King, Ship, and Sword

Now below the line of the cliffs, and unable to be seen by any watchers along the road, Sir Pulteney kept the lanthorn lit and open to hasten their progress and to light the ladies' way.

'Thank God our last disguises called for stout old shoes, not slippers,' Lady Imogene whispered, between deep breaths.

Halfway down, Lewrie told himself, helping Caroline down a set of steps, then looking out to sea again. That schooner was the one Sir Pulteney had arranged, by God! After that mysterious signal, it had hauled its wind and come about to approach the coast, and their notchlike inlet and cove. She was not more than two miles off now, and cautiously slanting shoreward, with a large rowing boat in tow, astern, and dare he imagine that it was already being led round to the schooner's larboard entry-port?

'Not much further, not much longer, all!' Sir Pulteney crowed as they reached the last of the boulders, and a faint solid path down through a dangerous scree slope where the going was all gravel, flat shards, and fist-sized rock where ankles could be turned, bones broken, and skulls smashed in an eyeblink if the way slid in an avalanche.

'There, there's the cart!' Major Denis Clary cried, pointing to the west, caught up in the chase despite his misgivings, as he caught sight of the weary horse trying to feed on the spotty, dry weeds and shrubs by the landward side of the road. The cart was crosswise upon the road, and the poor horse was fortunate that the cart had not gone into one of the ditches. They drew rein short of the cart. 'Is this about where it was first discovered?' Fourchette demanded, wheeling his mount to search for that sluggard dim-wit gendarme who'd found it. 'Speak up, you!'

He wasn't much of a horseman, so it took the gendarme some time to thread his way through the others. 'Uhm, near here, m'sieur. When I first came across it, it was on the right side of the road, back near a little cart track, uhm-'

'Show us!' Fourchette ordered impatiently. At the walk, they had to re-trace their way about two hundred metres east, 'til the gendarme at last pointed to two faint ruts in the poor vegetation. 'It was here I saw it, m'sieur,' the gendarme told him. 'By this path to the old hut. The one down there, m'sieur.'

'And you did not think to explore the hut?' Capt. Vignon snapped.

'By myself, Capitaine? Against four dangerous criminals? Non, I rode for re-enforcements. To raise the alarm.'

'What about the hut?' Fourchette asked. Vignon quickly informed him that it had been abandoned for a decade or better, caving in upon itself. 'And is there a beach down there, below the bluffs, m'sieur?'

'Oui, there is a beach, a small one,' Vignon said. 'And there is a path down to it. But this useless simpleton-'

'Dismount, everyone, and arm yourselves,' Fourchette cried. 'We must inspect the hut, find the path, and look for them. They are here, I know it, I feel it!'

Choundas insisted that his Chasseur stay mounted and take him to the edge of the cliffs at once. As armed troopers and policemen crept down the slope to surround the hut, as torches or lanthorns were lit to aid the search, Charitй kneed her mount to follow Choundas, and Major Clary, fearing for her safety on the cliff edge, below the hut, where their quarry might shoot at her before the troopers cleared it, trotted his own horse after her, urging her to wait in a harsh whisper… to which she paid no heed. She'd drawn one of her long-barrelled pistols, intent on her revenge, as intent as that twisted monster!

Choundas reached the edge of the bluff first. His cavalryman drew rein with a gasp and fumbled for his scabbarded musketoon. One instant later, Charitй came up alongside him.

'Here! Down here!' Choundas cried in a feral rasp. 'There is a schooner! A boat! They are here! Come quickly!'

Charitй used her rein-hand's wrist to draw her pistol to full cock, even though the range was far too great, and pulled the trigger.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Oh, Christ on a crutch!' Lewrie groaned as he heard the shot, and the 'View, Halloo' from the top of the cliffs. They had been discovered, and the rowing boat was still a half-mile offshore, and they weren't yet on the beach. 'This'11 be close as dammit.'

'Sir, such language…,' Sir Pulteney objected, stiffening.

'Bugger me, that's that bastard Choundas up there,' Lewrie went on, recognising his crow-caw voice, then Charitй's, and paying the prim Sir Pulteney no mind. 'And that Charitй bitch, t'boot!'

They half-slid the last of the way, in a cloud of dirt, bounding recklessly through the last of the scree to hard, bare ground, then to deep, above-the-tideline sand! They would have rushed on to the surf, but for a second shot from above that ricocheted off one of the large boulders at the back of the cove, making them duck quickly into shelter of those boulders. 'Lewrie! I have you at last!' Choundas howled.

Lewrie dug into his limp, mostly empty sea-bag to pull out the pair of old, used single-shot pistols he'd bought with his last French coin in St. Omer. They were big, blunt, ugly things, akin to the pistols dealt out from the arms chests aboard ship when a boarding action was likely; good for ramming into a foe's stomach or chest and fired, but unpredictable for anything much beyond ten or fifteen feet. 'Pray God it'll take 'em about five minutes t'pick their way down that path. I don't s'pose you've a brace o' barkers handy, too, Sir Pulteney?' he said as he quickly loaded both with powder and shot, and primed their pans.

'No, there never was need of them back when I…,' Sir Pulteney confessed, huddled over Lady Imogene, who was cowering close against the boulder. 'Lived by our wits, d'ye see?' he lamely added.

'Wit's played out,' Lewrie snapped. 'Got a signal for 'hurry up' to yer schooner? Best make it, if ye do!'

Fortunately, the crew of the rowing boat, the mate conning her in, had heard the shots, had seen the torches and lanthorns atop the cliffs, and were almost bending their ash oars to hasten their pace.

'Tirez, tirez!' Choundas was demanding as soon as he was set on solid ground. 'Shoot!' he commanded. 'Kill them before they get off the beach!' A few Chasseurs obeyed him, firing wildly.

'Hold your fire!' Capitaine Vignon ordered his gendarmes. 'The range is too long, and we are to arrest them!'

'Hold fire!' Major Clary was ordering the Chasseurs in a firmer command voice than Choundas's. 'Down the path, mes amis, and capture them!'

'No, Denis, no!' Charitй shrilled, fumbling her re-loading with her furious haste. 'Order your men to fire, for God's sake!'

'Down the path!' Clary ordered again, dismounting and drawing his musketoon from the saddle scabbard. 'Right, Fourchette? Capture them?'

'Oh, Christ!' Fourchette cursed under his breath. It could've been so simple! One couple and two coachmen, buried in an un-marked forest grave! Now four people must die, along with the sailors from that schooner, yet the ship would still escape, and all Europe would hear of the First Consul's orders, hear and be outraged! But taken and privately executed later… 'Marksmen! Keep them in hiding and away from that boat! Oui, capture them, Major Clary!'

'What? Non, dammit!' Choundas screeched. 'You two… carry me down to the beach!' he ordered two Chasseurs. 'I must be there to see them dead' The Chasseurs looked to Major Clary, who nodded his assent with a sneer, and they hoisted him up, with a musketoon under his legs, and moved towards the head of the path down. Charitй, at last re-loaded, dashed ahead of them with the first of the soldiers.

Fourchette shook his head in disbelief as he followed, shoving his way past cavalrymen to catch up with her and Major Clary.