The Baltic War(243)
"They're just flesh wounds. Nasty ones, I admit. Remember—sprinkle the stuff on. Better do it quickly, too."
Hamilton left. Running now. He hadn't shot the three Warders in any hope that would stop the others from doing their duty. He'd simply done it out of a sense of duty of his own, as peculiar as others might think it to be.
The Bloody Tower, next. But when he arrived, he saw that John and William had already knifed the guard and were opening the door with the keys they'd found on him. So Stephen continued on, to check the progress with loading the family on the barge.
"Thank God I talked Windebank into letting her and the kids move into Wakefield Tower, last month, since he was hardly ever using it himself. I got no idea how we'd have gotten them out of the Lodging."
Harry listened to Rita Simpson with only part of his mind, as he peered across the walkway. "We'd have managed, somehow," he murmured. "Damn. I don't think the bastards are going to make it easy for us."
He'd hoped the officers quartered in Wakefield would have come to investigate the explosion right next door to them in St. Thomas' Tower, but no such luck. Cowards, sluggards, simply confused, it didn't make any difference. They'd have to blow their way in.
No problem. Sherrilyn and Don had taken positions to deal with anyone who tried to come into the Water Lane or showed up somewhere on the Inner Wall where Julie couldn't spot them. But their rifles wouldn't have been much use for this, anyway. And, in the meantime, George Sutherland and Paul Maczka had showed up.
Just in time, too. What seemed like a veritable flood of women and children had come up into St. Thomas' Tower and were making their way down the ramp to the wharf below. Felix and Darryl were helping them, while Matt stayed with the barge.
"Okay, guys," he said. "It's shotgun time and you're the two designated trolls." He pointed at the heavy door across the walkway. "Don't know if it's locked or not."
"What does it matter?" grunted Sutherland. "Just let me switch to slugs."
That didn't take long. Two blasts at close range into the door latch and it didn't matter if it had been locked or not. George's great bulk slammed against the door, and that was that. Harry wondered if he'd be able to sweet-talk Sutherland and Simpson into having an arm-wrestling match, just to pass the time as they crossed the North Sea.
Probably not a good idea, though. They might capsize the ship.
"Clear!" George bellowed from inside. Paul had already passed through, continuing into the next chamber. Harry heard him fire two rounds. At whatever, probably nothing. The sound alone, inside the stone walls of Wakefield, would be enough to stun anybody for a second or two.
"Clear!" Maczka shouted.
"Okay, Rita, let's go."
Once inside Wakefield, with George and Paul blasting their way ahead—they still hadn't actually shot anybody yet, since the Tower seemed to be deserted—Harry let Rita guide him.
"Here," she said, stopping at a door. "The poor woman's probably frightened out of her wits."
"Good thing I'm such a charmer then, huh?"
He rapped on the door with the butt of his fist. Not the one holding the pistol, of course.
"Mrs. Wentworth! Lady Strafford! Whatever! We're here to take you and your husband and your kids out of the Tower."
He thought he heard a whimpering sound. A kid, maybe. Other than that, nothing.
"Okay, let's try it again! If you and the kids aren't out here in ten seconds I'm going to come in and shoot every one of you deader'n doornails!"
"Harry!"
"Look, Rita, charm works in mysterious ways."
And so it proved. Perhaps five seconds later, the door opened and a terrified-looking young woman peered out.
Rita took it from there, pushing her way in. "Pay no attention to him, Elizabeth! But you do need to come, right now. No, don't take time to gather up anything. Just get the kids. Hi, Nan, how's tricks?"
A girl, maybe six or seven years old, barreled into Rita and clutched her. "Lady Simpson, I'm frightened! What's happening?"
"Everything's fine, sweetie. Where's—oh, there she is. Now where's William?"
"Here," came a squeaky little voice. A boy's face peeked from around a corner, staring at Harry as if he were an ogre.
"Well, come out, now! We've got to go."
The boy didn't budge, his eyes still fixed on Harry.
Rita turned her head and gave Harry a smile that would have looked good on a rattlesnake, if snakes could smile. "Why don't you just get lost, Captain Lefferts? Go find an enemy somewhere you can practice your charm on. I'll handle this."