Deadly Peril (15 page)

He took a deep breath. So be it. He could not, and now would not, hide from his past.

Forcing himself not to betray his inner emotional turmoil, he turned to the old man.

“Uncle! I need you to listen carefully.”

“Fascinatin’!” Plantagenet Halsey exclaimed, attention elsewhere.

He was peering down at the wharf, at the strong-armed men winding the thick rope from the schooner around several large capstans affixed to the pier, pushing the capstan bars with all their might in a circle, which wound the rope tighter, and this in turn pulled the ship to the pier. Plantagenet Halsey was all admiration for the ingenuity in bringing a ship mechanically alongside a pier without the use of wind and sail.

“And here I’d been thinkin’ we’d need to drop anchor out in the channel and be tossed into boats and made to row.” He turned to look at Alec, and rubbed his gloved hands together; the action had nothing to do with warming his hands. “Can’t wait to see how they manage to off load Her Grace’s sedan chair,” he added gleefully. “Mayhap she can be taken up in it and walked down the gangway. She’s been ill enough to warrant it. Eh?”

“Perhaps. Though I doubt she would feel any better being bumped about in a chair,” Alec said with great patience. “I need you to listen to me—”

“A’course, my boy.”

“Whatever happens once we set foot on solid ground, please remember: I am still me—Alec—your nephew.”

“Yes. Of course you are,” the old man replied. Though it was obvious from his accompanying weak smile he had no idea what Alec was talking about. “You always will be.”

“I’m not expressing myself at all well,” Alec apologized self-consciously. “But it is important I have your assurance that whatever happens, whatever you witness or hear about me, you will keep your surprise and your shock—yes, you will be shocked—to yourself. I will confide in you—eventually. But, for now, in the next little while, I need you not to react, but to take everything I say and do in your stride—as if these matters concerning me were always known to you.”

“You want me to lie?”

“Of course not!” Alec retorted. He moved closer, a gloved hand to the railing, so as to be heard over the barks of command and attendant commotion that comes with disembarkation. “What I am asking is for you not to show surprise, because if you do, if you question anything that happens from now on, it will greatly unsettle Olivia and Selina. I don’t want either of them upset, nor do I need them or Sir Gilbert asking questions—questions I’m not prepared to answer, not until Emily and Cosmo are removed from danger. So I need you to be at your confident best.”

“Ha! So my lack of reaction will express confidence, while I remain in ignorance?”

Alec smiled. “Something like that, yes.”

Plantagenet Halsey patted his nephew’s shoulder. “It’s as well I do have confidence in you. Whatever you want. I’ll not ask, and I won’t flinch. On my honor. You can count on me.”

Alec’s smile widened and he squeezed his uncle’s hand that touched his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Besides, the last thing I want is Her Grace and your apricot beauty in any distress. Though—and this will be the last time I ask—why are you keepin’ your distance from Mrs. J-L? You’ve not said more than two words to her since Harwich.”

“She shouldn’t be here!” Alec replied harshly, adding before turning to address his valet, who had emerged from the hold with a pirate at his back and a pistol to his ribs, “And you just broke your promise. No questions! What is it, Jeffries?”

“Sir Gilbert, my lord, is causing a—um—
disturbance
,” Hadrian Jeffries reported tonelessly in English. “I’ve been sent to fetch you to communicate this individual’s wishes to him.”

Alec suppressed a heavy sigh. He waved to the pirate to lead the way.

“Sir—!”

Alec stopped from brushing past his valet, looked him in the eye and waited.

“This individual has permission to slit Sir Gilbert’s throat if he doesn’t instantly comply,” Hadrian Jeffries said under his breath. “Regardless of your efforts to make him see reason.”

“What you say? Tell!” the pirate demanded, poking the barrel of his pistol deeper into the valet’s ribs.

“My servant says you have greatly upset the kobold that possesses my friend,” Alec said smoothly in Dutch, and in such a bland voice that it took all Jeffries’ self-control not to laugh out loud at his master’s outrageous assertion that the head of the English legation was inhabited by a sea sprite. “Now I must calm him before he curses you all. And do put away your pistol.”

“That barrel of a man he is possessed of a-a
spirit
?” the pirate asked fearfully, carrying out Alec’s command without hesitation, a look over his shoulder as if he expected the kobold to be hovering at his back.

“Yes. And if you and your fellow seamen do not wish to be cursed into eternity, you’d best pray I can calm Meneer Klabautermann. Now take me to him.”

The pirate’s eyes widened with terror.

“
Klabautermann
? His name it is Klabautermann?”

“Yes. Is something the matter?” Alec asked evenly, knowing very well he was preying on the superstitious nature of all sailors.

He had remembered a story told him by the captain of the herring lugger while taking him to safety all those years ago, about a sea sprite which fishermen and sailors alike welcomed and feared in equal measure. This sea sprite was believed to assist them with their seafaring duties. But as well as having the ability to rescue those washed overboard, the sprite could turn nasty when required. As it was never seen in its true form, it was not a stretch to convince this pirate and his fellows that Sir Gilbert was possessed. Giving him the sprite’s Germanic name was a stroke of comic genius, and so thought Hadrian Jeffries, a chuckle bubbling up in his throat and inexpertly suppressed.

In the pirate’s panic to appease the kobold-possessed Sir Gilbert, he rushed after Alec, who strode across the deck, calling out to his fellows to stay well back and not enter the hold. There were magical forces at work below that needed to be appeased.

Hadrian Jeffries was forgotten, left on the deck beside Plantagenet Halsey.

“I don’t know what my nephew said, but he’s certainly put fear into that salty blackguard and his friends,” the old man commented.

“His lordship’s quick thinking has saved Sir Gilbert from being turned into fish bait,” Hadrian Jeffries said with satisfaction.

“And so it begins…” Plantagenet Halsey muttered, and with that cryptic remark, he pulled his damp tricorne hat down over his grizzled hair and crossed the deck to join the rest of his party, who were emerging out of the darkness of their tiny cabins into a cold and blustery winter’s day.

T
HE
PIRATES
herded their English captives to the narrow gangplank, cutlasses drawn but no longer waved menacingly. All but two of their number stayed well back, word having gone round that the Englishman who resembled a beer barrel may or may not be possessed of a sea sprite.

“I knew these cutthroats would finally come to their senses once you had the good sense to inform them exactly who I represent,” Sir Gilbert commented to Alec with a self-satisfied smile as he joined him on deck. “His Majesty’s subjects are not to be trifled with.”

Alec mentally rolled his eyes at Sir Gilbert’s self-delusion and new-found bravery, but made no comment, turning away to ensure everyone was accounted for while they waited for the gangplank to be set in place. He then briefly and quietly told them of his plan, to be carried out once they were on dry land, to which everyone readily agreed, except Sir Gilbert who remarked pompously,

“You did not add, but I am certain it was a momentary lapse, that as head of the legation I will lead this formation; I have in my possession the necessary certified documents to present to the officials. Once they, too, realize who I am and why I have come, I am confident of receiving the full cooperation of these foreigners.” He smiled thinly at Alec, adding, “I may not be able to speak the language of pirates, but my French linguistic skills, as you are well aware, my lord, are not to be sneezed at.”

“They will serve you very well indeed once we reach Herzfeld Castle and the court, Sir Gilbert,” Alec responded patiently. “But here in Emden the citizenry speak Dutch—the language of merchants. And the career soldiers, German. So if I can be of any assistance…?”

Sir Gilbert was momentarily flustered. “As my subordinate, of course you can be of assistance, my lord! Now let us get off this vessel at once!”

Despite being weak and still green, the Duchess was determined Alec should realize once and for all time that as a marquess he had precedence over everyone on board, herself included. And she said as much to Sir Gilbert, who listened in silence, though his expression told her he was merely assuaging her because her rank and his good manners demanded it.

But when Plantagenet Halsey touched her arm, a finger to his lips for her to desist, it was the meaningful look in his eye that made her press her lips together and say no more.

And so down the gangplank they went, one at a time, all eager to get ashore despite the constant drizzle and incessant windy weather. The ladies with their red wool cloaks and hoods pulled close about their quilted petticoats and capped coiffures, the gentlemen with their fur hats or tricornes down low over windswept hair, grey wool cloaks covering fur-lined great coats that were buttoned from boots to stubbled chins, gloved hands deep inside large fur muffs, which Alec had presented to each English passenger, male and female, knowing that such a winter accoutrement was essential in this part of the Continent, to ward off the bone-deep ache only a North Sea winter wind was capable of producing.

The group then proceeded along the overcrowded and noisy pier as directed by the patrolling armed soldiers, who were sending a multitude of passengers from a number of seized ships along a narrow pedestrian thoroughfare. The English passengers huddled together in the formation agreed to on board, so that the Duchess, Selina, and their respective lady’s maids would be most protected, not only from the foul weather, but also from any jostling and unpleasantness from strangers, military and civilian.

Sir Gilbert Parsons headed the group, a step ahead of Alec and Hadrian Jeffries. Plantagenet Halsey with the Duchess of Romney-St. Neots on his arm was next. Then came Selina Jamison-Lewis and her lady’s maid. Behind them the Duchess’s lady’s maid and Sir Gilbert’s man, and at the rear two of the Duchess’s most beefy and burly upper footmen brought along on the journey, because they could lift any portmanteau or trunk required, and were able to carry their mistress in her sedan chair. Most importantly, the Duchess had confided to Plantagenet Halsey with a smug smile, the huge size of their fists and the muscles in their calves would be enough to ward off the legions of thieves and pickpockets known to roam the Continent. The old man had chuckled at her contingencies, pointing out there were just as many, if not more, such petty criminals in London alone, and she had never worried about
them
. But now, looking about the pier at the swarm of bedraggled strangers as well as the dozens of soldiers, two gorilla-sized footmen might come in very useful indeed.

The pier was barely wide enough for a single horse-drawn town carriage or wagon, but such land vehicles were unnecessary. In this remote corner of the Continent, everything, from people to goods, traveled by way of the many canals built for the purpose. The cargo offloaded from the ships come into the harbor or brought in by rowboat from those frigates anchored out in deeper water, was no different, and heavy horses under the supervision of their handlers trudged up and down the pier pulling barge after barge laden with confiscated cargo to the Customs House.

Alongside the path used by the heavy horses was the narrow pedestrian walkway to which all the passengers were being directed. Canal and walkway ran the length of eight four-story red brick townhouses, the steep mansard roofs and plaster embellishments proclaiming their singularly Dutch character. And at the end of this row stood an imposing red brick building with a green copper roof and a clock tower bearing the coat of arms of Midanich. This was the Customs House, and dividing one wing from the other was a majestic arch under which ran the canal to a central depot. Here the barges were emptied and their loads sorted for inspection.

Bales of cotton, wool, and ready-painted textiles were indiscriminately slit open; wooden crates, their lids splintered, the straw stuffing tugged and pulled apart to reveal their contents; personal luggage sorted and tossed onto ever-growing piles—many of the portmanteaux and wooden trunks with their locks broken off, the clothing and personal items considered worthless discarded in the filth and grime underfoot by workers searching for anything of value. Sacks of maize, flour, and dried pulses, crates of cheese wheels, and barrels of small beer and wine were more carefully inspected. Food and drink were most precious commodities to a fortress town during a siege, and even more so in the barren winter months when fishermen were confined to shore and the citizenry relied on stores, stores which now had to be shared with the hundreds of soldiers occupying the town.

Overseeing these customs inspections were officious men in drab greatcoats and plain black tricornes, the round brass insignia Alec knew very well pinned to their hats, indicating their status as officials employed by the city. And overseeing the overseers were soldiers with bayoneted muskets in blue wool and shiny brass-buttoned uniforms, and imposing mitre caps of red wool with a front plate of intricately beaten brass. They were professional soldiers, grenadiers in fact, and their fighting skills in times of siege were highly prized, and along with their brother soldiers, the fusiliers, were a source of revenue for their Margrave. They were exported, just like any other commodity, to countries such as England, which had no standing army and were in need of professional soldiers. Alec also knew the grenadiers, as experts in siege warfare, were usually garrisoned at Castle Herzfeld, and that Prince Ernst, now the new Margrave, was their Officer-in-Chief, and as such, they were fiercely loyal to His Highness.