The Daredevil Snared (The Adventurers Quartet Book 3) (12 page)

“Indeed.” Hillsythe glanced at their fellow captives, still happily chattering. “And now we know that rescue is coming, stretching the mining out until relief can reach us is a finite and imperative goal. Frobisher and his men turning up has given us a strong incentive to succeed—a vital one, in fact.”

There were murmurs of agreement from the others.

“What does Dubois know about the second deposit?” Hopkins asked.

“At this point, only that it’s there,” Dixon replied. “I haven’t told him that it’s a much denser deposit with many more diamonds than the first pipe. In order to delay mining it, I invented all sorts of structural obstacles.” He shrugged. “Some were real, most weren’t, but they’ve served their purpose.”

The first tunnel ran more or less straight into the heart of the hill. It had just grazed the upper end of a pipe of diamonds, and they’d had to dig deep into the side of the tunnel in order to bring out the ore-encrusted stones. The second tunnel would run more or less perpendicular to the first, opening off it to the right about ten yards inside the mine entrance. “All I’ve done so far,” Dixon went on, “is to put in an exploratory shaft. I convinced Dubois that by doing the minor excavations necessary to plot a tunnel that ran along the pipe, rather than grazing the end as we did with the first pipe, then ultimately, getting the bulk of the diamonds out of the second pipe will take much less time.”

Fanshawe nodded. “You convinced him to go slow now in order to mine faster later.”

Hillsythe straightened. “But with the first deposit waning, it’s time to convert your exploratory shaft into a working tunnel so our teams can switch from mining the first deposit to mining the second, all the while keeping the level of production steady.”

Katherine looked at Fanshawe and Hopkins. Each led a team of six men; those two teams performed the bulk of the heavy mining, wielding pickaxes for most of each day. Hillsythe managed a crew of four slighter, wiry men who oversaw the children and effectively controlled the amount of ore that went out of the mine to the sorting piles. Hillsythe also managed the three burly carpenters in Dixon’s team when they weren’t actively assisting the engineer with his structures. The carpenters kept a close watch on the tunnel supports that kept everyone safe.

“It’s evidently time we took that step.” When they all nodded in agreement, Hillsythe looked at Dixon. “So what do you need to open up the second tunnel?”

“That,” Dixon said, “is where complications arise.” He looked around their group. “Opening the second tunnel will require more men and more supplies—more timber, more nails, and so on. The supplies Dubois can doubtless get, but the men?”

They all knew Dubois had been pressing for more men to be kidnapped for weeks. Katherine glanced around and confirmed no guard was close before adding, “And now Kale’s vanished, so there will be no more men—at least not from that quarter.”

Hillsythe met her gaze. “Kale’s disappearance is going to disrupt the supply of men until Dubois finds out and works out another route through which to source what he needs. That’s going to take time.”

“Exactly.” Dixon looked grim. “That’s my point. With the output from the first tunnel declining, Dubois not having the men needed to open the second tunnel means time
we
may not have.”

“Ah.” Hillsythe looked struck. “I see what you mean by complications.”

They all did. While Dubois might understand that he didn’t have enough men to keep production from the first tunnel up while simultaneously opening the second, there was no guarantee that his masters would—that they wouldn’t instead see any dip in overall production as reason enough to close the mine. And kill all the captives. Once such an order was given, Dubois would simply shrug and carry it out—no appeals to rationality would be entertained.

Eventually, Hillsythe stirred. “You were correct in your opening statement—we need to make a decision now, tonight, on what direction we take with the second tunnel.” He looked at the others’ faces, meeting each one’s eyes. “Although our decision might prove critical—might end up being one of life and death for us—the only way we can make it is based on the facts before us.” He paused, then looked at Dixon. “I vote for you to tell Dubois that you’re ready to open up the second tunnel and give him your requirements. For my money, trying to delay further might land us in even worse straits and, more, might prick Dubois’s suspicious nature, which we’ve been so very careful to lull.”

Katherine compressed her lips, then said, “I agree, for much the same reasons. We can only judge by what we know today, and as I understand things”—she glanced at Hopkins and Fanshawe—“we have enough ore held back to cover the slack when the carpenters and others move to help Dixon, at least somewhat.”

Fanshawe nodded. “Somewhat.” He, too, looked around at the others’ faces. “Our original purpose in building our stockpile was to give us a cushion of at least several days when the deposit was finally mined out. A few days to do whatever we might to escape. But that was before Dixon found the second pipe and before Frobisher and his crew arrived. Although the second pipe, too, will eventually run out, as you say, we can only base decisions on what we’re faced with today.” He nodded again, more decisively. “So I vote for opening the second tunnel, too, even though that will run down our cushion and, unless and until we can replenish the stockpile, will leave us with little to fall back on when the second pipe runs out—we have to pray the rescue force reaches us before that happens.”

Hopkins grimaced, but he nodded, too. “I agree. We have to take the risk, open up the second tunnel as expeditiously as possible while using the stockpile to cover the drop in production, and pray the rescue force reaches us in time.”

Harriet and Dixon both added their votes to the consensus to open the second tunnel, making the decision unanimous. “There’s also the fact,” Dixon said, “that by us moving forward—apparently cooperating—then any further holdup generated by a lack of men or supplies is going to focus Dubois’s attention on his supply lines and not on us.”

Fanshawe grunted. “For all his many faults, he’s never yet proved stupid enough to hold us liable for things beyond our control.”

“So we’re agreed.” Hillsythe straightened, easing his back. He looked at Dixon. “We’ll leave it to you to inform Dubois.”

Dixon huffed. “I’ll see him first thing and let you all know if there are any unexpected ramifications.”

“Actually”—Hillsythe glanced at Dixon, then looked at Katherine—“our discussion raised two questions that we really ought to push to answer. First”—he addressed her—“what is Frobisher’s best guess as to how long it will take for the rescue force to reach us? Can he put a date on it?”

She widened her eyes. “He said at least six weeks, but that struck me as an off-the-cuff estimate. I forgot to ask last time, but when next I see him, I’ll ask if he can be more definite.”

“Do. The second and connected question”—Hillsythe looked at Dixon—“is whether the second deposit is rich enough to allow us to mine sufficient diamonds fast enough to keep Dubois’s backers happy and yet last until our rescuers arrive.”

Dixon pulled a face. “
That
, indeed, is the ultimate question. And I won’t be able to answer it until we get the second tunnel fully open. We’ll need to extend it the full length of the deposit, which we haven’t yet done even with the exploratory shaft, and I suspect we’ll need to go down a level, too, to access the far reaches of the pipe.”

The others all nodded.

The small fire at the center of the log circle was burning low. Most of the company had started to drift away to their respective huts, to their hammock beds.

Katherine exchanged glances with the other leaders, but no one seemed to have more to say. They all rose.

“Onward, then,” Hillsythe murmured. With a nod for Katherine and Harriet, he turned away.

Katherine glanced around, then, leaving Harriet whispering with Dixon, headed toward the women’s and children’s hut.

As she passed through the shadows cloaking the compound, her mind juggled two entirely separate facts. Dubois wanted more men to work the mine. Caleb, Lascelle, and their men were only yards away in the jungle.

What if...?

She didn’t think anyone else had thought of that, much less the horrendous implications. Quelling a shudder, she determinedly banished the thought from her mind, feeling very much as if even thinking of both facts at the same time was akin to inviting some malignant fate to notice. And act.

* * *

Undoto, preacher extraordinaire and reluctant slavers’ accomplice, was expecting the knock on his front door. Indeed, he’d expected it rather earlier. He opened the door wide, a practiced smile on his face—and froze.

A single figure cloaked in black and wreathed in shadows stood on Undoto’s porch.

Instinctively, Undoto’s gaze swept over the man—by height and stance, he knew it was a man—and in the faint light, he saw the pistol the man held in his hand, the barrel trained unwaveringly on Undoto’s chest.

“Good evening, Mr. Undoto.” The voice was cultured, an Englishman’s voice. “If you wouldn’t mind stepping outside for just a moment, I have a matter I would like to discuss with you.”

His gaze fixed on the pistol’s barrel—intensely aware of his sons and daughters already asleep in the front room of the narrow house—Undoto drew in a tight breath and, outwardly calm, stepped outside. Then he closed his already sweating palm about the doorknob and pulled the door shut behind him.

“Excellent.” The man had stepped back.

Peering through the dimness, Undoto saw that the man had a black scarf wound loosely about the lower half of his face. A dark, wide-brimmed hat pulled low on his forehead effectively screened his eyes.

“I regret the pistol.” The man tipped up the barrel, then slid the weapon beneath his cloak, presumably into the pocket of his coat. “It was necessary to get you alone.”

Undoto didn’t relax. “You wanted to discuss something?”

“Indeed. We have an acquaintance in common—namely, Kale. Although I believe you generally deal with his lieutenant in the settlement, Rogers.”

Undoto reluctantly nodded. “I know of them.”

The man’s cold smile colored his tone. “Let’s not play games. You work for them. You select marks, and they oblige by snatching them up. Which is all well and good. Ultimately, we work for the same people. However, we need to contact Kale and have been unable to do so. Do you know where he is?”

“No.” Undoto fought to suppress a frown. After a second’s hesitation, he volunteered, “I expected Rogers to call this evening—I thought you were him. Him and his men. I gave a sermon today, and they always call after that to learn if I spotted any likely pickings.”

“And did you? Spot any likely pickings?”

“Two sailors just in off a merchantman and looking for work.”

The man nodded. “Indeed. They sound like two of a group we noted. We tried to send word to Kale’s base in the slums, but no one’s at home. Do you have any idea how to contact him?”

“No. He—or rather Rogers—always comes to me.”

“Do you know where Kale’s camp is?”

Undoto hesitated. He did know, but... “It’s out to the east. Other than that...” He slid his hands into the pockets in his robes and shrugged.

The man shifted, then stilled. Several seconds ticked by, then the man looked out at the street and said, “It seems we have a shared interest in locating Kale. I strongly suggest you make every effort to contact him. If you do happen to see him, tell him to get in touch with those who’ve most recently paid him.”

The man’s tone had grown progressively more clipped. He looked at Undoto. “I’ll return in two days to see what you’ve learned. I believe we have a mutual interest in keeping our interaction discreet.”

“Perhaps,” Undoto said. “But you have the advantage of me—you know my name. You know my face. I don’t know yours.”

The man looked directly at him, then evenly replied, “And for all our sakes, that’s the way it needs to be.” With a swirl of his cloak, he went quickly down the steps. “Good night, Mr. Undoto.”

Undoto watched the man walk briskly up his garden path, turn into the street, and stride away.

Undoto stared after him as the minutes ticked past.

Other than the moment with the pistol, which he had subsequently put away, the man hadn’t uttered a single threat.

Yet the promise of one hovered in the humid night air.

Eventually, Undoto turned, opened his door, and went inside.

* * *

The following day in the late afternoon, Muldoon, Winton, and their colleague met in the tavern once more.

Immediately all three were settled with pints in their hands, the first man—who, as usual, had been the first one there—related his conversation with Undoto. He concluded, “I’m sure Undoto knows where Kale’s camp is. He’ll go—for his own sake, he needs to know what’s going on with Kale.” He took a sip of his ale, then said, “I’ll give him another day—I’ll call on him tomorrow night and see what he’s learned.”

Muldoon and Winton exchanged glances.

Muldoon looked at his tankard, then turned it between his hands. “So Undoto has also lost touch with Rogers. I was hoping that the empty nest in the slums simply meant they’d changed locations and hadn’t got around to mentioning it, but that Rogers and his crew didn’t call on Undoto suggests otherwise.”

Winton swallowed. He moistened his lips and murmured, “What are we going to do if Kale’s gone and taken his men with him?”

None of them attempted any answer.

Eventually, the first man drained his mug. “There’s no point speculating until we know what’s happening with Kale. Undoto will bring us news. There’s no sense scrambling until he does.”

CHAPTER 7

Katherine walked briskly out of the compound’s gates two mornings later. Diccon skipped ahead; the boy was, she felt, better at hiding his excitement than she was. It took effort not to openly search for Frobisher even while she was still within sight of the guards on the gates and the tower.

As the jungle closed around her and she followed Diccon deeper into the shadows, she lectured herself on the subject of keeping her unruly reactions suppressed. Why Frobisher so easily provoked such responses, she had no clear idea; no other man had ever captured her awareness as he so effortlessly did. And the strength of her reactions—those impulses she hadn’t felt before and consequently had no experience subduing—only made dealing with him, even simply viewing him, in a businesslike way all the harder.

As distractions went, he was shaping up to be her Achilles’ heel.

Diccon halted at a clump of berry vines. The boy’s calm patience as he set to, picking berries and dropping them into his basket, was instructive. She spotted a nut tree nearby and went to look for fallen nuts.

While she searched the carpet of leaf mold, her mind—for the moment free of Frobisher—returned to the problem she’d spent the previous day wrestling with. In the early days of the mine, the men had realized that some of the children had a knack for telling which lumps of freshly mined rock contained diamonds and which most likely did not. They’d worked with those children to separate some of the diamond-bearing rocks while still within the mine—before the ore was taken out to the sorting piles. As the guards had quickly grown complacent and entered the mine only occasionally to run their bored gazes over the workings, the men and children had managed to dig and conceal an alcove-like hole in which to hide their bounty.

That hidden alcove now held their cushion of ore to tide them through any unexpected shortfall—that was the stockpile they would have to draw down in order to open the second tunnel without risking a dramatic fall in production.

It had occurred to her that there were other points in the mining process at which they might hold back some of their product. Once the second tunnel was fully open, no doubt the men and children would gradually replenish their stockpile inside the mine. It was harder to see where the children might hide any diamond-bearing rocks while sorting, which was performed in plain sight in the compound under the gazes of the passing guards, albeit hidden from those in the tower by the movable awning. So harder, but not impossible.

The cleaning shed was a different matter. Guards patrolled outside, and although they randomly came in from time to time, as the women ignored them, the guards rarely stayed for long. She was more or less in charge and felt sure the other women would be glad to assist in creating their own stockpile of cleaned stones. Stripped of the other minerals clumped about them, the raw diamonds still looked like rocks, but they were much smaller and would be easier to hide...if only she could think of a place in the cleaning shed in which to hide them.

The shed was much like the other buildings, with plain plank walls and floor, and palm-thatch on the roof. The long table that ran down the middle of the room, the stools the women perched on, and a plain bench across the end wall were the only pieces of furniture.

She’d checked the floor, but it was raised above the ground, and the area beneath it was visible to anyone who looked. The walls contained no crannies large enough and were only one plank thick. The roof—the thatch—might, however, be a possibility. She would need to examine it more closely.

Diccon called. She looked up and saw him beckoning her on. She straightened, hoisted her basket, now a quarter full, to her hip and followed him deeper into the jungle.

Where was Frobisher?
Diccon had insisted that they should just go about their collecting until Frobisher and his men came to them. Which was all very well, but she could remain out of the compound only until midday, and she had messages from Dixon and Hillsythe, and their question to ask, as well as information the women had overheard to pass on. When Diccon halted by a fruit tree, she hunted and found another nut tree. After dropping her basket to the ground, she plonked her hands on her hips, then sighed and started looking for nuts.

Caleb halted with Phillipe in the shadows nearby. They’d been in the camp when one of the men on watch had come running to tell them that the lady and the boy had come out of the compound and headed into the jungle between their camp and the lake.

The man hadn’t waited for long enough to be certain the pair hadn’t been followed. Phillipe had urged caution, and Caleb had agreed.

They’d located the pair fifteen minutes ago. They’d watched and then circled them, searching for any guards who might have trailed them. And found no sign of anyone.

Caleb relaxed. “They’re alone.”

Phillipe nodded. “This Dubois—he plays very strange games.”

Caleb humphed and moved forward. He made no effort to mute his approach. Miss Fortescue—Katherine—heard him. She turned his way—and her expectant expression dissolved into one of smiling welcome.

He felt a warmth blossom somewhere inside him. He all but swaggered up, returning her smile with one of his own. “Good morning.”

“Hello.” She stared at him for a moment, then blinked and looked away. “I...have several messages.” Her tone turned brisk and matter-of-fact. “Dixon and Hillsythe asked me to outline how the work in the mine is progressing, which will explain the importance of a question we hope you can answer.” She looked past him to Phillipe and nodded a greeting, then glanced back at Caleb. “And there are a few other bits and pieces that perhaps you should know.”

“Of course—but first, we thought it might be best if we take you to our camp. Diccon found the spot for us, so he knows the way.” With a gesture, Caleb invited her to follow the boy and Phillipe, who had already started through the trees. He bent and picked up her basket. “But if others in the camp ever need to send for us, more of you need to know where to find us.”

She nodded. “Yes, of course.”

As they wended through the trees in Diccon and Phillipe’s wake, Caleb added, “Although we’re approaching from an angle this time, the clearing we use is just off the path that leads directly north—the one that’s virtually unused. We can fill your basket from trees around the clearing, then you can walk directly back to the compound on that track.”

“Good.” She tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “That way, I’ll be certain of the way.”

They reached the camp, and she glanced around, then at his invitation, sat on one of the logs about the empty fire pit. She accepted a mug of water from Ellis, one of Caleb’s men, with a grateful smile. Caleb took a moment to hand over Katherine’s basket to Foster and Collins, two of his men who were happy to have something to do to fill their time.

“Now.” He let himself down beside her. “What do you have to tell us?”

Katherine was determined to keep her senses in line; she schooled her features to what she thought of as her governess look—severe and slightly intimidating. Or at least, as intimidating as she could appear; she doubted it would have much effect on Frobisher or Lascelle. “The first thing I need to explain is that we—all those at the mine—have been managing the ultimate output. Early on, we realized that if the output fell too low, there was a good chance the backers—whoever they are—would deem the mine too great a risk for too little reward and order it shut and all of us killed.” With her hands cupped about the cool mug, she drew breath and continued, “To avoid that—or at least stave it off—whenever the men hit a vein with more diamonds than usual, they held back some of that ore and hid it inside the mine. That’s become our stockpile—if the output falls, we feed more out. If the output rises, we keep more back.”

“And Dubois and his men have no idea of this?” Lascelle asked.

She shook her head. “They’ve never realized.” After a second, she went on, “The problem for us is that there are a lot of elements at play that influence the output from the mine itself. Some of those elements are under our control, but others aren’t. In the latter category are the mining supplies—timber, nails, tools, and so on—and also the number of men at the mine. Those two elements, in particular, used to be under Dubois’s control via Kale and presumably others in the settlement.” She looked at Frobisher. “But now you’ve eliminated Kale, you’ve disrupted the supply of both elements, and Dubois is having to...”

“Re-establish his supply lines?” Frobisher suggested.

“Exactly. But another element in all this has been Dixon opening up the second tunnel—that’s been under our control, even though, again, Dubois doesn’t realize that. Up until recently, our plan for that was straightforward—we assumed that it would be best for us to delay opening the second tunnel for as long as we could to ensure the life of the mine was as long as possible—the better for us all to remain alive long enough to devise some way to escape.” She paused, then went on, “But that’s now changed, because output from the first tunnel is declining. So in order to keep production at levels acceptable to the backers—to keep them from closing the mine—we now have to open up the second tunnel.”

She grimaced. “We can and will do that—but we’ve now got other problems restricting the output from the mine, namely the lack of mining supplies and the lack of men.”

Lascelle laughed—a cynical, world-weary sound. “So you actually need Kale back.”

She met Lascelle’s gaze. “I think we all know that no one would ever wish to have Kale back.” She glanced briefly at Frobisher. “I told you that you and your men would be heroes in the camp for putting paid to Kale, and trust me, you are. No one regrets his passing.” She brightened. “And as it happens, we have a way around our problem. It’s that stockpile I mentioned earlier. We’ll feed out enough stones to keep the output sufficiently high while the men work to open the second tunnel and get it into full production. Once we have that done—and Dixon believes the second deposit holds more diamonds than the first—we should be able to continue mining, we hope for at least some time.”

She looked first at Lascelle, then turned to fix her gaze on Frobisher’s face. “And that brings me to the question to which we in the compound truly need an answer. What is your best guess as to when the rescue force will reach us? Can you give us a date?”

Caleb blinked. She’d explained the situation so clearly, he could instantly see the connections—and the importance of his answer. His gaze on her eyes, he nodded slowly while his mind raced. “We worked out a rough guess before, but let’s see if we can be more accurate.” He glanced at Phillipe. “Our men should have reached the estuary by now.”

Phillipe nodded. “I would think we can be confident that, one way or another,
The Prince
will slip past Freetown and Decker tonight.” He met Caleb’s eyes. “Your men won’t dally, and in the circumstances, it will have to be at night.”

“Indeed. So that’s
The Prince
on the open sea tonight.” He paused, then grimaced. “I can’t see Fitz getting the old girl into Southampton in less than twenty-one days—and that only if the winds blow his way.”

“Let’s say twenty-three days to Southampton.” Phillipe frowned. “From there, how fast will the news reach your brothers in London, and more pertinently, how quickly will they be able to alert those required to authorize the dispatch of the rescue force?”

Caleb thought through what that was likely to entail. Eventually, he offered, “Four days minimum.”

Phillipe glanced his way. “Four days to sailing?”

Caleb paused, then said, “The rescue force will have to come on several ships—it can’t be just one, not given the distance and the urgency.”

“You think they’ll use your family’s fleet?”

“As much of it as is available in Southampton or London, or even Bristol. Altogether, that would do it.” Caleb felt his expression clear as the most likely scenario coalesced in his mind. “The thing is, I’d wager heavily that the first ship here will be Royd’s.”

Phillipe snorted. “Unquestionably.”

Caleb glanced at Katherine. “Royd’s my oldest brother and the operational head of Frobisher Shipping.”

“And,” Phillipe put in, “more pertinent to this discussion, Royd’s
Corsair
is unquestionably the fastest ship of that class on the waves.”

“From what I’ve gathered,” Caleb said, “Royd can make the run from Southampton to Freetown in twelve days or less.”

“That’s twenty-three, plus four, and now twelve.” Katherine had been keeping track. “That’s thirty-nine days at least for the first ship to reach Freetown.”

“I think it’s safe to assume,” Caleb said, “that in terms of raw diamonds or any message being dispatched to the backers, or of any instruction from those backers reaching Freetown and eventually the mine, those thirty-nine days will bring an end to traffic in either direction.” He met Phillipe’s eyes, then looked at Katherine. “My brother will contact Decker—the vice-admiral of the West Africa Squadron. Decker will, however grudgingly, listen to Royd, and Royd will get Decker to blockade the estuary, halting all vessels going in and out and allowing only our vessels carrying the rescue force to pass.”

“So.” Katherine blew out a breath. “Let’s say forty days. Forty days is the minimum that we absolutely must keep the mine producing at acceptable levels.”

“Preferably more than that to allow time for the rescue force to reach here,” Phillipe warned.

“We have ten more days to the end of this month,” Caleb said. “So to be safe, you need to plan for the mine to run smoothly into and preferably through the first week of September. So aim for the seventh of September.”

“Thank you.” Katherine nodded briskly. “Having a firm date is going to be very helpful, not just for planning but for morale, too. Speaking of which”—she glanced from Caleb to Phillipe—“we’ve now told everyone—all of our company—about your presence and the impending rescue. I cannot tell you how thrilled and...
uplifted
everyone is. It’s made a great difference—we now all feel more confident we can see this through and survive.”