Dorjan disappeared back into the darkness, and Quill laughed in triumph until Silas wrestled free of his cloak and drew a revolver.
By the time the gun was in the open, the doctor had his pistol aimed at Silas’ head. ‘Drop it.’
‘Do as he says, Silas.’
Archer was fighting to keep a level head. Silas had put himself in danger to divert Quill, but the unplanned rouse had failed, and the stakes had doubled. There was no sign of Fecker, but if Silas had made it to the mine, then James and Thomas wouldn’t be far away.
‘Clearwater may see you as his queen, boy, but you’re nothing more than an expendable pawn,’ Quill laughed. ‘Stay down. I can’t imagine how you escaped gaol, but one more slippery move and your lover will experience your brain matter. Drop the weapon.’
Silas relented and lay the revolver on the ground, staying on his hands and knees, his eyes flicking from the gun to Quill, then to Archer, looking for another way of causing a distraction.
‘I must say, your servant’s loyalty rather gives me the advantage, Clearwater. I believe it is time to make a decision. I shall give you a minute to decide, while Dorjan sees to the other men you have no doubt hidden among these ruins.’ Quill smirked. ‘Which shall it be? Will you choose to live penniless with this street whore? Or, will you persist in your refusal to award Crispin his rightful title, and force me to kill you first?’
Quill cocked his pistol, and steadied his aim.
Twenty-Five
With the afternoon dying, James, Silas and Thomas had made their way from the station, following the paths marked on the map until a chimney rose from the earth like a monolith, and the outer wall of the mineworks came into view. As the sun set, so another light grew from beyond the walls. A yellow glow behind the buildings signalled activity at the mine, and they kept close to the ground, hurrying crab-like the last few yards, until the wall offered protection.
At first, they agreed it was better to stay together, but having skirted the wall to the south, they were unable to see where the light was coming from, unless they entered the grounds and risked capture.
They huddled beside the broken gate, a stable blocking their view of the mine.
‘I can only assume that Archer and Quill are in there,’ James whispered, taking out Archer’s revolvers and passing them one at a time to Thomas for loading. ‘The plans show the main shaft surrounded by buildings with a track running from this entrance, up the hill and between two outhouses. It opens onto the area around the shaft. They’ll be near there somewhere.’
‘And Fecker?’
‘Don’t know, Silas. I am guessing he’s with Archer, probably keeping a tight hold of Crispin.’
Thomas passed back the first pistol and loaded the second.
‘We should charge in with guns firing?’
Silas was as agitated as James, but Thomas was able to think clearly.
‘No,’ he said. ‘We need to think more logically than that.’
‘Well, do it quick, ’cos they could be slashing each other to pieces right now.’
‘I understand your concern, Silas, and we all feel it, but stop and take stock. What has been Quill’s strategy so far?’
‘Distractions.’ James gripped the revolver, wondering how best to use it to divert Quill and give Archer the chance to take him by surprise. ‘The damaged painting to delay. Your arrest to weaken the team. Archer’s history with The Invisible to cloud his reason.’
‘Right. If we are to do anything here, we distract.’ Thomas closed the chamber and slipped the gun into his pocket.
‘And I suggest it’s Smith we need to take out of play,’ James said. ‘He’s the most likely one for Quill to have with him, and there may be more. Archer knows what he is doing, and he’s got Fecker. We should get as close as we can, so we can see what’s taking place. There are buildings to give cover. If we follow the wall around and up, we can climb over and take a position on a roof.’
‘We can get closer than that.’
Silas was a grey shape in the gathering gloom, but James could hear the determination in his voice.
‘How?’
‘Give me your gun, Tommy. I’ll get myself right next to Archer.’
‘This isn’t breaking and entering,’ Thomas hissed. ‘If Smith sees you, he won’t hesitate to kill you.’
‘I know that, Tommy. But I ain’t going to creep around here trying to work out what’s best to do. I want to get right in there and let Archer know we’re here, and while I’m doing that, I can get a round off in Quill’s direction if you get my meaning.’
‘I do.’ James laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘But you’d get yourself killed.’
‘A risk I’m willing to take for my man. Give us the shooter, Tommy.’
‘No. We’ll stay together.’
‘Now ain’t the time to fall out.’ Silas spoke quietly, but intently. ‘Out of all of us, the one who’ll distract Quill the most is me. I’ll show myself, Quill won’t expect to see me, and Archer can get him while he’s looking the other way.’
‘Don’t underestimate him,’ James said.
‘And what if Smith sees you first?’
‘I want him to, Tommy.’
It was said in the way Silas always did when being cheeky, and unable to see it in the dark, James imagined the wink that went with the bravado.
‘It’s a hell of a risk,’ he said. ‘But if you let Smith catch you, the chances are he’ll either kill you or take you to Quill.’
‘Exactly. I don’t reckon Smith will do anything except take me to Quill. When I get there, I’ll shout something, and then you can run in. I’ll take a shot at Quill while you take out Smith. If Fecks is there, all the better. Give us the gun, Tommy.’
‘It’s too dangerous.’
‘You’d do it if it was Jimmy in danger. Ah come on, Bolshoydick, you wouldn’t care if I got duffed up or worse.’
‘Actually, I would care very greatly.’ Thomas shifted his position, his clothes rustling. ‘Of course, if this was Jimmy, I wouldn’t think twice. Stay on your guard, and do whatever you think is right for His Lordship.’ There was more rustling as Thomas handed Silas the revolver. ‘It’s a Colt and has six rounds in the chamber. Beware the barrel, as it is quite long and liable to snag when you draw it from under your cloak.’
‘Thanks, Tommy.’ Silas peered cautiously over the wall. ‘Can’t see Jack shit out there,’ he said, when he crouched. ‘But I reckon there’s lanterns behind the engine shed. I’ll go that way. When I get there, I’ll shout… What? What’s good, Jimmy?’
‘Skank,’ Thomas answered. ‘To remind me how I have behaved towards you.’
‘Soppy git.’
From the movement of shadows, James concluded that Silas had either hugged Tom or given him a kiss, either way, Silas half-stood with one hand in his pocket holding the gun.
‘Right, lads, give me thirty seconds and follow on. I’ll see you there.’ Within a second, Silas was one with the misty twilight.
‘He’d better know what he’s doing,’ Thomas hissed.
‘Yeah. Right, let’s get as close as we can, and be ready to surprise Quill when we get the signal. You stay behind me.’
James led the way through the gate, taking the most direct route into the enclosure. The last light of dusk had faded, and daylight was nothing more than a sliver of grey on the horizon leaving a monochrome world of dark recesses and silhouetted structures, and the mist broke at their silent feet as they hurried to the stable.
The scuffing of hooves and gentle snort of horses greeted them as they crept inside, and Thomas calmed the animals with soothing strokes. Using the half-door for shelter, James let his eyes adjust to the dark as he peered towards a slope leading to the wheelhouse. Open land lay betwee
n the stable and an inner mound, and to reach the flickering glow, brighter now they were closer, meant exposing themselves to attack. Judging the distance to be no more than ten yards, he pictured Marks’ map to figure out the best point of entry. The drawing had shown an alleyway between the agent’s cottage and the smithy, and squinting ahead, he located them, ruined, but discernible by their proximity to the top of the bank. The pithead was another few yards on the other side, and the remaining walls of the structures would give them cover.
Listening, he heard no voices, but there was no wind either, no birds, not even the rustling of grass, only the horses, bored, but settled.
Thomas nudged him gently and touched a kerosene lamp hanging from one of the saddles. Detaching it, liquid sloshed inside, but James signalled, ‘No.’ A moving light would draw too much attention. Thomas understood and replaced it.
‘Now what?’ he breathed in James’ ear.
James pointed at the building to the right of the alley and mimed running low and fast, before holding up his palm to indicate stopping. Thomas nodded, and silently, they stepped away from the door, their backs to the stable wall until they were ready.
James lifted his revolver, took Thomas’ arm, and ran.
Expecting to hear a gunshot on every pace, he remained alert, his eyes fighting against the murky twilight, searching for the flash of a blade, or the swish of an assassin’s knife. He had no thought for his own safety, but grimaced at the image of an unseen bullet thwacking into Thomas. His heart hammered harder. His stomach was no less settled, but when they reached the outhouses, panting from the dash, he knew they had made the distance safely. He pulled Thomas flat against the brickwork, looking back the way they had come.
The last shaving of daylight had been swallowed by night, and the stars were their only light. They would shortly be looking towards lamplight, and although they might be able to see Smith lying in wait, they would also be more visible. Reaching the end of the ruin, he waited again, allowing himself time to calm his breathing.
‘Get your hands off me, you skank!’ Silas’ voice penetrated the silence.
James’ first reaction was relief. Silas hadn’t been killed, but it was only a matter of time. Gripping Thomas’ wrist, he yanked him, turned into the alley, and tripped.
Stumbling, he put out his hands to stop his fall, made contact with a wall and spun, the firearm still raised.
Lamplight from the mouth of the alley threw an eerie, yellow glow on a figure face-down on the ground, and Thomas kneeling over it. Although matted with blood, the hair was unmistakable, and James was on his knees in a flash.
‘Fecker!’
‘Your time is up, Clearwater. Which is it to be?’
Archer tolerated Quill’s manic laughter as he watched Silas, terrified he would try some heroic act. Silas, however, remained calm, as if he had planned to be captured and thrown into the arena, and Archer tried to piece together what his men had in mind.
‘Have you been harmed?’
‘I’m alright,’ Silas said. ‘I got a sham or two with me, and they’re soon out for this gobshite.’
Archer understood a sham; a friend in Silas’ Irish brogue, but the statement caused Quill to frown, knowing as well as Archer that Silas was sending a coded message.
‘Then we must conclude this business swiftly,’ Archer said, reassured that he was not alone.
‘I am waiting for your decision, Clearwater.’ The doctor’s laughter faded to contemplation. ‘As your catamite is here, a simple trade seems your only way out. Crispin into my care, and your molly boy into yours. Both unharmed.’
‘Feck off, Quill,’ Silas spat. ‘That’s not your intention. What good is Crispin with Archer still alive? No-one can take his title from him, and no-one can give it back to Crispin unless Archer’s dead.’
‘Silas is right,’ Archer said. ‘There is only one way to end our impasse, Quill, and that is for one of us to die.’
‘Or the two of you.’ Quill waved the gun at Silas. ‘Unless you plan to kill your brother to thwart me, in which case, Mr Hawkins dies with him. No, I suggest we trade as gentlemen. The one you love, for one who never loved you, and your title which you’ve never appreciated nor cared for. I think you come off better from the deal.’
‘You’re a fine one to talk about love,’ Silas sneered. ‘Look at you. Who could love a thing like that.’
‘Careful, Silas,’ Archer warned.
‘The immigrant’s ravings have no effect on me, Clearwater,’ Quill sucked through his swollen lips. ‘Perhaps we would be better off without him?’
He lifted the revolver to aim along the barrel, but his arm was weak, and it wavered.
‘I doubt you could hit him even at that distance,’ Archer scoffed, desperately trying to think of a way to distract Quill and allow Silas the chance to escape. ‘While I, on the other hand, have Crispin at the end of my blade.’
‘You can’t.’ Quill was losing his temper. ‘You couldn’t even kill the enemy on the battlefield. You’re a coward to run from my attention, to run from your brother, your father… You run from everything, Ponce. You can’t even face me without that glib, disgusting smile of wealth upon your face.’
Quill stepped forward in anger and aimed the revolver from his side, his weakening hand steadied by his hip.
‘You should have got your inept spy to do this,’ Archer said. ‘Your hands shook like that every time you stitched someone up. Mind you, I suspect that was more to do with opium and alcohol. What is it now, this palsy? Weak limbs or morphine? Perhaps it’s your own cowardice unsettling you.’
‘Enough!’ Quill roared. ‘You have had my proposition. Bring Crispin to me and hand him your title.’
Archer laughed. ‘Utterly ridiculous! There is no way on this earth I would sign away my title even if it was allowed.’
‘Not even for your molly boy?’ Quill grinned. ‘Not even to spare his life? What about the lives of the other gutter rats now scurrying from Dorjan’s sword?’
‘Not even if you had the appropriate papers about you,’ Archer threw back. The idea was preposterous and would never work, but the debate was giving him time to think.
‘Well,’ Quill said, reaching his free hand beneath his overcoat. ‘It just so happens…’
Producing a rolled parchment, he waved it in Archer’s direction.
‘You can read it if you like. It is straightforward. One signature and all this goes away. Of course, so does your lifestyle and your property, but your renter here can show you how to earn a crust on the streets.’
Silas, Archer’s renter, the boy who had grown up in a hovel in Westerpool, the youth who had put himself on the streets to keep his sisters alive, and the man who brought meaning to Archer’s life after the loss of Harrington. Silas was also the man who gave Archer’s work reason. His foundation, his charity, was personified in the man unflinchingly facing the barrel of a gun. When Archer had been at his lowest and questioned himself, Silas had been there with the answers.
Silas himself had always been the answer, and he was again.
‘It wouldn’t do any good,’ Archer said, dragging his eyes from his lover and focusing on Quill. ‘I am unable to sign anything.’
‘Oh, stop your pathetic drivel, Clearwater. Take this, sign it, give me Crispin, and everyone lives.’
‘I might consider the option if it were plausible,’ Archer countered. ‘For one thing, the handing over of a title isn’t as easy as you make it seem. It is not mine to give to anyone. But then, I wouldn’t have put it past you to have found a way around that by some convoluted means.’
Quill’s gloat told Archer he was correct, as the night air suddenly came to life with the sound of a yell.
‘But, that aside,’ the viscount continued, trying to regain his confidence despite the though
t that the shout had come from James, and it might be the last time he heard his voice. ‘I am not legally able to sign anything.’
‘Of course, you are.’
Archer reached into his pocket. ‘Quill, dear chap, you are welcome to discuss it with my solicitor in the city, but as of a few days ago, my power of attorney lies with another.’ Offering a document of his own, he added, ‘Here. A copy of the sworn affidavit.’
For the first time, Quill faltered and appeared uncertain. ‘Unlikely,’ he said.
‘Sadly, for you, not.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Then read it and you will realise.’
Archer threw the paper on the ground as somewhere in the night, more raised voices distracted Quill’s attention.
‘Dorjan is near,’ he laughed. ‘Our game is drawing to an end.’
Quill steadied the gun, and prepared to pull the trigger.
‘I wouldn’t,’ Archer called, fixing the point of his sword over Crispin’s heart. ‘The man you currently hold at gunpoint is the only one who can sign in the name of Clearwater.’ He prodded at his brother, forcing him closer to the mineshaft. ‘When Crispin and I are dead, Silas will control everything but the title, and powers higher than you or I will decide what happens to that. You, Benji, will be left with nothing.’
Archer pressed the blade into Crispin’s cloak, forcing him back another pace.
‘You wouldn’t do it.’ The uncertainty in Quill’s voice was matched by the wavering of his pistol between Silas and Archer as he edged towards the viscount. ‘I dare you, Clearwater,’ he jibed. ‘If you’re so sure of yourself. Show me what you’re made of. Kill your brother to spite me.’
A sudden flash of light beyond the sheds turned Archer’s head, and as a ball of flame lit the night, so anger ignited in his chest.
‘You see?’ Quill laughed. ‘You can’t. You’re nothing but a coward. A perverted, ponce of a coward who chooses a boy over…’
Artful Deception Page 29