Gabrielle frowned, then said that for that price she'd expect him to accommodate their horses.

The master hesitated, examining Gabrielle's mount with his straight eye, then he drained the contents of his tankard and nodded. "High tide's at three. Ferry'll be at the quay at two. If you're not here, we go anyway." He returned to the tavern without a backward glance.

That left an hour and a half to kill and hopefully sufficient time to bring Nathaniel. Gabrielle was hungry and thirsty but didn't dare risk leaving her horse anywhere in this den of thieves while she went in search of sustenance. She wondered where best to await Nathaniel's arrival and decided to position herself at the end of the quay, facing the alley he'd have to use to reach the harbor. She decided it was not pointful to consider what she would do if he didn't arrive before the surly Dane's ferry left the quay, just as it was not pointful to anticipate his reaction to her presence. The man needed a serious push, and he was going to get one.

Nathaniel rode into the reeking town just after half past one. He was instantly aware of the eyes on him as he guided his horse through the narrow, ordure-ridden lanes toward the waterfront. Hollow-eyed children gazed from doorways at the well-dressed stranger on his glossy stallion. Men lounging against walls in the shade picked their teeth and spat as he rode past.

As he turned down a particularly dark, narrow lane, where a slice of water and a change in the quality of the light at the end indicated the quay, a stone flew through the air and thudded against his shoulder. He swore and turned his head. A group of men advanced on him from behind, cudgels and rocks in their hands. Another stone hit his horse's neck, and the animal squealed and reared.

Suddenly there were men all around him, emerging from passageways so narrow, they were barely wide enough for a man's shoulders, moving out of shadowed doorways, all bearing staves and knives.

It was, Nathaniel thought, about the ugliest mob he'd ever encountered, and he was its sole target.

His pistol was in one hand while the other loosened the cane he carried attached to his saddle; his eyes never left the gathering rabble. He pressed a catch in the handle of the cane, and a wicked blade sprang forth. Another stone flew, catching him full in the chest, almost winding him.

He fired his pistol straight into the line of men in front of him. A man went down with a scream, and for a second the line faltered. He put spur to his horse and charged through them, bending low over the saddle as he slashed with his sword. For a moment he thought he was through, and then his horse caught a hoof on an uneven cobble and as the animal struggled to regain his balance, a knife plunged into his neck, severing the carotid artery. Blood leaped in a pulsing fountain as the horse died instantly. Nathaniel flung himself sideways off the saddle before the animal rolled on him, and spun on the balls of his feet, his sword slicing through the mosaic of grim faces bearing down upon him. On his feet and with no time to reload his pistol, he hadn't a chance against such a number.

It seemed ironical that after a career of circumventing danger and treachery for the highest stakes he should meet his death in a squalid alley in a reeking port in Eastern Prussia at the hands of a starving mob.

And then he heard the sound of a pistol shot and a wild cry of fury. A horse plunged through the mob, rearing, caracoling, hooves flailing, forcing men to fall back or be trampled. There was a moment when he saw clearly through the bodies surrounding him to the glitter of water at the end of the alley. He flung himself toward the gap before it closed, and Gabrielle leaned low over her saddle, holding out her hand. He grabbed it and sprang upward with the same acrobatic agility he'd shown when he'd leaped into the rafters in the attic in Paris.

And then they were out in the sunlight of the quay and the milling horde was left behind with a dead horse, leather harness, and Nathaniel's portmanteau as prize.

Gabrielle rode her horse straight onto the flat-bottomed ferry waiting at the quayside. The Danish master of the good ship Kattegat was already on the ferry, supervising the loading of supplies. He glanced at the horse and its two riders and then came over to Gabrielle.

"Two horses, you said."

"Yes, but now there's only one."

"Same price," he declared, squinting ferociously.

" D'accord,"she replied with an impatient shrug, swinging off her mount. "I'll tether him to the rail."

Nathaniel said nothing. What he had to say couldn't be said on an open deck. Gabrielle had simply followed her own impulses as she always did, and he wondered vaguely why he hadn't expected this. She'd accepted his refusal in Tilsit with too much docility, and he should have been warned. Then he noticed that blood was dripping from her arm, leaving a sticky trail across the bottom of the ferry. Presumably, as she'd plunged into the fray, one of his assailant's knives had nicked her arm.

He pulled off his cravat. "You're bleeding all over the place. Let me bind it for the moment and I'll look at it properly when we get where we're going." He fastened the cravat tightly around the gash. "Just where are we going?"

"Copenhagen," she said with a weary sigh. "That vessel in the middle of the bay… the Kattegat."

Nathaniel sank down on the bottom of the ferry, propping his back against the rail, and lifted his face to the sun. A slight breeze offered some relief from the scorching heat and carried away some of the noxious stench of Silute. Gabrielle tethered her horse and came and sat down beside him.

She wasn't fool enough to believe that Nathaniel's present silence meant that he had nothing to say. The storm would break when he was good and ready, so she kept her own counsel until then.

Rowers pulled the ferry across the short stretch of water to the Kattegat. Gabrielle followed the master up a swinging rope ladder, Nathaniel on her heels.

"We'll manage the horse," the master said. "There's a cabin to starboard for you two… uh-" His straight eye rested on Gabrielle in open speculation, running down her figure. Her cloak was thrown back from her shoulders, and the britches and shirt offered little concealment to the rich curves of her tall body. "Gentlemen…" he added with something suspiciously like a leer.

Gabrielle kept her expression haughtily impassive, and Nathaniel stared out to sea, apparently stone deaf.

The master shrugged. "Not that it's any of my business. You pay your passage and I ask no questions." He held out his hand. "Forty livres, I believe was agreed upon."

Nathaniel's breath whistled through his teeth, but Gabrielle calmly withdrew the pouch from inside her shirt and shook out the required sum into the master's open hand. "I believe you'll find that to be correct. Be careful with my horse."

The master solemnly counted the coins, then turned and shouted orders to his seamen. Within half an hour Gabrielle's terrified horse had been hoisted aboard in a canvas sling and securely tethered in the stern of the boat.

Only then did Nathaniel speak. "Come below." It was a sharp command.

Gabrielle followed him down the companionway and into a small, sparsely furnished but clean cabin with a small porthole and two bunks set into the bulwark.

Nathaniel closed the door with a controlled slam and stood with his shoulders against it, regarding Gabrielle in fulminating silence. "Dear God," he exclaimed at last, "you ought to be beaten, Gabrielle!"

"Well, that's a fine thing to say, when I've just saved your skin," she retorted. "And for the second time too."

"I wonder why it is that my skin needs saving only when you're around," he declared dourly.