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

by Sara Whitford

  When he wasn’t chatting over barrels of flounder, oysters, shrimp, and clams, he passed the time down at the boatbuilder’s shop, marveling at the engineering that unfolded before his eyes. Over the course of several months, he loved to see the impressive oceangoing vessels crafted from the ground up.

  On this particular day, however, neither the fishermen nor the boatbuilders had his attention. In fact, mostly he was just grateful that it wasn’t raining. He was there, but he could have just as easily been anywhere, considering how oblivious he was to the goings-on around him.

  He didn’t feel like going back to the tavern—at least not yet. He needed time to think about what had happened with Emmanuel. He also knew he needed to do something—whether it was to help his master or to at least prove his own innocence to Boaz and the other coopers. His brain was a blur. It had only been a couple of weeks since he came into this apprenticeship, and already everything seemed to be falling apart.

  Finally, he went back to the tavern just before supper and stayed there for several hours. He explained to Valentine and his mother what had happened to Emmanuel, but implored them not to say anything about it to anybody else.

  “Why don’t you just stay here tonight, then?” Mary suggested.

  Valentine nodded in agreement. “I think your mama is right. Sounds like Boaz Brooks is hoppin mad with you, boy.”

  “I don’t know,” said Adam. “I think if I stay away it will just make him suspect me even more—like I’m running away to safety. No, I need to prove somehow that I had nothing to do with this.”

  “Why do you care so much about what Boaz thinks?” asked Mary. “Sounds like he’s been angry ever since you started working there. This situation is enough of a mess and it isn’t your battle, so why don’t you just leave things alone for once?”

  Adam rolled his eyes. He looked at Valentine, hoping for some sympathy. Valentine shook his head and walked away.

  “Mama, you just don’t understand. I’ve got at least three men right now who are wondering if I’m some damned traitor—”

  “Adam!” Mary smacked his cheek with her palm. “You watch your mouth, young man!”

  “Ow!” He grabbed his face and rubbed at it, pretending her slap hurt worse than it did. “I’m sorry! I forgot I wasn’t at the warehouse.”

  She cut her eyes at him. “I don’t want you talking coarse anywhere.”

  “Alright! Fine, Mama.” He sighed. “Listen, like I was saying, those fellas at the warehouse—they’re all wondering if I’m a traitor right now. When Emmanuel gets out—if he gets out—they might have him thinking the same thing. I can’t have them thinking that about me, because it’s not true.”

  “You are so hardheaded. Do you know that?” said Mary. “Every bit of trouble you’ve ever gotten in has been because you were worried about what somebody else thought about you—that, and you don’t know when to leave things alone.”

  Adam shrugged. “Maybe so, but would you really have me stay here like some coward and let them keep thinking I’m a traitor? Think about it, Mama. I might have gotten into fights, I might have gotten into trouble over some stupid things, but this is different. I can’t just let this go.”

  “Okay, fine, but just think for a minute. Just think about what happens if he was serious when he told you you better not show your face there again. What happens when you turn up?” she asked.

  For a moment Adam remembered how things used to be when he was a little boy and he’d hide down at the docks from his mother until she was calm so he could avoid a spanking. While he knew Boaz wouldn’t be there waiting with a switch, he hoped that once the hothead had some time to calm down and think, he might be willing to talk things through rationally.

  “I’m not sure,” said Adam. “But I’m going to find out.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  ONCE ADAM FINALLY LEFT THE tavern, he decided it might be better to wait and talk to Boaz about everything in the morning. He loitered by the docks until he thought Boaz would be asleep before he tried to sneak back to the upstairs apartment.

  In spite of his best efforts tiptoeing through the warehouse and up to the living quarters, it was of no use when he opened the door. Boaz was in the sitting room in a chair by the window. He was staring out at the water, and there was an empty rum bottle on the floor beside him.

  Adam thought for a moment. He wondered if he should say something or walk by and go straight to his room, or maybe he should just turn around and leave. He opted to try and slip through the place unnoticed.

  Just when he thought he was in the clear, a very drunk Boaz called out to him, “Hey, boy. Where do you think you’re going?” His speech was slurred.

  The boy nonchalantly motioned to his room. “I’m going to bed. And it looks like you might need to get some rest yourself.”

  Boaz stood clumsily from his chair and took a few steps towards Adam. “I thought I told you earlier to leave. So I think you’ll want to leave.”

  Adam dropped his head. He really didn’t want any problems with Boaz. He understood why the man was angry, and he probably would have been, too, if the shoe were on the other foot. Nevertheless, he still wasn’t going to be intimidated by Boaz’s drunken threats.

  “Look, I’m not your enemy, Boaz. I would never betray Mr. Rogers or you.”

  Boaz stepped close to Adam. Adam stood straight and tall as his body tensed up with adrenaline.

  “Get”—Boaz shoved Adam in the chest—“out!” He shoved the boy again.

  Adam was determined not to fight with the man, but he stood his ground. He had dealt with drunks before. After all, he was raised in the tavern. He knew that while they might be fearless fighters, they could also be sloppy and easily thrown off balance.

  “Please just listen,” he said. “I am going to find out who is responsible for reporting Mr. Rogers. I’m going to prove to you that it wasn’t me.”

  “Get out!” Boaz bellowed.

  He swung at Adam. Adam ducked and slipped past him and ran all the way through Boaz’s room into his own.

  “I will, Boaz!” he shouted back.

  The staggering man tried to regain his balance.

  “Just as soon as I get my things from this room,” Adam said.

  Boaz stumbled through the kitchen and his bedroom and had nearly reached Adam’s room when the boy swept past him again. With his things bundled under his arm, he ran out and down the stairs.

  Adam didn’t stop running until he’d made his way out of the warehouse. He wondered where he’d spend the night. He knew he couldn’t go back to the tavern. He could’ve stayed downstairs in the warehouse, but he knew if Boaz found him there in the morning, things probably wouldn’t go well. He decided to sneak down onto Emmanuel’s boat, which he kept docked near the warehouse. Maybe he could try to sleep there.

  He sat longways on a bench at the stern and rolled up his little bundle of clothes to use as a pillow. After he lay down and tried to get comfortable, he had to sit up again to pull the lumpy sack of items that he’d gotten from the Cuban captain out of his makeshift pillow. He stuffed the bag in his pocket and lay back down.

  Grateful for the gentle breeze on the water and the soft glow of the waxing moon in the cloudy night sky, Adam tried to get some sleep. Unfortunately, sleep would not come. He kept going over the last couple of weeks in his head. He knew that somehow Richard Rasquelle had to be involved in reporting Emmanuel Rogers to the authorities. And simple logic told him Laney Martin was probably involved, too. He couldn’t decide if Francis Smythe was involved, but at this point nothing would surprise him.

  The thing that baffled him was why in spite of a vague mention of dealing with foreign ships in the past, the only tip about a recent transaction that Inspector Sheffield received was about the Elizabeth Ella rather than La Dama. Laney knew about the Cuban ship, and so presumably Rasquelle would, too. The Elizabeth Ella shipment had been a straightforward trade operation with an English ship. That was not the kind of sit
uation that Rasquelle would waste time reporting. There’d be too great a risk of it being a completely aboveboard transaction, leaving Rasquelle at risk of sounding a false alarm.

  Adam was only able to come up with one explanation—the conspirators decided to tell the authorities about the Elizabeth Ella because it happened in town and anybody could’ve reported it. Maybe they were hoping the investigation would ultimately lead to the Martin estate and the shipment from La Dama without it looking like Laney had betrayed Emmanuel’s trust. But Adam wondered how he’d be able to prove any of this. Boaz wouldn’t talk to him, he wasn’t that close to Elliot or Joe, and Martin had gone to New Bern—and even if he were in town, Laney was Martin’s cousin, anyway. He wouldn’t want to hear Adam’s suspicions about his kin.

  This was not good.

  After he lay there for a while, Adam accepted that his efforts to sleep were again futile. He decided to get up and take a walk.

  He quietly crawled out of the boat and onto the dock. He left his things on board but figured he better put them under the seat so they’d be out of sight. Although he didn’t own a watch, he knew he’d never walked around town at this hour before. The street lanterns were still lit, but otherwise the town was completely asleep. It was an eerie feeling walking along the waterfront without another soul in sight.

  Soon Richard Rasquelle’s warehouse came into view. The windows around the building were all wide open, except they had bars to prevent break-ins. There was a small, soft glow coming from two of the windows on the eastern end of the building. Who could that be, he wondered, as he got closer? Could someone actually be in there at this hour?

  He crept up close to the warehouse and then inched along the side until he reached the window closest to the water’s edge. First, he waited and listened. There was no sound except for the water lapping up against the docks as it moved with the wind. He crept closer near the open window and then, moving from below, he slowly straightened himself up until he could peer over the ledge and see inside. There was no one in there—at least not that he could see from where he was standing.

  Wait . . . What was that?

  Now that he was close to the window, Adam heard muffled voices coming from inside. He’d have to move to another window to get a better look. He tiptoed over to the other window and hunched down so that his head was just below the ledge. There were definitely voices coming from inside. He recognized Rasquelle’s distinctive manner of speech, but the other man’s voice he did not recognize.

  He lifted his head to peer over the ledge. It seemed like Rasquelle was sitting in his office, but he was obscured from view by the other gentleman, who was standing in the open doorway. He looked to be in his early- to mid-forties, probably ten to fifteen years older than Rasquelle.

  Adam strained to hear what they were saying, but it was no use. The older gentleman seemed quite animated, but he was only speaking in a tense whisper, so it was impossible to make out what he was saying from the distance of the window. Adam peered around the corner to try to gauge the length of the warehouse. He wondered if he might have an easier time hearing if he went to the other side of the building.

  He moved carefully to the south side, which faced the water. He would have to take things slowly here. There were many more open windows, and there was only a small ledge along much of that side of the building, except for where the dock jutted out into the creek. He struggled to stay balanced as he sidled on the ledge along the wall. Some of the mortar between the bricks of the foundation had eroded, and Adam felt the bricks wobble beneath his feet.

  When he finally got near the first window on the waterfront, he knew he would be close to where Rasquelle and the mysterious man were speaking. He pulled himself up just enough to see over the ledge of the window without being seen. Unfortunately, he could only see endless rows of stacked barrels. Rasquelle’s office must be the next window, he thought. Even though he couldn’t see the men, at least he could hear them a little better now.

  He considered his options. The window for Rasquelle’s office was about twelve feet farther down, but he saw that the dockside doors about thirty feet from where he stood were wide open. Should he try to listen from outside the window, or should he try to make it to the cargo doors and get closer to the men from inside the warehouse? It was an easy choice for Adam. His heart pumped with adrenaline. He might get caught, but he didn’t care. All he could think about was clearing his name and trying to help Emmanuel.

  He took a deep breath and scrambled from the ledge to the dock. Now he was just a couple of feet from the open cargo doors. He pressed his back against the wall near the entrance. Oh, Lord, please don’t let me get caught! He mentally kept repeating his silent prayer as he tried to peek in through the cargo doors to see if anyone was posted inside. He was surprised that Rasquelle was careless enough to leave the door wide open, but then again it was a warm night and most people wouldn’t have even known, since it was on the waterfront side of the building.

  It was dark inside the entrance, but the very dim glow of a lantern could be seen coming from the building’s eastern end, to his right. Adam knew that was where the two men were talking. When he finally made it inside, he moved slowly and carefully, crouching behind racks upon racks of stacked barrels. There were far more in the building now than there had been the last time he was there. It was like a maze.

  As he worked his way towards the soft glow of the lantern’s light, the men’s voices became clearer. He tried to keep enough distance to not be seen. He also wanted to be sure he would have ample room to make an escape, if the situation called for it.

  Finally, he was within about ten feet of the men. He felt safe in a little alcove formed out of racks of stacked barrels right near Rasquelle’s office. He craned his head just around the corner of one of the racks so that he could hear them midconversation.

  “That was part of the deal! What are you playing at by not following through?” said the older gentleman.

  “I think you’re getting too greedy,” said Rasquelle. “If you want to speak with the Customs Inspector, you’re more than welcome to do so. Then you can tell him whatever you want him to know.”

  “You know I can’t do that. How would you expect me to explain what I knew without implicating myself?” the older man scoffed.

  “You have to let me do this my way,” said Rasquelle. “I agreed to help you in this matter, but it’s only because it will benefit me as well.”

  “But what were you thinking? That English ship is meaningless! The Spanish ship is the only thing that can turn the heads of the authorities.”

  They were talking about Mr. Rogers! And this man apparently had something to do with reporting him. But who was he? And did Laney Martin figure in all of this somehow? Adam wanted to jump out and confront the two—let the chips fall where they may—but he remembered the advice Emmanuel had given him once and kept quiet so he could continue listening.

  “I’m sure you can think of something clever,” said Rasquelle. “After all, I’d say your designs for the coming months took a great deal of clever planning.”

  The man shot Rasquelle a cold look but said nothing.

  “You have to understand, sir, that when the inspector begins questioning Rogers, it’ll soon come out from where he’s had his help,” said Rasquelle.

  “You better be right,” said the older gentleman, “or our deal is off. And let me remind you I did not do this because of any admiration for you. I did this for one reason and one reason only.”

  Rasquelle was smug. “I know, and men have done much greater and much worse things for the same purpose. In fact, I would imagine there are few things a man wouldn’t do to obtain his trophy.”

  “I would thank you not to speak of her in that way,” said the man.

  “How can it possibly bother you that I would call her a trophy when you have no problem whatsoever in bringing such trouble to her door?”

  “It’s all about strategy, Mr. Rasquelle.”
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  “I still don’t see how you’ll benefit in all of this. It seems you causing her trouble is the last thing you would want to do.”

  “No, no, no. You see, her knowing that I had some part in causing her trouble would be the last thing I’d want to do. On the other hand, if the poor lass found herself in trouble, about to lose her home and her freedom, what would she think if I were the only one able to rush in to her rescue? It’s one of the oldest stories in the world—the princess who needs rescuing. She just doesn’t realize that I am her knight in shining armor.”

  Adam thought he might know who they were talking about, and it caught him off guard. As he shifted his feet beneath him to regain his balance, he caught a glimpse of some writing on one of the barrels. It said “MB.” He couldn’t see far away, but in the close distance from where he hid, all of the barrels around him bore the same mark.

  The men continued their conversation, so Adam craned forward again to listen.

  “And what if your scheme doesn’t work out the way you had hoped?” said Rasquelle. “What then?”

  “I am telling you,” said the man, “that one way or another I will have her. Rocksolanah Martin will be mine.”

  Just then one of the barrels that Adam had been leaning on shifted forward, causing those stacked above it to all begin rolling down.

  Crash!

  In shock, Rasquelle and the other man fell silent.

  “What was that?” said the older gentleman.

  “Go look! Somebody’s here! We have to find whoever it is!” Rasquelle demanded.

  He scrambled from his chair toward the rack of barrels that had collapsed, but he couldn’t see past them, much less get past them.