The Far Horizon

by Marsha Canham

  "Yes?" Bella winced as the girl's nails dug into her hand. "Yes, the second man came into the room, and…?"

  "And when he saw Hendricks was dead, he got angry. Not angry because he'd killed Hendricks, but angry because he hadn't got any information out of him. Then he looked at me and said… he said maybe he should have started cutting me and made the old man watch. Maybe that would have loosened our tongues."

  "Did you see his face? The second man?" Bella asked on the barest of breaths.

  "No, mistress. My eyes were blurred and he stayed against the shadows, but… but he had a green cap on. A green cap with a red feather."

  Bella felt as if a fist had struck her in the chest. An image of Liam swam into her mind… Liam at the ball tonight wearing a green pillow cap with the jaunty red feather. As to the identity of the other man… Molly's description made another face slide into place: Dimcock's henchman, Lugo.

  Behind her she could hear Dante speaking quietly with Smith.

  "I'm guessing, since they didn't find what they were looking for on the first pass, they may come back. Do you have more powder and shot?"

  Smith nodded, still shaken. "Aye. In the boot of the coach."

  Dante eyed the old man's blunderbuss, noting it was comprised of not one but five barrels strapped together with metal bands. He had never seen such a weapon before and was unsure how effective it was, but he suspected he would not enjoy being on the receiving end when it was fired.

  "We had best get moving. Someone was sure to have heard the shots and the breaking glass." He reached a hand down to Molly. "Can you stand, girl? Can you walk?"

  Molly nodded and with Dante's help, stood. She tottered a moment, but his strong arm was there to keep her from crashing headlong to the floor. When she looked up to thank him she gasped. "You're hurt, sir. Your neck is bleeding."

  Dante cursed as he probed the wet gash on his throat, realizing the killer’s blade had missed severing his jugular by a hair’s width. He withdrew a kerchief from inside his doublet and wound it around his neck, tying it off.

  "The carriage is out front. Can you make it that far?"

  Molly nodded and he transferred the death grip she had on his arm to Bella's arm. The movement startled Bella out of her daze.

  "W-we can't just leave Hendricks," she said.

  "He won't notice we've gone," Dante replied bluntly. "Now stay close and do as I say."

  He led them into the hall and cautiously poked his head out the door. A wispy stretch of cloud had dulled the moonlight but it would pass shortly and the street would be flooded with light again. The coach was less than a dozen paces away but there was nothing in front of the house to shield them if someone was watching.

  "Straight to the coach, fast as you can," he ordered, "and keep your heads down."

  Bella was looking up the stairs. "Wait, please."

  "There is nothing more you can do for him," Dante said firmly.

  She looked at him, her eyes clear and determined. "I need one moment, Captain. If you wish to go… go. But I need a moment."

  Without waiting for any more objections, she hoisted the front of her skirts and ran quickly up the staircase to the first landing. She went into the library and pushed aside a heavy escritoire. Dropping to her knees in a spreading crush of silk, she lifted one of the floorboards, reached deep inside, and removed a canvas pouch. Moving quickly, she stuffed the pouch in the deep pocket of her skirt and struggled back to her feet, the tightness of her stomacher making the feat almost impossible. She leaned on the escritoire to catch her breath and calm the pounding in her chest and stole a moment to look around at the utter destruction.

  Liam—there was no doubt in her mind that it was Liam—must have left the party, angered by her rebuff, and come straight here with Lugo. He would assume that she kept a stash hidden somewhere in the house; his cruel error was in thinking she would have confided the location to a maid or a manservant, regardless how loyal or trustworthy either of them might be.

  Her father's second most important rule: Never trust anyone.

  But when had Liam become such a cold-blooded murderer that he would condone, even encourage someone to torture an old man? A thief, yes, he had been one all his life. When there were no heavy pockets to pick, he took to the roads at night to waylay travellers, just as he had on that dark, deserted stretch of road when he'd stepped out of the shadows and touched a pistol to her forehead.

  Would he have pulled the trigger had he not recognized who she was?

  She shook herself back to the urgent present and ran quickly back down the stairs where the others were waiting. "We can go now."

  Dante arched an eyebrow. "You're certain you don't wish to prepare a meal or pack a travel bag?" When his sarcasm went unanswered, he yanked the front door open. "So nice of you to recognize the importance of—"

  The booming sound of a gunshot obliterated the rest of what he was about to say. Splinters exploded from the wooden door frame, forcing him to jerk back inside.

  Chapter Five

  Dante dropped to a crouch and, after a cautious moment, leaned partway out the door. The shot had been so loud and the shooter so close, he could smell the drifting cloud of sulphur. A second shot, this one fired from atop the footbridge, sent him ducking back inside the doorway.

  Dante looked at Bella. "Is there a back way out?"

  Before she could answer, they heard a loud pounding from the rear of the house and the sound of someone smashing at the door.

  Dante acknowledged it with a growl. "All right then. You will have to make a run for the coach."

  Molly swallowed hard and nodded.

  Bella held out her hand. "Your knife please, Captain."

  "I hardly think—"

  "Must we debate every point? Just give me the damn knife you have in your boot!"

  His eyebrow flew up again, but he reached down and unsheathed the wickedly sharp blade. Within moments, she had hoisted up her skirt and slashed through the upper band of her farthingale letting the whalebone cage fall to the floor. With a second slice, she cut through the lower lacings of her stomacher, enough to allow her to draw a deep, gratifying breath. Lastly, she kicked off the impractical glass-heeled satin slippers and nodded. "Now I am at least able to run, sirrah."

  Dante grinned. "On my mark, then. Keep low, get into the coach, and stay flat on the floor."

  With a tip of his head to Smith, he stood and fired into the clump of boxwoods just beyond the iron gate. A guttural cry was followed by the sound of a body slumping into the bushes. While Smith covered them with his blunderbuss, Dante propelled Bella and Molly out the door. Smith was a step behind, but he tripped over an exposed tree root and would have gone headlong down onto the ground had Jonas not grabbed him by the collar and flung him toward the open door of the coach.

  "Move!" he shouted. "All of you get down on the floor and stay there!"

  He ran for the front of the carriage, gaining the driver’s box in two leaping steps. A glance assured him that everyone was aboard, he slapped the reins on the horses' flanks, causing the startled beasts to bolt ahead. Another volley of shots echoed out of the shadows, sending slivers of wood flying up all around him, but Dante slapped the reins again and again, urging the animals into a hard gallop around the corner and down the adjacent street.

  Victory was short-lived. The run lasted less than a minute before it became evident that one of the horses had been shot. The wound was in the meat of the beast's flank and was bleeding profusely by the time the animal limped to a halt in pain.

  Cursing, Dante vaulted down. He yanked the carriage door open and unceremoniously hauled the two women and Smith into the street again.

  "We'll have to make a run for it."

  "Run?" Bella looked wildly around. "Run where?"

  "Where isn’t as important right now as how... and how had better be pretty damned fast."

  He did not have to elaborate. They could hear shouts and the sound of running footsteps gaining gr
ound behind them.

  "This way!" Smith handed Jonas the second loaded pistol then took the lead, dashing for a narrow alleyway that ran between two tall houses. Bella and Molly followed while Jonas waited a count of ten to cover their escape.

  The alleyway led to another street, which they ran across and darted into a second lane, narrower than the first and filthy with refuse thrown from the windows above. Bella grit her teeth, feeling all manner of sharp things, squishy things, mucky wet things under her stockinged feet but she did not slow down or turn to look behind. Despite her head wound, Molly managed to keep pace with the help of one hand clutched around the folds of Bella's skirt.

  Dante fired a shot into the alley hoping to slow their pursuers, but even though he could hear curses as the lead ball ricocheted off the walls, he did not think they would be so easily deterred. He was, however, grinning like a fool, for this was the most excitement he had felt since his arrival in Londontown.

  He whirled and lunged into the darkness of the second lane, reloading both pistols, his hands working instinctively with the powder and shot. The passageway was empty when he arrived at the far end and he wasted precious seconds looking to see which way the driver and the women had gone.

  It was long enough for a shot to come whistling out of the darkness behind him, sending a spray of brick dust into his face. He heard a second whistle, human in origin, and saw Smith waving and calling to him. There was a hackney coach hobbled to the side of the road; Bella and Molly were already on board with Smith holding the reins.

  Dante made a dash across the road and up the slight incline to where the hackney was parked, shouting at Smith to go! go! before he had fully reached it. The whip cracked like another gunshot and the vehicle jumped forward, as did Dante, who made a flying leap to cover the last few feet of ground.

  His hand slipped on the wooden side and Bella made a frantic grab for his wrist, holding him until he could scramble up and roll himself over into the wildly careening body of the carriage. By then, their pursuers were emerging from the lane and following at a dead run.

  With Molly crouched on the floor, Dante knelt on the rear seat facing the road behind them. He rolled up the blind on the rear window and took point blank aim at the huge brute of a man who seemed to be leading the rest of the pack, but the wheels hit a rut and the shot missed. Dante counted at least four men giving chase. He was groping for the powder and shot when he felt a nudge on his arm.

  Bella was beside him, pushing the thick stock of Smith's heavy blunderbuss into his hands. Jonas took aim between wild bounces of the carriage... fired... and was knocked clear off the seat by the blast as the five loaded barrels simultaneously discharged, spraying a hundred pellets of lead into the street behind them. There were screams as some of the shots found live flesh, but it was mainly the horrendous noise of the blast echoing along the silent street that sent the attackers shrinking against the sides of the road.

  Dante lay on his backside, his tricorn blown off his head, his arse wedged between the benches. His shoulder felt as if a massive sledgehammer had pounded it, and his right ear was ringing so loudly, even the rumble of the wheels tearing along the street was muffled.

  "What the fuck was that?" he asked on a gasp.

  Smith had to shout to be heard over the rattling wheels and hoofbeats. "I call it the Persuader, on account of it persuades those who might be otherwise inclined, to keep their bloody distance."

  Bella had snatched up the two empty pistols, reloaded them, and was leaning against the back of the seat. As Jonas struggled to upright himself, she fired each in turn, striking one shadow in the leg and damn near hitting another squarely in the head. She wasted no time after firing to turn and slouch down on the seat with powder and shot.

  She noticed Dante—still wedged between the seats—watching her and she grinned. "You look surprised, Captain. Did you think me helpless? Incapable? Or both?"

  Whatever he was about to say was lost when she twisted upright in the seat again and braced the guns on the lip of the window, ready to fire again.

  But there was no one there. The hackney had put enough distance between them to leave their pursuers behind.

  Aware of this, Smith took a sharp turn to the right, then another at the first crossroad.

  "Have we outrun them?" Molly asked, holding on for dear life as the carriage rocked and careened and bounced along.

  "Once we clear this maze of streets and get down by the river," Smith shouted, "aye, they'll not find us easily."

  "How far are we from Bellyn’s Gate?" Dante asked.

  "Bellyn’s Gate?"

  "My ship is anchored there with a full crew well-armed and able to repel far better scoundrels than the ones behind us."

  He could see Bella chewing on her lip, weighing their options. The wind had loosened tendrils of her hair, blowing them across her cheeks and neck in dark ribbons, making Dante think of the carved wooden figurehead of a water nymph that graced the prow of his mother's ship, the Black Swan.

  Smith shouted from the driver’s box. "We’re but a turn away from the river. Which way d'you want me to go, mistress?"

  Bella tried to think over the roar of horse's hooves and rattling wheels. Their supply of shot and powder was limited. She had few friends and even fewer who would take her and a maid splattered with blood into their houses at this hour of the night. Peter Dimcock had eyes and ears everywhere and regardless of where she went, he would likely know the location within the hour.

  Smith turned again, his face dripping sweat, the coat of his oversized livery puffed out by the wind to look like he wore stuffing. "What say you, Lady Bella? The wharf or the nearest road out of Londontown?"

  Bella's gaze fell upon Dante again. With his arse still firmly wedged down between the benches, his hair scattered wildly about his face and shoulders, and the blood-soaked kerchief tied around his neck, he seemed in that moment to be the lesser of many possible evils.

  "The wharf," she said. "Bellyn’s Gate."

  Chapter Six

  It seemed to take forever, but it was no more than five minutes before the carriage rumbled onto the long wooden quay. A mist was crawling across the dock in wispy ribbons that parted and swirled like dervishes behind the rolling wheels.

  The river itself was a forest of masts and glowing lanterns. On either side of the dock were tall pilings lashed with ropes, the moorings occupied by barges and small crafts that carried cargo up and down the waterway. At the far end, her gangway open and a wide platform lowered to the dock, loomed the Tribute.

  She was a tall, sleek vessel, by far the largest currently in port, mounting three stout masts and a cat's comb of rigging lines, yards, and cables from which hung myriad lanterns, making it look as if the ship was caught in a luminous, glittering cobweb. Though it was past two in the morning, there were men milling about, carrying aboard the last of the crates and water barrels stacked on the wharf. The mist was thick with the smell of sea water, garbage, and fish, so much so it nearly turned Bella's stomach. She sagged against the seat, forcing herself to keep swallowing little gulps of air in an effort to keep the contents of her belly down.

  Was it only a few brief hours ago she had been sitting in an elegant salon dining on roasted swan and wild boar while sipping fine Rhenish wines? The music, the thousands of candles sparkling overhead, the laughter and swirls of colors as the guests danced... her only concern that of picking and choosing which jewel glittered the brightest, which trinket would come away the easiest in her nimble fingers.

  With a small flush of panic, she slipped a hand down to brush over the pocket in her gown and was relieved to feel the velvet pouch she had taken from the hidey-hole under the floorboards was still tucked safely away. At least she had not lost everything.

  Unlike Hendricks.

  Old Hendricks had been a friend of her fathers and thus had been aware of Bella’s nocturnal adventures. An accident had left him with a severe limp and two missing fingers, neither of which mad
e for success as a thief and so he had gratefully taken the post as a trusted houseman.

  Bella looked over at Molly, who hadn't moved from the floor and whimpered each time the wheels of the carriage bumped over a rut. Molly McDevitt had been a vagabond child abandoned on the street much like she herself had been. Unlike Bella, Molly had possessed no special talents, had been timid and frightened of her own shadow. If Bella had not taken Molly with her when she escaped the coven, the girl would have likely been forced to earn her keep on her back.

  An insect landed on her cheek and she brushed it away with the back of her hand. The movement caused a stitch in her side and when she lowered her hand again, she cursed softly. There was a hole in the loosened stomacher and the fabric was wet.

  Wet with blood.

  The carriage drew to a bouncing halt at the end of the wharf. Dante managed to kick the door open and twist himself free of the two benches. When he pushed himself out of the carriage, he was met immediately by a familiar face.

  "What have we here?" asked Varian St. Clare. "When I saw you leaving the fête with a lovely young woman I told Grundy not to expect you until morning."

  Hobson Grundy, the Tribute's stocky first mate, came up beside St. Clare. "I told 'is dukeship 'ere, that we ought to be leavin' soon as the tide favored us. Them excise men wanted to come on board again tonight. Said they'd be back come sunrise with guns an' sojers. What in blazes happened to yer neck?"

  "We ran into some trouble," Jonas said, touching the blood-soaked kerchief. "Trouble that may have followed us to the river. Roust some of the men and have them go along to the end of the wharf to offer a warm welcome if the villains show themselves."

  Grundy signaled someone on board and an instant later, a score of heads popped up from behind the ship's bulkheads. All of them were already armed with muskets, pistols, and cutlasses.