Soon, they were walking down dark canyons between towering warehouses. Although the moon was full, it was screened by a bank of thick clouds that had rolled in with the evening.
He knew the area well enough to be sure of his direction. As they moved through the night toward the susurration of waves rising from the harbor, a miasma of aromas assaulted their senses—spices, tar, fish, and dozens of others less easy to identify. The occasional skittering of claws suggested that other denizens of the night were willing to give them a wide berth. Toby hoped Bruno defied his terrier heritage sufficiently well not to bark at the rats.
At one point, he heard a small growl, but Helga whispered sharply, and silence reigned once more.
They walked steadily on at a pace that Toby felt confident the children could manage. He strained his ears and all his senses, but caught no hint that there was anyone else moving furtively among the buildings.
That would change as they drew nearer to the docks and the constant activity around the berthed ships.
The route he’d chosen through the labyrinth of paths that wended around and between the warehouses would keep them well away from all areas of activity until they were making their final approach to the dock where theIrish Rosewould be waiting. Fortuitously, a long alley about two yards wide ran perpendicular to the dock at that point, leading directly to the wharf alongside theIrish Rose. Created by the space between two very long warehouses and with no intersections along its length, that alley would take them more or less directly to the bottom of theIrish Rose’s gangplank.
Once they stepped into that alley, no one could come at them from the sides, nor could they be seen—not until they stepped out onto the well-lit wharf at the alley’s other end.
Toby viewed the alley as unquestionably the best and safest route by which to get his family on board the ship. As, obediently quiet, they moved through the night, that goal remained front and center in his mind.
Finally, they reached the mouth of the critical alley. He halted and stared down its length. The black shapes of discarded boxes and crates stacked against the walls left a zigzag path down the alley’s center. At the far end, beyond the warehouses and separated from them by an open stretch of worn wooden planks, a ship wreathed in rising sea mist—presumably theIrish Rose—gently rose and fell.
The wharf was illuminated by lamps and flares, making the shadows in the alley appear even darker. From this distance, the calls of the sailors and stevedores working to unload and load cargoes was a rising cacophony punctuated by the rattle of heavy chains and the dullthudof crates hitting the wharf.
Toby glanced at Diana as she halted beside him. “Almost there,” he murmured and tipped his head toward the distant ship. Then he gestured to her to take the lead, as per their plan.
She paused only to hoist Evelyn, who was flagging but still clutching Rupert the Bear, into her arms. After settling the little girl on her hip, Diana picked up her traveling bag and started down the alley.
Silently, Helga and Bruno followed, and at Toby’s nod, the boys, both carrying bags and cases, filed into the alley ahead of him.
He’d reasoned that, if any pursuers spotted them slipping into the alley and came chasing after them, he should be the first of their party said pursuers would encounter. Even though he was carrying two bags and Evelyn’s case, he could drop them easily enough. He’d reluctantly packed away his sword stick—of little use in such close quarters—but was armed with his usual complement of knives. He glanced around one last time, piercing the gloom as best he could, but saw no hint of any pursuers. He found it difficult to credit that they would get away so smoothly; nevertheless, he hefted the bags and case and followed his family down the alley.
With every sense on high alert, he paced slowly enough so that the gap between him and the boys widened to several yards.
Space to maneuver if necessary.
But no sound of stealthy footsteps reached him.
No sense of anyone closing in from behind or hint of anyone rushing along the wharf ahead to intercept them.
All remained reassuringly unthreatening, the silence steadily swallowed by the increasingly loud dockside sounds.
They were two-thirds of the way to the wharf when a breeze wafted up the alley, bringing with it the salty tang of the sea and a whiff of perfume.
Not Diana’s.
Toby halted and dropped the bags he carried.
As the leather slapped the ground, on his right, materializing from the shadows of discarded boxes, Heinrik stepped into the alley between Roland and Bryce and Toby, cutting him off from the others.
The source of the errant perfume, Eva, stepped out from hiding as well. Putting her back to Heinrik’s, she faced the others as, alerted by the bags hitting the ground, they stopped and swung around.
For several seconds, no one moved.
Toby had planned for this; he didn’t fear Heinrik. He glanced at Roland. Wide-eyed, the boy met his gaze, then blinked and all but imperceptibly nodded. Grabbing Bryce’s sleeve and tugging his brother with him, Roland started to edge away, backing toward Helga and Diana, ready to turn and push them on to the ship, taking Evelyn and Rupert the Bear with them.
Good.
Toby focused on Heinrik as his old foe-cum-acquaintance held out his hand and drily demanded, “The dispatches, if you please.”
Toby let his arms relax at his sides, his fingers lax, and heaved a put-upon sigh. “I don’t suppose you’ll believe me if I say I haven’t got them?”
“No. And do keep your hands where I can see them, or Eva might grow nervous and use what she’s carrying in her muff. Who knows who she might hit? Ladies are so… unpredictable.”
