Ричард Вудмен - Baltic Mission

'You have done well,' Mackenzie was saying, spilling into his palm a shower of gold. He held it out to Edward who was now fully dressed. 'Here, this is on account, the rest within the month in the usual way.'

Edward pocketed the cash. He was again the Russian officer, Ostroff. He held out his hand to Drinkwater. 'The parting of the ways, then, Nat?'

Drinkwater nodded. 'Yes ... it would seem so.'

'I have discharged all my obligations today.'

'With interest,' said Mackenzie drily as the two brothers shook hands.

'Where's Walmsley?' Drinkwater asked suddenly as their minds turned towards departure. The three men exchanged glances.

'He can't be far away,' said Mackenzie. 'It isn't the first time he's wandered off.'

'No, but it will be the last,' snapped Drinkwater anxiously.

'He's gone a-whoring,' said Edward as he bent to pick up his gear. Mackenzie slung his saddle-bags over his shoulder and Drinkwater put a pistol in his waistband.

'We cannot wait,' said Mackenzie, looking at Drinkwater. 'Perhaps he's down below.' Mackenzie unbarred the door and led them out down the steep and narrow stairs.

The only person they met in their descent through the eerie silence of the house was the Jew, who was on an upper landing. Mackenzie passed more money to him and the three men walked into the courtyard, shadowed by the late afternoon sunlight.

'I have a horse quartered here,' said Edward, turning aside.

'Where do you go now?' asked Drinkwater.

'To Vorontzoff,' Edward replied, entering the stable. Drinkwater followed to see if Walmsley was repeating his performance of that morning: a brief look showed the hayloft empty.

'Come on ...' said Mackenzie.

Drinkwater hesitated. ‘I must have a look for Walmsley.' Mackenzie swore and, for the first time since they had met, Drinkwater saw irresolution in his face. 'Damn it then, a quick look, but hurry!'

General Santhonax had searched the warehouses of the lower town as unobtrusively as possible. The thought that a soaking man could not vanish without accomplices beat in his brain. He reached the Ostkai with its tall houses where the previous evening he had selected the barge. Lariboissiere's men, with whose help he had crossed the river, were already stretching the first cable of the bridge Napoleon had ordered thrown over the Nieman. Angrily he turned away. Perhaps the inns round the town square might have offered concealment.

Lord Walmsley smiled down at the girl. The bed of the Russian prince was rumpled by the wanton violence of their combined lust, but Walmsley knew he had to leave, to see if the strange, English-speaking Russian officer, Ostroff, had returned to the attic. He emerged onto the landing, hearing a noise on the stairs. Below him someone went out into the courtyard. From a window he could just see down into the deepening shadows of the yard. Captain Drinkwater was there and he was joined by Ostroff, leading a grey horse out of the stable. At the same time Mackenzie appeared, shaking his head. It was obvious that departure was imminent. Behind Walmsley the girl appeared and wound her arms around him.

Below in the courtyard the three men were holding a hurried conference.

'Nothing. It means we'll have to search the place thoroughly.'

'He may have wandered off anywhere,' said Mackenzie. 'I let him go for a while yesterday ...'

'You'd best forget him,' said Edward, putting one foot in the stirrup. 'I will keep an eye out for him and spirit him away if I can.'

'And if you can't?' asked Drinkwater, at once furious with the midshipman for his desertion and in a quandary as to what to do.

'Come, this is no time to delay, we must make the best of our separate ways now,' Mackenzie said, taking Drinkwater's elbow. 'Come on, it is only a short walk to Gower's chaise and we have little to fear. It will not be very surprising if a Scottish merchant and an English shipmaster evacuate Tilsit in the wake of the day's events.'

Edward looked down from his horse. 'Goodbye, Nat, and good luck. Forget your young friend, I'll do what I can.'

'Very well, and thank you. Good fortune.'

The two men smiled and Edward dug his heels into the flanks of the grey and clattered out of the yard. At the arched entrance his horse shied, skittering sideways as a tall military officer almost collided with them. Edward kicked his mount forward.

As the big grey horse trotted away Santhonax looked under the arch. He saw two men walking towards him carrying bags over their shoulders; they had the appearance of travellers on the point of departure, yet he could see no reason for men to leave a town that was so full of wild celebration. With sudden caution he drew his pistol as they entered the covered passage and moved towards him.

Drinkwater saw the man under the arch and caught the movement of the drawn pistol.

'Look,' he hissed, sensing danger at the same moment as Mackenzie.

Drinkwater's hand went to his own pistol, Mackenzie strode forward.

'Bonsoir, M’sieur,' he said. In the gloom the man turned and Drinkwater recognised Santhonax. Without a moment's thought he swung his heavy pistol butt: the steel heel of the weapon caught Santhonax on the jaw and he crashed against the wall. Drinkwater hit him a second time. Santhonax sprawled full length, unconscious.

'It's Santhonax,' hissed Drinkwater as both men stared down at the French general, their thoughts racing. 'Do you think he was looking for us?'

'God knows!'

'Do we kill him?'

'No, that might raise a hue and cry. Take his watch, make it look like a theft.' Mackenzie bent over the inert body and wrenched at Santhonax's waist. He straightened up and handed a heavy gold watch to Drinkwater. 'Here ...' Mackenzie rifled Santhonax's pockets and then turned back the way they had come. 'Leave him. To hell with the chaise. I smell trouble. For all I know he's already discovered Walmsley... there is not a moment to lose.'

Drinkwater ran back, following Mackenzie into the stable. In a lather of inexpert haste Drinkwater tried to get a horse saddled in imitation of Mackenzie. The other came over and finished the job for him. They drew the horses out of the stable and mounted them. Drinkwater hoisted himself gingerly into the saddle.

'Are you all right?' hissed Mackenzie.

'I think so ...' Drinkwater replied uncertainly as the horse moved beneath him, sensing his nervousness.

'Listen! If we are pursued, get to Memel and your ship! Go direct to London. Ostroff and I will take care of Walmsley ... Come, let's go!'

They rode across the yard and through the archway. Behind them General Santhonax stirred and groaned. Santhonax got slowly to his feet, clawing himself upright by the wall. His head throbbed painfully and his jaw was severely contused. He staggered forward and the courtyard swam into his vision. He looked dazedly about him. A young man was staring at him and then seemed to vanish. Santhonax frowned: the young man had been wearing something very like a seaman's coat.

His head cleared and then it came back to him. The two men, the sudden guilty hesitation and the deceptive confrontation by one of them while the other struck him with a clubbed pistol. The apparition of the youth and the smell of a stable full of horses spurred him to sudden activity. He crossed the yard and met Walmsley at the stable door.

'What's happening?' asked Walmsley in English, mistaking his man in the gloom. Santhonax smiled savagely.

'Nothing,' he replied reassuringly, his own command of English accent-free.

'Is that you, Ostroff?'

'Yes,' lied Santhonax, silhouetted against the last of the daylight.

'Have they gone then?' Santhonax heard alarm awaken in the question. 'Are they getting the chaise?' Guilt had robbed Walmsley of his wits.

'Yes ...' Santhonax pushed Walmsley backwards and followed him into the stable.