Devil's Prize

by Samuel Edwards

  Whether Adkins was a success or failure was irrelevant, however; it was necessary to make him know that his stand lacked logic, and Ethan tried again. "Colonel," he said earnestly, "there isn't one chance in a million that another freebooter will try to attack us today. And we're in no danger of any kind from another enemy. We have none. So no harm has been done by granting leave to men who not only deserved it, but who were going to take the day for themselves in any case."

  "I hope you realize that you're admitting your own inability to administer discipline, Wade."

  It was useless to pursue the subject, and Ethan resigned himself to the inevitability of a miserable hour when he returned to the Battery after dinner. At least, he thought, he could terminate the present discussion; the militiamen were drinking in every word. "I stand corrected, sir," he said, swallowing his resentment. "Now, Colonel, let me present my new friend. Master Jacques Gomez of the island of Martinique."

  They bowed to each other, and Colonel Adkins smiled frigidly. "My apologies for making you a party to a necessary unpleasantness. But as you've doubtless gathered, it is my painful task to administer discipline to a perenially insubordinate junior who makes a habit of disobedience and then tries to cover up his errors by stealing credit from others."

  Ethan felt his own temper begin to rise. "Are you accusing me of stealing. Colonel ?"

  "Your conduct might be regarded in that light." Adkins realized that his indirect reply was evasive, and knowing that his charge was groundless he became reckless. "Three militiamen were killed last night. Wade—and you're responsible. You've been obsessed with the idea of obtaining a promotion for yourself, and you deliberately sacrificed those men in the vain hope of getting it!"

  Ethan lost all control, and before either Gomez or Adam Vantie could stop him he took a single step forward and drove his fist into the Colonel's face. Adkins fell to the floor, blood spurting from his nose. To make matters worse the three soldiers in the taproom cheered wildly. Ethan would have hauled his adversary to his feet and struck him again, but Vantie dashed forward, took hold of his impetuous friend and held him in such a vise-like grip that he could not move.

  Colonel Adkins struggled to a sitting position. "By God, Wade, you'll pay for this!" he screamed "Strike a superior officer, will you? I'll court-martial you! And if I do nothing else in my life, I'll drive you out of the army! You're guilty of mutiny!" He pointed a trembling finger at the militiamen. "You, there! Take him off to jail at once! Wade, I place you under arrest!"

  Four

  ETHAN was responsible for his own downfall, to be sure, but it was ironic that he should be lodged in the same jail that housed the criminal scum he had captured. He could hear the singing in their cells as he sat alone in his, pondering his fate. Colonel Adkins had deserved a punch, of course; his jealous rage, his stupid accusations had been absurd. But that was not a valid excuse. On the contrary, an officer who had won himself a commission in the ranks of the King's regulars knew better than to strike a superior, regardless of the provocation, and the fact that the attack had occurred in the presence of enlisted militiamen compounded the felony. Ethan realized that he had disgraced himself, and he thought it likely that he would be dismissed from the service. The army, which was governed by strict regulations, would have no alternative but to discharge him.

  He let his supper of cold fish, cheese and bread go un-tasted on a small table beside his cot. It grew dark, but Ethan was unaware of the night that blanketed the barred window of his cell and did not light the candle that had been given to him. His concentration was so intense that he did not stir when the door was unlocked, and he looked up only when he heard an embarrassed cough.

  "Forgive my intrusion. Captain." Warden Johnson, bewildered by the day's events, entered and Ht the candle from a shielded taper which he carried in his hand. "It's very irregular, sir. I have good news for you, but it's very irregular. Oh, you didn't eat your supper. Too bad, I sent it in to you from my own table."

  "Thank you for your kindness," Ethan replied. "What is your good news, Johnson?"

  "I have been ordered to release you into the custody of this gentleman."

  Suspecting a joke in bad taste, Ethan looked up sharply, then knew it was no jest. Standing in the door, his face and body rigid with disapproval, was the principal clerk of the company of Courtney and Wade, Jedediah Moulton, a frail little man with a long face, mournful eyes and thinning hair. Moulton had made the company his life, and Ethan had heard Uncle Robert sing his praises so often that he was thoroughly familiar with the clerk's virtues. He was industrious and frugal, hardworking and cautious, and he never made a mistake. He was also sanctimonious, self-righteous and boring, so Ethan had always taken pains to avoid him. "Well, Jed, what brings you here?" "I find your humor offensive, Ethan." Moulton sniffed, and although the night was warm he drew his dark gray cloak more closely over his suit of black broadcloth, as though afraid of contamination. "And as we have very little time, please be good enough to come with me at once."

  "The alternative of your company is a slight improvement over Master Johnson's hospitality, so I accept." Ethan was surprised to discover that he could still laugh. "Am I being set free? What's the meaning of—" "All in due course," Jed interrupted severely. "Very well." Ethan's mind was spinning over the unexpected development, but he tried to control his impatience. He managed a slight smile as he turned to the Warden. "Goodbye, Johnson. I hope we won't meet again, in a professional capacity, that is."

  They shook hands, then Ethan followed the disapproving clerk down the corridor and into the night. A small closed carriage was standing in Wall Street, and Moulton displayed considerable agitation until Ethan was safely inside. The coachman, also an employee of Courtney and Wade, started off at once, and as the vehicle bumped and jogged down the cobbled street, Ethan tried to calm himself, making a supreme effort to halt his runaway thoughts.

  His release had been as abrupt as his incarceration, and so many questions filled his mind that he scarcely knew where to begin.

  "Well, Jed?" he demanded.

  "Master Wade will no doubt give you an explanation," the clerk said in a thin voice, staring straight ahead.

  It was obvious that Jed would give him no information, so Ethan sat back on the hard seat and relaxed. When the carriage halted at an intersection for a few moments to let an ox-cart pass, he glanced idly out of the little window over the half-door and absently touched the latch. In almost the same instant Moulton's thin white fingers closed over his wrist.

  "No, Ethan! You must not leave. You're obliged to come with me!"

  The idea of bolting had not crossed Ethan's mind and he laughed. The clerk might be a simpleton, but Ethan felt at least a measure of sympathy for him. Moulton, he knew, worked hard for his wages, and had to spend almost every penny he earned to support an invalid sister. There was obviously some good in the man, and Ethan tried not to judge him too harshly. "All right, Jed. Til do nothing that will lose you your job. I'm remembering—very distinctly—that Warden Johnson said that I was being released into your custody."

  "Exactly so." The clerk removed his hand but remained tense. "You're still a prisoner."

  The remainder of the short ride was passed in silence, and the carriage pulled into the grounds of the Wade house, halting on the road that led to the stables. "You're to go in through the servants' entrance so you won't be seen from the street," Jed declared.

  Ethan, mystified by the extraordinary secrecy, did not reply as he climbed to the ground. When he approached the house the rear door opened, and he saw his uncle waiting for him. Robert Wade beckoned urgently, and without a word led the way to the drawing room, where the blinds were closed and drapes were pulled carefully over the windows. There, folding his hands over his paunch, he confronted his nephew.

  "The name of Wade has been respected in this community since the day our ancestor arrived here with the Duke of York's expedition and helped to make this an English settlement," he began.r />
  "Spare me your sermon, Uncle Robert," Ethan said curtly. "Nobody knows better than I that I've been a fool, and I don't enjoy having salt poured into my wounds."

  Wade lifted his eyebrows and nodded—Ethan's contrition was surprising and made his task easier. And so, as a practical man of affairs, he wasted no more time. "It may shock you to hear that Colonel Adkins charges you with being drunk at Vantie's today."

  "He lies!" Ethan cried.

  "So I've been told, nephew, and so I believe. But—no matter how preposterous the claim may be—he makes it in his formal list of charges against you. And it's very important. I've spent several hours with the governor, and Sir Henry is deeply distressed. You may recall that you drank a glass of wine with him this morning, so he is personally implicated in this whole unfortunate matter. Between us, I think his clemency is dictated as much by his own involvement as by the clamor from the people of the town for your release. You have vast numbers of friends here," he added almost irrelevantly, his tone indicating that the fact surprised him.

  "The Governor is granting me clemency, then?"

  "In a manner of speaking. The witnesses at Vantie's all tell the same story, and their testimony in your favor is so overwhelming that His Excellency is in hopes that he can persuade Colonel Adkins to withdraw his demand for a court-martial."

  "Wonderful!" For the first time in many hours Ethan's spirits started to rise.

  "Not so fast, lad," his uncle declared, frowning. "Certain facts remain, whether you like them or not. You did strike your superior. That can't be overlooked, although the circumstances are somewhat unusual. Frankly, the Governor doesn't look forward to coupling his report to the Lord Chancellor on your capture of the buccaneer frigate with word that you've been dismissed from the service. A man needs to think of his own career. And so he's released you to Talbot and me—on certain conditions."

  "Oh?" Ethan didn't like the expression in his uncle's eyes.

  "Try to understand Sir Henry's position, Ethan. You've embarrassed him to the point where you've jeopardized his career. He was looking forward to being recalled to London as one of the King's ministers, but now he's been made to look like a fool. As you know, he sent a preliminary report to the Lord Chancellor on a merchantman that sailed this morning, describing the events of last night. And he was unstinting in his praise of you, unstinting. Now he has received a formal charge that you were drunk. And who supplied you with the spirits? He did, himself! It's most unfortunate. That's why he prefers to deal with your case as he did with that of Lieutenant Bauman last year."

  "Bauman?" Ethan asked, his heart sinking.

  "Of course. You must remember the incident. He was drunk on duty after performing a series of heroic deeds, and Sir Henry quietly forced him to resign his commission. It was a better solution than giving the army a bad name with the people, or causing difficulties for Sir Henry in London. When the governor is in trouble, the colony suffers. Don't forget that!"

  "Be good enough to come to the point. Uncle Robert," Ethan said in a cold voice.

  "First, you will tender your resignation from the army." Wade smiled and made no effort to hide his satisfaction. The circumstances were not of his choice, but that which he had so long sought was at last coming to pass. "I have the necessary papers here. All they require is your signature."

  "What are the other conditions?" Ethan pretended not to see the documents that were being held out to him.

  "You'll have to leave New York for a time, until this scandal is forgotten. Until you're forgotten."

  "I suppose that includes Prudence? She's to have time to forget me, too?" Ethan felt suddenly bitter.

  "You're to leave quietly, and with no fuss."

  "Well." Ethan hooked his thumbs in his belt and stood with his feet wide apart. "You sound as though everything is all arranged."

  "I told you that you have friends, lad. And so you do." Wade walked to the door of his study, which adjoined the drawing room, and opened it. "Will you come in, sir ?"

  To Ethan's amazement Jacques Gomez entered and bowed to him. "It would seem, Captain," he said, "that I have been given a chance to show you my gratitude sooner than I had anticipated."

  Ethan was too dumfounded to speak, and his uncle intervened smoothly. "Master Gomez is doing more than showing you his appreciation," he said. "He's giving you a magnificent opportunity to rehabilitate yourself. Out of your thoughtless indiscretion you can emerge as a person of substance!"

  The West Indian's shrug was deprecating. "I do what I can, and I am pleased that I am able to offer my assistance in a time of need. Captain, my patron in St Pierre, Marinus Boline—"

  "I've heard of him, sir."

  "—is the owner of vast, highly profitable sugar cane plantations. As he is engaged in many enterprises, he does not like to burden himself too much with land, but when people who owe him money can't pay, he often finds himself saddled with their property. He is therefore willing to sell a plantation occasionally, provided he is very certain that the purchaser will maintain Boline's set of prices for cane and molasses and will work as his ally, not his competitor."

  "And I," Robert Wade interrupted eagerly, "have long wanted to own my own plantation and produce my own sugar. What's more, Talbot and I can give Boline every assurance that we'll not compete with him. We want molasses for our own distilleries, not for sale elsewhere."

  Ethan looked from one to the other. "You and Master Gomez are well met. Uncle," he said. "But what has all this to do with me?"

  "Marinus Boline won't sell a plantation to just anyone, sight unseen," Gomez explained. "So, as your continued presence in New York is undesirable at present, it seemed to me that a perfect opportunity presents itself. You will go to Martinique!"

  "And you'll conclude a deal with Boline for Talbot and me!" Robert added. "Bring this off successfully, and you'll have no need to worry about your future. Once we have our own molasses, Courtney and Wade will become the largest company in the New World."

  It sounded almost too simple, Ethan thought; although he was no man of business, he could not see the necessity for dispatching an emissary to St. Pierre. "I appreciate what you're trying to do for me," he said slowly, "but couldn't your negotiations be handled just as well by letter?"

  "No, Captain, they could not," Gomez declared emphatically. "Marinus Boline is no ordinary person, and he hasn't built his empire—his commercial empire—by using ordinary methods. He conducts all of his business and concludes all of his transactions only through personal interviews—never by letter. He trusts his own judgment, nothing else, and he insists on face-to-face interviews. That is why you must go to him if your uncle and his partner are to purchase a plantation from him. I have already written a letter of introduction for you." He reached into a pocket and withdrew a bulky packet. "I have told Master Boline of the circumstances of your visit, and you may rest assured that I have spared no details of all you have done for me. So I feel positive he will regard your mission favorably. Under other conditions it would be open to question."

  "You'll do this for Talbot and me, Ethan." It was more a question than a statement, and Robert held his breath.

  "I'd be pretty stupid to refuse, wouldn't I ? It's not what I would do of my own volition, but I don't seem to have much choice."

  His uncle exhaled noisily. "Excellent, excellent! A merchantman, the Saru, sails with a large cargo on the morning tide for Jamaica and Martinique. I've already made arrangements for your passage. A box of clothes has been sent to the ship, and you're to board her tonight

  The funds for the purchase of a plantation, two thousand pounds, will be delivered to you tomorrow morning."

  "You felt mighty sure of my answer." Ethan grinned wryly and hoped he'd never become as suspicious of others as the firm of Courtney and Wade, who were even withholding the money for their pending transaction until the last minute, for fear he might disappear with it.

  "Master Gomez, my thanks to you, and I hope you'll understand
that my brevity isn't intended as a discourtesy. But if I'm to board the ship tonight, the evening is short. So I know you'll be good enough to excuse me for leaving you rather abruptly."

  He started toward the door, but Robert, who was alarmed, halted him. "I can't let you roam about the streets. The Governor insists that this whole matter be handled with discretion, and—"

  "I'm going to see Prudence."

  "But—"

  "Master Wade!" Again Gomez came to Ethan's rescue. "Let me suggest, sir, that you make your carriage available to the Captain so that he can ride to the young lady's house without being conspicuous. I wouldn't think much of him if he weren't insistent on bidding her goodbye— and neither, for that matter, would she."

  Talbot Courtney came to the door himself in response to Ethan's knock. He was relieved when he heard that Ethan had every intention of making the voyage, and once he was sure that nothing had happened to jeopardize the pending business transaction in Martinique, he hustled the guest inside. "We'll have a farewell drink," he said, "and then I'll escort you to the Saru myself." It was obvious he intended to take no chance on any last-minute slips.

  Ethan was amused, but before he could reply, a soft but firm feminine voice sounded from the entrance to the drawing room. "I believe you're wanted upstairs, Papa. Good evening, Ethan."

  "Prue."

  As Ethan advanced to her, Prudence smiled at him wistfully and then glanced to her father, who still loitered in the reception hall. "Mama wants a word with you," she said pointedly.

  "She does? Oh, yes. Of course." Talbot hurried to the stairs.

  Prudence moved into the drawing room and turned slowly. Ethan, following her, thought that she had never been more beautiful, nor had he ever seen such strength of character in her face. Most girls would have given in to tears or recriminations, but she continued to smile, and there was real warmth and compassion in her eyes.

  The tapers in the candelabra that stood on the spinet brought out the blue-black lights of her hair, and her dress, demure but provocative, was typical of her. Black velvet ribbons outlined the broad, low neck, the short, puffed sleeves and the hem of her floor-length skirt, and a wide sash of black velvet made her waist seem even smaller than it was. Ethan drank in every detail of her appearance, and neither of them moved. Then he started toward her, but stopped himself; there was something he had to say to her before he took her in his arms.