He scrutinized her before yanking the gag back in place. "Promises can be extracted from many layers of sincerity, but yours hardly scratched the surface just now. Not to worry — we have at least five days at sea ahead of us, and by the end of that time, I'll have taught you more than your wildest dreams about sincerity." He grinned. "I promise."
After draping the veil about her shoulders, he sat opposite, replaced his hat, and redirected his scrutiny on Havana, moving little and saying nothing. Spared his attention, Sophie clawed her way through grief, apprehension, and terror.
Not thirty minutes before, Jacques had sat in the carriage, cantankerous and full of life. How could he be dead without even a shred of damning or beseeching in his last look? And dear Mathias was at the harbor arranging their voyage home, ignorant of the horror bearing down on him. Aware of the double-cross, had Will and Dusseau enough sense to stay out of sight?
What was Arriaga plotting? Where were the two assassins? Had Edward perished in the collision between the ships? If Fairfax succeeded in escaping Havana with her, by the end of the return voyage, when he was done with her, would she even care whether she lived or died?
The four volantas pulled up before the city gates. Fairfax assisted her out, signaled marines to unload their gear, and tossed the driver of their volanta a purse. Someone dropped the parasol. Fairfax scooped it up and shoved it under his arm.
While the lieutenant paid the other drivers, David scoured Sophie from head to foot and blasted Fairfax with a glare, intuiting everything said and done during the carriage ride. Without his gag, David would have challenged Fairfax. Fairfax knew that. Only Jacques had he wanted to kill outright.
Bored gate guards waved the group of fourteen through. How grand of Continentals to capture spies — and the Spaniards hadn't needed to lift a finger. Clouds scuttled over the sun. A breeze picked up in advance of a thunderstorm.
The group tromped out to the wharf past whores and starving varmints, ships and boats, cargo crates and boxes. Through a break in the clouds, the steamy, afternoon sun bore down on Sophie, and the smells of tar, paint, seawater, and fish assailed her. She heard French and Spanish: give me the hammer, give me the rum. Strains of fiddle music wafted over the wharf, competing with the screams of seagulls. Any sailors they passed who weren't too busy or too apathetic to eye them displayed the same expressions as the gate guards: Good of the Continentals to have done all the work. But when they marched past the Gloria Maria, the snatches of merry Portuguese on deck dwindled off. León, José, and Sebastião Tomás paused from their chores to gape at them in perplexity and disbelief.
At a dilapidated thirty-five-foot schooner, three non-Spanish sailors on deck transferred their gear aboard. Inside the city walls, church bells pealed. Had another quarter hour gone by?
David emitted a muffled yell, his eyes bulged northward. Sophie followed his gaze, helplessness flooding her at the sight of her father and André Dusseau striding toward what they thought was a group of Continental marines. Fairfax pivoted to present his back to the approaching men and gave Don Alejandro a knowing smile. "You see, we didn't have to search far for St. James and Dusseau, did we?" He gestured to a marine next to him. "Habersham, take these two spies below, so they won't interfere."
With a shlick, a Creek arrow sliced the humid air and pierced Habersham's throat. He collapsed gurgling, and everyone gaped. In the next instant, another arrow lodged in Fairfax's right buttock. He dropped the parasol. "Bloody hell!" After seizing the shaft, he yanked the arrow out.
David and Sophie sprinted for the approaching men. David outdistanced her. His gag loosened. "Run, old man! Redcoats disguised as Continentals!" Thunder rumbled to the south.
Sophie heard pursuit and Mathias's yell from near a warehouse. "Run, Will, it's a trap!"
Will and the young Frenchman dashed back the way they'd come. Two marines bolted past Sophie, and a third hauled her back around. She thrashed, losing the lace veil in the process, and gaining a horrified glimpse of both assassins from Casa de la Sangre Legítima descending on her father and the Frenchman, knives drawn. Fairfax stormed past her with the remaining men. "I want all of them aboard — St. James, Dusseau, the assassins!"
Don Alejandro and his men retreated for the city gates, unable to reach their targets through the knot of marines. The church bells were still pealing — not proclaiming a quarter hour, but ringing alarm over Havana. From the gates, musket-bearing Spanish soldiers spewed onto the wharf. Leading the way ran Arriaga, pointing at Fairfax. "¡Británicos, allí, allí!" Sailors gaped. Merchants dove for cover.
A Creek war whoop followed a pistol shot and more thunder. Half-thrown into the schooner, Sophie squirmed around in time to spot Mathias, his tomahawk raised, bowling El Serpiente off her father. André Dusseau lay unmoving on the wharf. One marine had tackled David, and the other had squared off with El Escorpión. El Serpiente's screech of terror ended with one sharp tomahawk blow. Just before the marine hauled her below, she heard a splash and glanced out into Bahía de la Habana. Her father was swimming for his life toward Castillo de San Carlos de la Cabaña.
The marine flung her into a grimy cabin stinking of rotten fish. A quarter minute later, David stumbled in, his gag in place. The door slammed shut. Bruised and sweating, they staggered to the salt-crusted port light and peered out. After more pounding footsteps and shouts from Fairfax to cast off, the schooner was free of the dock, drifting out into the harbor, gathering the thunderstorm's gusts in her sails.
From up on deck came bumps and thumps and a groan of agony. The cabin door whammed open again. "I ought to kill you for that arrow, you half-breed bastard." Fairfax, his breeches bloody, shoved a bound, gagged, and semi-conscious Mathias into the cabin. "Perchance I'll change my mind soon enough. The Straits of Florida is full of sharks." Fairfax sealed them into the cabin.
With another moan, Mathias rolled onto his side, his nose bleeding and one eye swelling. Sophie and David knelt at his side. Musket fire erupted from the dock. Fairfax and his men returned fire. The church bells grew more faint. Wind gusted. Thunder boomed across the bay. The schooner picked up speed.
Swivel guns fired at them from the decks of docked ships, somehow missing the schooner's masts, spars, and hull before she slipped from range. Sophie rose and returned to the port light. Through salt spray and filth, she saw Spanish soldiers swarming the wharf. Two raindrops streaked the glass. A man, not a soldier, stood still in the midst of activity where the schooner had docked, holding something and gazing out at the schooner. From his dignified carriage, she recognized Arriaga, the parasol and veil in his hands. Tears sprang to her eyes.
She peered forward, expecting the schooner to be caught in lethal crossfire between the two castillos at the mouth of Bahía de la Habana. But a Spanish warship was entering the harbor at the same time the schooner exited. The Spaniards wouldn't risk catching their own ship in that crossfire, just to capture a handful of redcoat spies. No, the schooner was free.
Fairfax had passed himself and British soldiers off as Continentals deep in enemy Spanish territory. He had killed an enemy Frenchman in a duel, captured what he believed were rebel spies, and escaped with them in his custody. His actions had crippled, if not crushed, the chance of a formal alliance between Spain and the American rebels — if such an alliance had ever been more than the Rightful Blood's clever ruse.
Fairfax was the stuff of which national heroes were made. Months after his captives had ended their lives upon the gallows, the London Chronicle would still be praising him. Sophie bowed her head and wept.
Chapter Thirty-Four
HALF AN HOUR after the schooner escaped Havana, a marine entered the cabin to deliver food and water and remove gags and bonds. The schooner would rendezvous with the Zealot around sunset. Unless the prisoners desired to be placed in irons, they must remain in the cabin for the voyage and not resist.
After the marine left, they regarded each other and worked cramps from their shoulders and jaws. Each pa
ssing second of silence tightened the tension for Sophie. How would she and David break the news to Mathias about Jacques?
The blacksmith fingered his nose and fumbled in his waistcoat for a handkerchief. David whipped out his own, his voice soothing. "Here, have mine."
Sophie whisked the handkerchief from David, dribbled water on it, and dabbed it beneath Mathias's nose. "Does that hurt? I don't think your nose is broken, but you'll definitely have a black eye." She wiped the corner of his mouth. "Your lip is cut. You didn't lose any teeth, did you?"
Mathias guided her hand away from his face. "Enough." His voice hushed. "My uncle is dead, isn't he?"
David scowled. "Fairfax killed him at Hernandez's mansion."
"Then I shall kill Fairfax. Jonah was tcusi, younger brother. I was expected to take care of him. But my uncle was pawa, my mother's brother. The people respect pawa the way you respect your father. Pawa teaches a boy much of what he needs to know as a man, looks after him, disciplines him. My uncle was the only father I knew, the man I respected above all others. I must avenge his death."
Sophie reconsidered the afternoon at the swimming hole and Mathias's scarred shoulder. She'd never understood why he tolerated Jacob's abuse and wondered if he was afraid of Jacob. But cowardice didn't inhabit Mathias's soul. His Creek perspective enabled him to disregard Jacob because he wasn't of consequence. Neither "father" nor "stepfather" mattered as much as "uncle." Jacques, pawa, was the man who had mattered.
David growled. "You'll have to beat me to Fairfax first."
Sophie's heart sank. Mathias frowned at David. "Why so?"
"I learned what Sophie was reluctant to tell us about her encounter with him in Cow Ford. He tried to force her —"
"David, please —"
"Please, my arse! The mongrel threw you in the volanta with him this afternoon and had his way with you for the entire ride."
Mathias glowered. "Sophie, is that true?"
Chivalry was alive and well. "Did I look as though I'd been abused when I stepped out of the volanta at the harbor?" But she didn't sound convinced, even to herself.
"I know he pawed you, and the gods only know what hell he put your mind through."
"Your brother's right. The son of a whore needs to die in the most excruciating manner possible."
Greater than her fear for herself was her fear for David and Mathias, who were taking the bait Fairfax had set for them. She gripped an ear on both men. "Listen to me! He cannot destroy my integrity." Perhaps if she said it often enough, she might believe it. After all, in three weeks, she'd learned much about freedom, dignity, and honor from her traveling companions, Ulysses, Lila, and Miguel de Arriaga. Somewhere in that repository, there must be a lesson on how not to surrender her soul.
Mathias and David squirmed when she pinched harder. "His worth before the world and in his own eyes depends on him hauling someone back to the gallows after this chase."
"Dash it all, Sophie, that hurts! Stop it!"
"Indeed, let go of my ear. Do you fancy us little boys?"
She released them. "I'd far rather have you both alive and with me on the morrow than have you waste yourselves on a monster that lusts to fight with anyone. Oh, how he desires it. He bloats off blood like a mosquito. Deny him that satisfaction, and watch him diminish.
"And one more point I must emphasize." She crossed her arms. "Fairfax is not Britain."
David massaged his ear. "What are you getting at?"
"Britain has taxed us and lodged soldiers in every city and town, and I've seen the thought in your eyes. Britain is the only beast in this conflict. Surely you realize Fairfax has his counterparts in the other armies, though I've not had the misfortune to make their acquaintance."
Mathias nodded. "War grants all manner of demons permission to slither into the upper world."
"Exactly." While the blacksmith walked to the port light and peered out, David gave Sophie a rueful smile. The schooner swayed in the cradle of the Florida Straits. She said, "Mathias, you'd best have a bite to eat."
His voice sounded distant. "I'm not hungry."
She walked over beside him. His eyes had focused on something remote. Her heart ached. "You killed El Serpiente, so you've taken care of Jonah, tcusi." Mathias wasn't satisfied. She slid her hand up his arm to his shoulder. "Although my way is not your way in this matter, I respect your need to avenge your kinsmen. I'm sure you know that Jonah won't be coming back, no matter how many assassins you kill." When he tried to pull away, she flung her arms around him, her eyes shut. "Hear your uncle's final words: 'I love Mathias as hopwiwa, son of my sister. Tell him so.'"
He stiffened. "No, not yet —"
"'It has done my old heart much good to know you two have finally found your way back together.'"
A whisper tore from his throat —"No!"— before the tension in his body released into a sob. He crushed her to him. David wrapped an arm around his shoulder, and they stood that way for a long time, triumvirate grief in a current too sweeping for them ever to have swum. At length, Mathias's swollen whisper emerged from the embrace. "Tell me Will escaped."
David nodded, his tone subdued. "Yes, he did."
She stroked Mathias's face. "You saved his life." And she, gazing into her brother's damp eyes, wondered whether they'd see their father alive again.
***
Just after dusk had gloomed over their prison, the cabin door banged open, and three marines entered. The prisoners blinked in lantern light. Behind the men limped Fairfax. "Good news, rebels. In ten minutes, I shall have the honor of escorting you aboard the Zealot and housing you in the customary style for prisoners of war." He gestured toward the door. "Your presence on deck is now mandatory."
Sophie exited the cabin, and with her first breath of fresh air, realized that the foul stink had permeated her hair, clothing, and skin. At the railing she inhaled, purging her lungs. Through dusk she spotted blotches of islands to the north and the approach of the Zealot from the northeast. She brushed David's elbow. "Any idea where we are?"
"The Florida Keys. We sailed north all afternoon."
Fairfax paused behind them, raising her hackles. "I'd no idea that you paid as much attention to maps as you do to strategies for piquet. We shall rendezvous with the Zealot approximately twenty miles south-southwest of Key Largo — if that means anything to you."
The lieutenant walked past them. David lowered his voice. "It means we'll arrive at St. Augustine within five days, if the weather holds well."
The gallows in five days. Her shoulders sagged. "Might they put in at Savannah and take us back to Alton?"
"I doubt it. The Zealot was stationed off St. Augustine. She must return to her original mission as soon as possible." Grim humor ground at his mouth. "Besides, we don't carry the importance of Ben Franklin or John Hancock, so there's no point in parading us around." He sighed. "No, indeed. It shall be a quick and simple noose for the three of us."
Sophie gazed east to hide her desolation. If Fairfax had his way, the noose would be the only quick and simple part of it.
The vessels drew alongside each other, and sailors from the Zealot rowed a gig over. Fairfax ordered the prisoners, two marines, and their gear and weapons transferred to the gig. Sophie descended the schooner's boarding net into the gig after David and Mathias and sat staring at the starlight-speckled water while sailors rowed them to the warship. Then she climbed up the Zealot's boarding net.
Surrounded by marines, forced to wait on the deck of the Zealot, she brushed off her filthy petticoat, straightened, and watched the gig cross the water for Fairfax and the other men. She overheard a seaman say that the three sailors aboard the schooner were being left behind to pilot her and follow. The prisoners watched the gig return, by starlight discerning Fairfax from the boat's other occupants by the victory in his posture.
David grumbled. "He'd have walked across the water if they hadn't sent a boat for him."
Mathias muttered, "Where's a waterspout when we need one
?"
Aboard the Zealot, Fairfax's gaze landed on them and swelled with satisfaction. Sophie's hopes for finishing her life with dignity withered. He limped over to them, exultant.
"Lieutenant."
He pivoted and stood at attention in response to the familiar voice. Sophie caught her breath. Lantern light shone like white gold in the hair of Edward Hunt, who had made his way amidships through clusters of sailors and marines, his carriage taut with fatigue. Justice presided in his expression, not vengeance or cruelty. She nearly wept with relief.
"Sir." Fairfax saluted.
Edward returned the salute and assessed them. "What of Dusseau, Gonzales, St. James, le Coeuvre, and the two assassins?"
Sophie frowned. Gonzales? Who was Gonzales?
Still at attention, Fairfax displayed no emotion. "Gonzales escaped, sir, as did St. James. Le Coeuvre and El Serpiente are dead. If not dead, Dusseau and El Escorpión are mortally wounded."
Edward frowned. "You aren't certain?"
"No, sir. There was a commotion on the wharf. We departed Havana in great haste to avoid capture by the Spaniards."
"I see."
Sophie saw, too. Edward was disappointed with Fairfax. Although the lieutenant's actions had surely muddied water between Spain and the rebels, he'd spent a great deal of resources and time and hadn't brought back a major player.
"I shall take them to the brig, sir."
"No. These three are my personal responsibility."
"But sir —"
"I shall expect a full report from you in my cabin on the morrow at seven o'clock. You'd best see the surgeon about your injury straightaway. Divest yourself of that uniform as soon as possible. Dismissed, Lieutenant."
Fairfax saluted. "Sir." He limped aft.
Edward passed a visual inspection over them one by one without lingering on her, as if he were wary of touching hot metal. A host of regrets cascaded through her — that she'd hurt him, that she'd been unable to return his love or accept his offer of protection, and that soon he must witness her execution. But Edward was a creature of the air, Apollo of sunlight and justice, while she was a creature of the dark earth. Not in a lifetime could he have lavished the kind of wealth upon her that her soul craved. She averted her gaze. The god of sunlight didn't want her apologies.
Paper Woman: A Mystery of the American Revolution Page 27