It was very dark and very still. The water was gray, with a fringe of white along the rocks. From where they stood he looked along the water’s edge toward the landing stage. His ship’s boat was clearly visible. Now that they had come this far the girl waited, knowing he must decide the next move. The building loomed above them, and looking back he could see the Castle outlined darkly against the sky. A few of the Russians would be waiting at the bottom of the stair, growing restive now, and there would be others in the log warehouse, watching the boat. But they would not be watching closely for they would expect no movement there. It would be sounds from up the street they would be expecting.
As he watched he saw a man move in the boat; and taking a chance, he called softly. Ben Turk was at the boat, and so was Gant. Both men knew the call of the loon, and he made it now. The moving figure stood still, listening. Softly, he called again, and there was a stirring in the boat shadows. For an instant starlight glinted on an oar blade.
He realized suddenly he was holding Dounia by the arm. “What about you?” he whispered. “Will you be all right?”
“I know every path.”
“You’re sure?”
“I played here as a child.”
“Your father should have sent someone else. You shouldn’t be out at this hour.”
“Nobody sent me. I … I just came.”
He took her shoulders in his hands and squeezed them gently. “Thanks … thanks, Dounia. But you must never do this again, do you hear?” “I won’t.”
Suddenly she stood on tiptoe and kissed him fiercely on the lips, then ducked under his arm and was gone in the darkness. He started after her, then realized how futile it would be to pursue someone in such dark and unfamiliar surroundings.
The boat was drawing close, drifting like a darker shadow on the gray water. The oars stopped and it glided through the water with only ripples to make a whisper of sound. “Captain?” It was Gant’s voice.
“Here.”
At that moment a shot sounded.
Jean LaBarge had stepped down to the water’s edge, but now he stood still, listening, ears attuned to the slightest sound. Far away an unhappy coyote yammered his loneliness to the wide sky, the water rippled, water dripped from the suspended oars, and then a faint woman’s cry, from the Castle. “Wait here!” he called to Gant.
Spinning, he dashed into the darkness. How he found his way through the maze of buildings he never knew, but suddenly he was back on the Hill, and when he stepped through the door Count Rotcheff lay on the carpet, blood flowing from a wound in his side. Helena was kneeling beside him and two servants came running into the room.
Jean dropped to his knees. His familiarity with wounds had been bred of emergency, and he worked swiftly now. When he had stopped the flow of blood and sent one of the servants running for the doctor, he got to his feet. The door to Zinnovy’s quarters opened and the Baron came out, looking down at the wounded man. His face showed no expression, yet there was a faint flicker of amusement in his eyes. “It seems you’ve lost a passenger, Captain. He may recover, but it will take time … time.” Zinnovy glanced at Helena and then at Jean. “In the meantime he must remain here.”
“You shot him! You did!” Helena’s face was white, her eyes enormous. “I will see you shot for this! You … you … !”
“Naturally, you’re hysterical.” Zinnovy drew himself up. “And of course, I ignore the accusation. It was some Kolush, no doubt, perhaps believing the Count was myself.” He smiled again. “I forgive you, Princess, and assure you I shall see that everything is done, everything, I repeat, to speed his recovery. Of course”—he pursed his lips thoughtfully—“it may take months and months.” Turning to Jean he added, “And of course, LaBarge, there will be no need for your schooner. None at all. Your stay here is over at midnight tomorrow. If you are in Russian waters within four days I’ll blow you out of the water.” When he was gone, Rotcheff opened his eyes. He glanced quickly after the Baron to make sure he was unheard, then he whispered, “Take her and go.” His eyes were bright and quick. “Take her to the Czar, my friend. I cannot go … and he will listen to no one else. You must take her, Captain … and you must go at once … before they realize.”
“But—!”
Helena’s protest was brushed aside. The Count’s voice was firmer and his eyes clear. “Your things are already aboard the schooner, as are mine. Go now, quickly.”
“Leave you?” she protested. “Leave you wounded? Perhaps …” “Perhaps dying? No, I shall not die, but unless you go now we may both be killed. We know now to what lengths he will go … for it was Paul. I cannot prove it … but it was he.
“If you escape, I shall be safe. If you remain here … he will try again and again. With you away, safe with the Czar … then he dare do nothing more for fear of repercussions. You are the only chance.” “He’s right,” Jean told her. “And if we go it must be now, before Zinnovy thinks of this.”
He led her, still protesting, to the door. Suddenly she turned and fled to Rotcheff and fell on her knees beside him. For a moment she was there, then she arose and came swiftly to the door. As they stepped out to the terrace the doctor and a servant came in the Castle entrance. Wasting no time, Jean led her to the path he had twice covered that night.
Kohl helped her aboard and whispered to Jean, “Zinnovy went out to the Lena.
What’s that mean?”
“Is the cargo gone?”
“Gone. And we’ve loaded the furs. The last lighter cleared an hour ago.”
“All right. As soon as we’re aboard we clear for sea. As quietly as possible.”
Ben Turk touched his sleeve. “We aren’t the only ones, Cap. Look!” The canvas of the Lena was white against the night as she caught for an instant the reflection of shore light. Phosphorus showed in her wake. Zinnovy was taking the patrol ship out and Jean needed no blueprints as to why she was going. Out upon the dark water the sea would swallow any evidence of what happened to the Susquehanna here in the harbor there were too many witnesses. Without doubt he intended to sink the Susquehanna and end the problem presented by LaBarge, once and for all. Yet he could have no idea they intended to sail this soon, nor could he guess that Helena was aboard.
A wind stirred along the face of the mountains, and clouds drifted in the wide sky. Lights from the town made golden daggers into the heart of the black, glistening water. The patrol ship had taken the Middle Channel between Turning and Kutken Islands, but it was only a little past midnight and the anchor of the schooner was catted and she was moving.
“He can sit out there and wait until we come out,” Kohl said unhappily, “and when we’re at sea and out of gunshot of the town, he can sink us at will.” Jean LaBarge was not thinking of Zinnovy; that would come in its own good time. Now he was thinking of a channel that led north past the Indian settlement and Channel Rock where the Susquehanna had lain at anchor on her first voyage. One of the clumsy Russian ships that lay in the harbor had moved across that opening. Zinnovy must have planned shrewdly, hours before; he seemed to have blocked every exit, leaving only the way the Lena had gone. “Keep moving,” he told Kohl. “Let her swing as if we were taking the opening past Aleutski Island, and then at the last minute, point her into that opening past the Russian ship.”
The channel where the Russian was moored was not more than one hundred and fifty yards wide, and there were rocks along the shore of Japonski Island, but between those off-lying rocks and the Russian ship there was a space … very narrow. “We can’t do it,” Kohl protested. “We’d be fools to try.”
“You do what I tell you.”
The wind off the mountains was picking up, the sails filled, and Kohl went aft and took the wheel from Noble. He watched the approach to the channel past Aleutski. A few Russians loitered along the bulwarks of the moored ship. As Kohl measured the distance sweat broke out on his forehead. It was narrow, far too narrow. He swore bitterly, then setting his jaw, he spun the spokes rapidly and pointed their bows at the Russian ship.