Without waiting for their opinion, she set Delia upward. She followed the cliff edge back toward the soldiers, keeping under cover. She was in a stand of oak waiting for the next spate of moonlight to study the area ahead when she heard them coming. They were grumbling, loud and long, having belatedly realized they were nowhere near a path downward. The moonlight strengthened, and she could see them gathering in a knot in the middle of the grassy expanse directly in front of her.

A shout came from the cliff’s edge. “There’s a path here, Sergeant! What are we to do? The boat’s gone, and there’s nought to be seen on the sands.”

A burly man nudged his horse to the cliff and looked down. He swore. “Never mind that now. We saw that boat. Half of you-down onto the sand and go south. The rest keep to the cliffs. We’re bound to come up with them, one way or t’other.”

“But south’s Sergeant Osborne’s region, Sergeant.”

The burly man cuffed the speaker. “I know that, fool boy! But Osborne’s out to Sheringham way, so’s it’s up to us to police this ’ere stretch. On you go, and let’s see what we can find.”

To Kit’s delight, she saw them split, then both groups head south. Satisfied, she returned to the small band trudging doggedly northward, still on the sands.

“You’re safe. They’ve gone south.”

The men downed their burdens and sat on the sands.

“Thanks be we only had one boatload.” The speaker glanced toward Kit and explained: “Normally we have a lot more.”

The large man, who seemed to be their spokesman, looked up at her. “This quarry you spoke of, lad. Where be it?”

Kit stared. It had never occurred to her that they wouldn’t know Snettisham quarries. She and her cousins had spent hours playing there. It was a perfect hiding place for anything. But what if she took them there?