The Duke Identity (Game of Dukes #1)(104)

38





Holding Tessa’s shoulders in a firm grip, Harry said, “Promise me you’ll stay here on the boat with Mavis and Alfred.”

Tessa’s smile was tremulous, entirely untrustworthy. “I promise.”

Frustration knotted Harry’s insides. He wanted her anywhere but here, yet she’d insisted on being a part of the rescue. And Mavis, of all people, had supported her.

“This is House of Black business,” Mavis had said, and that was that.

Now both women were on this boat moored just downstream from O’Toole’s flash house. It was after dark, and they would be keeping watch here while the men launched the attack. Yesterday, all players had met to plan the siege, which was to be four-pronged.

Knight’s group would storm the front entrance, Garrity’s men the back. The Prince of Larks, Harry’s family, and the police would take the tavern. Lastly, Harry, Ming, and guards from the House of Black would row lighters into the water passage beneath O’Toole’s fortress.

Even so, O’Toole had the advantage in numbers. Determined to help his side win, Harry had worked through yesterday and today preparing special weapons for their attack.

As if reading his mind, Tessa said, “Are your devices and masks packed in the lighters?”

“Everything is ready,” he assured her. “We’re just waiting for Knight and Garrity’s signal.”

Knight and Garrity were to go in first, creating a distraction, drawing O’Toole’s men up into the fight…and leaving the water way less guarded. Harry had given them a firework to set off once their attack was underway.

As if on cue, Ming poked his head into the cabin. “Time to go.”

Harry took a moment to kiss Tessa, and she whispered, “Be careful, my love.”

“You, too. Stay put,” he repeated.

He boarded one of the lighters. As the small barge glided through the dark water, he looked back at the boat. In spite of the perils ahead, he felt his lips twitch.

Tessa stood on the prow of the boat, her ferret on her shoulder, her trousered legs firmly planted. The wind whipped the stray curls that had escaped her thick plait. She was waving at him, blowing him kisses.

He sobered as Ming distributed the weapons. In addition to the satchel of devices he’d made, Harry would be carrying pistols and ammunition.

“Once in, go to prisoners’ cell.” Ming reviewed their plan. “Get Mr. Black and others.”

Yesterday, the mudlarks had done some additional scouting amongst the watering holes of O’Toole’s men. Their keen, plentiful ears had caught wind of two crucial pieces of information. First, the prisoners were being kept behind bars in the basement of the flash house. Second, there was a secret password for entry via the underground water passage.

Harry nodded, silence falling as they approached the cliffs of O’Toole’s keep.

He held his pistol in readiness as they passed into the dank cave beneath the flash house. The low ceiling of rock seemed to press down upon him, the memory of being entombed cinching his lungs. Clammy fingers gripped his nape. He started at the sound of movement, of ruffling air—ducking as a black veil swooshed over his head.

Bats, he recognized, heart hammering.

They reached a small, rickety dock, and Harry gladly alighted first. He motioned for the men to stay behind as he approached the huge door that guarded the entrance into the flash house. Pulling down the brim of his hat, he knocked.

A slit opened at eye level, suspicious eyes peering through it. “’Oo are you?”

“Name’s Jones, one o’ Mr. Lavery’s men.” Harry figured that the guard wouldn’t know the names and faces of all his new allies. “Wiv the bloody bastards attacking above, Mr. Lavery wanted to send in reinforcements below.”

“Wot’s the password?” the guard demanded.

“O’Toole the Conqueror,” Harry managed to say with a straight face.

The peep hole slammed shut. The sound of a metal bolt sliding sounded from the other side, the door opening. “Well, ’bout time I ’ad ’elp down ’ere—buggering hell.”

Harry had shoved the door the rest of the way, holding the wide-eyed guard at gunpoint.

“Tie and gag him,” he said to one of Black’s men.

He led the way through the corridor, which snaked through the bowels of the flash house. Shouts and gunfire could be heard from the floors above, and he prayed their side was winning. He saw a corner up ahead, a falling of light. Heard voices and the rattle of steel.

He motioned to his men to halt. Carefully, he peered around the corner. A dozen guards in the antechamber, brutes armed to the teeth. They were clustered around a massive door.

“Guard the cell,” the leader barked. “And take no prisoners. Master’s orders.”

The bloodthirsty cheer that went up had Harry leaning back, reaching into his satchel. He readied three devices, donned his mask and gestured to his team to do the same. As soon as the protective gear was donned, he lit the fuses and tossed them into the room.

“What the devil?” Bewildered cries sounded.

Harry had designed the contraptions to smolder rather than explode. As smoke billowed through the room, choking and blinding the unsuspecting enemy, he led the charge.

He headed through the thick grey fog, straight to the leader, attacking with a right hook. His enemy coughed out a curse, weapon clattering to the ground, and they traded blows. A wild punch caught Harry in the gut, but he dodged the next swing, going in low. He tackled the other, plowing his fists until his opponent lay unconscious on the ground.