Paladin's War

by Peter Greene

  “Another ship!” called Garvey from the tops. “It is the Navarkhia!”

  Indeed, as all looked astern, the Navarkhia did approach and was soon in position to fire. Seeing this, the captain of the second frigate broke the engagement and returned to his sister ship to protect her and her crew. The Navarkhia sent a broadside toward her, missing completely; however, the effect was desirable: the frigates withdrew, and the Paladin and Echo took their prize north into the Strait of Bosphorus, with the Navarkhia covering their rear.

  “Southcott” said Aggar as the ship was set on her course, and all duties returned to relative normalcy. “Come before me!”

  Jonathan turned from Jenkins and stared at Aggar.

  “M-me? Sir?”

  “Come here!” yelled the captain. As the night crept about them, all that lit the stern were a few simple lanterns, glowing amber, and casting an eerie light upon the face of Nikomed Aggar.

  All eyes were on Jonathan as he reluctantly made his way from amidships to the stern. He cautiously stopped a few yards from Aggar, who took one large step forward, now standing directly in front of the boy.

  “Y-y-yes, sir?” said Jonathan, truly stuttering and afraid.

  “You,” said Aggar, pausing for effect, “fought well. It is amazing how you inspired the men. Like an officer you were. Continue to perform well,” he said loudly, now addressing the entire crew, “all of you, and you will be rewarded!”

  Now, turning back to Jonathan, he smiled.

  “Southcott, well done.”

  Jonathan, relieved that he was not to be punished—or worse, killed—for revealing his talent and his identity, relaxed.

  “Captain Aggar, if I may?” said Jenkins as he bowed and took off his hat in a sign of respect. “The Echo seemed to take damage. If I could take Streen and Garvey, we could assist in repair, and I have some experience as a loblolly boy and could be—”

  “A loblolly boy?” asked Aggar.

  “A doctor’s helper, sir,” said Jenkins in an apologetic tone. “An old English term, so old I don’t even know where it came from.”

  “Once we enter the Black Sea, we will anchor. Jenkins, you may go to the Echo,” Aggar said. “See if you can assist the wounded.”

  The plan was working, Jonathan thought, as he tried to hide his smile. Our luck has turned! No, not luck, Jonathan said to himself. Jenkins seized the moment. He would soon be aboard the Echo and could alert her crew to the plan.

  26

  The Hunt

  Saturday morning at seven, the guests began to arrive at the home of Lord and Lady Wilder. Some parked their carriages on the drive while servants rode their horses to the stables. Those coming from the surrounding estates of Van Patten Wood simply awoke early and rode their mounts through the forest the most efficient way. Soon there were twenty-odd riders on their horses, laughing, drinking tea—or something stronger in a few cases—while they waited for the hunt master’s signal. Somewhere off in the distance was the fox.

  In the nearby stable near the pendunculate oaks, a nervous Lupien waited behind a bale of hay and a few planks of wood. He knew Orvislat was to take part in a fox hunt, but unable to reach his master at home, he decided to stay by the estate all night and find his way to the stables and wait there. Seeing the crowd conversing and laughing, Lupien had bumped into Orvislat, literally and on purpose, muttered the word stable, and then disappeared into the small crowd that had gathered for the hunt.

  “Lupien?” came a hushed voice from the stable door, now closed.

  “Orvislat,” came the reply.

  Lupien stood and motioned for Orvislat to join him behind the bales.

  “I hope you have a good reason for this meeting,” whispered Orvislat somewhat angrily. “Meeting in daylight and in an unsafe location is going to cause trouble if we are found.”

  “We have enough trouble as it is, Orvislat,” said Lupien.

  Orvislat noticed his partner’s face. In the dim light it was still possible to see that Lupien was as white as a sheet, he was worried, and he was blinking somewhat uncontrollably. Whatever the trouble was, it was serious. Lupien motioned to a pile of straw in the corner of the stable. Then he brushed a few pieces away, revealing two corpses.

  “Who are these souls?” asked Orvislat, disturbed, but even more disappointed. Two dead bodies are rarely a cause for celebration, even in the business of espionage.

  “May I introduce to you the English spies, Frey, on the left, and Fairchild, on the right.”

  “Why did you kill them?”

  “They saw me here. Luckily, they came at me separately. I killed Frey first, just as Fairchild appeared.”

  “Indeed this is bad news,” said Orvislat. “Dispose of the bodies, then.”

  “There is more to it. I saw Wilder last night after I placed the note for the next meeting in his library,” said Lupien.

  “Was he up, roaming the halls of his estate?”

  “No. I saw him outside. He was exiting a carriage, much like yours. At first I thought it was yours.”

  Orvislat felt a cold chill crawl up his spine.

  “Continue,” he said.

  “He exited the carriage and had some companions. Frey and Fairchild here, one other, and unfortunately, also Gorman.”

  Orvislat now looked about nervously. If Wilder was talking to Gorman and his agents, this could all get ugly in a hurry. What could he have said? Anything? Or did he keep quiet?

  “You said there was another?” asked Orvislat.

  “Yes,” said Lupien. “A smaller man. I mean really small. Like a midget almost. Maybe a dwarf.”

  “What are you saying?” asked Orvislat in disbelief.

  “I couldn’t make him out. And he had long, yellow hair as well. It slipped out of his cloak. He almost looked like a young girl, getting out of the carriage. But at three in the morning? It had to be a midget.”

  “I wouldn’t put it past Gorman to use some wretched, stunted troll to do his dirty work,” said Orvislat. “This is bad. Very bad.”

  “I agree, said Lupien. “But what could Wilder have said? Only that he was reassigning boats to deliver a treaty, right?”

  “Unless Gorman knows something more,” said Orvislat.

  “What could Gorman and his stoolies know?” asked Lupien.

  “Gorman may have discovered what happened to the Echo,” said Orvislat. “There are many ships about the seas—and mostly, they are British. And if Frey and Fairchild somehow retrieved the notes you threw into the Thames…they could know of our interest in ships. It would not be hard for them to put it all together.”

  “But how did they suspect Wilder in the first place?”

  “I don’t know,” continued Orvislat. “They surely have suspected him for a while. They must have set a master spy to root out his actions, I am sure, watching the Wilders’ house and their doings.”

  “But who?” asked Lupien.

  “Someone who could get close to the Wilders, or with access,” said Orvislat. “Someone whom no one would suspect, someone your operatives wouldn’t know. Someone new.”

  “The midget!” cried Lupien. “Who would consider a midget?”

  “Shhhh! Obviously not us!” said Orvislat. “Wilder could have told them everything if they confronted him with the truth! I have heard rumor that Gorman has a line straight to the king. It would be easy for him to disprove our story of the Treaty of Afgar.”

  “Akbar. The Treaty of Akbar,” corrected Lupien.

  “Whatever the name!” said Orvislat hoarsely. “The point is: Wilder may have talked. We need to find out if he did.”

  “How do we do that without raising suspicion?” asked Lupien.

  “I will ask the boss. She will know.”

  “Better you than me!” said Lupien. “This is quite a mess. The boss will be furious.”

  “I will make sure to ask her in public. That way, there will be no outbursts. Listen, Lupien, my friend, we have had a good run. We must be ready to di
sappear. You can dispose of these bodies in the woods after the hunt, then wait in the trees and brush. If you don’t hear from me by midnight, go to Paris, at the Rue de Challis, and await me there each midnight. If I do not appear by the end of the month, go to Kharitonov and tell him what has happened.”

  Lupien nodded. The men shook hands, then departed. Lupien knew that he would eventually disappear, but he had no intention of seeking Kharitonov; that would be suicide. He would take the small fortune he had collected all these years and hide somewhere, far from all this, for the rest of his days. He had heard that there was much need in the new world for men of his talents.

  Riding through the woods and now just moments away from the Wilder Estate was Miss Barbara Thompson in a fashionable outfit, riding her sleek chestnut mare. The horse’s tail was bobbed and looking quite fancy with red ribbon. Next to her, in a riding ensemble that included boys’ white pants, was Delain Dowdeswell on her black filly. Both women were riding aside. Steward sat on a small cart pulled by a single large horse. Not the usual beast, Steward had taken Captain Walker’s own personal black stallion.

  In the cart he pulled were a few refreshments and gifts for the after-hunt party being held in honor of the newly engaged Admiral Moore and Barbara Thompson. They had bottles of wine and champagne, boxes of chocolate-covered cherries soaked in brandy, and a few assorted cakes and pies baked by Claise.

  That was not all the cart carried. After a brief meeting with Captain Gorman early in the morning, Steward was given a pistol—loaded—and instructions to stay as close to Delain Dowdeswell as possible.

  Also following the train were the two Airedales, Daffodil and Daisy, who somehow had stayed with them the entire time instead of rushing off to the muck and filth as was their custom. Possibly they smelled the cherries and other treats.

  Delain had attempted conversation with Barbara; however, since their earlier argument, there seemed to be a coldness between them: single-word answers, no questions being asked, no commentary on the surroundings nor the guests. Was she distancing herself? wondered Delain. Were they so different? Maybe. Even the sleek mare Barbara rode upon seemed to say that this rider was a proper lady of London, and that meant sophistication. The black filly Delain rode? That stated young exuberance.

  “I can trust you, can’t I?” asked Delain, not able to stand the silence any longer.

  “Is this your long-awaited explanation of your, your tea-party adventure?” asked Barbara coldly.

  “Please hear me,” said Delain. “Then you may judge me if you will.”

  “I, of course, can be trusted,” said Barbara. “How can you even suggest otherwise?”

  “Well, then,” said Delain, “now I will tell you. Lord Wilder is involved in intrigue and scheming of the highest order, and Lady Wilder is the worst of the lot. She is not who she appears to be.”

  Barbara looked at Delain in shock. She slowly thawed.

  “You make it sound like one of Captain Gorman’s spy stories—”

  “It is. Funny you should make that comparison,” interrupted Delain. “It is a spy story, yet it is no fiction. I have seen spies entering this estate, payments made, secret notes that even Gorman has confirmed.”

  Barbara stared at the young woman deeply, now a look of horror on her face. Moving slightly away, more out of reflex than defense, Barbara’s mind raced. Finally, she recovered once again.

  “Is that what made you leave the carriage?”

  “Yes, and I have been in league with Captain Gorman for most of this adventure, as you call it. We confronted Lord Wilder. He told us everything. They are stealing ships, Lady Wilder and her spy ring—”

  “Lady Wilder? A spy? Really, Delain. Your imagination has gotten out of hand.”

  “Fine,” said Delain, and she halted her explanations. They road on in silence. After a few moments, Barbara spoke again.

  “All I ask is that you calm yourself. Calm these urges to find adventure where none may exist. Be more of a—”

  “Lady?” Delain blurted out. “A priss? A captured bird like you?”

  Immediately after saying the words, Delain realized she had gone too far. The look on Barbara’s face reflected the shock and hurtfulness of the comment. She turned and looked away, speeding her horse’s pace.

  “I am sorry,” said Delain.

  But it was too late. Barbara rode on without her.

  When this was all over and Lady Wilder was in the hands of the authorities, thought Delain, Barbara would see the truth, and then, possibly, our relationship could start anew. Until then, I must do my part to bring the mission to a successful conclusion.

  The plan was simple. Frey and Fairchild were to wait outside the mansion all night, and upon Lady Wilder’s appearance, quickly grab her and bring her to the police station. But as Captain Gorman had said, sometimes, more often than not, “events do go awry and plans to shambles.” Delain’s role, then, if Frey and Fairchild somehow failed, was to watch Lady Wilder as long as she possibly could, and report her whereabouts to Gorman at the stable at the Bracknell Estate after the hunt. Lord Wilder had made certain that Orvislat was invited to the event, as Gorman would be waiting in the shadows, preparing to subdue and retain the spy. They all knew that if he or Lady Wilder got wind of the plan, they would be off like foxes. At least these contingency plans would keep the hounds close on their tails.

  A clear trumpet announced that the hunt was about to begin. Lord Wilder had his servant manage the newly acquired dogs, all hounds from the best breeder in all of England, ready and willing. Earlier, the hounds had found a covert where foxes had been lying and picked up a scent. Now, with tails wagging, they pulled at their chains, as if to say: “Let us free! We are ready to work!”

  The Airedales were also excited, though it was mostly because of the barking, the horses, the trumpet, and the two dozen laughing riders. Daisy and Daffodil ran ahead to the hounds and joined in the baying.

  Looking ahead, Delain strained to see who was in the crowd, and more importantly, to witness the arrest of Lady Wilder. As embarrassing as it would be for Alina, Delain had to admit the great sense of satisfaction she would feel witnessing the event. Now nearing the end of the drive, she could make out a few guests from the tea party and others she had seen about London. Few new faces were there.

  Delain turned her attention to the front door of the Wilders’ home. Shortly, it opened, and out stepped Lady and Lord Wilder. The lord paused and looked about, allowing his wife to walk a few steps ahead. He looked right, then left, then stood in shock.

  Where were Frey and Fairchild?

  Delain’s eyes met with Lord Wilder’s. They read each other’s concern and bewilderment.

  Even more shocking was the appearance from the main road of a horseman on a large black stallion. Lord Wilder recognized Seeja Orvislat, son of the Russian Ambassador to England. Delain saw him as the Black Rider.

  I must assume, thought Delain, that the entire mission has gone to shambles.

  Wilder thought the same.

  As the guests continued enjoying their morning refreshments, Orvislat casually rode to Lady Wilder as she mounted her horse. Seeing him, she followed Orvislat to the rear of the group.

  “A word, Lady Wilder?”

  “Orvislat,” she said, keeping her eyes on the guests in front of her and smiling. “How nice to see you. Is the conversation business or pleasure?”

  “My apologies, Lady Wilder. It is business, unfortunately,” Orvislat said softly. “Bad business.”

  Lady Wilder stopped smiling and looked at him with a frown.

  “I believe your husband has had a conversation with Captain Gorman.”

  “The marine? The spy?” asked Lady Wilder. She could feel a cold streak beginning to run along her back.

  “Yes. And just a few hours ago, my associate found two of his men hiding in your stable. He disposed of them.”

  Lady Wilder was now completely shocked. She worked hard to hide her emotions, though soon
anger took over.

  “How did Gorman and his band of idiots find out that my husband was involved in this?”

  “A new player,” said Orvislat. “Last night, my assistant saw your husband leaving a carriage. There were four others with him. Frey and Fairchild, Gorman, and another. A new operative formerly unknown to us. We fear he has been watching your house.”

  “And no one saw this new spy?” asked Alina.

  “We believe this new spy is a master,” said Orvislat, “and a midget.”

  “A-a what? A-a midget?” she asked, understandably perturbed.

  “Yes, with long hair, and possibly effeminate.”

  “Indeed,” she said, putting two and two together. “Blond, perhaps?”

  “Why, yes. My associate said the hair fell out of the cloak he was wearing.”

  Alina halted. Orvislat stopped beside her.

  “The he is a she, Orvislat! And she is no master spy. It is that boyish brat, Delain Dowdeswell! She is a clever one, there is no doubt! Feigning illness at my tea party and traipsing about my house! The pillows! I should have known why they were left that way in the bedroom!”

  “Pillows?” asked Orvislat.

  “Never mind,” said Lady Wilder. “Delain Dowdeswell was surely in my library, and she must have found the money!”

  “So she is the one who tampered with it!” said Orvislat.

  “She saw the notes and the last letter from Kharitonov! She probably copied it!”

  “We must know if your husband told them anything,” stated Orvislat. “Otherwise, we must all flee!”

  “What could he have told them?” Her face was now clearly flushed, her heart racing.

  “It depends on what Gorman and Dowdeswell knew before they spoke to him. They almost captured my assistant a few weeks ago by the wharf. If they have found his list of ships, or if they got wind of the Echo’s capture…”

  “What would that prove?” Lady Wilder asked.

  “It could lead them to Captain Spears. Then they would learn that the ships’ orders were changed. That would lead them to your husband, and he may have told them about me. We must assume that they know everything!” said Orvislat.