Muldoon grimaced. “True enough.” He looked at the table in front of him. He traced one of the scars that marred its surface. “So what are we going to do?”
Several seconds passed, then the first man spoke. “Undoto might have some idea of where Kale is, or if he’s gone somewhere and how long he’ll be away.”
Muldoon met the first man’s gaze. “Are you volunteering to ask Undoto?”
The first man smiled thinly. “I’ll do it.” He drained his mug and set it down, then looked at Muldoon. “You keep your eye on those four likely lads. I’ll call on Undoto and see what I can learn.” He glanced at Winton, then looked at Muldoon and tapped his palm to the table. “Meet back here tomorrow, and we’ll see where we are.”
* * *
That evening, Katherine sat with the other leaders of the captives about the fire pit to discuss recent developments and decide on their immediate course. The rest of their company, presently all gathered around the pit, their faces lit by the leaping flames, were talking animatedly, most with smiles wreathing their faces.
Earlier, speaking to smaller groups here and there, she and the other leaders had shared the news of the impending rescue and of the small protective force now camped nearby. The effect on everyone had been every bit as intense as she’d anticipated—hope was a heady elixir, and after such a prolonged abstinence, they were all but drunk.
At her suggestion, to account for their transparent delight, the group as a whole had adopted the story that they were celebrating the betrothal of two of their number—Annie Mellows and Jed Mathers—which was true enough. The pair had, indeed, decided to marry, and even if they couldn’t yet, they’d decided to declare their intentions—a statement of their plans for their future and, by extension, their dogged belief that they would live to see that future. Annie and Jed had agreed to allow their news to be used as an excuse for the company’s high spirits.
Hopkins—who had employed his boyish charm to befriend several of the guards—put the story about. Subsequently, the guards laughed cynically from the shadows, but as far as Katherine could tell, the excuse had held up. Neither Dubois nor his men appeared to be suspicious; they certainly weren’t lurking, hunting for any other source for the captives’ sudden upwelling of joy.
Sitting beside her, Hillsythe surveyed the chattering group. “Let them have their evening. Tomorrow will be time enough to buckle down again.”
Fanshawe, Hopkins, and Harriet nodded in agreement.
“Indeed,” Dixon said. “But what we need to decide tonight is whether or not we open up the second tunnel or, alternatively, if we want to risk trying to engineer more delays.”
“Take us through the arguments again,” Fanshawe suggested. “Things change so often, I, for one, lose track.”
Dixon grunted. “The situation as of now is that output from the first tunnel is winding down. We’re still getting diamonds out, but only just enough, and given the backers are pressuring Dubois to increase production, we can’t afford to allow overall production to drop away—as it will if we don’t open the second tunnel and start to actively mine the second pipe soon. In short, if we want to keep production at a safe level, I believe we’ve held off as long as we dare.”
“Am I correct in thinking,” Hillsythe said, “that if we move now, we’ll have enough diamonds coming out of the first tunnel to tide us over while we open the second—so that we won’t have any sudden drop in output to further irritate Dubois and tweak the attention of the backers?”
“Yes and no.” Dixon glanced at Fanshawe and Hopkins. “We might be cutting it fine if we banked solely on output from the first tunnel, but we should have enough ore hidden in our stockpile to cover the switch from the first tunnel to the second, at least as far as Dubois and his masters are concerned.”
Fanshawe didn’t look thrilled, but nodded.
“There’s enough in the stockpile to supply several days’ full production,” Hopkins volunteered.
“To remind us all of the context,” Harriet said, “if we had opened the second tunnel earlier, overall output would have soared, which is why we’ve held off and held off, until production from the first tunnel is starting to decline.”
Dixon nodded. “While soaring output would have made Dubois and his backers very happy for several weeks, after that, output would almost certainly fall away, possibly dramatically enough to trigger closure of the mine. Avoiding that scenario remains our paramount goal, and the only sure way to achieve it is to keep production steady at a level as low as Dubois and his backers will swallow.”
“Indeed.” Hillsythe glanced at their fellow captives, still happily chattering. “And now we know that rescue is coming, stretching the mining out until relief can reach us is a finite and imperative goal. Frobisher and his men turning up has given us a strong incentive to succeed—a vital one, in fact.”
There were murmurs of agreement from the others.
“What does Dubois know about the second deposit?” Hopkins asked.
“At this point, only that it’s there,” Dixon replied. “I haven’t told him that it’s a much denser deposit with many more diamonds than the first pipe. In order to delay mining it, I invented all sorts of structural obstacles.” He shrugged. “Some were real, most weren’t, but they’ve served their purpose.”
The first tunnel ran more or less straight into the heart of the hill. It had just grazed the upper end of a pipe of diamonds, and they’d had to dig deep into the side of the tunnel in order to bring out the ore-encrusted stones. The second tunnel would run more or less perpendicular to the first, opening off it to the right about ten yards inside the mine entrance. “All I’ve done so far,” Dixon went on, “is to put in an exploratory shaft. I convinced Dubois that by doing the minor excavations necessary to plot a tunnel that ran along the pipe, rather than grazing the end as we did with the first pipe, then ultimately, getting the bulk of the diamonds out of the second pipe will take much less time.”
Fanshawe nodded. “You convinced him to go slow now in order to mine faster later.”
Hillsythe straightened. “But with the first deposit waning, it’s time to convert your exploratory shaft into a working tunnel so our teams can switch from mining the first deposit to mining the second, all the while keeping the level of production steady.”
Katherine looked at Fanshawe and Hopkins. Each led a team of six men; those two teams performed the bulk of the heavy mining, wielding pickaxes for most of each day. Hillsythe managed a crew of four slighter, wiry men who oversaw the children and effectively controlled the amount of ore that went out of the mine to the sorting piles. Hillsythe also managed the three burly carpenters in Dixon’s team when they weren’t actively assisting the engineer with his structures. The carpenters kept a close watch on the tunnel supports that kept everyone safe.
“It’s evidently time we took that step.” When they all nodded in agreement, Hillsythe looked at Dixon. “So what do you need to open up the second tunnel?”
“That,” Dixon said, “is where complications arise.” He looked around their group. “Opening the second tunnel will require more men and more supplies—more timber, more nails, and so on. The supplies Dubois can doubtless get, but the men?”
They all knew Dubois had been pressing for more men to be kidnapped for weeks. Katherine glanced around and confirmed no guard was close before adding, “And now Kale’s vanished, so there will be no more men—at least not from that quarter.”
Hillsythe met her gaze. “Kale’s disappearance is going to disrupt the supply of men until Dubois finds out and works out another route through which to source what he needs. That’s going to take time.”
“Exactly.” Dixon looked grim. “That’s my point. With the output from the first tunnel declining, Dubois not having the men needed to open the second tunnel means time we may not have.”
&nbs
p; “Ah.” Hillsythe looked struck. “I see what you mean by complications.”
They all did. While Dubois might understand that he didn’t have enough men to keep production from the first tunnel up while simultaneously opening the second, there was no guarantee that his masters would—that they wouldn’t instead see any dip in overall production as reason enough to close the mine. And kill all the captives. Once such an order was given, Dubois would simply shrug and carry it out—no appeals to rationality would be entertained.
Eventually, Hillsythe stirred. “You were correct in your opening statement—we need to make a decision now, tonight, on what direction we take with the second tunnel.” He looked at the others’ faces, meeting each one’s eyes. “Although our decision might prove critical—might end up being one of life and death for us—the only way we can make it is based on the facts before us.” He paused, then looked at Dixon. “I vote for you to tell Dubois that you’re ready to open up the second tunnel and give him your requirements. For my money, trying to delay further might land us in even worse straits and, more, might prick Dubois’s suspicious nature, which we’ve been so very careful to lull.”
Katherine compressed her lips, then said, “I agree, for much the same reasons. We can only judge by what we know today, and as I understand things”—she glanced at Hopkins and Fanshawe—“we have enough ore held back to cover the slack when the carpenters and others move to help Dixon, at least somewhat.”
Fanshawe nodded. “Somewhat.” He, too, looked around at the others’ faces. “Our original purpose in building our stockpile was to give us a cushion of at least several days when the deposit was finally mined out. A few days to do whatever we might to escape. But that was before Dixon found the second pipe and before Frobisher and his crew arrived. Although the second pipe, too, will eventually run out, as you say, we can only base decisions on what we’re faced with today.” He nodded again, more decisively. “So I vote for opening the second tunnel, too, even though that will run down our cushion and, unless and until we can replenish the stockpile, will leave us with little to fall back on when the second pipe runs out—we have to pray the rescue force reaches us before that happens.”
Hopkins grimaced, but he nodded, too. “I agree. We have to take the risk, open up the second tunnel as expeditiously as possible while using the stockpile to cover the drop in production, and pray the rescue force reaches us in time.”
Harriet and Dixon both added their votes to the consensus to open the second tunnel, making the decision unanimous. “There’s also the fact,” Dixon said, “that by us moving forward—apparently cooperating—then any further holdup generated by a lack of men or supplies is going to focus Dubois’s attention on his supply lines and not on us.”
Fanshawe grunted. “For all his many faults, he’s never yet proved stupid enough to hold us liable for things beyond our control.”
“So we’re agreed.” Hillsythe straightened, easing his back. He looked at Dixon. “We’ll leave it to you to inform Dubois.”
Dixon huffed. “I’ll see him first thing and let you all know if there are any unexpected ramifications.”
“Actually”—Hillsythe glanced at Dixon, then looked at Katherine—“our discussion raised two questions that we really ought to push to answer. First”—he addressed her—“what is Frobisher’s best guess as to how long it will take for the rescue force to reach us? Can he put a date on it?”
She widened her eyes. “He said at least six weeks, but that struck me as an off-the-cuff estimate. I forgot to ask last time, but when next I see him, I’ll ask if he can be more definite.”
“Do. The second and connected question”—Hillsythe looked at Dixon—“is whether the second deposit is rich enough to allow us to mine sufficient diamonds fast enough to keep Dubois’s backers happy and yet last until our rescuers arrive.”
Dixon pulled a face. “That, indeed, is the ultimate question. And I won’t be able to answer it until we get the second tunnel fully open. We’ll need to extend it the full length of the deposit, which we haven’t yet done even with the exploratory shaft, and I suspect we’ll need to go down a level, too, to access the far reaches of the pipe.”
The others all nodded.
The small fire at the center of the log circle was burning low. Most of the company had started to drift away to their respective huts, to their hammock beds.
Katherine exchanged glances with the other leaders, but no one seemed to have more to say. They all rose.
“Onward, then,” Hillsythe murmured. With a nod for Katherine and Harriet, he turned away.
Katherine glanced around, then, leaving Harriet whispering with Dixon, headed toward the women’s and children’s hut.
As she passed through the shadows cloaking the compound, her mind juggled two entirely separate facts. Dubois wanted more men to work the mine. Caleb, Lascelle, and their men were only yards away in the jungle.
What if...?
She didn’t think anyone else had thought of that, much less the horrendous implications. Quelling a shudder, she determinedly banished the thought from her mind, feeling very much as if even thinking of both facts at the same time was akin to inviting some malignant fate to notice. And act.
* * *
Undoto, preacher extraordinaire and reluctant slavers’ accomplice, was expecting the knock on his front door. Indeed, he’d expected it rather earlier. He opened the door wide, a practiced smile on his face—and froze.
A single figure cloaked in black and wreathed in shadows stood on Undoto’s porch.
Instinctively, Undoto’s gaze swept over the man—by height and stance, he knew it was a man—and in the faint light, he saw the pistol the man held in his hand, the barrel trained unwaveringly on Undoto’s chest.
“Good evening, Mr. Undoto.” The voice was cultured, an Englishman’s voice. “If you wouldn’t mind stepping outside for just a moment, I have a matter I would like to discuss with you.”
His gaze fixed on the pistol’s barrel—intensely aware of his sons and daughters already asleep in the front room of the narrow house—Undoto drew in a tight breath and, outwardly calm, stepped outside. Then he closed his already sweating palm about the doorknob and pulled the door shut behind him.
“Excellent.” The man had stepped back.
Peering through the dimness, Undoto saw that the man had a black scarf wound loosely about the lower half of his face. A dark, wide-brimmed hat pulled low on his forehead effectively screened his eyes.
“I regret the pistol.” The man tipped up the barrel, then slid the weapon beneath his cloak, presumably into the pocket of his coat. “It was necessary to get you alone.”
Undoto didn’t relax. “You wanted to discuss something?”
“Indeed. We have an acquaintance in common—namely, Kale. Although I believe you generally deal with his lieutenant in the settlement, Rogers.”
Undoto reluctantly nodded. “I know of them.”
The man’s cold smile colored his tone. “Let’s not play games. You work for them. You select marks, and they oblige by snatching them up. Which is all well and good. Ultimately, we work for the same people. However, we need to contact Kale and have been unable to do so. Do you know where he is?”
“No.” Undoto fought to suppress a frown. After a second’s hesitation, he volunteered, “I expected Rogers to call this evening—I thought you were him. Him and his men. I gave a sermon today, and they always call after that to learn if I spotted any likely pickings.”
“And did you? Spot any likely pickings?”
“Two sailors just in off a merchantman and looking for work.”
The man nodded. “Indeed. They sound like two of a group we noted. We tried to send word to Kale’s base in the slums, but no one’s at home. Do you have any idea how to contact him?”
“No. He—or r
ather Rogers—always comes to me.”
“Do you know where Kale’s camp is?”
Undoto hesitated. He did know, but... “It’s out to the east. Other than that...” He slid his hands into the pockets in his robes and shrugged.
The man shifted, then stilled. Several seconds ticked by, then the man looked out at the street and said, “It seems we have a shared interest in locating Kale. I strongly suggest you make every effort to contact him. If you do happen to see him, tell him to get in touch with those who’ve most recently paid him.”
The man’s tone had grown progressively more clipped. He looked at Undoto. “I’ll return in two days to see what you’ve learned. I believe we have a mutual interest in keeping our interaction discreet.”
“Perhaps,” Undoto said. “But you have the advantage of me—you know my name. You know my face. I don’t know yours.”
The man looked directly at him, then evenly replied, “And for all our sakes, that’s the way it needs to be.” With a swirl of his cloak, he went quickly down the steps. “Good night, Mr. Undoto.”
Undoto watched the man walk briskly up his garden path, turn into the street, and stride away.
Undoto stared after him as the minutes ticked past.
Other than the moment with the pistol, which he had subsequently put away, the man hadn’t uttered a single threat.
Yet the promise of one hovered in the humid night air.
Eventually, Undoto turned, opened his door, and went inside.
* * *
The following day in the late afternoon, Muldoon, Winton, and their colleague met in the tavern once more.
Immediately all three were settled with pints in their hands, the first man—who, as usual, had been the first one there—related his conversation with Undoto. He concluded, “I’m sure Undoto knows where Kale’s camp is. He’ll go—for his own sake, he needs to know what’s going on with Kale.” He took a sip of his ale, then said, “I’ll give him another day—I’ll call on him tomorrow night and see what he’s learned.”
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