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even larger than anticipated. The question is, will you have time to take your greedy fill before you’re spotted? You see, I happen to know that the night watchman has unexpectedly decided to diverge from his customary route tonight. He should be strolling by this section of the river in about three-quarters of an hour, and I would hate to see him catch you in the act of piracy.” Rem shrugged carelessly, folding his arms across his chest. “Of course, the fog is heavy and the watchman’s vision is poor; he probably won’t even see you—unless, of course, someone ensures that he does.”
    “What d’ye want, Gresham?”
    “Your other choice, of course, is to abandon the idea of confiscating the River Run’s cargo and flee. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t help if the watchman were to know about that weasely little Tower Street fence you’re on your way to see … and why you need to see him. Why, a decent watchman would then be forced to search you, only to discover the”—Rem’s omniscient gaze swept Johnson’s bulky frame—“ten odd pieces of jewelry stashed in your shirt and pants.”
    “Ye’re a bloody bastard, ye know that, Gresham?”
    “I’ve been called worse.” A corner of Rem’s mouth lifted slightly. “Your decision?”
    Johnson’s broad shoulders sagged. “As I said, what d’ye want?”
    “A very small favor, actually.”
    “Yer favors are never small, Gresham.”
    “Neither are your crimes, Johnson.”
    Silence.
    “I need you to gather a few of your cronies—the more intelligent, observant, malleable ones—and keep a little vigil for me.”
    “Wha’ kind of vigil?”
    “The kind you’re best at—scrutinizing ships. Check for anything out of the ordinary: unusually light cargo, shipments or seamen that look odd or out-of-place … whatever your instincts warn you might be amiss. As for the men you select”—Rem stroked his chin thoughtfully—“I recommend that you start with Jarvers; an excellent choice. He’s got a sharp eye and an equally strong incentive. Should the magistrate learn of the opium shipment he smuggled off the Traveler last week, he’d be on his way to Newgate—and a hanging. Yes, I’d definitely call on Jarvers if I were you.”
    “Nothin’ escapes ye, does it, Gresham? Ye know everthin’.”
    “If that were the case, I wouldn’t need your help.” Rem turned to go. “Cover the entire Thames. Quickly. Get your men and get busy. Boyd will be in touch at week’s end to hear of your findings.”
    “What about the watchman?” Johnson called out fearfully.
    “He’ll be diverted.” Rem never glanced back. “Oh, and Johnson, forget the River Run —the people of London need that cargo, and I hear Newgate is really a most unpleasant place to take up residence.”
    Johnson cursed explicitly, spitting after Rem’s retreating figure.
    He was particularly careful to make certain the earl was too far off to witness his actions.
    “The carriage is as good as new.”
    Boyd gestured toward the Barrett’s vehicle, scratching his unruly head of sandy hair.
    “I owe you one, Boyd.” The refined nobleman in the tight black breeches, cutaway coat, and snow-white cravat bore little resemblance to the threatening rogue who’d returned from the Thames’s unsavory banks mere hours ago.
    “The only thing you owe me is some information.” Boyd’s terse response contrasted directly and purposefully with his casual stance, a stance that was as deliberate as was their meeting. It ensured that anyone strolling through the crowded streets of Covent Gardens would see only a pair of close, if slightly mismatched, friends enjoying an amiable chat.
    Their friendship was hardly a secret.
    Their conversation was hardly a chat.
    “I got Johnson.” Idly, Rem smoothed the collar of his coat. “He’ll serve us well. He’s contacting Jarvers and a few others. The docks will be covered.”
    “I’ll make sure of it.”
    Rem nodded. “I let him know you’d be checking