Down: Trilogy Box Set (49 page)

Caravaggio tipped an imaginary hat and stayed with her protectively.

Simon called over to the cowering English soldiers saying, “Do you think you chaps could do a bit of fighting? It would be helpful.”

The soldiers, shamed into action, picked up some fallen weapons and joined in, and after another two or three minutes, every foul rover had been put down.

“I told you to stay in the car,” John said to Emily in a scolding tone.

“I am happy she did not,” Caravaggio said. “This woman of yours is not only beautiful, she is a warrior.”

Emily was looking curiously at her bloody hand. “I seem to have discovered a rather strong survival instinct these past weeks.”

While the others cleared the bleeding bodies from the road, Caravaggio went back to the car and tore a page from his sketchbook.

“For you,” he said, handing it to Emily.

It was a dark and dramatic rendering of her in charcoal, her hair flowing and her eyes blazing like a warrior princess.

“My God,” she said. “It’s stunning. Could you sign it?”

He took it back, wrote his name across the bottom and presented it again, waiting for the kiss that was quickly issued.

Antonio tossed the English soldiers some bread and said, “We helped you, now you are on your own. We must go.”

“You’re Italian, aren’t you?” one of them said.

“I am. Italians are the best. Please remember this.”

They reached the coast at Calais in the full blackness of night and when the noisy car boiler was switched off they could hear the waves crashing below them.

“We will shelter here for the night,” Antonio said, laying his blanket on a patch of soft grass for Emily.

Simon grinned at John. “We’ll just be over there sleeping in shifts to protect you two love birds.”

“Much appreciated,” John said.

He could tell she was exhausted and so was he. He wrapped her in the blanket and filled his empty grenade bag with grass to make a pillow for her.

Her fatigue slurred her speech, as if she were drunk. “I can’t believe you’re actually here.”

He lay beside her. “Did you really think I wouldn’t come for you?”

“I was hoping you’d try but I didn’t know it was possible.”

He wrapped his arms around her to warm her, body and soul.

“You followed me to gates of Hell,” she said dreamily, her eyes fluttering.

“I’m going to get you home,” he said.

“I know you’ll try.”

He held her tighter. “I’m sorry …”

He wanted to apologize again for making a fool of himself with Darlene but she was asleep. He had a feeling it was ancient history anyway.

John awoke to the smell of cooking. Caravaggio had awoken early and had made a foray to a nearby village before returning with provisions. Impressed, Simon had asked him whether he had stolen them by stealth or force. Neither, he had replied. He had traded a peasant the eggs and ham for a quick sketch of him and his hag of a woman.

John let Emily sleep and looked out to sea but the morning mist was unhelpful.

“We have breakfast,” Simon said happily.

“I’ll wake her soon,” John said.

“So, John, we are at the coast,” Antonio said. “What is your plan?”

He’d hide his worry from Emily but he didn’t conceal it from Antonio. “I don’t have a plan beyond hoping that the
Hellfire
is anchored somewhere out there. I left them more than two weeks ago. Maybe they got my message, maybe they didn’t.” He checked the pocket watch. “We’ve only got four days to the minute to get to Dartford.”

“And if the English ship is absent?”

“Then we’ve got to find another boat.”

Antonio slapped him on the shoulder. It was the first time they’d had physical contact and John was touched by the gesture. “I think your ship is there. When the fog lifts we shall see it.”

“You’re full of hope,” John said. “I like that.”

“Why not? It is in the air.”

John gently nudged Emily out of her slumber and soon the five of them were huddled around the small fire enjoying the cooked breakfast and avoiding the question of what they would do when their meal was done.

Caravaggio’s keen eye saw it first.

Ghostly shapes in the evaporating mist.

He stood and pointed. “There!”

Three black lines. Three masts.

Antonio said, “It was as I said.”

John blinked at the sea, praying it wasn’t a mirage. No one had thought to bring a spyglass so there was nothing to do but wait for the mist to dissipate further.

“Is it ours?” Emily asked.

“It has to be,” John said. “It damned well has to be.”

They had to wait an anxious half hour until it became abundantly clear that it was a galleon at anchor, about a half mile out.

“I can’t make out a flag or any markings,” John said, squinting until his head ached. “We’ve got to signal it.”

“If it’s not the
Hellfire
, we’ll be asking for trouble,” Simon said.

“We’ve got no choice. Can you power up the car and drive it right up to the cliff?”

It took several minutes to charge the boiler but Simon chugged it slowly to within ten feet of the edge.

“All right,” John said. “Switch the headlights on for three seconds and off for three seconds and keep repeating that.”

They desperately watched the ship for any signs of recognition but none was forthcoming.

“Should I keep going?” Simon shouted over the boiler.

“Just a little longer,” John said, putting his arm around Emily to soothe her disappointment.

Then there was a flash followed by a boom that dwarfed the sound of the car.

“They’re firing at us!” Simon said.

“No, look,” John said. There was a splash in the ocean. “They deliberately fired into the sea. It’s them.”

Soon they saw a longboat being lowered and as it got closer they found a safe path down to the shore and waited on the pebbly beach, weapons at the ready, just in case.

Fifty yards out John saw a man standing in the boat, waving his arms over his head.

It was Captain Hawes.

John shouted at him and Hawes shouted back. Neither man could hear one another but that didn’t stop them from trying. When the boat was grounded and the oars were raised, Hawes bounded into the surf and splashed to shore.

“John Camp! You have returned.”

John walked into the water to take his hand. “And you stayed. Thank you.”

“I received your message from a French rider. I see you have found your lady.”

“Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

They sloshed ashore while Hawes’s men landed the boat.

Hawes bowed at the waist.

“Emily, this is Captain Hawes—I’m sorry, I don’t know your first name.”

“It is Charles.”

Emily did her best to curtsy for the first time in her life. “Hello, Charles, I’m Emily Loughty.”

“Charmed. A Scottish lass. I can see why John was so determined to find you.”

Simon and Antonio came up and greeted the captain like old friends and John introduced Caravaggio.

“Ha,” Hawes said, “You have the same name as a rather illustrious painter.”

“Indeed, he is my favorite artist, a man of rare talents, I believe,” Caravaggio replied with a wink toward Emily.

Hawes, unaware of the joke on him, said, “I brought a small cask of wine in case you needed reviving.”

“I’d love a drink,” John said.

Emily laughed. “Some things haven’t changed.”

Simon started a fire on the beach and they gathered around.

After toasts were made, Hawes asked, “May I now know the identity of the man who you serve, this man who is no king but offers you bountiful hope?”

John received nods of approval from his companions. “There’ve been a few developments,” he said. “He is a king now, the king of Italia. His name is Giuseppe Garibaldi.”

Hawes listened with an obvious fascination as Antonio and Simon took the lead in describing Garibaldi’s philosophy.

When they were done Hawes said, “I would offer my services to his noble and felicitous cause.”

Antonio said, “Once you have delivered our friends to Britannia, we would have you make sail for Italia. Your skills, your ship, and your men will be of great assistance to our master.”

“I would be honored to accept your offer, sir.” Then he chuckled, “After all, we have nowhere else to go. Come now, John and Emily. Let us return to the ship and set our sails. A storm is coming and the crossing will be arduous.”

It was time for farewells.

Emily delivered a hug and a kiss to each man, laughing at something Caravaggio whispered in her ear. Then she stood aside.

John had been in this spot many times. This wasn’t the first band of brothers he’d had to bid farewell. But he knew, as he exchanged words and bear hugs with Caravaggio first, then Simon, and finally Antonio, that this time was the toughest.

He choked up and had to dig deep to hold himself together as he said, “I’ve never fought shoulder-to-shoulder with three finer warriors or three finer men. A day will not go by when I don’t think about each of you. Go and win your war and change your world. Thank you. Thank you for everything.”

He helped Emily into the longboat and climbed in beside her.

As the boat was rowed offshore, they waved at the three men they left behind.

“What did Caravaggio say to you?” John asked her.

“He said that if I ever got tired of a live man, he knew a very handsome and talented dead one.”

Duck was fretful before the shouting started but now he was inconsolable. Delia left him to try to quiet down Woodbourne but when she opened the door to the corridor the shouting became louder.

“Duck! You hear me Duck, you little bastard? I’m going to fuck you up when I get a chance, believe you me.”

Delia approached the MI5 agents outside Woodbourne’s room and asked whether there was anything that could be done about him.

“What do you suggest?” one man asked her.

“Well I don’t know. I’m an analyst, not a head banger.”

“And we’re the head bangers?”

“Well, you’re good strong lads and I doubt the Geneva Convention applies here.” When it appeared the man hadn’t appreciated her attempt at humor she added, “Look, just do something to calm him down. Give him a video, some extra pudding, anything. He’s driving my boy bonkers.”

Duck was crying when she returned.

“I’ve had a word and hopefully he’ll quiet down,” she said.

“I’ve always been fearing of ’im,” he said. “I don’t know why ’e never went off to join up with a band of rovers. Instead ’e just ’angs around the village, scaring and threatening like.”

“What are rovers?”

“The worst of the worst, they are. Eaters of man flesh.”

“Goodness.”

“I won’t stand next to ’im in that room what you make me stand in.”

“He’ll be in shackles, Duck. He won’t be able to touch you.”

“And what if we go back? ’E’ll get me then.”

“We’ve talked about that before, Duck. The machine didn’t work the first three go-rounds so I wouldn’t worry too much about the fourth and last time.”

The crew of the
Hellfire
was murmuring in discontent over having a woman onboard. Captain Hawes had told his first mate to pass the word that the superstition was null and void because Emily was from another world but they were having none of it. They also weren’t too pleased about returning to Britannia, the deserters that they were, and there was mutiny in the air.

Hawes gave John and Emily his cabin and advised them to stay out of sight but a half a day into their journey when the wind began to howl and the ship began to violently heave John wanted to speak to the captain. He refused to leave Emily alone and unguarded in the cabin so he helped her up on seasick legs and took her above decks.

The rain lashed them as they made their way over the slick boards up the stairs, past the helmdeck and all the way to the quarterdeck where Hawes scolded them for coming up in this weather.

The sea was as black and invisible as the sky but it made its presence known by the sound of its ferocious waves which broke onto the deck and tossed the boat about as if it were an insignificant piece of driftwood.

“What’s our position, captain?” John shouted over the howl.

Hawes stood looking down at the helmsman who was struggling with the wheel while sneaking contemptuous glances toward Emily. “It is difficult to say. The winds are most unfavorable. Without stars or visible land I have only dead reckoning as my guide and even that has failed me. Even after all these hours I fear we may still be closer to Francia than Brittania.”

“We have three and a half days to get to Dartford.”

“I am well aware, John. I will do my job and you must do yours. Take the lady down and keep her safe from the elements and my fractious men.”

They passed a difficult night in the captain’s cabin. Emily slept lightly and moaned in nausea when awake. John held her and slept not at all, on the ready if the ship were to flounder or the crew attack.

In the morning he must have dozed off because he awoke with a thin light streaming through the captain’s leaded windows. The ship was steadier than in the night. He reached for his watch. It was ten-thirty. Just under three days to go. He reluctantly left a sleeping Emily behind and ran up to the quarterdeck where an exhausted Hawes was struggling to keep himself upright.

“The storm has eased considerably,” Hawes said, “but it’s pea soup I’m afraid. All I can do is keep a compass heading for Ramsgate and when we see land, head into the estuary and row you to land. From there you’ll be on your own.”

“Any idea when we’ll get there?”

“None whatsoever but fear not. We shall continue to do battle with the wind and the tides and we shall prevail.”

John spent the remainder of the day dozing beside Emily and feeding her a broth when she was able to sit. He talked to her in a soothing voice and told her they were getting closer to land, closer to Dartford, closer to home. Beyond pledging themselves to a life together, they talked about what they wanted to do next. She mused about leaving the world of experimental physics and teaching at university, he talked about opening a school for martial arts and self-defense. When she wasn’t looking he checked the time, distressed at the way the hours were gliding by.