Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Phoebe studied what she could see of the man on the rooftop. Yes, he was running and keeping pace with them for now. At any moment, he could jump down and land on one of the hackneys, possibly tearing through the roof. If not, he could push the driver from the moving vehicle.
She braced her feet on the seat cushions, then maneuvered the bow out of the open window. She followed with the rest of her body.
“The sedative on your arrows is a different recipe.” Keriah handed her an arrow. “You must hit him directly, and allow time for it to enter into his blood. The effects will be more … aggressive.”
The carriage jolted and bounced, and it was far more difficult than when she was riding a horse. The movement was sudden and unpredictable, without any sort of rhythm that she could utilize in which to aim. She did her best, and let the arrow fly.
The arrow sliced into the shoulder of the man on the roof, and he stumbled, disappearing from view. But a few minutes later, he had reappeared.
Keriah had already handed her another arrow, and Phoebe let fly again. She missed.
The rooftop attacker was getting closer. Keriah had been correct—even though Phoebe’s first arrow had cut into him, he showed no signs of slowing down from the sedative on the arrow tip. She would need a solid hit.
The carriage was moving so much that Phoebe did not bother to try to time her breathing with her shot. She simply waited, the arrow nocked.
There was suddenly a short, smooth stretch. As soon as Phoebe felt it, she aimed and fired.
The arrow hit him solidly in the upper chest. He staggered, and continued pursuing. She saw him break the arrow shaft, but left the point embedded in his muscle.
“I hit one of the pursuers,” Phoebe said to Keriah. “How long?”
Keriah shook her head helplessly. “I don’t know. It is a new recipe I made with the ingredients that Aya was able to procure for me.”
Phoebe looked for the other attacker on the rooftops on the other side of the street, but realized that the houses were widely spaced apart. Even she would have difficulty jumping from rooftop to rooftop. Perhaps Aunt Laura had chosen this route with that in mind.
Looking down, she saw a man running on the street. With his superior strength and speed, he was able to keep up with the pursuing carriage.
It also made him the perfect target. Phoebe nocked another arrow and again waited for a short heartbeat of time when the carriage was not bouncing along.
There was suddenly a loud roar like a beast, and she saw a shadow leap from the rooftops and land upon the roof of the carriage chasing them. However, he landed on the edge and was quickly thrown off by the movement of the coach.
He rolled along the ground into the path of the other man who was running … and he suddenly attacked him.
Phoebe could not believe her eyes as the two men grappled with each other. The one she had shot with the arrow was wild and ferocious, and the other man did not hesitate to mercilessly fight back.
She looked inside the carriage at Keriah. “How long will it affect him?” She could not keep the horror from her voice.
Keriah gave a helpless shrug. “A few minutes. He is like a Berserker. He will fight until he dies.”
The carriage turned another corner, and the last glimpse Phoebe had of the two men was their forms rolling on the ground.
Her arrows had killed a man. Had possibly killed two men.
No, she could not think of such things right now. Now, their concern should be for the carriage behind them.
Phoebe then realized that their route had indeed been circuitous—they were returning to the vicinity of the Coulton-Jones’s townhouse, but several streets over. This area was darker, with narrower roads pocked with holes in the ground.
Phoebe was about to ask her aunt why she had instructed Mr. Rosmont and Mr. Verling to follow this route when Aunt Laura suddenly leaned forward and thrust the carriage lamp outside the window. She swung it side to side in a curious manner just as the carriages raced through a crossroads.
No sooner had Mr. Rosmont’s carriage cleared the cross street when two hackney cabs, one from either direction, entered to block the road behind them in a suspicious coincidence.
The other carriage full of men on the Root had been nearly upon them, but the horses neighed in protest as the driver hauled on the reins.
The pursuing vehicle slowed abruptly, skewing to the side to avoid hitting the two hackney cabs in their way.
The two drivers had been apparently keeping their horses standing as they chatted with each other, but they were both startled at the carriage that nearly ran into them.
Phoebe could hear the argument ensuing between the two cab drivers and the coachman, whom she could tell was on the Root. Grudgingly, the cab drivers moved on, clearing the road.
But by then, Mr. Rosmont and Mr. Verling had driven far away, turning another corner.
However, this time they only drove a short distance before Aunt Laura, who had pulled the carriage lamp back inside, shouted up at Mr. Verling, “Here, on the right!”
He was hard-pressed to slow the heavy vehicle enough to turn right into an alley between a dimly lit tavern and a darkened shop.
The passage was barely wide enough for the carriage, and the horses initially balked at entering the darkened street.
But Mr. Verling urged them on, and Mr. Rosmont forced his horses to follow.
Inside the hackney cab was pitch black. Phoebe eased her head out to look behind them.
She could not see clearly since Mr. Rosmont’s carriage was in the way, but she thought she spotted movement at the entrance of the alley. She saw a man pulling something large and heavy, and heard the rattle of wheels from a wooden farm cart. Then there was a thunk, and the rattling stopped.
Phoebe could hear the pursuing carriage coming closer. It slowed to turn the corner, and then picked up speed as it raced down the road, the wheels clattering against the stone.
And then the carriage had passed by the alley, not even slowing.
“Aunt Laura, what did you do?”
Phoebe thought she saw a smug look on her aunt’s face, even in the darkness. “The tavern owner at the entrance to the alley was quite amenable to moving one of his carts in front of the alley at my convenience.”
They remained in the dark for another few minutes, but Phoebe shook her head at her aunt. “I hear no one else following us. I can smell no Goldensuit, although it is difficult in such a confined space.”
Aunt Laura thumped the roof of the hackney cab, and Mr. Verling slapped the reins, causing the horses to slowly walk forward and out of the alley.
The far end was even narrower than the entrance, and the wheels of the carriage scraped uncomfortably against the walls of the buildings, but eventually they turned onto a darkened street.
They made their way slowly to the Great North Road, where they picked up the pace. They drove for an hour, with Phoebe frequently leaning out the window to look behind them. To her enhanced eyesight, the darkness was merely gray, but she saw no one behind them.
They turned off the Great North Road onto a narrower thoroughfare and drove only a few minutes until they reached a small inn.
They were only allowed a few minutes to rest in the tiny private dining room off of the public room, drinking bitter, over-steeped tea, before Uncle Sol urged them back to the carriages.
Hatfield was two or three miles ahead of them, where they could trade the hackney for a traveling coach.
From there, Mrs. Coulton-Jones would be taken to a remote cottage in the country belonging to Uncle Sol, a place which he had bought anonymously.
Aunt Laura had already arranged with the Senhora to send two of her own trusted servants there to serve Mrs. Coulton-Jones.
“No, Mother, I am afraid you cannot stay at the inn,” Isabella was saying as she led Mrs. Coulton-Jones from the dining room back out to the stables. “We must hie you to safety as soon as possible.”
“Isabella, you shall be with me, so surely I shall be safe?” She clasped her daughter’s hands.
There was a pained look on Isabella’s face. “No, Mother, Michael and I must leave you. Our faces are known to the men who are after us, and there are tasks we must accomplish in order to thwart their plans.”
Her mother’s eyes sharpened at Isabella’s vague words. “Are you avoiding the explanation you promised me?”
Mrs. Coulton-Jones’s ire was not directed at her, but even Phoebe shivered.
Isabella merely smiled. “Of course not, Mother. Why would you think that?”
Phoebe realized she was witnessing the unshakable equanimity that enabled Isabella to be le petit prince.
A short distance away in the stable yard, Uncle Sol was speaking to Mr. Coulton-Jones and Mr. Rosmont, with Aunt Laura next to them.
“Isabella and I shall remain with Mother until the servants arrive,” Mr. Coulton-Jones said.
“They may be at the cottage already,” Aunt Laura said.
“I arranged with the Senhora to send two people there before we left for your townhouse tonight. They shall bear a letter in my handwriting, with a verse from the Biblical book of Matthew, chapter twenty-five, verse thirty-five. Perhaps it is best if you warn your mother that while they are not perhaps the best servants, they will be able to protect her.”
Phoebe had been with Aunt Laura as she made these arrangements with the Senhora. The brothel madam had been vague about the occupations of the two people she promised to send to Uncle Sol’s cottage, but she assured Aunt Laura of their trustworthiness.
“They are not the most refined individuals,” the Senhora had warned them, “but their skills with blades are not to be denied. They will protect Mrs. Coulton-Jones and ferry her away to safety if necessary.”