Gareth lounged on the railing nearby. “Why idiot? They nearly did for Miss Ensworth in Aden.”
“Which proves my point. They should have laid low and taken us out first, then Miss Ensworth would have been a sitting duck. Only Mullins has a clue how to fight, and they separated him from her easily enough.” Bister held up a knife, examined its edge.
“Not everyone has had the experiences we’ve had, but it would be unwise to treat the cultists too lightly.”
Bister nodded sagely. “Never underestimate the enemy.”
“Indeed.” Gareth looked away to hide his twitching lips. Bister was barely five and twenty. He’d joined Gareth when he’d been all of seventeen-just as gullible and inexperienced as Jimmy.
“Meant to mention.”
Gareth turned back, brows rising.
Bister kept his gaze locked on his blade, kept rubbing. “Miss Ensworth. Jimmy said as she was supposed to go home via the usual route-booked on a ship of the line to Southampton via the Cape. But a day or so before, she up and changed her mind, and decided she should go via Aden.”
Gareth let a few seconds go by. “Did she give any reason for the change in route?”
“Nope-just that she’d taken it into her head to go this way, rather than the other.”
“When, exactly, did she change her mind? Did Jimmy know?”
Bister nodded, still absorbed with his blade. “His uncle heard first, as you might imagine. Jimmy said it was a bare two days before they set out-they left on the seventeenth.”
Gareth and his household had departed on the fifteenth-the day Emily Ensworth had decided to change her plans.
The facts lined up, but…
Coincidence. It had to be. Aside from all else, she couldn’t have known about his leaving…could she?
Even if she had known, why would she bother changing her plans to follow him? It made no sense.
A niggle of a suggestion tapped his mental shoulder, but that was self-important arrogance if ever he’d heard it.
“Let me know if you learn anything more.” Pushing away from the railing, he continued on his rounds.
Their barge drew into the Mocha docks in the early afternoon.
With Watson’s help, Gareth had their party formed up and ready to disembark the instant the ropes were cinched tight. Within minutes they were moving swiftly along the wharf and into the town, Emily, Dorcas and Arnia walking quickly before the luggage, with the men positioned around them, all on high alert.
As Gareth passed Emily, she reached out and clutched his sleeve. Tugged him close.
Looked up and met his eyes. Hers were narrowed. “What haven’t you told me?”
He considered, but it couldn’t hurt for her to know. “The cultists might have come on by the inland route. We have to assume they’re here, and we don’t want to meet them unnecessarily.”
She held his gaze for an instant, searching his eyes, then nodded and released his sleeve.
He watched her for several moments, but far from exhibiting any degree of fear, she merely scanned the crowds, watchful and now alert. He hadn’t made any conscious decision not to spell out the situation for her as he had for the men. The men had to be on guard. Her…he simply hadn’t thought of it.
“Where are we heading?” She asked the question without looking at him.
He, too, kept his gaze on the noisy crowds. “Somewhere you and the others will be safe while I find a schooner to take us to Suez.”
Bister, scouting ahead as usual, returned at that moment with directions to a small family-run tavern down a narrow side street only a few blocks from the docks.
When they reached it, Gareth approved. The front was mostly wall, with only one door and a small glassless window covered by a leather flap, presently lowered against the day’s heat.
They went in. Given the hour, the front room was empty.
Gareth directed Emily and Dorcas to the front corner furthest from the door. Arnia followed. To his relief, although Arnia was usually exceedingly reserved, she seemed to have made some pact with Dorcas, and the pair had reached a working accord-which would certainly make his life easier.
Mooktu, with Mullins, had gone to chat with the proprietor, a middle-aged Arab who smiled and nodded. They returned bearing a tray with a pitcher and mugs. Without words, they pulled together tables, arranged benches, and sat down to refresh themselves.
And plan.
Gareth looked at Watson. “You, Mooktu, and I need to go back to the docks and look for a schooner to hire, preferably one that will take us and only us, no other cargo, and so sail to Suez in the shortest possible time.”
Watson grimaced. “That’ll cost a pretty penny.”
“Money we have,” Gareth returned. “Our safety is my primary concern.”
Watson nodded. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“We need supplies.” Emily waited until Gareth looked her way. Raising her hand, she ticked off on her fingers, “We need flour, lentils, rice, tea, sugar, and all the other things we didn’t have on the barge.”
They’d learned that although their households could happily share the same foods, Indian or English, a steady diet of fish and only fish suited none of them.
Beside Emily, both Arnia and Dorcas were nodding, as were Bister and Jimmy.
Gareth opened his mouth, then shut it as realization dawned.
Emily gave him a thin-lipped smile. “Indeed-if you find a barge to take us straight on, as we all hope, then given the hour we’ll need to go to the souk now. We can’t afford to wait until you get back.”
He stared at her. She could all but see his instinctive refusal to let her go outside forming on his tongue. She pointed to Bister. “If Bister will come with me, and Mullins, too, we can leave Jimmy with Arnia and Dorcas to guard the luggage.”
It was a reasonable division of labor and guards. Her gaze steady on his face, she waited to see if he would accept. If he had it in him to be reasonable.
His lips thinned, but slowly he nodded-forced himself to nod. “All right.” He looked at Bister and Mullins. “But take all care. So far we’ve managed to avoid the cultists. If at all possible, we don’t want to be seen.”
The souk was a bustling hive of humanity, located within a quarter of narrow winding streets. Both traders and customers hailed from many different nations, and all were talking loudly in many different tongues. Luckily, with the expansion of French and British influence, most traders spoke a smattering of pidgin English at least, and some spoke passable French, enough for Emily to get by.
She was firmly determined not to feel cowed by having to deal with such
