by Eric Flint
“Captain Contreras has secured the cooperation of all the Brethren of the Coast?”
“Of course not. But many. And it will be some time before I receive a comprehensive list. In the meantime, we must err on the side of caution and desist from meting out whatever punishment these dogs might have warranted a week ago. Because they might be our dogs now, you see.” De Murga fairly spat his conclusion.
Castellar stood. Somovilla followed suit. “I shall refrain from troubling you further, Governor, but I must ask: originally, you had indicated that I would at least be rendezvousing with Contreras near Curaçao. To relay orders, possibly provide him with additional munitions, supplies, troops. Am I still to attempt to—?”
De Murga shook his head sharply. “You are to bypass Curaçao. It is no longer necessary that you bring news or matériel there.” And it is absolutely essential that you do not go there and carry away tales of what you might see, of the lengths and depths to which we must now go to protect our rightful places in the New World.
Which was the doing of that bootlick Olivares, who kept insisting—against all reason—that Tromp had abandoned Recife for Curaçao. Total idiocy. On more levels that he could bear to list. But above all, it was simply a matter of scale. You might—might—be able to fit all the ships Tromp had reportedly had in Recife in St. Ann’s Bay, but they would have been bulkwark to bulwark in that small anchorage with an extremely narrow mouth. Tromp was too clever an admiral to put his fleet in such an easily blocked bay.
But with the Inquisition still seeking ways to get back at him, and the unspoken blame when his fleet was not there to stand along with the one Cuba sent to meet his at Trinidad made him all the more vulnerable. Even worse, after the fleet was cut to ribbons in the Grenada Passage, he had still not been able to assure Gamboa and Álvarez of the Antilles that he could fully participate in their greater plans. His own position was potentially at risk, so he had no choice but to act upon Olivares’ idiot notions, despite the overwhelming tactical and strategic evidence that Tromp was somewhere in the Leeward Islands. And now with the loss of La Flota off Dominica, de Murga did not doubt that if he failed to follow Olivares’ instructions, he would not merely be relieved of his governorship but very possibly his head.
He tried not to let his thoughts influence his expression, but he feared he was glowering at the two soldiers still standing across from him. “By the time you are returning with news of your victory at Trinidad, the Dutch will be gone from Curaçao.”
“Gone?” asked Somovilla. “You mean relocated to become slave laborers, such as have built our walls?”
De Murga did not meet the engineer’s eyes. “I mean they will be gone. Fare well, and bring glory to Spain.”
Chapter 36
Oranjestad, St. Eustatia
Eddie exited his office in Fort Oranje, a box under each arm, and noticed light coming in from the end of the hall: the door to Maarten’s office was ajar. Eddie glanced at his watch, wondered how much longer he’d be able to enjoy that convenience. Everything broke, sooner or later.
It was 0530. Not early for Maarten to be up, but early for him to be in his office. Eddie padded quietly in that direction, although with the prosthesis, stealth wasn’t really his forte. Not that it ever had been. But in case it wasn’t Maarten, it would be prudent to get closer before he—
“Come in, Eddie. I didn’t want to disturb you when I arrived, but I am glad you came by.”
Eddie slipped into the room, had flashbacks of having been grilled there by three Dutchmen, less than a week earlier. “Okay, Maarten, how did you know?”
“That you were approaching? I heard you.”
“No; I figured that. I mean, how did you know I was in my office? The door was closed.”
“Ah. Yes, it was closed, but your storm shutters must have been open. The morning wind from the sea: it can make the doors rattle on that side.”
Eddie narrowed his eyes. “C’mon, what else? For all you know, the storm shutters could have blown open during the night.”
“Well, yes, but there was a faint play of shadows under the door.”
“Pretty impressive,” Eddie allowed with an approving nod.
“Also,” Maarten added as an afterthought, “I asked the sentry.”
Eddie gaped; Maarten Tromp had been gaslighting him? No way! He laughed. “There I was thinking you were like some admiral-ninja.”
“Admiral what?”
“Ninja? You know, Japanese assassin types who—? Yeah, okay: never mind about ninjas. But instead you were—”
“Hauling your leg, yes?” Maarten was grinning widely.
“Uh . . . Pulling my leg, but yeah, you sure were!” He looked around the large office; it was set up for another meeting. “Ooohh,” he said. “Last time all those chairs were around that table—”
“You were being roasted on a spit.” Maarten filled in with a much smaller grin. “Have the burns healed yet? Hair still singed?”
Eddie nodded. “Who’s on the menu today?”
“I am,” Maarten sighed as he tidied papers, sorted them, slipped them into different leather portfolios. “Many of the same cooks, as well. Serooskereken, Corselles, and now Servatius Carpentiere, too.”
“Servatius is a good man. What’s the occasion?”
“Slavery. The end of it.”
Eddie whistled. “All at once? I thought—”
“Not all at once, but faster.”
“But none of them are slaveholders.”
“You are right, but they are all on the Politieke Raad. And they will be the ones who bear the brunt of the slaveholders’ anger.”
“Are you changing the terms you set out last year?”
Tromp stopped moving his papers around. “Eddie! You do not seriously think that I would—”
“Maarten, I’m not thinking anything in particular. But I know how you feel about slavery, and you know I’m right there with you. So no judgments on my part if you found a loophole. Or three.”
Maarten resumed putting his papers into the down-time equivalent of a filing system. “I am changing nothing. I am adding incentives.”
“Ah! The carrot instead of the stick.”
The admiral tilted his head. “I do not think most of the slaveholders will see it that way. Now, I do not wish to delay you, but has there been any news from Admiral Simpson about the Marines that he planned to send?”
“They left, but just two days ago.”
“Such a long delay. Weather?”
“Money. It’s pretty tight right now. Well, always, actually. It was supplies and payroll questions and—stuff. Lots and lots of stuff.”
“I know how that ‘stuff’ can be. When are they to arrive?”
“Too early to say. I’ll send a new ETA as soon as it shows up in the next secure pouch. Or the next. Or whenever.”
“So, their arrival is . . . er, ‘need to know’?”
“Absolutely.”
“And once you have the ETA, there will be no further communications with them?”
“None. We only hear if there is another schedule change, but within a week, they’ll be out of sending range anyhow, so from there on, it’s all guesswork. Unless the Bermuda station comes online. Any idea when that agreement will be inked?”
Tromp shook his head. “Nee. The smaller the remaining points of negotiation to be settled, the slower the process. It is not uncommon.”
“Yeah, I’m starting to see that. Any info you have for me?”
“Just that we have finished cataloging all the cargos from La Flota. You would not believe how much contraband and secreted wealth was on those ships. But there was one strategically significant find: a balloon.”
Eddie put his boxes down. “You mean . . . one of ours?”
“Not exactly, but it is a very close copy of the same one that the Wild Geese have.”
“So it’s French? Made by Turenne?”
“I doubt his shops manufactured it, but it was certa
inly made by someone who had that pattern to follow, and understood it intimately. According to letters found on the same ship, there was a Frenchman traveling with it. Apparently to instruct the Spanish in its use.”
“Could he have been killed in the battle?”
“Unlikely. That ship did not sustain a great deal of damage. But we certainly did not have time to survey the dead. And if he had accomplices to help hide him, or if he was one of the wounded who was not responsive, he could have slipped through. Quite easily.”
“So we should assume he did.”
“Exactly.”
“Maarten, you don’t seem very concerned.”
“I am not. If he survived and reaches Havana or Santo Domingo, he will certainly make a frank report to their governors there. Unlike a Spaniard, he has no reason to curry favor with the grandees and their proxies. Rather, he’ll be appreciated and rewarded for the frank speech they know they will not get from their own people.”
Eddie picked up his boxes again. “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” He started to turn away, turned back. “Maarten, I didn’t want to say anything at the time, but . . . but why did you have Corselles and Serooskereken with us when we looked at the secure cargos and then the meeting after? I mean, I get the part about telling them about the settlement with the Kalinago, but the rest?”
Maarten sat on the edge of his desk, studied Eddie, smiled. “You already have a suspicion, don’t you?”
Eddie smiled, was afraid he might have blushed. “Yes,” he admitted.
Tromp nodded. “I can tell from your voice what you already suspect.”
Eddie shrugged. “Security test?”
“Yes. They are the only two civilians who will hear certain parts of that information for quite some time. And several facts are actually incorrect.”
“I noticed. That’s why I guessed. Because if we ever hear about someone suspicious asking questions about those particular matters, then we know one of them is a leak. Either intentionally or just out of carelessness.” He looked around the room again. “And that’s what you’re doing with today’s meeting, too? Testing for leaks, but in a slightly different pipe?”
Maarten smiled. “Eddie, you’ve only just started moving your things, but already I am starting to miss you.” He became thoughtful. “Eddie, I have been giving this a great deal of thought. I would very much appreciate it if you would take Kees with you, when you leave for Antigua.”
“Evertsen? Why? Won’t you need him here?”
“I need him on one of your ships. Learning.”
Eddie nodded. It made sense; Kees had a knack for up-time technology. Not just the individual pieces, but how they worked together. But: “Well, if you mean to have him as an XO on one of the Quality class, wouldn’t he learn fastest on an active ship?”
“Resolve will be active in word only, unless the Spanish force our hand and we must put to sea. But more importantly, you and Mike will be building the future on Antigua. And much of that echoes the very foundations of what built Resolve. Not many of us will understand that so rapidly and so completely as Kees will. He should be with the two of you to see, to help, as it comes into existence.”
Eddie studied Tromp, realized why the admiral had balked at asking until now. He was uncomfortable making the request because—“You need to make me redundant, Maarten. Replaceable.”
“Eddie. Please understand, I do not wish—”
“No, no, I get it. And I agree. I mean, what if something happened to me? Right now, Rik is the only one who could really take over. You need someone who can fill the role I’ve been in.” Eddie shook his head. “Damn. I should have thought of that myself. Not like I get to choose whether or not some Spanish ball sends me to meet my maker.”
Tromp’s gaze was calculating. “No more than it is your choice when you might receive orders to sail back home. Which is a far more likely occurrence than death in battle.”
Eddie smiled. “Your lips to God’s ears, Maarten. I’m not in a rush to be fish food, but hey, I’m not invulnerable.”
“None of us are. But it is also true that none of us are without superiors who may require our services elsewhere. And until the Spanish can match us ship to ship, I consider it far more likely that you will be called away by John Simpson than by Our Creator. Now, I must ready myself to be broiled by politicians.”
* * *
Phipps Serooskereken inspected the crack that had snaked halfway down the mug which held his carob coffee. “Well, Maarten, I am glad to hear you do not mean to undo the promises you made this time last year regarding slaveholding.”
Jan van Walbeeck held up his left hand, all fingers extended upright. “Five years and then immediate conversion to bondsman status.”
Servatius Carpentiere stared solemnly over the rim of his own cup. “Then why are Lieutenant Governor Corselles and Phipps and I—the councilors most vocal in support of the elimination of slavery—all here, and all so early that it is unlikely that anyone else will ever know of this meeting?”
Tromp smiled. Servatius was the most quiet of the group, the most imperturbably calm, and the one who missed nothing. “So that you may know what is coming.”
Phipps smiled sourly. “Yes, and to convey it to the council. Whose leading slaveholders are not present, I notice. For a man who routinely stands in the way of cannonballs, Maarten, you haven’t much stomach for political argument.”
He’d meant it as a good-natured joke, but Tromp elected to answer it seriously. “I haven’t much patience for it, frankly. In part because it is interminable, and in part because it is rarely conducted with frankness and clarity of actual intent. Whereas the intent of an approaching cannonball is very, very frank indeed.” Even Corselles chuckled at that.
Phipps was still smiling. “Point made and taken, Maarten. Now, what do you have in mind regarding the five-year transition away from slavery?”
Tromp nodded toward Jan van Walbeeck. “We mean to accelerate it without changing it.”
Corselles put down his cup, worry etching creases across his forehead. “How? And I remind you: the landowners’ profits are still dependent upon unpaid labor.”
“Speak plainly,” Carpentiere muttered darkly. “They are dependent upon slaves.”
Pieter shrugged. “As you say. But the point remains. The landowners know that in five years, their costs will increase. Dramatically. So in that time, they must accrue even more profit, just to survive the costs of the transition to . . . to paid labor. And now you mean to shorten that time, even though they are still prohibited from growing tobacco or cotton?”
“Which they can’t plant and freight to Europe before some time next year,” Phipps retorted. “And it would mean burning off and losing their coming cane crop now to replant. At least they can sell cane for local refinement into products with regional value: rum, pure alcohol, syrups. They will get by.”
Corselles grew more animated. “Yes, they get by, but that is not why they came to the New World. They came to get rich. To do that, they must have markets and free labor. Now, after the past ten months of victories over the Spanish, even the slaveholders agree that the sacrifices made to achieve that were not only worthwhile, but wise—and this from men who have little enough love for you, Maarten.”
“I am surprised to hear they have any,” Tromp replied calmly.
“Well, depending upon what you have in mind, that may come to pass. Our plantation owners sold a great deal of sugar to the convoy and are relieved to trade with European markets once again. But to survive the coming transition from slaves to bondsmen, they must sell a great deal more cane at a similar profit. To do that, they must keep their slaves as long as they may. What possible incentive can you offer to compete with that?”
Van Walbeeck answered. “Five years’ freedom from all tariffs on all trade between us and all the countries that are our partners here in the New World. This would apply to both export and import excises.”
Servatius Carpen
tiere frowned. “That will simply result in the slaves being worked to death over that time, so that their owners may maximize their profits. Why should they care if any are left alive at the end of five years? So I say what I have said since we left Recife: why not simply forbid slavery right now? Why tiptoe about the edges of it like a cautious house cat?”
And there, Servatius, thought Tromp, is why your sovereign could not trust you with more responsibility, why he could not empower you with the broad latitude to carry out mandates in his name. Because although you wish to do the right thing, and are so very calm, you are also rash.
“As tempting, and satisfying, as the direct and immediate prohibition of slaveholding would be, we would be endangering all the inhabitants of this colony were we to take that step. The slaves most of all.”
“I suspect their masters would be at far greater risk if they attempted to defy that law,” Carpentiere murmured. “Particularly from the slaves themselves.”
Van Walbeeck spread his hands in appeal. “Yes, and that is exactly the outcome we must avoid. Because if the slave owners defy the law, will the slaves calmly sit by and wait for our soldiers to secure their release? I do not think I would!
“But then where does that leave us? With slaves killing their owners to break free. And many of the slaves being killed by the better-armed and -trained owners in the process. And for every slave so killed, two more who loved that martyr will spring up to carry on the fight. Which will then become as much about vengeance as justice.”