Page 108 of The Scot Who Loved Me

“Only they have the good sense to sleep at this hour,” a fourth voice said.

Another barrel was opened. Will mouthedthe gold! Darkness couldn’t hide his fury. She shook her head and mouthedNo!

“You, Jones, take a look up there and see what you can find.” The second man again, clearly the leader.

“I’d like to find me bed,” Jones grumbled.

“You’re not paid to sleep. You’re paid to find things,” the leader said. “Now go. Check whatever room that is and maybe by dawn we can be done.”

More grumbling, louder. The men didn’t try to be quiet about their search now. Barrels were upended, Bavarian pine kicked, and the piled logstumbled with a crash. White fear seized her. The loud noise was her chance to grab her knife from her satchel. Will took a broom that had been leaning in the corner.

Will walked on stockinged feet to her counting room entry. There was no door. The narrow wooden stairs creaked and shook under the weight of the man climbing them. She had an inkling of what Will was about. His knees bent, he waited at the side of the counting room entry.

When a bald man’s head poked up at the stairs, he raised his lamp, his eyes agog at Anne against the wall.

“Hello, sir,” she greeted him.

Will greeted him by smacking the man’s head with the broom handle. The bald man tumbled down the steps, landing in an unnatural bone-crushing heap. He moaned, his eyes rolling back into his head.

“Jones?” one of the men said in dismay.

With all the noise they made, they probably had not heard Anne.

“The clumsy oaf fell!”

Jogging footfalls sounded. All three men were coming. Will set a finger again to his mouth. She nodded, her eyes wide and her knife in her grip. Light spilled from below into a few feet of her counting room. Noises, had to be Mr. Jones’s body being dragged and checked.

“I... I think he’s dead.” The whiney voice announced this.

“Somethin’s not right,” the deep voice growled. “Burn the warehouse. That’ll chase out any rats.”

“A fair idea, but we’re supposed to be looking for the gold,” the leader said.

“Gold melts in a fire and goes solid when it cools. The lady’ll still get her gold. I say we burn this place to the ground.”

“Mr. Little has a point,” the whiney-voiced man said.

“We set fire here, and the Night Watch’ll come. Is that what you want? A quick trip to Marshalsea?” the leader asked.

“Then let’s set fire to that room up there,” Mr. Little said.

Did the man intend to set fire to the stairs? Dry and old, the stairs would go up like tinder in a matter of seconds. She sucked in a quick breath. The men had gathered at the base of the stairs. Beside her, through the treadwheel, light from the new day cut through thin lines where door and warehouse met. The square door was just big enough for a body to crawl out on the crane and make the occasional repair.

She looked at Will and mouthedMr. Baines!

Will was grim, his jaw set. He pointed to her and the crane door. He wanted her to leave. She shook her head adamantly. Will’s mouth flattened in anger. He hefted the broom, pointed to himself and the stairs.

The criminals were arguing loudly below. Even the smooth-toned leader seemed to be swayed to set fire to the warehouse.

“Let’s get it over with, but I’ll be the one to tell her ladyship, which means it’s my arse she’ll take a piece of, not either one of yours.”

From across the warehouse, another voice. “Mrs. Neville?”

Mr. Baines!

Will jumped to action. He charged halfway down the ladder and leaped. He landed on agile feet, the element of surprise on his side.

“Good morning, men.” A whack sounded.