Authors: Shirl Anders
“Radford, what strikes you about what we have heard?” Drummond asked.
Radford did not lift his one-eyed gaze from contemplation of the cane he had propped before him as he sat beside Nia on one the settees in the room. “Kings and Princes.”
“Exactly,” Drummond said. “I had hoped…” Drummond paused, looking introspective for a moment, then he continued. “It seemed to me that some definitive conclusions could be made about men such as Hellion, Incubus, perhaps even Dame Baset, in her own way. However, I stayed with Hellion. What are the traits about him that we could conclude with certainty and the one that struck me instantly was power-hungry. Insatiably so and never enough, I would imagine.”
“Was that part of your reasoning behind those gaudy jewels?” Brynmore asked, trying to follow Drummond’s discourse, surprising himself a bit that he had interrupted Drummond.
“Yes, it was, Brynmore. Although not a certain motive, but more of a hopeful intuition. With the profile I have set up about Hellion, it clearly showed that he could not resist being interested. The jewels themselves were so ostentatious that the immediate assumption would be power at least.”
“Or royalty,” Kit said, sitting straighter with her comely features showing the lightening of interest.
“Yes, Kit, my profile of Hellion projects quite clearly that Hellion, after thwarted in his mad attempts of accession to become a god, as he puts it, would be raising the stakes of his need for power, dramatically.”
“You said before that you believed he picked me because of my noble title,” Saxon said.
“Yes, and now Hellion’s insanity sets his sight infinitely higher. One could assume that demented megalomaniacs do not take defeat well, and by their very outrageous behavior would spiral uncontrolled like a skewed cannon shot.”
“Kings and princes,” Radford uttered again.
Murmurs sounded around the room with a few soft exclamations and they all finally realized what Drummond was saying. Brynmore was startled when he finally realized what the implications meant.
“Hellion has set his sights on the Prince of Wales or the King of England!” Joelle exclaimed what they all were beginning to digest.
“Yes,” Drummond answered simply as Gabriella sitting beside him clasped his hand.
“But what for?” Wyndham asked.
“It really does not matter, except for the fact it is a momentous boon for us. Whether Hellion simply wants to bask in the company of royalty, or wants to try to convert royalty into his servile worshipers or if he most wants to murder a royal as another demented scheme to ascend, it does not matter to us. Except for the fact of the lucky opportunity his newest obsession presents us.”
“Treason, of course!” Radford exclaimed, lifting his gaze in Drummond’s direction as the rest of the group made confused sounds.
Except for Harrison, who rasped, “Convictions of treason involves no assassinations.”
“Exactly, my friend,” Drummond offered with a half smile. Then Drummond continued. “Luckily, we have Hellion’s new infatuation to fit well within this scheme. My basic plan is to make it appear that Baco, Cernno, Dame Baset, Rushborn too, damn him, and Hellion, are all in plots to kill the Prince of Wales.”
“Bravo!” Orlan and Chloe exclaimed at the same time. Then the rest followed with sounds and words of cheered approval.
There was a soft rap on the door and almost simultaneously Drummond’s elder, straight-spined butler appeared. “Your guest has arrived, your grace,” the butler intoned solemnly.
“Ah yes, Hennessy, please send him in,” Drummond responded.
Kit followed everyone’s gaze to see who might be arriving. During the last few moments she began to experience a better feeling of purpose filling her since the night at The Satyr Whip Club. Really, she had been trying to hold them at bay, but just as quickly as that, those myriad emotions fell away with conquest in sight. She decided immediately that all she needed was the destruction of Hellion and The Order to set things right inside herself. Kit glanced at Brynmore, before the guest made his entrance and she found him looking at her with his green eyes rich in speculation and a bit of worry.
She could now, so she did. She smiled at him because, with the positive beginnings of a solid plan, it felt so grand. Brynmore’s outer eyelids crinkled for an instant. She could see that he was surprised and then, just as swiftly, he was moving toward her. Without comment, but with a returning handsome smile, he had her scooped up and he turned, sat and settled her on his lap. Not the most serious or professional of attitudes, but she welcomed it with a snuggle.
Before she could comment a deep cultured voice said, “The head of the Home Office has said that I am not assigned to this and anything further, coming from this area, he does not want to know about.”
Drummond chuckled. “Ah, Ash, so good of you to not officially join us.” Drummond gestured around. “Everyone, meet the unofficial, Ash. That is the only name we will ask or use for him.”
Kit watched the medium height gentleman nod to all in turn. He was an interesting mix, with a bowler hat over short-cropped dark hair in the style military men might wear. He wore wire spectacles that served to pronounce his very square jaw, his tweed cutaway brown suit cried barrister or financier while his posture, straight shoulders and lean fitness said military. His age was hard to determine, but she would guess late thirties.
“Reports of Prince Charles activities these last several days have the prince mentioning Lord Duneagan’s name no less than ten times,” Ash said quietly.
“A little bird, in the prince’s ear, Ash. He knows nothing other than a simple request, nor will he,” Drummond said. Kit felt Brynmore’s surprise as his body tensed with her own, while Drummond continued, “Please sit, Ash, join us.”
Ash strode to the chair Brynmore had vacated and sat. “It will be interesting to have the opportunity to work with you,” Ash said as he folded his hands, linking them together over one knee, while looking directly at Drummond. After a pause, Ash glanced around and added, “And all of you, of course.”
Kit noticed Ash’s hazel-brown eyes hesitated on each woman present and she picked up the barely perceivable point in Ash’s body language that he was either unused to working with women or surprised at their presence.
“Ash will be needed as liaison for what we intend to do,” Drummond said. “We will not be informing any authorities about the exact nature of our plans, however Ash will be along to smooth out any awkward kinks. Furthermore, when events transpire, certain people knowing Ash is here, will react more calmly.”
“And, the nature of your plans are?” Ash asked, with a quiet, direct voice. “I’ve read all the files and reports that you compiled and you briefed me, sir. As to the rest,” Ash nodded to Drummond, “I am intrigued to hear how we can dismantle this Order of the Satyr nuisance.”
Kit immediately bristled at type casting The Order as being only an innocent sounding nuisance, instead of the lethal malignancy it was.
“We intend to make it appear as if the leaders of The Order are conspiring to kill the Prince of Wales, Ash— and you are going to help,” Drummond said with a sublime nuance.
Kit felt satisfaction when Ash rocked back slightly. Ash was startled, obviously, but he contained it well. “I see,” Ash said. “Amazing.”
“Quite,” Drummond responded wryly.
Joelle looked at Saxon and whispered, “I cannot believe how easy it was to get them here.” She stayed bent over, making certain she was hidden in the bushes.
Saxon, with his long hair braided and tied back, crouched beside her wearing dark trim-fitting hunting attire that mirrored what she wore. Saxon had teased that she looked like the flashiest, curvy mate he had ever seen when she first appeared after getting ready for this nerve-wracking mission they were about.
“The promise of a large quantity of money always works for these types,” Saxon said lowly, as sounds from a large group gathering, not too far to the west of them, could be heard in ebbs and flows carried on the wind.
Joelle glanced in that direction. The sun was bright today and it was the Prince of Wales over there, heir to the throne of England. She could barely make out the colors of people moving about, with the trees obscuring her view. It was some type of afternoon outdoor gathering for the Prince involving lavish food and human chess. There was one hedgerow between them and the Prince’s party beyond. Earlier, Joelle had seen the party was set up as a large chessboard made of different blocked heights and colors of grass. She had never seen anything like it before, but Saxon explained that the prince was fond of this play and different people stood on the lawn chessboard acting as the chess pieces. The prince played another visiting prince from Germany today. It was perfect for their plan and also ideal, was the prince’s mounted guard protecting a perimeter around the party.
Joelle peeked through the tree branches they hovered behind and in the nearer foreground, she could just see Orlan and Wyndham — mainly because of Orlan’s afternoon lawn court dress. It was light yellow with flounces and stood out against the backdrop of green. Joelle heard a clicking and she glanced down to see Saxon checking one of the rifles once more. Joelle hoped this was going to be as easy as it sounded. Their mission was to make it appear that Baco and Cernno had tried to shoot the Prince of Wales.
“Spirits,” Joelle muttered under her breath. Drummond certainly did think large when he got going. She was awed, fairly impressed and very anxious. However, more than anything she was grateful that Drummond had picked her and Saxon to begin the undertaking of sabotaging The Order and bringing about its downfall.
This venture today had started with each man in the Archangels revisiting as many of their corrupt contacts and denizens of the seamier side of London as they could recall. To pass out word on the streets that there was a large amount of money to be made for two men who did not mind breaking the law. That was it, the beginning and they had turned down contacts, until the right two men approached. They had vaguely offered the rumor that the two men were needed to beat and generally harass someone their future employer held a grudge against. Voila tout, as the French would say. That’s all.
From a distance Orlan posed as the prospective employer. While, Wyndham waited, hidden beside a tree near the rendezvous spot, directed in the written message to the German brothers, who had finally, ambi-tiously, applied to the sordid undertaking. The plan was to use the innocence of a woman alone to draw them closer without full wariness. Ideally, it was never intended that they should draw close enough to obtain a good look at Orlan or even realize that there was a large gathering of royalty on the other side of the hedgerow behind her.
“Here they come,” Saxon hissed suddenly.
Joelle stiffened and wiped her palms on her britches as Saxon lifted the first rifle to his shoulder, pointing it in an innocent direction. It was her task to call the timing of the first shot. It was nerve-wracking. She could not let them get too close, but also not be too far away, allowing them time to make the cover of trees before the prince’s mounted guard saw them.
“Get ready,” Joelle advised.
Saxon tensed. Joelle held her breath as she watched the Germans lumber closer. At first they spent time darting glances around, but as they drew closer they stopped doing that and straightened up seeming to feel more secure upon seeing the lone woman.
“Now!” Joelle exclaimed tightly. The shot, sounding so close even though she was prepared for it, made Joelle flinch, fighting the urge to cover her ears. With the vibrations of the booming sound, both Baco and Cernno halted abruptly. It was as if they were suspended trying to decide if they really had heard a shot. Then the second shot went off and Joelle saw one of them, she could not tell which, jerk his gaze toward Orlan. Only Orlan was gone.
By now, she and Wyndham were blended back into the prince’s party, which likely was in a bit of an uproar.
“Come on,” Saxon urged, tossing both discharged rifles out onto the common in plain sight.
It had been determined that the only place that the Germans could run for hiding was in this direction, which ran through one stand of trees, then out onto the common, then onto the next stand of trees, where she and Saxon had been.
Ash looked at Kit, saying, “You do not like me.”
Kit reversed her gaze from the hunting party in the prince’s honor that was milling below the balcony she and Ash had stepped out on. They were toward the rear of the balcony, one of many on the face of the royal residence. This monstrosity of the monarchy was a country mansion built within the teeming city of London and encompassing many acres of land. Kit imagined it had fed some long-dead King of England’s desire to show power and importance, to have the place built where it was.
They were hidden from view of the participants of the hunting party below, still Kit stepped back, looking up slightly at Ash. “It is not you personally, sir, it is that you don’t take seriously how lethal The Order is and especially its leader’s maniacal ambitions.” Kit paused. “Much more than trivial nuisances,” she added emphasizing the word she found distasteful.
“Do not take too seriously what I say. It is all carefully calculated,” Ash said, with the brown in his hazel eyes showing bronze tints flashing in the daylight.
“What would the uncalculated Ash, say?” Kit countered.
Ash’s smooth, even lips curved slightly. “I am not sure I can do that any more.” He paused, with barely perceptible hints of a mental struggle. Then he said, “I have done this too long. I am not certain there is an `Ash’ any longer, so I will calculate to trust your opinion.”
Kit did not have knowledge what Ash’s “this” was. Being a spy for England, perhaps, or in the military. Whatever it was, she only had an intuitive notion that, for a moment, Ash had been more honest with her and himself, than anyone else in a long, long time. Kit speculated that it was a unique experience for Ash to work beside women whether trained spies or otherwise.