The Piccadilly Plot (49 page)

But Brinkes was no novice in the art of skirmishing. He feinted away and brought his gun down hard on Chaloner’s wrist, forcing
him to drop the blade. Chaloner was reaching for his knife before the sword hit the floor, but the others also reacted with
commendable speed,
and it was not long before he was overwhelmed. Powerful hands grabbed him, and when he finally stopped struggling, he saw
that Lester had been similarly secured.

‘Do not bother to shout for help,’ said Brinkes, his face bright with the prospect of violence to come. ‘You will not be heard,
not above the racket the Adventurers are making.’

‘Hold them tight,’ ordered Fitzgerald in his piping treble. His single eye glittered. ‘We do not want them to interfere with
our plans.’

‘What plans?’ demanded Lester.

‘I am not inclined to discuss them with you,’ replied Fitzgerald coldly.

Although it was not the first time Chaloner had been in the pirate’s presence, it was the first time he had seen him commanding
troops. Fitzgerald’s manner was calm and self-assured, and the men he had hired were professionals who followed his orders
unthinkingly. With a growing sense of alarm, Chaloner finally began to understand why Thurloe considered him such a formidable
adversary.

Footsteps caused everyone to glance towards the stairs. It was Harley, whose eyebrows shot up in surprise when he saw that
prisoners had been taken.

‘The man who has been asking questions,’ he said, regarding Chaloner with contempt. ‘You have been a nuisance ever since you
realised the Piccadilly Company might make you rich.’

‘Will it?’ asked Chaloner innocently. ‘How?’

Harley sneered at him. ‘I am no more inclined to answer questions now than I was a week ago.’

‘Then let me answer them,’ said Chaloner quickly, when Harley nodded to Brinkes, who cocked his pistol
and aimed it at Lester. ‘You want the Queen discredited, so Tangier will return to Portugal – away from the hands of the
Adventurers. You have a sympathetic governor in Bridges, but he is greedy and demands too much—’

‘Enough,’ snapped Harley. ‘Shoot them, Brinkes. We do not have time to deal with captives, and these two are too dangerous
to leave alive.’

‘No!’ countered Fitzgerald, as Brinkes prepared to obey. ‘Their yells may not carry, but gunshots will, and we do not want
any alarms. I know how to dispose of them with no risk to ourselves.’

He gave Harley a significant look, causing the colonel to smile slowly as understanding dawned. Chaloner suppressed the unsettling
images that immediately flooded into his mind, and forced himself to concentrate.

‘Murder,’ he said, looking hard at Harley. ‘But that is no stranger to you, is it? I know it was you who killed Reyner and
Newell. And Reyner’s mother, too.’

‘Liar!’ snarled Harley, although the alarm in his eyes told anyone who saw it that the accusation was true. He turned to Fitzgerald.
‘He is just trying to make trouble. Ignore him.’

‘Reyner was beginning to weaken,’ Chaloner went on. ‘So you gave him a paper written in the Vigenère cipher, which you said
was a list of enemies and would protect him. But it did nothing to reduce his agitation, so you killed him, lest he cracked.’

‘Reyner would not have cracked,’ said Harley, although his voice lacked certainty.

‘Vigenère cipher?’ asked Fitzgerald rather dangerously. ‘Not a letter from our master?’

‘Of course not,’ said Harley quickly. ‘It was a copy
of one I once sent to Teviot, describing Jews Hill. I do not know why Reyner agreed to meet Chaloner in the Gaming House,
but it would not have been to reveal all.’

‘Reyner made an assignation?’ asked Fitzgerald. ‘Then it seems you were right to dispatch him.’

Harley had evidently not anticipated approval, because his expression was one of confusion. ‘I did not … It was … But never
mind this. Brinkes, bring the prisoners over here.’

‘Newell suspected you were Reyner’s killer, so you murdered him, too,’ said Chaloner, as Brinkes moved to obey. He was guessing,
but the immediate anger in Harley’s face said he was right. ‘You went to a gunsmith, and ordered a dag with special modifications.
It killed him as he demonstrated it in St James’s Park.’

‘How very interesting,’ said Fitzgerald flatly, fingering his enormous beard.

‘And you strangled Reyner’s mother because—’

‘Because she could not keep her mouth shut,’ snarled Harley, cutting across him and addressing Fitzgerald. ‘Reyner confided
in her, but she gossiped, especially when she was drunk. It was necessary, and I would do the same again.’

‘You
have
been busy on our behalf,’ mused Fitzgerald softly. ‘Very busy.’

Chaloner continued his attack on Harley, aiming to widen the rift that was beginning to open. ‘I know why you murdered Teviot,
too – he was an Adventurer who made it difficult for
Jane
to trade. But was it really necessary to slaughter his soldiers as well?’

‘Of course,’ said Harley, continuing to speak to Fitzgerald. ‘Because if we had poisoned or shot him, eyebrows would have
been raised – our master made that
perfectly clear. His plan saw Barbary corsairs blamed instead.’

‘Not true,’ countered Fitzgerald softly. ‘There are rumours of an official inquiry. I told him he could not trust the corsairs
not to blab about the arrangement you made with them, and I was right.’

‘They did not blab.’ Harley pointed an accusing finger at Chaloner. ‘
He
started those tales to frighten Reyner and Newell. There is no truth in them.’

He snatched the firearm from Brinkes and there was murder in his eyes as he pointed it at Chaloner. But before he could pull
the trigger, Fitzgerald stepped forward and brought the butt of his own gun down on Harley’s head. The sound it made was unpleasant,
and the scout dropped to the floor, where he lay twitching.

‘I
said
no gunfire,’ declared Fitzgerald, with a marked lack of emotion. ‘Open a gunport and tip him out, Brinkes. We do not want
the Adventurers finding him if they wander down here.’

Brinkes hasted to oblige. Lester’s face was white with shock, although Chaloner was not sure whether it was because a murder
had just been committed in front of him, or because he had just realised the extent of the danger he was in.

Once Harley had been unceremoniously dumped overboard, Fitzgerald became businesslike. He turned to leave, indicating that
the captives were to be brought, too.

‘Why take the risk?’ asked Brinkes. ‘Hit
them
over the head and toss them out.’

‘One corpse might be overlooked,’ explained Fitzgerald shortly. ‘But three will cause consternation among our
enemies if they are seen. Do as I say, please, or we shall have words.’

Brinkes obeyed with alacrity, although he took the precaution of tying the prisoners’ hands first, and of searching them for
weapons. Chaloner lost three knives, and Lester one.

When Brinkes was satisfied, Chaloner and Lester were shoved towards
Katherine
’s stern, some two decks below where the Adventurers were carousing. On any other night, they would have been seen from the
warehouse – it was now fully light – but the fog had thickened, and nothing of the quay was visible. Lester opened his mouth
to yell, but was silenced by a slap from Fitzgerald.

‘You will make me angry if you try to raise the alarm,’ the pirate said mildly. ‘Come quietly, and we might still be friends.
You and I were once shipmates, after all.’

But Chaloner knew he planned to kill them. He also knew that shouting would be futile: the Adventurers would not hear over
the racket they were making, and even if Thurloe and Williamson did, it would take more than a word or two to explain what
was happening – and he and Lester would be dead long before they could accomplish that. He turned his mind to escape, but
Brinkes and his henchmen were watchful, and he knew any attempt to run would fail.

Brinkes slid through a gunport and landed lightly on
Jane
’s afterdeck, which was no more than the height of a man below them. He indicated Chaloner and Lester were to follow. It was
not easy with their hands tied, and both landed awkwardly. Lester sniffed as he struggled to his feet.

‘There is an odd stench on this ship. Alcohol and—’

‘You will find out soon enough,’ said Brinkes, shoving him forward. ‘Now move.’

Chaloner was also aware of the peculiar smell. He looked around for the source as he stumbled after Lester, but could see
nothing amiss. To gain more time, he exaggerated his limp.

‘Hurry,’ snapped Brinkes, giving him a push. Chaloner fell to his knees in order to earn a few more seconds, causing Fitzgerald
to glare and Brinkes to swear under his breath.

‘He was shot last night,’ explained Lester quickly, stepping between Chaloner and Brinkes’s fist. ‘He cannot move quickly.’

‘That did not stop him earlier,’ said Fitzgerald, ‘when he was racing around
Katherine
with a view to learning our plans. He might have discovered them, too, had we not been expecting him.’

‘Expecting me? But how …’ And then Chaloner understood. ‘You knew we were coming! You were waiting for us, and we walked directly
into your arms.’

Fitzgerald smiled coldly. ‘We were expecting a better show, to be frank. Williamson and Thurloe should have managed something
a little more impressive than a bumbling sea-officer and a worn-out Parliamentarian spy.’

‘What is he talking about, Chaloner?’ whispered Lester. ‘How did he know we were coming?’

‘Because he was warned,’ replied Chaloner. He nodded to where a flash of red ribbon indicated that someone was watching from
behind a hatch. ‘Lydcott did not go to St Paul’s to save Pratt from being murdered – he ran straight to Fitzgerald, the man
who has turned his paltry glassware business into a lucrative concern.’

*     *     *

There was a pause, and then Lydcott stepped into the open. He shrugged apologetically, and his expression was sheepish as
he addressed Chaloner.

‘I had to think of myself,’ he said. ‘I owe more to Mr Fitzgerald than I do to Thurloe, who never does anything but criticise
me. I am sorry you must die, but it cannot be helped—’

‘Has there been any activity?’ asked Fitzgerald, cutting across him impatiently.

Lydcott shook his head. ‘Williamson came past, pretending to be drunk as he surveyed us, but he did not linger. No one suspects
anything – although that might change if Thurloe thinks Chaloner is taking too long. They are friends, and he will come to
find out what has happened to him.’

‘Let him,’ said Fitzgerald. ‘Come with us, Lydcott. Yorke can stand guard now.’

‘Come where?’ asked Lydcott uneasily.

‘To view
Jane
’s holds,’ replied Fitzgerald smoothly. ‘They are quite a sight.’

He led the way to one of the hatches, with Lydcott following and Chaloner behind them. Then came Brinkes, Lester and three
henchmen. Chaloner hesitated, aware that once he stepped off the open deck he might never escape, but Brinkes fingered his
dagger, and Chaloner sensed there was nothing he would like more than to use it. Reluctantly, he did as he was told.

‘I should have known you were a villain,’ he said to Lydcott as they went. He spoke softly, so Fitzgerald would not hear;
the pirate was humming to himself, which helped. ‘At the Banqueting House, you pretended to laugh at the way Pratt was monitoring
Meneses. But the
reality was that it was you who was minding him – as Fitzgerald had no doubt ordered you to do.’

‘He did ask me to ensure that Meneses stayed out of mischief,’ acknowledged Lydcott.

‘And then you killed him. Thurloe and Pratt both praised your skill with horses, and Meneses was trampled by one. You knew
exactly how to arrange an “accident” without risk to yourself.’

Lydcott shrugged. ‘He was selling our secrets to the Adventurers. Fitzgerald had no choice but to order his execution.’

Chaloner wondered what it was about Fitzgerald that compelled people to do what he asked – Lydcott committing murder and betraying
a kinsman who had never been anything but kind to him; Brinkes to look the other way while Harley was clubbed to death; all
manner of people to join the Piccadilly Company. He could only suppose it was the promise of riches to come.

‘Did you kill Pratt, too?’ he asked. ‘At St Paul’s?’

‘I lied,’ said Lydcott, rather proudly. ‘I was not summoned to St Paul’s, and neither was Pratt. I came straight here instead.
And you and Thurloe did not suspect a thing!’

‘No, but we should have done.’ Chaloner was as disgusted with himself as with Lydcott. ‘The clues were there to identify you
as a villain. For example, you told Thurloe that the Piccadilly Company would not meet until next week, but there was a gathering
on Sunday. You were there, but in disguise – I recognised your voice. You were sitting with your back to the window.’

Lydcott’s jaw dropped. ‘You spied on us? My God! I was right to warn Fitzgerald: you
are
a danger! Just wait
until I tell him! He will be sure to give me the little bonus I requested now.’

‘You are demanding a bigger share of the profits?’ asked Chaloner. ‘Then you will die tonight, too. I wondered why he wanted
you below decks, but it is obvious now.’

‘You understand nothing!’ said Lydcott, loudly and angrily. ‘He appreciates my skills.’

Fitzgerald whipped around. ‘No talking, or I will cut out your tongues. Both of you.’

Chaloner could see he meant it, and thought that while Lydcott was not quite the empty-headed fool he had assumed, he was
still unspeakably stupid.

It was dark inside
Jane
, and the lamp Fitzgerald lit was the kind that was used during storms at sea – one that would not break if it fell over,
spilling fuel that would cause a fire. The odd aroma was much stronger, but there was no time to analyse it as they were ordered
to descend a series of stairs. Then all that could be smelled was bad water and rotting wood.

‘They have not kept her seaworthy,’ murmured Lester. ‘She is taking on water, and will sink in the next serious blow. No wonder
she looks heavy in the bows.’