Page 48 of The Swan Syndicate
“We won’t. Not for certain. Jamie will still go to the next port to check for Hensley’s message. It’s better to trail MacDuff than for him to fall behind us.”
“That makes sense. Lando and I are to stay at the inn as long as we can without appearing suspicious. Are you and the other men making the same one-hour rounds?”
“Yes. Unless we spot either MacDuff or Cheval. Then one of us will follow them at a safe distance. If they go into another pub, we’ll regroup. At this point, we’re just hoping MacDuff is still in port and can lead us back to his ship.”
“He might have been picking up last-minute supplies before leaving.”
“Possible. And if he’s gone, there might be men more willing to talk about him or his ship.”
Stella glanced around for her coin purse and tucked it into the same pocket as her dagger. With her pistol in the other pocket, her skirt weighed heavily on her left side, but she was unwilling to leave without it. She might be with Lando, but Beckworth preferred her armed while in port, and she saw no reason to disagree.
“Do you have your pistol?” Beckworth asked.
“Yes.” They’d been working on her dagger skills at least once a day since boarding theDaphnein Bristol. The flintlock pistol wasn’t a problem, but her dagger skills had become rusty while in Baywood. “The dagger feels more natural than it had leaving Bristol, but I’d like to increase my training. Would it be possible to include one of the other men going forward?”
He opened the cabin door and waited for her to exit. “Now that you’re more involved in the operation, I agree. There’s a nice spot near the forecastle that should keep us out of the way while we’re under sail. We might have an opportunity for a session before we leave port. I’ll discuss it with Jamie.”
She waited for him to close the door behind them, then turned into him for a kiss. “For luck.”
Beckworth and Michelson found a table at the back of the pub. It was one of the better pubs in town. The food tastier, the ale fresher, and the whiskey more palatable. The crowd was mostly sailors, but he spotted several locals in the group, easily standing out from the others.
He sat with his back partially facing the door. He wouldn’t be able to spot MacDuff since he’d never seen him. They both listened to the conversations around them, but Michelson was also monitoring faces while Beckworth focused on the more subtle nuances in the crowd. The loners and those who spoke in hushed groups, their eyes constantly scanning the room.
When their hour to observe before moving to another pub was almost up, he refocused on a group that had arrived twenty minutes earlier. Three men huddled at a table too far away to hear their discussion. They drank ale with little talking, but being sailors, it wasn’t an uncommon sight. If they were from the same ship, they might just want the company without the chatter. No harm in that. But he kept an eye on them as he and Michelson listened to closer conversations that told them nothing.
A woman with gray running through her hair dropped two fresh ales on their table and removed their plates. She’d barely rushed off when a man walked through the crowd and joined the table Beckworth had been watching. Cheval. He glanced at Michelson, who gave a slight nod before sampling the new mug.
Beckworth wanted to get closer, but there wasn’t a way to do that without appearing suspicious. They had to remain unnoticed by the men at the table, so they kept their heads down and focused on their ale. With an occasional side glance, the talk at the table had notably increased as they drank, ate, and laughed.
Earlier that day, when he’d been with Fitz searching for any ship that might be MacDuff’s, they’d only found one suspiciousship moored close to the mouth of the bay. Though the ship was anchored and their sails lowered, Fitz said the ship appeared ready to leave as soon as word was given. Beckworth couldn’t see any major repairs being done, and the men remained at their stations performing small tasks like checking the lines and cleaning the deck. Even he could tell they weren’t in port for long.
While he was considering options on how to get closer to that ship, Michelson nudged his boot. He took another drink of ale as he turned around. A man dressed in finer clothes than anyone in the pub—and possibly the entire village—strode directly to Cheval’s table.
Beckworth lowered his head when he set the mug down and bent over it. Michelson had been keeping his head down, only lifting it—as a scattering of others did—when someone new entered.
The man shook hands with Cheval, and that’s when he noticed a second man. A bodyguard? Two of the men who’d been at the table earlier stood and shoved two men from a nearby table out of their chairs, giving them to the two men who’d just arrived. One look at the growing group of men and the two who’d lost their seats grabbed their mugs and hustled to the bar.
“That’s MacDuff.” Michelson kept his voice low, and Beckworth strained to hear him over the crowd.
He’d expected that as soon as the man had walked through the door. His suspicion only grew when he’d shaken hands with Cheval.
Interesting.
“Finish your ale,” Beckworth said. “Then find a place outside where you can watch the door and the docks. I’ll follow along in a few minutes to find Fitz.”
Michelson took his time with the ale, then quietly left the table at the same time as two other men. The only man atMacDuff’s table who took notice was the man who’d followed MacDuff. His muscle. Beckworth waited until the gray-haired woman stopped at Cheval’s table with a new pitcher of ale and more mugs before using the distraction to leave. He kept his head down and added a slight limp to his walk.
He never looked back as he exited the pub. The inn where Stella and Lando were keeping watch was to his left. Fitz was going to take the pub on the far side of the inn, but it had been an hour and if no one of interest had showed up, the first mate would have moved to another pub.
Then he spotted Michelson leaning against a post off to his left, a mug in his hand. He lifted his head long enough to shake his head. That confirmed his earlier thoughts. Michelson had already checked, and Fitz wasn’t in the pub anymore.
Beckworth, keeping his limp, turned right and staggered toward the two pubs at the end of the pier. He’d taken several steps across an alley when he was pulled aside. Before he could struggle, he heard the first mate’s whisper.
“Jamie has an assignment for us. Keep your stagger and limp and follow me.”
Beckworth watched Fitz as he moved out into the street with a slow walk, occasionally listing to one side. He shook his head and followed. He had a good guess what the assignment would be.
Stella sat back, rubbing her stomach. “The fish isn’t sitting well.” She pulled out a hard-sided coin purse she’d brought from Baywood, which was different than the coin pouches used in this century. Instead of coins, she used it as a mini first aid kit.
