CHAPTER 25
“Slow down, lad.” Wrexford gave him a gentle shake. “Catch your breath and then explain yourself—at a walk, not a gallop.”
Hawk gulped down several lungfuls of air and began again. “M-Mr. Tyler and I have found the missing plant. It’s on Captain Lyman’s Baltimore Clipper.”
Charlotte let out a horrified hiss. “How—”
“Let him finish before we pepper him with questions,” Wrexford ordered.
“Even more important, we now know that the scholar named von . . . von—”
“Von Stockhausen,” finished the earl.
“Yes!” said Hawk. “That’s the bloody scoundrel. You see, Mr. Tyler and I had crept close to the ship and overheard . . .”
Wrexford listened to Hawk’s agitated explanation, seeing Charlotte’s eyes mirror his own shocked disbelief.
“Ye heavens, how could all our carefully reasoned assumptions about the murderer have been so wrong?” he muttered, once the boy finished.
“Because one looks for motive in murder,” said Charlotte softly.
“And von Stockhausen was cunning enough to keep that hidden from all of us. Who would have guessed . . .” She caught herself.
“But never mind that right now. Recriminations can wait until later. We have to stop him from absconding with the specimen.”
“Yes.” Wrexford gave a wry grimace. “It’s ironic that he has the missing specimen sitting right in his lap, but doesn’t know it.”
“Thank heaven for that,” said Charlotte. “As his ignorance gives us a chance to steal it back.”
“And to do that, we must move quickly.” And yet, Wrexford hesitated, trying to decide how to marshal his forces to the best advantage.
Charlotte, however, reacted first. “Sheffield needs to return to Nereid and Neptune. Raven should gather several of his friends to serve as messengers, and then join him there, so we have a place from which to coordinate communication. To begin with, Griffin needs to be notified. He and his Runners can wait in Sheffield’s office until it’s clear where they might be needed. ”
She lifted her chin, as if daring him to disagree. “Hawk will, of course, need to show you where Tyler is hiding, and Daggett’s military prowess may prove useful if trouble arises.”
“And you?” he challenged. “Need I point that Daggett’s arsenal of weapons also includes a pair of eagle-like eyes?”
“You already warned him that I’m wary of strangers. I’ll stay close to you and keep my head down.”
“I’m not sure—”
“Wrexford, we can’t afford to make the tiniest mistake. These dastards are diabolically clever,” she countered. “I may see things about the situation that you don’t.”
The swirl and slap of the water eddying around the wharves reminded him that every passing moment was critical. Once the tide turned, Lyman’s ship could sail for the open sea.
“Pull your hat down,” he muttered in surrender. “And stay back with Hawk while I explain the latest developments to Kit and Daggett.”
In response, she crouched down, muddied her fingers, and wiped them on her cheeks.
Hawk started to laugh, but a look from Wrexford speared him to silence. “Wait here for my signal,” he growled. “And then we need to move quickly.”
“Holy hell,” intoned Sheffield as the earl finished his terse report. Daggett said nothing. His face appeared carved out of stone.
“Kit, you’re familiar with the rhythms of the river. When, precisely, does the tide turn?”
“The ebb started about ten minutes ago,” responded Daggett.
“Which means that the flow changes in another six and three quarter hours. Allow another half hour for a ship the size of the Baltimore Clipper to begin moving with the tide, so I calculate that we have a little over seven hours before von Stockhausen and his co-conspirators sail out from under our noses.”
A nod from Sheffield confirmed the timing.
“Then we ought not waste our wind in any more jabbering,” said the earl. He flashed a signal at the alleyway. “Kit, you and the lad know what I need you to do. Daggett, you’ll come with me.”
“You seem to have wharf rats crawling out of every muck hole and crevasse of the dockyards,” observed the American as he watched Charlotte and Hawk slink out of the gloom. “How do you find all these filthy little vermin?”
“Swallow your insults and just be grateful that I do,” snapped Wrexford. “Without their eyes and ears, and their willingness to do the dirty work of ferreting out information, we wouldn’t stand a chance at beating the poisonous vipers.”
Daggett crinkled his nose. “Who’s the new one? He looks even more disreputable than the others.”
A laugh rumbled in the earl’s throat. “Looks can be deceiving. But leave Magpie to me. He doesn’t like to talk around strangers and we can’t afford for him to close up tighter than a clam.”
Hawk was already standing by one of the passageways threading through the cluster of storage buildings.
“From here on, stay alert. We’ll go in single file. I’ll follow our guide. Daggett, you’ll come after me, and Magpie will bring up the rear.”
“You trust an urchin to watch our backs?” murmured the American.
“More than I do you,” shot back Wrexford.
To his credit, Daggett allowed a quiver of amusement to touch his lips.
“I’ve worked with Magpie before,” added the earl, “and have never been disappointed.”
“Then without further ado, let us spread our wings and fly.”
Wrexford’s attention was already on the serpentine twists and turns that lay ahead.
The back byways were narrow and the light murky—an attack could come in a flash.
But stealth was key, so he wished to avoid the main paths that wound through the dockyards.
He was counting on the element of surprise—the dastards didn’t know their plans had been discovered.
Or so he hoped. Given all the wrong assumptions he had made of late, Wrexford couldn’t help but wonder . . .
But he shoved his doubts aside. Hawk kept up a quicksilver pace, a dark shape skittering within the shifting patterns of shade and shadow.
After a glance to the rear, the earl quickened his own steps.
The tang of brine and the salt-sweet scent of decay were growing more pronounced as the ebbing tide began to expose the river’s mud.
He could hear the breeze ruffling the water.
They must be getting close . . .
Hawk cut down an even narrower footpath between two massive storage racks for timber, fresh from the Baltic, and then disappeared for an instant as he wiggled under a log that had come to be wedged across the way. Wrexford managed to flatten himself enough to inch his way beneath it.
Daggett, moving with the sinuous speed of a sea snake, was through in a flash. He turned and extended a helping hand to Charlotte.
Wrexford held his breath. One touch—a sea captain’s senses were attuned to all the little nuances around him—and the American would know she was no hardscrabble urchin.
But Charlotte hadn’t survived life in the stews by making silly mistakes. Quick as an eel, she slithered away from his outstretched fingers and popped to her feet with a casual grace.
“Let’s keep moving,” prodded the earl.
As he had hoped, the urging distracted Daggett. “Any ideas yet on how to attack the ship?” asked the American, after turning away from Charlotte.
“A diversion seems the logical choice, but Tyler may have some specific ideas, as he’s been observing the activities around the wharf.”
“Your valet appears to be a man of many talents.”
“I’m easily bored. He keeps me amused,” answered Wrexford.
Daggett stayed close as they quickened their steps. “Your fiancée must be an unusual lady.” A pause. “Or perhaps she’s not aware of what an eccentric household she is about to enter.”
The earl ignored the comment. “We need to wait here,” he said, coming to a halt just short of emerging from between the timber racks. “The lad has gone to fetch Tyler.”
Angling his gaze, he began to survey the surroundings.
The steep roof of a sail loft and its adjoining storage area blocked his view of wharves, but he could see there were a number of ways to reach the tidal basin where the ship was moored.
However, access wasn’t the issue. Any attempt to steal the plant from the ship would be a perilous undertaking, and the more he thought about it, the more it seemed a foolhardy risk.
The three ringleaders were murderous cutthroats, and the crew members were likely handpicked for their lack of morals, given the ship’s original mission as an illegal slaver.
It made far more sense to orchestrate an official impounding of the ship.
The question was, did Daggett’s documents carry enough clout to make such a thing possible before the tide turned?
A flicker of movement cut short his musing. It was Hawk—
Wrexford dropped to a crouch and drew his pistol.
But something was terribly wrong. The boy was flying like a bat out of hell.
Hawk skidded and stumbled as he made a sharp turn around the timbers jutting out from the racks. Wrexford caught the boy as he fell, and pulled him into the shadows.
His face was white with fear.
“What’s wrong?” demanded Daggett.
“Hold your tongue,” barked Wrexford, thankful that Charlotte had the good sense to remain silent. “Give the lad a chance to catch his breath.”
It took only another instant for Hawk to master his emotions enough to speak. “M-Mr. Tyler is gone!” he said. “And so is the ship!”
* * *
Gone? Charlotte couldn’t believe her ears.
Tyler was very experienced in clandestine activities . . . And how could a ship simply disappear?
She didn’t dare look up and try to catch Wrexford’s eye. She had come to realize that Daggett was even more dangerous than she had feared. He was like a stalking predator, all razor-sharp eyes and coiled muscles waiting to pounce at the first sign of weakness.
“They may have decided to shift the ship to an even more hidden spot,” reasoned the earl. “And Tyler has followed it—”