by Alyssa Cole
“Hey, Cumberland!”
Janeta and Daniel both swung their gaze toward the tall, slim, dark-skinned man approaching them.
“A friend of yours?” she asked lightly, trying to dispel the intensity of his gaze that lingered in her mind, and the sickness in her heart about her own path.
“No, that’s Lake, one of Furney Bryant’s men. Before you ask, Bryant is someone who has a lot of ears on the ground. Those ears collect information and pass it on to our detectives and those of other networks. Lake sent word that he had some visitors I might be interested in.”
Janeta held that bit of info dear. It was something solid she could pass on, even if doing so would feel like another kind of betrayal. She was confused, but she could not let her purpose be lost in that confusion. Helping to destroy the Loyal League was her mission, and her burden, and it would be done. She would not betray her father a second time for the regard of a man.
She was a Sanchez.
CHAPTER 7
Daniel followed Lake to the tent, forcing himself to not look at the people around him. He certainly had no aversion to the sight of his people: they were the most beautiful in the world in his mind. But, sometimes, looking upon the decrepit conditions America had forced on them awoke in him a fury that could barely be contained. In that particular moment, he took some comfort in moving among them—the only ones who could understand what he had gone through, if not his personal torment.
Negroes of every shade, from as light as Lincoln to dark as Daniel’s own father, bustled about the makeshift camp. Tents had been raised, and laundry had been washed and hung on makeshift lines. Food cooked on fires. It was as normal as could be possible for a people displaced in a land that cared nothing for their welfare when it didn’t line the pockets of the rich.
Some of these people had made daring escapes, sneaking from plantations under cover of night and guided only by the North Star and the inscrutable hope that it sparked in them. Others had been working the fields when Union forces arrived in their towns; they had dropped their plows, gathered what they could, and followed the Blue-clad soldiers toward the unknown. Daniel’s throat went raw just thinking of it. What trust. What bravery. To leave everything they’d known to seek out a better life than had been given to them; to take those first steps into an abyss of change.
He watched a couple laugh out loud, the man throwing his head back, and he felt the laughter like a brand, marking Daniel as forever broken. He wondered what it was like to live through the deprivations these people had experienced and still be able to laugh with your whole body, including your soul. He wondered why they were capable and he still wasn’t, and might never be. He didn’t begrudge them their resilience; he berated himself for not possessing it.
Pathetic. Weak. Why were you given freedom when so many better people still toil in chains?
His breathing shallowed and he curled his left hand into a fist, digging his unkempt nails into his palm to summon a pain that would distract him from his own traitorous mind—a pain that he had some control over.
The sharp pressure drew his attention, but it took all of his focus not to slide into the sudden panic that tried to overtake him. Daniel was so tired.
He wished everything would stop. The talking, the laughter, the pounding in his chest, and the low, ugly voice in his head. While there were many possible paths to peace for the Union, and for the people around him, there was only one for him. He would not hold hands with a wife in front of a fire or watch his children grow. Daniel was not long for this world, that he was sure of. Whenever his time arrived, whether by chance or appointment, he hoped he could say that he’d done his utmost to better the world for those who lived on after him.
“In here, Cumberland,” Lake said. He pushed aside the tent flap and ushered Daniel and Janeta inside the large space. Daniel froze when he spotted the two large white men sitting at the table in the center of the tent. His first instinct was to size them up, form a plan of attack and defense. There were a few rifles atop a trunk on the other side of the men. He could flip their table back and—
“These are allies of ours,” Lake said quickly, and Daniel nodded, lowering their threat level in his mind. He didn’t lower his guard, though. Just because they were allies didn’t mean they weren’t dangerous.
He took in the cut of their jackets and shirts, which were different than the typical American man would wear. Hell, even the style of their hair wasn’t quite what he was used to.
Both men stood. “Zdravstvuyte,” one of the men said, and the other man followed suit, and Daniel understood that these were Russians. Bryant’s message had said they’d happened upon Russian intel, but Daniel hadn’t known that they’d made contact with actual agents.
“Cumberland and Sanchez, meet Sokolov and Vasiliev. They are delegates touring the States.”
The way Lake said touring, with just a bit of emphasis, grabbed Daniel’s attention.
“You’ve chosen a dangerous time to visit,” Daniel said, drawing a chuckle from one of the men.
“Yes, we wanted to see for ourselves what was happening. We are to report back to our compatriots who are curious about this country built on the premise of freedom but so invested in slavery.”
“It’s a pleasure tour, then? Gawk at the remains of American democracy, then run home and tell your friends?” Daniel couldn’t soften the bite in his tone. He didn’t like these men, and he was sure the Polish would find their supposed support of freedom amusing.
“Is this your first time visiting the country?” Janeta asked, voice sweet as honey. “It can be quite overwhelming, understanding these Americans.”
The men laughed, relaxing a bit, and Daniel glanced at her. Her expression was bright and open, her smile attractive. She rolled the r in Americans hard, making clear that she, too, was in foreign territory. She’d honed right in on the best way to put the men at ease. Just as she had with the other detectives. She’d had two staunch protectors leveling not quite joking threats at him before they’d left her with him.
She would have made a fine lawyer. Instead, they were in a cold tent dealing with possibly hostile strangers, all for a country that laughed at the idea of either of them making arguments in a courtroom.
Vasiliev settled more firmly in his seat to look up at her, interest glinting in his eyes. “And where are you from, lovely Miss Sanchez?”
“Cuba,” she said proudly. Her mouth wrapped around that u in a distinct way, and Vasiliev seemed to appreciate it judging by how his gaze lingered on her lips. She licked them, just the quickest dart of pink tongue, and Daniel looked away before she continued speaking. “My family came to the US years ago, but it’s still a land of discovery for me. And what about you?”
“Oh, we came on a ship to see the sights last month and accidentally caused some trouble,” Sokolov said.
“Yes,” Vasiliev said. “When our ship lingered off of New York Harbor, many saw it as a threat to the British and the French, who are always sticking their long noses into situations that don’t concern them. Much like rats.”
Sokolov shrugged. “Russia, of course, has declared no such support, but if that is how people wish to interpret it, then I suppose there is not much we can do.”
Both men smiled slyly. Janeta smiled as well, following their lead, but Daniel found nothing amusing about the situation. Russia’s not so subtle show of interest had been a boon to the North, to be certain, but it was galling enough having the future of his country dependent on politicians above and below the Mason–Dixon. Seeing agents of foreign powers treat this as a game wasn’t funny at all.
“And if people made suppositions like that, they may have wished to share information with you?” Daniel asked, getting to the point. Either they could be useful to him or they were wasting his time, and he had enough to deal with watching over Janeta.
“They may have,” Vasiliev said with an enigmatic grin. The two men turned toward each other and began speaking in Russian, n
ot bothering to lower their voices.
Anger flared in Daniel and he opened his mouth to speak, but Janeta crossed in front of him, hands clasped together.
“Would you be willing to share such information?” she asked sweetly, interrupting them and preventing Daniel from undertaking his own method of questioning. “I am so interested in how the European powers have positioned themselves, like cats watching two mice fight and deciding whether to pounce.”
“And sometimes the cat does not know, but it is watched by a bear,” Vasiliev said, taking a sip from his canteen.
“Bears have good sight,” Sokolov said. “They are very patient, too.”
Daniel rolled his eyes. This nonsense bantering was why he preferred the rough task of tracking the Sons of the Confederacy. Daniel had gotten to skulk in the darkness while hunting them, and there hadn’t been a need for pleasantries with men who thought him subhuman. He’d often been able to dispense with words and speak with his fists. Punching Rebels wasn’t exactly Loyal League protocol, but someone had to show these men what fear felt like, and Daniel would volunteer for that position every time.
“Are you willing to share what you’ve seen or heard?” He tried to sound undemanding as he brought them back to the task at hand. “I started following this lead because a member of a Rebel spy group was found with correspondence with a British agent on his person.”
Interest sparked in the Russians’ eyes. “Was he questioned?” Sokolov asked.
“Dead men don’t answer questions,” Daniel said bluntly. Janeta glanced at him. Was that fear in her eyes? No matter. He’d told her who he was and what he was capable of. She of all people should hold no illusions about him, given their mission and proximity for the foreseeable future. “But they do sometimes leave valuable information behind. The message discussed a movement to press the Southern cause with European diplomats on the ground in the States, while their compatriots exerted pressure abroad.”
Sokolov nodded. “That matches with rumors we have heard. We are willing to share what we know. In fact, we specifically sought out the Negro detectives to do so.”
Daniel’s expression must have betrayed something because the man held up his hands as if warding off doubt.
“We sought out the Blacks for two reasons. Because every operative knows that if you want good information in this war, you get it from the Blacks. And if you have sensitive information, you give it to the Blacks, too.”
Vasiliev shifted in his seat. “No other people have more at stake in this war. The Loyal League, Furney Bryant, a slave on the side of the road—they all have an interest in not allowing information to get into the wrong hands, no? If the North loses, all these people will go back into chains.”
The man said it with a bizarre smile, holding out his hands as if they were manacled. Daniel very much wanted to get a feel for Vasiliev’s jaw with the knuckle of his left hand.
“I don’t see what’s so amusing about that,” Daniel said calmly.
“There is nothing amusing,” Sokolov said, dark brows bunching. “We are still recovering from a war that claimed the lives of too many of our people, and our country is not eager to enter another because someone’s big mouth paints us as more involved than we are. We are neutral observers who happen to know a thing or two, and maybe are not so neutral about France or Britain gaining power through any alliances. If you happen to hear anything from us, it is intended for you and you alone.”
There was no mistaking the threat in his tone.
Daniel gave a short nod. “As you said, we have a very strong incentive to prevent any information obtained from getting into the wrong hands.”
He glanced at Janeta, who looked on with a tight expression. Her gaze jumped to his in awareness; then her features relaxed.
“Yes, you can trust us, and we can judge if this information is really as valuable as you seem to think,” she said. He had to admire how she gently pushed the men with her dismissiveness.
The men glanced at each other.
“Well, then,” Sokolov said. “We have heard here and there that there is a British consul in Mississippi with strong ties to the Sons of the Confederacy. I assume you know this group.”
Daniel fought against the shudder that trembled at the base of his neck, ready to rush down his spine. It lay there, an awful sick vibration that he was all too familiar with.
“Sons of the Confederacy,” Janeta said slowly. The confusion in her eyes didn’t seem forced, though any detective should have heard of them.
The Russians glanced at her and Sokolov grimaced. “Very bad men. Be glad if you have not crossed them.”
The two men began to converse in Russian again, ignoring them. Daniel tried to meet Janeta’s eye, but she was patting at her hair, seemingly more interested in her appearance than whatever the men were saying.
He heaved a sigh.
Vasiliev took a swig from his canteen and smacked his lips. “This consul has made it very clear that he has sway with Parliament, since he is part of the aristocracy, a lord or viscount or something of the sort.”
The British were already set against Secretary Seward and thus not very amenable to the North, even though they supposedly fought to end slavery everywhere—after they’d filled their coffers from it, of course. Daniel didn’t like the Rebels having a direct line to Parliament from the States, on top of the disinformation they fed to the British press on English soil and the incidents that had threatened the Union’s standing. The Trent situation, in which two British agents were arrested onboard a Confederate ship, had nearly pushed the North into war with England, and the two countries were still ill at ease. Daniel had thought that the message he’d found was wishful thinking on the behalf of the Sons, but now he wasn’t so sure.
“Before I found that message, I’d heard that Chattanooga and Vicksburg had put an end to rumors of the Europeans intervening,” Daniel said carefully. He knew that to be false, but wondered at what these men had heard. “The idea of a meeting, to take place here in America, shows a boldness I hadn’t expected, even if those rumors were false.”
“Well, one must always wonder what purpose a rumor has. Occasionally, it is diverting attention from the truth.” Vasiliev shrugged. “The South will inevitably lose because they lack munitions and manpower, it is said. But if they were to be provided these things they lack? Well. Perhaps they wouldn’t lose.”
“And,” Sokolov cut in, giving the word weight, “I’m sure you know of President Davis’s tour. He is currently on his way South from Atlanta, if his itinerary is correct.”
Daniel’s stomach clenched.
“Davis has left Richmond? Why?” Janeta asked, clearly surprised. Daniel was, too. The president had been holed up in Richmond for some time, both for his safety and, according to Daniel’s sources, due to chronic ill health.
“Morale in the Confederate States of America is low, my sweet. People have lost their confidence, and not without good reason! If you knew the things we knew.” Vasiliev chuckled and tugged at the collar of his shirt. “All I will say is that he is trying to rally the troops before they mutiny. Or mutiny any more, since Bragg’s men out in Tennessee have already been calling for his replacement.”
“And elections are coming up,” Daniel added, trying to reposition himself in the conversation. Right now, the Russians had the upper hand, but he wanted to at least show them that he knew what was what.
Vasiliev nodded. “When you’ve stocked your cabinet with men ill-fitted for the job apart from their friendship and supposed loyalty, even your staunchest supporter might need some prodding to vote for you again. So, the President of the South is on tour.”
Daniel’s body felt suddenly heavy, but his mind was quick. Davis would be away from his normal retinue of security in Richmond. Elle had been stationed in Richmond—it was where she’d met her husband. Other Loyal League detectives had been there, too. So close to Davis’s home. They’d probably passed him by during their exploits. Daniel
had always wondered why they hadn’t just—
“Ah, these Americans and their politics,” Sokolov said. “The growing pains of youth.”
“Davis is going to meet with this consul?” Daniel’s palms felt clammy. He curled his hands into fists as a memory assailed him.
“You in Davis’s country now, boy. Down here, we don’t coddle our darkies. You gonna work and if you don’t like it, well? You best get used to it, that’s all I’ll say.”
Daniel’s overseer, Finnegan, had been poor and uneducated. But with that whip in his hand, he’d had just as much power over Daniel as any white man in Congress. And even if Finnegan hadn’t known that, he’d felt it. That was why he’d kicked and beaten the Negroes on the plantation without provocation or reason. That was why he’d manufactured offense where there was none and demanded that black men, women, and children bow down to him—and worse. It was why he’d lashed out at Daniel’s attempts to talk to him man-to-man. Because he’d been born no richer than a poor Negro, but with the power he’d been given over the slaves on that plantation, he’d become a god. That people assumed a Rebel nation full of men like Finnegan would give up such power showed the naïveté that had led America to its present predicament.
Vasiliev shifted in his chair. “It might be that Davis and some important men from the Sons of the Confederacy are planning to meet. That would be quite an interesting gathering, yes?”
Daniel’s heart began to beat faster. The inner circle of the Sons of the Confederacy was just as guarded as that of the Loyal League. If he could get this information, it would be a boon to the 4L. If he could get close enough to get such information, that was another matter entirely.
“Where exactly in Mississippi might we find this consul?” Janeta was ever prepared with her questions.
