“It’s not the newest boat in the fleet,” I noted, studying the bare, gray wood of the punt. It had begun its days several decades before on the more prestigious Oxford portion of the Thames, but after it lost its looks, had been sent over to this working end of the waterway. The most I could say in its behalf was that it looked sound, by which I mean it did not have six inches of water in the bottom of it.
“Here, put one of these on,” Barker said, handing me an oilskin coat in dark gray. The coats must have been included in the price. The old sailor seemed to take grim delight in our donning these villainous garments, rank with sweat and fish scales.
“And just why am I wearing this?” I dared ask.
“We do not want to attract attention.”
“Two gentlemen punting in the dark when anyone else on the river would be camping for the night? Couldn’t we have gone by train or something?”
“This was the way the original denizens of the Hellfire Club came, and I have no doubt this is how they shall arrive tonight.”
“How do you know Miacca really exists? Couldn’t he be an invention of the Hellfire Club to cover their illicit activities?”
“No, lad. My professional experience tells me that those letters are genuine. Only a very warped individual would think like that.”
The moon had risen, a pale yellow crescent with the features of a man curious about our endeavors. Clouds moved slowly across the sky, concealing and revealing the moon, like a bull’s-eye lantern. Barker stood in the stern, pulling the pole out of the sediment behind and setting it down in front of him. It is not a fast means of transportation, but he got into such a steady rhythm, I was conscious of the passage of land on either side.
I soon saw why he had chosen this mode of transport. Once out of the town proper, we reached a series of locks. In some cases, the lockkeepers were vigilant, and in others, they had to be hailed. Money changed hands in two instances. On others, we punted to the side, and bodily dragged the old boat around the lock.
“Come here, lad,” Barker ordered. “I’ll teach you how to punt.”
He showed me how to stand with my feet braced and to pull and push on the long length of spruce. Like all things new, it was awkward at first, until I got accustomed to it. As long as I was not interrupted by another lock, my pole sunk into sandy silt and all was fine.
The moonlight, when it wasn’t playing peekaboo with the clouds, painted everything in argent hues. It was cool and there was a light breeze, but my exertions made me want to take off my oilskin and jacket and roll up my sleeves. The town had given way to open countryside where all sensible people had gone to bed. There wasn’t a light to be seen anywhere.
“Lad, pull over to the bank quickly.”
The Guv hadn’t shown me how to stop, so it was awkward, but I still managed to guide the boat over to the side, though I lost my footing, falling into the stern.
“What is it?”
“Shhh!”
A boat was coming along behind us. We huddled down and tried to look inconspicuous, as though we were anglers fishing by moonlight. I heard the steady putt of a steam launch, and over it, the sound of men singing. I could hear the words distinctly across the water, though the singers tended to slur their words, a song about a maiden aunt whom a family would not acknowledge after she had run off to Paris. The song was bawdy, and the singers, young rakes of university age or older, sang it with fervor. There was nothing out here to interest them, save the very meeting we were going to disrupt. I wondered how many people would actually be there.
The launch passed with a wake that set us bobbing and soon Barker was punting again. A half hour later, we floated under a bridge, and on the other side, my employer ran the boat aground. We dragged it up on shore against the side of the bridge and began walking.
“We are in Buckinghamshire,” he said. “The baron’s estate is less than a mile away. I thought he might have men at the dock, and we do not wish to be seen.”
The two of us crept along a wagon path. I saw the estate in the distance, well lit against the dark night, and my mind imagined something sinister about it. Barker lit a dark lantern of his own and shone the circle of light upon a large scale ordinance map. A breeze came up, and I felt a chill despite the oilskin.
My employer led me into a valley, and we approached a structure standing tall in the night, a church or abbey. It had a circular courtyard and a pair of open gates lit by torches that bathed everything in a shimmering light.
“That is the entrance to the caves,” the Guv explained.
“It looks deserted,” I said.
“They may be within the labyrinth. It was heavily quarried, according to Dashwood’s design, with some sort of temple at the far end, deep within the earth.”
“How do you know so much about it, sir?” I asked as we came up to the entrance.
“I thought the subject worthy of study. I have a book upon it in my garret back in Newington.”
“I don’t hear anything,” I whispered. “Should we go in?”
“We have come this far,” came the reply.
“Dare I hope you brought a pistol?” I asked.
“It wasn’t wise,” he answered. “This is private property and we are trespassers.”
We headed into the cave. The tunnel was narrow and faced with brick, an endless corridor of gothic arches.
We followed the corridor to the left and had only gone a few yards when I heard a chilling sound, the squeal of gates behind us. They crashed together, setting off echoes throughout the cave.
“Caught like a rat in a trap, Barker!” a rough voice echoed down the corridor. “We have been expecting you. I hope you enjoy your tour of my caves. You will have until the morning to enjoy my hospitality.”
We heard the sound of a heavy chain being wrapped around the gates and a lock clicking shut, then the harsh, raucous laughter of some of Dashwood’s guests, male and female, drifted to us from the entrance of the cave.
“Sir?” I asked in a low voice.
Barker raised a finger to his lips. I told myself it was too early to panic. Trapped we were, but our lives were not in immediate danger. All the same, any chance to lay hands on Miacca tonight had vanished. If we were jailed here all night, who would stop Ona Bellovich from being murdered? What kind of saviors were we?
Barker turned and led me back down the tunnel to the entrance. The gates were closed and padlocked, and a guard had been set outside to watch us, armed with a hunting rifle.
The Guv ignored the guard, flipping up the large padlock that held us in.
“Drop that!” the guard ordered at once.
“Stop me if you wish. Lad, hold this lantern for me.”
I took the lamp as Barker rummaged about in his pockets. Finally, he pulled out a ring of skeleton keys and inserted one into the lock.
“Stop that or I will shoot!” the guard warned, looking a trifle desperate. No one had thought that Barker might have his own keys.
“I doubt the baron has given you permission to shoot me,” my employer stated, taking out the key and inserting another. “You are merely to see that I don’t escape.”
The mechanism clicked as the lock sprung open. The guard raised his rifle, and then the Guv flung out his arm. The distance between them was suddenly full of pennies glittering in the torchlight, the sharpened ones he called his “calling cards.” They caught the man in the wrist, the chest, and the cheek. The guard fell back with a cry, not even able to fire off his gun in warning. Meanwhile, Barker removed the lock and pulled apart the chains before pushing open the massive gate. He charged out, bent double, covering the ground between them quickly. I heard a loud impact, and the guard fell at Barker’s feet. He wouldn’t be getting up any time soon.