The Daredevil Snared

by Stephanie Laurens

  Muldoon and Winton exchanged glances.

  Muldoon looked at his tankard, then turned it between his hands. “So Undoto has also lost touch with Rogers. I was hoping that the empty nest in the slums simply meant they’d changed locations and hadn’t got around to mentioning it, but that Rogers and his crew didn’t call on Undoto suggests otherwise.”

  Winton swallowed. He moistened his lips and murmured, “What are we going to do if Kale’s gone and taken his men with him?”

  None of them attempted any answer.

  Eventually, the first man drained his mug. “There’s no point speculating until we know what’s happening with Kale. Undoto will bring us news. There’s no sense scrambling until he does.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Katherine walked briskly out of the compound’s gates two mornings later. Diccon skipped ahead; the boy was, she felt, better at hiding his excitement than she was. It took effort not to openly search for Frobisher even while she was still within sight of the guards on the gates and the tower.

  As the jungle closed around her and she followed Diccon deeper into the shadows, she lectured herself on the subject of keeping her unruly reactions suppressed. Why Frobisher so easily provoked such responses, she had no clear idea; no other man had ever captured her awareness as he so effortlessly did. And the strength of her reactions—those impulses she hadn’t felt before and consequently had no experience subduing—only made dealing with him, even simply viewing him, in a businesslike way all the harder.

  As distractions went, he was shaping up to be her Achilles’ heel.

  Diccon halted at a clump of berry vines. The boy’s calm patience as he set to, picking berries and dropping them into his basket, was instructive. She spotted a nut tree nearby and went to look for fallen nuts.

  While she searched the carpet of leaf mold, her mind—for the moment free of Frobisher—returned to the problem she’d spent the previous day wrestling with. In the early days of the mine, the men had realized that some of the children had a knack for telling which lumps of freshly mined rock contained diamonds and which most likely did not. They’d worked with those children to separate some of the diamond-bearing rocks while still within the mine—before the ore was taken out to the sorting piles. As the guards had quickly grown complacent and entered the mine only occasionally to run their bored gazes over the workings, the men and children had managed to dig and conceal an alcove-like hole in which to hide their bounty.

  That hidden alcove now held their cushion of ore to tide them through any unexpected shortfall—that was the stockpile they would have to draw down in order to open the second tunnel without risking a dramatic fall in production.

  It had occurred to her that there were other points in the mining process at which they might hold back some of their product. Once the second tunnel was fully open, no doubt the men and children would gradually replenish their stockpile inside the mine. It was harder to see where the children might hide any diamond-bearing rocks while sorting, which was performed in plain sight in the compound under the gazes of the passing guards, albeit hidden from those in the tower by the movable awning. So harder, but not impossible.

  The cleaning shed was a different matter. Guards patrolled outside, and although they randomly came in from time to time, as the women ignored them, the guards rarely stayed for long. She was more or less in charge and felt sure the other women would be glad to assist in creating their own stockpile of cleaned stones. Stripped of the other minerals clumped about them, the raw diamonds still looked like rocks, but they were much smaller and would be easier to hide...if only she could think of a place in the cleaning shed in which to hide them.

  The shed was much like the other buildings, with plain plank walls and floor, and palm-thatch on the roof. The long table that ran down the middle of the room, the stools the women perched on, and a plain bench across the end wall were the only pieces of furniture.

  She’d checked the floor, but it was raised above the ground, and the area beneath it was visible to anyone who looked. The walls contained no crannies large enough and were only one plank thick. The roof—the thatch—might, however, be a possibility. She would need to examine it more closely.

  Diccon called. She looked up and saw him beckoning her on. She straightened, hoisted her basket, now a quarter full, to her hip and followed him deeper into the jungle.

  Where was Frobisher? Diccon had insisted that they should just go about their collecting until Frobisher and his men came to them. Which was all very well, but she could remain out of the compound only until midday, and she had messages from Dixon and Hillsythe, and their question to ask, as well as information the women had overheard to pass on. When Diccon halted by a fruit tree, she hunted and found another nut tree. After dropping her basket to the ground, she plonked her hands on her hips, then sighed and started looking for nuts.

  Caleb halted with Phillipe in the shadows nearby. They’d been in the camp when one of the men on watch had come running to tell them that the lady and the boy had come out of the compound and headed into the jungle between their camp and the lake.

  The man hadn’t waited for long enough to be certain the pair hadn’t been followed. Phillipe had urged caution, and Caleb had agreed.

  They’d located the pair fifteen minutes ago. They’d watched and then circled them, searching for any guards who might have trailed them. And found no sign of anyone.

  Caleb relaxed. “They’re alone.”

  Phillipe nodded. “This Dubois—he plays very strange games.”

  Caleb humphed and moved forward. He made no effort to mute his approach. Miss Fortescue—Katherine—heard him. She turned his way—and her expectant expression dissolved into one of smiling welcome.

  He felt a warmth blossom somewhere inside him. He all but swaggered up, returning her smile with one of his own. “Good morning.”

  “Hello.” She stared at him for a moment, then blinked and looked away. “I...have several messages.” Her tone turned brisk and matter-of-fact. “Dixon and Hillsythe asked me to outline how the work in the mine is progressing, which will explain the importance of a question we hope you can answer.” She looked past him to Phillipe and nodded a greeting, then glanced back at Caleb. “And there are a few other bits and pieces that perhaps you should know.”

  “Of course—but first, we thought it might be best if we take you to our camp. Diccon found the spot for us, so he knows the way.” With a gesture, Caleb invited her to follow the boy and Phillipe, who had already started through the trees. He bent and picked up her basket. “But if others in the camp ever need to send for us, more of you need to know where to find us.”

  She nodded. “Yes, of course.”

  As they wended through the trees in Diccon and Phillipe’s wake, Caleb added, “Although we’re approaching from an angle this time, the clearing we use is just off the path that leads directly north—the one that’s virtually unused. We can fill your basket from trees around the clearing, then you can walk directly back to the compound on that track.”

  “Good.” She tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “That way, I’ll be certain of the way.”

  They reached the camp, and she glanced around, then at his invitation, sat on one of the logs about the empty fire pit. She accepted a mug of water from Ellis, one of Caleb’s men, with a grateful smile. Caleb took a moment to hand over Katherine’s basket to Foster and Collins, two of his men who were happy to have something to do to fill their time.

  “Now.” He let himself down beside her. “What do you have to tell us?”

  Katherine was determined to keep her senses in line; she schooled her features to what she thought of as her governess look—severe and slightly intimidating. Or at least, as intimidating as she could appear; she doubted it would have much effect on Frobisher or Lascelle. “The first thing I need to exp
lain is that we—all those at the mine—have been managing the ultimate output. Early on, we realized that if the output fell too low, there was a good chance the backers—whoever they are—would deem the mine too great a risk for too little reward and order it shut and all of us killed.” With her hands cupped about the cool mug, she drew breath and continued, “To avoid that—or at least stave it off—whenever the men hit a vein with more diamonds than usual, they held back some of that ore and hid it inside the mine. That’s become our stockpile—if the output falls, we feed more out. If the output rises, we keep more back.”

  “And Dubois and his men have no idea of this?” Lascelle asked.

  She shook her head. “They’ve never realized.” After a second, she went on, “The problem for us is that there are a lot of elements at play that influence the output from the mine itself. Some of those elements are under our control, but others aren’t. In the latter category are the mining supplies—timber, nails, tools, and so on—and also the number of men at the mine. Those two elements, in particular, used to be under Dubois’s control via Kale and presumably others in the settlement.” She looked at Frobisher. “But now you’ve eliminated Kale, you’ve disrupted the supply of both elements, and Dubois is having to...”

  “Re-establish his supply lines?” Frobisher suggested.

  “Exactly. But another element in all this has been Dixon opening up the second tunnel—that’s been under our control, even though, again, Dubois doesn’t realize that. Up until recently, our plan for that was straightforward—we assumed that it would be best for us to delay opening the second tunnel for as long as we could to ensure the life of the mine was as long as possible—the better for us all to remain alive long enough to devise some way to escape.” She paused, then went on, “But that’s now changed, because output from the first tunnel is declining. So in order to keep production at levels acceptable to the backers—to keep them from closing the mine—we now have to open up the second tunnel.”

  She grimaced. “We can and will do that—but we’ve now got other problems restricting the output from the mine, namely the lack of mining supplies and the lack of men.”

  Lascelle laughed—a cynical, world-weary sound. “So you actually need Kale back.”

  She met Lascelle’s gaze. “I think we all know that no one would ever wish to have Kale back.” She glanced briefly at Frobisher. “I told you that you and your men would be heroes in the camp for putting paid to Kale, and trust me, you are. No one regrets his passing.” She brightened. “And as it happens, we have a way around our problem. It’s that stockpile I mentioned earlier. We’ll feed out enough stones to keep the output sufficiently high while the men work to open the second tunnel and get it into full production. Once we have that done—and Dixon believes the second deposit holds more diamonds than the first—we should be able to continue mining, we hope for at least some time.”

  She looked first at Lascelle, then turned to fix her gaze on Frobisher’s face. “And that brings me to the question to which we in the compound truly need an answer. What is your best guess as to when the rescue force will reach us? Can you give us a date?”

  Caleb blinked. She’d explained the situation so clearly, he could instantly see the connections—and the importance of his answer. His gaze on her eyes, he nodded slowly while his mind raced. “We worked out a rough guess before, but let’s see if we can be more accurate.” He glanced at Phillipe. “Our men should have reached the estuary by now.”

  Phillipe nodded. “I would think we can be confident that, one way or another, The Prince will slip past Freetown and Decker tonight.” He met Caleb’s eyes. “Your men won’t dally, and in the circumstances, it will have to be at night.”

  “Indeed. So that’s The Prince on the open sea tonight.” He paused, then grimaced. “I can’t see Fitz getting the old girl into Southampton in less than twenty-one days—and that only if the winds blow his way.”

  “Let’s say twenty-three days to Southampton.” Phillipe frowned. “From there, how fast will the news reach your brothers in London, and more pertinently, how quickly will they be able to alert those required to authorize the dispatch of the rescue force?”

  Caleb thought through what that was likely to entail. Eventually, he offered, “Four days minimum.”

  Phillipe glanced his way. “Four days to sailing?”

  Caleb paused, then said, “The rescue force will have to come on several ships—it can’t be just one, not given the distance and the urgency.”

  “You think they’ll use your family’s fleet?”

  “As much of it as is available in Southampton or London, or even Bristol. Altogether, that would do it.” Caleb felt his expression clear as the most likely scenario coalesced in his mind. “The thing is, I’d wager heavily that the first ship here will be Royd’s.”

  Phillipe snorted. “Unquestionably.”

  Caleb glanced at Katherine. “Royd’s my oldest brother and the operational head of Frobisher Shipping.”

  “And,” Phillipe put in, “more pertinent to this discussion, Royd’s Corsair is unquestionably the fastest ship of that class on the waves.”

  “From what I’ve gathered,” Caleb said, “Royd can make the run from Southampton to Freetown in twelve days or less.”

  “That’s twenty-three, plus four, and now twelve.” Katherine had been keeping track. “That’s thirty-nine days at least for the first ship to reach Freetown.”

  “I think it’s safe to assume,” Caleb said, “that in terms of raw diamonds or any message being dispatched to the backers, or of any instruction from those backers reaching Freetown and eventually the mine, those thirty-nine days will bring an end to traffic in either direction.” He met Phillipe’s eyes, then looked at Katherine. “My brother will contact Decker—the vice-admiral of the West Africa Squadron. Decker will, however grudgingly, listen to Royd, and Royd will get Decker to blockade the estuary, halting all vessels going in and out and allowing only our vessels carrying the rescue force to pass.”

  “So.” Katherine blew out a breath. “Let’s say forty days. Forty days is the minimum that we absolutely must keep the mine producing at acceptable levels.”

  “Preferably more than that to allow time for the rescue force to reach here,” Phillipe warned.

  “We have ten more days to the end of this month,” Caleb said. “So to be safe, you need to plan for the mine to run smoothly into and preferably through the first week of September. So aim for the seventh of September.”

  “Thank you.” Katherine nodded briskly. “Having a firm date is going to be very helpful, not just for planning but for morale, too. Speaking of which”—she glanced from Caleb to Phillipe—“we’ve now told everyone—all of our company—about your presence and the impending rescue. I cannot tell you how thrilled and...uplifted everyone is. It’s made a great difference—we now all feel more confident we can see this through and survive.”

  “That’s the ticket.” Caleb smiled encouragingly. “We need to stay focused on getting everyone out alive.” He paused, then asked, “Is there anything else you can tell us? For instance, about the group of Dubois’s men who returned yesterday and the other group that left this morning?”

  “Indeed.” Katherine sat straighter and proceeded to report on all the captives had learned once Dubois’s first lieutenant, Arsene, had returned to the camp. “The guards talk to each other and never care that we overhear. After handing over the diamonds, Arsene went on to Freetown, and he brought back food and similar supplies, as he usually does. Then this morning, Dubois’s other lieutenant, Cripps, left with a group for Kale’s camp—apparently they’ve been sent to find out what’s going on, and Dubois hasn’t assumed it’s Kale who’s the problem. It’ll take Cripps at least three days to go there and return. But according to the guards, Dubois is already thinking about directly contacting those in the settlement for
more mining supplies and more men.”

  Frobisher’s eyes had narrowed. “So Dubois knows who in the settlement is involved.”

  “Some of them, at least. But none of us have ever heard any names. It’s possible the guards don’t know either, just Dubois, and maybe Arsene and Cripps.”

  Frobisher nodded. “Tell us more about the guards.” He met her gaze. “What their rosters are like—how long they stay in any one place or patrolling any one area. How often they do, and so on.”

  As clearly as she could, she outlined the pattern of the guards’ usual behavior.

  When she concluded, Lascelle grimaced. “They’re well placed, and much of their movements are random.”

  Caleb glanced at Katherine. “That makes it harder to plan an attack.” He paused, then, realizing that midday was approaching, he rose and held out his hand to her.

  She glanced at it, then, delicately, rested her fingers across his palm. He gripped lightly, helped her to her feet—then had to force himself to release her slender fingers.

  She shook out her skirts, then slanted him a smile. “Thank you—it is time I headed back.”

  Phillipe went off to find her basket.

  Caleb didn’t want her to leave. “We’re going to use our time here—our enforced inaction—to learn as much as we can about the compound itself and how it operates, with a view to planning various ways of attack. Possibly even taking some first steps—making preparations.”

  He paused as Phillipe returned, bulging basket in hand. Caleb frowned. “She’s never going to be able to carry that.”

  Phillipe grinned and bent to tip some of the nuts out into a pile. “The men got carried away.”

  “Incidentally,” Caleb said, reclaiming Katherine’s attention, “before I forget, we’ve hidden all the weapons we took from Kale’s men in a cache near the lake. There’s a mound just beyond the wharf—the weapons are in a covered pit on the other side of that mound.”