Undercover Cavaliere

by Judith B. Glad

  A soprano toot from a steamer interrupted the Frenchman's questioning of the stevedores. She looked toward the river, but could only see a distant hull, dark against the gleaming water. Was this the expected cargo ship, come to offload the crates and bales and barrels on the deck over her head?

  No, for it slid slowly out of her sight. As it disappeared, she heard someone whistling. A slow, haunting melody. It tickled a memory for an instant, one that barely registered before it faded like the steamer's white, foaming wake subsiding back into the gleaming, restless water.

  The sight of the steamer reminded her what she must do. They could not stay here through another day. She must get them to a safer refuge before daylight made escape impossible. She donned her camisole and drawers, strapped on her knife.

  The cobbles threatened to roll and tumble under her feet, so she crawled across them, wincing as her knees landed on hard, round stones. The rowboat slid easily back into the water, with a small screech that that could have been any natural nighttime noise. She pulled it into position and weighted the painter with a large rock before she pulled the stern around so the boat lay parallel to the steep shore.

  Back she crawled to fetch their meager belongings, all but the blanket covering Gabe, the gunnysacks that padded the cobbles. The longer he slept, the less apt he was to argue with her.

  Boat loaded, she sat back and considered her plan. It had to work. Gabe was incapable of clambering across the gunwale. But would he admit it? Or would he play the big, strong man and try to do it his way instead of hers?

  Not for the first time, she wished she was bigger and stronger. Sometimes force was the only answer.

  She crawled back to him on bruised and bleeding knees. "Gabe? Wake up." Her voice was a bare thread of sound.

  "Huh?"

  She clapped a hand over his mouth. "Shh. There are men--" She rolled her eyes toward the planks overhead.

  His quick nod showed he understood. He raised his eyebrows in question.

  She leaned close and spoke just above a whisper. "We've got to move before daybreak. Once I get you into the boat, I'll tow it out into the river and we'll let the current carry us downstream. I can't drag you. though. You'll have to roll again."

  "No!"

  "Yes. Don't argue. I'm fit, you're not. Or would you rather stay here until we are found or we starve?"

  Resistance was plain in his gaze, but gradually the stern lines on his face relaxed. Finally he nodded. "Do what you must."

  "It's going to hurt." She pulled the blanket from him, tossed it on the slope below. "Can you turn so you've lying crossways?"

  With muffled curses, he rotated his body. Sweat glistened on his brow when he looked up at her and mouthed, "Let's do it."

  Some time while she was making preparations, the activity on the dock above had resumed. Now she realized that another steamer was drawing close. Regina held her breath, hoping...

  "Thank God," she breathed, as it nudged up against the dock. Their chances of getting cleanly away just got a whole lot better.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Gabe levered himself onto his side. And froze, gasping. Sweat bloomed on his forehead, his shoulders. Carefully he eased himself back, seeking the position where there was no pain, no sensation at all.

  "Gabe?"

  He waved her away. Gradually the stabbing pain eased and he was able to breathe more or less normally. "Can you contrive a splint? Something? Anything to hold my leg from bending?"

  "Oh, my God. Of course. I didn't think--" She pulled the blanket back across him.

  He laid his arm across his eyes, not wanting her to see the gleam of tears on his cheeks. I don't think I've ever had anything hurt like that before. Gingerly he tried to wiggle his toes, but backed off when the knives dug in again.

  He heard the sound of cloth ripping, felt Gina slide her hand under this good ankle.

  "Hold still. I'll be as careful as I can, but this is awkward." She fumbled between his ankles, then moved his feet together.

  He bit back a yell. "Sunuvabitch." Whatever she was doing had better not take long.

  It didn't. Only seconds later she was sliding something under his thigh. "What?"

  "I'm tying your legs together. It's the best idea I have. There's nothing here I can make a splint out of. You'll have to hold your good leg stiff while I get you to the boat."

  "I'll get me to the boat," he said. "I'm not helpless."

  She slid her hand under the other thigh, bringing back the knives, but not nearly so sharply as before. "Don't be silly. You can't get yourself to the boat."

  "I will get myself to the boat. Or die trying. Damn it, I'm no invalid, Gina, and you are not my mother."

  She pulled the strip of blanket tight around his thighs and tied it firmly. "Suit yourself, I presume you will allow me to assist you in boarding."

  "Don't get in a snit." He tried rolling to his side again, making sure he kept his good leg stiff. His knee hurt, but nothing like the knives that had seemed to sink deep into it before. Carefully he rotated his body, until he lay ready to roll down the sloped beach. It was steeper than he'd realized. "Go to the bottom, will you? I don't feel much like swimming."

  A shout and a crash over their heads made them both stop and stare upwards. Voices rose and fell, only to be silenced by an authoritative shout. After a short silence, they heard footsteps, a rumble of wheels, and something being dragged across the wooden planks of the dock. He held a finger to his lips.

  She nodded, and carefully made her way down the slope. At the bottom, she turned around and waved.

  Gabe let go. As he rolled onto his belly, his knee struck a stone, and the knives retuned with a vengeance. If he'd had the strength, he would have stopped his roll and stayed where he was until he died of starvation. Or rotted. Anything better than letting himself in for more-- "Ahhh!"

  Three times he rolled onto his belly, and by the third, he knew that once more would kill him. As he landed on his back for the fourth time, he flung out an arm to stop himself.

  His hand struck something hard. Not the rocks, but something sharp-edged, something...wooden.

  Gina was there in the next instant, kneeling at his head, patting his cheeks. "Are you all right? Did you hurt yourself?"

  "Fine," he managed. "Need to catch my breath."

  "I'll get the rest of our gear." She went back up the slope, returned in a moment carrying the gunnysacks rolled with what was left of the blanket. She reached into the boat and pulled out her once pretty blue dress, the one he'd admired when he saw her walking on the Champs Élysées. "I'll put this on as soon as we get into the boat. And I'll make you a..." She bit her lip, and he would have sworn it was to hold a smile inside. "...a loincloth." The jacket she held up was little more than child sized.

  "Do it now. Once I get into that boat, I'm not going to want to move." He heard the breathlessness in his own voice, forced it away. "It'll be too cramped."

  She nodded, but from the way her brows drew together, he knew she understood what he hadn't said. Once he got into that boat, he was going to have to bend his knee, and he was sure it would damn near kill him. Coward!

  For the first time he noticed the sheath strapped to her thigh. When she pulled out a slim, shining blade, he said, "Where did you get the knife?"

  "Pa." She applied her self to slicing narrow strips of wool from the bottom of the jacket. "He gave each of us girls one when we went off to college." Her hands were cool on his skin as she worked one of the strip under his hips.

  "Made sure you knew how to use it too, I'll bet." His father had taught his sister to use a spear as well as a knife.

  "Um-hmm." She held up a sleeve. "Let me slide this under you."

  Shortly he was dressed, as well as he was going to be. The rough wool scratched his ballocks, but all he had to do was wiggle his toes and he forgot all about such a minor irritation. He reached for the gunwale of the boat.

  "Wait," she said. "I've got an idea."

&n
bsp; She removed the bundles from the boat and laid them aside, then waded into the water and around to the opposite side of the boat. With a grunt, she tipped it until the gunwale was right down on the cobbles. "Can you roll again? There ought to be enough room so your legs can lay straight."

  The boat had only two seats, one at the stern, the other a narrow one just shy of the bow. "I think so." Damn, this is going to hurt. He turned on his side, scooted by small, painful increments, until he had his arse against the gunwale. "Hold on," he said, and gave himself a great shove. His vision went red, then black.

  When he regained his senses, he was lying in a puddle of foul-smelling water, but he was inside the boat. It was rocking gently, but not, he reckoned, going anywhere. Moving carefully, he slid sideways until he was as close to supine as he could get. His head was under the seat near the bow, and his toes were touching the one at the stern. But he was in, and that was all that mattered.

  For the first time in days, he had the feeling that he might have a future.

  Regina had had to clench her fists against helping him. She'd heard his self-disgust, his frustration, when he'd insisted on getting himself into the boat. After days of being tenderly cared for, Gabe was surely feeling useless. He'd needed to prove he was still a man.

  The idiot!

  Because he took so much room in the bottom of the boat, she had to separate their gear into smaller packets. After tucking them around him as best she could, she slid the pole and the one oar in alongside him, and stepped deeper into the water. I sure hope there's nothing sharp here. Until they were well out of sight of anyone who might have reason to be interested in them, she was planning to swim behind the boat, doing her best to make it look like it was simply drifting on the current. She hadn't told Gabe that part of her plan. The water came up to her knees, then to her hips. She kept close to the rock wall until it ended, and then paused, looking out into the river.

  There was no cover beyond the dock, so she'd have to use the steamer for concealment. Fortunately the stevedores seemed to be working exclusively at the stern. Wishing her hair was any color other than blonde, she had wrapped her head in one of the damp, smelly gunnysacks. When she sank to her chin into the water, it came unwound. She let it float away, knowing that too much movement might draw attention from the men on the dock. She swam slowly, nudging the boat with one shoulder, using her hand only when it refused to obey. Fortunately there was next to no current under the dock.

  The boat bumped against the steamer's hull, the noise making her heart leapt into her throat. She waited, unmoving, for a long time, but no alarm sounded. Slowly she worked it along the steamer's hull and around the bow. Once shielded from the dock, she allowed herself to move a little faster.

  Her only worry was that someone looking down from the deck would see Gabe lying in the boat as they drifted along beside the steamer. Fortunately his skin was brown enough that it didn't stand out in the dark as hers did. I hope he keeps his eyes and mouth shut.

  The closer she got to the stern, the more frightened she got. Anyone could look over the side and see them. When she reached the framework around the big sternwheel, she decided she'd had enough. Using the steamer's hull for leverage, she gave the rowboat a great shove out into the sluggish current of the river. Once she was sure it was indeed being carried downstream, she submerged and swam in what she hoped was the same direction.

  A lack of air finally forced her to the surface. Without the lights on the dock, she could see little. Where is it?

  Panic loomed for an instant, until she saw a darker shape that had to be the rowboat. Two strokes took her to it, and she grabbed the stern. Getting herself out of the water took a bit of work, but eventually her torso was firmly aboard. After that it was merely a matter of dragging herself the rest of the way without landing on Gabe's big feet.

  "Is there room for me beside you?" she whispered. With the gibbous moon shining high overhead, her white skin and light hair made her show up like a beacon.

  "Only on top of me," he replied. "Not that I'd complain." The effort that light tone cost him was plain in the way his words caught on their way out.

  One last look around showed her that they were not yet even with the burned out warehouse where they'd begun this insane odyssey. She eased herself onto him, arranging herself so that none of her weight rested on his legs. Her head fit perfectly just under his chin.

  His arms wrapped around her. "What an opportunity. You're completely at my mercy."

  "Gabe! Are you always the rake?"

  "My mama always said that laughing is better than crying." His breath wafted warmly across her forehead, drying and cooling it.

  She shivered.

  "Damn! You're going to freeze. Let's get the blanket over you." His sudden motion made the boat rock wildly. "On second thought--"

  "Lie still. My dress will do." She reached over his head and pulled the rolled up dress from where she'd stuffed it under the front seat. Once it was more or less covering her, she let herself relax. Surely the striped trim that had been so pretty was now grimy enough that it wouldn't show up in the moonlight. And to think I almost chose my lemon yellow dress that morning.

  They drifted for what seemed like hours, but had to have been less than two, for when the eastern sky began to lighten, the moon was still well above the western horizon. Regina had no idea how far they'd gone. Her impression, when they had stood on the bridge near their hotel, was that the Seine flowed much more slowly than the Boise did at the edge of the back pasture at home. A couple of miles, then? No more than five, certainly, if it had been two hours. Cautiously she lifted her head and peeked over the gunwale. The shoreline was distinctly visible on either side, closer than she liked.

  We must be passing one of the islands. But which one? And do people live on them? They were traveling northwest, but that told her exactly nothing. All she could recall from her study of the maps of France was that the Seine had more bends than a snake.

  "Gabe, wake up."

  "Huh? What?"

  "What do you know about the country around Paris, Is there anywhere we can hide? Villages where we can get food?"

  "Must be." He used both hands to dig the sleep from his eyes. "Hell, Gina, you probably know as much as I do. I wasn't planning to get outside Paris." He bent his head and kissed her on the forehead. "Is it safe for you to sit up and get off of me? I've got a problem."

  She knew what it was. Her bladder was full too. How was he going to... He's not. We might as well face it. I'm not going to get him out of this boat without help. Pulling the oar from its place along side him, she put it into the oarlock at the stern. A long time ago she'd read about rowing this way--there was a name for it, one she couldn't recall. Now she'd see if she could remember what she read.

  Eventually they reached the shore, close to the end of the island. There was definitely more to this method of propelling a boat than the article she'd read had revealed.

  The bank was steep and heavily covered with brush, giving her something to tie the boat to. She awkwardly clambered out and stood in the water to relieve herself, not bothering to lower her drawers. Gabe's curses while she'd been struggling with the oar had told her he'd taken care of his problem. After this, I am never, ever going to complain about a little dirt again. God only knows what horrible diseases this water carries.

  Before they went on, she removed her wet, soiled clothing and put on the threadbare shirt and trousers. For a moment she considered cutting her hair so she'd better resemble a lad, but decided she wasn't yet that desperate. She rebraided it and tucked the queue inside the shirt's collar.

  As they passed the end of the island, she saw a steamer approaching in the other, wider channel. Its rusty hull made it look more like a neglected luxury craft than a working boat. Two men, both wearing white shirts that shone brightly in the dawning light, stood at the front, apparently sightseeing. Or looking for something. They seemed to be paying far more attention to the scenery than the ave
rage tourist.

  Stop it. You're imagining things.

  "Cover yourself," she whispered. With a little kick, she tossed a gunny sack over his head, hoping the blanket would hide enough of the rest of him that no one would see the shape of a man in the boat.

  She kept her eyes front, and let the oar serve as a rudder. Maybe they would take her for a young man on his way to town.

  As the steamer drew closer, she heard whistling. It was the same haunting melody she'd heard last night, familiar, yet not something she could put a title to.

  Her mind wanted to say the words. Home...home... No. Impossible.

  "Gina, listen." Gabe spoke aloud. "Listen!"

  "Hush. They'll hear."

  He flung her skirt aside and tried to raise himself on his elbows. "Hail them. It's Peter. Or someone from the Coalition. Oh, shit!" He fell back, cursing in a low, broken voice.

  She turned to look suspiciously at the two men on the steamer. Hope blossomed, but still she was suspicious. "What if--"

  "Gina, I swear, that's the signal. 'Home on the Range'. The song." He whistled back, but his notes were thin. His hand gripped her ankle, squeezed. "You do it. Whistle."

  With a tongue dry from thirst and fear, she tried to wet her lips. It took three attempts, but finally she was able to make a poor sound emerge. Another lick, and she began. Home, home on the range, where the deer... Her whistle faded as her lips dried.

  Someone on the boat had heard, though. One man dashed to the wheelhouse, while the other leaned forward, staring, hands clenched on the railing as if to force the steamer through the water faster. In a moment, it had changed course and was coming toward them.

  "I hope you're right that they are on our side," she said to Gabe, low enough that the sound wouldn't carry to the steamer. "Because if you're not--"

  "All bets are off." His hand on her ankle tightened. "Gina, just in case... I love you."

  "I know," she said. "I've always known. I've always loved you, too."