Tim’s hands trembled as he hacked the old blanket in half with Frazer’s knife. That business with Dawson had shaken him up.
Senn had said that an extra hand could go to the kitchen to do the wash and help with the chores. It seemed that all they’d had to do was ask. Now it should be easy to smuggle the blankets into the yard.
Tim fetched the wooden laundry buckets. He and Red stripped their bunks and folded their blankets, squashing them into the bottoms of the buckets and covering them with a scattering of dirty underclothes they had rounded up from the men along the corridor.
At four o’clock Addison and another guard trudged up the stairs. Red took one bucket and Allen the other. Tim looked over the room for the last time. A few deft motions of Mills’s skillful hands and the blankets and boots and scraps of clothing would convince the unsuspecting Addison.
For the hundredth time Tim slapped the pocket where he kept Kate’s map, and heard the reassuring crinkle. At the end of the corridor Peter Mills stood close to Dawson.
When Addison saw the buckets he ordered the men to halt. “You can’t do your washing now,” he said.
Red said, “The stuff’s dirty. We want it to soak.”
“Soak it up here.”
Tim broke in. “Captain Senn gave us permission to take it to the yard.”
“Well, bring it along,” Addison mumbled.