"No, of course not," said Harry. "But I doubt very much if those warships are going to be in any position to intercept us. In fact, I'll be surprised if they still exist at all."
Everybody was staring at him again. Harry planted his hands on his hips and gave them a look of exasperation. "Give me a break, willya? I treasure my reputation more than anybody-but I'm not actually a loose cannon on the deck. Wildass cowboy, sure; rebel without a cause, no. Obviously I'm not going to do something like this unless we get backup. Like in real serious, Admiral Simpson type backup."
"Those ironclads aren't really seaworthy," protested Matija.
"No? Then why is Simpson proposing to sail them out into the North Sea, around the Skaw, and into the Baltic?"
"Risky. And he's got four. I'll bet you-good odds-that at least one of them breaks down and doesn't make it."
"Maybe you're right," said Harry, "and maybe you're not. But I figure that's the admiral's business. And what I know for sure, is that this decision is way over my pay grade. In fact, Melissa told me yesterday it was way over her pay grade. So she relayed the whole thing to Magdeburg."
That brought a moment's silence. Then Felix said: "And the answer was…"
Harry gave him a very cheerful grin. "What do you think? We're talking about the prince, guys. Of course he told us to go for it. He said he'll make sure we've got the backup we need, when the time comes."
It was almost comical, the way everyone at the table seemed to simultaneously relax and perk up at the same time. They almost never discussed the subject, simply because it was something taken completely for granted amongst them. But, like Harry Lefferts himself, all of his team had become dyed-in-the-wool partisans of Mike Stearns. It wasn't really even a political matter for them, or if it was, only tangentially so. True, they all accepted the basic principles of Stearns' political view, but that was simply a veneer. What lay underneath was simple, rather savage, and completely medieval. He was the prince and they were the prince's men. And-once again-he had not failed them.
Felix clapped his hands together, all traces of Cassandra gone. "Well, then. Now that we don't have to worry about the women and children-"
He broke off, his peripheral vision having spotted the Rapidly Rising Backs of Sherrilyn and Julie Mackay-even Juliet's was coming up-and hastily said:
"The noncombatants, rather. But let's move on to the rest. Now it gets interesting."
Later that evening, in the kitchen that was used by the small clan of Warders, Darryl spoke quietly to Stephen Hamilton and Andrew Short.
"So there it is, guys. Up front, and all cards on the table. You're in or you're out."
He could have added, or you turn me over to the authorities, but didn't. Partly because he knew it was no longer necessary, but mostly because he knew that saying any such thing would enrage Stephen Hamilton. Now that he'd become part of the clan himself-so much, Hamilton himself had made quite clear-any suggestion that the clan would turn on him would be deeply offensive.
"We're in," said Stephen immediately. Andrew's nod came not more than a split-second later.
With someone else, Darryl might have asked if they were really sure. But, again, that was both unnecessary and might quite possibly trigger off Hamilton's anger. The Warder captain was not a hot-tempered man-quite the opposite, in fact-but if you made the mistake of treading on areas that meant a great deal to him, you ran the risk of stirring up that hidden, incredibly cold and ruthless capacity for fury. Darryl would no more have considered stepping on a cobra, just to see if it was awake.
"Good. Now, first thing. Since they're still letting the Warders guard our quarters in St. Thomas-fucking idiots, but there it is-we need to start sending the men over there, one at a time. Whenever nobody looks to be watching."
"That's not a problem," said Andrew. "We've often come into St. Thomas' Tower, helping Nellie with the groceries. Can't stay inside for more than half an hour, though, or suspicions might get aroused."
Darryl smiled thinly. "With you guys, half an hour will be plenty. Biggest problem will be just tearing you away from your newfound loves."
Both Warders frowned at him, puzzled.
"Won't be able to fire them, of course. But the noise of working the slides ain't much, and we'll only do it when one of your kin is standing guard at the door anyway."
Darryl's smile wasn't thin at all, now. "Gentlemen. I will shortly be introducing you to a couple of very sleek dames. Lady Pump-Action Shotgun and Lady Automatic Pistol. Several sisters there, actually. I'm personally partial to Ms. Ten Millimeter. You'll even like their papa, Mr. Dynamite."
Chapter 33
"There's something very peculiar going on over there, I tell you." Elizabeth Lytle finished pouring the broth and started passing out the cups to the three men sitting at her kitchen table.
"What? Followed her, did you?" asked Richard Towson, nodding his thanks.
"Good idea, that," said Patrick Welch, blowing on his broth to cool it off. "Just in case this friend Juliet of hers might turn out to be an informer of some sort."
Liz gave him a disdainful look. "Not likely! If you knew her the way I do…" After setting down the kettle, she gave her short dark hair a little toss. "I was just curious, really. There's something… mysterious about her, now. Not like she used to be."
"It's been years since you saw her, love," pointed out Anthony Leebrick calmly. "While she was on the continent."
"Not that many years. And what difference does it make, anyway? George is still with her, so nothing fundamental's changed. I met him too, on one of my lunch encounters with Juliet. He hasn't changed a bit, from what I can tell."
"Are those wise in the first place?" asked Richard, a bit carefully, since Liz had something of a temper.
"I suggested she do so," said Anthony. "Avoiding an old friend completely when there was no obvious reason to do so was more likely to cause suspicion."
"Let's get back to the point," said Welch. "Since you followed her, what did you discover?"
Liz sat down and stared pensively at her own cup of broth. "The first thing I discovered was that I couldn't get near the house she's living at. Not without being spotted by several pairs of eyes. Very keen ones, too, let me tell you. There are men in that house, several of them, and at least one other woman. And two other men lounging about the tavern nearby, that don't belong there."
Welch looked dubious. "And how could you tell if they belonged there or not? People come in and out of Southwark all the time. It's hardly what you'd call a stodgy little village."
"They didn't look right," Liz insisted. "Too alert. Too fit-looking. At least, too fit-looking for men who weren't swaggering about bullying people and looking for a fight. They made me edgy. They spotted me as soon as I entered the street and their eyes kept following me the whole time I was there. I felt like a plump mouse being watched by cats."
Towson hid his smile behind his cup. Leebrick cleared his throat, a bit smugly. Patrick, undiplomatic as usual, barked a harsh little laugh. "For the love of all that's holy, Liz. Men do have a habit of eyeing you, y'know?"
"Excluding our couth selves," added Richard. "But he's got a point, Liz."
She gave both him and Welch an exasperated look. "Let me see if I understand this. Your suggesting to me-a woman whose past bears no close scrutiny-that some men are lecherous. Oh, dear. I never would have guessed."