The Mark of the Golden Dragon (29 page)

And a good night's work it was, indeed.

"Missy Memsahib!" calls my little Ravi, bursting unannounced into my cabin and waving a piece of paper above his head. "A message from Sahib Creespo!"

He bounces up on the bed as I groan and sit up.

"Give it over, lad," I say, reaching out a hand. My bedmate, Joannie, is a silent lump off to my left side. No, actually, we had not returned directly to the
Nancy B.
last night after we had completed our nocturnal reconnaissance of Flashby's lair. No, on our way back, when we passed by the Admiral Benbow Tavern and music and laughter were pouring out, we just had to stop in. We did not stick out. We were just two more black-clad footpads jammed in the crowd. And, of course, our money was good and so no questions were asked. The fiddler was excellent, with a fine strong voice. He reminded me of my Shantyman, Enoch Lightner, now back in Boston on the
Lorelei Lee.

We got back
very
late, and so we were sleeping in.

I open the note Ravi has given me and read.

To the Person known as Lotus Blossom, Greetings:

One of the particular gentlemen of whom we spoke at our last meeting has agreed to meet with you on the night of Wednesday next. Please present yourself ready at Mrs. Featherstone's at eight in the evening. The gentleman is a very secretive sort, so expect to be conveyed to him under cover. I trust you will not mind a blindfold. Your terms for payment will be met.

Benj. Crespo

I refold the note and lay it aside.

"How did it go at that place, Ravi?" I ask of the little fellow.

"Oh, very well, Memsahib," he says. "The ladies there much kind to Ravi. Many pettings of his unworthy person."

"I'll bet," I say, smiling and giving him a pet of my own.

"Sahib Creespo ask Ravi if he would like to earn some money..."

Aha
...I figured something of the sort would happen. That's why when I left orders with the watch last night that Ravi was to be sent to the brothel in the morning to see if anything was up with Creepo, I added that the very large and forbidding John Thomas should go with him as protection, in case anyone tried to pull something nasty with him. Ravi is such a very pretty little boy.

"...but I told the Sahib that I was very happy in the employ of Memsahib Blossom of Lotus Tree."

"Well, good on you, Ravi," I say, laughing. "Now go tell Mr. Lee Chi that we are ready for our breakfast."

As he pops off the bed and scurries out, I give Joannie a poke.

"Up, you lazy slug," I say. "My Lord Richard Allen is taking us all on a ride in the country today."

Later in the morning, as we are out on deck and preparing to leave, Davy and Tink come up before me. Davy, looking serious, says, "We gotta talk."

"So talk, Davy," I say, adjusting my bonnet and looking off for the approach of Lord Allen's carriage. "What's on what passes for your mind?"

Davy, with Tink by his side, pokes his finger at my nose and demands, "Why don't we just grab this Creepo and make him tell us where your man Flashby is? He don't sound like a really noble type and prolly would faint at the sight of your shiv held to his throat. Then we'd storm the place with Liam, Thomas, McGee, Tink, and me, and take the bugger and hand him over to Jaimy. Then we'd all sing 'Ring around the Rosy' and go back to Boston, me to snug up with Annie, and you with Jaimy, if he could still stand the sight o' you. Strong stomach he's gotta have, as I sees it."

I consider this, starting to get a bit steamed. I give a bit of a tug of my snowy white gloves, setting them just right, and say, "Which is why I'm the boss and you're the seaman, Mr. David Jones. It's because Flashby and Creepo ain't wanted for nothing and if we took 'em, we'd be the criminals, not them. The coppers would be after us in a flash, is why, then they'd stuff us down in Newgate and we wouldn't be able to do anyone any good then."

"All right, then," responds the ever reasonable Davy, his face in mine. "But whyn't you just keep takin' coaches through Blackheath Road, every day and night, like—dressed maybe as Jacky Faber for a change—you do remember her, Miss Elegant Jumped-up Jewel of the Orient, don't you? A little bit of an English girl from Cheapside she was. Small and no-account, annoying for sure, but still loyal to her friends—till Jaimy finally stops your coach and out you pops and cries,
'Jaimy! Oh, Jaimy love!'
or some such drivel. Then he picks up your scrawny ass and it's all
kissy, kissy, joy, joy, oh Jaimy, oh Jacky
when he sweeps you up and takes you somewhere to ... and then we all go back home to Boston, happy as clams. What's the matter with
that
plan, Jack-O?"

Tink nods solemn assent to that.

"I would remind you, Davy, that I am an escaped convict and if I leave off the disguise and am recognized and taken again, I would surely be hanged, and I would do Jaimy Fletcher or anybody else scant good dangling from the gallows!"

"All right. So send me and Tink. We'll find him."

Grrrr...

"I would further remind you both that press gangs are still abroad in the land and two seasoned sailors such as yourselves would be a prime prize. And you might recall, Seaman Jones, that you are still in the Royal Navy, never having been discharged after the
Santa Magdalena
expedition, and could well be charged and hanged for desertion!"

I poke my own finger into his chest. "How would you like that, pudding-for-brains? Besides, that girl Bess inspects all the coaches stoppin' at her daddy's inn, and she sure wouldn't put the Black Highwayman on to robbin' any coach I was in, that's for sure. I've got a real strong feeling that girl wants Jaimy for herself. Besides, I don't think Jaimy's gonna rest till he nails Flashby's bloody hide to the front door of the Admiralty, whether or not he knows I'm still around!"

Davy steps back, crosses his arms on his chest, and regards me.

"Fine words, Jacky. Real logical and all," he says, his eyes hooded and his tone not at all friendly. "But could it be what you really like is hangin' about with Lord High Muckety-Muck and all those other lords you been goin' about with? Hmmm? That you care more about the high life you been livin' than you do about rescuin' our poor brother Jaimy? Could it be that you're draggin' your feet?"

Wot?

Stung by the accusation, I spin around and stick my gloved finger in his eye and snarl, "I ain't draggin' me feet. I got plans, Davy, good plans, and I've put things in motion and—"

"We ain't seen nothin' of those plans. Alls we seen is you prancin' about twitchin' your ass and cozyin' up to nobs."

"How could you say that to me, Davy, the Brotherhood—?"

"Ah, yes, the Brotherhood," says Davy, looking up off into the sky. "The Holy Brotherhood ... Aye, we still believe in that, Tink and me. After all, we left our wives and sweethearts to come halfway around the world to find you, Jacky, and we'd go all the way around the world for Jaimy, too. But what about you, eh?"

"What about me?" I demand, beginning to tear up.

"How far around the world would you go for Jaimy, Jacky?" he asks, quiet and serious. "Only as far as the next pretty boy?"

I stand stunned.

"But ... but Richard Allen is only a dear friend. He's m-my—" I stutter.

"You seem to have lots of 'dear friends,' Jacky. Mostly male, I notice," continues Davy, relentless. "You know they gotta lot of words for girls like that, girls like you, Jacky, girls what's got lotsa men 'friends'...rough, ugly words."

Tears are now running through the kohl that rims my eyes.

"All right, Davy," says Tink. "That's enough. You got her cryin'. You've made your point."

"Right," Davy says as he turns away from me. "Anyway, here's her fine lord come to fetch our little lass. Have a good day ... my lady."

Dimly, I hear the clatter of hooves on the pier.

I recover enough to spit after him, "Ain't nobody gonna tell Jacky Faber how to live her life! 'Specially not you, Davy Jones! You remember that! And you can just sod off and go to hell!"

He shrugs and goes below.

Damn!

I fume in righteous indignation as Richard alights from his coach to lead us off for a fine day in the countryside.

And what a glorious day it is—we see a scientific exposition, lay wagers at a horse race, exclaim at the beauty of the summer flowers, and eat at an excellent country tavern. I chatter, I sing, I sparkle, and all are joyous...

...but in the lower depths of my mind, I find that much of my joy is gone. It nags at me...

Could Davy be right?

I enter on Richard Allen's arm, dressed in my Oriental garb, head up, newly shaved and shiny, eyes hooded at half-mast, with Ravi in train, and collect the
oohs
and
aahs
that are my due, nodding grandly to the right and to the left. I see Mr. Peel off in a group of men, and I tip my head to him in acknowledgment of his presence, but we do not go to meet him. Oh, no, not yet...

Ah, yes, back in the belly of the Cockpit, and, indeed, it is my kind of place! The country hath its charms, but I am a city girl at heart!

And yes, the Pit is a veritable hotbed of intrigue...

Groups of men smoking and drinking and laughing, sometimes jolly, sometimes deep in serious conversation. And there are the pipes, always the pipes, with the tobacco smoldering and glowing in the bowls, saturating the air with their heavy fumes.

I hate to admit that I've become quite used to the noxious weed, and I hope I'm not becoming surreptitiously addicted to the stuff.

There are some ladies, to be sure, hanging on various arms, but they are merely decorations. The serious work of deceit is being done by the men.

Ever since King George suffered his latest lapse into madness several years ago, the intrigue continues. Who shall be Regent if the King has another relapse? True, he seems to have come out of it, but who knows? He may slip yet again and who shall ... and so on and on...

Can that be my old guardians Carr and Boyd seated over there, close by the door, nursing a couple of ales while scanning the crowd? No doubt they're reporting on someone ... Who...? I don't know, but I certainly keep my face covered when I'm in their field of vision, that's for sure. I suspect that, deep down, they are decent fellows, but I also know they follow their orders and their current instructions more likely come from Smollett, not from Peel.

Richard leads me to the gaming table where sits our former adversary, the seeming country bumpkin who had divested Richard of some of his money on our previous meeting. The man's name turns out to be Upton ... Squire Upton. Of what country parish the red-faced and jolly fellow is squire of, we do not know, but let that be, for now.

We sit, pleasantries are exchanged, and then Richard says, "I hope you don't mind, gents, my bringing my little piece of Oriental jade with me to play. She does not know much about card playing, but she does ... amuse me."

He hugs me to him, and I play it up for all I am worth.

Hale and hearty male laughter all around.
But of course, Sir, let her play!
Knowing looks are passed around, too, as Richard lays out a mound of gold pieces. But we shall see, gents, we shall see.

We sit and Squire Upton, chuckling, shuffles the cards—his cards, I know—and announces, "Dealer's Choice. Oh my stars and garters, this is so exciting. What shall it be? Oh, yes, the choice shall be Five Card Monte, one card down, four up, with a bet on each card. Are we agreed? Good, then here we go ... Ante up, gentlemen, if you would..."

The cards are dealt, one to each player, face-down, and the bets are laid. Without turning it over, I am sure it is a king.

The last time we had sat at the gaming table with this Squire Upton, I feigned disinterest—boredom, even, with several ill-concealed yawns thrown in and my head lying sleepily on Richard's shoulder. Actually, though, I had been carefully scanning the backs of the cards for any irregularities and I eventually found them.
Ha!
There, a very slight extension of a curlicue up in that corner. I'll bet it is a face card ... and yes ... it turns out to be a queen. A little while later I had ciphered out his system and directed Richard to get up and leave the game, sadly a loser, for another time.
That time has come now, Squire...

I reach over and lift up our down card. It is, indeed, a king ... a good card, but I do not think this Squire Upton has placed it there for our advantage, no, I do not. Our next card up is a ten of hearts. I make a bit of a fuss, putting my fingertips on the cards and pretending to be the utter fool... "
And thees ees a king? Oh my, yes, he looks so royal with hees crown and that is his queen, no?
" and so on.

Amidst all this tomfoolery, I lean over and whisper in Richard's ear, "
Bet very lightly, dear one, for we will lose this one...
"

Sure enough, we end up with two kings and the Squire, again blessing his stars and garters, shows his two aces, so we lose. Pity that. The deal passes to another gent and we are allowed to win a small pot. Our country squire is, of course, setting us up for the big score.