He had discarded his elegant clothing and was once again dressed as Captain Saber. He had not bothered to shave for two days and his face was shadowed with the beginnings of a beard.
No one stopped him as he walked to Lafitte’s mansion, but again there was a disturbing feeling of surveillance that told far better than words that the pirates themselves were uneasy about this latest clash with the governor’s men. Gambling and whoring still went on, judging from the squeals and laughter coming from the brothels he passed, and the bay was filled with as many ships as ever, but there was undeniably an atmosphere of waiting—that and hostility.
There were changes at the calaboose; a contingent of armed guards patrolled the area, and Christopher had no doubt that Stout’s men were held prisoner there. Armed men, Dominque You among them, also slowed his progress to Lafitte’s house, but again no one halted him, many no doubt recognizing him as Captain Saber.
Jean greeted him affably, but there was an unfamiliar air of alert watchfulness. Knowing he would gain little by making polite conversation, Christopher asked wryly, “I suppose you know why I am here?”
Lafitte gave a careless shrug. “But of course, mon ami. I can think of only one reason why you have returned at this moment, unless you have come to inquire about the spy from La Belle Garce?”
Christopher shook his head.
“Ah, I thought not. You have come to seek the release of the governor’s men, have you not?”
Risking a smile, Christopher inquired, “Is there anything you don’t know?”
His eyes hard, Lafitte said softly, “There are many things I do not know. What I don’t know about you, mon ami, is how deeply you sit in Claiborne’s pocket.”
The smile wiped from his face, Christopher blazed angrily, “Oh, for God’s sake, you do not believe that I would change my coat so readily!”
Again Lafitte shrugged. “Who knows? It has happened before.”
Christopher eyed him assessingly, for once uncertain in his dealings with the man. Lafitte met his stare, the black eyes revealing little. Finally, Christopher said quietly, “If that is your attitude, I have nothing to say.” He waited a second, and as Lafitte made no response, he rose and asked, “Am I free to leave?”
Rather pensively, Lafitte regarded him, and then with a half-embarrassed, half-angry expression on his face, he muttered, “Sit down! Do not be in such a hurry, mon ami.”
Wary now himself, Christopher sank back down in his chair, but curiosity compelled him to inquire, “Do you really believe Claiborne has bought me?”
A snort greeted his words and Lafitte growled gently, “If I did, mon ami, you would not be sitting where you are now—you would not have set foot on Grand Terre.”
Knowing it was unwise, but unable to help himself, his gold eyes gleaming with mockery, Christopher taunted, “You think you could stop me?”
Lafitte looked undecided whether to be angry or amused, but amusement won, and he let out a bark of harsh laughter. “One thing that I have always admired about you, Saber, is your arrogance. And no, I’m not at all certain I could stop you. Maybe yes, maybe no—who knows? But the question does not arise. You are here and I bear you no animosity.”
Relaxing slightly, Christopher ventured, “Will you listen to what I have to say?”
“Bah! I know what you have come here for. You are here to beg the release of the governor’s men.”
“All right, so what if I am?” Christopher returned levelly. “Someone has to negotiate for their return—why not me?”
“Ah, very well then, we talk, but I tell you, Saber, I am very, very displeased with your so pious and sanctimonious Claiborne.”
“Jean, you broke the law—you are still breaking the law—and you cannot blame the governor for trying to put a stop to your activities.”
Enraged, his black eyes flashing, Lafitte leaped to his feet. “How can you say so? What law do I break? A law passed by your too-fat American businessmen so that they can monopolize the trade? I give you this for your law!” Lafitte boasted, snapping his fingers in the air. “Me, I sell better and cheaper goods to the citizens of New Orleans, and for that I am outlawed! Tell me why the Americans should be favored and why I should pay an importation tax on my goods?”
Grimly Christopher said, “I’m not here to debate with you—I am here to convince you to release the governors men to me.”
Sulkily, Lafitte muttered, “Why should I? They make good hostages.”
“You are a fool if you believe that!” Christopher snapped, his gold eyes blazing with exasperation. “Listen, Jean, this time you have gone too far! You have killed three men in the Revenue Service! Do you think Claiborne is going to sit still for that? He’s bound to go to the legislature for troops and money to wipe you out. If you release the men, it will soothe some tempers and appear that you are not just some ordinary pirate—murdering and holding for ransom anyone who crosses you.”
Lafitte’s eyes were sly as he murmured, “I do not think Claiborne will get far with his requests. Gold, mon ami, in the right pockets has a way of making certain men in the legislature deaf to the governor’s pleas.”
His temper rising, Christopher snarled, “Very well, bribe your way out of it—this time! But I warn you, your day is past, Jean. Law and the enforcement of it is growing and you cannot flout it forever. You are a damned jackass for not realizing that public sentiment is growing against you!”
“Bah! What do you know of public sentiment—still they flock to my sales. This latest at the Temple, despite Stout’s stupid move, was a tremendous success. Every other day I still ship out contraband by way of Donaldsonville and still I find eager buyers—buyers who do not want to pay the price of your so honest businessmen!
Let your smug merchants compete openly with me, and we shall see who benefits the buyers best.”
His jaw set, Christopher rose to his feet. “We will have to agree to disagree. But for the devil’s own sake, Jean, release those men to me!”
Lafitte watched him over his steepled fingers. Christopher could see him weighing the advantages of keeping the hostages over the disadvantages. A long silence drew out and then Lafitte said, “Very well, I shall do it, but only to prove that I am an honest man who was protecting his goods and his men.”
Christopher was not going to argue with him. All he wanted now were the prisoners and pirogues to transport them back to New Orleans. Coldly he asked, “We can leave today?”
Lafitte shrugged. “If you wish. I can lend you three small boats. A few prisoners are unharmed except for bruises and such, and they will be able to man the boats. I can also, as a sign of my good intent, give you enough food for the journey. My own men will escort you to within a few miles of the city—you have no objections to this?”
He did but there was nothing he could do about it. He only hoped Lafitte’s men wouldn’t cut their throats in the swamps. Hiding his reservations, he said indifferently, “None!”
They regarded each other across the few feet that separated them. After so many years of friendship they were on opposite sides for the first time. It was Lafitte who said quietly, “It is a pity, is it not, that we are so far from our rapport of only a few months ago. I trust you, my friend, do not betray me.”
Christopher didn’t answer him. He knew and Lafitte knew that while they might be on opposing sides in the months to come, the past had forged a bond that would be impossible to break.
“What of Allen Ballard?” Lafitte asked suddenly, breaking their uneasy silence.
Christopher shrugged. “I still want you to hold him prisoner, if you will?”
Lafitte nodded slowly. “Of course, we are still friends enough to grant each other favors, are we not?”
Ignoring that comment, Christopher continued, “You can unchain him, but make certain he does not escape. I am sailing for England within the week, and whether or not I return by September, I would like for you to release him then.”
Surprise lifted one black
brow and Lafitte repeated, “Release him? A spy?”
His face expressionless, Christopher said, “Yes. I made a promise to do so. We have little to fear from him then. The information he possesses will be several months old and useless.”
“You have changed indeed, my friend. There was a day you would have ordered his neck broken without compunction.”
“Perhaps. It may only be that it pleases my vanity to be magnanimous and free him.”
Lafitte gave an expressive wave of his hands. “Very well, it shall be as you wish.”
There was little else to keep Christopher on Grand Terre, so he rose from his chair and said, “I’d like to leave as soon as possible, if you don’t mind; let’s get on with it.”
They exchanged no further conversation, and some two hours later Christopher, the prisoners, and their escorts were on their way back to New Orleans.
It was not a difficult journey, although it was unpleasant. At night he found it impossible to sleep, for he didn’t quite trust the crude-mannered men Lafitte had sent to escort them. And the prisoners themselves worried him—three or four were dangerously wounded, the others were weak, and he hoped none would die before they reached the city.
None did and he couldn’t help the sigh of relief that escaped him when their unwelcome escort left them a few miles south of the city. The final miles were covered in complete quiet, and in the gloom of the rapidly falling dusk Christopher picked out the small pier and warehouse in the wharf area near Tchoupitoulas Street which he and Jason had chosen for their rendezvous.
Silently the three pirogues glided up to the pilings, and as Christopher gained the pier in one supple leap, he noticed a small group of men that had been standing near the rundown warehouse start forward. He recognized Jason in the lead and with surprise Daniel Patterson, his naval uniform looking out of place in the squalid part of the city. He hadn’t been certain how the exchange would take place, and the fact that Jason was here, now, filled him with faint misgivings, and his first thought was of Nick—something had happened! But at his questioning glance Jason shook his head slightly and murmured, “No, she hasn’t ruined me; I merely thought it expedient if I were here. Patterson isn’t well pleased with the way I took matters into my own hands. And how he found out about our little scheme, I’d give a great deal to know. It would seem that the Navy’s spies are not as useless as I thought.
“And I do have news for you—you sail day after tomorrow, on Thursday. But enough of that, I’ll explain later, and tell me, how goes it?”
By now Patterson’s men were swarming over the three pirogues and helping the ragged prisoners onto the pier. Some were able to do it on their own, but others, unable to walk, were quickly placed on stretchers and carried away.
With his eyes on the scene as the men were swiftly escorted from the area, Christopher answered indifferently, “It went as well as I could expect. Jean returns them as a sign of good faith, protesting that he was only trying, as would any good citizen, to protect his merchandise.”
Jason gave an exasperated grunt. “It’s not that simple, and Lafitte damn well knows it!”
Christopher merely shrugged, but before he could comment, Patterson, his face set, came marching over to where they stood.
Commodore Daniel T. Patterson was an earnest young man. It was obvious from his stiff greeting that he disapproved not only of Jason’s interference, but also of Christopher Saxon.
“I would like to have a few words with you, if I may?”
The request was more like an order, and Christopher was just a little bored by the entire incident. An eyebrow flying up as if in rebuke to the other’s surliness, he drawled, “Now?”
“Now!” snapped Patterson.
Christopher, casting a gold, unblinking glance at Jason, wondered exactly what that gentleman had let him in for. But Jason’s face was unreadable in the falling darkness, and Christopher was left with the growing conviction that Jason was as eager for the questioning as was Patterson.
His resignation apparent, Christopher sighed, “Very well, let’s get it over with. I haven’t slept for many hours in the past two days and my temper is not at its best, but if you insist…”
They entered the building and a wave of damp and mustiness mingled with the faint odor of long-ago stored spices drifted to Christopher. The wooden building was empty, and the sound of their footsteps echoed hollowly as they crossed the building. Patterson ushered them into what must have been the office when the warehouse had been in use. The room was bleak—the only pieces of furniture two rickety chairs long overdue for the rubbish heap and a scarred, ugly desk of pine. The dim light came from a small lantern on the desk, and Christopher suddenly wondered if he hadn’t been the biggest fool in nature. He declined to take one of the chairs offered and leaned instead against the wall, his arms folded with apparent carelessness across his chest, his eyes watchful and narrowed, as Patterson shut the door behind them.
Jason, with a familiarness that bespoke of having been here quite a few times before, gingerly opened one of the drawers of the desk and extracted three grubby glasses and a bottle of cheap whiskey.
A sardonic grin on his face, Jason said, “You’ll forgive the quality of the liquor, I hope. Most of the inhabitants of this area responded more readily to this type of rotgut than to a smoother, more refined blend. Drink?”
Patterson gave a negative shake of his head, not liking Jason’s attempt to put the affair on a more social footing. But Christopher, discarding the instant speculation that the whiskey could be drugged and more to annoy Patterson than because he wanted it, nodded and watched as Jason poured him a generous shot and then the same for himself.
After having waited until Jason had begun to sip the whiskey before tasting it himself, Christopher eyed the two men in front of him. How much had Patterson found out and how much had Jason told him, he wondered. Enough obviously for the man to feel hostile, for it was painfully clear to see that the commodore considered him just one step away from the notorious Lafitte. The questions, when they came though, were not unanticipated and rather what he had expected. How large a force did the Lafitte brothers have? How much ammunition? What fortifications? What routes did Lafitte use to smuggle his goods into the city? How many ships were moored at Grand Terre?
The questioning went on, seemingly for hours, and to all inquiries Christopher merely looked bland and murmured maddeningly, “I don’t know! I didn’t count them and I’m really not interested enough to think about it to any great extent. You’re wasting my time and yours!”
Jason appeared interested in nothing but the contents of his glass, staring at it as if it held the answers Patterson sought. As the time passed and Christopher proved no more cooperative than he had in the beginning, Patterson’s temper exploded. “Damnit! Answer me or I’ll have you arrested—then we’ll see how not interested you are!”
“I’ve taken enough of you, Patterson,” Christopher snarled softly. “Arrest me if you dare! If you are stupid enough to do so, I can promise you that within forty-eight hours you will be meeting me at twenty paces on the Metairie Road at Les Trois Capelines!”
Patterson’s face paled. Whether from anger or Christopher’s sheer effrontery was debatable, but before Patterson could speak, Jason intervened.
“Daniel,” Jason said quietly, “there are no charges to bring against him—and he did negotiate the release of those men.”
Stiffly Patterson said, “I haven’t forgotten, nor have I forgotten that Mr. Saxon has had intimate dealings with that outlaw! That he could, if he wished, enable us to put an end to the Lafitte brothers’ infamous operations!”
Sighing, Jason said, “I agree, but I also warned you that Mr. Saxon is a very stubborn man.”
He looked again in Christopher’s direction, and Christopher, prompted by some imp of devilry, gave an impudent wink and murmured, “True, unfortunate from your point of view, but you must admit…I did warn you.”
Jason’s mouth t
ightened a little. “Someday, I suspect you will hang—as much from a lawless streak as an unruly and overready tongue!”
Christopher merely grinned at him, displaying his even white teeth. Pushing away from the wall and placing his empty glass on the desk, he asked carelessly, “May I leave now?”
“No!” Jason said grimly. “Patterson is through with you, but I am not! And I wonder at my own wisdom in using such a tool as yourself!”
Patterson snorted, his opinion of Saxon’s usefulness obvious, but he said nothing more and departed abruptly after bidding Jason a curt good evening and rudely ignoring Christopher.
When he was left alone with Jason, the impudence died out of Christopher’s eyes, leaving them cold and forbidding. Deliberately he said, “I didn’t appreciate that. Neither the questioning, nor Patterson’s being brought into it.”
Obliquely, Jason regarded him. “I have made no secret of my feelings about Jean Lafitte and you cannot hold it against me if I continue to pry as much information out of you as is possible.” Wryly he added, “I didn’t. Jean and I could have connived together. He could you—except that you are a man of your word.”
Belatedly it occurred to Christopher that this entire episode had been a test—Jason testing him to see if he could negotiate the freedom of Stout’s ill-fated force and again testing his loyalty. Almost absently he said, “It could all have been a sham, you know.”
At Jason’s sharp glance, Christopher added dryly, “Jean and I could have connived together. He could have released the men to me merely for the look of it, by all appearances assisting me deeper into your confidence.”
Bleakly, Jason stared at him. “Do you think I haven’t thought of that? I’ll confess I can’t quite make up my mind about you. I’ll sleep easier once you’re on your way to England, for I don’t quite trust you, friend Saxon, where Lafitte is concerned.”
Lady Vixen (The Reckless Brides, Book 3) Page 13
