The Daredevil Snared (The Adventurers Quartet Book 3) (10 page)

“So we wait and we watch”—Caleb gave his words the weight of an order—“and we only intervene if something occurs that threatens the captives.” He looked around the circle and saw understanding and agreement in all the men’s faces. “We’ll set our initial mission on course for completion, but as many of us as possible will remain here, both to continue to scout and prepare for the eventual storming of the compound and also to act as the captives’ last line of defense—as extra protection until the rescue force arrives.”

* * *

The following morning, as they had the morning before, Caleb and Phillipe and two of their men scrambled into position on the rock shelf before the compound woke for the day.

Caleb observed the same pattern of activities; he jotted down the more relevant—such as the movements of the guards and male captives—then turned his attention to putting the finishing touches to his diagram of the compound.

More than an hour later, Phillipe jogged his elbow.

When Caleb glanced his way, Phillipe nodded toward the compound’s gate. “The boy’s leaving, but no one’s with him.”

They watched for ten more minutes, but no one—mercenary or captive—made any move to follow Diccon.

Phillipe caught Caleb’s eye. “Shall we?”

Caleb nodded, tucked away his notebook, and got to his feet. “He might have news for us.”

They found Diccon in the area between their camp and the lake. He was circling a large berry vine-cum-bush, swiftly picking berries. His face lit when he saw them. “I hoped you’d come. I didn’t want to go to your camp in case you had guards.”

Caleb smiled and ruffled the boy’s hair. “They know who you are.” He crouched and looked Diccon in the eye. “Do you have any messages for us?”

Diccon nodded. “From Capt’n Dixon and Miss Katherine. Capt’n Dixon said as he and Mr. Hillsythe would need until tomorrow to do their reports for you—they have to be careful about getting the paper to write on, but he said they’d have everything ready for you by then.”

Caleb nodded. “Good. And Miss Fortescue?”

“She said as she would bring the reports out to you tomorrow—that she’d come out with me like she did yesterday. Dubois agreed to let her collect nuts again tomorrow, but wouldn’t let any of the other women take her place today. He’s like that.”

Caleb dropped a hand on Diccon’s shoulder and rose. He exchanged a glance with Phillipe, then smiled down at Diccon. “It’s nearly noon, and there are plenty of fruit trees around our camp. Why don’t you come back with us and have something to eat?” The boy was little more than skin and bones, and they had a good supply of jerky.

Diccon grinned and nodded. He fell in between Caleb and Phillipe, and they made their way back to the camp.

Both Caleb and Phillipe settled down to finalize the reports they’d been writing, pulling together all they’d learned. Diccon flitted in and out of the camp, stopping to chat with the men who were scattered in groups, some tending weapons, others preparing various fruits to go with the dried meats they would all later eat.

After a while, Phillipe glanced up from his scribbling. He watched Diccon skip off to another fruit tree, then murmured, “Once Dubois’s men come back from the coast, from wherever they handed over the diamonds, we should try that path for ourselves. If it eventually leads to the settlement as the others suspect, we can fetch more supplies.”

Caleb grunted an agreement. “If we’re going to remain here for the next seven or so weeks, we’ll need more food, especially as we can’t light a fire and can’t hunt, either.”

Hornby, Caleb’s steward, was in charge of meals. He summoned them all to the bounty he and several others had prepared—fruit, nuts, and dried mutton.

Caleb mumbled around a mouthful of the chewy meat, “At least it doesn’t have weevils.”

Phillipe just pulled a face, but Diccon smiled sunnily and reached for another strip.

Two hours later, Diccon declared he had enough fruit in his basket, and after exchanging farewells with all the men, he wandered off to return to the compound.

Eventually, Caleb and Phillipe swapped their reports and read over each other’s efforts.

Caleb reached the end of Phillipe’s precise description of the various possible approaches a rescue force might take to reach the compound, along with the pitfalls and advantages of each route. “This is as good as it could be. I can’t see anything you’ve missed.” He placed the report on the satchel he was using to collect all the documents destined for London. “It’ll all depend on what sort of force they deploy—and if they work with Decker or not.”

Phillipe nodded and handed back Caleb’s report on the compound. “That’s thorough, but there are two connected points I can see another commander wanting to know—the structure of that palisade and the strength or otherwise of the gates.”

Caleb grimaced. “I thought of that, but I can’t remember well enough to comment. Can you?”

Phillipe shook his head. “But we have time.” He started to get to his feet. “And I’ve had enough of sitting. Let’s go and see what we can make of things now, and when the light fades, perhaps we can risk slipping closer to confirm how the planks are held together.”

They took two of Caleb’s men with them. They returned to the same spot Diccon had first led them to, not far from the gates. From the cover of the palms, they studied the way the planks were lashed together and squinted at the hinges. Caleb mouthed, “We need to get closer.”

Phillipe nodded, then pointed to the guards slouching at either side of the gates and signaled that they should wait until the light faded before venturing closer.

Eventually, as the day dimmed and a short twilight took hold, the guards on the gate straightened, slung their muskets over their shoulders, and tugged and lifted and finally swung the gates closed.

Caleb waited for a minute, then, in a crouch, slid from behind the concealing palms and swiftly crossed the cleared space to fetch up in the shadow of the wall. He was still five yards or so from the gate. He paused to study the construction of the planking palisade, confirming that, as they’d thought, the planks were lashed together with ropes made of jungle vines. No nails or other metal fixings, except for the occasional piece of wire used to bind two planks. That said, the rope lashings were thick, plentiful, strong, and tight. Using a machete to hack through the bindings enough to break in would take time—and would create some degree of noise. Quietly slicing the bindings with any smaller, more covert tool would take forever.

Phillipe slipped into the deeper gloom by Caleb’s shoulder. He looked at where Caleb pointed at the lashings; he grimaced expressively, then with a tip of his head, he directed Caleb to the gate.

They crept along, careful to create not even a whisper of sound. They reached the nearer gatepost and hunkered down beside it. Both of them examined the junction between the gate and the post supporting it. A long piece of solid giant bamboo, five or so inches in diameter, had been used as the hinge, lashed into position with so much vine the hinge appeared fully wrapped in rope.

While it might appear more fragile than a metal hinge, breaking through the gates if they were locked into place—for instance with cross beams—would take explosives.

Even as they stared at the hinge, feet shuffled on the other side of the gates, then a chorus of grunts was followed by a huge thump. The gates rattled, then settled.

“That’s done, then,” one of the guards said. Hands slapped solid wood.

Phillipe glanced up at the gates, then looked at Caleb and mouthed, “Two beams.”

Caleb nodded. Breaking into the compound at night was not going to be easy—not unless he and his men prepared the way. Luckily, they had time.

They’d discovered what they’d come to learn; ready to return to the jungle, he swiveled.

“Wish Dubois wasn’t such a fiend for having it all his own way.”

Caleb shared a glance with Phillipe, then both of them eased back against the wall. Caleb put his ear to one side of the hinge, while Phillipe rested his head against the palings of the gate.

On the other side of the gatepost, two guards were, apparently, still on duty. Now the gate was closed, they’d elected to slouch together and chat as they idly watched the compound.

“
Huh.
I’ve worked with the devil long enough to know there’s no getting around that. It’s his way or you’re out.” The second guard sounded older, more experienced.

“I can’t see his point. Why’s he so finicky? It’s not as if the women, nor even the girls, are working at night. No reason they couldn’t entertain us then.”

“Don’t even think it. The last man who did...no doubt the leopards have picked his bones clean by now.”

“But...why? I can’t see the sense in it.”

“Then watch and learn. Those women and children—they’re not just here for the work they do. They’re here to make all our lives easier. They’re here to keep the men in line.” After a pause, the older mercenary went on, “If we take and use even one of them, that hold Dubois has—the promise that all the women and children will remain untouched as long as the men behave—that’ll be gone. And then they’ll all riot, and if it’s you who’s done it, then if the men in the mine don’t slit your throat for you, Dubois will—after he flays you alive. I’ve only seen him lose his temper once—and I never want to see that again.”

The mercenary paused, then went on, “Trust me. Meddling with Dubois and his ways isn’t worth it. I’ve worked with him on more’n ten jobs, and every one’s been a piece of cake. Money for the taking. When you’ve been in this business as long as I have, you appreciate the captains who can deliver jobs like this one. Boring as all hell it might be, but it’s as easy as pie and pays damn well.”

A sly note crept into the man’s voice. “And there’s always the fun at the end—when Dubois walks out and lets us do as we please with all the captives he no longer has reason to keep alive.”

“He’ll do that?”

“Oh, yes. Why do you think so many of us have stayed in his company for so long?”

The younger man cackled. “I didn’t know that. Something to look forward to, then.”

Their expressions grim, Caleb and Phillipe exchanged looks, then Caleb tipped his head toward the jungle. Silent as wraiths, they left the wall and, shadows among shadows, slid back into the palms and trees.

They collected their men, but didn’t speak until they were nearly back at their camp.

“In addition to a structural description of the palisade and the gates”—Caleb spoke over his shoulder to Phillipe, who was following him down the narrow track—“I’m going to add a few lines to my report about the need to keep Dubois alive and in charge right up until the moment we attack.”

Phillipe grunted. “Sadly, I’m forced to concur. And we’d better pass the word to all our men that, regardless of any opportunity or temptation that might present itself, we should not kill Dubois.”

“Not until later.” Caleb’s tone signaled that he was already making plans for a confrontation once the need to keep Dubois alive had passed. Once the rescue force had arrived and taken control of the compound.

As he led the way into the clearing and their makeshift camp, he stifled a sigh.

Phillipe sensed his disaffection and shot him a questioning glance.

Caleb grimaced. “I would so much rather be free to simply remove Dubois and go in with swords swinging. What with having to juggle so many lives, all in the same balance, and trying to help and improve things without making anything worse, this mission is”—he blew out a breath—“a hell of a lot more complicated than I’d expected.”

* * *

When Katherine walked into the jungle alongside Diccon the next morning, she was, once again, prey to conflicting emotions. The anxiety she’d felt as she’d set off toward the gates with Diccon skipping by her side—the fear that something would somehow alert Dubois or his mercenaries to the reports she carried folded and stuffed into a hurriedly sewn pocket in her gown—evaporated as the cool shadows of the jungle enveloped her.

Eagerness took hold.

She wanted to find Frobisher and his friends and hand the documents over; the need to have them depart and take the information back to London so that an effective rescue force could be dispatched burned fiercely inside her.

And yet...

Contrarily, she felt she would be losing a chance—letting something she couldn’t even name slip through her fingers—when she, however metaphorically, waved Frobisher and his men goodbye.

Stupid, really. She’d met him only two days before. Had spent only half an hour in his company.

But he’d given her hope. He’d made her feel that rescue could and would happen, and that there was a life waiting for her, for them all, once they left the compound.

That belief in a future was precious, even if she didn’t know what her future might hold. Just the conviction that she would live to see it—to make mistakes and also triumph as she made her way on through life—was a gift of incalculable worth.

A godsend, really, for all the adults, given that, despite their wishes, despite their talk, they had all, in their hearts, started to lose all such hope.

She let Diccon lead and simply followed. He stopped here and there to gather fruits and berries. When she saw a nut tree of the right type, she paused to collect whatever unbroken husks she could find. She dropped the nuts into her basket, then straightened.

A rustle had her whirling.

Frobisher stepped from the jungle, the other man—Lascelle—beside him.

Just seeing Frobisher made her smile. “I’ve got the reports.” Hauling her bedazzled gaze from his answering smile, she reached for the slit seam at her side, above her waist and below her breasts, and carefully withdrew the folded reports from their hiding place.

She saw Frobisher’s eyes widen and hurried to explain, “They’ve never searched us before, but we didn’t want to take the chance.”

He grinned. “Ingenious.” He took the sheets she held out.

As he looked down and unfolded them, she stepped closer, to his side. “Dixon said he wrote down everything he could think of that might be relevant about the mine itself. Hillsythe—his is the finer hand—said his report was by way of a situational report and that you’d know what that meant.”