The Blighted Cliffs (49 page)

I
lifted myself up, aching from having crouched so long, held my pistol
before me and stepped briskly through the open door.

Mazard
had his back to me, while Cunningham sat on a wooden bench facing me,
his arms chained to the walls behind him. His clothes and face were
torn; he was bruised all over, and scabbed blood above his lip
suggested they had paid particular attention to his nose. His hair
was wild, streaked and caked with the powder he used, so that he
looked like some deranged harlequin. None of it, though, had quite
broken the bite in his voice as he looked up and recognized me.

'Come
to taunt me too, have you? Now that you have me imprisoned. I should
have had you shot weeks ago.'

Mazard
spun around, checking himself abruptly as he caught sight of my gun.
His shocked eyes flickered from my face to my weapon and back. I
could almost see the calculations which creased those smooth, almond
features.

'Lieutenant
Jerrold,' he said. 'You are supposed to be imprisoned in the cliffs.'

'I
left.' I tightened my grip on the pistol. 'Unchain Sir Lawrence.'

'What?'
Cunningham stared at me. 'Have you come to take me to my doom,
Jerrold?'

'I've
come to free you,' I snapped. 'If you had devoted half the time you
spent condemning me to investigating your erstwhile partner, you
would know that you put the wrong man in your gaol. Now, unlock his
chains, Mazard.'

'I
do not have the keys.'

'They're
on a nail, on the far wall.' Cunningham thrust his head forward so
that his arms stretched behind him like wings. 'Over there.'

I
jerked my gun at Mazard. 'Get them.'

Humiliated
anger contorted the banker's face, but he had no choice. At last I
was facing my enemies - one of them, at least – with the
advantage, and confidence flowed through me. Nor, after my ordeals,
would I be slow to use the weapon. My determination must have showed,
for Mazard took the ring of keys, crossed to Cunningham, and sprang
open the shackles that held him.

No
sooner was Cunningham free than he ploughed his fist hard into
Mazard's face. Blood rose from the banker's lip and he swayed, just
as a second blow to his stomach splayed him backwards onto the bench.
He gagged, his head fell forward, and I heard a sob. With brutal
force, Cunningham clamped the chains about his wrists and stepped
back.

'Lieutenant
Jerrold.' Cunningham was breathing hard, but there was no hiding his
uncertainty. 'The man I least expected to be my salvation. How, if
you are truly not one of these blackguards, did you come to be here?'

'I
escaped from your captivity into theirs. When I wriggled free, I came
after them. I might as well ask how you are here.'

'This
foul little Frenchman came calling at my door in the middle of the
night.' Mazard took a vicious kick on his shin. 'Informed me there
was an emergency at the castle and dragged me out here. As soon as we
reached the gate there were ruffians all about me. They bridled me up
and brought me down here. Mazard they left alone. Then I was
introduced to that singular villain Simon Drake, who paid me the
compliments you see.' He touched his swollen cheek. 'Abused me for
some minutes before he was called upstairs – left swearing a
thousand wicked vcngeances to come. Then you found me. '

'With
little time to spare.' I looked at Mazard, and suddenly recollected
something. 'That dead man I found on the beach. I take it he played
some part in this?'

'His
name was Major Vitos,', said Mazard, broken. 'A French engineer. He
helped extend the tunnels. And provided other technical expertise.'

'He
ought to have been more careful about his steps on the cliff top.'
This would have been useful intelligence two weeks ago.

'How
did he come to die?'

'He
had a fight with the revenue man, Webb. Webb was supposed to be
aiding us, but proved to be a traitor.'

'And
when Webb showed his true allegiance, he was killed too?'

Mazard's
slumped head twitched in the affirmative.

In
the ensuing silence, I heard the rumble of gunfire rolling down the
stairs. There were a host of other questions to ask Mazard, but I
could not delay further.

'Whatever
the truth of it all, this castle has been taken by the French, for
the time being at least, and the sooner they are relieved of it the
better. Captain Bingham and Colonel Copthorne should be
counterattacking at any moment, Sir Lawrence, and I have promised
that I will try to open the gate for them.'

'How
wonderfully heroic,' applauded Cunningham, and for a moment I
profoundly regretted setting him loose. 'Very well, Jerrold, lead on.
Is your weapon loaded?'

'Of
course.' I doubted I could have summoned the courage to defy Mazard
with a Quaker gun.

'Good.'

Before
I could move, Cunningham had pulled the pistol from my hand. He
extended his arm towards Mazard and without hesitation pulled the
trigger. The room exploded with smoke and flame, blood and bone.
Mazard's shattered head fell forward; he dangled from his manacles
like a murderer hung in chains at the roadside. My ears rang with the
echoing blast.

'Adieu,
Henri.'

'You
killed him.' The shock of his action, and the horror of the corpse,
sickened me; I struggled to keep upright. 'He was a witness,
Cunningham. We needed his knowledge.'

'He
confessed everything.' There was no remorse in Cunningham's voice.
'And he played me for a fool. He deserved it.'

That
Mazard had had an evil soul and a black heart I had no doubt, and I
knew full well he had happily delivered Cunningham to torture and
death. But I could not escape the suspicion that he had died not for
these misdeeds, nor for his treason, but for the unforgivable crime
of wounding Sir Lawrence's pride.

There
was not the time to dwell on it.

'We
should go,' I said, desperate to be away from there. 'Will you come?'

'Of
course.' Sir Lawrence handed back the pistol, though I had no more
powder for it. 'I still have business with Simon Drake.'

We
came into the courtyard and continued to edge our way around the
perimeter, in the hope that if we were seen we would be taken for
smugglers. With my notorious luck, I thought bitterly, this would
prove the first time in Dover I had not been mistaken as such.

As
we skirted the north-eastern corner, the tent I had noticed earlier
came into clearer view. It seemed a most unnatural contraption, quite
apart from the incongruity of a band of cutthroat marauders erecting
a marquee on the castle lawn. It was fastened down on all sides by
guy ropes but bulged upwards in its centre, an indecent tumescence
that appeared, as I watched, to grow ever larger and rounder. The
canvas carried many concentric seams, oversewn with loops of rope,
and astonishingly, to judge by the giant leaping shadows within,
there seemed to be a bonfire alight inside it.

'Some
piratical ritual?' I whispered to Cunningham.

'There,'
he hissed, ignoring my question. 'Standing by the brazier.'

He
pointed to a spot about a dozen yards ahead of us, close to the wall.
I looked, and began to breathe faster as I saw the back of a familiar
crimson-tied queue, and a curved sword stuck in a belt. Of course,
even if Drake turned around we would be invisible to him, but I did
not think he had forged so successful a career as a blind smuggler
without handsome compensation from his other senses. For the moment,
though, he was deep in conversation. With Laminak.

'Takin'
shape, is it? How much longer, d'you think?'

'Ten
minutes. Maybe it will be less. But it must be up before the English
arrive, otherwise it will be seen.'

Drake
nodded, then licked a finger and held it in front of him.

'Wind's
changin' too. You'll not get it to Canterbury with it like this.'

'Deal
or Folkestone, then. So long as they will drop the shells somewhere,
n'importe, and make resemblance of an army with artillery.'

'Not
goin' yerself, then?' asked Drake with a chuckle.

'Not
after my last journey, non.'

'Well,
your lads better hurry. Even our good English dragoons won't be so
dozy for long. They'll be comin' soon enough.'

'He's
right,' I hissed to Cunningham. 'Bingham and Copthorne's men should
be here soon. We need to get to that gate.'

'Shall
we fly there?' asked Cunningham.

He
had a point. There was no room for us to pass behind Drake, and any
other path would take us clear across Laminak's line of sight. Then,
as I considered this, a shout from the walls above drew all our eyes.

'Guns
up!' yelled an unseen voice. 'The 'goons is comin'!'

A
volley of musket fire spat out from beyond the walls in confirmation
of his words, while other voices bellowed, 'Ils arrivent!' Laminak
ran across the courtyard to his mysterious tent; it was now raised so
high that the edges lifted off the ground, revealing a wicker basket
underneath it and the lower portion of the bonfire which,
unaccountably, seemed to be burning in the basket. Drake, meanwhile,
had climbed some stairs, stopping just below the lip of the rampart.

'Come
on, lads,' he called. 'We'll let 'em get to the moat, and then lock
'em down. Get the guns down there loaded up with grape.'

This,
I supposed reluctantly, was the moment to take the gate. Drake and
Laminak were out of my path, and the rest of the courtyard was
confused by the attack. I would have to run for it.

'Defend
my approach.' I sounded far readier than I felt, but I found a musket
by a dead soldier on the ground and passed it to Cunningham. 'If
anyone nears me, shoot him down.'

He
raised his eyebrows, and I tried not to think about the musket's
notoriously poor accuracy, but there was no time for refinements to
my plan. I ran forward, squeezed round the brazier and made my way
along the northern wall towards the gatehouse. It was only some
twenty yards away, and still no-one had noticed me amid the uproar.
Everywhere muskets were rattling incessantly, their sharp cracks
underpinned by the occasional roar of artillery. I remembered
Copthorne's intention of taking cannon with him to Saint Margaret's,
and wondered whether he had managed to bring any back to bear on the
smugglers. And what of Isobel, and the message I had entrusted to
her?

I
was almost at the gatehouse when my luck broke. Just as I passed the
last flight of stairs a man came careering down from the walls. We
struck each other heavily and both of us went down, but he was
quicker to his feet and as I rolled over I saw he had a bayonet
angled at my throat.

'Anglais?'
he said uncertainly.