The Piccadilly Plot (50 page)

He was proven right when they reached a flooded hold. Brinkes jumped in, and indicated that Chaloner and Lester were to follow,
while Fitzgerald, Lydcott and the three henchmen watched from the ladder. The waist-deep water was bitingly cold, and as they
waded forwards, Chaloner felt something crunching under his feet: gravel. When they reached a post, Brinkes secured them to
it.

‘It will be over soon,’ called Lydcott sympathetically. ‘You do not have long to suffer.’

Fitzgerald moved fast, and before Chaloner could
shout a warning he had brought the butt of his gun down hard on Lydcott’s head. Lydcott swayed for a moment, then plummeted
into the water.

‘Another risk eliminated,’ announced Fitzgerald with chilling blandness. He began to hum again.

It was completely silent in
Jane
’s hold, and not even the carousing from the Adventurers could be heard. Lydcott floated face down in the water, his arms
out to the side, and Fitzgerald and his men watched Brinkes finish tying Chaloner and Lester to the post. When it was done,
the henchmen moved away, but Fitzgerald lingered, nodding approvingly from his dry perch on the stairs as Brinkes gave his
knots a final check.

‘You will be next, Brinkes,’ whispered Lester. ‘Fitzgerald is singing, and he always does that before dispatching someone.
You—’

‘Let him go, Lester,’ said Chaloner. He tried to sound calm, but his stomach churned with agitation. ‘We have nothing to say
to the likes of him.’

‘Fitzgerald will kill you, Brinkes,’ Lester went on, ignoring him. ‘You are a risk, too, no matter what he tells you now.’

‘Lies,’ whispered Brinkes. ‘You do not know what you are talking—’

‘What are you muttering about down there?’ called Fitzgerald, causing Brinkes to leap away from the prisoners in alarm and
begin to wade back towards the steps.

‘If we are going to die, then at least tell us the name of the man who is behind all this,’ shouted Lester, boldly defiant
as he glared at the pirate. ‘We know it is not you.’

‘Do you indeed?’ Fitzgerald sounded amused. ‘How?’

‘Do not answer him,’ warned Chaloner. ‘Or he will race down the ladder and beat
your
brains out.’

‘Better that than whatever else he has planned,’ Lester muttered back. ‘Besides, I want answers.’

‘We do not need them,’ said Chaloner, wanting Fitzgerald gone from the hold so he could think about how to escape while there
was still time. ‘It is—’

‘Because you are not clever enough, you damned pirate,’ yelled Lester. ‘Or rich enough. And do not say that Lydcott’s glassware
venture gives you funds, because we all know that is untrue.’

Chaloner tensed, expecting swift and brutal retaliation, but Fitzgerald only laughed. ‘Then you will die in ignorance, because
I am not inclined to confide in you. And I am not a pirate, by the way, I am a privateer.’

‘Tell us what you plan to do,’ shouted Lester, as Brinkes reached the ladder and began to ascend. ‘It involves alcohol and
something else …’

‘For God’s sake, Lester!’ hissed Chaloner urgently. ‘Just let them go, so we can turn our minds to escape. You are wasting
time with your banter.’

‘Poor
Jane
,’ said Fitzgerald, leaning down to give a beam an affectionate pat. ‘She has served me well, but her timbers are rotten,
and it is time to put her to another use.’

‘Gunpowder!’ yelled Lester in sudden understanding, although Chaloner had grasped the significance of what he had smelled
the moment they stepped aboard – along with the fact that Fitzgerald was willing to sacrifice a ship that was a virtual wreck
anyway.

‘Yes, he intends to blow her up,’ Chaloner snarled. ‘And I imagine there are enough explosives on board to
destroy
Jane
,
Katherine
, and half of Queenhithe. Now just shut up and let him—’

‘My master will be rid of the Adventurers once and for all,’ called Fitzgerald gloatingly. ‘
And
a pair of irritating spymasters into the bargain. Thurloe and Williamson will perish in the blast, too.’

‘You cannot!’ cried Lester in horror. ‘There must be two hundred people on
Katherine
, including women and servants. It would be a terrible massacre!’

‘But not our master’s first,’ said Fitzgerald with a cold smile. ‘As Lord Teviot could attest, were he still in the land of
the living. Are we ready, Brinkes? Is everything in place?’

Brinkes nodded. ‘All that remains is to set the fires. Shall I remove the gangways, to ensure no one can get off
Katherine
?’

Fitzgerald laughed, and the shrill, mad sound of it filled the hold. ‘Do not bother: our explosion will obliterate Queenhithe,
and it will not matter if our enemies are aboard or on the quayside. They will die regardless.’

There was a thump and sudden darkness as Fitzgerald disappeared through the hatch and slammed it closed. Chaloner willed his
footsteps to retreat, knowing that he and Lester did not have much time.

‘What are we going to do?’ asked Lester brokenly. ‘I do not care for myself – I have cheated death too often already in my
years at sea. But all those innocents in the Great Cabin …’

‘Hardly innocents,’ said Chaloner, listening to ensure their captors had gone before making his move. ‘They are wealthy Adventurers,
who intend to make themselves richer by trading in slaves.’

‘But their wives are with them,’ cried Lester. ‘Besides, I am sure we could make some of them see reason. Grey, for example.
He would condemn the slave trade if he understood what it entails – he is not a bad man.’

Chaloner thought Lester was deluded if he believed he could persuade a lot of very rich people to forgo an easy way to make
more money. But there was something refreshingly decent about Lester’s optimism, and he respected him for it.

Then there was a series of scrapes and rattles.

‘What is that?’ Chaloner asked in alarm.

‘Someone climbing down the side of the ship,’ explained Lester. ‘The scoundrels must be making their escape by river. The
fog will help – Williamson and Thurloe will never see them.’

But Chaloner was more interested in trying to avert an atrocity than in Fitzgerald’s movements.

‘Quickly!’ he urged. ‘Up the stairs.’

‘How? My hands are tied so tight that I can barely move … but I can! We are free! How in God’s name did you manage that?’

‘With Wiseman’s scalpel,’ explained Chaloner, grateful that Brinkes had missed it. He shoved Lester towards the ladder. ‘Why
do you think I wanted you to stop talking? Now, hurry!’

Lester was gone in a trice, feeling his way in the darkness much more efficiently than Chaloner, and running up the ladder
with the ease of the experienced seaman. Fortunately, Fitzgerald had not deemed it necessary to bar the hatch, and it opened
easily. Beyond was nothing but darkness.

‘The gunpowder will be on the upper deck,’ whispered Lester, grabbing Chaloner’s sleeve and leading him
unerringly along a companionway and then up another flight of steps. It was there that the reek of the bilges gave way to
the sharper, cleaner scent of explosives.

‘At least we know why Fitzgerald used storm lamps,’ said Chaloner. ‘He did not want to blow himself up with stray sparks.’

The moment he spoke, he became aware of smoke and the crackle of flames: fires had been lit. He began to move faster, but
stopped abruptly when they reached the upper deck and the dim light of another lantern revealed just how many barrels of gunpowder
Fitzgerald had acquired. There were more than he could count, and would certainly destroy the quay. Worse, sparks from the
resulting explosion might set the surrounding buildings alight, and the conflagration could easily spread. Lester darted to
several separate hatches, then swore as he turned to face Chaloner.

‘Fires have been set in three different parts of the ship, all splashed with alcohol to make them spread.’ His face was white.
‘All will need to be doused if we are to prevent the kegs from igniting. But by the time we have one under control, the others
will be beyond us.’

Chaloner ran to the nearest gunport and peered at the water below. It moved sluggishly as the current tugged it towards the
sea. He whipped around, grabbed the nearest barrel and hurled it overboard. It sank, but then bobbed to the surface a moment
later, where, half-submerged, it began to drift away. Would it be enough? He hoped so. He reached for another but it was heavy
and his injured shoulder prevented him from throwing it as far as he would have liked.

‘I will not be able to lob them all overboard before the fires take hold,’ he explained quickly, reaching for a
third. ‘But I should be able to manage enough to reduce the impact. Go and warn the Adventurers. Hurry!’

Lester did a quick survey. ‘You are right! We can foil these evil bastards and save the quay!’

Chaloner heaved the barrel overboard. ‘Yes, now raise the alarm.’

‘No.’ Lester snatched up a keg and pitched it through the hole. It fell much farther out than Chaloner’s had done, and was
towed away more quickly. ‘I know which part of the deck to clear first – you do not, as evidenced by the barrels you have
chosen to grab. Moreover, I have not been shot, and can work more efficiently.
You
warn the Adventurers.’

‘It is only a scratch,’ said Chaloner, struggling to lift the next cask. ‘You said so yourself.’

‘I lied,’ said Lester, snatching it from him. ‘Now go and save those people before it is too late.’

‘I left you once. At Elliot’s grave. I cannot do it again.’

‘It is hardly the same.’ Lester gave him a vigorous shove, then smiled lopsidedly. ‘Look after Ruth for me, because if Williamson
puts her in Bedlam, it will be you I come back to haunt. It has been an honour serving with you, Tom. Now go before I toss
you
overboard.’

Chaloner could think of no trite declaration of friendship to make in return. With a final, agonised glance, he turned and
clambered up the final set of stairs, sickened by the knowledge that he was exchanging the life of a good man for a lot of
ruthless merchants who traded in slaves.

In
Katherine
’s Great Cabin, the Adventurers had finished the rum and were looking for something else to drink. There was a lot of discontented
mumbling, because
Leighton had gone to fetch wine some time ago, and had not returned. Also notable by their absence were Dugdale and Edgeman.

‘I will look for Leighton,’ Brodrick was offering, transparently grateful for an excuse to be back on
terra firma
. ‘He cannot have gone far. Play the fiddle again, O’Brien. It is—’

Chaloner burst among them, urgently enough to make Kitty issue a squeal of alarm. He supposed he did look desperate – dirty,
sodden and reeking of bilge-water.

‘The ship next to you is going to blow up,’ he gasped. ‘Everyone needs to leave. Now!’

‘
Jane
?’ asked O’Brien in surprise. ‘I seriously doubt anyone would waste powder on that old tub. Indeed, I am surprised she survived
her voyage up the Thames.’

There was a chorus of agreement, but Brodrick knew Chaloner well enough to see that he was not in jest. He took command and
ordered everyone out. Unfortunately, his uncharacteristic display of authority caused immediate panic, and it took him and
Swaddell at the stairs, and Chaloner at the gangway, to ensure there was not a stampede. As many Adventurers were drunk and
others were weak with terror, the evacuation took far longer than it should have done. Williamson and Thurloe, quick to comprehend
what was happening, hurried to direct people to a safe distance.

‘Where are you going?’ shouted Thurloe, as Chaloner fought his way through the last Adventurers waiting to disembark and began
to run towards
Jane
.

‘Lester needs help,’ yelled Chaloner over his shoulder. ‘He—’

‘No!’ Thurloe raced after him and grabbed the flying tails of his coat. ‘It will be too late.’

Chaloner struggled free, but Thurloe stuck out a foot that sent him sprawling. Even as he started to rise, there was a tremendous
explosion. Heat washed over him, and had he not been protected by the mass of
Katherine
, he would certainly have been blown to pieces. When he was able to look up, it was to see
Jane
’s masts toppling with a series of tearing groans. Every timber and sail was a bright cluster of flames.

He whipped around in alarm, fearing for Thurloe, but the ex-Spymaster had thrown himself to the ground, and was covering his
head with his hands as fragments of burning wood began to rain down. When the treacherous fallout had finished, Chaloner scrambled
upright on unsteady legs.
Jane
was a mass of blazing stays and spars that made the fog glow amber, while
Katherine
was battle-scarred and alight in a dozen places, but still afloat.

‘He did it,’ he whispered. ‘Lester saved
Katherine
and Queenhithe.’

Williamson arrived, looking around wildly. ‘Did you see Kitty leave? And Swaddell?’

‘I am here.’ Swaddell materialised out of the fog like a spectre. He shot his master a pained glance. ‘It seems we infiltrated
the wrong group – it was not the Adventurers I should have been watching, but the Piccadilly Company.’

‘You did your best.’ Williamson’s face was a mask of agitation. ‘Kitty?’

‘I saw her escape,’ said Swaddell soothingly. ‘Do not worry. O’Brien will look after her.’

‘So is this the atrocity Fitzgerald and his master plotted?’ asked Thurloe, while Williamson winced at the blunt reminder
that the object of his affections was married to his friend. ‘The murder of half the Court and the upper echelons of government?’

‘Yes, and they did not care that it might destroy Queenhithe, too,’ said Swaddell in disgust. ‘But where is Lester? I did
not see him leave
Katherine
.’

Chaloner did not reply, and only stared at the burning remnants of
Jane
.

Williamson’s face fell, and he closed his eyes. ‘Damn!’ he whispered. ‘Damn!’

For a long moment, no one did anything except stare at Jane’s blazing masts and spars. Then Thurloe grabbed Chaloner’s arm
and shook it.