Mr. Grey did not reach for it immediately. “I do not want her harmed,” he said softly.
“Neither of us do,” Edmund answered.
Mr. Grey snorted, and that, oddly enough, was Edmund’s first reassurance of the night. Only a man who had decided could afford to be amused.
He took the note and tucked it under the lip of the counter where the bar’s woodwork hid it from any casual eye. “He comes in late as a rule,” he said. “Not every night, but often.”
“Give it to him,” Edmund said, “or to whichever man asks for it on his behalf. It must reach him.”
“And if it does not?” Mr. Grey asked.
Edmund spoke harshly. “Then he will come to the school.”
Mr. Grey’s face hardened. “I will see it done.”
Edmund inclined his head.
He took the tankard Mr. Grey slid toward him, lifted it in a half-salute, and drank enough to make his presence plausible. He stayed no longer than necessary.
When he left the Blue Anchor, the air struck him like a slap. The night was cold enough to sting, and the moon had slipped behind a rag of cloud. His breath smoked in front of him. He had gone perhaps twenty paces from the tavern door when he felt it—the subtle shift in the street’s quiet, the sense of another presence that did not belong.
He did not turn.
He simply slowed, as if he were adjusting his gloves, and let his hand fall near his coat pocket where he kept his knife.
A shadow detached itself from the alley beside the baker’s wall. A boy stepped into view—no older than fifteen, cheeks reddened by cold, and his cap pulled low over his eyes. He moved with purpose.
He came close enough to speak without raising his voice. “Mr. Leigh?” he whispered.
Edmund narrowed his eyes. “Who sent you?”
The boy’s hand darted into his own coat and produced a small, folded paper—creased and sealed with a familiar wax mark that made Edmund’s pulse thrum.
He took it at once. “Where did you get this?”
“From a gentleman at the post-road,” the boy said. “’E told me to find the writer staying wit’ the Admiral.”
Edmund did not answer. He broke the seal with his thumb.
Renforth’s hand was unmistakable—controlled, spare, every word weighted.
Arrived.In position. Surrounding house and grounds. Intercepted your last report. Do nothing rash.
Edmund stared at the paper,relief striking at once. Reinforcements: Renforth; Manners; Stuart; Baines; Fielding; They were here.
They had come—without waiting for a request—because Renforth did not allow his men to bleed alone, even when those men believed they deserved it, because Renforth understood that a ledger could ruin more lives than any bullet. His resolve strengthened as he folded the note.
He looked up at the boy. “How long ago did he give you this?”
“Just now,” the boy said in a near whisper. “They’re out near the headland. I was told to keep quiet, sir.”
“You were told correctly,” Edmund murmured.
The boy hesitated, then added, “There is a man in the alley by the cooper’s shop, watching. I saw him before I came to you.”
“Did he see you?”
“I don’t believe so,” the boy admitted, swallowing. “He looked like a wild beast.”
