He left two men behind him on the undercliff, assigned to watch his back. As the pirate’s footsteps faded on the sandy path, Sam muttered to his companion, “There’s times when I reckon the master’s off ‘is ’ead. What’s all this, then, about sendin‘ Mike to the lass’s ’ouse, tellin‘ ’im to make a plan of the ‘ouse?”
“Mike’s good at scoutin‘, though,” the other replied, sucking on a blade of grass. “Best man to send, I reckon.”
“Aye, but why’d he ‘ave to send any bloke, that’s what I want to know.” Sam peered down at the cove through the screen of scrub that concealed them. The master had reached the beach and was standing, hands thrust deep into his pockets, looking out to sea, his posture as casual as if he were taking a moonlight stroll.
“It’s not like the master to let a woman get under ‘is skin,” Sam’s companion observed. “Easy come, easy go, is ’is way.”
“Aye,” Sam agreed, then he inched forward. “Reckon this is the bloke now. Seems t‘ be alone. You take a look along the path, while I keep watch ’ere.”
The other man eased away down the path, and Sam took his cutlass from his belt and watched the beach.
Anthony didn’t turn as Godfrey approached across the sand. He continued to look out to sea, whistling softly between his teeth. Only those who knew him very well would recognize in the set of his shoulders, the tilt of his head, that every muscle was taut, every inch of his tall frame ready for trouble.
Godfrey coughed loudly. Without turning, the fisherman observed easily, “Beautiful night, ain’t it, sir?”
“I care not,” Godfrey said. “Are you alone?”
A murdering popinjay who cared nothing for beauty. Anthony’s lip curled but he said only, “As alone as you.”
Godfrey glanced around. The beach under full moonlight was deserted. “We have to climb.”
“Then lead the way.” Anthony turned then and offered his black-toothed smile. “Let’s see what ye’ve got fer me.”
“You have the money? I’d see it before I show you anything.”
“Not very trustin‘, are ye, sir?” Anthony dug into the pocket of his filthy britches and drew out a leather pouch. “There’s five ’undred guineas in there. Ye’ll get the rest on delivery.”
Godfrey’s eyes gleamed as he hefted the pouch on his palm. He untied the leather drawstring and peered inside. Gold glittered. “You’ll have to move the goods yourself,” he said.
Anthony reached over and took back the pouch. “ ‘Tis understood. But let’s be seein’ what you ‘ave, fine sir.”
Godfrey turned back to the cliff path. Anthony followed. He could barely contain his contempt. After the evening at Carisbrooke he now knew whom he was dealing with. People were always willing to retail gossip, particularly if the gossip was malicious. He knew much more about Lord Channing’s affairs than that gentleman would ever wish to be revealed. He knew that the lordling’s greed was fueled by necessity. He was deeply in debt. A man who aspired to power and influence needed wealth to smooth the path, and the Channings, while noble, were poor, their estates laid to waste by generations of greed and stupidity.
The present Lord Channing had a certain cunning to aid the greed. He seemed to plan well and carefully. He employed men to take the biggest risks for him. But the cunning went hand in hand with a complete absence of respect for human life… unless, of course, it was his own. He took where he could and from whom he could.
Anthony lived his life beyond the law, but this man was vermin in his eyes.
Godfrey turned to the right when they reached the undercliff. The uneven path was rocky, more of a goat trail than a path. He picked his way carefully, while Anthony strolled along as if walking on greensward.
Sam and his fellow watcher kept their distance, moving like wraiths in the shadow of the cliff.
Godfrey stopped in the middle of the path and waited for Anthony to come up beside him. “Disarm yourself. I’m not such a fool as to show you the goods when you’re carrying a sword.”
Anthony shrugged and unbuckled his swordbelt, laying it on the ground.
“What else are you carrying?”
Anthony bent and drew a knife from his boot. This he laid beside the sword. Then he extended his hands with another shrug.
Godfrey nodded. “This way.” He turned to the cliff face and pushed through a cascade of weeds and vines. Anthony followed.
They entered a cave, black as pitch. Godfrey felt around at the entrance. Flint scraped on tinder and a small light glowed from a lantern. Godfrey held the lantern high to show the bales and crates piled up against the walls.
“Take a look.” He put his free hand to his sword hilt and drew the blade an inch or two from its sheath.
Anthony’s smile was not a pleasant one as he heard the sound, but his back was to Godfrey and the other man didn’t see his expression.
Anthony examined the wares. They were in good condition for the most part and would sell well at auction in Portsmouth. He loathed wreckers, but was too pragmatic to look a gift horse in the mouth. Later, when Godfrey Channing was no longer useful, the pirate would impress upon him the error of his ways. For the moment, he would use him. And the king’s cause would be the beneficiary.
He took a piece of chalk from his pocket and moved among the goods, marking his choices with a cross. “I’ll take these four chests, the figured silks, the two bales of velvet, the Brussels lace, the case of delftware and the other of Venetian crystal. The rest is dross.”
A crispness sharpened the fisherman’s drawl. Godfrey didn’t notice the slight change in the vowel sounds. He knew only that this was a man who would do business.
“A thousand guineas,” he said. “We agreed on a thousand guineas.”
“Only if I took the whole. I’ll pay eight hundred for what I’ve named. Not a penny more.”
Eight hundred was eight hundred. “Done.” Godfrey rubbed his hands together. “How will you take delivery?”
“Leave it to me, young sir.” Once again it was the fisherman who spoke. “They’ll be gone from ‘ere by mornin’.”
“And payment?”
For answer, Anthony tossed the pouch across to him. Godfrey, caught by surprise, grabbed for it and missed. It fell to the ground with a heavy clink. He bent and picked it up, unaware of the fisherman’s curled lip and contemptuous eye.
“The rest will be delivered to the Anchor at midday tomorrow. I reckon George’ll be wantin‘ his share. Seein’ as ‘ow your ship’s not come in.” The fisherman laughed and it was not a kind laugh.
Godfrey’s hand tightened on his sword hilt. There was nothing he would have liked better than to have spitted the man on his blade. He demanded angrily, “What time will you take delivery? I’ll be here.”
“Soon after dawn, I reckon,” the fisherman drawled. “No need for ye to be ‘ere, though. My men know what to do.”
It must now be around one o’clock, Godfrey calculated. Dawn was but four hours away. He’d get no sleep tonight. “I’ll be here,” he stated. Did the man think he was fool enough to let him take delivery unsupervised?
“Please yerself.” The fisherman shrugged and turned to the concealed entrance of the cave. “Stand watch if it pleases ye. My men’ll not lay down their arms, though, I give ye fair warnin‘. They move fast and quiet and will be out of ’ere by six. They’ll not take kindly to bein‘ followed, either. An’ their manners aren’t as gentle as mine. So keep out of their way.”
And he was gone, leaving Godfrey alone in the cave with his rage and his five hundred golden guineas.
Anthony retrieved his weapons and strode back along the trail. Sam and his fellow materialized from the shadows of the cliff some hundred feet from the cave.
“You can find it again?”
“Aye, sir.”
“At dawn, then. You’ll need ten men, probably three boats. The goods are marked with a chalk cross.”