An armored wagon creaked laboriously down the street despite the fact that a brace of powerful steeds pulled it. The bed was tented with steel plates, hiding some sort of unseen cargo. The wagon attracted attention and, even though the moon hung high in the sky, gawking traffic was thick along Borough High Street. London never slept.
From the wagon’s bench, Simon scanned the shifting masses clogging the streets around them. Beneath his dark frock coat he wore a breastplate, and he hid his hands with their steel gauntlets under a blanket. Beside him, Nick maneuvered the team around a broken-down cart and continued east. To their rear rode Malcolm on a stocky black Friesian, while Kate rode a steady bay gelding ahead on their right. She was dressed as a man, her long auburn hair braided and stuffed under a tweed cap.
A voice came from behind Simon as a head popped out of a small hatch in the top of the wagon’s iron chamber. “Are we there yet? It’s hot in here and I’m sticky from that stuff Miss Kate smeared on me.”
“We’re all sticky, Charlotte.” Simon reached back and opened another plate section to allow more air inside. “Not long now. You’re not standing on the Stone of Scone, are you?”
There was a lengthy pause. “No.”
Simon’s eyebrow rose. Behind Charlotte inside the wagon was Penny, mopping her brow. She pulled the child back inside with a halfhearted scolding. “That stone is a relic!”
“But you said it was a—”
“Hush now,” Penny shook her head as Charlotte folded her arms crossly and glared at the young woman.
Imogen gave a low chuckle from the shadows.
Simon turned away, smiling at their affable antics, but his expression turned serious quickly enough. His eyes scanned the dark streets around them. It was quite possible they were being watched. The enemy was likely waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.
London Bridge appeared through the waterfront factories and warehouses. Actually, there were two London Bridges and it was the glorious new bridge with its high wide arches that came into view first. It had only been open a month and was still pristine with flags flying from its pinnacles. Wagons and pedestrians flowed over its new stonework.
Just downstream, like a forgotten less successful sibling, was Old London Bridge. The empty bridge was set to be demolished in just a few months. The roar of water rushing between its arches could already be heard. At the base of the bridge’s stone piers, every piling was surrounded by a veritable wooden island, or starling, which narrowed the space for the river to flow under the bridge into cramped sluices. During low tide, as was now approaching, water upstream of the bridge was six feet higher than down, and the river became dreadful falling rapids as it thundered through the constricting arches.
There was no movement on the old bridge as Nick guided the wagon toward it, which made Simon nervous. Sweat rolled down his chest under the steel breastplate. “Are you sure Tommy got the word out?”
“You doubt my ability to spread gossip?”
“About a loose woman, no. About a rock, yes.”
“Have no fear.”
Simon leapt down and unlocked an iron gate that blocked access to the bridge. Kate held her nervous horse in check as it pranced past. Simon waved Nick on, and his friend expertly drove the wagon through. After Malcolm passed, Simon quickly closed and locked the gate.
The wagon rolled up to a gap cut into the balustrades which was the entrance to the cofferdam that sat in the water between the old and new bridges. It was a circular island made of upright timbers lashed tightly together. From it rose tall poles that had once held pile-driving machines for breaking the foundation for the new bridge. A stretched canvas awning covered it and the bright colors of the flag billowed in the wind that swept boldly down the river.
Union Jacks atop the cofferdam snapped stiffly in the breeze and startled Kate’s bay gelding, but she kept her seat admirably and turned the shying horse away from the noise. Malcolm’s mount barely batted an eye at the commotion, large hooves clopping over the stones. The big Friesian’s calm demeanor soothed the bay. Malcolm’s attention, however, was on the far end of the bridge.
Simon thought at first the vibrations he felt came from Malcolm’s massive horse. However, when the mounts stopped moving, he still sensed the thuds through the soles of his shoes. It felt like the rhythmic pounding of pile drivers, but Simon knew for a fact that the equipment had been dismantled.
“What in holy hell is that thing?” Simon stared off the eastern side of the bridge.
Penny poked her head out of the wagon and followed his gaze. Her jaw dropped. “It’s … beautiful.”
A dark leviathan rose from the water. Spindly legs worked like long pistons adjusting for the river’s depth. At their tips were diamond-shaped daggers that drove down one after another as the strange machine approached the bridge, practically flowing in a mechanized process.