Welch looked back and forth from Richard to Anthony. "I'm simply laying out the options. I don't actually disagree with you. In fact, I'd put Richard's assessment in stronger language. If we abandon Lefferts, we'd be simpletons or madmen to even think of taking employment in the Germanies. Anywhere near the Germanies. With Bavaria or Austria, we'd be in the service of the USE's enemies-and whatever happens with the Ostenders, I think it's a given that Gustav Adolf will keep fighting the Bavarians and the Austrians. Bad for us, should we get captured in the course of it."
"And we can't get employment in Bohemia," Anthony said, "because Wallenstein would turn us over to the Americans in an instant, if they demanded it. He's too dependent on them for his survival." He took another swallow of his broth, draining most of the cup. "That leaves service with the tsar. How splendid."
Both Welch and Towson grimaced.
"No, I think we'll continue as we have been," Leebrick concluded. "It's certainly interesting work."
"True," said Towson. But his grimace deepened. "On the other hand, I'm not sure how long I can stand that American obsession with diminutives. 'Rick' Towson, can you believe it?"
"It's better than 'Pat,' " pointed out Welch.
Leebrick smiled serenely. "I can't say I mind 'Tony' all that much. Even if Liz hates it."
"Not as much as I hate 'Lizzy,' " she said, almost hissing the name. "I had a perfectly good diminutive to begin with!"
After he finished studying the new map the team had put together of the environs of London near the Tower, Harry Lefferts shook his head.
"It's not enough, guys. Since we've decided we're not actually going to drop the bridge, we need to create another diversion."
George Sutherland planted a big finger on one spot on the map. "How about this? Easy enough to do, if we move quickly. Now that the lord chamberlain finally remembered to order the theaters to close down, in mourning for the queen."
Harry studied the spot, then ran his fingers through his hair. "I like it. Damned if I don't. Gerd, you and George put something together along the lines of what you made up for the pirate ship. Set it up with remote-controlled detonators."
Gerd frowned. "We don't have many of them left, Harry."
"So? What else are we going to use them for?"
"Well… all right. Setting them up won't be hard, that's for sure. Not there."
"They're certain?" Melissa demanded.
Darryl nodded. "Yeah, they're sure there's not going to be any search. Our beloved constable must have gotten slapped down by Cork. Andrew says Sir Francis was in the foulest mood he's ever seen him-and he's usually in a foul mood." He grinned. "It gets better. Windebank was so pissed off he told the Warders that they'd have complete responsibility for us, from now on. They're even pulling the mercenaries off guard duty along the outer wall, from Bell Tower to Develin Tower."
Rita Simpson burst into laughter. "Talk about putting the foxes in charge of the henhouse!"
Her husband chuckled. "Well, that's a break."
Melissa didn't even try to disguise the relief on her face. Her great fear, ever since the new regime took over, had been that they'd carry out a search of St. Thomas' Tower. With the Hamilton and Short family as their allies, the Americans had been able to smuggle all their ordnance over to the Warders' quarters, so at least they didn't have to worry about a search uncovering their weaponry. But there'd been no way to move the radio and the communication equipment. It was one thing for Warders to learn how to use shotguns and automatic pistols. Another matter entirely for them to have learned how to use the far more complex radio-and even if they had learned quickly enough, it wouldn't have served the purpose anyway. Melissa needed to stay in touch with Amsterdam, not just the commando unit across the river. That required using the elaborate antenna. The antenna could be placed in a window of St. Thomas' Tower at night, without being spotted, since the window faced directly onto the Thames. But there was nowhere suitable in the Warders' quarters. Certainly not since most of the Lieutenant's Lodging had been taken over by Windebank's mercenaries.
So, she'd been on edge for weeks. Lefferts and his people were ready to carry out the jailbreak whenever Melissa gave the word. They could have done it anytime over the past month, in fact. But what was the point of getting out of the Tower if they couldn't get out of England? The small party that would accompany Cromwell into the Fens could probably manage that task, well enough. But that was because the much larger party making its escape to the estuary of the Thames would draw most of the pursuit. Even leaving that aside, there was simply no way fifty-some-odd people could evade capture if they had to spend weeks moving through the English countryside. Perhaps in the Fens, they could-but they'd never get that far in the first place.
Willy-nilly, the escape from the Tower had to wait on the war being waged on the continent. Only at the point when Gustav Adolf and Mike Stearns could afford to divert warships across the North Sea did it become a feasible proposition.
Now, the wait had become easy. Even for Melissa, who didn't handle waiting well.
Darryl's grin had subsided into something more along the lines of a smug smile. For him, of course, the wait hadn't been hard at all. Since the alliance with his fiancee's family had been forged, Victoria had evidently put down her foot in light of the new circumstances. So to speak. Darryl had been through that window so many times since that Tom Simpson was starting to call him Peter Pan.
Nearby, in the Bloody Tower, Thomas Wentworth studied the ravens on the grounds below, ignoring the guards at the open door and the cleaning woman going about her duties in his chambers.
They were quite fascinating birds, actually. In a macabre sort of way.
After he heard the last of the bolts close, Wentworth went immediately to the bread and broke open the loaf.
Two passages, this time, both from Paul's Epistle to the Romans.
Chapter 14, verse 5:
One man esteemeth one day above another: another estemeeth every day alike. Let every man be fully persuaded in his own mind.
And chapter 15, verse 4:
For whatsoever things were written aforetime were written for our learning, that we through patience and comfort of the scriptures might have hope.
The meaning was clear enough. Frustrating, of course. But at least she'd stopped citing that tedious business about time and seasons. Thomas had never been partial to Ecclesiastes. Part Four Now days are dragon-ridden
Chapter 44
Copenhagen May 1634
Eddie Cantrell stared out the window, reflecting sourly that the worst part of the new accommodations was the so-called toilet. The rest, he didn't much care about. In some ways, the comparatively stark nature of his new prisoner's room in Copenhagen Castle's notorious Blue Tower was something of a relief, after the opulence of his quarters in Frederiksborg. For a young man who'd spent most of his life living in a trailer park in West Virginia, royal Danish notions of "stark" were hardly the severe punishment that King Christian IV must have thought they'd be.
Except for the damn toilet. Granted, the sanitary arrangements in Frederiksborg hadn't been anything to write home about. But at least Frederiksborg had been a modern castle-"modern," that is, for the seventeenth century-designed by Dutch Renaissance architects. It had running water, and the toilets had a crude but reasonably effective flushing arrangement.
Copenhagen Castle, on the other hand, was over two hundred years old. Practically medieval, as far as Eddie was concerned. It didn't help any that the current king of Denmark hadn't paid much attention to the castle's upkeep. Being no slouch when it came to his own comfort, Christian IV had decided that he needed something more modern and fancy for a royal residence when he stayed in Copenhagen instead of at his favored Frederiksborg, some thirty miles out of town.