Mullins nodded and sat. The others settled around the table.
“We still need to think of things like that, don’t we?” Watson asked. “We’re not out of the woods yet.”
“Far from it.” Gareth hesitated, then said, “Indeed, if anything we’re in greater danger now, and as a group will be until we reach England. Once there, colleagues will be waiting. I imagine some of you will be able to stay in a safe house while I ferry the scroll holder to its final destination.”
Her gaze on his face, Emily inwardly snorted. He’d better not be thinking of leaving her behind, tucked away in safety, while he faced danger alone.
The innkeeper bustled out from the kitchen with trays bearing coffee, a pot of hot chocolate, and sumptuous pastries. They all waited while he served. Her mouth watering, Emily beamed and, with Gareth, thanked him.
Once the innkeeper had retired behind the counter at the back of the room, Gareth glanced around the table at the now familiar faces, then went on, “We have the next few hours to consider our options and make our plans. The closer we get to England, the more desperate our pursuers will grow. We need to decide how we’re going to tackle the journey from here to the Channel-how best to clear the hurdles the cult is sure to place in our path.”
He paused. All the others were listening intently. “We have two options at this point, and we need to choose which one to take.” He glanced around. “I could make the decision-as I generally do-but in this case, we all need to decide together, because whatever comes of that decision will be something we all have to face. We’re all in this together.”
No one argued. He went on, “We could flee the town now-hire the first two carriages we find and head north at a run before the cultists here in France even know we’ve landed. That’s our first option and it has a certain attraction. However, if we do that, we won’t have time to find coachmen willing and able to help us, to fight on our side if need be, nor will we be able to acquire any of the supplies we will need for the journey-we’d need to rely on stoppping in smaller towns and being able to find what we need there.” He paused, then added, “All of us with pistols are low on powder and shot, and now we’re back in Europe, we have to assume any men the cultists hire will use firearms, so from here on, we’re much more likely to need our own.”
Stirring his coffee, Watson nodded. “In addition to that, from here, there’s really only one route-one halfway fast and direct route-we can take to the Channel ports. If we’re in danger, then we can’t afford to dally, yet once on that road, we’ll be easy to track, easy to find.”
Grimly, Gareth nodded. “Precisely. Either way, whether we flee now, or seize the cover of being in a town as crowded with people of all races as Marseilles to first make proper preparations, once we’re on the road north, the cult will quickly pick up our trail.”
They discussed it-how much they could foresee, what preparations they might make before leaving Marseilles that would help them evade subsequent capture and speed their journey north. Mooktu pointed out that, while they would be easier to track once on the road, in the French countryside the cultists themselves would be much more visible.
When the coffee and cakes were gone and the discussion wound down, Gareth called a vote. To his relief, the decision was unanimous. They would remain in Marseilles until they were ready to make a dash for the Channel coast.
Thirteen
25th November, 1822
Evening
A comfortable room in a tiny inn in Marseilles
Dear Diary,
So we are settled in Marseilles for the nonce, and while I wondered what possibilities staying in one place-one that isn’t rocking and affords a suitable degree of privacy-might hold, the cultists have already intruded on our calm.
Bister took Jimmy out for a walk-we are all agreed he needs exercise and fresh air to improve-but Bister, being Bister, went scouting in the consular quarter, and spotted numerous cultists. While he and Jimmy escaped undetected, Bister reported that the cultists were, contrary to earlier in the day, actively and specifically searching. It seems news of our arrival has reached the cult members stationed here.
Gareth is concerned. He fears that, with specific descriptions in hand, the cultists-and indeed there seem quite a number-will organize a methodical search. Our out-of-the-way location will protect us for a day or so, but not forever. And it has already become apparent that finding and hiring the right sort of carriages and drivers, and reprovisioning those items we must have for our journey, will not be accomplished in a single day.
I am, as you will understand, finding all this a trifle frustrating. I am irritatingly aware that I have been unable to consolidate the significant gain I made in Tunis. Knowing Gareth, the longer I give him to think about things, the more likely he will erect another wall between us-leaving me to once again scrabble to pull it down.
I have already stated my dislike of blood and battles, but when it comes to these aggravating cultists, if I were to come upon one while holding a loaded pistol in my hand, I doubt I would hesitate to remove him from my path.
My latest personal mantra is: A pox on all cultists.
E.
The next morning, garbed as any young Frenchwoman with her cloak over her shoulders, Emily walked the short distance to the town market.
Gareth strode by her side, his expression impassive, his eyes constantly scanning. He didn’t trust anyone else with her safety, an irritating development, but one he wasn’t in any mood to resist.
If he wasn’t by her side, he’d be distracted, unable to make sound decisions, so there wasn’t any point fighting the now insistent compulsion.
Dorcas followed behind them, a basket over her arm, Mullins by her side. Recalling what he’d noticed on the xebec’s deck during the battle, Gareth suspected there was a budding romance there. Regardless, he was glad of Mullins’s company, and Bister was ambling around them, sometimes ahead, sometimes behind in his usual role of scout.
They had no difficulty finding the market-they followed the noise and the smells. Some were savory, others less so, but once they reached the square and merged into the loud, constantly shifting crowd, all individual aromas melted into the rich potpourri of the market.
Although they didn’t need food in the general sense, they’d agreed that once on the road they wouldn’t stop for lunch, but would eat on the run as it were. After circling the stalls selling fresh fruit, Emily bought a sack of crisp apples, a selection of other fruits and vegetables that would keep, and handfuls of various nuts in their shells.
While Dorcas tucked the packages into her basket, Emily turned to him. “Can you see where the stalls selling cured meats and cheeses are?”
Raising his head, he looked over the crowd, saw those stalls along a distant wall. He also saw two cultists strolling down the aisle toward them. The pair were still some way ahead, but they weren’t shopping.
He’d taken Emily’s arm before he’d thought. Bending close, he spoke quietly as he turned her. “Cultists ahead-we’ll backtrack, then circle around. The stalls you want are along the far wall.”
She met his eyes, nodded, then calmly gathered Dorcas and Mullins as they passed. In good order they retreated out of the cultists’ path.
While escorting Emily to the distant stalls, he kept an eye on the pair, and sent Bister scouting further to see if there were any others in the market.