Another whistle, but she had already seen it, too. The masts were beginning to move. It seemed to take an eternity for them to disappear into the swirls of fog.
One, two, three . . .Charlotte began a mental counting of the seconds. Wrexford and Sheffield had calculated beforehand how long to wait before pursuing the enemy.
Thethumpof Raven’s feet reverberated through the deck as he jumped back on board. She felt the wherry shudder and start to move through the water. As they angled out to the middle of the river, Charlotte saw their quarry up ahead, ghosting along through the tendrils of fog under her topgallant sails. The ship was moving sluggishly, as the tide had not yet gained its full force.
Sheffield pulled in the main sheet, tightening the sail, and the wherry picked up speed.
Wrexford lifted her hand to his lips and brushed a quick kiss to her knuckles before releasing his hold. She met his eyes and felt a sob well up in her throat.
He smiled, and then was gone, a dark shape wiggling quick as an eel over the floor toward the stern.
“Ready, everyone,” called Sheffield softly. He shifted a large jug of spirits to the slatted seat beside him and started to sing a bawdy song in an off-key bellow. In response to his increasingly erratic tugs at the tiller, the wherry began to pitch and yaw, its prow swinging around toward Lyman’s ship.
McClellan began to curse her good-for-nothing husband, with Raven adding his own mewling to her shrieks.
Charlotte winced. They were making enough noise to wake the dead.
Her own role was to fumble with the rigging, as if trying to help Sheffield change direction.
“Avast, you barnacle-witted fool!” Their cacophony had drawn notice from the ship’s quarterdeck. As they swooped closer, Charlotte saw a man was now standing at the taffrail, waving his arms. “Steer left! Steer left!”
Sheffield raised the jug in a friendly salute. “Y’wanna buy a woman fer yer journey. She be a shrew, but I’ll sell her te ye cheap, ha, ha, ha!”
McClellan slapped him around the head, knocking the wherry farther off course. It was now aimed right for the rear side of the ship.
The thump of wood against wood rose above the shrieks and howls of the combatants.
“Sorry!” shouted Raven as he grabbed up the gaff pole and pushed the wherry free.
Out of the corner of her eye, Charlotte saw Wrexford slip over the side and into the water without making a sound. The ripples were quickly swallowed in the gloom.
“Move off, you lummox, or you’ll soon be food for the crabs!”
Charlotte spotted von Stockhausen brandishing a musket. An instant later, another man appeared by his side and caught hold of the barrel.
“Now, now, there’s no need for violence,” called the newcomer, swinging the weapon’s aim skyward. “However, madam, I suggest you take command of your vessel and head for safe harbor.” A note of arrogant amusement colored his voice. “Before my compatriot orders for the cannons to be run out.”
Raven let out a wail of terror and began a frantic paddling with his hands.
The newcomer—Charlotte guessed it was Lyman—began laughing. Wresting the musket away from von Stockhausen, he took aim and fired a shot that came perilously close to the boy, who wisely flung himself back into the scuppers.
“Monster,” whispered Charlotte as McClellan hauled in the sail and set the wherry flying for the opposite shore. Their part was done for the moment. They would circle back shortly and shadow the ship’s progress.
But now, it was all up to Wrexford.
* * *
The water was colder than Satan’s heart. The shock of plunging into its depth froze his muscles for an instant, but as the current pulled at his clothing, sweeping him away from his target, Wrexford forced himself to stay submerged and began swimming toward the ship.
As he rose to draw a gulp of air, the crack of the musket shot cut through the night. He swiveled around to see the wherry come about and disappear into the rolling bank of fog. Whether anyone had been hit was impossible to tell. But the bark of laughter that floated down from the quarterdeck sent a wave of fury pulsing through his blood.
Clutching the chisel and mallet, he ducked beneath the waves and kept moving. Buoyed by the current, he soon found himself deep in shadow, staring up at the Baltimore Clipper’s graceful stern. The clank of rudder chains shifting in the waves filled his ears. At this point in the river, the helmsman had few obstacles to navigate. The fellow would need only a light hand on the wheel.
Which is all to my advantage,thought the earl, allowing a cold smile.
Kicking closer, Wrexford seized hold of the rudderpost, hauled himself into position, and set to work.
* * *
