The Smuggler's Gambit (Adam Fletcher Adventure Series Book 1)

by Sara Whitford

  After the service on Sunday, Adam went to the tavern to visit his mother and Valentine. He had gone to church only infrequently when he lived at the tavern, but since being apprenticed to Emmanuel, he’d gone every Sunday. When he took his regular seat at the bar, everyone was talking about the ship rescue that had taken place earlier that weekend. Adam couldn’t help but overhear several conversations going on nearby.

  “I can’t believe he’s done it again,” said one man.

  “We oughtn’t be surprised,” said another. “He done it before.”

  “That Richard Rasquelle’s a real hero, he is,” declared a particularly loud fellow.

  Although Adam was happy to hear the rescue of the sinking ship had been another success, he was annoyed to hear talk of Rasquelle as a hero. He had once thought the same way, but now things were different.

  “I’m happy to see you, sweetheart,” said Mary as she took a break from waiting tables to give her son a half hug and a kiss on the cheek. “You go to church again this morning?”

  Adam nodded. “Yeah. Just got out.”

  “I’ll bet they made a big to-do over Richard Rasquelle today, didn’t they?” said Valentine.

  “No,” said Adam. “Actually, he wasn’t even there.”

  Mary wrinkled her brow. “He wasn’t?”

  “I was sure he’d have been there,” said Valentine.

  “He wasn’t,” said Adam.

  “Maybe he’s home resting,” said Mary.

  “Maybe so,” said Adam. “I don’t care, though. I’m just glad I didn’t have to see him.”

  “I’ll go fix you a plate,” Mary said as she darted back into the kitchen.

  “What have you been busy with this weekend?” said Valentine. “We ain’t seen you since last week. Everything alright?”

  Adam nodded. “Yeah. Everything’s been fine. We’ve just been busy. That’s all.”

  “Too bad Emmanuel’s sloop wasn’t here to go help those poor people on Friday. Then he’d be the one getting called a hero.”

  “I don’t think Emmanuel cares a whole lot about that,” countered Adam. “He’s the one who told Richard Rasquelle that that ship needed help, you know.”

  “No,” said Valentine. “Hadn’t heard that.”

  “Well, I haven’t heard much about the rescue, we’ve been so busy,” said Adam. “What ended up happening?”

  “Well, turns out apart from the ship’s crew, there were sixty passengers on board—mostly women and children. They were coming from England to meet their husbands and fathers here in the colonies. There was also right much cargo on board.”

  “Sounds like they rescued all the passengers. Did they lose any cargo?”

  “Unfortunately,” said Valentine, “I think it’s a lot like it was that last time. They were able to save right much of it, but apparently some of it was lost to the tides.”

  “At least they were able to help the passengers. That’s the most important thing, anyway.”

  Mary returned to the bar with Adam’s lunch, a plate piled high with roasted chicken and gravy, mashed potatoes, green beans, and pickled beets. Adam gobbled his food up so quickly it prompted Mary to ask him if he was being fed well at Emmanuel Rogers’s warehouse. Adam said that he was but the food was no match for Aunt Franny’s cooking.

  He didn’t talk about either of the two recent shipments. Adam figured it was safer if they didn’t know too much about Emmanuel’s business. The less they knew, the less of a chance they might inadvertently slip something to one of Rasquelle’s spies.

  Adam was now conscious of the fact that anywhere he went, Rasquelle could have people following him. The town was so small, it was inevitable to see some of the same faces throughout the day. Now he had to wonder if any of them were on Rasquelle’s payroll—that is, if Laney Martin wasn’t the one feeding him information.

  After a long, relaxing visit at the tavern until curfew, Adam returned to the warehouse for a good night’s sleep before the start of another workweek.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “I DIDN’T GET A CHANCE to ask you yesterday, Fletcher. How were those firecrackers the other night?” asked Boaz. “You didn’t blow a finger off, did you?” He mashed his piece of bread in the runny eggs on his plate and sopped up the yolks.

  “Oh, don’t even ask,” said Adam. He looked in the cupboard for a coffee mug.

  “What happened?”

  Adam poured himself some coffee and tipped the sugar bowl over his cup to shake in what was left.

  “They didn’t even go off,” he said before grabbing a spoon and scraping out the last bit of sugar from the bowl into his cup. “I only lit a couple, because the smoke was so awful.”

  Boaz gave a laugh. “Yep. They can do that, alright. Sounds like you got a bunch of duds. Moisture might’ve got to ’em.”

  Adam nodded and tore off bread from the loaf and moved a couple eggs and a few strips of bacon onto his plate from the platter in the center of the table. “I had really hoped to see some lights fly up into the sky. Wonder what they would’ve thought in town.”

  “If you had gotten any to take off, you’d have drawn a crowd, I reckon,” said Boaz. “So maybe it’s just as well they didn’t fire.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  Just then Boaz stood up from his chair and put his plate in the dish tub on the counter. “You better eat fast, boy. We’ve got a big day ahead of us.”

  “Be right down,” said Adam.

  He ate fast, then joined his coworkers on the warehouse floor.

  “So what are we working on?” he asked.

  “Right now we’re just waiting,” said Boaz. “Emmanuel and Martin will be back in a minute. We’ve got to start moving the cargo today from La Dama.”

  Suddenly the voice of a man called into the warehouse from near the street-side cargo doors.

  “Good morning, gentlemen. Is Mr. Emmanuel Rogers here?”

  Boaz and Adam turned to see who it was. The silhouettes of five men stood near the entrance. Their faces couldn’t be seen because of the light pouring in behind them, but Boaz and Adam could tell the voice belonged to the man in front.

  “Beg your pardon, sir. Who might you be?” said Boaz as he approached the men.

  Adam stayed near the work area but could clearly hear the introductions.

  The men stepped farther into the warehouse. The man in front was dressed in the finery indicative of a royal official, and he was accompanied by a man who appeared to be his assistant, and three men in uniforms of the Royal Navy.

  “I’m Edward Sheffield,” said the man in fancy dress, “Chief Inspector in service of His Majesty’s Revenue Office, stationed on board HMS Hornet.”

  Boaz extended his hand to shake each of the men’s hands.

  “This is my assistant, Percy,” said Sheffield, motioning to a diminutive man standing beside him.

  He then motioned to the soldiers standing behind him. “And these men are from the Hornet’s Customs Enforcement Regiment.”

  “How can I help you?” asked Boaz.

  “Is Mr. Emmanuel Rogers here?”

  “No, sir. I’m afraid he won’t be back for a little while yet, but I’d be happy to pass a message along to him.”

  “That won’t be necessary, sir,” said Sheffield. “We’ll just wait here. In fact, while we wait, I think it might be most efficient if our men here inspect the facility—get that bit out of the way.”

  “I don’t think you will, sir,” said Boaz. “What reason do you have? Did you bring a warrant?”

  “By writ of assistance, my position is the only warrant I need.” The inspector snapped his fingers and motioned for the soldiers to begin their search.

  Adam quickly crossed over to where Boaz was standing. “What is all of this about?” he whispered.

  Boaz wouldn’t answer him. He only shook his head and shot the boy a stern look to silence him.

  Sheffield instructed the men to begin examining the cargo nearest
the dock entrance.

  “I think we at least have the right as subjects of the Crown to know why this building is being inspected,” shouted Boaz as the men began their search.

  “Because . . .” The inspector broke away from the group and crossed the warehouse again to approach Boaz. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

  “Boaz Brooks, sir,” he said.

  “Well, Mr. Brooks, we are here because we have received a tip from an informant that this company is guilty of trade violations, sir, specifically in regards to the proprietor, Mr. Rogers’s, infringements of the Sugar Act—including, but not limited to, the export of prohibited materials to foreign agents, as well as the import of molasses, sugar, and sundry other commodities from those same foreign agents—and that he has committed such practices with regularity for years, which would have placed him in violation of the earlier Molasses Act. Furthermore, it has come to our attention that a shipment was received here not more than two days ago—a vessel from Liverpool, I believe, called the Elizabeth Ella—for which no customs agent was physically present to inspect the shipping manifest when she was off-loaded, nor the items loaded onto the vessel from this port.”

  “Sir,” said Boaz, “our local customs agent, Mr. Smythe, knew the Elizabeth Ella had passed through your own checkpoint at Cape Lookout before she ever arrived here. And we made sure her cockets were in order before she ever left this port.”

  The inspector gave Boaz a weak smile. “That may be true, but nevertheless it was this company’s responsibility to ensure that Mr. Smythe came by personally to inspect and sign off on the cargo that was received to verify the ship’s manifest was in line with what was off-loaded, as well as the cargo that was loaded onto the ship before she ever left your dock. Most regrettably for this company, Mr. Brooks, His Majesty cannot deviate on acceptable standards for shipping practices. There are laws, and they are meant to be followed to the letter. Anyone found guilty of not following the laws that are in place is at odds with His Majesty’s government and, by extension, His Majesty.”

  Just then Emmanuel and Martin entered the warehouse. “Alright, lads. Are we ready?” Emmanuel called out, before he noticed the strange men in his building.

  “Mr. Emmanuel Rogers, I presume?” said Sheffield.

  Emmanuel walked slowly over to the inspector.

  “I am, sir. And you are?”

  “Edward Sheffield, sir, Chief Inspector aboard the HMS Hornet, of the Royal Customs Service.”

  “Oh, what a surprise. Well, I’m very pleased to meet you, sir,” said Emmanuel. He was surprisingly calm and cordial considering the inevitable meaning of the man’s visit.

  “Likewise, sir,” said Mr. Sheffield.

  “What can we help you with?” said Emmanuel.

  “Ah, yes. I was just explaining to your worker here—”

  “Boaz Brooks is in charge when I’m not present,” said Emmanuel. “He is not just a worker.”

  An annoyed Mr. Sheffield nodded. “Whatever you say. As I was trying to explain to Mr. Brooks, it has been reported to our offices that this company is guilty of various violations of His Majesty’s laws relating to trade and commerce. There are several details that we’ll need to discuss with you, sir. You do own this company—correct?”

  Emmanuel nodded, then looked at Boaz and Adam. His face betrayed his worry, although he tried to appear confident before the inspector.

  “Yes, sir. I am the proprietor.”

  “We will need you to come with us, sir,” said Mr. Sheffield. He snapped his fingers and motioned for Percy to take his place at his side. “I assume we can expect you to come with us voluntarily?”

  “Of course I will go with you voluntarily. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Very well then,” said the inspector.

  He called out instructions for the soldiers to complete their inspection, then turned to Emmanuel. “If you would please follow us.”

  Emmanuel nodded calmly. “Alright, lead the way.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  NOT MORE THAN AN HOUR after Emmanuel had left with Mr. Sheffield and his men, Boaz, Adam, Elliot, and Joe were on the dock to see Martin set sail to fetch his cousin William Martin, the attorney, and bring him back for Emmanuel’s legal assistance. Austin James, a part-time fisherman who also worked as a pilot, had agreed to take Martin to New Bern on his cutter.

  Boaz, Martin, Adam, and Elliot argued about what had happened that morning and what the best course of action was to take.

  Meanwhile, Austin waited impatiently on his boat.

  “Come on, boy! We got to go!” he urged Martin.

  Martin finally climbed into the boat from the dock, then said, “Wait, I might need to get my—”

  “If you didn’t think of it already, it prob’ly ain’t that important! Just leave it!” Austin demanded. “We ain’t never gonna make it to Ocracoke Inlet by nightfall if we don’t leave now.”

  “Why does that matter?” asked Adam.

  “They can’t cross the inlet from the ocean if it’s dark,” said Boaz.

  His tone reflected his impatience with Adam for asking the question. He turned his attention back to Martin and Austin in the boat.

  “We might should just sail up Core Sound, anyway,” said Austin. “The sun will set a little after eight o’clock tonight and it’s already eight thirty. It takes a good eleven or twelve hours to get to the inlet. If we ain’t there before nightfall, we’ll be stuck waiting there till the sun comes up. The sailing’s a little slower going up the sound side, but at least we won’t have to contend with crossing that inlet.”

  “Fine, let’s do that then,” said Martin. “We just need to get to New Bern as fast as we can.”

  “Let’s go, then.”

  Austin waved at the men on the dock with one hand and steered the rudder with his other. Soon they were moving quickly down Taylor Creek, drifting out of sight.

  As soon as they went back into the warehouse, the reality of what had transpired earlier began to set in.

  “What in the world even happened this morning?” asked Elliot. “Why would they take Emmanuel?”

  Adam looked at Boaz, waiting for him to answer, but he said nothing. Instead, he just clenched his jaw, obviously too angry to speak.

  Adam knew that no one saw this coming. Everything had gone so perfectly with the two recent shipments. How could this have happened?

  “We have a damned traitor on our hands. That’s how,” said Boaz.

  His voice was calm; he looked squarely at Adam.

  Elliot turned and looked at Adam. “You responsible for this, Fletcher?”

  Adam’s heart was pounding. He couldn’t believe Boaz was accusing him.

  “What? Are you crazy?” he yelled. “I had nothing to do with this.”

  Suddenly all eyes were on him. He feared that his suspicions about Laney Martin, about Richard Rasquelle, and about being set up to take the fall as the traitor if she turned on Emmanuel were being proved true.

  “I tell you what, boy,” said Boaz. He grabbed a hammer from a nearby worktable and slowly walked over to stand right in front of Adam. His bulky frame dwarfed Adam’s muscular-but-lean seventeen-year-old build. Boaz pointed the business end of the hammer at Adam’s face. “You get the hell out of this warehouse. Now! I better not ever see you here again.”

  “Bo!” said Elliot. He hurried over to where the two were locked in confrontation. “We can’t really be sure it was him. Don’t you think we should wait and see what comes out over the next couple of days? Maybe once that inspector has a chance to see the paperwork from the Elizabeth Ella, he’ll let Emmanuel go.”

  Boaz shot Elliot a venomous look, then pointed the hammer at him. “Listen, Salter, you ain’t got to share living quarters with the little bastard. I sure ain’t gonna sleep with a traitor in the next room.”

  “Now listen to me,” said Adam. His voice was firm, resolute. “I had absolutely nothing to do with this. Use your head, man! Do you honestly th
ink if I were planning to betray Mr. Rogers I would’ve told you two all that I have?” He thumped his index finger against the side of his head. “Think!”

  “You might have if you were trying to trick us into thinking you were loyal,” said Boaz.

  Adam stepped back. He knew he needed to calm down before the two of them got into a fistfight.

  “You know what? I don’t really care if you believe me or not. Now you can stand here and bully me out of this warehouse, or we can all put our heads together and try to make sense of how this could have happened.”

  Boaz looked away. Adam wondered what he was thinking. Did Boaz really believe that he could have done something like this?

  “You all put your heads together,” said Boaz. “I’m getting out of here for a while.”

  Boaz threw the hammer he was holding across the warehouse and then left through the street-side cargo doors.

  Everyone remained silent for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Adam spoke to Elliot and Joe.

  “I don’t know if y’all believe me—that I had nothing to do with this—but the way I see it is this: you can either work with me and try to figure out how this happened, or you can sit back and wait for a vice-admiralty court to decide Mr. Rogers’s fate. I for one am not going to sit by and just watch this happen. I’m going to find out who’s responsible.”

  “And then what?” said Elliot. “What’ll you do if you can sort out who’s to blame?”

  “I don’t know yet,” said Adam. “But I’ll figure something out.”

  Adam spent a couple of hours after he left the warehouse down on the docks. As long as he could remember, it was where he would go when he wanted to pass time or to think, or even hide.

  Often, as a young boy, when he’d get into trouble for being mischievous he would disappear down on the docks—usually hiding among the fishermen or near the boatbuilders—in hopes of avoiding a good switching from his mother. His aim in those days was to stay gone long enough that by the time he got back to the tavern she’d have forgotten what he had done and he would escape discipline. When he was older he enjoyed talking to the fishermen as they brought in their catches of the day, and the townsfolk buying fresh seafood for their families.