Page 105 of The Truth Serum
Benedict reached forward and tapped the blank page in Nate’s journal. “You’ve always put her on a pedestal. She’s been your lost princess to rescue, the sweet damsel who needs your help. But now, you see that she doesn’t need rescuing. That she might like the work as much as you do.”
“No—”
“Yes. Suddenly she’s not this ideal woman, and you don’t like it.”
“What?”
Nate pulled back, but Benedict grabbed his arm, roughly pulling him forward. It was part display for the tavern, part truth, and they both treated it as such.
“Talk to her,” Benedict growled, too quiet for anyone else to hear. “Find out what she wants.”
Nate swallowed but was unable to move the lump in his throat.
“Or maybe,” Benedict mused a little cruelly. “Maybe I’ll talk to her myself. I could find work for a clever girl, especially since you’re on the outs with society now.”
“No!” Nate cried, ripping his arm out from his superior’s. But he couldn’t go far. They were supposed to capture the French half of the smugglers this afternoon. That was why he’d been sitting here waiting for Benedict. And so, there was no way he could stomp off, and Benedict knew it.
The man slowly straightened from his seat. “Come along, boy,” he drawled loud enough for everyone to hear. “You’re going to pay me one way or another, and now’s the night for it.”
It was all pretense, and it wasn’t. Anyone watching them would think he was off to do something illegal, forced by someone bigger and badder than him. That worked perfectly to keep his image of a down-on-his-luck sailor who had contacts and skills useful for exploitation. It was how he’d learned half the dirt he did, just hanging out at various taverns. He was a morally grey petty criminal, perfect to exploit by other criminals. Or those higher up on the food chain.
He’d never resented it—or Lord Benedict—more. And yet, such was the game he played.
“It won’t be so bad,” Benedict teased. “And you’ll gain a useful skill in the process.” Then he threw some coins on the table and started walking toward the door.
Nate had no choice but to follow. He slumped as he walked, always keeping a step behind Benedict. Master and servant. For the moment.
If they continued as usual, he’d reappear next week all smiles and with coins, bragging about something he’d learned how todo. Maybe he had a way to get some goods from them Frenchies. And of course, movement of goods one way meant that an enterprising Englishman could send information the other way. If he was of a treasonous bent.
Nate called it dangling bait. Sometimes they caught nothing. Sometimes they caught an Englishman smuggling rifles to the French. It all depended on luck.
And today’s luck was that he knew when the French buyers were coming in. He knew what boat and what coin. He just had to catch them before they met up with the English traitors.
Once out of the tavern, Nate took control. He might look like a paid lackey slinking along behind Benedict, but he whispered instructions ahead, and Benedict followed them to the letter. They wove in and out of the docks, mixing with various groups and even ducking into a place he knew where they could change clothes. Different hat and coat, difference gait, and most important, different shoes. Benedict liked his well-made pair that made little sound and conformed to his feet. But it was a dead giveaway to anyone who knew how to look.
Major Vance joined them. He was Benedict’s batman from Spain and the most loyal servant a man could ask for. He was smart and quiet, savvy in a way that he’d had to teach the two aristocrats. But thanks to their time in Spain together, all three worked well together, even in cheap shoes.
They made good time to the stairs along the Thames. It was a simple nab, assuming everything went well.
As soon as they arrived, Nate peeled off to talk to the watermen. They were the army of boatmen who ferried passengers or cargo from the ships that anchored mid-river in the Legal Quays. Those surly men had tipped Nate off to the Frenchmen after the Frog’s last visit months ago. It had been too late to catch the enemy then, but not this time.
It was pure speculation that these men were the ones buying the English rifles, but the timing worked out. And either way, they needed to be caught. So Nate returned to Lord Benedict and Major Vance with a cocky grin and quirk of his finger.
“They’re on Vidone’s wherrie.” He described the waterman because he was easier to pick out among the mass of boats. “Black cap, thick mustache, and fists like hams.”
Benedict nodded. He’d met Vidone before. But it was Major Vance who caught the important information.
“They?”
“Yes. Two Frogs.” It was supposed to be one Frenchman, but this time, there were two. And neither of them were small men.
“We’ll do it,” the major said as he squared his shoulders.
Yes, they would.
They waited in the shadows. There were always people coming and going on the stairs, and a steady choke of people clogging the area. Most waited for cargo or passengers, many waited to board outgoing vessels. Hackneys sat nearby, and pickpockets loitered. But Nate was well known to the watermen, and they all knew he was here to grab some Frenchies.
Lots of people turned a blind eye to smuggled goods, but selling English guns to Napoleon was different. The watermen couldn’t fight in France, but they’d been happy to help Nate catch a couple Frenchies on English soil.
