“You, too. Stay put,” he repeated.
He boarded one of the lighters. As the small barge glided through the dark water, he looked back at the boat. In spite of the perils ahead, he felt his lips twitch.
Tessa stood on the prow of the boat, her ferret on her shoulder, her trousered legs firmly planted. The wind whipped the stray curls that had escaped her thick plait. She was waving at him, blowing him kisses.
He sobered as Ming distributed the weapons. In addition to the satchel of devices he’d made, Harry would be carrying pistols and ammunition.
“Once in, go to prisoners’ cell.” Ming reviewed their plan. “Get Mr. Black and others.”
Yesterday, the mudlarks had done some additional scouting amongst the watering holes of O’Toole’s men. Their keen, plentiful ears had caught wind of two crucial pieces of information. First, the prisoners were being kept behind bars in the basement of the flash house. Second, there was a secret password for entry via the underground water passage.
Harry nodded, silence falling as they approached the cliffs of O’Toole’s keep.
He held his pistol in readiness as they passed into the dank cave beneath the flash house. The low ceiling of rock seemed to press down upon him, the memory of being entombed cinching his lungs. Clammy fingers gripped his nape. He started at the sound of movement, of ruffling air—ducking as a black veil swooshed over his head.
Bats,he recognized, heart hammering.
They reached a small, rickety dock, and Harry gladly alighted first. He motioned for the men to stay behind as he approached the huge door that guarded the entrance into the flash house. Pulling down the brim of his hat, he knocked.
A slit opened at eye level, suspicious eyes peering through it. “’Oo are you?”
“Name’s Jones, one o’ Mr. Lavery’s men.” Harry figured that the guard wouldn’t know the names and faces of all his new allies. “Wiv the bloody bastards attacking above, Mr. Lavery wanted to send in reinforcements below.”
“Wot’s the password?” the guard demanded.
“O’Toole the Conqueror,” Harry managed to say with a straight face.
The peep hole slammed shut. The sound of a metal bolt sliding sounded from the other side, the door opening. “Well, ’bout time I ’ad ’elp down ’ere—buggering hell.”
Harry had shoved the door the rest of the way, holding the wide-eyed guard at gunpoint.
“Tie and gag him,” he said to one of Black’s men.
He led the way through the corridor, which snaked through the bowels of the flash house. Shouts and gunfire could be heard from the floors above, and he prayed their side was winning. He saw a corner up ahead, a falling of light. Heard voices and the rattle of steel.
He motioned to his men to halt. Carefully, he peered around the corner. A dozen guards in the antechamber, brutes armed to the teeth. They were clustered around a massive door.
“Guard the cell,” the leader barked. “And take no prisoners. Master’s orders.”
The bloodthirsty cheer that went up had Harry leaning back, reaching into his satchel. He readied three devices, donned his mask and gestured to his team to do the same. As soon as the protective gear was donned, he lit the fuses and tossed them into the room.
“What the devil?” Bewildered cries sounded.
Harry had designed the contraptions to smolder rather than explode. As smoke billowed through the room, choking and blinding the unsuspecting enemy, he led the charge.
He headed through the thick grey fog, straight to the leader, attacking with a right hook. His enemy coughed out a curse, weapon clattering to the ground, and they traded blows. A wild punch caught Harry in the gut, but he dodged the next swing, going in low. He tackled the other, plowing his fists until his opponent lay unconscious on the ground.
A hand landed on Harry’s shoulder, and he spun, ready to attack.
“Free Mr. Black.” Ming’s words were muffled by his mask. “Men and I finish here.”
Harry nodded, grabbing the ring of keys from the fallen foe. He sprinted through the smoke to the door, Ming and the others forming ranks to get him through. Ripping off his mask, he unlocked the barrier, ran through a corridor into another antechamber and—
He threw himself to the ground, a bullet whizzing by his ear. He skidded on his back, had an instant to register Black and Todd, shouting, trapped behind bars, before O’Toole took aim again. Harry whipped out his pistol. Shots fired simultaneously.
O’Toole stared at him, then at the red stain on the front of his own shirt.
The cutthroat toppled with a thud.
