The Abduction of Smith and Smith

by Rashad Harrison

  “I have been known to make miracles happen.”

  43

  San Francisco

  “Madam, I was devastated to hear of your husband’s passing. My ­condolences.”

  Maggie stared at the small man. She thought she detected a bit of insincerity. “Yes, Mr. Dalmore was a fine man. A fine man with a keen mind. So sad indeed, but people die from strokes every day.”

  The accountant looked at her. “It is good that you are maintaining the proper perspective.”

  She nodded. “I appreciate your concern, but I think there is the matter of Mr. Dalmore’s estate to discuss.”

  “Yes, of course, Mr. Dalmore’s estate . . . well, I am afraid that a second offering of condolences may be necessary.”

  She felt hot. “How do you mean?”

  “I mean that as far as Mr. Dalmore’s assets are concerned, there are hardly any. None, practically.”

  She felt the presence of something lurking behind her, then a chill raised her flesh. She had been in this situation once before, when Mr. O’Connell had died, leaving her nothing but his name; and rather than admit that as his widow she was just as poor as that young girl he had taken in, she went to Miss Ellen for help. And now, after all she had done to amass her small fortune, there was nothing left.

  “It seems,” said the accountant, “that Mr. Dalmore owed a lot of money. He was quite over-leveraged.”

  “Are you saying there is nothing left? Not even the money that I brought into the marriage?”

  “No. I am afraid not. All that is left is what has been completed of the Cressida.”

  That damned ship. “The Cressida, is she near completion?”

  “Yes, I believe so. Madam, if I may be so bold as to offer a suggestion? You could try to sell the Cressida upon its completion, but I fear that few would offer anything more than an insulting price, given your situation . . .”

  “Why didn’t my husband’s creditors seize the ship instead of his other assets?”

  “Most lenders prefer cash over unfinished ships—but that leads me back to my point—you could run the ship yourself. Transporting cargo across the Pacific can be very lucrative. Even with one ship. I understand that there are passenger quarters. You could find a crew right here on the docks. I’m sure there would be plenty of men eager for the work.”

  “I thank you for your input, but I know something about crewing a ship.”

  “Of course you do, madam. My apologies.”

  • • •

  She thought she would never be in this position again. She thought back a few months prior—to the earthquake that shook the young city and sent a flash of terror through it like a tyrannical parent. Her place was left in shambles. It was remarkable that she had survived—the same could not be said of Clement and the men who worked the tunnel that led from her place to the harbor. They were crushed under the saloon’s collapsed floors—sealing them in. She had survived again. Aside from a few fires, the city was undamaged. She thought about the biblical Sodom and Gomorrah, how San Francisco was possibly an improvement upon it. No matter how many times God pushed her down, the bitch kept getting back up. She did not want to believe in signs, but in this case, she could not help it. Before he died, Clement suggested that it was time for her to get out of the horrible business she was in and get involved with a man who was not afraid to get his hands dirty, yet still see the bigger picture.

  But then he’d suffered a stroke. She thought she was protecting herself by combining her assets with his, but, in fact, he was broke. He’d used her money to build the ship he had dreamed of since he was a boy.

  • • •

  The heat was so oppressive inland. She couldn’t remember the last time she had left San Francisco. She needed the fog and sea breeze. She looked over the land—isolated and sun-scorched—why would anyone want to live here? It wasn’t much, but it would be enough to borrow against and finish the Cressida. She noticed a weathered shack in the distance. It was run-down and neglected by time, but if he had just told her about it, then maybe the two of them could have made something of it. A place where they could have been together—free from the judgment of prying eyes. It would have been nice.

  She wiped the sweat from her brow and it stung. It was too hot. She fanned herself with the deed to Jupiter’s land.

  44

  “Well, Barrett, are you just going to stare at me or are you going to untie me?” the bound man asked. It was the first time Jupiter had seen Barrett appear surprised.

  “Murphy?” asked Barrett.

  “Well it sure ain’t Davy Crockett. Get these damn ropes off me.” Barrett untied him. Jupiter noticed that this Murphy wore the same uniforms as the prisoners had worn.

  “What are you doing down here?” Barrett asked him.

  “Prisoners overtook the ship. I wasn’t for it,” Murphy said.

  “You weren’t for it, Murphy?”

  “It didn’t make a damn bit of sense—and in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not as spry as I used to be,” Murphy said. “So they kept me bound. I heard them talk about seizing a ship they passed. Plundering its rations. Now that I see you, I can be certain of what’s come to them.”

  “Aye,” said Barrett. “You can be certain. Our priority should be to get this ship to land—and shed those damn Union Jacks. They only draw attention rather than give us coverage.”

  Murphy looked at Barrett. “I said the same thing to them . . . but they didn’t listen.”

  “We should head to Tikopia Island,” Barrett said.

  Jupiter noticed a look of relief and exasperation come over Murphy’s face. “Of course,” Murphy said. “Tikopia Island. That makes perfect sense.”

  “Then it’s settled. Murphy, let’s get you situated.”

  • • •

  Barrett knew Murphy from his smuggling days during the war. The Brits had steadily smuggled contraband to the Confederate South. Seems one of Murphy’s deals had gone bad and he’d tried to go it alone. Tried to kill one of his debtors rather than pay what he owed, which is how he’d found himself headed toward the prisoners’ island.

  In the days that followed, Jupiter noticed a change in Barrett brought on by Murphy’s presence. The two of them always seemed huddled together conspiratorially, and Barrett seemed to separate from his men.

  “When this is over,” Jupiter overheard Murphy say, “let’s do a thing of our own. There is work to be done, fortunes to be had in Cuba.”

  “Cuba, you say?” asked Barrett. “I believe I heard something of it.” Barrett’s eyes went from Murphy’s desperate grin to Jupiter’s face. Barrett’s look did not change.

  45

  An uncharted island somewhere in the Pacific

  They docked on the south side of the island. It was good that it was night: he did not have the energy to fight the heat. Jupiter’s legs felt unsteady as he walked on shore. Strange, he thought, how accustomed he had become to life on a ship. On a ship, these men were dependent upon his survival. What would happen now that they were on land again? Would this island bring him closer to finding Sonya and the boy, or was it just another detour?

  There was dense jungle up ahead. “I’m surprised you didn’t head to the island yourself, Murphy,” he heard Barrett say. “A man with as much seawater in your bones should have known better.”

  “Aye, maybe I’m getting dull in my old age,” said Murphy.

  “No, sharp as a blade you are, Murphy. Sharp as a blade.”

  • • •

  Archer had never been there before, yet it seemed familiar to him—possibly from all of those books he’d read as a child of adventures and sea voyages. But this was no boy’s story. Already, Archer’s instincts had failed him so many times. All of his presumptions would have to be abandoned. In every situation that he seemed prepared for, he was proven wrong. It was then that h
e had the heartbreaking realization that he needed these men. As long as they lived, he lived. He was dependent upon a man he wanted to kill.

  Where did that leave him? What use was he—or Jupiter for that matter—now that they were back on land? Those trees ahead looked ominous. He could disappear into the brush and be claimed by nature, never to be seen again.

  • • •

  They started a fire and waited.

  Barrett warmed his hands over the fire and then lit a prison-ship cigar in the flame. “Do you have any children?”

  Jupiter stared into the fire. The roar of the waves grew louder. “I have a son.”

  Barrett took a long draw from his cigar. “What does he think of all this crimping business?”

  “He doesn’t know, but if he did I can’t imagine he’d take too much pride in it.”

  “How old is the boy?”

  Jupiter watched a crab’s shell make its way into the fire’s circle of light. “Seven.”

  “Seven? You do not seem certain.”

  “I had to think for a moment. I didn’t know he existed until a few days before we were put on your ship.”

  Another long draw from his cigar. Tobacco smoke mingled with the smell of burning wood. “Father and son meeting for the first time, interrupted by such a tragedy. My apologies to you, Jupiter.”

  “Just get me to Liberia.”

  “Liberia . . . I know it, somewhat. Remind me, why are they there?” Barrett asked.

  “They received some false information that I was there looking for them.”

  “From where did this false information come?”

  “Another slave from the old plantation. One of my rivals for ­Sonya’s affection.”

  “And this man was close when you found your wife and son?”

  “Yes. He’d been taking care of them since I left for the South. Thought I died in the war.”

  Barrett looked at Jupiter. “And you know for certain that the boy is yours?”

  “Yes, I am certain. And I know the boy is not his, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Your wife confirmed this?”

  “No, we haven’t spoken.”

  “I thought you found her and the boy just before our paths crossed.”

  “No. I only saw my boy and the slave I just mentioned. Saw them in the street when I went looking for their mother.”

  “And you said not one word to them?”

  “No. I was too shaken. When I managed the nerve to find them, my journey ended with a club to the back of my head and not the anticipated embrace from my son.”

  “You have never spoken a word to this boy, never spoken to the mother about him, how are you certain the child is yours?”

  The fire flared from a strong gust of wind.

  “I know because I saw myself in him. One look and I knew he was mine. Blood can recognize blood. If you can quiet your mind, remain still, you can hear the blood in their veins whisper to the blood in your veins. Maybe it’s something a slave learns, families being broken up and all. You had to recognize kinship on sight. See that the blood flowing in that stranger’s veins is your own. I knew he was blood, just as I knew it was Archer even in that darkened room.”

  “Archer?” Barrett looked over at the sleeping former Confederate soldier. “I see . . . Oh, I see.” Another puff from the cigar. “I presume he was obviously mulatto, or a quadroon; that’s how you put it together. Strange thing to rest upon. It’s as if you think there can be only one quadroon or mulatto in all of San Francisco.”

  46

  They walked silently except for the sound of footsteps, shoulder to shoulder in a flanklike fashion. There was a sound. Barrett held up his hand for them to stop. They heard the sound again, an echo of footsteps. There was nothing but darkness and shadows and the sound growing louder. The bushes rustled. A breeze? Their senses tingled as the bushes began to move. Two women, dressed like men, emerged from the bushes, with the twenty or so men behind them.

  “Good to see you are still alive,” said Barrett.

  She wore the ragged jacket of a sea captain with a scabbard at her side. The younger woman remained silent.

  “It has been a long time, Barrett,” she said.

  “Aye, it has.”

  She looked over Barrett and his tattered crew. “By the looks of things you need another favor.” Her accent was English and islander, skin like sandalwood, bright green eyes.

  “Always so observant. We do. We have a line on selling that cargo that you have been holding for us.”

  Jupiter and Archer looked at each other.

  “And I assume you have come with the payment?”

  “No, I haven’t—but soon. We’ll sell the cargo to our contact in Shanghai. Where’s Dunham?”

  Kalana sighed. “Dunham is no more.”

  “Dead? What happened to him?”

  “Yerby happened to him.”

  “Yerby? Who is Yerby?”

  “That’s not as important as what he has done,” said Kalana. “He’s a pirate hunter. He chases down stolen cargo and sells it back to the owners for a profit. He was some kind of British official, but he was relieved of his duty for disrespecting one of the natives and causing tension for the British. He hunts us down and takes what he can get. Contraband of all sorts, including people.”

  “People?”

  “Sells them off as coolies for the guano trade.”

  Barrett stared into the fire.

  “If you are thinking of going after him, don’t. It is too dangerous.”

  Barrett looked at her. “Very dangerous indeed, if you are ­frightened.”

  She leaned in, the fire almost nipping at her long hair. “I never said I was scared, Barrett. I am just not a fool.”

  “How many men does he have?”

  “Ten. Twenty. Could be more. His usual crew, as well as natives that he has armed.”

  “Good. With us, the men you have left, and the men that have joined me, I think we have a chance.”

  “These men?” She scowled at Archer. “Who are they?”

  “These gentlemen are warriors all the way from America.”

  Her sister laughed. Kalana spat into the fire. “Warriors . . .”

  “Aye. America was at war with itself. It was very bloody. These two men fought on opposite sides of it.”

  Kalana studied Jupiter’s face. “You were on the side that was ­victorious?”

  He heard Archer swallow. “So they say,” said Jupiter.

  “Fine. We will help you, but you free our men being held by Yerby—and we want a share of his cargo when you sell it.”

  “That’s fair,” said Barrett.

  “In addition to what I am already owed.”

  “Always a shrewd one . . .”

  “I have to be. These are complicated times on this simple island. We still have a crate of weapons. They are old and not reliable at all, but they should be enough.” She looked at Jupiter and Archer. “This evening, send the smart one to me. My sister can have the dumb one.”

  Barrett put his hand on Jupiter’s shoulder. “Looks like your social schedule is booked. Try not to disappoint her.”

  “ ‘The dumb one’?” asked Archer.

  • • •

  “The last time I saw you, Barrett, I gave you rations, you set sail to retrieve my payment, and left your man here for collateral.”

  “I know, Kalana.”

  “He grew ill. He cried for you. But you never came. Strange how if you can live long enough, all wishes come true.

  “He would scream for you every night and pour out the dark parts of his soul. I did not know your tongue then as I do now, but even then, his cries haunted me as I slept. Now I know your tongue. What he said still haunts me in these painful waking hours as I approach the long sleep. I kn
ow your tongue well enough, Barrett. . . . I could be better, but now that I know it, I do not like you as I once did. The last white man that asked for our help made agreement with us, took our food and resources. They had our men load their ships, then killed our men, my brother with them, and left without payment,” said Kalana.

  “My heart aches for your loss, as you can see,” said Barrett.

  “Those men I spoke of called themselves the Black Hands. They had their bodies marked with the sign of a clenched fist. Have your men remove their clothing. We will inspect your bodies. If any of you bear this mark, this night will be your last.”

  “Of course.” Barrett nodded to Jupiter and Archer, and they began to undress.

  “This is ridiculous,” said Murphy.

  “Your man is not undressing,” Kalana said, pointing at Murphy.

  “Go ahead, Murphy,” Barrett said.

  “I know that we are desperate, but are we desperate enough to embarrass ourselves for the entertainment of savages?”

  “Savages?” In a breath, Barrett revealed his knife and had it at Murphy’s throat. Kalana lunged, but then she put up her hand to stop them.

  “You have the nerve to call them savages after you have your men take my ship, kill my men while you wait on deck, and watch my ship burn?”

  “Barrett, I didn’t know . . .” pleaded Murphy.

  “Oh, you knew,” said Barrett. “You knew the Intono well. You could recognize it from a distance. There was no other ship like it. You knew to stay on the British naval vessel, because I would have recognized you instantly. You couldn’t face me. You thought I would be overwhelmed.”

  “No, I swear that isn’t it.”

  “Well, I do not believe you. Although, I’ll concede it is possible that you are not guilty of the crime of which I speak, however—” Barrett ripped open Murphy’s shirt, revealing the balled black fist tattooed on his chest. “You are guilty of the crime against these people.”