by Heather Gray
Phineas answered for them both. "Whatever you wish, my fair lady. We are but mere mortals here to do the bidding of a goddess."
Owen fought the urge to roll his eyes. Phineas would indeed fit in perfectly if he ever spent a season in London.
Meanwhile, color rose in Isabel's cheeks. She was too smart to be taken in by his lavish flattery. Wasn't she? Surely irritation is what gave color to her countenance…
****
The trio arrived at the docks. Stylish, the carriage Phineas supplied was well suited to their purpose. They disembarked, and Phineas took the lead. Isabel followed behind him, lifting her skirts enough to show her dislike of the unseemly environment but not enough to show any ankle. Again, the perfect lady. Owen came last, his posture and mannerisms those of a man browbeaten on a day-to-day basis by a harsh taskmaster. He carried ledgers and papers tucked under his arms for effect.
In a voice barely above a whisper, Owen said, "You knew before you arrived, didn't you?"
Isabel spared a quick glance back. "I had a friend investigate. I don't know who he is, but he's not the Phineas I remember."
"Did you plan to ever tell me?"
The look in Isabel's eyes might have passed for apology, but her words were lost as they reached the edge of the dock and they both needed to keep their attention in front of them.
Phineas led them up the gangplank and onto the ne Hurlants. Men were unloading cargo, and Phineas made no attempt to get out of their way. Those laboring in the midmorning fog gave Phineas the same sort of looks they gave rats early in a voyage — revulsion. Or wicked delight at having found a new creature to torture for entertainment. After one man stared particularly long — because he couldn't move until they passed — Phineas said something under his breath. Owen didn't catch it, but the man straining to keep his grip on the crate heard it well enough. He dropped the crate with the sound of cracking wood and took a menacing step toward Phineas. A couple other sailors grabbed ahold of the man and pulled him back.
"It's not worth it."
"Don't get worked up over the sorry bloke."
Whatever Phineas had said served its purpose, though. The path to the captain's cabin cleared posthaste, and they made their way along without further delay.
Before Phineas could lift a hand to knock on the captain's door, a man approached from their left. "What can I do for you?" The man was a sight cleaner than the others on deck but didn't carry himself like a captain.
"Are you the quartermaster?" Phineas' voice was more nasal than usual.
"Aye. What are you here for?"
Phineas declared, "We are here to collect a cargo registered to Giselda Fairweather."
The quartermaster's eyes narrowed. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Perhaps if you check your inventory list you'll find mention of it." Despite his annoying voice, Phineas was congeniality itself.
Without bothering to glance at the inventory papers he already carried, the quartermaster glared at Phineas. "I'm to release the cargo to Lord Rutherford alone, and I don't see him here."
Isabel took a half step forward and lifted a delicate gloved hand in a ladylike gesture the quartermaster ignored. "I am Giselda Fairweather. Lord Rutherford perished, I'm afraid. Thank you for your vigilance in not releasing the cargo to anybody else." Her voice was both demure and commanding at the same time. "Lord Rutherford assured me he could trust this crew. I'm glad to see his faith in you wasn't misplaced, but it's urgent I take possession of the cargo at once."
The quartermaster glanced back and forth between the three of them before he gave his head a small shake. "I'll need proof. How do I know Lord Rutherford is deceased? Until you can prove to me you have permission to access this cargo, it'll be staying where it is."
Owen made a big show of digging through the papers in his ledger. "I've got all the documentation you need, sir." Then, feigning agitation at being the center of attention, Owen dropped both ledgers, and papers scattered across the deck.
"Of all the…" The quartermaster snapped his mouth closed and glared.
Owen dropped to the deck on hands and knees and began collecting papers.
"I believe I have what you need." Phineas pulled a small stack of papers from his coat pocket and handed them to the quartermaster.
That had of course been the plan all along. Owen's mess on the deck was meant to be a distraction so the quartermaster wouldn't examine the papers too closely. They wanted him to feel the pressure of hurrying them along and getting them off the ship before they could do any further damage.
It worked, too, a thing of beauty. Few things were as satisfying as a plan coming together.
Within minutes, they had something that resembled a locked humidor of burl yew wood. Phineas tucked it under his arm as they turned to walk back toward the gangplank.
Owen saw the problem at the same time Isabel reached out and gave a quick squeeze to his forearm.
Lady Rutherford had just arrived and would be making her way up the gangplank within seconds.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Phineas paused and handed the small box to Isabel. He straightened his cravat as if he had not a care in the world. His posturing caused the men moving back and forth across the deck to have to pause, too. Then Phineas retrieved the small box back from Isabel, and as one, the three of them took a large step backward. The men on deck, who had been forced to pause in their work to wait for him, all moved in to fill the void.
This created a curtain of people between the gangplank and them. The three of them cut to the left and ran around the cabin. The quartermaster called after them, but they couldn't stop for anyone. An alarm went up, and before they got around to the port side of the ship, men began blocking their path. If the quartermaster had gone about his business after handing over the cargo, they'd have had a lot more time. As it was, he'd been staring right at them, likely to make sure they got off his precious ship.
Phineas rounded the back side of the cabin and pushed the box into Isabel's waiting arms. Then he called, "Now!" to someone outside Owen's view.
Owen grabbed the two sides of Isabel's dress and ripped. The buttons popped off, and the back of the dress gaped open. He freed her arms. In one quick motion, he picked her up, kicked the dress aside, and set her back down on the deck. As planned, Isabel wore trousers and a man's shirt and rough-hewn vest underneath.
A glance back told him Phineas had everything under control. He'd apparently had help on the ship, for whoever he'd yelled to had provided him with a sword. Phineas fought the sailors off as he slowly backed toward the railing. "Get her to safety. I'll be right behind you."
Owen blinked as the thoughts raced through his mind. Phineas was a man transformed — quick on his feet and strong enough to physically use his sword to push back sailors. His movements remained lithe, his skill obvious. This Phineas was anything but delicate. Even the expression on his face was transformed. The bored look of superiority had vanished. In its place was… exhilaration.
Isabel had climbed up onto the rail. The box weighed heavily in her arms. They couldn't risk throwing it overboard and trying to fish it out of the water. Owen took the box from her and gave her a hard push. She soared several feet out from the ship before her descent began, hopefully far enough out to avoid a run-in with the ship's side once she hit the water and the waves started pushing her back toward the massive structure.
Owen clutched the box to his chest, wrapped his arms around it, and jumped out as far away from the side of the ship as he could.
The water welcomed him with frigid familiarity, pulling him closer and closer and embracing him as a long-lost friend. The box had felt heavy enough on deck, but in the water the weight became too much. Owen almost lost his grip as the determined water tugged at the box, pulling it downward.
Before the cold completely numbed his senses, Owen began kicking. He kicked with all his might, propelling himself upward inch by glorious inch. The surface was too far away, his
chances of making it slim. Letting the box go wasn't an option. Eyes closed so he no longer saw the insurmountable distance, Owen kicked as though his life depended on it. Which it did.
Sooner than he would have imagined, Owen broke through the surface of the water, and he sucked in a gulp of soggy air, which gave little relief to his burning lungs but fed his brain enough to help him focus. Two quick turns in the water, and he spotted Isabel swimming toward the next ship rather than shore. That was the plan. Skirt around a couple of the docked ships before making one's way back to shore. Split up, go different directions, and meet up later at a predetermined location.
Owen heard a yell overhead and glanced up to see Phineas flying through the air, sword still in hand. With one last glance at Isabel, Owen whirled in the opposite direction and began kicking to bring himself up alongside the next ship. He shifted the box so he had one arm free to paddle. It offered little help. The box continued to pull him down, but at least now he was making some forward progress. He spared a thought for how Phineas was faring in the water but didn't take the time to investigate.
****
A suitcase to conceal the wooden box, a change of clothes he'd purchased off a sailor too drunk to know what he was doing or to remember how sopping wet the buyer had been, and Owen was ready. The gin house, known more for its female companionship than its drink, had been selected with care. He skulked through the door and to a table in the back. With his foot, he shoved the suitcase as far under the table as it would go and sat where he could watch the front entrance while remaining mostly concealed.
"What'll it be?" A barmaid with thinning hair and a dress cut so low it gave peekaboo a whole new meaning grinned at him.
Owen tried not to wince at the sight of her rotting teeth or the open sores on her arms. He had to play the part in order to fade into the background. With that in mind, he gave her an exaggerated stare and answered, "Gin'll be all fer now. Waitin' on some friends."
She cackled in what she doubtless thought was a seductive manner. Her cleavage danced with the movement.
She brought his gin back and set it down with a wink. "I don't mind handlin' groups, if ye've a mind."
Owen kept his eyes trained on the table, afraid the way she leaned over the table might have affected how much control her dress had over her person. "I'll be sure to let them know."
She walked off then, no doubt sashaying for his benefit, and Owen knew how right Tobias had been. He wasn't cut out for these sorts of jobs. Owen couldn't play the part. If the job demanded he get close to the waitress, give her a kiss, and squeeze her backside, he'd never be able to do it. Even though that's exactly what the character he was playing would have done.
Before Owen could chastise himself further, Phineas slipped in. He too had dressed the part. Stumbling drunkenly, he made his way to the back table before collapsing into the seat across from Owen and starting a rant about what a miserable sot the quartermaster was. It was the sort of conversation everyone in this place expected to hear, and it rose up and disappeared into the din of the room without any notice. Phineas had done more to make them blend into the background in thirty seconds than Owen had done in the ten minutes he'd been seated.
When the barmaid came back over and asked what Phineas wanted to drink, the man leered at her and licked his lips. He stared at the material of her dress stretched thinly across her ample bosom and said, "I see what I'm needin' to be samplin'."
She winked at him and cackled again. "Like I told yer friend here, I don't mind groups if you've a mind."
Phineas belched loudly before saying, "We're waitin' on two more o' the crew."
The barmaid gripped Phineas' upper thigh and squeezed hard. "See that you don't wait too long fer 'em." Then she collected the money for his drink and headed on to another table.
It took all Owen had to keep his jaw from hitting the table. Even Phineas' fingernails were filled with grime. Every ounce of the debonair man had disappeared. In its place was some abysmal creature that made Owen's stomach clench with revulsion.
"Do you have the case?" The slurred words matched the drunken expression on Phineas' face.
Owen gave a single nod.
"Any sign of Queen?"
Owen shook his head then asked, "Why'd you tell her we were waiting on two more?"
The look on Phineas' face didn't change, but his eyes momentarily flashed with humor. "If I'd said one, she'd be hustling us into a back room as soon as Queen gets here."
The thought made Owen shudder, but he shook it off. He had an important question that needed an answer. "Where did the sword come from?"
Phineas' eyes flicked up to look at him then returned to contemplate his drink. "Our mutual friend has other friends. She sent one to scout the hotel and get a look at me. The same man was on the ship."
Owen kept his gaze on the table. He didn't want Phineas to see the hurt he was sure must show in his eyes. After all we've been through, she's still keeping secrets. But then, could Phineas be trusted?
A boy came through the front door then. His clothes were too big, and one leg had a slight drag to it. He must have been lame at one point, but the leg had never had a proper chance to heal. One of the men slapped the boy on the back while making a lewd remark. The boy went flying forward but managed to keep his feet underneath him. He kept his head down, but the men around him snickered anyway.
It wasn't until the boy dragged his leg along to their table and slipped into the seat next to Phineas that Owen realized who he'd been watching the whole time.
"You're quite convincing as an inexperienced youth." Owen regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. It wasn't exactly the sort of thing one says to a woman he's enamored with.
The barmaid didn't bother to ask what Isabel wanted. She plunked the gin down on the table. "Ripe for the pluckin', this one is!"
Chapter Thirty-Three
Isabel bit back a smile at the look of horror on Owen's face. Tobias was right. Wonderful as Owen was, he wasn't cut out to work in the field. He'd never make it without backup.
She gave him a light tap under the table, and he schooled his features.
Phineas, reeking of cheap alcohol and other offensive odors, leaned in close and said in a quiet, drunken slur, "Anybody know what happened on the ship after we left?"
Isabel frowned. He wasn't the same Phineas, but she disliked him anyway. "My contact says Lady Rutherford did all but put the captain and quartermaster in the stocks. She's hired investigators to search for us, but all they have are scattered and inaccurate descriptions of the trio on the ship."
Owen bit his lip in the most distracting way before saying, "Do they think we've stolen for profit or that we're heading to London with it?"
Isabel shook her head. "No word, but by the time Lady Rutherford finished haranguing the men on the ne Hurlants, some gave faulty descriptions on purpose. A few of the men even claimed to have overheard where we were going, but they all named different places. We're now somewhere between Glasgow and Spain, or possibly on our way to America."
Phineas slurped loudly at his drink. "You're both booked on the mail coach heading to London. It leaves in an hour."
Owen didn't like being told what to do. "Our horses."
Phineas spoke in a drunken slur. "You can come back for them. The mission comes first."
Isabel volunteered. "I'll see that the horses are taken care of. Let me do that, and then I'll meet you at the mail coach before departure. We'll be brothers for this trip."
Owen squirmed.
Was he worried about Despiadado or about trying to act her brother?
He hesitated a moment longer before nodding his acquiescence. "I'll be there."
Phineas leaned heavily on the table. "Make sure the box holds what it's supposed to. Then pack the contents in the suitcase with whatever clothes you can find so it feels the same as any other over-packed heavy piece of luggage."
Owen nodded, reached his hand under the table, and pu
lled out the bag. "I'll see you both at the mail coach."
Isabel and Phineas left seconds after him, slipping away while the barmaid had her back to them. Once they made it into the sunlight, Isabel shed her limp and Phineas gave up his drunken stupor. No one who'd seen them in the pub would recognize them now. Even without a change in clothes, the different bearing made them into entirely new people.
With the sun high overhead, Phineas and Isabel sauntered down the raised foot-way at the edge of the road as if they had not a care in the world.
"I need to take care of something." Isabel hoped to rid herself of Phineas so she could visit Red and Maggie.
"If Red hadn't tossed me that sword, our departure from the ne Hurlants might have ended quite differently."
Isabel's head whipped around as she scowled at Phineas. "What did you say?"
Despite her hurried steps, he had no problem keeping pace with her. "I've worked with Red before. A long time ago, but I recognized him. I know you, too."
It took every ounce of Isabel's concentration to keep herself in character while what she truly wanted to do was swing a fist at the man beside her. She didn't appreciate his poking and prodding at things she'd rather be left alone.
The quiet rumble of his voice continued. "I can tell you how I got the name, if you'd like."
Isabel stumbled, and he roughly righted her again, the way a man would a boy, not the way he would assist a woman. Phineas was good. She had to give him that. In every situation they'd come across so far, he'd played his part to perfection.
"Fine. Explain yourself." She bit the words out, working hard to control the turning of her stomach and the racing of her heart. How dare he bring up memories that still made her ill?
"I was a new agent working a foreign assignment, not much more than busy work meant to test my loyalty and commitment to the job. My brother — the man you knew as Phineas Kitteridge — was killed on assignment. Revenge consumed me, and I had the temper and arrogance to back it up. Nobody would talk, nothing more than whispers here and there. Once I learned the rest of the team had died while you and Red had been allowed to leave for America, I exploded at Tobias and accused him of protecting my brother's murderer."