If she had ended up securing one of the men Smith had recommended as her guide, she doubted anyone would have thought twice about it. But those had mostly been native men, many in their forties or fifties. In the eyes of society, there was quite a difference between them and a man like Adam Bates. One look at him would start tongues viciously wagging. But then again, those tongues were a very long way off.
She caught herself. Was she really considering this an obstacle? Ellie Mallory, suffragette, modern woman, shying away from the opportunity of a lifetime because of an outdated, oppressive concern for her reputation?
No. It was ludicrous. If this was her chance, she was going to take it, and to hell with the consequences.
After all, how bad would those really be? If their quest did turn out to be a false one, then no one would need to know about her “indiscretion.” Belize City was hardly crawling with acquaintances.
And if the map was genuine? Then she would hope the reputation she would have gained as a scholar would outweigh a bit of spiteful gossiping.
If she were a man, no one would think twice about her decision to undertake such a venture. It was just another way the world tried to keep her sex at home, docile and bored to insanity.
To hell with all of them, she thought boldly.
Of course, it didn’t sound as though Adam was going to share that enlightened opinion.
She could feel the pressure of the moment. If she couldn’t convince Adam to help her, she was in trouble. Big trouble. What she’d said in spite to Dawson was, after all, true—she’d still be a “loose end” in England, and her enemies had already proven their ability to dig up even the most obscure corners of her life. How long did she really think she could hide from them?
She needed this man to agree to her proposition, and now. With a rush of adrenaline, she realized that her life might actually depend on it.
There was only one thing to do: lie. Fast.
“That’s not a problem,” she said breezily. “I’m already debauched.”
He stared at her, obviously shocked.
She stumbled to elaborate.
“I mean to say that I’m married. Was married. I’m a widow,” she concluded firmly, then clamped her mouth shut before it could do any more damage.
“You’re a widow,” Adam echoed slowly.
“Yes,” she said with more sureness now, daring him to contradict her. And he clearly wanted to—she could see the desire in his expression. But she lifted her head, meeting his gaze steadily. After all, what could he do? Cross-examine her for details about her departed husband? Accuse her outright of making it up? If she was, in fact, a widow, that would hardly be the gentlemanly thing to do—and it seemed that Adam, whatever else he was, occasionally felt obliged to play that part.
He studied her for another tense moment, his skepticism warring with his sense of decency. Then the tension in him broke.
“Maybe you are. Either way, I suppose it’ll have to do.”
“Does that mean you agree?”
Ellie’s heart pounded as she waited for his answer.
She could see him thinking, felt her fate hanging in the balance. He moved to where his map hung on the wall, gazing at the place Ellie had pointed out, right above that single penciled word—Uncharted. He turned from there to the table, where the medallion lay glittering in the lamplight. He picked it up, testing its weight in his hand, then shrugged.
“What the hell? It sounds more interesting than anything else I’ve got on the agenda.” He turned to her. “You need anything else from your room?”
She couldn’t quite believe it. It was a moment before she remembered to shake her head.
Adam glanced at the canvas bag on the floor. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“You pack light. Good. That much less we’ll have to get rid of. Oh. Almost forgot.”
He pulled the gun from his belt and held it up. The lamplight glinted off the well-oiled steel of the barrel.
“You know how to use this?”
Ellie pushed back the flicker of nerves, tilting her chin firmly. “Well enough.”
Adam studied her for a moment before spinning the gun nimbly in his hand. He held it out to her, stock first, and she hesitated only a moment before taking it.
“Where we’re going, you might want to keep it loaded.”
Ellie glanced down at the weapon. How had he known it was empty? Just by feeling it?
He pulled back the curtain and opened the French doors to the garden. He bowed gracefully in a startlingly good imitation of a proper society gentleman. “Ladies first.”
“We’re going now?”
“Unless you want to wait here and see if your Mr. Jacobs comes back for another inspection.”
Ellie stuffed the revolver in her bag, then held out her hand expectantly.
Adam hesitated for a moment, turning the dark circle of stone around in his hand, then finally handed it back to her. Ellie slipped it around her neck, feeling an unexpected relief to have it back where it belonged. She glanced at Adam’s now-empty hands.
“Aren’t you bringing anything?”
“Everything I need is already with Mary Lee.”
“Who’s Mary Lee?”
“My boat,” he replied. He leaned over and blew out the lamp.
They stepped outside. The night had turned peaceful once again, quiet and jasmine-scented. Adam gripped the railing and hopped over it into the garden, Ellie following.
“This way,” he said, leading her down the pathway. He stopped at an exposed area of fence at the far end.
“Need a boost?” he offered.
Ellie shot him a glare. She tossed her bag over, then pulled herself up. She dropped awkwardly into the dirt on the far side. Adam chuckled, then climbed over himself, landing far more gracefully.
They were in the quiet, well-kept rear garden of the house beside the hotel. Adam strolled through it, Ellie following, until he reached a door at the back. Unbolting it, he led her out into a narrow alley that ran between the buildings. She found herself wondering why he had need of a secret way in and out of the hotel. She was fairly certain she would rather not know the answer to that question, but it made her suddenly aware of how little she knew about the man she had just agreed to partner with. It should have been a terrifying thought, but all she could feel was a wild exhilaration.
They moved down the dark space between the fences and buildings until at last the alley ended. She stepped out onto the street that led to the harbor, the night sky spreading wide and dark above them. Ellie could hear music and voices coming from the more ramshackle buildings nearby. Already, the danger of the hotel felt years behind her, impossible in the peaceful stillness.
The harbor was glowing, stars and the slice of moon reflected off the water. The soft light was broken only by the shadowy, rocking shapes of boats, the line of the waterfront marked by the occasional orange glow of a lit window.
Adam strolled down the dock, Ellie following after, her feet pattering hollowly against the boards. They moved past tall-masted sailing ships and weathered fishing sloops to the outer reaches of the marina.
“Here we are,” Adam said at last. He hopped off the dock onto a small, shallow-draft steamboat with a pair of paddlewheels at her sides. The boat had obviously seen better days. The wide, low deck was gray and worn, practically begging for a new coat of paint, as were the rails, which rose to about waist height. There was no cabin, only a canopy, slightly tattered at the edges, aft of the stovepipe. A few crates and bundles were piled beneath it, and a coal box in the stern was nearly full. Along the side, barely legible, were painted the words Mary Lee.
“You sure it’s not going to sink?” she asked warily.
“She’s seen a lot more of the bush than you have,” Adam countered.
Ellie gave the boat another skeptical look, then shrugged inwardly. She tossed her pack onto the deck and climbed after it.
“Welcome aboard,” Adam said, and grinned
at her.
7
THEY STOPPED FOR THE night after a few hours, anchoring in a sheltered cove, and Ellie made up for her missed dinner with a tin of beans heated on the boiler. She had been tempted to lick the bowl. Afterward, she was too tired to protest when Adam hung a pair of hammocks under a white drape of mosquito netting on opposite sides of the canopy, and she realized just how close the two of them would be sleeping. She’d never been in a hammock in her life, but the sling of fabric proved remarkably comfortable. Before she knew it, she was asleep, and by sunrise she felt remarkably rested.
They returned to puttering past the thick tangles of mangroves that lined the coast. At first, the forests were sometimes broken by crescents of white sand or the rickety dock of a fishing outpost, but by midmorning there was nothing but thick gray and green meeting the turquoise water.
It was stunning. Ellie felt washed away in the brightness of the blue sky, the calm sea, and the flashing yellow-green of the mangrove leaves. Everything seemed so wide, so warm, so bright—so decidedly different from London, she realized. The thought sent a thrill racing through her.
She watched as a pair of pelicans rose from the shore and lifted into the air. They sailed over Mary Lee’s wake, apparently mistaking the small steam launch for a fishing boat likely to throw them some extra bait.
“Will we see the mouth of the Sibun, or is it overgrown?” she asked, breaking the long silence.
Adam glanced at her from the tiller, impressed.
“You know where we’re going?”
“I studied a few maps back in London. It’s how I knew to start where I did. The shape of the rivers matched.”
“It’s a big river,” Adam said. “We’ll see it.” He reclined in his seat, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. His eyes matched the color of the water, contrasting brightly with his deeply tanned skin, and his sun-bleached hair ruffled in the light breeze. Only a dark, vicious bruise on his cheekbone marred the classic lines of his face. Ellie remembered with chagrin that she was responsible for that.
She realized she was spending a bit more time than was justified studying that particular aspect of the scenery. She had never been one to moon over supposedly dashing men, however much Constance had tried to impress the habit on her. She was too aware that pretty faces usually entailed insipid conversation and an irritating smugness to enjoy the pastime. And there were better things to do—books to read, lectures to attend. Why her current traveling companion should suddenly prove an exception to that rule was beyond her.
She pulled her eyes away forcibly and directed them to the water. She could see through it to the white sand of the seafloor, speckled with shells and stones. Occasionally some bright-colored fish would skirt past, surprised out of its hiding place by the churning of the paddles.
She let her hand hang over the side, trailing her fingers in the water. It felt delicious, just cool enough to refresh against the heat of the sun on her skin. Checking to be sure that Adam’s attention was still focused on piloting the boat, she dipped her hand farther down, then rubbed it against the back of her neck, nearly sighing aloud at the feeling of the water against her skin.
She dipped her hand in again, then froze as a massive gray shape drifted slowly beneath the Mary Lee.
“Mr. Bates?” she called, unable to take her eyes away from the shockingly large… something. Then a great, whiskered head rose from the water, its snout pushing against the palm of her hand.
She felt a rush of fear, certain she was about to lose a limb to some ferocious sea monster. She held herself perfectly still, terrified that a sudden movement would provoke the beast into opening its sure-to-be-ravenous jaws and snapping off a piece of her.
“It won’t bite,” Adam called to her easily. “Manatee.”
Ellie forced back her panic and looked down into the small, soft eyes that framed the whiskered face. They stared up at her, liquid and warm, and the wet muzzle nudged her hand once more. Then the creature turned, diving elegantly back into the water and disappearing under the boat. Three others followed it, darting beneath them, massive shadows moving across the white sands.
“He was hoping you had food,” Adam said.
“For a minute I thought I was the food,” she admitted.
Adam chuckled, shaking his head. “Sailors used to think they were mermaids. That’d be one ugly mermaid.” He roped off the tiller and stood to add another shovel of coal to the boiler. “You can put your hands back in the water. I’ll let you know when to take them out.”
“And when will that be?” she asked as he dropped easily back onto his seat.
He flashed her a white grin.
“When we get to the crocodiles.”
Ellie saw the reality behind Adam’s warning not long afterward as they reached the mouth of the river. There, she was startled as a rotting log drifting past their boat suddenly raised a pair of beady yellow eyes out of the water. The crocodile stared at her as the Mary Lee steamed past, and Ellie instinctively moved closer to the center of the small craft.
The boat chugged steadily as the day wore on. The tidy fields gave way to a wilder landscape of tangled green leaves, trees, and vines thickly bordering the high banks of the river. By the time the sun began to drift toward the horizon, it had been hours since Ellie had seen any sign of human presence. There were only the lizards, the bright birds, and the thick wall of green on either side of them.
When the sky began to change its blue for purple, Adam rounded a bend in the river and drew the Mary Lee in closer to the trees. With an echoing rattle, the launch’s engine slowed to a stop. The pent-up steam was released with a forlorn whistle. The sound raised a cacophonous cry from a flock of birds startled out of the branches of a massive overhanging oak. They rose up, dark, fluttering shapes calling in irritation to one another against the richly colored dusk.
Ellie rose as Adam banked the fire. She stretched, her limbs protesting. She glanced forward and felt her heart jump. There, visible between the break in the foliage afforded by a straight stretch of the river, were the mountains. They rose up, shadowy and close—so much closer than they had seemed when they were a green haze in the distance from the veranda of the Imperial. They seemed near enough to touch.
Her hand went to the medallion, hidden beneath her shirt. They were that much closer to the mysterious place it had come from.
If it’s real, she reminded herself.
She jumped as Adam brushed against her side, slipping past her to the anchor. He tossed it over the bow, letting it draw out its line, then secured it tightly.
“Where are we?” she asked.
Adam popped open one of the crates and pulled out a tin cylinder. He unscrewed the top and removed an oilskin bundle. Inside was the map. Unfolding it, he laid it down on the deck, smoothing out the creases. Ellie came over to look.
“Right about… here,” he said, pointing. He took another map out of the oilskin, this one much more detailed and obviously modern. As Ellie looked down at it, she realized it wasn’t printed.
“Is this hand-drawn?” she asked.
“Yup,” he confirmed, studying it.
A startling idea occurred to her.
“You drew this?”
“Sure did,” he replied, his attention riveted by the two maps before him.
She was grateful for his focus. It meant he didn’t see the expression on her face as she realized what that meant. All those carefully labeled landmarks, the rivers and mountains and expanses of wilderness—he had been there. He had seen these places for himself. In many cases, he must have been the first one to do so in who knew how long.
All of those ruins, those unexplored mysteries… the man she knelt beside on the deck of the Mary Lee knew them firsthand.
She tried not to be impressed.
“So here’s where we are now,” he continued. “Tomorrow we’ll make our way up here.” He let his finger follow the course of the river, then stopped. “And that’s where it gets interes
ting.”
“What do you mean, interesting?”
“See this fork?” He tapped the page. On one side the line of the river continued, winding its way toward the mountains. The other side of the fork ended abruptly after a short distance. “Map says we’re supposed to go this way.” He indicated the short side of the river. “Only thing is, I’ve never been able to do that before.”
“Why not?”
“There’s a mountain in the way,” he replied. He remained crouched on the deck, frowning down at the maps.
“What do you mean, a mountain?”
“I mean the river goes into a cave.”
“Couldn’t we just go around it?”
“I’m flattered by your assumptions about my strength, but I’m afraid it’s something shy of carrying this boat uphill.”
“No, I mean—find another way to get to the same place.”
Adam frowned down at the map.
“It’s possible. No one has surveyed all the tributaries of the Sibun. There could be one that links up with that branch of the river farther upstream. But we’d have no way to know which one.”
He rose and moved to the side of the boat, gazing out at the opposite shore. She could practically see the wheels turning in his brain.
“The river’s low,” he noted cautiously.
“Is that bad?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” He came back over to the maps and tapped the place where the second half of the fork ended. “Anytime I’ve ever been here before, it was just after the rains. The river was at its highest level. You could barely have gotten a canoe into that cave, never mind the Mary Lee. But we’re a good seven or eight feet down from that now.”
“You think we might be able to get through.”
He shrugged. “I think it’s worth a try. And if we can’t, a friend of mine back in the city has a launch with a shorter stack. He might be willing to rent it to us.”
“Go back to the city?”
That wasn’t an option. It couldn’t be. Dawson and Jacobs were there, and after they’d followed her across an ocean, she could hardly expect them to meekly give up and return to England just because she’d managed to snatch back the map.
The Smoke Hunter Page 13
