- Thomas’s record room, second floor, early Saturday morning, 29 March 1755

Julian and Pike stood in Tomas Harcourt’s record room on the second floor. The floorboards creaked below.

Both men froze.

This time the sound was followed by the unmistakable scrape of the rear door. Someone was entering the kitchen.

Julian closed the dispatch box and turned the key. He gathered the deed and warehouse note, folded them inside his coat, and lifted the survey chain from the floor. It was too cumbersome to carry quickly. He wrapped the leather straps around it and placed the folded length back in the box.

Pike whispered, “Window.”

“No,” answered Julian.

“We know the route works,” said Pike.

“If we leave the box, we lose it,” said Julian.

“If we carry it, we cannot fight,” said Pike.

Julian looked around the records room.

The intruder below had entered quietly, believing the house empty or expecting another person. A direct retreat would announce that Thomas’s cache had been discovered.

Julian lowered the box into the concealed cabinet drawer and pushed the molding closed. He kept the iron key. Then he extinguished the candle. Darkness filled the room. Pike’s breathing became audible.

“Stand behind the door,” Julian whispered.

“With the wood?” asked Pike quietly.

“With whatever colonial instrument seems proper,” replied Julian.

Julian moved into the upper passage and flattened himself against the wall beside the stairs. He drew his sword. Below, the kitchen door closed. One footstep entered the passage. Then another.

The intruder did not search. He came directly toward the tall clock. Julian heard the lower door open, followed by the faint rattle of a weight. The man knew where Thomas had hidden the key.

A moment later came a quiet curse. The weight was empty. The intruder started up the stairs. The intruder moved rapidly now. Julian waited at the upper turn.

A hand appeared first, gloved in dark leather and holding a short-barreled pistol. The sleeve belonged to a plain brown coat. Julian struck the wrist with the flat of his blade.

The pistol fired. Flame filled the stairwell.

The lead ball struck the plaster above Julian’s shoulder. The enclosed space magnified the report into a blow that left all three sets of ears ringing. The intruder lunged upward. Julian caught the man’s coat at the shoulder. They collided against the wall. The stranger smelled of sweat, wet wool, red sealing wax, and lamp oil.

Pike emerged from the records room and swung the length of firewood. He struck the intruder high across the back. The man fell forward onto the upper landing, taking Julian with him. Julian’s sword slid beneath the banister and dropped to the floor below.

The stranger twisted with surprising strength and drove an elbow into Julian’s ribs. Pain flashed through his side. Julian seized the pistol arm and forced it against the boards.

The intruder’s glove was stained with reddish clay. The same earth he had seen upon the road. The intruder struck Julian across the mouth with his free hand. Julian’s head hit the wall.

Pike raised the wood again, but the stranger kicked backward and caught him at the knee. Pike fell against the broken records-room door. The intruder tore free. For an instant the two men faced one another in the dim passage.

Julian saw a lean jaw, a cloth tied across the lower face disguising the identity of the intruder, and eyes pale enough to catch what little light reached the landing. The stranger wore a dark metal button upon his coat. Engraved upon it was the shape of a rook.

Then he turned and ran into Thomas’s bedchamber. Julian followed. The man crossed the room in three strides and went through the open window onto the sloping kitchen roof.

Julian reached the casement in time to see the intruder lower himself to the rain barrel. The barrel lid collapsed beneath his weight, but he caught the fence, dropped into the garden, and ran toward the adjoining lot. Julian climbed through the window.

Pike seized the back of his coat. “Let him go.”

“He did not ask permission to enter this house,” claimed Julian.

“He has a second pistol,” shouted Pike.

Julian looked down. The intruder had reached the neighboring gate. He turned once, raising his hand. Something flashed.

Julian pulled back as a second shot cracked through the yard. The ball struck the window frame and threw splinters into the room. By the time Julian looked again, the man had disappeared among the gardens.

Pike remained on the floor beneath the window, still gripping Julian’s coat. “You see?” he said. “Sensible.”

Julian touched his lower lip. His glove came away with blood on it. “Your concern is moving.”

“My concern is that I will be required to explain your body to Colonel Rooke,” protested Pike.

“Why Rooke?” asked Julian.

“Because your father is in England,” explained Pike. The words silenced them both.

Julian looked at the splintered frame. The button with the rook insignia had been conspicuous. Too conspicuous.

A household servant might wear livery buttons. A hired agent might have stolen one. A man attempting to implicate Rooke might choose precisely such a mark. Evidence displayed during an escape could be truer than evidence hidden in a locked room. Or entirely false.

Pike climbed carefully to his feet.

“Did you see him?” asked Julian.

“Part of him,” said Pike.

"Pym?” asked Julian.

“No,” replied Pike.

“You are certain?” asked Julian.

“No, I am not.” Pike touched his knee and winced.

Julian returned to the upper passage and recovered his sword from below. The blade had struck the floor point first, leaving a small hole in one of the boards.

The discharged pistol lay upon the stair. Julian picked it up.

It was well made but plain, with no identifying ornamentation. The grip was worn, and a smear of red clay marked the underside of the barrel. Near the powder pan, the metal smelled strongly of oil.

Lamp oil had also been used in the printing office, workshops, taverns, warehouses, homes, and virtually every building requiring artificial light. It proved nothing by itself.

The intruder’s immediate search of the clock weight proved more. He knew Thomas’s hiding method. He expected the key to remain. And he had not known Julian had arrived until entering - or had underestimated how quickly Julian would locate the cache.

Next Chapter: Chapter 11: Rebecca Gresham