Flight of the Earls by Michael K. Reynolds Page A

fleet.”
    â€œIt should be called the Sea Bottom ,” someone shouted.
    â€œMake sure you go down with ’er, old man.”
    The patrons grumbled and waved arms at them in disinterest, returning to their own conversations.
    Fighting obscurity in the clatter, the barker shouted, “We break at dawn, to a land of opportunity. Wealth, jobs, and a better life awaits you!”
    â€œGet down, you old blowhard!” was heard as a few wrestled the man down from the counter to the floor.
    Clare felt for the man and his captain, but something shifting toward her in the crowd stole her attention. Straining to see around the mass of bodies, she saw a familiar green jacket, tall hat, and unmistakably bouncy gait. Pence. And after meeting her gaze, he burrowed his way through with even more determination.
    â€œWell. Look who’s here to collect his due,” Clare said, and turned to see Pierce shifting from doleful contemplations.
    â€œI’ll square up with the boy for you,” Pierce said in a defeated tone.
    â€œMiss Clare, Miss Clare,” Pence burst out as he approached.
    She reached into her purse and started to sift through her coins. “I know, Pence. My brother treated you shamefully . . .”
    â€œNo, Miss Clare.” He took off his hat, pulled a dirty handkerchief from his coat pocket, and wiped the sweat off his brow. His breathing was heavy. “I’m not here to settle. It’s the other man. Your brother, right?”
    Clare’s pulse soared. “What about my brother?”
    He lofted her pack on his shoulder. “Come, Miss Clare. We shan’t tarry. He’s in the thickets, he is.”

Chapter 10
    Game of Chance

    Out of the dank warmth of the Shamrock’s Lair, they splashed into the coolness of a moonless night. As Pence sped through the dimly lit roads like a jackrabbit through a country field, Clare labored behind under the burden of Seamus’s pack, which was much heavier than hers.
    Racing through the city toward the harbor, Clare worried for a moment that Pence might be misleading them toward a retaliatory ambush. She saw justice in this possibility but didn’t believe it to be in the boy’s character.
    â€œWhere are you taking us?” Pierce appeared less convinced of the purity of their guide’s motives.
    â€œCome,” Pence pleaded. “There is no time for gabbery. Miss Clare, tell your friend. We may be too late as it ’tis.”
    The seriousness of his tone convicted Clare and apparently Pierce as well as they trailed without further protest the remainder of the way. They dodged horse carriages, late-night romancers, and a scattered army of miscreants who swaggered, peered from alleyways, and ogled them conspiratorially as the three scurried by them.
    As they went deeper in their journey, Clare smelled the fishy odors of the approaching shores, and the lonely echoes of night gulls increased in intensity. Pence banked off the main road, sifting through darker, decrepit alleyways, prompting her suspicions to return.
    At last, as they neared a corner, Pence halted, motioned them to a stop, and signaled for silence.
    â€œPence saw your brother in that building,” whispered the boy. “Don’t be seen or they’ll skin us all.”
    Clare processed the severity of his words as she peered around the corner, gasping to recover her breath. Filtering through walls, into the streets, was the cruel waggery of drunken rogues. The two-story building was a brooding residence, with ragged fabric flapping from the windows. It leaned like a hunchback in pain, needing only a strong gust to topple it to ruins. A flickering light shone mutely through filthy glass, causing the figures inside to appear as distorted apparitions.
    â€œWhere is Seamus?” Clare asked.
    â€œNot certain. Been following your brother. Yes. Sorry, Miss Clare. Looking for the chance to take what he owed Pence.”
    â€œThat’s