The Daredevil Snared
Diccon smiled as they filled his basket, then he clamped the handles together and looked at Caleb. “More than enough.”
“Excellent. What we need next,” Caleb said, “is for you to lead us to a place where we can see into the camp, all without alerting any guards. Do you know of such a spot?”
Diccon snapped off a salute. “I know just the place, Capt’n.” He’d heard Caleb’s men using his rank.
“In that case”—Caleb gestured toward where he assumed the mine must be—“lead on.”
Diccon did. He lived up to their expectations, leading them first along the disused path again, then cutting left into the untrammeled jungle. He looked back at Caleb and whispered, “This will be safest. We’re moving away from the other paths and into the space between that northward path and the one leading to the lake. The mercenaries take some of the men to the lake to fetch water every day, but they do that in the morning. There shouldn’t be anyone at the lake now.”
Caleb nodded, and they forged on, increasingly slowly as Diccon took the order to be careful to heart.
Eventually, he halted behind a clump of palms. Using hand signals, he intimated that they should crouch down and be extra careful while following him on to the next concealing clump.
Then he slipped like an eel through the shadows.
Caleb followed and instantly saw why Diccon had urged extra caution. The compound’s palisade lay ten yards away, separated from the jungle by a beaten, well-maintained perimeter clearing—a cleared space to ensure no one could approach the palisade under cover. The compound’s double gates were five yards to their right. And the gates stood wide open with two armed guards slouched against the posts on either side. Both guards’ attention was fixed on the activity inside the camp, but any untoward noise would alert them.
Given the gates were propped open, Caleb surmised that the real purpose of the guards—and, indeed, the fence, the gates, and the guard tower in the middle of the compound—was to keep people in; the mercenaries had grown sufficiently complacent that they didn’t expect any threat to emerge from the jungle.
Well and good.
They watched in silence for more than half an hour. Caleb noticed that heavily armed guards appeared to be patrolling randomly through the compound, but the attitude of all the mercenaries was transparently one of supreme boredom. They were very far from alert; the impression they gave was that they were perfectly sure there would be no challenge to their authority.
Against that, however, he saw some of the captives—he had no idea which ones, but both male and female—walking freely back and forth. More, some met and stopped to chat, apparently without attracting the attention of the guards.
Curious.
Then he noticed Diccon peering up at the sky. The sun was angling from the west. Remembering the boy’s concern over returning in good time, Caleb tapped him on the shoulder, caught Phillipe and the other men’s eyes, then tipped his head back, into the relative safety of the area behind them.
Diccon retreated first. One by one, the rest of them followed.
They gathered again well out of hearing of the guards on the gates. Caleb dropped his hand on Diccon’s shoulder and met the boy’s gaze. “Thank you for all your help. Now, we have to tread warily. Who is the person you trust most inside the camp?”
“Miss Katherine.”
Caleb blinked. He’d expected the boy to name one of the men, but his answer had come so rapidly and definitely that there was no real way to argue with his choice. Slowly, Caleb nodded. “Very well. I want you to tell Miss Katherine all we’ve told you. Can you remember the important bits?”
Diccon nodded eagerly. “I remember everything. I’m good like that.”
Caleb had to grin. “Excellent. So tell Miss Katherine, but no one else, and see what she says. Then tomorrow, when you come out, go and look for fruit in this area—between our camp and the lake. Behave as you usually do and gather fruit, and we’ll come and find you. We’ll be waiting to hear what Miss Katherine, and any others she thinks fit to tell, say.”
Diccon’s face brightened. “So I’m like...what is it? A courier?”
“Exactly.” Phillipe smiled at the boy. “But remember—the mark of a good courier is that he tells only those he’s supposed to tell. Not a word of this to anyone else, all right?”
Diccon nodded. “Mum’s the word, except for Miss Katherine.”
“Good.” Caleb released the boy. “I would suggest you circle around and come in from some other direction.”
“I’ll go to the lake and walk in from there—that way, if you keep watching, you’ll see where that path comes out a-ways to the left.”
Caleb’s approving smile was entirely genuine. “You’re taking to this like a duck to water.” He nodded in farewell. “Off you go, then.”
With a brisk salute and a grin for them all, Diccon melted into the jungle; in seconds, they’d lost sight of him.
“He is very good.” Phillipe turned toward the gates. “But I’ll feel happier when he’s back inside where he belongs.” He waved toward their previous hideaway. “Shall we?”
They returned to the spot. Five minutes later, Diccon appeared out of the jungle to their left. He passed their position without a glance and, basket swinging, all but skipped back through the gates. He headed to the right, vanishing into an area of the compound that from their position they had no view of.
Caleb consulted his memory. “He must have gone to deliver his haul to the cook—he said the kitchen was that way.”
He’d barely breathed the words. Phillipe merely nodded in reply.
Sure enough, ten minutes later, they saw Diccon, no longer carrying the basket, cross the area inside the gates, right to left. He appeared to be scanning the far left quadrant of the compound—but then he whirled as if responding to a hail from somewhere out of their sight to the right.
Even from where they crouched, they saw his face light up. Diccon all but jigged on the spot, clearly waiting...
A young woman appeared. Brown haired, pale skinned, she moved with a grace that marked her as well bred. Smiling, she came up to Diccon and held out her hands. Diccon readily placed his hands in hers, all but wriggling with impatience and excitement.
Closing her hands about the boy’s, her gaze on his face, the woman crouched as Caleb had done.
Immediately, the boy started talking, although from the way the woman leaned toward him, he was keeping his voice down.
“Miss Katherine, obviously.” Caleb scanned all of the area around the pair that he could see, but there were no guards or, indeed, anyone else close enough to hear the exchange.
As Diccon poured out his news, Caleb saw the woman—younger than he’d expected by more than a decade; he’d had no idea a governess could be that young—start to tense. Clearly, she’d realized the import of what the boy was telling her—and she believed his tale.
That last was verified when she glanced out of the gates—not directly at them but in their direction.
Immediately, she caught herself and refocused on Diccon again.
But Caleb had seen that look, had caught her expression. However fleeting, that look had been a visual cry for help that had also held a flaring of something even more precious—hope.
By some trick of the light, of that moment in eternity, he’d felt that hope—fragile, but real—reaching out to him, something so indescribably precious he’d instinctively wanted to grasp it. To hold and protect it.
Then she’d clamped down on the emotion, but he no longer harbored the slightest concern that the adults in the camp wouldn’t believe Diccon’s tale. She—Miss Katherine—did, and even though Caleb had yet to exchange so much as a word with her, he felt certain a woman brave enough to stand up to a mercenary captain in order to save an urchin’s life would have the backbone to carry her point with the English officers in the camp.
Diccon finished his tale. Her gaze fixed firmly on his face, Miss Katherine slowly rose to her feet. Then she released one of his hands, but retained her clasp on the other. Drawing him around, she set off with a purposeful stride, heading in the direction of the mine. In just a few paces, she and Diccon had passed out of their sight.
They continued to watch for several minutes, but no alarm was raised, and there was nothing of particular interest to see.
Caleb frowned. He leaned toward Phillipe and whispered, “We need to see into the compound—we need a much more comprehensive view.”
“I was thinking the same, and it just so happens”—without raising his arm, Phillipe pointed, directing Caleb’s gaze upward—“the compound is nestled into a curve in the hillside, and if you look very closely just there...”
Caleb looked. His eyes were accustomed to reading ships’ flags at considerable distance; he quickly picked out the rock formation Phillipe had spied. “Perfect.” Caleb grinned. He glanced back at Quilley and Ducasse. “We’ve plenty of time before the light fades to find our way to that shelf.”
They did and discovered it to be the perfect vantage point from which to survey the compound. The rock shelf was wide enough for all four of them to sit comfortably, sufficiently back from the edge that the shifting leaves of trees growing up from below screened them from anyone on the ground. They spent another half hour observing the movements of the guards and the captives, thus confirming and acquainting themselves with the uses of the different structures in the compound. Diccon had given them an excellent orientation, but it seemed that most of the adult males were down in the mine and not presently available to be viewed.
There was a large circular fire pit in the space between the entrance to the mine, the barrack-like building that from Diccon’s description was the men’s sleeping quarters, and the large central barracks that housed the mercenaries. Ringed with logs for seats, the fire pit was situated well away from all three structures. A small fire burned at the pit’s center, doubtless more for light and the comfort imparted by the leaping flames than for warmth, and the women were already gathering about it. Miss Katherine sat with five others, but from the relaxed postures of the other women, she had not—yet—shared Diccon’s news. Instead, she glanced frequently toward the entrance to the mine.
“She’s waiting for the men to join them,” Phillipe said. “She’s waiting to tell whoever’s in charge.”
Caleb nodded. “I wish we could stay and identify who that is, but we should get down and back to our camp before night falls.”
Night in the jungle was the definition of black; scrambling about on an unfamiliar hillside above an encampment of hostile armed mercenaries in the dark would be the definition of irresponsible.
Phillipe pulled a face, but nodded, and the four of them rose and scrambled back onto the animal track along which they’d climbed up. Once they reached the jungle floor, despite the fading light, they skirted wide through the deepening shadows. Giving the open gates of the compound and the well-armed guards a wide berth, they made their way back to their camp.
CHAPTER 4
The next morning, Caleb, Phillipe, and two of Caleb’s men, Ellis and Norton, returned to the rock shelf as soon as it was light. Light enough to see their way, and light enough to observe the activity in the compound.
Caleb settled on the granite shelf. “Let’s see if we can establish their routine.” From the pocket of his lightweight breeches, he drew out a pencil and a small notebook.
Phillipe, not an early riser, grunted. But he sank down beside Caleb, drew up his knees, rested his chin upon them, and focused his heavy-lidded gaze on the compound far below.
Over the course of the next hours, they watched the camp come awake. The guards changed at six o’clock. Shortly after, the captives straggled out of the barrack-like huts in which they’d slept and tended to their ablutions in the lean-tos built against the sides. Some hung laundry on lines strung at the rear of the long huts. Eventually, each crossed to the awning-covered open-air kitchen on the opposite side of the compound to the mine to fetch their breakfast, then carried their plate and mug back to the large fire pit and settled on the logs to eat.
The mercenaries also breakfasted, in their case under another palm-thatched awning erected in front of the guard tower, close by the kitchen. From their position on the rock shelf above and to the rear of the compound, Caleb and his men could get no clear view of the mercenaries as they broke their fast.
Caleb grunted. “I would have liked to get a look at this Dubois and his lieutenants.” They all knew that the mercenaries they’d seen thus far were followers, not leaders.
In contrast, they were fairly certain who among the male captives were the leaders—the officers.
“That’s Hopkins—the one just joining the other three.” Caleb focused on the four men who sat together at the side of the fire pit closest to the mine. “I met his sister in Southampton. They share that same odd-colored hair.”
“I’m fairly certain,” Phillipe said, his eyes narrowed on the group, “that the lean, brown-haired one will prove to be Hillsythe. He looks like I imagine one of your Wolverstone’s men would look. Which leaves the other two as Fanshawe and Dixon.”
“That matches their bearings,” Caleb said. “From the way they hold themselves, they must be either army or navy.”
They watched, but gained no further clues as to who was whom among the captives. Caleb made a note of their number. “I make it twenty-three men all told, six women, and twenty-four children.”
Phillipe stirred. “Most of the children are young—less than ten or so. There are only five who are older—four boys and that fair-haired girl.”
“I think,” Caleb said, studying the girl, “that they must be the ones Robert and Aileen had to allow to be taken.”
Phillipe nodded grimly. “I read that in Robert’s journal.”
After the meal, the captives dispersed. The men headed for the mine in groups, followed by most of the children. A few of the children, all girls, went to an awning-shaded work area closer to the rear of the compound—closer to the base of the cliff from which the men watched. The girls picked up small hammers and started to take rocks from one pile, tapping each, then sorting them into two piles, one much larger than the other.
After a moment of studying them, Phillipe offered, “I think they’re sorting the raw ore into the chunks that might have diamonds and those that most likely don’t.”
Caleb grunted.
On quitting the fire pit, the women carried the tin plates and bowls back to the kitchen, then they retreated to a hut that sat directly behind the long central barracks that housed the mercenaries. An armed guard patrolled the area before the hut’s door, but as with all the guards, including the pair who had climbed to the tower and the fresh pair of guards who had slouched into position on the recently opened gates, he appeared utterly confident and clearly expected no threat.
Sitting on Caleb’s other side, Norton humphed. “It’s as if the guards think they’re just there for show.”
Miss Fortescue was the last of the women to enter the hut—the one Diccon had dubbed the cleaning shed. There was something in the way Katherine Fortescue held her head that effectively conveyed her complete disregard for the mercenaries about her. It wasn’t as overt as contempt but was a subtle defiance nonetheless.
Regardless of his absorption with jotting down everything useful he could about the camp, Caleb had spent long minutes drinking in every aspect of the delectable Miss Fortescue. For despite the privations of her captivity, she was enchanting, with her brown hair shining and with features that, as far as Caleb could make out, were striking and fine, set in a heart-shaped face. As for her figure, not even the drab, all-but-shapeless gowns that all the women had, apparently, been given to wear could hide her nicely rounded curves.
Regardless of the situation, his interest in Miss Fortescue was a real and vital thing—definitely there and, quite surprising to him, distinctly stronger and more compulsive than such attractions customarily were. Why a woman he’d never even met should so effortlessly capture his attention—fix his senses and hold his focus—he couldn’t explain.
“I haven’t been able to count all the mercenaries yet,” Phillipe said, “but Diccon’s number of twenty-four in camp at the moment, plus Dubois, seems about right.”
Reluctantly eschewing his thoughts of Katherine Fortescue, Caleb jotted the number in his notebook, then looked down at the compound once more.
Four of the male captives—none of them the officers, all of whom had vanished into the mine—had hung back in a group to one side of the mine entrance. As Caleb watched, two mercenaries ambled out from the central barracks and, each holstering a pistol, walked to join the group.
Nearing the four captives, one of the mercenaries waved the men to a cart parked nearby. Two large water barrels and four large cans for filling them sat on the cart. The four men fell in; they lifted the cart’s axle and started the cart rolling across the compound toward the gate.
Caleb watched the men angle the cart through the gate, then turn in the direction of the lake. “Hmm.”
The animal track they used to reach the rock shelf, if followed in the opposite direction, ultimately led down to the lake. On the previous day, they’d joined and later left the track halfway up the hillside and hadn’t noticed the proximity of the lake, but that morning, a glimmer of light off the water had flashed through the trees and drawn their collective eye. They’d made a brief detour; they hadn’t wanted to be there when the men with their guards came to fill the compound’s barrels. They’d lingered only long enough to fix the scene in their minds. The lake was fed by a stream rushing down the hillside; it was small, but from its intense color, it was reasonably deep. A short, narrow wharf jutted out along one bank, no doubt built to facilitate drawing water for the camp; on all the other banks, dense vegetation crowded the shoreline.
Caleb, Phillipe, Norton, and Ellis continued to watch the compound, but captives and mercenaries alike seemed to have settled to their morning’s duties. The only people coming and going were the children who occasionally emerged from the mine, lugging woven baskets filled with loose rocks that they added to the pile the girls were sorting, then returned to the mine.
Letting his thoughts about the lake slide to the back of his mind, Caleb spent some time drawing a detailed map of the compound, marking in all the buildings and structures and noting the position and direction of the tracks, including the animal track leading to the rock shelf, plus the location of their camp in the jungle clearing and the position of the lake.
After a moment, working from memory, he added a crude sketch of the lake itself. He studied the sketch for several minutes, then glanced at Phillipe. “Those weapons we took from Kale and his men.” They’d gathered all the weapons before burying Kale and his crew, and had searched and removed more from the buildings in the slavers’ camp, then they’d bundled the weapons up and brought them along in case of future need. “There are far more than we could ever use ourselves. What about creating a cache nearby—somewhere those in the compound could get to when the time to fight arrives?”
Phillipe lightly shrugged. “Why not? Better than just discarding them when we leave—no sense wasting good weapons.” Briefly, he studied Caleb’s eyes, then faintly smiled. “Where were you thinking of burying this cache?”
Caleb grinned. “The lake. There was a mound just beyond the end of the wharf.” He pointed on his sketch; Phillipe, Norton, and Ellis leaned closer to look. “If we buried the cache there, it would be easy for those in the compound to get to. And they only send two lackadaisical guards with four men—that’s not bad odds.”
Phillipe nodded. “That’s also an easy place to describe to those in the compound.”
“And as we’re only talking of a month,” Caleb said, “two at the most, before a rescue force arrives, then even with light wrappings, the powder should still be useable.”
Norton pointed down into the compound. “There are the men bringing back the water barrels.” They watched the men haul the now-laden cart through the gates.
“The guards have returned, too,” Phillipe noted, “so from what Diccon told us, the lake should be safe for us to visit from now through the rest of the day.”
“Perfect.” Caleb glanced at Ellis. “Go back to camp and tell Quilley to take three men, wrap up the excess weapons and ammunition, and go to the lake and bury the lot behind the mound at the end of the wharf. Go with him and make sure he chooses the right spot.”
“Tell Ducasse to take two of my men and help,” Phillipe said. “More hands and it’ll be done that much faster.”
Caleb endorsed the order with a nod.
Ellis snapped off a salute and scrambled off the ledge, heading for the track down the hillside.
Caleb, Phillipe, and Norton settled to watching the compound again.
After some time, Phillipe said, “I take it we’re watching for Diccon to leave.”
Caleb nodded. “We came upon him about noon, and he’d already half filled his basket, so I would expect him to leave fairly soon.”
“I saw him go into the kitchen,” Norton said. “He helped the women take the plates and bowls back, but he didn’t come out again.”
“Ah, but there he is now.” Phillipe sat up and nodded down at the compound.
Caleb watched as the skinny figure of Diccon, readily identified by his bright mop of hair, skipped out from under the palm-thatched overhang shielding the kitchen. He was swinging two baskets, one from either hand. But instead of heading for the gates, Diccon circled the guard tower. Caleb frowned. “Why two baskets, and where is he going?”
They had their answer in another minute. Diccon went to the cleaning shed. He climbed the steps to the door and knocked. The door opened, and he waited a moment. Then he backed down the steps, and Katherine Fortescue joined him.
Caleb blinked. He watched as Miss Fortescue took one of the baskets, then, side by side, she and Diccon headed for the gates.
The guards saw them coming and didn’t react in any way; they watched the pair walk out of the compound and into the jungle.
Caleb stared at Diccon and his Miss Katherine as, heads high, they blithely marched on. Then they disappeared from view. He frowned. “That seems just a tad too good to be true.”
Phillipe looked faintly grim. “The boy said nothing about anyone else coming out with him.”
It fell to Caleb, as commander of the mission, to weigh every factor that might prove dangerous to their men. That Miss Fortescue might have told Dubois what Diccon had told her...
He didn’t want to believe it, but...he grimaced. “Let’s watch and see if anyone else follows them.”
But no one did. No one seemed to have any interest whatever in the whereabouts of the pair who had, supposedly, gone foraging.
After thirty minutes, Caleb looked at Phillipe.
Phillipe looked back and shrugged. “I would point out that women make excellent traitors, but...who knows?”
Caleb grunted. He stuffed his notebook back into his pocket, then rolled to his feet. “I don’t see Miss Fortescue as a likely traitor, but as matters stand, I can think of only one way to find out.”
* * *
By the time Katherine had put seventeen of the large nuts she’d agreed to gather for Dubois and his men into her basket, her nerves were jumping. From the moment she’d grasped the implications of what Diccon had told her regarding who he’d met in the jungle the previous day, she’d been trapped on a peculiar seesaw of emotions—vacillating dramatically between cynically weary disbelief and the burgeoning of unexpected hope. Up, then down, almost to the rhythm of her breathing.