An Unconditional Freedom

by Alyssa Cole

  Janeta adjusted her posture. Her father wasn’t there to help, though, and she had a very bad feeling about the people around them.

  She tugged Daniel’s sleeve and he stopped without looking at her.

  “I think maybe we should head back the way we came,” she said.

  “Why would we do that? We’ve already dallied longer than we should have.”

  “Because I don’t think we are welcome here,” she said.

  Daniel sighed. “See, this is why I didn’t want a partner.”

  Janeta felt a flare of anger. “Why? So no one would tell you when you were acting like a stubborn ass?”

  When he finally looked at her his gaze was blank and she shivered again.

  “No,” he said. “Because you think I care about a welcome.”

  The approach of footsteps made both Daniel and Janeta turn their heads. She was already frightened and so upset at Daniel’s change in behavior that she wanted to cry or scream or both, and the sour-faced man standing before them was surely not going to improve her mood.

  “What business you got around here?” the man asked. “Where’s your master?”

  His cheeks and nose were red, as if he’d been drinking recently, or drank so often that it was his natural complexion. His eyes glinted with amusement, but not the kind that would bode well for her and Daniel.

  “We have no master,” Janeta replied, trying to keep her voice bordering on insouciant and respectful. “We are here seeking out Brendan Roberts.”

  “Oh, are you now?” The man asked in a mocking tone. “On what business?”

  Others were ambling up to join their initial interrogator, curiosity and annoyance and mischief on their pale faces. Janeta knew what they were thinking. It had been ingrained into her for her entire life, even if no one had said it aloud.

  Up to trouble. Up to no good. Got to keep them in line or there’ll be chaos.

  She glanced at Daniel, at the way his face had gone blank and expressionless. She knew that beneath that mask he was bound by fear. Fear that clung and restricted like the knots of scar tissue on his back. It didn’t matter if he hated her—she would say anything to stop the anguish that caused him to cry out into the night and cut himself off from the rest of the world. She would tell any lie, because lies were all she had to give him.

  “The man asked you what business you’re here on,” one of the new arrivals to the scene said, his eyes narrowed.

  She sucked in a breath, straightening her spine and looking down her nose at the man. “The business of the royal family of Spain, by way of Cuba.”

  They looked at each other, then burst out into laughter.

  “You darkies expect us to believe you’re here on royal business??”

  Their laughter continued, stretching out well past comfortable until the keening barks transformed from jest into threat. Janeta had perhaps pushed too far, but she couldn’t let doubt creep in. She had to play this just right, or she’d put Daniel in even more jeopardy.

  “We are Cubans, sent here to report back on this American war and how the people of the South conduct themselves,” she said haughtily. “The queen would know from her own subjects whether the Rebels are worthy of aid when she might use the funds to cultivate her own interests in the Americas.”

  The expression on the man closest to her wavered between anger and fascination. “Well, look at this one talking all fancy.” His gaze cut to Daniel. “And what about you, boy?”

  “Yo soy Daniel. Soy Cubano,” Daniel said, his eyes still blank. “Un día seré libre.”

  Janeta suppressed her shock at his words and turned back to their interrogators. “He doesn’t speak English.”

  “What should we do with ’em, Wil?” one man asked another.

  “You have two choices,” she cut in. “You can continue to insult me and my traveling partner, and we have received many insults in this country that supposedly wants aid from Spain, or you can take us to Roberts and let him decide whether we are worth laughing over.”

  The man named Wil slid his cold gaze over both her and Daniel. “I think we have a sight more choices than that, honey.”

  Janeta should have been angry or frightened, but she was suddenly very tired. Life was difficult in ways she had never imagined while coddled by her family. She couldn’t move freely without threat, she couldn’t speak freely without ridicule, and all because her skin was brown like her mother’s had been.

  When she was a child, Janeta had sometimes wished she could wash the brown hue away so that she looked like her father and sisters and their family friends. It was only after Mami had passed that Janeta had grown fond of the golden umber of her skin in the looking glass. Her mother had always walked with her head high, and Janeta realized now why that was—because people were always trying to push her head down, to use her as their stepping stone. Janeta understood her mother less as she grew to know herself more, but of one thing she was certain—Benita Sanchez had done what she thought was necessary to give her daughter a better life. She hadn’t wanted Janeta to experience this disrespect—the type of humiliation that seemed to be one commonality in the vast American experience.

  “I was told someone was inquiring as to my whereabouts?” a crisp British accent cut in. Janeta glanced over and found the slave who had been watching them with interest a few moments earlier standing beside a man whose clothing announced his wealth and whose bearing served as a reminder. His face had a hangdog look about it, and his dark hair was a bit unkempt, but his eyes were sharp and his gaze darted between her and Daniel.

  Janeta watched him closely. She’d need to know how to proceed.

  “Just these two darkies messing around,” one of the men who detained them said in annoyance. “We didn’t want to bother you none. Probably just runaways spreading some lie to get away from work. You know how lazy they are.”

  There it was—Roberts’s lip curled slightly in disgust at the word darkies, before quickly schooling itself back to drab calmness. He should have been used to such a word, and it was surprising that he didn’t embrace it. The Russians had wanted to know what this man was about, and they suspected he was helping the Confederates, but all Janeta could hold on to was the crumb of evidence his behavior had given her.

  “We are envoys from Cuba,” she said calmly. Her accent was already thick, but she leaned into it. “And we have much to report to the government of Spain about the abominable treatment we have received at the hands of these proud Southerners.” His brows raised, but his expression remained unreadable. “We’ve already been robbed of most of our belongings, which is why we seek your aid, and now we must be subjected to threat and harassment? If you thought the Trent incident caused problems for the North, that is nothing on what troubles our treatment will bring for the South, and for Britain, if you refuse our call for aid.”

  Roberts looked at them for a very long time, and Janeta was certain she had miscalculated, that she had ruined everything. What would happen to her? She had some vague idea given how the man named Wil had looked at her. And Daniel, what would become of him? She doubted he would go willingly into enslavement once again.

  Finally—finally—Roberts gave a curt nod.

  “Ah yes. I had received word that there were two Cuban envoys in need of assistance somewhere in my territory. Come along, then.” He looked over at the group of men and clapped his hands together. “Gentlemen, thank you so very much for making sure these two weren’t up to anything nefarious. I’ll take them into my care now. And do come by this Sunday after church for tea as a token of my appreciation.”

  “Really?” The men looked even more pleased with themselves, though they had done nothing to merit either thanks or reward in Janeta’s opinion.

  Roberts turned and bade them follow him, and Janeta started after him. She pulled up short when Daniel’s hand closed over her wrist.

  “Are you mad? You’re agreeing to go with him?”

  She glanced at him. She had been focus
ing so hard on Roberts’s reaction that she hadn’t checked in with him. There was no time for delay, though. “We don’t have much choice here, Cumberland.”

  “You should have discussed this with me before making such outlandish claims.”

  He was right, but embarrassed frustration welled up in her. “Maybe I would have if you hadn’t been pretending I didn’t exist for the past two days.”

  Daniel didn’t have anything to say to that, apparently. She tugged her arm away gently and followed Roberts, who was at the very least playing along with her scheme.

  Up ahead of them, Roberts reached his carriage and his driver opened the door and ushered them inside. Janeta clambered in and settled into the seat, the familiar opulence jarring after her weeks on the road. The clean, comfortable interior reminded her of everything she’d left behind in Palatka, and also of the recent time spent in the back of the wagon with Shelley and the others. Her throat clogged with emotion as the two very different experiences overlapped.

  Daniel settled beside her—she could feel the tension rolling off him. He was so tense that he seemed likely to snap. She hadn’t thought of how hard this would be for him when she’d decided to try this wild gambit. She could apologize later. Now she had to focus on Roberts.

  Roberts slid in and pulled the door shut; then the carriage pulled off.

  “Are you both comfortable?” Roberts asked.

  “Yes,” Janeta said. Daniel didn’t speak.

  “Good.” Roberts reached casually into his pocket and pulled out his pistol, training it on them. “Now tell me who you are and what you want.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Daniel fought the nausea roiling his stomach and the cold sweat beading at his temples. If he had traveled this far, gotten this close to Roberts and the proximity to Davis and the Sons of the Confederacy that he could bring them, only to fail, he would never forgive himself.

  He shouldn’t have ignored Janeta. He should have developed an actual plan other than getting to Enterprise and finding Roberts—he shouldn’t have fallen back on the isolationism that had sustained him since he’d joined the Loyal League. No matter his feelings for Janeta, he’d carried himself back to the Deep South, done the slavers’ job for them, and now they were in a situation he might not be able to get them out of.

  Pain throbbed in his head, but there was no time for steeping tea or calming his nerves. His palms rested on the knees of his dusty trousers, but maybe he could slowly inch it down toward the hilt of his knife and . . .

  Roberts tutted. “Both of you do please lift your hands up toward the ceiling of the carriage. Like that. Excellent, thank you.”

  Daniel glared at Janeta out of the corner of his eye. What had she been thinking, coming up with some foolish tripe like that? She could have said they were slaves, or freed people, or tradespeople perhaps, but envoys sent on behalf of Spain? It was outrageous. He’d known that she was not from the same background as him or most of the other detectives in the 4L, but that she didn’t think to lower herself and had instead decided to raise her position spoke volumes about the difference in their lives before the League.

  He’d known getting stuck with her would be the end of him, but he hadn’t thought she’d bring about their demise in such a foolish way.

  “Who sent you?” Roberts prodded. “Certainly no one professional. I know Stewart has been obsessive about me, but I doubt you’re from the Northern intelligence agency, with that bumbling story.”

  Daniel almost concurred, but kept silent.

  Janeta huffed. “Honestly, this is an outrage. As soon as I’m able to reach a telegraph—”

  “As soon as you reach a telegraph you’ll . . . send a message to the Queen of Spain? Is that correct?” Roberts smiled and brushed a bit of his overlong hair back with his free hand. “Forgive me, I know that in this day and age anything is possible, but I’m quite certain you’re lying. Because you are lying, you are a direct threat to me. This is a new carriage and I’ve learned the unfortunate way that blood is somewhat impossible to get out of fabric, and the smell is even worse. So. The truth?”

  He gestured with the gun in a circular motion, urging them on. The move was so seemingly careless, as was Roberts’s demeanor, that Daniel tensed to spring at him, but as soon as he moved the slightest bit the gun was steadily trained on him.

  “You. Cumberland was it? ¿Quieres decirme la verdad?”

  Daniel knew that verdad meant truth, but he wasn’t certain about the other words. In fact, his entire vocabulary had narrowed down to one word. Two syllables.

  Escape.

  He knew what this man could do to them, and death wasn’t the likeliest option. Daniel refused to be enslaved again and he wouldn’t let it happen to Janeta—she wouldn’t survive it. She’d be broken within a week, and not because she was weak but because enduring such sudden cruelty was a shock to any system.

  “I’m American,” Daniel said slowly. Deliberately. “I was given information about certain happenings in this area and I wanted to look into them. This woman is someone I met along the way and who decided to accompany me. If you are planning something untoward, she deserves no such treatment and she should be released.”

  Roberts smiled. “Do you think I would really just let her go?”

  Daniel returned his smile. “No, but I had to make the offer. Now that you’ve refused it, you are accountable for any ill that falls upon her. You will pay dearly if she’s hurt.”

  Janeta huffed again; it seemed her frustration with him was greater than her fear. “Excuse me?” She shifted her glare from Daniel to Roberts. “I would like to join in this battle of wits. I will also hold you accountable for anything that happens to him.”

  Roberts’s gaze slipped back to Janeta, and Daniel resisted the urge to growl at her. He was trying to distract from her. Why was she so intent on joining the conversation?

  “Are you his mistress?” Roberts asked bluntly.

  “No, I am his friend. And I will not stand by and have him threaten you on my behalf when I’m perfectly capable of threatening you myself. You will pay dearly if he’s hurt.”

  For a moment, Daniel wasn’t thinking of escape. He was thinking of the tone of Janeta’s voice. He’d heard her mimic conviction and outrage when she’d shouted at the men trying to detain them. This was different. Her voice was high and sharp and dangerous; she was not faking her anger. What she had just said was real. Verdad. She was half his size and Roberts had a gun pointed in her direction, and yet she defended him like he was worth the trouble. He’d doubted her, withdrawn from her, and she still tried to protect him.

  Could this really be an act?

  Roberts chuckled and leaned back in his seat, the gun resting in his lap but still trained across the carriage.

  “I suppose I might relax a bit. Given the amateur nature of this conversation, I’m going to guess you weren’t sent to kill me.”

  “Not unless we have reason to,” Daniel replied.

  “People have any number of reasons for wanting to kill me. A couple of months back there was word that a Yankee was sniffing about because he knew I was helping the Confederates break the blockade and make ties with Europe. A few weeks ago, there was the man who knew that I was secretly a spy for the North out to undermine the Southern cause. Americans are terribly excitable. It can’t be good for the circulation.” He gave a long-suffering sigh.

  “Which is true?” Janeta asked, because of course she would ask.

  Roberts shrugged. “Both? Neither? Why would I tell two strangers in firm alliance who’ve told a preposterous lie in the service of ascertaining my whereabouts?”

  Janeta rolled her eyes. “Dios mío, is it really so preposterous? I’m starting to take offense.”

  “Preposterous, but brilliant in its own right.” Roberts grinned. “I gather you were trying a pared down Polish duke ploy?”

  Janeta crossed her arms over her chest in response.

  Roberts nodded. “The Southerners do h
ave a rather pathetic attachment to the aristocracy, much to my benefit, but this is a society rooted in slavery. Such a ruse has worked a few times before, but I’m rather certain that, like most morally dubious attempts to get over in America, one has to be white for such a caper to succeed.”

  Daniel realized something as he took in Roberts’s casual demeanor and frank tone—he wasn’t talking down to them. He wasn’t rude like Hooper of the pook turtle, or aggressive like the soldiers who had invaded their camp, or the men who had surrounded them in the town. Despite having a gun drawn on them the whole time, the consul spoke to them as equals.

  It was likely a trap, but one that was effective. Daniel’s heart rate was slowing, and the pins and needles at the crown of his head began to dissipate. He was by no means comfortable, and he didn’t trust Roberts, but he was beginning to think that things were perhaps different than the Russians had suspected. He couldn’t tolerate any additional suspense, though.

  “Well, what are you going to do with us?” Daniel asked.

  “I really don’t enjoy killing,” Roberts said with a frown. “Nasty business, that.”

  “I do enjoy it,” Daniel retorted, drawing himself up so that his head nearly brushed the ceiling of the carriage.

  Roberts stared at him, gaze narrowed, his perpetual grin fading. “No. No, you don’t.”

  Daniel tried to hold the man’s gaze, but it was too knowing and worse, too kind. He huffed and turned his head toward the window. “Whether I do or I don’t, I won’t sit idly by while you decide whether to murder us.”

  “I’m not going to murder you. I just said I don’t enjoy killing, and what is murder but killing? Do pay attention, Cumberland.”

  Roberts ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Then he put his gun away. “I find you both to be infinitely less tedious than these Southerners and their grasping affectations. Will you join me for supper, and we can discuss exactly what business the Queen of Spain has with me?”

  Daniel felt Janeta’s hand touch his arm, gently. “We do not have to, if you don’t want to.”