Part 25 (1/2)
”I'm afraid, young man, you must think of a way yourself. At such short notice, I won't be able to summon up any trustworthy help, except for Owen here. Boy, are you still up to help master Andrew with this?”
”I sure am. You know that I never go to sleep much before midnight anyway.”
Rose fetched a small bottle with her supply of laudanum and gave it to Andrew.
”You better disguise yourself again with the hairpiece and the hat. We don't want anybody recognizing you, would we now?”
18.
The church bell rang eleven o'clock when Andrew and Owen slipped away from the inn and headed upriver to the bridge. The city seemed deserted. There was a new moon. It was as dark as it ever gets at the beginning of the northern summer. They flitted from building to building, keeping always in the deep darkness of the walls. Whenever they crossed over an open s.p.a.ce, Owen first carefully scanned the area and then went ahead, Andrew following him after a few seconds.
As they got ready to cross the wide ramp of Glasgow's only bridge over the Clyde at the bottom of Bridgegate, Owen held him back, and they ducked under the outside stairs of a house.
”A patrol's on the bridge,” he whispered soundlessly, as if he guessed that his companion didn't know the reason for the caution.
After a minute two uniformed constables pa.s.sed no more than twenty feet from where Owen and Andrew cowered motionless, hidden in the darkness.
”Nothing, not a soul around,” complained one of them. ”I bet they aren't in the city anymore.”
”Yea, it's already more than four hours since they got away,” remarked the other. ”You know, we never identified the girl or found the horse.”
”Well, we might as well report to the station. No point searching around when they're gone.”
”Yea, I guess the other patrols will report back too. Maybe we can get ... sleep. We sure ... up early ... morning again.”
Their voices became gradually more indistinct and then died away completely. Owen sneaked to the corner of the house and watched them disappear up Stockwell Street. When he judged it safe, they quickly ran across the open s.p.a.ce in front of the bridge and went along the back of the houses on the south side of Bridgegate Street. After about three hundred yards, they entered a narrow alley that led to The Golden Eagle just beyond its stables.
”I'll quickly check what's going on,” whispered Owen, pressing Andrew into the recess of a house. ”You wait here.”
He ran light-footed along the wall to the tavern window and raised himself carefully so that his eyes were just above the window sill, shaded under his flat black cap. He only gazed inside for a second or two and then returned.
”All five of them are still drinking. n.o.body else is there,” he reported and the next moment he disappeared again in the narrow opening between the stables and the inn. Five, ten minutes pa.s.sed. Andrew began to worry. But Owen had told him to wait, and he trusted the boy's ability more than his own to cope with any unforeseen events.
The light touch of a hand startled him and Owen whispered almost inaudibly: ”I found the kitchen. n.o.body inside. Two empty bottles on a bench, but no full ones. We may have to wait until the innkeeper refills some.”
”Or we put a portion of the potion into each of those,” replied Andrew, ”and hope he'll take them when he refills the bottles. The liquid is almost colorless, so that he won't notice it.” He retrieved the flask from the pocket of his waistcoat and held it up so that the light from the tavern window was behind it. ”But did Rose give me enough?” The little bottle was three quarters full.
”Is it enough?” asked Owen.
”Yes, for a dozen people or more. You now have to show me the way to the kitchen.”
”Oh no. I'll have to do this myself. I can enter and leave almost any place without being heard or seen.” He chuckled soundlessly. ”Sorry, sir, but you'd just give us away.”
He s.n.a.t.c.hed the bottle from Andrew's hand and was gone before Andrew could catch his breath. This time he did not return for what seemed ages. The nearby church steeple pompously announced midnight, and then rang half past twelve. Andrew got more and more anxious. He expelled an audible sigh of relief when he again felt Owen's small hand on his arm.
”I did it and waited to see if the innkeeper would take the bottles. I was getting afraid that they had stopped drinking-”
”Not until they emptied the barrel!”
”-but then he came and refilled both, as well as the one he just brought back, and took two to them out straight away. So at least one must have the sleeping concoction in it,” he concluded.
”Yes, that's right. You're a smart one... But where did you hide? In the kitchen?” he asked alarmed.
”Yes, in a corner, behind several big ap.r.o.ns. You see, sir, in my profession it's a great advantage to be small.”
Andrew had the urge to hug the boy, but restrained himself. ”I'm sure glad Helen hired such a competent young man.”
”So now we just have to wait for them to fall asleep. How long will it take?”
”That depends how fast they drink the wine. A quarter hour, half-an-hour at most... Are all of them drinking wine?”
”I'll check. If I don't come back right away, the answer is yes. You wait here until I give you a signal.”
He sneaked silently to a spot opposite the tavern window, hiding in the shade of a wall recess. Although Andrew saw him get there, the slim figure simply disappeared, fading into the darkness. Time pa.s.sed. Andrew wondered how the boy could keep still for such a long time. After about fifteen minutes, he emerged from the shadow and dashed into the entrance of the inn. A minute later he came out and waved. As quietly as he could, he joined the boy.
”They're all asleep,” Owen whispered and led him into the inn. Three bodies were slumped over the table, and two more sprawled on the floor.
”We need the key to their room,” whispered Andrew. He took a step toward the five. Owen held him back.
”I'll get it. You remain here!” It was said very sternly.
The boy slid silently across the room and, without the slightest hesitation, went to Dougal, just as Andrew wanted to signal that the old man, as Owen had called him, was the most likely to have the key. How did he know? What a boy!
Owen carefully felt Dougal's coat. The latter s.h.i.+fted his bulk and mumbled. Andrew held his breath. Instantly, Owen froze, his hand remaining suspended in mid air, a keen, fearless expression of an experienced observer on his face. Dougal settled into a new position. The boy unerringly reached for one of the coat pockets and retrieved the key. Dougal did not stir a bit. With a proud smile, Owen tiptoed back and continued up the stairs, lifting an oil lamp off the wall. On the first floor he studied the key in the light of the lamp. It had the number four embossed on it. He quickly checked the doors on this level and then silently went up to the next floor. Andrew followed, annoyed that the stairs creaked when he stepped on them, while Owen simply seemed to float up the stairs.
By that time the boy was already in front of the door with the bra.s.s number '4'. He handed the lamp to Andrew and inserted the key, turning it silently in its lock. With deliberate slowness he opened the door, holding it still the moment the faintest beginning of a squeak could be heard. Lifting the door by its handle with both hands to prevent it from squeaking further, he opened it completely without the slightest noise.
Then he entered, followed by Andrew. In the bleak light of the lamp, they saw Helen tied to a chair, slumped forward. She raised her head. The light seemed to blind her, and her lips parted as if she was going to say something. But Owen was already at her side and put a finger on his mouth. Her eyes opened wide. For a second, Andrew was afraid that she might scream in joy, but she caught herself in time.
They immediately removed the ties, and Andrew lifted her up. She collapsed into his embrace, her legs still numb from having been tied for so long.
”I've no feeling in my legs. Please, rub them.”
Andrew set her down again and gently ma.s.saged her legs and ankles, while she rubbed her arms.
”Where's father? And the others?” she asked.
”We drugged them, slipped laudanum into their wine. They're soundly asleep downstairs, including the innkeeper.”
She giggled. ”Father will be mad as h.e.l.l! He promised that I won't get away this time... Ah, my legs and arms begin to tingle.”
”Ready then?” he whispered.
She nodded and rose gingerly, holding on to him. Owen was already waiting at the door with the oil lamp.
”Wait, my handbag,” she whispered, went back to fetch it from the table. After leaving the room, he locked the bolt again and flitted down the stairs. Helen and Andrew followed slowly, trying to limit the creaking of the wooden steps. When they reached the ground floor, the boy was waiting at the bottom. Andrew put the oil lamp back on its bracket.