillip’s forearm.
It swam away and disappeared in seconds while Phillip popped up from the waves, treading water with a grin. “Oh, well, he got away.”
Rose cheered from the rails.
“After all that! Mama mia,” said Antonio, waving them off and returning to his galley with a shake of his head.
The eldest Fabriano brother threw down a rope ladder to the brave young swimmer, then he and Rose helped him up.
For his part, Nick scanned the area again through his telescope. The howitzer was now safely on the deck of the Black Jest, and his Italian crewmen were on their way, rowing back to the Santa Lucia.
It was not until later that evening that Nick turned his telescope toward the shore once again and suddenly froze, spotting Limarque entering the Seahorse Inn.
Excellent.
Vengeance filled him. If Limarque was finally here, then so was Virgil’s book—and that meant he could set the plans he’d made with Virginia into motion immediately.
There was no further need to delay.
It was time to hoist the signal flag to let her know they’d work their plan this very night.
Meanwhile, down in the cargo hold of the Black Jest, the girls were crying, weeping bitterly that that shameless pervert had taken poor, little, baby Rose.
“Bad enough being paraded before that ruffian, but to have him choose the child!”
“Such debauchery!” the blonde from Herefordshire wailed.
“Why didn’t he take me?”
“Or me? I wouldn’t have minded! He didn’t seem half-bad,” another sobbed.
“Anyone but the wee girl! What sort of monster—”
“Oh, enough!” Gin bit out at last, unable to take any more.
They all stopped and looked at her, startled by her outburst. Gin glared at them in the darkness. “Rose is going to be just fine, I promise you.”
“H-how can you know that?”
As she swept the bedraggled company with a guarded glance, she decided the time had come to entrust them with the plan she’d hatched with Nick.
Even Susannah Perkins.
Indeed, now that it had come to it, it seemed a little daft to expect such heroics from these pathetic, cowering creatures. On the other hand, most of them were farm girls from the shires, and God willing, had a basic understanding of how to fire a gun.
“Ladies, that man who came here today was not . . . what he appeared. Rose is in no danger. I myself asked him to choose her to get her off this boat and take her to safety.”
“What?” they breathed.
“He is my dearest friend and lover, and he left us the means to escape.”
“Your lover?” a few of them whispered. “Can this be true?”
“You mean you could have left with him today? But you stayed?”
She threw up her hands. “Did you expect me to abandon you all to your fates? Oh, botheration!” she huffed, coloring a bit at their shocked, admiring stares. “Now this is how it’s going to go . . .”
Ignoring their wonder, she gathered them around and finally told them her role in all this, how she was a lady detective, and how Susannah Perkins’s mother was the one who had first told her about her daughter’s disappearance, which had led to the whole investigation and her finding them.
“Gor!” was the common response.
With the background information stated, she then began filling them in quietly on the plan, praying none of them started to cry at the mere thought of carrying out a mutiny. It was not for the faint of heart, to be sure, but after all they had been through, they were rather desperate, willing to do what they must to grab for any chance at escape, just as she had hoped.
She spoke with such conviction about their mission that her confidence and righteous anger must have been contagious. For rather than fainting, the girls caught her eagerness at the chance to put their captors in their place.
The only obstacle remaining was Susannah Perkins herself.
They all turned to her, unsure if she would betray them to Rotgut’s crew for some sort of personal gain.
“Well?”
She gave no answer.
Gin took the hard-eyed, “fast girl” aside to confront her privately.
“What say you, Miss Perkins? Are you with me? You should be, considering you’re the reason I ended up here in the first place. The time has come for you to choose a side.”
She folded her arms across her chest and eyed the others in sullen wariness. “You’re going to get everyone killed, that’s what I think.”
“No, I’m not. We’ll choose our moment wisely and take them by surprise.” Gin lost patience. “Are you with us or not? Do you want a chance to escape? Are you brave enough to try? Or would you rather be a slave to whatever man might buy you? Because I’m sorry to say, the success of our plan depends on you. Think of it. You have the power to rescue all these girls through the bond you’ve established with his men.”
“What do you want me to do?” she asked uneasily, glancing over her shoulder, as if Rotgut’s men might hear.
“The next time the sailors come to let you out for, er, a visit, I need you to find out where the
arms locker is aboard this ship.”
“The arms locker?” she echoed.
Gin nodded. “You also have to get up on deck and look for a red flag flying on a two-masted ship nearby. Whatever you have to do, I need both of those pieces of information if we are to make good our escape. You must not under any circumstances tell them what we are planning. Do I make myself clear?” she asked softly, lifting her knife for emphasis.
Susannah Perkins drew in her breath, staring at the blade. “Where did you get that?”
“From my lover. You see, my dear, he is a spy for the Crown. He’ll be providing us with a little extra help when the time comes.”
This revelation, at last, seemed to raise her confidence, at least enough to pry her away from her singled-minded goal of selfish survival. Her tough bravado faltered. “He’s really going to help us?”
Gin nodded. “Your job is to look for the red signal flag and also find the arms locker. That’s all. Sounds easy enough, yes?”
“Maybe,” she said uncertainly.
“Now, Miss Perkins, I know you are a clever girl. So let me make this clear. All these girls deserve to go home to their families, and all our fates now rest in your hands. All you have to do for this to turn out well is to get me the location of the arms locker. But, fair warning, if you should decide to betray us to save your own skin, I will cut your throat while you’re sleeping,” Gin said softly.
Her eyes widened; her face paled in the darkness. She swallowed hard. “I understand,” she forced out.
“Good. I knew you’d make the right decision.”
As Susannah Perkins walked nervously to the door of the cargo hold to call for her sailors, Gin eyed her, satisfied that she had secured the girl’s cooperation.
Then she walked back to the others and sat down on the floor, looking on serenely while the sailors came to flirt with Susannah Perkins. She watched the crewmen unlock the door and let her little spy out of their cell for their usual lewd activities.
There was nothing more to do for now but wait.
Chapter 23
“Whatever happens, don’t tell your mother about this, or she might literally kill me,” Nick muttered.
“Don’t worry, I can do this!” Phillip assured him.
“Yes. I know you can. If I had any doubt, I would not allow it.” Half a mile away from the warehouse, Nick pulled his hired wagon to a halt.
The night had come. Their plot was under way. Unfortunately, he had realized that he could not do it entirely alone. Even the Order’s best assassin could not be in two places at the same time. Ergo, his recruitment of the boy. He looked at Phillip again, searching his face. “You’re sure you won’t freeze up?”
“No! My part’s easy. And fun,” he added with a grin.
Nick shook his head ruefully. “You’re too much like your grandfather.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment!”
“So it is.” He set the brake so they did not roll backwards down the steep hill with their heavy cargo. “All right then, into the box with you. Come on.”
They jumped down and walked back to the wagon’s bed, stacked with long wooden crates full of rifles. Nick opened the lid of one for the lad. Phillip nodded to him firmly and stepped in. It was a good thing the wiry lad wasn’t any taller. He had to bend his knees at an awkward angle just to fit, as it was.
“Got your fob watch?”
Phillip showed it to him, finally starting to look at least a little nervous.
“Good.” Nick repeated his instructions: “Two hours, then you break out of that thing. Move carefully. Try not to make any noise. Find the book and get to an exit. I’ll be waiting outside to take care of any guards. Any questions?”
“No, it’s simple! Let’s get on with it already! Before I lose my nerve.”
Nick smiled wryly at him. “Proud of you, lad.”
“Ha!” Phillip answered.
Then Nick covered the stowaway under a board to which a rack of rifles was secured.
“Can you see me?” came his muffled question.
“Not at all. Don’t forget—start counting the two hours on your watch only once you hear the warehouse doors slam shut behind you.”
“Righty-ho.”
Nick placed the lid on the crate of rifles and banged it firmly into place, then checked on the single howitzer he had brought for display.
“Lord Forrester?”
Nick could barely hear him in the crate. “Yes?”
“If . . . anything should go wrong tonight and something happens to me, will you take care of my mother for me?”
“Of course,” he answered gently. “You have my word. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you come out of this safe and sound. Anything else?”
A pause.
Nick waited for Phillip’s answer.
“You love her, don’t you?”
He smiled wryly. “It shows?”
“A lot,” Phillip declared.
“You got me,” Nick replied. “She’s the finest woman I’ve ever met, and the bravest. Now hunker down and keep quiet. We’re heading for the warehouse.” With his stowaway secured, Nick jumped down off the wagon’s bed and returned to the driver’s seat.
A moment later, the heavy cart rolled into motion. Another half mile up the road, Jonathan Black delivered the shipment of weapons to the warehouse for the main event of the Bacchus Bazaar, set to take place tomorrow night.
The guards saw that his papers were in order, all duly registered for the auction, signed and stamped by the bankers in Paris. Following protocol, one of the guards opened a couple of crates to make sure the contents were what they claimed to be.
Nick’s heart slammed in his chest when the fellow cracked open the lid of the crate containing Phillip.
But the man gave it only a glance before he nodded to the warehouse. Two other guards pulled the wide double doors open.
“You need a hand unloading them?”
He nodded. “Thanks, that would be helpful.”
Nick counted eight guards in all. Shouldn’t be a problem. Their captain sent two large fellows to assist him.
Nick drove the wagon slowly into the huge warehouse, which looked like an old, disused barn. He scanned the rows of illicit goods waiting for the auction to see if he could spy Virgil’s book.
He didn’t see it, but he was trying not to be too obvious about his gawking. He just hoped the boy could find it in the dark. He also glanced around for exits and winced privately to note that the old barn was sealed up well.
Most of the old stall windows had been boarded over, but the fading light of sunset still shone in from the hay door off the loft above.
Phillip could certainly get out that way, but he was going to have to do some climbing to get down from there. Could prove tricky.
Maybe, with more time to explore the interior for himself once the warehouse was all locked down for the night, Phillip would discover an easier way out, closer to the ground. In any case, Nick would be right outside to help him when the time came.
The guards showed him to an empty space where he could unload his cargo. The hired soldiers helped him take the crates of rifles off the wagon and stack them on the ground.
“Careful with that! I’ll do it myself if you’re going to throw them around! Let me get that.” He stalked over and personally picked up the crate containing Phillip.
While the guards smirked at his scolding, Nick set the precious cargo down on the ground and set his foot atop it, making a show of searching his pocket for a paper, as if he had just thought of something he needed to jot down.
“Can somebody get me a pencil? I need to mark the numbers of these crates.”
This request annoyed the guards even more, but Nick accomplished his goal: simply ensuring that the box with the boy in it did not e
nd up at the bottom of the pile. For if that happened, Phillip would be trapped under all that weight.
Thankfully, Nick succeeded in making sure that Phillip’s crate was on the top of a pile that was only shoulder high. The lad should have no trouble getting out or down from there.
“All right then. Looks good.” He gave Phillip’s crate a reassuring knock to let him know he was leaving.
Satisfied that his cargo was secure, Jonathan Black threw a canvas tarp over his crates to deter the curious from poking around. Then he tossed each of the soldiers a coin for helping him and strode back to his wagon.
With night falling over the island, he had two hours to take care of his next little task and get back here. He hated leaving Phillip unchaperoned for any length of time, but his next errand absolutely required the cover of darkness. Besides, he’d only draw suspicion to himself if he were seen continuing to lurk around the warehouse after dropping off his crates.
Driving back to the town as fast as he dared on the rough and dusty Greek roads, he finally arrived at the fountain in the quiet center of the village, where he stopped to let the horses drink.
Leaving his wagon there, Nick picked up the hammer he’d used to bang the crates shut and prowled back toward the Seahorse Inn on the quay.
From a wary distance, he made sure that Rotgut’s crew had accepted his invitation. He had sent over a message to the Black Jest telling his new “friends” he’d be hosting a night of revelry at the taverna—drinks on him.
They were there, all right. Loud and drunk and guzzling the free liquor as only sailors could. This cut the odds considerably for Virginia’s work tonight aboard the Black Jest.
Unfortunately, it looked like only half the crew had been allowed to come ashore, and he did not see the despicable captain himself among them.
Damn. His eyes narrowed with displeasure, but he wasted no time in getting on with the task of sabotaging their boats.
He crept along the beach silently, unseen, taking out his knife. He used the hammer to drive the blade into the wood, widening each one with the hook on the end of their small anchors. He hoped the drunken sailors kept making noise until he was finished smashing holes in all five of their rowboats.
