Part 4 (1/2)
Grey greeted them formally. ”Mr. Burns. Mr. Jolly.” He could feel the boy trying to peek around his arm to get a closer look at them. He pushed the lad back in place. ”You wanta ?” He purposely let his sentence trail off. Let them state exactly what they came for.
Uncomfortable, Bobby Burns s.h.i.+fted his considerable bulk from one foot to the other. ”Aww, Mr. Janeway,” he said almost apologetically. ”You know we come for the boy.”
”What boy?” Grey asked coolly.
”The one hidin' behind your back like he was a joey and you were a b.l.o.o.d.y roo.”
”I'd have him in my front pocket then, wouldn't I?”
Burns wasn't sure what to say to that. ”It was just an expression.”
”A bad one.” Grey looked at Jolly. He was fingering the scar that went from one corner of his mouth and disappeared into his reddish blond side whiskers. ”Do you have an expression, Mr. Jolly?”
The Duck shook his head. Nothing came to his mind.
Grey continued, unruffled and pleasant. ”I'm expecting a delivery this morning, and the boy, the one who's not attached himself to me like a barnacle to a s.h.i.+p's hull, is helping me collect it.”
”He works for you?” Bobby Burns asked.
”He works for me.”
”You didn't say anything when we grabbed him.”
”That's because I didn't mind. He'd been running up and down the wharf long enough. He's a bit of a dervish, you understand, but eager to please.”
The Ducks nodded in unison.
”So I didn't care that you took him in hand, but now that everyone's gone fis.h.i.+ng, I mink it's over.” He pointed past Jolly's shoulder. ”Our s.h.i.+p's preparing to drop anchor soon. Do you really want to argue about the boy?”
”Didn't know he worked for you, Mr. Janeway,” Bobby said.
”Now you do,” Grey said quietly. He pinned them both back with his flint-colored eyes and waited.
They s.h.i.+fted again, exchanged glances, then Jolly spoke up. ”We have a s.h.i.+p to meet, Mr. Janeway. Pleasure talking to you.”
”Surely was,” Bobby Burns added.
Grey watched them go. When their backs were turned and he was certain their attention was on the incoming clipper, Grey let the knife concealed in his sleeve drop to his hand. He bent and slipped it back into his boot.
”You would have used that?” the boy asked huskily.
”If I had to,” Grey said with complete indifference. He turned and eyed the boy critically. His shoulders were hunched again, and he was staring at the ground. Grey started to raise the brim of the boy's hat to get a better look at his face, but the child flinched as if he were about to be struck and grabbed the hat, jamming it on even tighter.
”How old are you?”
”Fourteen.” The reply was sullen and reluctantly offered.
”You're alone?”
The response this time was a nod.
”Orphan?” Grey didn't waste any more words in asking the questions than the boy did answering them.
”Yes, sir.”
”What's your business with that s.h.i.+p?”
”I'm leaving on it.”
Grey almost laughed at that. ”You have money?” The absence of a reply this time told Grey all he needed to know. His hand snaked out, and he grabbed the boy's chin and raised it. ”They'll pitch you overboard if they find you stowed away. You're too scrawny to be any use to them but as fish bait. And how were you planning to get to the s.h.i.+p? You'll need money if you expect one of the scows to take you. They'll smell the desperation on you and ask for something you can'ta”or shouldn'ta”be willing to give.” Grey's fingers tightened. He gave the chin a little shake and bent his head closer. His voice was still soft, hypnotically so, and deep with intensity. He stared at the large green eyes raised fearfully in his direction. ”And if they realize you're a woman, you'll be flat on your back instead of bent over the bow.”
Tears flooded her eyes.
”For G.o.d's sake,” Grey said. ”Don't cry here.”
Her attempt to blink them back was only marginally successful. Several dripped over the rim of her lower lashes. She wrestled her chin free and wiped them away quickly. Glancing around, she looked to see if anyone had noticed.
”Everyone else is occupied with the s.h.i.+p,” Grey said.
”I thought you didn't want them to see me cry.”
' I don't want to see you cry.” He observed that she flinched almost imperceptibly. G.o.d, he thought, spare him from overly sensitive females. In spite of the way he seemed to be able to lash her with mere words, Grey noticed that she continued to stare at him. ”What's your name?”
”Berkeley Shaw.”
”How old are you?”
”Twenty-two.”
Grey was mildly surprised and not entirely convinced. He knew she was older than the fourteen-year-old boy she'd pretended to be, but he wouldn't have put eight years on her. ”Is there someone I should be turning you over to?”
She frowned. ”What do you mean?”
”A husband? Brother? Father?” He paused. ”A pimp?”
”No!”
”None of them?”
”No,” she said more softly. ”None of them.”
Grey found himself disconcerted by her slightly awed, wide-eyed regard. ”Why are you staring at me?”
”Those men, they called you Mr. Janeway.”
”That's right.”
”Is that your name?”
He was more amused than frustrated. ”Do you have a better one?”