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Chapter 13
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It was just shy of eight o'clock when Julian steered the skiff into Fowey's harbor. Tying the craft securely to the dock, he leapt out, frowning as he assessed the unsavory types milling about the wharf in search of potential prey.
"Traveling by boat was much faster than by carriage, but it still took us too long to get here," he muttered, helping Aurora climb out beside him. "Dammit. If we'd only left Polperro with the last rays of daylight, we could have sailed more quickly, arrived before these lowlifes emerged from the bowels of hell."
"What good would coming earlier have done us?" Aurora reasoned, looking about with more curiosity than fear. "Barnes visits these taverns only at night. We had no choice about our timing. Besides, you're a superb navigator, day or night."
Julian was glaring at a slimy-looking wharf rat, staring him down until the menacing fellow slunk away. "Rory—remember what I said," he murmured to his wife. "Keep your head down and your eyes on the path. Stay close to me and walk." He turned his attention to her, drawing her mantle more closely about her shoulders, tucking a few loose strands of hair beneath her bonnet. "You can't help being beautiful," he grumbled. "Let's hope I don't have to kill anyone before we cross over and make our way to the Brine. Come."
He seized her arm, leading her away from the wharf and toward the small row of buildings across the road.
The path was rotted, the stench of ale more potent than that of fish and salt air combined. All around them, pairs of eyes watched their progress. Behind them, waves lapped lightly at the shoreline, rocking the few fishing boats that were anchored there, then receding into the chilly night sky.
A chipped sign reading The Brine told them they'd reached their destination.
"This makes Dawlish's look elegant," Aurora muttered, clasping her mantle higher about her as she and Julian took the remaining steps to a shoddy building that more closely resembled an abandoned shack than it did a tavern.
"Not exactly Carlton House, is it?" Julian returned dryly. He tensed, glancing back for the umpteenth time as if to verify that the rushing sound he heard was indeed the sound of the waves and not that of an approaching enemy or an audacious thief. His grip about Aurora's waist tightened as they reached the pub door. "Remember the rules, soleil. At no time are you to budge from my side or take matters into your own hands." His lips twitched. "And for heaven's sake, don't offer to join the sailors in a game of whist."
"Very funny." Aurora's fingers clutched her reticule, pressing it close to her side.
"You aren't carrying anything of value in there, are you?" Julian inquired, the sound of raucous laughter greeting their ears.
"Only the necessities," she assured him.
"Good. Then, let's see what we can learn." With that, Julian shoved open the door and guided Aurora in.
The pub was dark, reeking of spirits, filled with the most unkempt men Aurora had ever seen—men whose gazes snapped in their direction and whose conversation quieted, then stopped altogether as she and Julian made their way to the counter.
"Yeah?" The flabby-cheeked tavern keeper glanced briefly at Julian before openly assessing Aurora, his stare roving restlessly over her concealed figure, flickering from her bonnet to her face—where it lingered.
Julian's arm clamped about her like a steel manacle. "We're looking for Barnes," he bit out. "Is he here?"
"Who wants to know?"
"Merlin."
The tavern keeper blanched. "Ye're Merlin?"
"I am."
"Macall's lookin' for ye."
"So I've heard." Julian shrugged. "I'll catch up with him sooner or later. In the meantime, I need to see Barnes."
"Why?" One of the sailors chimed in. "'E sure as 'ell can't see ye—or anythin' else, for that matter." A burst of laughter erupted.
"'E can't 'ear too well, either," a scrawny fellow added, tossing off a drink, then dragging his sleeve across his mouth. "So ye're wastin' yer time."
"No, you're wasting it," Julian returned smoothly, He leaned against the counter, casually extracting a wad of pound notes. "Let's see, he can't see or hear. Do you think he can count?"
The sailor's sleeve halted, his sunken eyes widening with interest. "I don't know about 'im, but I can."
"Good. Then you can count this—if you tell me where Barnes is. I'd like to test his abilities to hear and see."
Julian peeled off two ten-pound notes and dangled them in the air.
