The Pretender (43 page)

Carefully Agatha swung her legs over the frame of the companion way. She had a bad moment when she thought she might slip through the opening and fall headfirst into the darkness below. She managed a panicked heave of her body and rolled onto the littered deck instead.

The moon was only half-full, but Agatha couldn't see where her hands were anyway. The best method of search turned out to be a backward scoot into the rubbish, while her bound hands searched each item frantically for a cutting edge.

It was quite the most revolting thing she had ever done.

What wasn't smeared with slime was stiffened with filth. Still, she kept on. She needed something sharp. Jamie had used the torn metal edge of a pail, but even that had taken him several hours.

Deep in her soul, Agatha was very much afraid that she hadn't that much time.

Simon and James were able to hail a cab directly out of the door, but that's where their luck ended. The rain ensured that everyone was driving their largest closed vehicles, and the streets were jammed at every junction.

When they finally pulled to a stop in front of Lord Win-chell's house, Simon wondered rather desperately if he could not have run the distance faster.

"Careful, James," he cautioned as they climbed the steps. "And calm yourself. We don't want to be refused. Ask for his lordship first."

The severe fellow who answered the door led them to the very study where Simon and Agatha had seen much adventure. Lord Winchell sat at the fire, one foot bandaged and raised on a footstool before him, and a damp cloth raised to his forehead. From the look of the empty brandy decanter beside him, his lordship was on the outside of a considerable drunk.

The man blinked dully at them. "Applequist? Thought you were dead." He didn't seem much concerned by that. "I'd offer you gentlemen a brandy, but I seem to have drunk it all."

He removed the compress from his brow, and they could see a sizable lumpish bruise. Winchell rang a bell that sat on the carpet beside him. The butler reappeared.

"More brandy, Pruitt! These men want brandy—"

Simon interrupted. "Lord Winchell, you should know that we are not here for a social visit. Could you please call your wife—-"

"Got no wife," the man muttered.

"What?"

"Got no wife! Got no blunt, no horses, no wife."

"My lord, where is Lady Winchell?"

"No lady. Lord w' no lady…"

"Sir—"

"She left me!" Winchell roared, sitting up. "The little snake left me for a Frenchman, run off with her Frog Count." Abruptly he began to giggle. "A snake and a Frog. Snakes eat frogs, don't they? Well, he'll be sorry he hooked up with Vinnie, won't he?"

"Without a doubt," James said with feeling.

Winchell seemed to sharpen somewhat. "What do you want with Vinnie, eh? She doesn't need any more lovers. Got herself a slimy Frog."

"Has she left permanently? Did she take anything?"

Winchell snorted. "Just all her clothes, my best carriage horses, and every damned bauble she ever coaxed out of me. Took my mother's jewels, all the notes that were in my safe-box." He pointed to his foot, then his head. "Tried to prevent her. Still, I would've caught her if she hadn't bashed me with a pistol from my own gun cabinet."

He peered into his glass mournfully. "Didn't even know the slut had a key," he muttered into his snifter.

Simon didn't have the heart to tell the man that his wife wasn't only a slut, but a traitor as well. He looked at James. "I don't think we're going to get anywhere here. His lordship doesn't seem to be involved."

James shook his head slowly. "He'll be investigated anyway. Likely it'll ruin him."

As they left and reentered their hack to head back to the Liar's Club, Simon could see that James sympathized with the man. Likely he was thinking of his own fall at the hands of Lavinia. "James…"

James held up a hand. "I should have been more careful, Simon. I was cocky, too convinced of my immortality. I fell right into her hands."

Simon nodded. "The investigation will be a tough road. You may never regain your post. But you should know… I would trust the Griffin with my life."

James smiled, a mere twist of his lips. "That means something, Magician. It means something indeed."

Then he seemed to forcefully shed those thoughts. "There's no tracing Lavinia now. Let us return to the club. I wonder what Kurt and Stubbs have discovered?"

Stubbs burst through the doors of the grimy tavern and collapsed onto a table, as if he scarcely had the strength to hold himself up by his grip on the splintery wood.

His hair clung damply to his forehead, and he breathed with desperate gulps. The tavern owner regarded him with brows raised in surprise.

"Who be chasin' ye, God or the Devil?"

Stubbs mopped his face with his begrimed sleeve. "The Devil himself, I swear it." He buried his face in his hands briefly. "You should have seen it. It was like Hell come to earth."

The others began to gather round in curiosity.

"What? What 'appened to you?"

Stubbs shook violently. "I was in a place just like this one, not two lanes south, havin' a pint with me mates. Just sittin' there, when suddenly in walks the biggest bloke you ever saw in your life. A bloody giant, I'm talkin'. The evil in his eye would kill a man, even without the knife in his fist."

"Knife?" blurted the tavern owner in alarm.

"More like a colossal butcher's blade. He raised it high—" Stubbs swept his arm up to demonstrate, and his audience ducked in unison.
"Swish, swoosh,
that knife moving like a great ax—and two blokes was dead. Blood went high as the rafters, spraying everyone there. And they never even touched him."

Stubbs shuddered and continued.

"Some went as to run out the back, but the rush and trample soon blocked the door. I was at the bottom of the pile, trapped under another bloke, but I could see it all." His voice dropped to a whisper and his audience shuffled closer.

"It was like killin' time at the piggery, I tell you. He'd pick a bloke up by his very hair and slice him from gullet to guts in one swipe. The floor was covered in slime and blood, and he just kept killin'. Hot blood splashed me face and I couldn't see! But I felt his great paw grab me—"

The tavern door slammed open, shaking the shabby building with the force of it. Nerves already strung tight by the gory tale, every man in the place jolted in alarm and swung to face the terrible apparition entering the door.

The fellow was so giant that he needed to duck nearly double to avoid the lintel. His shoulders were as broad as a plow horse, and his hair hung tangled over his eyes like that of a wild man.

And from his fist hung a great knife, no longer shiny— but now dripping red slowly to the floor.

No one breathed. No one had the air in their lungs to yell. The monster raised both massive arms and shook his fists high.

"Boo!" he roared.

Every man in the place ran for his life in a mad rush out the back. Every man, that is, but for Stubbs and the tavern owner. The tavern owner didn't move because Stubbs had him down on the floor and was sitting on him, tossing back a pint he'd snatched in the rush.

Stubbs burped delicately. "About bloody time you showed up, Kurt."

"Oh, shut it, boy. I was givin' 'em time to get good and scared. Didn't want to have to kill 'em all."

"Kill 'em all, that's a good one." Stubbs laughed uneasily, but Kurt didn't join in.

"Get off, now. I want to have a little talk with Mr. John Sway."

"You can't. He's done fainted away like a girl. No stomach to 'im, if you ask me."

Stubbs stood, but the tavern owner lay still on the floor. He poked the man with the toe of his boot. "Blimey, I think he's dead."

Kurt leaned over and eyed the downed man closely. Then he grunted. "Best not be. I'd have to kill him if he was."

That did the trick. John Sway moved, then climbed shakily to his feet. He stared at the two of them, eyes so wide the whites showed.

"Don't kill me! I ain't done a thing, I swear it!"

"Now, see. That's the trouble, ain't it?" Stubbs shook his head. "You ain't done a thing about them as bought that boat o' yours. I'll wager you've kept your eye on 'er, haven't you? You've seen what been going on."

Sway shook his head. "No! I haven't seen her in months, not since I sold her to that French bloke."

"What French bloke?"

" 'E was a skinny fellow, with a light voice and an even lighter way o' walkin', if you take my meaning."

Kurt glanced at Stubbs. "The Winchell hussy herself, you think?"

"Sounds like. So you sell this boat to a woman dressed up like a bloke, and then you never see it or hear about it again, eh?" Stubbs pushed Sway roughly in the chest and the man staggered backward. "Well, I know you're lying. You captains might give up the sea, but the sea'll never give you up. I'll wager you know just where she is, and who's on 'er right now."

Sway began to shake his head until Kurt growled and flexed his arms. The man's eyes fixed on the dripping knife, and the last shred of resistance seemed to leave him. He slumped onto one of the few benches not overturned in the scuffle.

"You're right, I kept an eye on her. She wasn't much of a boat, but she was the best I had. Me wife made me sell her and buy her brother out o' this stinking tavern. Now I'm nothing but a landlubbing alewife."

Stubbs rolled his eyes. "My 'eart bleeds for you. Now get on with it, or your 'eart's going to do a bit o' bleedin' as well!"

"I ain't seen her in a week or more, I tell you. First she'd come in once a month and pick up some supplies, just docking overnight. One o' the blokes aboard her come into the tavern, but he was a Frenchie fellow what didn't speak much English. He come in with Johnny Dobb, who runs a skiff through the port, picking up them that wants to come ashore.

"I asked Johnny what was about, and he told me that a crew of dirty Frenchies was on the
Marie Claire
an' that they was braggin' about some poor sod they had beaten near to death belowdecks. But I ain't heard or seen nothing of her since."

"Marie Claire?
That's the name of the boat?" Stubbs glanced at Kurt, who nodded.

"Well, sure. Didn't you know that?" Sway eyed them suspiciously. "Who are you, anyway? Who sent you here?"

Stubbs ignored the question. "When she docked, where'd she tie up?"

"East India Dock for some reason. Must've had to pay a pretty pence to be let in over there. Didn't look the type to throw money away, that sailor. The light bloke, the one you say is a woman, must have paid a hefty bribe to use them there company docks."

"Anythin' else?"

"I did see somethin' today. Don't know if it means anything…"

Kurt growled. The man swiftly continued.

"I seen that bloke, the Frenchie from the
Marie Claire,
walkin' down the quay with a bunch of his mates. All of 'em had their duffels on their backs, like they was leavin' the boat for good."

Stubbs looked at Kurt, who jerked his head toward the door. Stubbs nodded and turned back to Sway. "That's all we need to know for now, but we might be back. Best you remember who let you live, you bounder."