Betina Krahn (43 page)

“Law ain’t justice,” the brigadier opined with a raised finger. “Sad fact.”

“True ‘nough,” Anabelle said. “Justice would be if th’
dolphins took Bentley an’ kept him under th’ water in a tank of air.”

“Except that dolphins would never bother with something as wasteful as vengeance,” Celeste said dismally. “In the sea, they do what’s necessary to survive … no more. The laws of the sea are mercifully pragmatic.”

Titus sat listening, feeling the words collecting and resonating all through him in a new way. Dolphin justice. Pragmatism. The laws of sea and laws of land. A higher law. Titus’s world took one last dizzying tilt, and then settled into final position with a jarring mental thud that struck Titus with the force of a swinging sail boom.

His mental and experiential world had just doubled … enlarged … changed forever by a new vision of reality. The world was so much larger than he had known. Earth and sea were a part of a whole … joined, inseparable, interdependent. And yet estranged. The doors of his thinking swung open wide. The inrushing air of fresh thoughts and ideas was momentarily staggering.

“Here we sit,” he declared, “thinking like
humans.”

“Beg pardon?” the brigadier said, looking around for confirmation. “Ain’t that what we are?” The others looked at Titus as if he’d lost his mind.

“We’ve been going about this all wrong,” he said, testing ideas mentally at the speed of a runaway locomotive. “We’ve tried it the land way … human rules. And the right thing can’t be done. Perhaps it’s time we borrowed some of that seagoing pragmatism. Who says we have to play by human rules?”

Celeste blinked. “Titus, what on earth are you talking about?”

“Just that I finally understand what it is to have one foot in the ocean and one on the land.” He grinned. “A broader vision, a bigger scope, greater freedom.
Mermaid rules
.”

Celeste was the only one who didn’t scowl, shrug, or scratch a head.

“Mermaid rules,” she echoed, and suddenly she was smiling, too.

“What are we wasting time with the courts for?” Titus declared. “Why not just go steal Prospero and Ariel and set them free?”

It was probably a credit to their collective character that they didn’t instantly applaud his larcenous proposal. But it didn’t take much more than a minute for them to ask themselves that same question, and come up with a marvelously liberating answer. Why not?

“Steal ’em?” The brigadier looked at Hiram, who broke into a grin, then back at Titus and announced: “I like it.”

“Stealing?” Nana said, looking at Penelope and Anabelle, who were looking at her. “If it will keep our dolphins alive …”

Titus wasted no time getting down to business. “We’ll have to get them to water right away. There’s only one possibility in London: the Thames. Downriver, it’s tidal … brackish … mostly saltwater. They’d be able to swim from there to the Channel and freedom.” Backtracking, they came to their first problem. “Now how do we get them from the exhibit to the Thames?”

“Have t’ ferry ’em,” Hiram said, catching on, brightening. “Have t’ find a good spot to get ’em down t’ the water.”

“Carts of some kind,” the brigadier put in. “Carriages … lorries … have to find somethin’ to carry the beasts.”

“What about getting them into the vehicle?” Celeste contributed, glancing around at the silver-haired Atlanteans. “We’ll need help lifting them. Do we know anyone in London who might help?”

“Tactical situation, really.” The brigadier caught the flow and rose to the occasion. This was his area. “Have to get inside the place, first.” He sat forward, thinking of their objective. “Likely have a watch posted. Guards, maybe. Best to attack at dawn. Catch the sentries napping.”

“Can’t ferget th’ bobbies,” Anabelle said with an authoritative
nod. “Wouldn’t want ’em to hear a tussle an’ come runnin’.”

“And a disguise of some sort,” Daniel said. “Some way to get through the city with two dolphins in tow … without anyone taking notice …”

MUFFLED HOOVES STRUCK
the damp paving bricks and padded harnesses creaked like rasping whispers, challenging onlookers to lower their eyes and heads. Out of the gray mist and gloom of early dawn, two massive black hearses materialized on Piccadilly, each drawn by four soot-black horses whose flaring nostrils and stabbing hooves called up unsettling visions of the relentless and implacable onslaught of mortal demise. The heavy pillars at the corners were crowned with tall black plumes and gold-leaf finials, and the insides were hung with black satin drapes that turned the glass walls into a mirror in which anyone who ventured too near would see his own eventual fate.

Behind those grim carriages walked a somber procession: three women in long black capes and veils, an aged military officer in regimental dress and black armband, a man of the cloth in collar and cassock, and two husky, if somewhat elderly looking fellows wearing the sign of mourning on their sleeves.

In the eerie, murmuring quiet, the lamplighters dousing the lamps along the street paused, removed their hats in tribute, and averted their eyes as the entourage passed. In so doing they failed to notice that one of the women wore what looked like a white bedsheet beneath her cloak or that
there was an odd sloshing sound and a small trickle of water coming from the bed of one of the hearses.

Periodically, the clergyman would open the book in his hands and begin to recite dolorous liturgy about the brief, troubled, and transitory nature of life—apparently intended as comfort for the bereaved. One of the women was subject to periodic frissons of emotion that caused her shoulders to shake and compelled her to put a hand over her mouth. A hand wearing a wine-red glove. At such times, one of the other women always came to put an arm around her and often began to quake a bit herself.

The dolorous procession crossed Haymarket Road, with its stalls and costermongers and greasy smells and gritty pavement, and seemed to pick up its pace as it neared the Covent Garden district. More people were about in that shabby, working-class area that surrounded the markets. But, as before, those who noticed averted their eyes and experienced a shiver of relief that the procession had nothing to do with them.

By the time those ominous hearses disappeared into the narrow streets just east of the Covent Garden market halls, there was no one abroad. No one saw the vehicles turn gingerly down an alley near a former livestock auction house that was now draped with gaudy red and white bunting. No one saw the hearses stop or the mourners hurry to the back of one hearse and release a man and a woman from confinement inside.

“Thank heaven we got here without being stopped,” Celeste whispered, shaking out her skirt and examining its wet areas. “The water sloshed about so much, I was sure someone would see it dripping out.” The others peered into the back of the hearse, where a large galvanized metal horse trough filled with water lay in the middle of the slatted bed.

“Is there enough water left?” the reverend whispered, craning his neck.

“Plenty,” Titus said, scowling at the drips still coming from the bottom of the hearse. “Good thing we took out the
carpets, though.” He consulted his pocket watch and then glanced up and down the alley. On the other side of the hearses, two figures materialized out of the darkness, creeping stealthily toward the group and finally surprising them with a: “Here we are.”

Half of the Atlanteans grabbed their hearts, startled by the sudden sound and movement. Celeste grabbed Titus’s arm. After an hour of tense whispers, normal voices sounded like shouting.

“And right on time.” Titus smiled at the manly young faces that appeared around the corner of the hearse. “Tweetum. Good to see you.” He put out his hand and called their names as he recognized each of them. “And Exeter. Of course, Marsh and Suddesby are here, too.”

The two drivers of the hearses climbed down to greet their old classmates. That made a total of four former students who had answered Titus’s call—on short notice and without a qualm—for able-bodied help in “rescuing” dolphins.

“It’s been a while, Professor,” Tweetum said. “I was surprised when my father mentioned he had seen you … even more surprised to get your message.”

“I was surprised to get your message, too.” The one called Suddesby grinned with gap-toothed charm. “I thought it would be at least a few years yet, before you’d need one of my father’s bone-rollers.”

“I pray today will be the last time I am forced to ride in one of these miserable things,” Titus said, “for a very long time.”

“Odd,” Suddesby responded, “we don’t usually get complaints.”

Tweetum cuffed him good-naturedly then looked at Celeste. “I say, Professor, is this the one? The Lady Mermaid?”

“The very one,” Titus said with more pride than heat. “Put your eyes back in your head, Tweetum. She’s spoken for.”

He gathered everyone together and went over the rest of
the plan. Door opening and “distraction” were assigned to Miss Penelope and Anabelle Feather. The brigadier and the Basses were the rush and “knock out” detail. The reverend, who was a bit squeamish about violence, was their “lookout” in front and Daniel would see to the hearses and “lookout” duties in the rear. Two of the students, Suddesby and Marsh, would drive the hearses, and the other two, Tweetum and Exeter, would help with subduing the guards, if necessary … but, otherwise, would proceed straight to the tanks with the nets and poles. Celeste and Titus would supervise the loading and calm the animals while they were being wrapped in the net slings and transported out the rear door.

The plan wasn’t exactly watertight; there were a thousand things that could go wrong. But they were running out of time. And there were occasions, Titus reminded them, when a body just had to close his eyes and take a plunge. When he looked her way, Celeste was beaming at him.

At Celeste’s nod, Penelope and Anabelle took off their cloaks and every male jaw in the alley dropped. Underneath, they wore the tawdriest, most suggestive red dresses any of them had ever seen. Anabelle plopped a wildly feathered hat on her head and Penelope giggled and tugged her bodice upward around her ample bosom. Titus leaned toward Celeste in shock.

“Aren’t they a little long in the tooth for soiled doves?” he muttered.

“It was Anabelle’s idea,” she whispered back. “It just has to get them in the door. She still has lady friends in the East End. That’s where she got the clothes. And did you notice? Not a constable in sight … courtesy of those same friends.”

“Good Lord,” he said, deciding not to question the workings of fortune … or of soiled doves … ever again. Then he turned to the Basses and the brigadier.

“Are you ready?”

Nodding, the Basses enthusiastically brandished long
black truncheons that looked exactly like constables’ billy clubs. “Where did you get—Never mind, I don’t want to know.”

Somewhere out there, a bobby had been relieved of his billy club and was being distracted from duty within an inch of his life.

They split into two groups. The brigadier led the Atlanteans around the front, while Celeste, Titus, and Titus’s students crept to the alley door and waited to be let inside. “Let’s just hope,” Titus muttered fervently, “that the guard’s eyesight is very, very bad.”

They crept to the door and waited. And waited.

Penelope got cold feet at the last moment, and Anabelle had to coax her to do her part. Finally, arm in arm, they approached the door and tried the handle. Then they tried a little knocking, and finally a bit of banging. A ruddy, unshaven fellow answered and, rubbing his eyes, asked them what in blazes they wanted.

“Well, ain’t this the roight place?” Anabelle said, stepping back for a look up at the colorful buntings outside. “Yeah, this is it. ‘At oth’r bloke sent us. Said we could get a peek at them fancy fish … if’n we wus real nice to ye.”

“Ollie?” He squinted against the morning light. “Ollie sent ye over?”

“Yeah, that were him. Come on, sweets. We ain’t got all day.” When Anabelle gave the door a shove, the fellow fell back to admit them, scratching his head and edging closer for a better look. Anabelle dragged Penelope farther in, so that the fellow would have to follow and turn his back to the door. “You alone here?”

“My mate’ll be back soon.” He rubbed his chin, staring at Penelope.

“Is that them?” Anabelle walked a bit farther, pointing toward the tanks. “Phew—stinks loike fish in ’ere.
Bad
fish.”

“Them fish is as bad as it gets. Half dead, I reck—”

A truncheon came down on his head with a smack, and that was the last thing the guard would “reckon” for at least
another hour. Bernard Bass looked at the beefy fellow sprawled at his feet and rocked up onto his toes, grinning. “Alwus wanted t’do that.”

The others darted in, closed the door, and hauled the guard off for a nap in a sawdust pile. Hiram Bass went running to find the rear door, while the brigadier bolted the door and the reverend posted himself in an upstairs loft window as sentry.

The stench was worse than the day before. Despite the Atlanteans’ attempts to help them, Prospero and Ariel seemed considerably weaker. Both dolphins lay floating on their sides in the water, looking blanched and still, expending the least amount of energy possible. Celeste gasped when she saw them, but quickly stanched that reaction and forced herself to get to work. They found the ladders, climbed the platform, and set to work positioning the rope-net slings around them.