The Daredevil Snared

by Stephanie Laurens

  Caleb smiled and ruffled the boy’s hair. “They know who you are.” He crouched and looked Diccon in the eye. “Do you have any messages for us?”

  Diccon nodded. “From Capt’n Dixon and Miss Katherine. Capt’n Dixon said as he and Mr. Hillsythe would need until tomorrow to do their reports for you—they have to be careful about getting the paper to write on, but he said they’d have everything ready for you by then.”

  Caleb nodded. “Good. And Miss Fortescue?”

  “She said as she would bring the reports out to you tomorrow—that she’d come out with me like she did yesterday. Dubois agreed to let her collect nuts again tomorrow, but wouldn’t let any of the other women take her place today. He’s like that.”

  Caleb dropped a hand on Diccon’s shoulder and rose. He exchanged a glance with Phillipe, then smiled down at Diccon. “It’s nearly noon, and there are plenty of fruit trees around our camp. Why don’t you come back with us and have something to eat?” The boy was little more than skin and bones, and they had a good supply of jerky.

  Diccon grinned and nodded. He fell in between Caleb and Phillipe, and they made their way back to the camp.

  Both Caleb and Phillipe settled down to finalize the reports they’d been writing, pulling together all they’d learned. Diccon flitted in and out of the camp, stopping to chat with the men who were scattered in groups, some tending weapons, others preparing various fruits to go with the dried meats they would all later eat.

  After a while, Phillipe glanced up from his scribbling. He watched Diccon skip off to another fruit tree, then murmured, “Once Dubois’s men come back from the coast, from wherever they handed over the diamonds, we should try that path for ourselves. If it eventually leads to the settlement as the others suspect, we can fetch more supplies.”

  Caleb grunted an agreement. “If we’re going to remain here for the next seven or so weeks, we’ll need more food, especially as we can’t light a fire and can’t hunt, either.”

  Hornby, Caleb’s steward, was in charge of meals. He summoned them all to the bounty he and several others had prepared—fruit, nuts, and dried mutton.

  Caleb mumbled around a mouthful of the chewy meat, “At least it doesn’t have weevils.”

  Phillipe just pulled a face, but Diccon smiled sunnily and reached for another strip.

  Two hours later, Diccon declared he had enough fruit in his basket, and after exchanging farewells with all the men, he wandered off to return to the compound.

  Eventually, Caleb and Phillipe swapped their reports and read over each other’s efforts.

  Caleb reached the end of Phillipe’s precise description of the various possible approaches a rescue force might take to reach the compound, along with the pitfalls and advantages of each route. “This is as good as it could be. I can’t see anything you’ve missed.” He placed the report on the satchel he was using to collect all the documents destined for London. “It’ll all depend on what sort of force they deploy—and if they work with Decker or not.”

  Phillipe nodded and handed back Caleb’s report on the compound. “That’s thorough, but there are two connected points I can see another commander wanting to know—the structure of that palisade and the strength or otherwise of the gates.”

  Caleb grimaced. “I thought of that, but I can’t remember well enough to comment. Can you?”

  Phillipe shook his head. “But we have time.” He started to get to his feet. “And I’ve had enough of sitting. Let’s go and see what we can make of things now, and when the light fades, perhaps we can risk slipping closer to confirm how the planks are held together.”

  They took two of Caleb’s men with them. They returned to the same spot Diccon had first led them to, not far from the gates. From the cover of the palms, they studied the way the planks were lashed together and squinted at the hinges. Caleb mouthed, “We need to get closer.”

  Phillipe nodded, then pointed to the guards slouching at either side of the gates and signaled that they should wait until the light faded before venturing closer.

  Eventually, as the day dimmed and a short twilight took hold, the guards on the gate straightened, slung their muskets over their shoulders, and tugged and lifted and finally swung the gates closed.

  Caleb waited for a minute, then, in a crouch, slid from behind the concealing palms and swiftly crossed the cleared space to fetch up in the shadow of the wall. He was still five yards or so from the gate. He paused to study the construction of the planking palisade, confirming that, as they’d thought, the planks were lashed together with ropes made of jungle vines. No nails or other metal fixings, except for the occasional piece of wire used to bind two planks. That said, the rope lashings were thick, plentiful, strong, and tight. Using a machete to hack through the bindings enough to break in would take time—and would create some degree of noise. Quietly slicing the bindings with any smaller, more covert tool would take forever.

  Phillipe slipped into the deeper gloom by Caleb’s shoulder. He looked at where Caleb pointed at the lashings; he grimaced expressively, then with a tip of his head, he directed Caleb to the gate.

  They crept along, careful to create not even a whisper of sound. They reached the nearer gatepost and hunkered down beside it. Both of them examined the junction between the gate and the post supporting it. A long piece of solid giant bamboo, five or so inches in diameter, had been used as the hinge, lashed into position with so much vine the hinge appeared fully wrapped in rope.

  While it might appear more fragile than a metal hinge, breaking through the gates if they were locked into place—for instance with cross beams—would take explosives.

  Even as they stared at the hinge, feet shuffled on the other side of the gates, then a chorus of grunts was followed by a huge thump. The gates rattled, then settled.

  “That’s done, then,” one of the guards said. Hands slapped solid wood.

  Phillipe glanced up at the gates, then looked at Caleb and mouthed, “Two beams.”

  Caleb nodded. Breaking into the compound at night was not going to be easy—not unless he and his men prepared the way. Luckily, they had time.

  They’d discovered what they’d come to learn; ready to return to the jungle, he swiveled.

  “Wish Dubois wasn’t such a fiend for having it all his own way.”

  Caleb shared a glance with Phillipe, then both of them eased back against the wall. Caleb put his ear to one side of the hinge, while Phillipe rested his head against the palings of the gate.

  On the other side of the gatepost, two guards were, apparently, still on duty. Now the gate was closed, they’d elected to slouch together and chat as they idly watched the compound.

  “Huh. I’ve worked with the devil long enough to know there’s no getting around that. It’s his way or you’re out.” The second guard sounded older, more experienced.

  “I can’t see his point. Why’s he so finicky? It’s not as if the women, nor even the girls, are working at night. No reason they couldn’t entertain us then.”

  “Don’t even think it. The last man who did...no doubt the leopards have picked his bones clean by now.”

  “But...why? I can’t see the sense in it.”

  “Then watch and learn. Those women and children—they’re not just here for the work they do. They’re here to make all our lives easier. They’re here to keep the men in line.” After a pause, the older mercenary went on, “If we take and use even one of them, that hold Dubois has—the promise that all the women and children will remain untouched as long as the men behave—that’ll be gone. And then they’ll all riot, and if it’s you who’s done it, then if the men in the mine don’t slit your throat for you, Dubois will—after he flays you alive. I’ve only seen him lose his temper once—and I never want to see that again.”

  The mercenary paused, then went on, “Trust me. Meddling wit
h Dubois and his ways isn’t worth it. I’ve worked with him on more’n ten jobs, and every one’s been a piece of cake. Money for the taking. When you’ve been in this business as long as I have, you appreciate the captains who can deliver jobs like this one. Boring as all hell it might be, but it’s as easy as pie and pays damn well.”

  A sly note crept into the man’s voice. “And there’s always the fun at the end—when Dubois walks out and lets us do as we please with all the captives he no longer has reason to keep alive.”

  “He’ll do that?”

  “Oh, yes. Why do you think so many of us have stayed in his company for so long?”

  The younger man cackled. “I didn’t know that. Something to look forward to, then.”

  Their expressions grim, Caleb and Phillipe exchanged looks, then Caleb tipped his head toward the jungle. Silent as wraiths, they left the wall and, shadows among shadows, slid back into the palms and trees.

  They collected their men, but didn’t speak until they were nearly back at their camp.

  “In addition to a structural description of the palisade and the gates”—Caleb spoke over his shoulder to Phillipe, who was following him down the narrow track—“I’m going to add a few lines to my report about the need to keep Dubois alive and in charge right up until the moment we attack.”

  Phillipe grunted. “Sadly, I’m forced to concur. And we’d better pass the word to all our men that, regardless of any opportunity or temptation that might present itself, we should not kill Dubois.”

  “Not until later.” Caleb’s tone signaled that he was already making plans for a confrontation once the need to keep Dubois alive had passed. Once the rescue force had arrived and taken control of the compound.

  As he led the way into the clearing and their makeshift camp, he stifled a sigh.

  Phillipe sensed his disaffection and shot him a questioning glance.

  Caleb grimaced. “I would so much rather be free to simply remove Dubois and go in with swords swinging. What with having to juggle so many lives, all in the same balance, and trying to help and improve things without making anything worse, this mission is”—he blew out a breath—“a hell of a lot more complicated than I’d expected.”

  * * *

  When Katherine walked into the jungle alongside Diccon the next morning, she was, once again, prey to conflicting emotions. The anxiety she’d felt as she’d set off toward the gates with Diccon skipping by her side—the fear that something would somehow alert Dubois or his mercenaries to the reports she carried folded and stuffed into a hurriedly sewn pocket in her gown—evaporated as the cool shadows of the jungle enveloped her.

  Eagerness took hold.

  She wanted to find Frobisher and his friends and hand the documents over; the need to have them depart and take the information back to London so that an effective rescue force could be dispatched burned fiercely inside her.

  And yet...

  Contrarily, she felt she would be losing a chance—letting something she couldn’t even name slip through her fingers—when she, however metaphorically, waved Frobisher and his men goodbye.

  Stupid, really. She’d met him only two days before. Had spent only half an hour in his company.

  But he’d given her hope. He’d made her feel that rescue could and would happen, and that there was a life waiting for her, for them all, once they left the compound.

  That belief in a future was precious, even if she didn’t know what her future might hold. Just the conviction that she would live to see it—to make mistakes and also triumph as she made her way on through life—was a gift of incalculable worth.

  A godsend, really, for all the adults, given that, despite their wishes, despite their talk, they had all, in their hearts, started to lose all such hope.

  She let Diccon lead and simply followed. He stopped here and there to gather fruits and berries. When she saw a nut tree of the right type, she paused to collect whatever unbroken husks she could find. She dropped the nuts into her basket, then straightened.

  A rustle had her whirling.

  Frobisher stepped from the jungle, the other man—Lascelle—beside him.

  Just seeing Frobisher made her smile. “I’ve got the reports.” Hauling her bedazzled gaze from his answering smile, she reached for the slit seam at her side, above her waist and below her breasts, and carefully withdrew the folded reports from their hiding place.

  She saw Frobisher’s eyes widen and hurried to explain, “They’ve never searched us before, but we didn’t want to take the chance.”

  He grinned. “Ingenious.” He took the sheets she held out.

  As he looked down and unfolded them, she stepped closer, to his side. “Dixon said he wrote down everything he could think of that might be relevant about the mine itself. Hillsythe—his is the finer hand—said his report was by way of a situational report and that you’d know what that meant.”

  She watched Frobisher’s face as he scanned the documents, then he handed them to Lascelle and met her gaze.

  “Thank you—and thank Dixon and Hillsythe. Combined with our own reports, these are exactly what London needs.” He hesitated, then said, “We have one question we hadn’t thought to ask—when the mercenaries carry the diamonds away, does anyone know where on the shoreline they rendezvous with the ship?”

  “They go west,” she said. “Hillsythe overheard that they rendezvous with a tender on the eastern tip where the river to our west meets the estuary.”

  Lascelle had been reading the reports more closely. “It’s here—in Hillsythe’s report.” He glanced at Frobisher. “That must be the river Robert and his lady used to reach the estuary. That should mean our ships are moored sufficiently farther east to be out of sight of the vessel the tender must come from.”

  “Good.” Caleb met Katherine’s hazel eyes. “Our ships are tucked away more or less north of here.”

  She smiled, but there was a fragility behind the expression, caused by what he had no clue—but he wanted to know. The smile faded as she said, “You must be keen to return to your vessels and rush back to London.”

  Caleb paused—hesitated. Not over any question of trust but because something inside him wanted to keep her cocooned and far from harm...in the circumstances, there was no sense in that. He glanced briefly at Phillipe—who nodded almost imperceptibly—then looked back at her. “We’re going to send the reports—the ones you brought as well as ours—along with our maps to London on our swiftest vessel.”

  “Which is his,” Phillipe helpfully stated. He handed the refolded reports to Caleb.

  “True.” Caleb shot his friend a “you’re not helping” look, took the reports, then met Katherine’s now-wondering gaze. “But we and as many of our men as we can spare from our ships have decided to remain.”

  Her eyes widened. “You’re staying?”

  He nodded. “Our mission was to get the information required to those in London, and once my ship gets under way, that mission will be essentially complete. So we’ll be free to do whatever we wish, and we’ve decided that there’s no reason we shouldn’t linger here, in the jungle, near enough to help all of you in the compound should anything go wrong between now and whenever the rescue force arrives.” He shrugged. “If nothing does go wrong, then we’ll be here to add our numbers to the attack on the compound. Whoever comes in as leader will be glad of extra men—especially men who’ve had time to become acquainted with the terrain.”

  If her face—her expression—was any guide, she was debating flinging her arms around his neck and kissing him...

  He hoped she would, but then she managed to rein in her exultation. Enough to ask, “Are you sure you want to risk it? You don’t have to, you know.”

  “Yes, we know,” Phillipe replied. When she glanced his way, he grinned. “But we like to live dangerously.”
r />   Truer words were never spoken.

  But Katherine Fortescue didn’t grin back. She studied Phillipe, then turned her oddly searching gaze on Caleb. The quality of her regard forcibly reminded him that she’d been a governess to small children. After several silent moments, she gravely said, “I won’t try to dissuade you, because no words can adequately convey what the knowledge that you’ve chosen to remain, more or less to keep watch over us, will mean to all in the camp. We assumed you would leave. That was one of the reasons that we, the leaders—Dixon, Hillsythe, Fanshawe, Hopkins, Harriet, and I—decided against mentioning your presence to any of the others. Because of how much hope now means to us. Telling the group that someone came and has taken information back to London so that a rescue can be mounted—just that would have been a powerful positive. But knowing that, in addition, you and your men have elected to remain to assist us? That’s going to buoy everyone enormously. It’s going to make everyone feel that we’re no longer struggling on all by ourselves.”

  Her expression grew a touch grim. “Especially as, increasingly, we’re getting the impression that the mining will not just roll along as it has been—not for much longer.”

  Caleb frowned. “Has there been any change since last we spoke?”

  “Yes and no. It’s more a case of degree. The diamonds in the first tunnel are nearing an end, but Dubois is pushing harder and harder for increased production via us opening another tunnel to mine a second deposit of diamonds Dixon has found. Thus far, we’ve held off. But the pressure on Dubois to increase production is coming from outside—from what he calls the ‘backers of the enterprise.’ Given the way he uses that term, we’re not sure that those are the people in the settlement. They could be others, located somewhere else.”

  Caleb shot a questioning glance at Phillipe.

  Phillipe nodded. “Hillsythe covered that. He thinks the people in the settlement are not the backers, but that the backers are some other group entirely.”