Sergeant Verity and the Blood Royal (24 page)

'And the
Anna '

'Yes, Mr Crowe. The
Anna
is moored just out of sight of the quay, all ready and waiting for Lieutenant Dacre and the doxy, and his two accomplices. I'd bet the side of her facing the shore, when he's pointing upstream, says
Rosa.
Five or ten minutes after the snatch, they're all on board. Turn her round, facing downstream. She says
Anna
on the side that everyone can see. And that's a boat that Captain Oliphant tells the look-outs to let pass because she left too early to be used in Mr Dacre's escape.'

'They saw her pass Sulphur Springs Landing once,' said Crowe. 'How can she account for passing it a second time?'

'A man might do it by dark, Mr Crowe. More likely, he'd ground her, run her into a creek and hide her, even sink her. I daresay he's got twenty miles of a big river to do it in, and most of the banks not much better than a wilderness. If they should look for the
Anna,
it'll be much further downstream, having seen her pass Sulphur Springs. Neat, ain't it?'

'And when he's done with her?'

'I don't say he has. But if he has, he might have other transport waiting. A boat that was never near St Louis, perhaps, and can move freely. Or he might find his way past the landing at Sulphur Springs easy enough. After all, so long as they think the boat never went back as far as St Louis and couldn't have picked up anyone from inside your Captain Oliphant's perimeter, why should they care if the
Anna
was moored upstream for the night?'

'And just how did you figure all this out, Mr Verity?'

Verity emitted a faint chuffing laugh and his shoulders moved in slow rhythmical mirth.

'Mr Crowe, when you was trapping, didn't you never find that after a bit you'd start to think the same as your prey? Now, I been after Lieutenant Dacre quite a bit. He's clever, all right. But like all his kind, he's clever in the same way. Sort of personal style. First off, you think he's beyond catching. And then you begin to see things his way and you can guess, almost, what he'll do. It ain't just being clever that would help a man to catch him. It's a sort of instinct.'

'And now?'

'Well, Mr Crowe. Since the
Anna
ain't been past Sulphur Springs twice, she's somewhere between here and there. She won't move again till first light, and if Lieutenant Dacre means to abandon her and move by other means, he'll hardly contrive that in the dark either. Now, two horses, and you and me could get as far as Sulphur Springs soon after midnight. I'd rather drive than ride, meself, but I daresay I could sit out a five-mile-an-hour trot!'

Leaving a single paragraph behind, as his confidential explanation to Captain Oliphant, Sergeant Crowe led the way along the rutted highway which followed the western bank of the Mississippi.

'You couldn't a-done otherwise, Mr Crowe,' said Verity, gasping behind him. 'If we'd waited longer, day might break before we got started.'

Below them, the river shone in moon and starlight. They were beyond the outlying villas of St Louis, where magnolias clustered over gateways, beyond the orchards and the vines, now heavy with blue grapes. The black dirt of the road flew from their horses' hooves as they passed between fields of yellow stubble which seemed to stretch to an infinite horizon. Then the terrain grew wilder and more overgrown, the water-logged flats beside the river being cluttered by thick undergrowth and trees whose branches seemed to interlock. Once they saw the silver smoke of a steamboat rising in wisps through the pale starlight. But it was a massive five-decker ploughing its way upstream.

Somewhen after midnight, as Verity was once again closing his mind to the soreness of unaccustomed riding, he heard the rhythm of the hoof beats ahead of him change, and realized that Crowe was reining in his horse.

'Mr Verity! What would you say to that?'

But still the river was wide and tranquil in the opalescent light. At its centre, there appeared a dark islet, if anything more overgrown than the banks on either side.

'Now,' said Crowe, 'I'll be damned if that ain't the fanciest sight I ever clapped eyes on!'

'Mr Crowe?'

'There,' said Crowe, 'on the far side of that island. Look again. Just hanging in the air like a drift of mist.'

' 'ere, Mr Crowe! Ain't you got a pair of eyes, though!'

‘The big steamboats pass this side,' said Crowe, 'You couldn't ask for a quieter nor more private berth than over there. And if you set your heart on sailing first thing, of course you'd have to keep a pound or two of pressure up. And you can't do that when a boat's moored, unless you let out a puff or two of steam.'

'Couldn't be smoke from a camp-fire or cabin, Mr Crowe ?'

Crowe laughed.

'Out there? Not unless a man grew so tired of life that he chose to end it by a dose of river fever. I daresay there's a few dead slaves there, who thought to cross the river and get free to Illinois. And that's a good enough reason for most folks to give it a wide sweep.'

They dismounted and led their horses down to the marshy river bank.

'It couldn't be poor souls trying to escape their bondage, Mr Crowe?'

'And helping the bloodhounds by sending up signals, Mr Verity?'

When the horses were tethered, Crowe cut a pair of stout switches from a nearby bush.

'Right, Mr Verity. Now, supposing this is Lieutenant Dacre's party, what do you aim to find ?'

'Mr Dacre and Miss Jolly, first off,' said Verity, gazing out across the sluggish current. 'Then there'll be several of his villains, with a hired engineer and captain for the steam-yacht. All of 'em probably from the Hicks and Sanchez lot that traded in girls who was took to houses of debauchery elsewhere in America. And the ones on board are probably cargo for the same destination, with the sale price as the reward for the crew that gets 'cm there.'

Crowe sat down and began to unlace his boots.

'In that case, my friend, if we can only find the poor young things and cut their throats quick, we shall do them a service. They treat 'em so nefarious in those places that never a girl is allowed out alive to tell the tale. Mostly, the girls destroy themselves, if they get the chance, rather than face any more of it.'

'Watcher doing, Mr Crowe?'

'Never learnt to swim and keep your clothes dry, Mr Verity? Tie 'em in a bundle to the stick, and hold it out of the water as you swim. Boots'll be too heavy for that. Fasten the laces round the front of your neck and let the boots lie on your back. They won't stay quite dry, but you'll be glad enough to have them the other side when you need to kick a man's privates or jump on his neck.'

'Just as you say, Mr Crowe.'

Presently the absurdly contrasted figures, Verity pale and plump, Crowe thin and tanned, approached the ripple of the river flow.

'Don't wade more than you can help, Mr Verity. Strike out as soon as you can. It's like a quicksand under here. And don't let it in your mouth. It's more mud than water.'

Soundlessly, they entered the dark flood. Verity launched himself forward as the water lapped his thighs, his clothes fastened like a tramp's bundle to the switch. The current was not as strong as he feared and by swimming slightly upstream he found he was able to keep in Crowe's wake as they crossed the river toward the islet. As a boy, he had swum in the moorland pools and rivers of Cornwall. To cover two or three hundred yards was an ordeal but not an impossibility, so long as a man took his time.

For all that, it seemed a very long time. Once he nearly-lost the switch with his clothes tied to it, but at length the dark jungle of the islet rose higher and higher above him, blotting out the paler night sky. He tried to find a footing, and touched a slime which stirred under his feet. But he was almost there and, presently, Crowe's arm reached out to him. He waded from the stream and sat down, wheezing, gasping and trying not to cough. Crowe had shaken and rubbed off as much moisture as he could and was dressing himself again. Each man carefully undid the bundle of his clothing and drew from one of the boots his Colt revolver, which Crowe had insisted on carrying in this fashion to keep it dry upon their backs.

'Don't rely on it, however,' he breathed in Verity's ear, 'there's no telling that it ain't had a slop or two of river water.'

They set off through the tangled brush, Crowe leading the way and moving with the silence of a ghost. Verity followed in his footsteps, marvelling at the Marine's ability to sense which twig would and which would not give out a faint crack, like a distant pistol shot. By contrast, his own stealthy progress sounded like a wounded animal thrashing about in the undergrowth. Crowe turned once or twice and, even in the darkness, Verity was conscious of his friend's scowl of disapproval.

Nevertheless, they crossed the neck of the islet without incident and stood among the fringe of trees on the far side. The
Anna
rested at a slight tilt in the shallows, an anchorage from which the use of one paddle would quickly free her. She was about a hundred yards downstream and there was a broad plank running from her paddle-sponson to the muddy foreshore. The two sergeants paused but there was no sign of anyone either ashore or on the little ship, nor any sound except faintly from the vessel itself.

Crowe moved first, edging along the marshy bank to a point from which they could see the uncurtained windows of the saloon where these faced the shore. Verity followed, thankful that the lapping and gurgling of the current among the muddy inlets more than obliterated the sound of his own slithering footsteps. Presently Crowe paused, raising a hand silently to halt his friend.

Through the lighted windows there was a scene which suggested a dinner party, or rather its aftermath. Several men, all of them unknown to Verity, were sitting in their shirt-sleeves at a long table with glasses before them and cards in their hands, the blue-grey cigar smoke rising in irregular clouds. There was no sign of either Dacre or Jolly.

A girl whom he had never seen before was standing naked by the table, filling the men's glasses when told to do so and acting as a brothel parlour-maid. She was Asian in both colouring and feature and Verity guessed she must be the young woman, Jennifer, who had been kept at the Five Points house in New York. The men certainly seemed to have had long experience of her, handling her with a vindictive familiarity. The girl, who reminded Verity of so many of her kind he had seen in India, was clearly not used to being naked with so many men, however accustomed she might be to receiving them singly. If she retained anything of Moslem belief, Verity thought, the ordeal must seem infinitely worse. As if sensing this, the men at the table summoned her, stroked and patted her thighs and loins while she filled their glasses or lit their cheroots, their eyes watching her lean across the table and their hands descending explosively on the olive-skinned cheeks of Jennifer's bottom.

At least she was still alive. But this relief was soon tempered by another girl's shrill cry. This time it was the blonde, whom Verity knew must be Maggie, her hair falling about a face that was wet with tears, her voice keening with terror, as two men dragged her past the saloon window toward some imagined horror in the cabin beyond.

Verity looked quickly at Crowe and then his blood ran chill at the most appalling sound of all. From the undergrowth behind them came a wild howl for blood. It was impossible not to turn round, to confront the dun-coloured shape and the white fangs, twenty feet away and straining toward them. The man who held the leash was a mere shadow in the darkness. Verity and Crowe reached for their guns as the bloodhound gave a snarl of fury, but there was a voice which came clearly from the deck of the
Anna,
to which they had now turned their backs.

"Oblige me by keepin' your hands where they can be seen.'

Verity had not heard that voice since three years earlier in the expensively-furnished house in Albemarle Street, yet he knew it at once.

'It ain't no hardship to blow both your heads off and have done with it,' added Dacre casually. 'Or y' may match yourselves with that brute of a dog.'

The man who held the leash stepped forward in the faint light from the saloon windows of the little steamer. The strong face, itself as surly as the dog's, identified him as Cowhide.

'Turn about,' said Dacre to his two captives, 'and follow the plank up to the deck. There are two revolvers sighted upon you and the dog at your backs, so have a care.'

Verity clasped his hands on the top of his head and followed Crowe up the plank to the steamboat's sponson. He thought with desperate haste and some confusion, though one thing was clear. This time it was Dacre who had profited by calculating Verity's likely response to the abduction of Jolly. The cracksman had deduced that Verity would solve the mystery of the escape from St Louis, and accordingly a trap had been laid at the anchorage of the
Anna.
Verity stood on the deck and faced his adversary with a confidence he did not feel.

'Right, Lieutenant Dacre,' he said solemnly, 'you got about half an hour to save your skin by acting sensible. There's a regiment in St Louis that knows where we've gone and that'll be down the river on a steamer soon enough.'

'Damme,' said Dacre, smoothing his fair whiskers with the back of his hand, 'was there ever a fellow who backed such lame nags? On a night like this, you might hear the beat of a ship's paddles ten miles off. And curse me if I hear so much as a gnat singing!'

'You'll 'ear singing all right, before this is o’er!' said Verity, as if hoping to overawe Dacre by his anger. 'You ain't got a fly's chance in a spider's web of getting Miss Jolly and the gold off this boat!'

Dacre gave a high-pitched, neighing laugh.

'My dear fellah! Miss Jolly ain't here! Nor any gold but what men carry in their pockets! Such fortune as I have is safe, far and away. As for Miss Jolly, she must afford a day or two of sport before being put out of her misery. But it shall not happen here.'