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

by Sara Whitford

  Lot looked at Ajax and waited for an answer. When Ajax didn’t respond, Lot said, “I think we better go.”

  Ajax wrinkled his forehead and looked at Lot like he thought he was an imbecile.

  “You’re joking, right? Where do you think he could’ve gone? And if somethin had happened to him, don’t you think his body would be somewhere near his camp?”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” said Lot. “Could be that he was rescued. And if he has been rescued, we prob’ly ought not be hangin around here. In fact, we prob’ly ought not hang around Beaufort. I think we should go back to town and get our things and hightail it out of here. We can’t go back up north, but maybe we can head farther south or out west.”

  Ajax looked back towards the woods as he contemplated their next move.

  “You might be right,” he conceded. “But we ain’t just gonna leave here. Let’s sail around this whole island, see if we can see any evidence of him anywhere. If not, we’ll do like you said.”

  Lot nodded in agreement. “Sounds fair enough.”

  They got back into their boat and started to sail along the island’s perimeter.

  Adam had watched their whole exchange from his hiding spot in a tiny clearing in a thicket. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he knew he wouldn’t risk coming back out anytime soon. He figured they probably wouldn’t bother hanging around once it got dark. He decided he’d wait until then before returning to his camp.

  He ended up falling asleep in his hiding spot.

  Adam didn’t wake up again until sunrise the next morning.

  His whole body ached from sleeping on lumpy ground and broken branches. It was pure exhaustion that had gotten to him. He’d been on the go almost nonstop since he had been marooned, so when he finally took time for a forced rest, his body had just collapsed for some much-needed sleep.

  He made his way back to his campsite. Much to his delight, his fire was still smoldering. He added some more kindling and fanned it to get the flames going again. Once his fire was fed, he went down to the beach to see what he could rustle up to eat.

  Summer was still a few weeks away, and the water had a chill. Although he could stand it when the sun was high in the sky, he preferred not to go in so early in the morning. As a result he didn’t bother to take his spear and opted instead to dig for clams.

  He found a good spot where the muddy sand appeared to be bubbling up, so he dropped down and began to dig.

  Ouch! What was that?

  The left side of his neck had a little pain every time he exerted himself to dig. At first he thought it might just be a crick in his neck from his awkward sleeping position the night before. He rolled his head around in a circle to try to loosen up the muscles, but it didn’t seem to help.

  He reached up and touched his neck with his hand. There was a spot that felt tender. That’s strange, he thought. He wished he had a mirror so he could see what it was. He didn’t feel anything on the surface of his skin. He scratched at the area and then looked at his fingers to see if there was any blood. Nope. Nothing. He pressed on the spot, then moved his head back and forth, wondering if that might get blood flowing to the area and make it feel better. No use. Finally, he decided it was probably some kind of a bite. After all, he had spent the previous night in the woods on a bunch of leaves and dead branches.

  In spite of the pain in his neck, he was glad Ajax and Lot were gone. He hoped they wouldn’t come back, and he determined that as soon as he had a chance to explore the island he’d start making a plan for how he might be able to get back. He could possibly even build some kind of raft, he thought.

  But for now he just needed to find something to eat.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  THREE FULL DAYS AFTER ADAM’S disappearance, Martin Smith returned with his cousin William Martin on Austin James’s sloop. Almost immediately the young lawyer met with Emmanuel and company at the warehouse apartment.

  “Please, please let’s not put the cart before the horse,” said William. “We must put the subject of the Fletcher boy aside right now. Idle speculation will do nothing to help him, so at this moment what I need to know is exactly how everything happened up until that day. We have a court day fast approaching, for which we desperately need to prepare. Let’s go back to the day you were arrested, Emmanuel.”

  All of the coopers were there in the warehouse apartment. Boaz, Elliot, and Martin were each trying to interject their version of what had taken place over the last couple of weeks since the arrivals of the Elizabeth Ella and La Dama del Caribe. Joe just sat silent as always but nodded along with anything he knew to be true or agreed with.

  After furiously scribbling notes as each day’s events were recounted to him, William began to offer his professional opinion. He was twenty-five years old, which meant he had only been practicing on his own as a lawyer for about four years, but he had been working at the legal profession since he was eleven years old, when his father began training him in his law firm.

  “We’re in a very fortunate position in that the customs inspector’s case is based almost entirely upon Richard Rasquelle’s accusations,” said William. “It is essentially your word against his—at least right now it is. We need only show him to be an untrustworthy witness. Then the Crown’s case will crumble.”

  “But what about that conversation Fletcher overheard in the warehouse that night between Rasquelle and Absalom Reading?” said Martin.

  “Unfortunately, Mr. Fletcher isn’t here. I don’t think hearsay would go over well in a court such as this. And considering the boy is nowhere to be found, how could you prove that you weren’t the one who disposed of him, so that you could concoct this story and try to pass it off to frame Rasquelle?”

  Emmanuel lowered his gaze and shook his head. “It sounds absurd, but you’re right. And if it turns out they are holding the boy somewhere and he’s alive, they might decide to kill him to ensure his silence.”

  “Damn them to hell!” said Boaz. “This is all just a real fine mess, ain’t it? I’m liable to kill Rasquelle and Reading myself before it’s all over with.”

  “Our strategy will be to prepare you as well as possible for any questions that might arise and to ensure that enough doubt is raised about Rasquelle’s character that the judge is reluctant to pursue the case any further. I’ll have questions prepared to serve just that purpose.”

  “How do we know he’ll be there?” said Boaz.

  “He’s the Crown’s chief witness—even though he doesn’t realize we know that. But rest assured he will be there,” said William. “He instigated this business, and I have no doubt he’ll see it through till he gets what he was after at the start.”

  “What do you reckon that is?” said Boaz.

  “To do away with his competition, of course,” said William.

  “Of course,” said Emmanuel.

  “And Absalom Reading?” asked Boaz.

  William sighed deeply. “Well, after all you’ve told me about what the boy heard, I’m furious of course, but I also have no intention of confronting Absalom about it, nor telling Laney right now—”

  “You must be out of your damned mind!” shouted Martin.

  William raised his hand to gently silence his cousin. “Would you just be quiet? Let me handle things with my sister and Absalom. I’ll deal with him, I can assure you.” He then turned his attention back to the group. “As I was saying, there will be no confrontation, at least not until this whole mess is behind us. In fact, I will lean more heavily on my sister’s guardian now than I ever have before. I intend to pour upon him gratitude and praise for always having my sister’s best interests at heart as well as for being a faithful and loyal friend to our father. Indeed, I will remind him that he is the closest thing we have to a father living on this earth. At no point do I intend to make it easy for him to continue carrying out this betrayal. I intend to bathe the wretch in guilt, if it’s at all possible to do so.”

  Emmanuel smiled and nodded.
“You, sir, are a wise man for your young years.”

  Boaz scoffed. “Alright, so let’s get back to what can be done about Fletcher. He’s been gone since Monday. We know Rasquelle had to have something to do with it!”

  “And we’ve been through this already. What proof do you have?” said William.

  “There ain’t no definite proof,” said Elliot. “We just have a hunch. I mean, my horse was tied out in the street not far from his warehouse. We knew Fletcher had talked about going there. What more proof do we need?”

  “The problem is that Rasquelle has a solid alibi for that day,” William argued. “You said it yourself. Constable Squires already questioned him about it.”

  The men all shook their heads in disbelief that no action could be taken against Rasquelle with what they already knew.

  William sensed their frustration. “Please don’t misunderstand me. I have no doubt that Richard Rasquelle could have had a hand in this boy’s disappearance, but he never left his warehouse—he has witnesses who can place him there the whole day. And so far, no witnesses have come forward to say Adam had even been seen there.”

  “I think there is a witness who might’ve seen something,” said Emmanuel, “but I very much doubt that he’d come forward.”

  “Who’s that?” Boaz asked.

  “Rasquelle’s slave—that young lad who’s out in front of his building sweeping every day,” answered Emmanuel.

  “Well, sadly, as far as implicating Rasquelle in any way, the word of a slave cannot be taken as proof of wrongdoing. You know that Negroes cannot legally appear as witnesses against white men in court.”

  Emmanuel rolled his eyes and grumbled in frustration. “I wouldn’t expect the poor lad to come forward. He’s probably frightened of his master, anyway. That despicable man has already shown he possesses no moral compass.”

  “Are you quite certain the Fletcher boy wouldn’t have just run away?” said William.

  Emmanuel shook his head. “No, he would not have run away. Even if I didn’t suspect him to be a faithful employee, I’d know he wouldn’t leave, because of his mother. He loves her and is far too protective of her to just take off.”

  William nodded. “Very well. Men are already on the lookout for him, correct? Signs have been posted? A reward has been offered for information concerning his whereabouts?”

  Everyone nodded.

  “Well then,” said William, “I’m afraid all we can do at this point is wait and pray the boy turns up. Meanwhile, we need to begin preparations for court, Emmanuel.”

  “What will that involve?” asked the old man.

  “I’m going to ask you several questions as though I wanted to prove your guilt, and it will be your job to answer them in a clear, truthful way that will not call your honesty or integrity into question. Do you understand?”

  Emmanuel gave a slow nod.

  “Would you please state your full name for the record, sir?”

  “Emmanuel Rogers.”

  “What is your date of birth?”

  “I was born on the twenty-seventh of November, 1697.”

  “For the record, what is your age?”

  Emmanuel looked at William as if to say, Do the math!

  “Please answer the question, sir,” said William.

  “I’m sixty-seven years old. If the Lord permits me to live until November 27, I shall be sixty-eight.”

  “Very good then. At what age did you first begin working in the shipping trade?”

  Emmanuel thought for a moment. “I worked some with my father as a lad, but I didn’t become a merchant in my own right until about 1725.”

  “Please, sir,” said William, “only answer the questions that have been put to you. You mustn’t volunteer information if it is not required of you.”

  The old man nodded. “Alright then. Get on with it.”

  “Very well. What was your age when you first established your shipping company?”

  “I was about twenty-seven, I think. Or maybe twenty-eight.”

  William nodded in praise. He could tell Emmanuel was tempted to say more regarding that question, but he restrained himself and only gave his age, as that was all that was asked of him.

  Their mock trial continued on for more than an hour, when finally Emmanuel grew tired of it.

  “What are your expectations, William?” said a somber Emmanuel.

  “My expectations? Regarding what specifically?”

  “This trial. These charges.”

  William looked down at his fingers, which were crossed on the table in front of him. He hesitated before answering. “Emmanuel, I’ve known you my whole life. My father counted you among his closest friends, so you know that I value your trust in me and would never lie to you or be intentionally dishonest in any way.”

  “I know these things, William, but what? Just tell me.”

  “I’m afraid this is a very grim situation. It would take a miracle at this point to see you acquitted, because as soon as Rasquelle realizes that the Crown has no evidence from your own warehouse, he will surely reveal his knowledge about the second dock, and then it will only be a question of whether we will come up with some way to discredit him or conceal the cargo before the inspectors search our family’s estate. Considering Absalom Reading’s role in this complicates matters a great deal. If we do anything right now to implicate him, he will likely turn quickly and tell everything he knows from decades of covering for your shipping activities at my father’s house to the Crown’s attorney just to obtain a plea bargain for himself. We still don’t know what exactly he hoped to gain from whatever deal he’d concocted with Richard Rasquelle.”

  “And maybe now that Rasquelle has his information from Reading, he may not even find him so useful anymore,” said Boaz. “In fact, I can’t really think of any reason why Rasquelle would want to continue to protect Reading.”

  “Goodness gracious,” said Emmanuel. “This is a very grim situation indeed.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  THE SYMPTOMS HAD STARTED SLOWLY. First, there was the sore neck early Thursday morning. By the next day it was much more painful. And by Saturday, fever had set in, followed by nausea and vomiting, accompanied by a pounding headache. Adam knew the bite on his neck had to be the cause. By Saturday evening he had lost all energy and was overwhelmed with fatigue.

  When he woke up Sunday morning, his muscles felt weak, his joints felt sore, and all he could do was lie still. Occasionally, he was having muscle cramps, which radiated down from his neck into his shoulder and out to his arm, chest, and back. He was dehydrated, so his eyes and mouth felt dry.

  I’m dying, he thought.

  In fact, he nearly wished for death. He had never felt so awful. He was so thirsty, but he didn’t even feel like going over to his beach well to get some water. Instead he remained next to his signal fire and prayed for rain. On this clear morning, he doubted it would come, but at least he had some big shells within arm’s reach that he could drink from if it did. Maybe if I just rest, he thought, I can crawl over to the well later and get some water. But for now he was too tired to think about that. He just needed to rest . . .

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  WILLIAM MARTIN SPENT THE REST of the weekend with Emmanuel, trying to help him prepare for court on Monday. As they continued rehearsing his answers, and as William formulated a line of questioning for Rasquelle, they began to feel the slightest glimmer of hope, though it still seemed a remote chance Emmanuel and his company would come through the situation unscathed.

  They rested from trial practice on Sunday. Emmanuel insisted as always that the men in his company attend church. This week would be no exception.

  Since the whole town knew by now of Adam Fletcher’s disappearance, the Reverend George Miller led his congregation in prayer for the boy’s safe return. For at least the short duration of the church service, the tongues of the townspeople who had speculated wildly about what had happened to Adam were silenced. Local gossip
s had been making every kind of assumption imaginable about what had happened. Some suggested he had run away because of his master’s cruelty, which was of course laughable to anyone who actually knew Emmanuel Rogers.

  One story floating around insisted that he had gotten drunk in the tavern, then fallen in the creek and drowned. A particularly lurid tale was invented by one of the tavern regulars, who said that since he’d heard Adam’s mother was a prostitute, the boy surely must’ve run off with a band of pirates to escape the shame and embarrassment.

  The truth was no one knew where he was, or even if he was still alive. Local sailors and fishermen were encouraged to keep their eyes open in case they spotted Adam anywhere—in a worst-case scenario, floating in the water or washed up on the banks.

  Mary couldn’t eat. She was sick at the idea of losing her boy. She couldn’t, or wouldn’t, believe he was dead, though. She knew he was alive, even while she feared the worst.

  At first Valentine offered her some time off. Then he decided she was better off working. It helped keep her mind busy, which meant less time to think about all of the awful possibilities of what might have happened to her son.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  ON SUNDAY AFTERNOON, ADAM WAS awakened when drops of rain began to fall on his face. His throat burned and his mouth felt rusted shut when he tried to open it in anticipation of some sweet relief. The refreshing rain fell slowly at first and then started pouring down, allowing him to get the first decent bit of water he’d had since he was marooned on the island.

  He looked at the shells that were nearby. They were catching some rain but not much. He cupped his hands to catch as much as he could, then weakly pressed his hands to his mouth to drink. Now he had a new problem. His campfire would go out if he didn’t think fast. But his brain wasn’t working quickly. He felt like he was stuck in a dream. His surroundings seemed unreal, and he was unable to control his limbs very well.