Smoke & Lies

by Andrea Penrose

  “Stay behind me,” whispered the earl as they finally came to the end of the alleyway.

  The smugglers, she knew, had appointed a spot on the cliff overlooking the west side of the bay as the meeting place. Up ahead was an expanse of stubbled open ground. Behind it, a low parapet ran along the edge of the cliff, then took a slight jog and ended at a steep outcropping of fissured rock that rose up on the right. A jumble of fallen boulders lay around its base, their jagged contours trailing off into a dense copse of trees.

  No wonder the smugglers had chosen the spot—there were a number of niches sheltered from prying eyes within the stones, as well as plenty of ways to disappear into the gloom

  Placing a hand on the butt of the pistol hidden inside his coat, Saybrook edged to the corner of the building and made a cautious survey of the surroundings before motioning her to proceed. They had come early, to reconnoiter and make sure they weren’t walking into a trap.

  “I see the place they described—there’s an opening there, between the needle-shaped rocks.”

  Crouching low, his weapon now out and cocked, he started forward, taking a roundabout way to circle wide and creep along the parapet to come at the meeting place from the rear.

  The spot was deserted, and a quick check of the other nooks and crannies within encircling rocks showed they were alone.

  “We'll wait up here,” whispered Saybrook, motioning to a low ledge that afforded a view of anyone approaching the opening. It also had the advantage of a narrow passageway between the stones behind them that provided an escape route.

  As they took up their positions, she, too, drew her pistol.

  The breeze was freshening, and overhead, the clouds ghosted into motion, casting here-and-there skitters of moonlight over the area.

  After several minutes the chiming of church bells sounded from somewhere in the distance.

  It was time.

  “Stay silent, and keep your head down while I do the talking,” cautioned Saybrook.

  Arianna had refused to let him go by himself, and he had reluctantly agreed when reminded of his own warnings about undertaking risky forays alone. She had dressed as a man, a role that fit as naturally as a second skin from her past adventures. But the smugglers would be particularly sharp-eyed and suspicious.

  She answered with a nod. No point in spitting in Satan’s eye.

  Above the crooked roofs of the warehouses, the wind-chiseled silhouette of the Moorish Castle loomed dark-on-dark against the fitful sky. Hunching low, Arianna dropped her gaze and watched for any sign of movement within the shadowed slivers between the buildings.

  “They’re coming.”

  She saw them instant after Saybrook’s whisper, two wraith-like figures creeping with cat-like stealth toward the boulders. As they reached the granite needles, Saybrook shifted, just enough to be seen above the rocks, and waved a brusque signal.

  The lead smuggler nudged his companion, and stepped around stones guarding the opening—

  Bang!

  Saybrook ducked, just as a bullet whizzed overhead.

  Another explosion rent the air. Arianna heard the whistle of hot lead as she twisted around, trying to spot from where the shots were coming.

  Not the smugglers—out of the corner of her eye, she saw the two men had scrambled free of the rocks and were bolting for the trees.

  “Get down!” snapped Saybrook, grabbing her coat and dragging her deeper into the crevasse. A third shot hit close enough to spatter them with flying stone shards. This one had come from a different angle.

  “How many of them are there?” she asked while re-checking her priming.

  “Hard to say.’ He slithered to his left and peered through a gap between the stones. “At least two.” An instant later he raised his pistol and fired back.

  Arianna saw an answering flash of sparks. At least one of their assailants was in the cluster of rocks to their left.

  She pointed out the spot and Saybrook nodded.

  “Hand me your weapon, and reload this one.” He tossed over the spent pistol, along with a pouch of powder and bullets. “Quickly,” he added, then made a sign to stay silent as he cocked an ear.

  Working swiftly and silently, Arianna readied the weapon. Wind hissed through the teeth of the stones, but above the skirling air she heard the scrape of steps.

  Saybrook inched forward and took the freshly-primed weapon.

  The sounds were coming closer.

  He waited, gauging his timing . . .

  A slip sent a pebble skittering, and in that instant the earl sprang up, squeezed off two shots, and dove for cover just as a return volley exploded from nearby.

  Arianna was sure she heard a grunt through the sharp-edged echoes and the clatter of retreat.

  “I think you may have hit one of them,” she whispered.

  The earl didn’t answer. He was already reloading.

  Silence shrouded their hiding place, twining with the skein of smoke floating up from the shadows. They waited, knowing patience was often a weapon. Let the enemy make a mistake.

  Saybrook used the passing minutes to work his way to a better vantagepoint. “I think I see some movement behind the parapet. They may—”

  A muffled gunshot cut him off. Arianna flinched, but as no bullet struck near them, she realized it hadn't been aimed at them. Something about the sound was all wrong . . .

  “One of the miscreants is fleeing,” said the earl.

  She crawled over to join him. “Just one?” A trap to lure them out? Somehow that didn’t seem likely.

  “He definitely came from behind the parapet.” And yet, Saybrook didn’t move.

  Patience, she reminded herself. They lay there, waiting, waiting. Arianna felt her tensed muscles start to knot. At last, there came a tap-tap on her shoulder and a silent signal to begin crawling for the gap leading out to the edge of the cliff.

  The ebb and flow sound of the surf on the rock below became more pronounced as they came closer. Arianna turned, keeping guard against any attack from the rear as Saybrook slipped over the wall.

  Barely a moment passed before he beckoned her to join him. Following his gesture, she could just make out the hazy contours of a body lying face up on the hardscrabble ground.

  They approached slowly, weapons ready, alert for any twitch of movement. But as they came closer, the bloodless features and unseeing open eyes showed that the Grim Reaper had gotten there first.

  The acid taste of bile rose in Arianna’s throat. “Good God,” she managed to rasp.

  Saybrook swore under his breath and crouched down beside the corpse.

  “Why,” she went on, “would Captain Holden want us dead?”

  “A good question.” He made a quick examination of the bloodstained gash in the captain’s sleeve. “It looks like you were right and my shot hit him. However, it’s just a flesh wound.” Frowning, he studied the scene for a moment before beginning a methodical probing of Holden’s torso, searching for some other wound.

  “Look.” Arianna indicated the trickle of blood oozing out from beneath the body.

  “Keep watch while I turn him over.”

  She heard the rustling of wool, and then another muttered oath. “He’s been shot in the back—and not by one of us.” More rustling as he leaned close and sniffed at the fabric. “There are power burns on his coat.” A quick glance showed the earl probing at the dark-on-dark hole. “And the cloth is badly singed around the point of entry, which means the lethal bullet was fired from close range—a few inches at most.

  “A pocket pistol,” said Arianna, recalling the sound she had heard. “That’s why the last shot was far more muted than that of a regular pistol.”

  Saybrook grunted in agreement and started to return the body to its original position. As he did so, the dead man’s arm flopped over and Arianna caught a wink of something shiny within the clenched hand.

  “Wait!” Dropping to her knees, she pried a scrap of gold braiding from the lifeless fing
ers. “What’s this? Why would Holden—”

  “Never mind that now.” He rose and pulled her to her feet. “We need to be gone from here, and quickly.”

  He was right. Whatever was going on, they couldn’t let themselves to be caught up in it by the authorities.

  Stuffing the braid in her cloak pocket, she fell in stride beside him.

  On reaching the maze of alleyways, Saybrook broke into a run, weaving in and out of the back streets at a dizzying pace. Once they were close to the inn, he cut back up the hill and approached it from the rear. In the tiny courtyard was a pump and wash trough, still half-filled with water, where he rinsed off his bloodied hands.

  Pulling a hairpin from the hidden coil of her tightly-wound hair, Arianna quickly picked the scullery door lock, allowing them access through the deserted laundry area to the servants’ stairs, which let them reach their rooms unseen.

  “We need to leave Elba now,” muttered Saybrook, perching a hip on the worn arm of the upholstered chair. “Preferably tonight, before Holden’s body is discovered.”

  “I had better change,” she said, shrugging out of her coat she headed for the bedchamber. Her skill at disguise was a secret she wished to preserve.

  No telling when she might need it.

  Off came her boots and breeches, followed by her shirt and the binding cloth around her breasts. Ye God, men’s clothing was far more practical than the cursed layers of corsets and chemises required by feminine propriety, she fumed as she hurriedly donned the undergarments and shimmied into her gown.

  Through the folds of heavy fabric she heard a sudden thump-thump on the on the main door to their rooms.

  “Milord? Milady? Thank God you’ve returned!”

  She heard Saybrook mutter an oath in Spanish.

  Thump-thump.

  “My wife and I are about to retire, Count,” called the earl. “Come back in the morning.”

  “It can’t wait.” Wolff smacked his fist to the age-dark wood again, rattling the ancient latch “Bloody hell, open up. We need to talk.

  Thump-thump.

  “I’ve been stabbed!”

  Chapter 15

  Saybrook turned the key, allowing the lock to click open. Wolff shouldered his way into the sitting room. He was in his shirtsleeves, his cravat askew, a strip of linen knotted around his upper left arm.

  There was no sign of blood, noted Arianna, as she emerged from the bedchamber. “If this is some jest—”

  “Christ Almighty, it’s no prank!” Wolff did look a little shaken. “The damn fellow would have cut my throat if the baroness hadn’t cried out a warning.”

  “Let me have a look at it,” she murmured, after gathering her freshly combed hair into a loose plait.

  “What happened?” demanded the earl as she began to unwind the makeshift bandage.

  “We were just about the enter the restaurant when a man darted out of the shadows. My back was turned, but thank God the baroness looked around to say something and saw the knife. She screamed and—Ouch!” He gave a theatrical wince as Arianna plucked at his torn sleeve to look at the wound.”

  “It’s barely a scratch,” she muttered.

  “Only because I recoiled at her cry, causing the blade to slash my arm and not my neck,” retorted Wolff.

  “Did you get a look at your assailant’s face?” pressed Saybrook.

  “No. It all happened so fast . . .” Wolff sunk into one of the armchairs. “As I said, it was dark, and he had a muffler wound up over half his face.”

  Arianna flicked a glance at the earl. A tiny frown warned her to say nothing about Holden.

  “Then what happened?” she asked.

  “The dastard raced off, and I went inside to settle my nerves with a glass of brandy!” Wolff pressed a hand to his brow. “You’ve no idea how upsetting it is to have such a close brush with death!”

  “Well, it appears you’ll live,” she quipped. “With a good night’s sleep—”

  “Be damned with that! I’m not going to lie around waiting to be murdered in my bed.” Wolff shot back up to his feet. “That’s why I’m here! I’ve arranged passage off this godforsaken rock for later tonight. And out of the goodness of my heart, I’m offering you a chance to join me and the baroness.”

  The announcement took her by surprise. But then, her former employer had always been very good at finding a way to save his own skin when things turned ugly.

  “My sense is . . .” Wolff darted a look at the packed traveling valises stowed in the far corner of the room. “The two of you weren’t planning on waiting for Basilisk to be repaired.”

  Saybrook ignored the innuendo. “Tell us more about your arrangements.”

  “A fellow diner overheard my conversation with the restaurant proprietor about the attack, along with my wish to quit Gibraltar as soon as possible. It turns out he’s one of the leading merchants in town and he has a ship sailing for Italy. Its destination is Livorno, which isn’t very far from the isle of Elba.”

  There was a tiny pause. “For a modest sum, he is willing to make room for passengers and make a slight change in course to stop there.”

  “How modest?” asked the earl.

  After clearing his throat, Wolff named an exorbitant figure.

  “Ah.” The earl allowed a ghost of a smile. “That explains your generosity of spirit in inviting us to share your good fortune.”

  “As if I would ever dream of abandoning the two of you in this hellhole. After all, as Shakespeare said, ‘we happy few, we band of—”

  “Stubble Shakespeare,” cut in Arianna. “When is the ship departing?”

  “We need to leave here within a quarter hour,” answered Wolff. “I’ve been given the precise directions—the ship is moored in an out-of-the-way spot at the far end of the harbor, near the South Mole.”

  “Which seems to indicate your Good Samaritan is a smuggler,” observed Saybrook. “Rather than a merchant.”

  “I didn’t ask,” replied Wolff. “Does it really matter?”

  She slanted a glance at the earl. The plan seemed simple enough.

  There was, of course, another alternative, though she was loath to consider it.

  To her relief, Saybrook settled the question with a curt nod. “Very well, we accept your offer. Give us a few minutes to gather our belongings, and then let’s be off.”

  * * *

  The flickering lights of the harborside streets quickly gave way to a pervasive gloom as Wolff led the way into a maze of steeply angled alleyways heading away from the water. They trudged along in silence, with Saybrook staying close to Wolff and Arianna bringing up the rear.

  Hunching her head against the bite of the wind, she shifted the shoulder strap of her valise and carefully picked her way over the mist-damp cobbles. Just ahead of her, Jelena seemed to be struggling with her baggage.

  “Here, let me help.” Arianna held out her hand for the smaller of the bags.

  “Thank you,” said the baroness after catching her breath. “H-How much f-farther?”

  “I don’t know.” It did feel as if they had been walking for hours. Surely there should be some sign of the ocean by now.

  Saybrook was half-hidden by the two large valises strapped to his back. “We should be cresting the hill very shortly and then heading downhill,” he called in answer.

  Was it just her imagination, or did a note of wariness shade his voice?

  Wolff stopped to hold a scrap of paper up to the moonlight. “Now, according to my new-found friend . . .” A heartbeat of hesitation. “We cut through the alleyway straight ahead.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Arianna after several strides. “We seem to be heading even farther away from the harbor.”

  “Oh, ye of little faith,” he replied cheerfully.

  With good reason, she thought, but kept the uncharitable retort to herself.

  A sudden zig-zag brought them out onto curved street whose crooked buildings pinched in tightly against the paving stones, cast
ing an ominous tangle of shadows.

  “Count— “ she began, only to fall silent as they rounded the bend.

  There appeared to be some sort of disturbance up ahead. The wavering light of several torches showed that two dray carts had somehow become entangled. One of the wheels was canted at a drunken angle, and the drivers were hurling curses at each other while the donkeys added their own high-pitched protests to the fray.

  Wolff halted and appeared uncertain of what to do.

  “The way is completely blocked. We must . . .” began the earl.

  Arianna didn’t catch the rest of Saybrook’s suggestion, for on turning to look behind them, she caught a sudden flash of light—a shuttered lantern, the metal slide now thrown open—as two figures seemed to appear out of nowhere.

  Her pulse kicked up a notch. On instinct, she drew the pistol from her cloak pocket.

  Sparks flared and another oily flame came to life as one of the men lit the end of a thin piece of cording.

  They started walking toward her.

  “Sandro—Run!” she cried.

  The men quickened their pace. One of them raised his arm. Smoke seemed to swirl out from between his clenched fingers

  Arianna aimed over their heads and squeezed off a shot.

  As they ducked, she spun around, grabbed the baroness and darted for one of the narrow passageways between the buildings. Jelena stumbled and nearly fell, but Arianna yanked her to her feet.

  “Run!” she repeated, and shoved the baroness forward along the muddy footpath, praying that Saybrook was right behind them. As she turned to look, a blinding blast of light exploded in the opening of the alleyway, followed by a thunderous bang.

  Smoke swirled up and Arianna ducked away, just as a whoosh of hot air, gritty with bits of burnt gunpowder, shot down the slivered space, knocking her up against a brick wall. Pain lanced through her shoulder as the impact buckled her knees. Flying bits of stone pelted against her cheeks.

  She tried to call out, but managed only a choked cough. Acrid fumes filled her lungs, burning her throat. And then suddenly her feet were slipping out from under her. The yawing shadows were clawing her down into blackness—