Landon entered The Whistling Pig and nodded to Mr. Schoen, who handed him a key.
“My wife has a message for yu,” he said. “Knock on der kitchen door, she vill give it to you.”
“Thank you.” Landon headed for the back of the tavern. He’d managed to convince the dock workers he’d hailed from a Bostonian sloop just arrived. He bought them a round of ale and whisky, thanked them for the information and left. No doubt, the barkeep was happy for his departure.
He knocked and Mrs. Schoen gestured him into the kitchen. “We have Simon hidden upstairs,” she said, wringing her apron. “Mr. Pratt somehow found out dat he vas moving runaways and tried to trap him. Tankfully, he vas warned in time to run.” She let out a nervous breath. “He worries for his wife und boy.”
Landon clenched his jaw. Simon,
