‘He was never among my suspects,’ whispered Thurloe. He sounded disgusted and stunned in equal measure. ‘I underestimated him — and his capacity for greed, because he is already rich.’
‘Rich enough to have funded the Piccadilly Company all these months,’ replied Chaloner. ‘No wonder he refused to join the Adventurers. I believed him when he said it was because he opposed the slave trade — he was convincing. But it was a lie, a ruse to conceal his real intentions.’
‘And what are his real intentions? What can he gain, other than to make yet more money?’
Chaloner was about to repeat the reply he had given when Rector Thompson had posed the same question the previous week — that money was one of those commodities of which those who owned it never felt they had enough — when O’Brien crouched by the dying Brilliana. She tried to move away but he made a sudden movement and she went limp, head lolling to one side.
‘I thought I told you to find our unwanted guests,’ he snarled, when he saw Fitzgerald watching him. The pirate took an involuntary step backwards at the force of the words. ‘Hunt them down and kill them. They have done immeasurable harm with their meddling.’
‘I said it was a bad idea to bring the Adventurers to Queenhithe,’ Fitzgerald snapped back. ‘If you had let me blow them up in Woolwich, as we originally planned-’
‘How?’ snapped O’Brien. ‘You could not have smuggled gunpowder on board Royal Katherine, and using Jane was a stroke of genius.’
Fitzgerald scowled. ‘Modestly put. But how did you persuade Leighton to change the time and venue of his party? It cannot have been easy.’
‘It was, actually — I told him I would join the Adventurers if he did as I asked. Unfortunately, now our plan is foiled, he will know that I am behind the plot to massacre them all, so I will have to kill him today, too. But not before I have dispatched Thurloe and his helpmeets, to teach them what happens to those who cross me.’
‘I did not cross you,’ said Fitzgerald immediately. ‘I was on my way to warn you that we had to set the explosion early, but then I saw you on the quayside, so obviously I did not risk our venture by exposing myself to recognition by approaching you.’
‘Obviously,’ said O’Brien flatly, while Chaloner recalled that O’Brien had been one of those whose life had been saved by the timely evacuation. However, he was sure O’Brien was right to be sceptical of Fitzgerald’s intentions.
Beside him, Thurloe released a soft sound of disgust. ‘If he trusted Fitzgerald not to betray him, then the man is deranged,’ he said softly.
‘He is deranged,’ Chaloner whispered back. ‘Look at his face. And what he did to Brilliana …’
‘Well, do not just stand there!’ O’Brien was snapping to his accomplice. ‘Our enemies cannot be allowed to escape, so find them and kill them. Now!’
Fitzgerald was an intelligent man, who knew his quarry could not have left through the window while there were guards outside, so he immediately turned his attention to the panels. He began tapping and poking, and Chaloner knew it was only a matter of time before he found what he was looking for.
He and Thurloe moved as fast as they could along the passage, but it was difficult in the dark. Thurloe gave him a vigorous shove when Fitzgerald screeched his triumph, sending him stumbling down a flight of steep stairs. When he had finally regained his balance, he saw a flare of light close behind him. Thurloe had a tinderbox and had lit a candle.
‘Douse it!’ Chaloner hissed in alarm. He glanced up to see a second gleam at the top of the steps. ‘They are coming!’
‘They know we are here,’ Thurloe snapped back. ‘And it is better to see, than to blunder blindly.’
Chaloner snatched the candle and ran along a corridor that — according to Hyde’s plans — led to the kitchens. He was acutely aware of footsteps behind them. Then he reached a dead end.
‘I sincerely hope we have not gone past the exit,’ gulped Thurloe, groping frantically along the wall. Chaloner did likewise, noting that the mortar was still damp.
Chaloner gasped his relief when he detected a knob. He pulled and twisted, but nothing happened. He did it harder, then gaped in horror when it came off in his hand. Calmly, Thurloe reached past him and pushed the exposed metal. There was a soft sigh, and a stone slid to one side. Aware of Fitzgerald’s lamp coming ever closer, Chaloner crawled out quickly, and when Thurloe had followed, he stood by the hole with a brick in his hand.
‘The next person out will lose his brains,’ he said grimly.
Thurloe cocked his head. ‘Fitzgerald may be in the tunnel, but O’Brien is coming down the stairs. They separated!’
‘Then we will fight them,’ said Chaloner with quiet determination. ‘One each.’
‘We cannot combat bullets with a stone,’ hissed Thurloe. ‘Run! It is our only chance!’
He was right, so Chaloner did as he was told, racing through sculleries, laundries and pantries, sure-footed again now he was in familiar territory. Suddenly, the basement began to echo with a metallic, grating sound that echoed eerily. Fitzgerald was humming to himself. Chaloner winced: not all the notes were true.
‘Whoever told him he could sing was lying,’ he whispered, wishing it would stop.
‘He warbles before making a kill,’ muttered Thurloe. ‘He thinks he has defeated us.’
Chaloner looked around desperately, but saw nothing that would help them survive. Then his eye lit on the stairs that led to the cellar. It was the last place he wanted to go, but he felt a surge of hope as a plan began to form in his mind.
‘The vault,’ he said in a low voice. ‘If we can do to Fitzgerald and O’Brien what we did to Brinkes, we might yet avenge Lester. This way — run!’
The cellar steps were dark and uninviting, and Chaloner’s chest tightened when he recalled what had happened the last time he had ventured down them. But there was no time for squeamishness. He descended them quickly and made for the strongroom. It was locked, but this time he had Wiseman’s scalpel, which proved to be a much better instrument for dealing with the mechanism.
‘Why do they not release Brinkes and his men to hunt for us?’ he asked as he worked, aware that on the floor above, O’Brien and Fitzgerald were conducting a systematic search. ‘Or summon their other Piccadilly Company cronies? Pratt, for example.’
‘Arrogance,’ replied Thurloe shortly. ‘They believe they can best us alone.’
‘Then pride will be their downfall,’ muttered Chaloner. ‘Find a lamp and light it. Quickly!’
Thurloe obliged, and it was not long before he was back. ‘I recommend you hurry,’ he said tensely, ‘because I hear footsteps on the cellar stairs.’
The words were no sooner out of his mouth when the vault’s lock clicked open. Fighting down his nausea, Chaloner tugged open the door and entered. The chest that had contained the rats was gone, and in its place were two more, both sturdy items with metal bands. There was no time for finesse, so he smashed the locks on one with the brick he had brought from the kitchen.
‘Tom!’ pleaded Thurloe nervously. ‘Are you sure we have time for this?’
Chaloner lifted the lid to reveal a mass of gold and silver ingots, with a good smattering of jewellery and precious stones. Thurloe gasped at the sheer volume of it.
‘Is this what came on Jane?’ he breathed.
Chaloner nodded. ‘And it is time to put it to good use.’
He grabbed two large gold bars and shoved them into Thurloe’s hands, then took two himself. Leaving the chest open, and the lantern illuminating it, he dived into the room opposite, flinging the ingots away as soon as he and Thurloe were concealed in the shadows. He slipped his hand into his pocket, hunting for Wiseman’s scalpel. He could not find it, but his fingers located something else. It was the packet of Tangier dust George had given him days ago, which he had all but forgotten.