Bea stilled like a bird hearing the wings of a predator. Where had that sound come from?
“Psst, up here. Don’t worry, milady. I’m coming down to get you.”
She looked up—and saw a small, shadowy figure coming through the hole in the ceiling. The boy had a rope tied around his waist and was being lowered smoothly and swiftly until his boots hit the floor. He untied the rope and ran over to Bea, cutting her free.
She shook off her bonds. Stared at the familiar round-cheeked face, mop of brown hair, and tattered cap.
“You’re the boy,” she said in wonder. “The one who’s been watching me—why?”
“Long Mikey’s the name. But we ’aven’t time to palaver. We ’ave to make ourselves scarce afore that stinkin’ bitch returns.”
He had a point.
“Tie this around your waist, milady.”
He handed her the rope; she quickly did as he instructed.
“Now ’old on tight.”
As soon as her fingers closed around the rough twine, the boy gave a whistle. A distinctive sound like a bird call, one note high, two notes low. She felt tension on the rope and then she was pulled from above, her feet lifting off the ground. She clung on as she soared through the darkness toward the opening in the roof, her rescuer becoming smaller and smaller below.
When she reached the top, hands helped her through the hole. More children, dressed in the same tattered uniform as Long Mikey. As soon as she rolled onto the roof, next to the tracks where the train would soon pass, she gasped, “Long Mikey…”
“Don’t worry, milady. ’E’s coming next,” a pretty amber-skinned girl said.
They tossed the rope down again. The children—six of them—hauled Long Mikey up to safety, their small hands pulling the rope with coordinated efficiency, Bea helping as best as she could.
“I can’t thank you all enough,” she began.
She froze as she heard voices, the door to the hopper opening below.
“You can thank us later,” Long Mikey whispered. “For now, we’d better run!”
* * *
Wick and his group arrived at the coal drop yard at a little after nine.
The moon streamed through the fog, bathing the yard in an eerie silver glow. The compound was situated next to Regent’s Canal, a viaduct soaring over the walled yard and the warehouse where the coal would be dropped from the train. At this time of night, the workers would be gone, but guards would remain on the premises.
Wick ran toward the entrance, the others following him.
The iron gate was ajar. He entered cautiously. A guard stall took up the entryway, necessitating that workers and visitors past through the lanes on either side of it. He passed to the right of the stall…and froze when he saw the bodies.
The guards, two of them, lay on the gravel just beyond. They had dark blooms on their shirts, their sightless eyes telling him they were beyond help. The warehouse, a long, three-story brick building with the track running over the uppermost floor, sat fifty yards behind them.
Wick took out his pistol; Garrity and Kent did the same. Hadleigh gripped his walking stick.
“We’ll split up, surround the warehouse,” Wick said in a low voice. “Garrity, you and your men take the north side, Kent the east. Hadleigh you go south, and I’ll take the west. Any questions?”
“Who’rethey?” Kent whispered.
Following the direction of Kent’s finger, Wick saw a line of shadows descending the side of the brick building. They moved with ant-like precision. One by one, the figures dropped to the ground and began scurrying toward the gate. Wick’s hand tightened on his weapon as they neared. The first one spotted him, letting out a whistle that brought the rest to a halt.
Christ,mudlarks…what were they doing here?
“Wick? Oh, Wick, is that you?”
Relief slammed into him as Beatrice emerged from the group, running toward him. He got to her first, drawing her to him fiercely. For an instant, he just held her to his pounding heart.
