The Smuggler's Gambit (Adam Fletcher Adventure Series Book 1)

by Sara Whitford

  Emmanuel gave a slight smile. “Don’t you think it would follow, then, that the pawns are the most important pieces? After all, your success in the game often hinges on your opening, which sets the tone for all the play that follows. If you make wise moves from the outset, it will give you a much better chance of winning. Many of the most strategic moves in a game will be made by the humble pawns.”

  “I see. Guess I hadn’t thought about it all that much.”

  The weary old man removed his spectacles and rubbed his eyes before setting his gaze upon the boy.

  “I’d love to tell you everything you’d like to know about chess, but right now . . . right now, son, we need to talk.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Adam. “I think we do.”

  Adam had been reluctant to have the conversation that he understood was inevitable. Now he knew he’d be glad to get it behind him.

  Emmanuel began: “Let me start out by reminding you that I don’t bring new people into this company. The only people who’ve ever worked here these many years are like my family, because they are the children or close relatives of my oldest and dearest friends. I told you that even Mr. Robins is the son of another old friend. Do you remember?”

  Adam nodded.

  “And do you know what he told me when he asked me to take you on as an apprentice?”

  “No, sir. What did he say?”

  “He said that he knew a bright young man—a good boy with great potential—but that this young man was getting himself into trouble for his lack of direction, not to mention a quick temper. That young man was you, of course.”

  Adam smiled.

  “You’ve been here over a week now, Adam, and I have no reason to doubt what Mr. Robins said of you—that bit about you being a bright boy and having great potential—but we’re going to have to get some things straight.”

  Adam nodded.

  “First of all, there is something I haven’t yet told you, but now I think I must.”

  “Sir?” said Adam.

  “You should know that I did not bring you into this company only because of my old connection with Mr. Robins’s father, but also because there is someone else to whom I once made a vow—a promise you might say—and I intend to keep it.”

  Adam’s eyes grew wide. “Who? What was the promise?”

  “I will not divulge the particulars. I swore my discretion, but I will tell you this: the promise was made long before you were ever born.”

  Adam furrowed his brow. “Then how can the promise be about me?”

  “I cannot tell you that. You will simply have to trust that it was.”

  “Mr. Rogers, how can you tell me something like this and then not tell me at least who it is?”

  “Because, dear boy, one’s word is proof of one’s character. A man who cannot keep a promise is a man who cannot be trusted. To tell you more than I already have could potentially begin pushing the boundaries of the promise—and the secret—which I swore I would keep.”

  “You’re really not going to tell me who this was?”

  “I’m afraid not, young man. I have intentionally been vague in what I have said here. And no amount of guessing on your part would result in me offering you any further details. This pact was made many decades ago, and I can assure you if I have kept it this long—and in spite of circumstances you couldn’t even begin to imagine—you won’t be able to convince me to break it now.”

  When Emmanuel said he had made the pact decades ago, that ruled out Adam’s father. The boy had wondered if he might be who the old man was talking about, but since Adam himself was only seventeen years old, it couldn’t have been him. His mother, Mary, had only known his father a few months before she married him and became pregnant.

  “If you weren’t going to tell me more than that, why did you say anything at all about there being another reason why you took me on as your apprentice?”

  “That is a fair question,” said Emmanuel. “I will tell you. It is because I wanted to preface the next part of what I’m going to say inasmuch as I want you to know that I am committed to helping you, Adam. I am committed to your success. It is of the utmost importance to me. In spite of mistakes you might have made or that you might make in the future, I want you to know that I will not turn my back on you.”

  Adam was unable to speak. Knowing he’d spent time in Richard Rasquelle’s office earlier in the day made Emmanuel’s words feel to him like a knife in the gut.

  “You have gotten us all into a bit of a mess, wouldn’t you say?”

  The boy looked down. His stomach was in knots as waves of guilt washed over him. “I never wanted any of this.”

  “Perhaps not,” said Emmanuel, “but here we are, and even though you are not the architect of this scheme, you have become the centerpiece of it, haven’t you? I gave you an opportunity to come work for me, to become part of the family here, and I don’t know if it was curiosity or the old ‘grass is always greener on the other side’ bit, but something made you go and see my competitor earlier today. And were it not for that, we’d not be sitting here tonight discussing the quandary we have before us, now would we?”

  Adam felt awful. It was all true.

  “I’m not angry with you, Adam. And I may be old but I’m no fool. If I were a boy your age and in your circumstances, I’d have very probably done the same exact thing. We’d still be in a fine mess, but nevertheless I’m sure I’d have done it. Now we just need to be honest with one another—because that’s how I run my business, and that’s how I live my life—and I think we’ll figure out how to handle this, you and I.”

  The lump in Adam’s throat made it difficult to talk. “You don’t know how sorry I am, sir. I just want to tell you—”

  Emmanuel patted the air in front of him with his hand in a calming motion. “Hush now. I need you to listen to me, Adam. I don’t want you sitting there feeling sorry for yourself or me or your mother or anybody, because we need to sort out this whole business.”

  “Do you have any ideas, sir?”

  The old man nodded. “I do. But first, may I ask you a question?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Do you want to work here? For me?”

  “I do, sir. I really do, especially now.”

  Emmanuel said nothing but nodded once and then listened attentively so that Adam could continue.

  “When I found out I had to be apprenticed and I had to choose a trade, I chose what I did because I had gone to Mr. Rasquelle’s party. He was impressive. I always thought he seemed so successful and that everyone thought so well of him for his good deeds and—”

  “Not everyone,” said Emmanuel. “You must admit you only know a limited number of people in this town, but I do realize that Richard Rasquelle has cultivated quite a reputation, although I’m afraid it’s a bit of a Trojan horse.”

  “How do you mean, sir?”

  “But of course you know the story of how the Greeks hid themselves inside that great wooden horse—the very symbol of the Trojan empire—and how they used the impressive subterfuge to be ushered right into the city of Troy. Once they were inside the gates and the townspeople were feeling quite secure in their beds at night, out sprang those cunning Greeks to attack the Trojans.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Adam. “I do know that story. So you’re saying Rasquelle is like the Greeks.”

  “Well, yes and no. You see, Rasquelle doesn’t plan to wage war on this town, of course, but he has fooled the townspeople into thinking he’s their great savior with his shipping business, as well as with his so-called acts of benevolence. His intention is to wage war on me. You see, I know he’s been cheating his customers since he arrived here, so I’m not fooled by it, but many are.”

  “Forgive me for saying so, sir, but why haven’t you spoken up? Seems to me that’s the problem. And since you never let anyone new into your company, a lot of people don’t know you. I know I sure didn’t before I came here. You always just seemed like some kind of hermit
to me.”

  Emmanuel chuckled at Adam’s forthrightness.

  “Let me tell you something, son. I like you—I really do—and I appreciate your honesty, but you mustn’t always say everything that springs to mind. I recognize that quality, because it’s one I used to suffer myself, but I promise you that your tongue will get you in trouble if you do not learn to filter the words that leap forth from it with wisdom.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you, sir.”

  “I’m not offended, Adam, but others would be. I’ve observed you since you’ve been here. Far too often you speak when you should be listening. Many times you offer commentary when you should be observing. And many times you ask questions when it might better serve you to remain quiet and study a situation to discover your answers.”

  Adam wanted to speak up to offer a defense but he restrained himself.

  “Now, to answer your question. Why haven’t I spoken up? Tell me what good that would do. Wouldn’t I just look like a bitter old fool who’s afraid he’s losing business?”

  Emmanuel paused as if he was waiting for Adam’s response, but Adam remained quiet.

  The old man continued: “I would look exactly like that, and that is not who I am, nor is that what I want. I am not worried about my business. My longtime customers know me, and they know what they can expect when they do business with me and my men. I’ve not cheated a customer in these thirty years that I’ve had my business here, and I don’t plan to start now.”

  “So what do you think Rasquelle hopes to accomplish by asking me to spy on you?”

  “Well, I can only imagine he hopes that you might give him some small bit of information that would allow him to go to the customs authorities and report me as a smuggler.”

  Adam looked at Emmanuel. He desperately wanted to ask a question, but he held his tongue.

  “You want to know if I smuggle, of course.”

  Adam shrugged. “I reckon everyone smuggles—at least that’s what I’ve heard.”

  “Then you’ve heard correctly. But do you understand why that is the case?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “I’ll explain it to you, then. Not long after I came here, Parliament passed a law called the Molasses Act. Have you heard of that?”

  “I have. Didn’t that law enforce taxes on molasses from anywhere but the British West Indies?”

  “There was quite a bit more to it, but yes, it was something like that. In those days it was much cheaper to buy molasses from the French West Indies, but England wanted to ensure her colonies engaged in business profitable to the mother country, so she insisted we buy our molasses from the British West Indies, which unfortunately cost a great deal more. If we did not, we had to pay high tariffs on the molasses from the French islands. Now, as you well know, molasses is needed for many things, not the least of which is the production of that wonderfully popular libation we call rum.”

  Adam grinned and nodded.

  “Well, what do you think people will do if they want to buy something and it costs too much from this fellow over here?” he said as he motioned to one side of the table. “I’ll tell you what they’ll do. They’ll find another fellow from whom to obtain it over here.” He motioned to the other side of the table. “It’s always been that way, for thousands of years, and I imagine it always will be.”

  “And there’s always a businessman willing to find a way to sell the people what they want,” said Adam.

  “Precisely! And so even England knew that we were bypassing the proper channels to bring in the supplies that the good people here in the colonies needed, and up until the last couple of years they’ve looked the other way. But you see, since the Crown spent so much money fighting France during that last war, King George is determined to recover some of those expenses, so he’s decided to start enforcing these laws, which have been mostly ignored for the last several decades.”

  “I see,” said Adam.

  “And last year, if you recall, they passed the Sugar Act, which did away with the Molasses Act but added in some new regulations.”

  “I remember Boaz telling me about that.”

  “Yes, well, to answer your question, there are a great many old friends in distant ports with whom I correspond and do business. My relationships with them, both as friends and as business partners, reach far back into years past—long before His Majesty decided to change the rules of the game on us. And I intend, Lord willing, to continue doing business with them. Their families’ livelihoods depend on their business with the colonies, and our families here in Beaufort depend on having customers in those same distant ports. Now don’t misunderstand me. We do plenty of business with Great Britain, of course, but we simply could not survive on that alone. No one could. And the Crown had always understood that, but now the King has resolved to generate revenues, as they call them, regardless of the cost to the colonies or Great Britain.”

  “So you think Richard Rasquelle is smuggling too, then?”

  Emmanuel scoffed and narrowed his eyes at Adam, making the boy feel naïve for even asking the question.

  “I’m not foolish enough to risk committing slander by swearing to it, but I suspect he does a great deal of business under the table, as we might say.”

  “You know,” said Adam, “I’ve even heard recently that he’s been involved in some slave trading.”

  “Now that, that is something I would never do. It’s not illegal for him to deal in slaves, but I do detest the slave trade. Had one experience with the business nearly a half century ago, and I swore I’d never do it again.”

  “Do you not agree with slavery, sir?” said Adam.

  “I have my opinions about the institution of slavery. Man was made in God’s image, so I believe freedom is the ideal circumstance for any man—white, Negro, Indian, it matters not—but it’s not as simple of a matter as you might think. First of all, I have known some slaves who are likely much better off, and much happier, with their masters than they would be fighting to survive in the wilds of Africa. They’ve got warm houses, clothes to wear, and food in their bellies, and their families are able to stay together. A great many more of them, however, are a pitiable lot. There are slave masters who are wicked, evil men who beat their slaves mercilessly. They abuse the women and think nothing of selling the children off as though they are nothing more than livestock.”

  “I’ve heard about that kind of thing,” Adam said solemnly.

  “And the slave traders—they are the worst of all men. It takes a cold, hard spirit to be able to do what they do. And those cruel savages in Africa who round up their own people for the traders are no better.”

  “You said you had an experience with it once?” said Adam.

  “I did.” Emmanuel took a deep breath and folded his hands on his lap. “I’m not proud of it at all, but it seemed like an ugly necessity at the time.”

  “What happened?”

  “My goodness! You’re an inquisitive child—do you know that?”

  “Well, you are the one who brought it up, sir.”

  Emmanuel offered a reserved smile and nodded. “Indeed. I suppose I did.” He looked down for a moment before turning his gaze back to Adam. “I’m sure you heard about the Tuscarora War, haven’t you?”

  Adam nodded. “I know a little bit about it.”

  “Long story there, but at the end of it, the colony was just devastated—really hanging by a thread. I was living in Barbados with my family—hadn’t arrived in America yet—when it happened, but I heard all about it, of course. When the Indians fell upon the settlers along the Neuse and Pamlico Rivers, the people across the territory found themselves thrust into a hard, long war with the Tuscarora Indians and their allies. It was a terrible time. And to make matters worse, there were all of these plantation owners with no help to work their land, build their barns, or clear their roads, much less rebuild what was lost in the war.”

  “So what happened? Is that how you got involved with the slave trad
e, I mean?”

  “Just wait. I’m getting to that.” Emmanuel smiled. “I mentioned my family lived in Barbados—we were there by way of England, of course—so after my father died, my mother married again. Her new husband was a detestable fellow. I couldn’t stand him. Unfortunately, I was not yet quite old enough to receive my inheritance, but to keep peace in the home, my mother gave me a good sum of money, and I took my father’s sloop and went to sea, moving from port to port for a time. After a couple of years of living like a gypsy, I lost my sloop in a storm. I had already blown most of my money on wild living, so it seemed I was at quite a loss. As destiny would have it, another young captain offered me a chance to sail with his crew, and I took it.”

  Adam was riveted listening to Emmanuel’s account.

  “The young captain had come from Bath—not Bath, England, mind you, but Bath right here in North Carolina—and he had brought a few lads from his hometown with him. A driven man was he, determined to see what we could scavenge from Spanish fleets that might be of benefit to the Carolina colony, and of course we figured we might change our fortunes a bit as well.”

  “Are you saying that—?”

  “Would you just listen, boy?” said Emmanuel. “I’m sure you’ll have your questions answered if you would only be patient and listen!”

  Adam nodded eagerly. He knew a fair bit about the colony’s history, so he suspected he knew where this story was going.

  “As I was saying, there we were, sailing round in paradise, and we had all sorts of adventures—more than most boys could hope to have in a dozen lifetimes. But you asked about my experience with that ugly business of the slave trade, so I guess I ought to jump to that part of the story.”

  Adam sat with rapt attention.

  “One of the things in shortest supply in this colony—even before the war—was men who could work the land. It’s a gargantuan effort, building a country from scratch. It happened here, of course, but it wouldn’t have been possible—or at least we wouldn’t be where we are today—were it not for bringing in the Africans to help get the work done. Indentured servants from Europe can only get you so far, and their indentures do eventually expire. And the Indians always made the worst slaves!”