deep. Linnet huddled in her cloak, glad she was in the carriage and not on horseback. They passed through Taunton without challenge, but their sole follower was still with them when they reached Bridgwater. David slowed his horses, then turned the carriage into the yard of the Monmouth Arms.
Deverell led the way in, bespoke a private parlor and the best luncheon the inn could provide. Linnet found herself bowed deferentially into the parlor by the innkeeper, then before she could swing her cloak from her shoulders, Logan lifted it away, then held a chair for her at the table.
Once she sat, the three men took their seats. Almost immediately the door opened; the innwife and a bevy of serving girls swept in, bearing covered platters and a huge tureen. With a flourish, the innwife set the tureen before Linnet. “Ma’am.”
With a bobbed curtsy, the innwife turned, shooed her girls out ahead of her, then went out and closed the door.
Linnet didn’t need to look at the three faces about the table to know that they, too, expected her to serve the soup. With only a slight twist to her lips, she did. The oxtail broth was delicious, as were the various roast meats and assorted vegetables and puddings provided as accompaniments.
Early in the proceedings, the innkeeper arrived with three mugs of ale for the men and a glass of ginger wine for Linnet. Once again, the innkeeper’s deferential “ma’am” niggled Linnet; despite the fact that she wore no ring, everyone, Logan included, was treating her as if she were his wife.
She felt a touch off-balance, and didn’t appreciate the feeling.
But she, Logan, Charles, and Deverell had more pressing concerns.
When only the platter of cheese and walnuts remained, Charles popped a piece of cheese into his mouth, gathered a handful of nuts, and pushed back from the table. “I’m going out to scout around.”
Deverell nodded. “I’ll come with you.”
From the door, Charles looked back at Logan. “Give us at least half an hour before you send the cavalry.”
Logan nodded, and then the pair were gone.
They returned twenty minutes later. Logan turned from the window as the door opened and Charles walked in, looking puzzled.
“They’re here.” Charles waited until Deverell came in and closed the door. “But for some ungodly reason they’re gathered, all eight of them, back down the road.”
Deverell halted by the table. He, too, was frowning. “They know we’re here-they’re keeping watch on the entrance to the inn’s yard.” He looked at Logan. “We checked ahead first, then circled all the way around before we found them. It looks like they’re intending to follow us rather than attack, even though there are eight of them.”
“I can’t see how they can attack from the rear, not in this sort of country, on this sort of road, and against a fast carriage and four.” Charles looked at Logan. “There’s something we’re missing here.”
After a moment, Logan said, “I think I know what.” He looked at Deverell. “Have you got that map?”
Reaching into his pocket, Deverell drew out a map, carefully unfolded the parchment, and laid it on the table. Linnet rose from the armchair to which she’d retreated and joined them. They all stood looking down at the map.
“We’re here”-Deverell pointed to a spot labeled Bridgwater-“currently on the road to Bristol. Our destination, Bath, is here.” He pointed to the town northeast of Bridgwater, and southeast of Bristol. “As the crow flies, it’s about thirty-five miles, fifty or more by road. Five hours’ drive, perhaps less. The reason we’ve come this way is that, from here, there are many different routes we can take to reach Bath.” He traced a number of them. “None of those routes is useful for mounting an attack from the rear-so why send eight men to follow us where one, or at most two, would do?”
“Because they think we’re going to Bristol, and they’re not just following us.” Logan pointed to Bristol, to their nor’northeast, then looked up, met the others’ eyes. “We know Ferrar sent his men to the south coast ports, those being the ones we, the couriers, were most likely to come through. But the three frigates that attacked the
Charles grimaced. “It is one of the major trading ports.”
“So,” Deverell said, “it’s likely the group behind us have already sent someone to alert their colleagues in Bristol, and as we drive on, with the eight behind us, we’re going to run into a cult welcome up ahead.”
“And we’ll be trapped between”-Charles looked at Logan-“sixteen or more? Those are not odds I like.”
“Nor I,” Logan said, “but that’s how the cult operates. They smother opponents-overwhelming odds to ensure victory. Ferrar has no consideration for how many he loses, and many cultists have absorbed so much of the religious zeal Ferrar has fostered that they view death in the service of the Black Cobra as imparting some sort of glory.”
“In that case,” Deverell said, leaning on the table and studying the map, “we need to break up the group behind us, or step sideways out of their trap.”
“Or both,” Charles said. “The question is how.”
They evaluated the various roads they might take.
“The problem,” Logan said, “is that if we take any of these roads to Bath, in the carriage we’re going to be slower than a rider from the pack behind us seeing our direction, riding hell for leather to Bristol, meeting up with the welcome committee there, and redirecting them to Bath. They’ll be able to reach Bath, and even come southeast to meet us as we drive in. We’ll be no better off, and might even be in worse, less frequented terrain.”
They all stared at the map. “That means,” Deverell eventually said, “that regardless of all else, the best route for us to take to Bath is the one that’s quickest from the moment we turn off the Bristol road.” He traced a route. “This one-we turn off at Upper Langford, then go via Blagdon, Compton Martin, Bishop Sutton and Chelwood to Marksbury, and so to Bath. For us, that’s the fastest way.”
Logan grimaced. “They’re still going to reach Bath well ahead of us.”
Linnet tapped a finger on the map. “Not if they don’t see which way we go.” She glanced up at the three men. When they all simply waited, she half smiled and looked down. “Here-just past this hamlet called Star. There’s a bend in the road, and then half a mile further on, Upper Langford and the turnoff we want. And while it’s difficult to stage an attack from the rear, we’re in front.
Deverell was studying the map closely. “They’ll realize we’ve turned, but they won’t know to where. Just past that bend there are roads to Cheddar, Weston-Sur-Mare, Congresbury, as well as the one we want to take.”
“They’ll spend time casting about, trying to find which way we’ve gone.” Linnet looked at Logan. “It might not delay them long, but it will gain us some time, perhaps enough to beat them into Bath.”
Logan nodded. “That’s our best plan so far.”
Charles straightened. “The only alternative is to kill all those following us, and as they’re all on horseback, it’s too likely one of them at least will flee and ride on, so that’s not a viable option.”
Deverell nodded. “I vote for Linnet’s plan.”
“And me.” Logan nodded at her.
Charles grinned and swept her a bow. “Indeed. And I’ve got just the thing to ensure sufficient panic and mayhem to get away unseen.”
When their carriage rattled out of the Monmouth Arms yard, only Logan and Linnet were inside the vehicle. Charles and Deverell were stretched out on the roof, with two primed rifles each. Logan and Linnet each had one rifle and two pistols. The pistols were unlikely to have much chance of hitting any cultists, but the shots would add to the confusion.
David, who’d looked thoroughly thrilled when told the plan, took his time settling in his new team, galloping
