Down: Trilogy Box Set (149 page)

“Suffolk is a more accomplished talker than warrior,” Cromwell said. “He withdrew, neither the winner nor the loser, having lost the most able field commander in the army, the Duke of Oxford. If Suffolk did not enjoy the support he does at court I would have already replaced him. But it is of no consequence. We will wait them out. Their supply of shot will dwindle and when they have no more, we will overwhelm them. I have received reports this has already happened in Upminster town where there is another Earther garrison.”

Trotter raised his eyebrows at the news. “Really? Upminster, you say?”

“Good day to you,” Cromwell said, resuming his walk toward the river.

Trotter took after him again. “You need me,” he blurted out.

“I need you for what?”

“I can eliminate Suffolk for you.”

Cromwell stopped again. His curious expression seemed to invite more.

“Henry’s been missing for a considerable time but you still haven’t declared yourself the new king. Why is that, I’ve asked myself?”

“And what answer did you provide?” Cromwell said with a smirk.

“Suffolk isn’t half the man you are,” Trotter replied, “but he’s got friends—a lot of friends among the nobility. I’m going to guess the two of you are at a stalemate. You’d like to get rid of him and he’d like to do the same to you. But if either one of you is seen to be the aggressor you’d have a civil war on your hands. Am I correct?”

“Go on.”

The non-denial had the effect of infusing Trotter with confidence. “I’ll do your dirty work. Take me back to the palace. I’ll tell my people you agreed to let me check on the women so they’ll be none the wiser. When I get settled in I’ll ask to see Suffolk and tell him I can help him defeat you. I’ll play the double game. Believe me, I’m a master at it. It’s what I do for a living.”

Although no one was within earshot, Cromwell lowered his voice, a conspiratorial sign that caused a smile to flicker across Trotter’s face. “And once such confidence is gained, then what?”

“I’ll neutralize him.”

“I do not know this word.”

“What is it you say here? Destroy? I’ll destroy him.”

“How?”

“I don’t know yet. Poison maybe. Do you have poisons?”

“Of course, but Suffolk has food and drink tasters as do I.”

“I’ll figure something out.”

“After you have done the deed, what would prevent me from declaring you the culprit and—neutralizing you? We know you Earthers cannot be trusted. The court would see my hands were clean. Surely a man as clever as you claim to be would see this coming?”

“You won’t do it because you’ll find me useful,” Trotter said. “Once you’re the king you’ll need a chancellor. You will find me free of any other loyalties. I’m the new man. No entanglements. I’ll serve you and no one else. And you’ll find out quickly enough that I’m a ruthless son-of-a-bitch.”

Cromwell laughed. “I believe I already know this.”

It had taken a day to find a boat to steal but once they set sail, the journey to Richmond was fast. The one-masted, flat-bottomed riverboat smelled so strongly of fish that a chance encounter with another vessel near London did not lead to their undoing. A barge headed the opposite direction loaded with soldiers, propelled at speed by downstream currents, pulled alongside. A line was cast and a man shouted for them to heave to.

Yates had given John and Trevor one of his group’s AKs and a precious full magazine of ammo. John slid his hand under the burlap sack concealing it. They had both taken coarse tunics from two of A Group’s victims before setting off.

“You talk,” John told Trevor. “You’ve got the right accent.”

The king’s men were hungry and wanted to confiscate their catch. The men did wrinkle their noses but it was the pungency of the rotting fish guts not their Earther smell that was the trigger. Trevor said he was sorry but they had just sold their catch. The soldiers grumbled but let them sail on.

They arrived near Richmond in the early evening but waited until it was mostly dark to land the boat at the village. John took the rifle and led Trevor to the tiny cottage of Mrs. Eugenia Smith where he knocked on the door.

A fearful voice called out, “Who is there?”

“Mrs. Smith, it’s me, John Camp. I’ve come for Mr. Nightingale.”

The door slowly opened. With a crooked finger she invited them inside.

The only light was from a single log glowing in the hearth but that was enough for them to see that Nightingale wasn’t there.

“Where is he?” John asked.

“I’ll show you,” she said.

She used a stick to transfer a flame to a nubbin of a candle and took them outside to the back of the cottage. There was a fresh mound of earth.

“He passed on not one week ago,” she said. “He was so sick, he was. I didn’t know what I could do other than keep him company and try to lift his spirits. He was a lovely man, he was, and such a gentleman. He was thankful all the time and kept saying he wished he could pay me. I was happy to listen to his marvelous stories about modern times and be there at his hour of need. I haven’t seen a man die for a very long time. I thought I’d never see it again. Before he passed I told him I didn’t recall no prayers but he said he didn’t want that anyway. I dug a grave for him. Least I could do.”

John had held onto a few of Forneau’s gold pieces and he gave her one.

She held the candle up to the coin and said, “My stars! I’m rich.”

“You did a good thing,” John said.

“Did I?” she asked. “I suppose I did.”

They left her and climbed the hill toward the forge. John felt he ought to tell William about Kyle’s death.

There wasn’t much light but there was enough to see that the forge had been transformed. A huge, new chimneystack cut into the gray-black sky.

“Something big’s been happening here,” John said.

“You sure we ought to carry on?” Trevor asked.

“Maybe not.”

A gruff voice called out, “Who goes here?”

A soldier with a musket stepped out of the darkness to confront them. When he cocked and raised the rifle John fired once at point-blank range. The heavy AK-47 round lifted the soldier an inch off the ground before he fell with a thud.

A shot from the darkness whizzed past Trevor’s ear.

“Get low,” John hissed. “Let them come to us.”

From a prone position in the grass, John stared down the iron sights into the darkness looking for targets to acquire.

Voices in the darkness gave away the enemy’s tactics.

“How many are there?”

“I saw two men.”

“Only two?”

“Only two.”

“Then we’ll overwhelm them. All of you, charge! Those with guns, fire at will.”

The soldiers came running down the hill stupidly bunched together. The furnace wasn’t lit but a few campfires were casting shadows. John saw moving shapes before he saw fully articulated men and he fired once at each gray mass, judging his accuracy by grunts and shouts of pain. Half a dozen shots came their direction but the soldiers must have been firing blindly because all were high or wide. John had started counting backwards from thirty at his first trigger-pull to track the rounds left in the mag. When he got to eighteen he stopped.

“You see anymore of them?” he asked Trevor.

“No.”

All they heard was the groaning of wounded men.

John cautiously rose and gave a hand signal to Trevor to follow. They found the bleeding soldiers scattered before them and kicked weapons away from their bodies. The last man they found, highest up the hill, looked by his uniform to be an officer. He was lying on his side. When John used his foot to turn him on his back he saw a pistol coming around at him. John pulled the trigger and the threat ended. Trevor helped himself to the officer’s gun.

The familiar voice of William came from the forge entrance. “We’re not armed. Whoever you are, leave us in peace.”

John shouted, “It’s John Camp. Are there any more soldiers up there?”

“None,” William replied. “You may safely show yourself.”

John and Trevor slowly closed the distance to the forge but didn’t relax until they saw William’s smiling face.

“Good to see you, John who isn’t from here,” William said. “Have you dispatched the king’s men?”

“Those that fired at us, yes.”

“They were itching for action,” William said, “and it seems they found it.”

John said, “Meet a friend of mine who’s also not from here. Trevor Jones.”

“You never know who you’ll meet these days,” William said. “Where is Kyle Camp?”

John’s head drooped. “He didn’t make it.”

“Sad news, sad news indeed. A fine man he was. Well, I would like to give you gladder news. Come inside. This building used to be a forge. Now it is called a blast furnace. I think those that built it will give you some cheer.”

They stepped inside and in the candlelight John saw a gaggle of familiar faces, William’s crew of skinny forge workers. These men stood aside and when they parted John saw a second group of men who had been cowering at the gunfire.

John and Trevor looked into their stunned faces.

Campbell Bates. Henry Quint. Matthew Coppens. David Laurent. Leroy Bitterman. Another bunch of young scientists they recognized by sight only.

Bitterman staggered forward. “Thank God, we’re saved.”

John smiled and warmly shook his head. “We’re glad we found you but you’re not saved yet.”

“How many of you are there?” Quint asked.

“Here? Just the two of us,” Trevor said.

“Just two? What about our guards?” Bates asked.

“I think we got them all, at least I hope so,” John said. “What are you doing here? Where are the others?”

“The rest of us are being held in London. We haven’t seen them in a while. They’ve kept us busy here,” Bates said.

Bitterman shot them a wry smile. “Ever hear of slave labor?”

The stocky Duke of Suffolk undid the brass buttons of his tunic and eased himself onto the high-backed chair of his dining table. The acts of sitting and gorging would have placed an inordinate strain on the buttons.

“Sit, Trotter, sit,” he said, pointing to the chair opposite him. “Wine?”

“Of course,” Trotter said. A young manservant poured claret from a decanter.

“Has it been tasted?” Suffolk asked the servant.

“Of course, my lord,” the young man replied.

“Go ahead, Trotter, see what you think.”

Trotter smelled the wine, swirled it, and tasted it, all the rituals of a connoisseur.

“Like it?” Suffolk asked.

“It’s quite good. I hear you have an excellent cellar.”

“I do, but it is not here. I’ve been dipping into King Henry’s offerings. I hope he will forgive the trespass.”

“That implies you think he might return,” Trotter said.

“I have no idea. We are in strange times. Witness my dining with a living man.” Suffolk sampled the wine himself, declaring it acceptable. “Tell me, Trotter, why are we dining?”

“I wanted a chance to speak to you privately.”

“About what? The forge or blasted furnace or whatever it is called?”

“Not that.” He leaned across the table and whispered, “Can I speak freely in front of your servants?”

Suffolk dismissed them and told them to return with the quail.

“I trust few at court,” Suffolk said. “I have stayed in fair health for a long time by exercising caution. I have some loyal servants, my tasters, some military aides but not this lot.”

Trotter had more wine. “Well I don’t think Henry is returning.”

“No? Why?”

“My government will want to keep him. I’m not so sure they’ll want to make his presence known publicly but they might. He’ll be the greatest celebrity in history. He’ll break the Internet.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing, nothing. What I mean to say is, because he’s the most famous of all the English monarchs, he’ll be the object of intense fascination and study. He’ll be worth a fortune. Not to mention, if he’s given a choice, he’ll probably want to stay.”

“I cannot fathom what may or may not happen in a world I do not understand,” Suffolk said with some irritation. “Tell me what this has to do with me?”

“I have no illusion as to my own circumstances,” Trotter replied. “I won’t be going home. We’re not going to escape from here. I’m the only one who’s a fighter, not an egghead. They’ll figure out how to wall off the connection between our worlds. I’ll be trapped here until the day I die.” His mouth twitched and he added, “And maybe forever.”

Suffolk seemed to understand and chuckled.

“So, for my own benefit, I need to back the man whom I think will replace Henry. It’s pretty clear to me it’s a two-horse race.”

There was a knock on the door and the manservant poked his head in. Suffolk told him to serve the food and when the plates were full and they were alone he had Trotter continue.

“As I see it, Cromwell is a good political type. He’s clever but he’s a thinker, not a doer. A king has to be a man of action and in your world that means a military man. You’re a soldier. You’re decisive. It’s obvious to me that you’ve got a lot of support in the court. That makes you the man to wear the crown. I want to help you get it.”

Suffolk speared a whole bird and delivered it to his mouth at the end of his knife where he chomped on it. The oozing grease stained his white beard.

Speaking while chewing he said, “I rather thought you were Cromwell’s toadie. Why should I trust you?”

“You don’t have to trust me. You only have to see if I deliver on my promise.”

“What promise is that?”

“To send Cromwell to the rotting room.”

“How would you do that?”

“If you can provide me with poison, I’ll make it happen.”

“He has tasters. Not so easy to accomplish. Believe me, I have considered this.”

“Leave it to me. I’ll find a way that doesn’t implicate you. It’ll seem like a disease and when he’s destroyed, well …”

There was another knock on the door. This time the young manservant was empty-handed.

“Chancellor Cromwell asks to see you on a matter of great urgency.”

“Is he here?” Suffolk asked.

“He is in his rooms,” the man replied.