Pierce stopped and grinned. “Rubbish. That’s what we need.”
“Rubbish?” Kolt asked. “What is that?”
“Trash,” Clover clarified. To Pierce, she said, “What are you thinking?”
* * *
Pierce waited in an alleyway near the general store until Clover and Kolt returned with a bottle of gin, a pouch of tobacco, rolling papers, and a box of matches.
When they handed the items over to him, he said to Clover, “Keep an eye out for Robert, eh? You remember what he looks like?”
“A little.”
They returned to the road where the trash collectors were finishing up. Pierce strolled over, still in his old-timer character, and leaned against the buggy. He pulled the cork from the bottle of gin, took a drink, and then, when nobody was looking, causally poured it over the nearest sack of rubbish. He put a cigarette, which he’d rolled with surprising ease—almost as if he had done so many times before—into his mouth. He scratched a match over the igniter on the matchbox and lit it. With the tiny flame on the match still burning, Pierce tossed it on top of the gin-drenched rubbish sack behind him. Flames burst to life instantly. He backed away as it quickly spread.
“Oi!” yelled a trash collector, rushing over from his work. “What did you do, you stupid sod?”
“I just lit me cigarette, is all.”
“You set fire to our buggy! Christ! How has it gone up so quickly?”
Pierce slunk away while the pair of garbage collectors tried to fan out the flames, which had an abundance of accelerant between the gin and the rubbish stuffed inside the burlap sacks. One garbage collector raced off to fetch firefighters while the other abandoned the endeavor of snuffing out the flame in order to unhitch the frantic horse.
The fire, the shouting, and the stench of burning waste lured curious residents outside. As people populated the street, Pierce scouted their faces. Clover was doing the same. He hoped she’d remember Robert after all this time, for she was but a child the last time she’d seen him.
“It’ll spread to our houses!” a frightened woman exclaimed.
“Quick!” someone else shouted. “Fetch water!”
That someone was none other than Robert.
Apparently, Clover saw him, as well. “Mr. Blackbird?” she beckoned as he ran by her.
Hearing his name made him stop dead in his tracks.
“It’s me, Clover Norwich. Do you remember me? Or, better yet, do you recall my pseudonym, Jessamine Fairchild?”
“Yes,” he acknowledged, sounding stunned. “Jessamine Fairchild . . . the author?” He thought a moment. “He’s here, isn’t he?”
“’Ello, Rob,” Pierce said from behind him.
Robert didn’t turn around right away. Pierce imagined him closing his eyes, hoping it was only a dream. With a deep sigh, Robert turned and faced him. Pierce grinned to let him know it was his mate under the old geezer’s disguise.
“This is your doing, isn’t it?” Robert guessed.
“Aye. Had to flush you out somehow.”
“Please,” Clover pleaded. “We must get him off the street.”
Robert snarled and uttered through gritted teeth, “I suppose we do. This way.”
Everyone followed Robert down the road and entered a building. A flight of stairs ran alongside the wall separating the foyer. Just beyond was an archway that immediately opened up into a cozy homestead.
“Make yourselves at home,” Robert offered. He sounded petulant as he led them into a sitting room just beyond the archway. “Penelope and the children ought to return from shopping shortly. The servants will have dinner ready in an hour.”
Pierce took a seat in a chair in a corner beside the window overlooking the thoroughfare outside. “Cheers, mate.”
“Keep your disguise on until I can dismiss the servants for the night,” Robert ordered.
Pierce had no intention of stripping away his disguise even though he was literally itching to remove the facial hair.
“Thank you, Mr. Blackbird,” said Clover, taking a seat next to Kolt on a fainting couch located on the other side of the room.
Robert grabbed a log from a small bundle by the hearth and nodded to her. “So, Miss Norwich, you’re the author of Pierce’s life story?” He placed the log inside. “I would have never guessed.”
The dinging bell from a fire wagon sounded outside. Robert went over to peer out from behind the lace curtains.
“That was a risky stunt you pulled, Pierce,” Robert said. “You could have set someone’s place on fire.”
“At least not yours, eh?” Pierce quipped.
Pierce was teasing, but Robert’s expression showed he was not amused. In fact, he appeared downright upset.
“At least,” Robert agreed mildly, stepping back over to the fireplace to put in another log. “Why are you here? To find me?”
“That and I’m catching a boat out on Sunday.”
Robert eyed him from his crouched position. “A boat? What boat?”
Pierce pointed to Kolt. “The lad’s mum has a private vessel docked here. She’s agreed to sneak me onboard and take me to France.”
“And how, pray tell, are you going to get past the Royal Navy?” Robert challenged him unexpectedly while rolling up a newspaper.
“Royal Navy? What do you mean?”
Robert struck a match and lit the newspaper. “The Queen has ordered her naval fleet to stop and search every commercial or private vessel leaving any British port.”
Pierce stood, letting the cane drop to the floor. “You’re joking. When the hell did she issue this?”
“A couple of days ago, I suppose. Even if you manage to board this ferry without being found by the hordes of soldiers looking for you, chances are you’ll be discovered out at sea where the investigations and searches are more thorough.”
A cold dread spread throughout his entire body. The news devastated him. His only chance for escape was that bloody boat, and now it had been snatched away.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he whispered, slowly lowering himself into the chair.
His nerves were shattered, causing him to tremble. He was utterly terrified beyond measure. “What am I going to do?” he uttered softly to himself.
“Why did you come to England, Pierce?” Robert demanded after sticking the newspaper under the logs. “And why did you try to rob a train?”
“I didn’t rob any train,” he whispered.
“It’s true,” Clover spoke up. “We were with him. We’re unsure of who is responsible, but I swear it on my life that Pierce is innocent.”
Pierce now understood why Robert hadn’t been exactly thrilled to see him. He, too, believed the worst of him, which, considering Pierce’s background, wasn’t surprising.
Robert looked at her as he rose and then turned to glance at Pierce. “But you were on the train. Why?”
“I needed money for my mates to repair their ship so we could go home. Joaquin hid eight thousand pounds in Sherwood some years ago. I went to retrieve it.”
Robert gaped. “Eight thousand? And you’re carrying that around with you?”
“I don’t have it anymore. I gave it to a vampire to bring to the Sea Warriors.”
“Wait, the same vampire in the book? Um, Robin McClay, I believe his name was.”
“It’s an alias,” Pierce explained. “His real name is Robin of Locksley.”
Robert stared at him for a long moment. “As in Robin Hood?”
“Aye, the very same. Him and I crossed paths after you and I went our separate ways.”
Utterly gobsmacked by the news, Robert looked over to Clover, who nodded to him.
“It is true,” Clover verified. “Robin is a fine fellow. You’d like him, Mr. Blackbird.”
Pierce’s stomach twisted with worry. He clutched his belly as he stood up.
“Are you all right?” asked Kolt.
“Er, not sure, lad. Robert, do you have a spare room where I can have a few moments alone to
clear my head?”
Robert pointed to the stairs. “Upstairs, first door on the right.”
Pierce patted Robert on the shoulder as he walked by him. “Cheers, mate,” he muttered softly.
No one said anything as he climbed the steps and entered the room. The drapes at the window were parted, and he saw the firefighters had already extinguished the flames.
He thought about other escape routes. Perhaps he could rejoin the Gypsies and make his way north toward Scotland and keep going until he found a port that could ferry him to Norway, or even Denmark. From there, he could travel east to Japan and catch a vessel home. Then he remembered the close call with the soldiers earlier that day. The rovers were decent people, and he had put them all in enough danger for one lifetime. He could try his fortune on another train if his disguise held up. Already, though, the makeup required touching up, and the glue just barely held the beard and mustache to his face. It would only take a bit of rainfall or a gust of wind to do him in. Getting on Frederica’s boat was his last shot at freedom.
His knees buckled, and his stomachache turned into a sudden sharp pain. He dropped to his knee and fell against the wall under the window. He clung to the windowsill with one hand as though he feared he’d sink through the floor. He planted his face in his other and allowed the hopelessness to wash over him.
* * *
Volker arrived at the Circle Theater and paid the manager to let him and his men inside the vacant building.
“This is insane, Jäger,” Callum Grant whispered as they stood in the aisle, overlooking the entire empty auditorium.
Volker ignored him and pointed to a box seat closest to the stage.
“The Queen will be seated there. That is where we shall strike.”
“You’re talking about assassinating the Queen of fucking England,” Grant continued to argue.
It wasn’t until they reached London that Volker had explained what he had planned. During the entire trip, they’d been under the impression they were going after Landcross and his eight thousand pounds. When he eventually told them the truth, every one of them, except Grant seemed excited about it, just as the woman in his dreams had promised they would be. The task of murdering the Queen gave Volker little worry. He’d survived his mother’s attempt to kill him as a boy, as well as a ship packed with murderous man-eaters. An assassination plot against a monarch barely made him squeamish.
“This is going to bring us Landcross,” he explained. “And the money.”
“How?” Cash Finley asked.
Volker stared him dead in the eye. “Because he’ll have no choice but to come here.”
The men stared at him, perplexed and spellbound. They seemed to be trying desperately to break the trance they were in. The woman with red hair and violet eyes had done this to them.
Volker wished he did not need them. However, they were his necessary evil for now. They were needed if he was going to get Landcross and be free of the pain that had crippled him for years.
“Killing the Queen will be simpler than you think. And when done, you’ll have everything we desire,” Volker lied.
Chapter Five
A Soldier’s Duty
“I can’t believe this,” Prince Albert said to Lord Javan in the State Room. “Landcross comes to your home, breaking his end of the bargain when we pardoned him, and you let him leave?”
“Sir,” Lord Javan said humbly, “forgive my foolishness. I never expected he would try robbing a train.”
“And yet, he has,” the prince retorted. “He has not only showed his derriere to us, but he has caused thousands in damages to the railway. Landcross is, and has always been, a menace to this country, and I want an end to it!”
Lord Javan hadn’t seen anyone’s face turn so red with rage in quite a while.
“Find him, Javan,” the prince demanded. “That man has made a mockery of this monarchy for the last time. I want Landcross caught and placed under lock and key, do you understand?”
The Persian appeared as steady as a rock on the outside. On the inside, however, he was fuming at his own horrible decision to let Landcross go.
“Of course, sir. It shall be done.”
As Lord Javan was about to back out of the room, Queen Victoria entered. “Wait. I wish to have a moment with you, Lord Javan.”
“Majesty,” he bowed.
“Excuse us, Albert,” the Queen addressed her husband.
The prince’s chest inflated as he sucked in a breath. He left the State Room without a word.
“Darius,” she said when they were alone, “as you may have guessed, I summoned you here to take your licks for what you did.”
It did not surprise him in the least. He knew there would be repercussions once he’d admitted to what he’d done.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
The Queen stepped toward him to speak softly. Her eyes held something—a confession, he thought.
“I need you to accompany me to the theater tomorrow night,” she said unexpectedly.
He was instantly puzzled. “Sorry, Your Highness?”
“I need you there. Albert will not be and . . . and . . . ”
Dread flickered in her eyes. “I am unable to explain it. My intuition is telling me that something may happen.”
Hearing this, Lord Javan stood alert. “My Queen, please clarify. What do you mean by that?”
“It is difficult to describe it in words. I have only just begun developing this suspicion. Shortly after I ordered you here, I should add.”
“Forgive me, my Queen, but if you have such a strong feeling about this, perhaps it would be wise to eschew from going.”
“I’m no coward. If I wish to attend, I will. I have been looking forward to this play for weeks, and after a day like today, I surely need the distraction.”
He had no idea what she meant. Judging by the stiff way she and her consort were acting around one another, Javan surmised that some sort of unpleasantness had occurred between them.
“I am attending, and I wish for you to join me.”
The Queen’s request ignited Lord Javan’s protective nature.
“Of course, Your Highness. If you wish it, I shall be there.”
“I am asking you, not ordering you. I know you are busy hunting for Landcross.”
Even though he would sacrifice plenty to track down Landcross himself, ensuring the Queen’s safety was far more important than that outlaw.
“I will be honored to accompany you, my Queen.”
Her smile and the relief in her eyes reminded him of why he’d become a soldier.
“Thank you, my friend.”
* * *
It amazed Clover how well a proper and classy woman such as Penelope Reine took to having an outlaw in her home. Instead of worrying about or fussing over it like Eilidh, Penelope seemed utterly fascinated with Pierce and her two other guests.
“I cannot believe you are the same little girl who stopped my coach,” she said to Clover while they sat at the dinner table.
Mrs. Reine was speaking about the night Clover posed as a child in distress in order to distract her coachman so Pierce could hitch a ride and sneak into Mr. Blackbird’s château in Berck.
“I know,” Clover said bashfully, fidgeting with the dress she had changed into before dinner. “I am so sorry for deceiving you as I did.”
Mrs. Reine gave her a dismissive wave. “After I read The Bandits and after hearing what Robert had to say, I completely understand. Not to mention, you’re Jessamine Fairchild! That is so amazing. I utterly adore your books.” She patted a copy of Power Found that sat on the table. “Thank you again for signing this for me. And you,” Mrs. Reine addressed Kolt. “Your mother is the Frederica Katz. That is wonderful. I am such a fan.”
Kolt smiled. “My mother would be pleased to hear that. Do you plan to see her perform in Medea tomorrow night?”
“Unfortunately, no,” she admitted regretfully, lifting her wine glass. “Robert and I are
too busy with our last-minute moving arrangements.”
“Indeed,” Mr. Blackbird joined in, holding their eldest, who had fallen asleep in his arms. “We are to depart for New York the day after tomorrow.”
“It sounds exciting,” Clover cooed. “I should love to visit New York City.”
“Would you?” Kolt asked, sounding intrigued.
Clover grinned at him and answered, “I would, indeed.”
“Then you should come to see us sometime,” Mrs. Reine insisted. “We would absolutely love having you. Wouldn’t we, darling?”
“Sorry?” said Mr. Blackbird. “Oh, yes. You’re more than welcome. I apologize. My mind is elsewhere.”
“Are you concerned about your friend?” his wife inquired. “The servants have left for the night and he has been up there a while. Perhaps you should try again to wake him.”
Clover was worried about Pierce. When dinner was ready, Mr. Blackbird went upstairs to fetch him. Moments later, he came down alone, claiming Pierce had fallen asleep on the floor.
“I wish there was a way to prove his innocence,” Mrs. Reine stated.
Clover wished there was, too. She wanted to approach the Queen and explain what really happened on the train, but she had already lied to Lord Javan in Reading. If she were to confess, she would not only be risking her own freedom for aiding and abetting a criminal, but Archie, Eilidh, Kolt, and Mrs. Katz could feel the repercussions.
“He mentioned a witch wanting him dead,” Mr. Blackbird explained to Clover. “A witch who sends him visions. Do you know anything about this?”
“I only heard about it recently when he visited our house days ago,” Clover explained. “Freya is her name. She even sent a vision about me being attacked by highway robbers, which actually happened on my way to the bank.”
“Mon Dieu!” Mrs. Reine gasped. “How did you escape?”
“Pierce came for me. He and Archie. That is how this woman has trapped him, by using people he cares about to lure him out of any safe place he’s in.”
Mr. Blackbird bowed his head as if ashamed.
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