“That’s how you were able to mimic a L’ven accent?” Adele asked carefully.
Daniel finally understood her real question. Why didn’t people just say what they meant? “Oh, I haven’t the faintest notion of what a L’ven accent sounds like,” he admitted cheerfully. “I don’t even know that the island’s inhabited, though I suppose it is. I just happened to think of the place because of the clams. And I thought I’d better say something fast.”
“Yes,” Adele said in a tone as dry as straw rustling. “I think you were right about that.”
“Sir, we’re loaded,” Woetjans said. The ratings were already jumping aboard the van. The reduced ceiling height meant the taller ones had to bend over. The vehicle already sagged on its springs, but it’d have to do.
“Right!” said Daniel. “Warehouse Fifty and then we can get out of this place for good!”
He hadn’t any right to feel cheerful as he hooked himself onto the running board again; but he did.
Adele opened Warehouse 50’s three separate locks. Daniel and Hogg were in conversation through the cab window about the next stage of the escape. Woetjans and Dasi had the door in motion almost before Adele’s finger left the last key. A dozen more sailors jostled her as they sped the panel fully open. Adele stepped out of the way.
Working around these Cinnabar sailors was like using a powerful machine. You had to be very careful of where you stood when you put them in motion.
Warehouse 50 was at the end of a row. On the farther side was woven-wire fencing and supposedly a minefield. Mines didn’t seem practical in the marshy ground beyond the fenceline, but the bog itself was a considerable barrier to anyone trying to break in.
Farther still to the north, the sky over Kostroma City glowed. Occasionally a fleck of greater brightness snapped through the night; projectiles, she supposed, but they could have been reflections from an aircar.
Sounds were lost in the distance. All Adele could hear from where she stood were the cries of seabirds and valves slapping at the mouth of the Navy Pool. The tide was coming in to fill the lagoon.
“Found it, sir!” a sailor called from the mouth of the warehouse. “How much do we take?”
“Four—no, six cases!” Daniel said, stepping from the driver’s side running board to look into the building. “And the stronger the better. Brandies, not wine, all right?”
Adele saw a spotlight finger the roof of the warehouse on the other side of this short street. The beam dropped to vanish in the skyglow. “Someone’s coming!” she called. “On the main—”
A four-wheeled vehicle pulled across the intersection, blocking the only way for the Cinnabars to get out. The passenger in the vehicle’s open cab shone a spotlight down this street as he had the one before. The beam locked on the sailors and Hogg’s van with its nose toward the open warehouse.
“Hold where you are!” a woman’s voice ordered. “Get your hands up!”
Adele couldn’t see well against the beam of the spotlight, but she could make out several figures in the back of the other vehicle. One of them was manning the automatic impeller mounted on a pintle in the middle of the deck.
Daniel stepped forward, twisting his mouth into a smile as the gun truck pulled into the cul-de-sac. The truck’s twin headlights lit the van and the Cinnabars around it, so the officer in the passenger’s seat turned her spotlight on the warehouse door. There were half a dozen ratings inside, but Woetjans, who had the only pistol, was in plain view.
Four Kostroman sailors were in the back of the truck. On the sleeves of their utility uniforms were broad white armbands with embroidered anchors: this was a detachment of Shore Police. Three carried stocked impellers, while the last was behind the automatic weapon trained on Daniel’s navel. A submachine gun stood upright in a boot between the driver and passenger so that either could grab it at need.
“It’s all right, officer,” Daniel called, wondering if his accent was going to be a problem again. “We’re authorized to be here. The password’s Greatorix, and Admiral Sanaus gave us the door codes, as you see.”