Chapter 26
There was nothing like a little breaking and entering to really bring the bloom to a lad’s cheeks.
Derrick had to admit he would have preferred to have had another chance to run their current operation more than just in their heads, but there wasn’t time.
At least whatever massive meltdown Peter and Oliver were planning on having, they were apparently planning on having later.
They were nothing short of terrifying all dressed in black with masks over their faces, looking like something straight from one of Shakespeare’s worst nightmares.
He supposed the main advantage they had was that they’d had the historical record to consult before attempting their assault. He knew exactly where Richard Drummond was being housed and only had to worry about getting there with a minimum of fuss.
He couldn’t deny that it was the potential for a general-alarm-type fuss that concerned him, but what was there to be done?
He wasn’t superstitious by nature, but he’d had enough of James MacLeod’s don’t-unravel-the-threads-of-times lectures to know that leaving Sir Richard in the Tower where he couldn’t woo and win some future ancestor of Samantha’s father was going to have unpleasant repercussions through the family tree.
Besides, he wanted to know who had put Richard Drummond in the Tower. Knowing that might give them some clue as to who had planted those gems on Samantha.
They had paddled along the edge of the Thames in the pitch black and glided to a stop several yards short of the Traitor’s Gate.
He supposed he should have felt bad about swiping some poor lad’s boat, but he would compensate him handsomely thanks to Mary McKinnon’s jackpot she’d insisted he make free with.
Peter looked at him expectantly. Derrick nodded, because there was no reason to put off the operation.
Peter donned a snorkel, gave him a thumbs-up, then eased over the side of the boat into the water.
Derrick had insisted that Peter pump himself full of a variety of Sunny’s herbs the day before and he would make sure the lad ingested vast quantities of her nastiest brew when they returned home.
Swimming in the Thames was perhaps never a good idea, but in Elizabethan England it could be downright perilous.
There was suddenly a little pop and the outer gate swung open.
Derrick paddled into the receiving area, as it were, leaving Oliver the task of silencing any guards there who might find their clandestine activities requiring an announcement.
Four men fell senseless, fortunately not into the water.
He was actually quite relieved to see Peter crawl out of the water and up the steps, poor lad.
The second gate swung open soundlessly. He and Oliver stepped out of the boat, leaving it for Peter to guard, and slipped up the steps.
And from there, it was almost too easy.
They made their way to Sir Richard’s cell with no less effort than he’d supposed they would need to make.
He’d considered it very carefully beforehand and decided it was better to leave guards unconscious than slide by them and take the chance that they would raise the alarm.
He intended to be in and out in less than six minutes, assuming Sir Richard was in any shape to run with them.
They had contingencies, of course, if they found things not quite the way they expected them, but those alternate plans lasted no more than half an hour.
The drugs would definitely have worn off by then.
He honestly didn’t particularly care for guns though he certainly was proficient with several types.
At the moment, though, he had absolutely no compunction about firing tranquilizer darts into each and every guard in his path.
Oliver came along behind and collected the spent shots, continually looking over his shoulder for lads potentially following them.
He lowered Sir Richard’s guard to the floor in the shadows, then stood guard as Oliver picked the lock to the cell. He was fully prepared to find more guards inside, but that wasn’t quite what he found.
He found Francis Cooke sitting nervously in a chair, unfettered and obviously waiting for someone.
Once Francis saw them, he started to hyperventilate. Derrick supposed he should have expected that given that he and Oliver were dressed all in black with just their eyes showing.
“Drummond’s over here in the corner,” Oliver said. “Unconscious, damn him to hell.”
Derrick holstered his gun and folded his arms over his chest as he looked at Francis. “And you?” he asked mildly. “What are you doing here?”
Francis was apparently not so terrified that he couldn’t speak. “I’m waiting for Lord Derrick,” he said. “I overheard him saying he planned to rescue Sir Richard.” He took a deep breath. “I’m going back with him to that other place.”
Derrick found himself rather glad that he was wearing a mask that covered his face. This was, he could safely say, not at all what he’d expected. “Other place?”
“F-F-Faery,” Francis said, fighting to keep his teeth from chattering. “That secret world beyond L-L-London. By the Globe. Through that ring of mushrooms.”
Perfect. How was it possible that out of all the souls who could have traipsed through time, it had to have been the fool in front of him to manage it? Derrick drew himself up.
“And what were you doing on that side of the Thames?” he demanded harshly.
“Gambling,” Francis squeaked.
“And drinking?”
He shook his head vigorously. “I never drink. And I say that such is a blessing, for I never would have believed what I saw otherwise.”
“And what did you see?”
“A world like my own, only everyone was dressed poorly, as if they were servants.” He lifted his chin. “I saw it with my own eyes. It wasn’t a vision.”
“How many times did you see this vision?” Derrick asked sternly. “And pray you answer the question properly.”
“Just once!” Francis exclaimed. He paused, then apparently decided honesty was the best policy. “I waited there many times before I saw the woman come through the selfsame portal, followed by Lord Derrick. I tried to follow them back to their world, but couldn’t.”
“You put the gems in the woman’s bag the next time you saw her, didn’t you?” Derrick said sharply. “You waited for her and shoved your stolen treasure—”
“They weren’t stolen!” Francis interrupted. “They should have been mine long before now—” He froze. “How did you know?”
Derrick reached up and pulled his mask off his head.
Francis gasped. “You!” He leapt up and backward so quickly, he stumbled over his chair and landed heavily against the wall. He stood there, his chest heaving. “How did you get in here, Lord Derrick? And why are you dressed as a demon?”
“That doesn’t matter,” Derrick said. “What does matter is why you put the gems in my lady’s bag.”
“So I could find her again in that other world and collect them,” Francis said. “And that I not be discovered with the gems on my person.” His eyes shifted. “Too many here are watching me.”
Derrick ignored that and nodded toward Richard. “And him?”
“Someone must be blamed.”
“Awfully unsporting to blame an innocent man.”
“He’s an insufferable prig.” Francis pointed at Derrick. “Take me to your wife and let me get my inheritance back.”
Derrick lifted an eyebrow. “No.”
Francis pulled a pistol out, froze, then fell over rather ungracefully and quite heavily onto his face. Derrick looked at Oliver who only shrugged and put away his dart gun.
“Clock’s ticking, mate. And I’m hearing rumblings outside. We’d best be on our way.”
“Damn it,” Derrick muttered. He looked at Oliver. “I’ll tie him up and collect the dart. Leave a note on that table explaining what happened, would you?”
“Sure, boss.”
It was done in less than half a minute, then Derrick pulled Richard to his feet and heaved him over his shoulder.
It about knocked him to his knees, which made him think that perhaps the first thing he should do when Drummond awoke was tell him to lay off the desserts.
Oliver tucked the page into Francis’s shirt.
“What’s it say?” Derrick gasped.
“I was naughty and tried to steal my father’s jewels.”
Derrick smiled briefly, then carried Richard Drummond out of the cell. Oliver locked it up behind them, then they made their way quickly back down the passageway.
Getting Drummond into the boat was a bit of a trick, but they all seemed to have plenty of adrenaline for the task. Peter shoved the boat away from the steps, then leapt inside it. Derrick rowed, because there was absolutely no way in hell he was going to simply sit there without losing his sanity.
He didn’t relax until they had tied up where they’d begun their adventure.
Oliver took his turn hauling Richard Drummond out of the boat and heaving him over his shoulder.
Derrick flipped a young lad, who had obviously been sent to keep watch, a gold sovereign, watched the kid’s eyes roll back in his head, then hoped the poor boy would have it when he woke.
Peter looked at Derrick. “Almost done.” He sounded almost awed by the prospect.
“Aye,” Derrick said, “perhaps after you’ve dried off and aren’t in danger of catching whatever you’ve been swimming in.” He looked at Peter, then Oliver. “Thank you both.”
Oliver was smiling pleasantly. “Anytime.”
“Careful what you wish for.” Derrick looked at Peter. “And you, my lad?”
“I’m still digesting.”
Derrick smiled. He imagined that was the case.
He was glad to have the worst of it over with, though he wasn’t entirely sure there wasn’t more to come.
He certainly hadn’t intended to find Richard Drummond unconscious, but he was definitely out cold.
He was alive, though, which was perhaps all they could hope for.