The proprietor emerged from a back room wiping his hands on an apron. Jacques returned his greeting. "Monsieur, we are looking for a young Frenchman who may have spent last night here. Perhaps he also had another man for a traveling companion."
Sophie studied the dark-haired man leaning forward on his elbow, listening. He looked Spanish. The proprietor nodded at Jacques. "There was a young Frenchman here last night, and he had an older fellow with him."
André Dusseau and the third member of Hernandez's team! Jacques inched forward. "Are either still here?"
The innkeeper's face grew guarded. "Who wants to know?"
"I am the lad's uncle and guardian. The older man has tried several times to swindle our plantation near Cow Ford from him."
The proprietor studied Jacques and nodded again. "Some young fellows just won't settle down. Alas, he's no longer here. Left early this morning."
"Where did he go?"
"I couldn't say for sure, but I overheard the two discussing business at the wharf."
A breeze of sticky air wafted Sophie, and she swiveled in time to spot the dark-haired man hurrying from the tavern. Mathias, who'd also been observing him, moved to the window to watch his departure. "David," she whispered. "David, that man who just left..."
"I saw him." David also peered out the window.
Jacques waved his hands as if bargaining at the market. "Did they plan to sail somewhere?"
"I didn't hear. I don't ask much if their money is good. I'm sorry I cannot be of more help, sir."
"Merci. You have been of tremendous help. We had best get down to the harbor and see whether we can catch him before he sails to Jamaica this time."
Outside, the mystery man had vanished. Jacques looked at David, then at Sophie in question. She said, "A patron who found your story interesting. He left soon as the wharf was mentioned."
Mathias jerked his thumb south. "He went on foot toward the wharf. Hardly a coincidence, I think."
David positioned his saddlebags back on his horse. "I suggest we keep our eyes open for the fellow."
They rode toward the wharf. The street opened up into the town plaza, with the governor's house to the west and a guardhouse before them. Shops, taverns, and the town market rimmed the plaza in between, and the harbor and wharf beckoned east of the guardhouse. Although they spotted dark-haired men along the way, none was the man in question.
The Creek brothers stayed with the horses while Sophie, David, Mathias, and Jacques hastened out to collect information. Since the harbormaster had gone into town and was due back within a quarter hour, they split up to chat with crews from the two merchant brigs. Sophie and Jacques found themselves in the company of mellow, olive-skinned Portuguese from the Gloria Maria. Their contribution to the culture of St. Augustine was dark, red wine.
The first mate, a slender fellow in his early thirties named Sebastião Tomás, communicated in broken English. After pointing out the ship's captain, who stood talking farther up the wharf with the merchant Northwind's captain, Tomás informed them the Gloria Maria was leaving early on the morrow for Havana with the remainder of the wine in her hold. They thanked Senhor Tomás and rejoined David and Mathias in time for the harbormaster's return.
In the company of the sneezing, rheumy-eyed harbormaster, Jacques repeated his tale about the wayward nephew. The harbormaster confirmed the news they'd dreaded: that Dusseau and his older companion had chartered the fishing sloop Annabelle out of St. Augustine just that morning, ostensibly for Savannah. But they knew the Annabelle had gone south to Havana instead. They thanked the harbormaster, smiles ebbing into exhaustion, and rejoined the Creek warriors and horses. "Damnation," David whispered. "So mucking close."
They stood in silence, the afternoon sun glaring at them like a bloodshot eye. Sophie gazed eastward past the island to the masts and spars of the three ships at anchor. "You know, those Portuguese from the Gloria Maria are leaving for Havana tomorrow. The first mate seemed like a decent fellow."
David darted a look at the gig for the Portuguese ship. "Good for them. Bon voyage to the Gloria Maria."
She studied him with incredulity. The only other time she'd seen her brother give up was with the printing press. "I thought you were intrigued by the idea of going to Havana."
"That was before I realized I could get my throat slit or my skin peeled in the process."
"But we've come so far. We cannot just quit."
"Sophie, we set out on this journey to find Don Alejandro in St. Augustine and question him about the old man and Jonah's murders. I wager he and Dusseau realized the danger of meeting here and fled to Havana. We've done the best we could. Let's go home before the Fates change their minds and our lives become as forfeit as stock back there in the slaughter pen."
"But it looks as though El Serpiente is following them. Mathias and Uncle Jacques have business with him on Jonah's behalf and need our support. And the emeralds are a responsibility we must discharge."
"Oh, sweet Christ, not the Congress's stones again."
"Why assume the stones came from the Congress?" Jacques scrutinized him. "I doubt it could afford to part with such a sum, even for an alliance with Spain. Consider that the money might be Hernandez's personal money, an inheritance."
Sophie observed the captain of the Gloria Maria, a whip-slender fellow with graying temples, who was speaking with Tomás at the ship's gig. The captain paused conversation with the first mate long enough to return the inspection, his dark eyes shrewd on her. She looked back at her companions. "If that's the case, neither the Congress nor King George has the right to these emeralds."
"Exactly. With Hernandez dead, the rightful owner becomes his next of kin — his uncle, Don Antonio, in Havana." The Frenchman returned his attention to David. "Surely among all of us there is enough honor to return an inheritance to a family."
David threw up his hands. "Damn Hernandez! We should have left him bleeding to death on the road."
"I agree." Jacques's gaze swiveled to the Portuguese gig. "But how bad can a voyage be with a cargo of Portuguese wine?"
Dubiousness swam in Mathias's eyes. "Don't you get seasick when you cross the Atlantic, Uncle?"
"Bah. Just a bit of queasiness the first day out. Nothing brandy cannot cure."
David grimaced. "Seasickness is the least of it. Out there are pirates. And those massive storms, hurricanes."
Mathias ignored David and regarded Sophie. "Did you inquire whether the Portuguese would take on passengers?"
"No. I was still hoping we'd find Dusseau here." She glanced over her shoulder again. The captain smiled at her, teeth white in a tanned face. "But let's not stand around. That fellow who's been watching us all this time is the captain."
Mathias nodded. "My cousins wish to return to Georgia, having no desire to sail to Cuba. Let us learn whether the Portuguese have room for the four of us. Then we'll find an inn and a place to board the horses."
David's sigh whined with resignation. "Very well. All of you might as well follow my lead on this, too. But I'm warning you, I've seen enough crooked piquet to know we've missed something about Hernandez's shooting. Meeting in the home of his uncle, rather than the Church of Saint Teresa, smells absolutely rancid. If this blows up in our faces —"
"Don't worry." Sophie tightened her lips in annoyance. "We won't say you didn't warn us."
They left the two Creek warriors with the horses again and approached the gig. The captain met them halfway and inclined his head. "Good afternoon. Sebastião mentioned you might have questions for me. Miguel de Arriaga, capitão of the Gloria Maria, at your service."
David matched the captain's easy smile, and the two shook hands. "Good afternoon, Capitão Arriaga. I'm Daniel Hazelton, and this is my sister, Sarah, her husband Mark, and his father, Jonathan. I'm moving to East Florida from North Carolina, taking on an indigo plantation, and thought I'd check into sugarcane as a secondary crop. Have you passage for four as far as Havana?"
"Sim, senho
r. As for the quality of the accommodations, well, that depends on the depths of your pockets."
David rubbed his hands together. "Excellent. Step this way, and I'll allow you to inspect the payment I have in mind."
David and Capitão Arriaga strolled toward the horses. Sarcasm gleamed in Jacques's eyes, and, lingering behind with Sophie and Mathias, he produced what would have been a perfect imitation of a preacher had it been pronounced from a pulpit: "My brothers and sisters, let us give thanks to Measure Travis, Zack MacVie, Peter Whitney, and Donald Fairbourne for their equine donations to our cause."
"Amen," said Sophie and Mathias before the three of them caught up with David and the captain.
Chapter Twenty-Four
THE EXTRA HORSES purchased passages aboard the Gloria Maria for Sophie, David, Mathias, and Jacques. In the plaza of St. Augustine afterwards, they and the two Creek scanned posted notices and broadsides before strolling through the chaos of trade. Negroes wearing silver armbands engraved with the word "free" hawked vegetables, fish, and ale next to bartering merchants and peddlers. Magicians delighted children by pulling coins from their ears. A trick dog danced on hind legs for his fife-playing master. No one carried around the baggage of fear and hostility that so characterized residents of the Savannah area. Even soldiers were relaxed.
Amazement softened David's tone. "The war is little more than rumor here."
"Oui. They would all rather be taking a siesta."
Sophie shook her head. "Deprive them of supplies or business, and they'd feel the tension to the north." Shock speared her when she recognized the mysterious dark-haired man observing them from the porch of a shop bordering the plaza. She gripped David's forearm. "Over there. It's the fellow from the Dragon and Phoenix." All six turned to regard him.
With a congenial smile, he ambled over. "Welcome to St. Augustine. You look a bit lost. Do you need directions?" Intrigue danced in his dark eyes.
A Spanish accent lurked beneath his flawless command of the English language. David pumped his hand. "Hazelton's the name, Daniel Hazelton. And your name?"
"Luciano de Herrera. Ah, you recognize my name. I am not surprised. I am a long-time resident. Got left behind in '64 to round up some escaped horses." He exchanged greetings with passing soldiers. "Wound up helping with property sales and, in general, smoothing out the transition for the governor."
David's easy smile didn't reach his eyes. "How fortunate."
Herrera drilled his stare through David's skull. "So, Mr. Hazelton, what brings you to St. Augustine?"
Clever and resourceful, Luciano de Herrera had made himself invaluable to the Britons colonizing St. Augustine for so many years that he was now beyond reproach: the dream of any long-term operative. Sophie wouldn't have been surprised to hear he made regular reports to Spain or Cuba beneath the very nose of Governor Tonyn. Meanwhile, David returned his penetrating stare and lowered his voice. "Esteban Hernandez referred us to you."
"Did he? And how does the young man?"
"Not well, I'm afraid. He's dead."
Amiability evaporated from Herrera's face, and caution crept into his surveillance of the six. "Might I inquire of the circumstances?"
"Stung by a serpent we couldn't kill. We've reason to believe more venomous creatures abound."
Herrera's lips twitched once, and his caution shifted to encompass the surrounding townsfolk. "A wise observation. This land has its share of such creatures. Beware a scorpion that inhabits the same terrain as the serpent."
El Escorpión and El Serpiente. Lovely.
"Thank you for the warning. We'll watch where we walk."
"As I always have." Herrera regarded the wharf. "You've booked passage on the Gloria Maria? Capitão Arriaga is a fine fellow with a trim vessel. If you don't distract him with talk of poisonous creatures, he will have you in Havana quite possibly in advance of any fishing sloops that departed this morning."
"Excellent. Might you recommend an inn for tonight?"
Herrera's eyes glittered. "Widow Evans's inn on St. George's Street across from the barracks. Next street over, George Garner owns a stable where you may board your horses."
"Thank you."
"Now if you will please excuse me, I have an appointment." Herrera touched the brim of his hat and smiled. "A pleasure to be of help. Good luck in your business, Mr. Hazelton, and I hope your stay in St. Augustine is pleasant." The Spaniard turned about and blended with the crowd.
***
At sunset, torch bearing soldiers and administrators paraded north past Evans's Inn in a fife-and-drum flourish to lock the city gates for the night. The six travelers peered out at the parade but otherwise kept a low profile and remained alert for familiar faces. Fortunately, business at the inn was already bustling due to the house specialties of roast beef and good ale. The sweaty, tipsy patrons in the common room provided adequate cover for anyone needing anonymity.
By nine, Sophie had grown sleepy, so Mathias escorted her upstairs past jovial guests to the door of the room the six of them had rented for the night. A reveler bumped into them in the hallway while Mathias was trying to kiss her hand. Irked, she shoved open the door, yanked the blacksmith into semidarkness, and slammed the door shut behind him.
So he could only be her friend, eh? He wouldn't look at her with such longing if he really believed that. As far as she was concerned, the platonic phase of the relationship had long overstayed its welcome. She flung her arms around his neck and planted a full kiss on him, figuring the worst that could come of it would be another rejection. But when he drenched her with return kisses, hefted her over his shoulder, and navigated past everyone's gear to the bed, she, amazed and delighted, thanked her lucky stars the two of them could finally agree on something.
At the bedside, he seized her face in his hands and plunged into another round of deep, wet kisses while she grabbed his hips and pressed herself against his groin, seeking that half-remembered fit rendered perfect and living for a few hours during a summer thunderstorm eighteen years earlier. His hands strayed from her face down her body, caressing her breasts through her shirt, wandering on to stroke the crevice of her buttocks through her trousers. Then he knelt at her feet and kissed her pubic mound.
Her mouth filled with saliva. Oh, heaven, what were his mouth and fingers about? Her vision of the room blurred. Shadows in the far corner rippled. She blinked to clear her vision. A hand rotating a knife blade emerged from the corner. Elemental horror pierced her primal mind when he stepped into full view, as astonished to see them as she was horrified to see him at all, and swapped his knife for a pistol.
She flailed her arms about. "Mathias, behind you!"
"Wha —?"
She sprawled onto the bed with a shriek as the pistol fired. The fiery breath of the ball skimmed hair near her left temple. "It's him! A knife!"
Mathias tackled El Serpiente to the floor at the foot of the bed, eliciting curses in Spanish. Limbs swung about, and torsos tangled in the darkness. "Drop it!" Mathias sounded as though he were gritting his teeth. "Mongrel son of a whore, I'll kill you for murdering my —" Mathias began gasping for air.
"Confirm the alternate location for Don Alejandro's meeting! Rápidamente — or I choke you! It is Havana?"
By then, Sophie had vaulted out of bed and flung open the door. Surely someone had heard the pistol discharge. "Help! Murderers! Help! Someone help us!" But the din from the common room doused her yell, as it had masked the pistol shot, and she still heard Mathias choking behind her, so she seized a musket.
The opened doorway yielded just enough light for her to whack the barrel across the Spaniard's back. He roared in pain, shoved off Mathias, and scrambled for the doorway. Mathias lurched for him, but the assassin made it out the door stumbling and cursing. The blacksmith bolted out after him, and Sophie pursued both, arriving on the ground floor in time to see El Serpiente lope out the front entrance and Mathias's pursuit stymied by the crowd.
Snarling, massaging his throat, h
e waited for her. She pulled him closer so they wouldn't be overheard. "He didn't stab you, did he? Good. I cannot say I think much of Herrera's recommendation for an inn."
"Herrera must have let them know about us. Damned Spaniards." Four redcoats squeezed into the common room with thirsty expressions, and Mathias pulled her around so his body shielded her face. "At this hour, I don't recommend that we draw attention to ourselves by leaving and searching for another inn, even the Dragon and Phoenix. We'd best remain alert and keep quiet about the attack. Where in hell did he come from, anyway?"
"Shadows on the other side of the room. I suspect he was snooping." How fortunate that each of them carried their share of emeralds with them, and she also carried the second cipher, its translation, and the copy of Confessions in her haversack. "El Escorpión likely isn't far off."
"Let's round up the others so the assassins don't surprise us again." Sleeping in shifts yet another night: exhaustion weighed down her sigh. He braced one hand on the wall behind her and searched her eyes while tension dissipated from his expression. "I heartily regret the interruption."
"As do I."
He kissed her hand, his dark eyes smoldering, and gentle laughter shook his shoulders. "Unrealistic of me to expect I could fight you off the whole way to Havana and back. Don't lose our location on the map, General."
"No, Ambassador, I don't believe I shall."
***
At six-thirty Wednesday morning, the group made their way to the wharf after a final check on their horses, stabled with Mr. Garner. Sebastião Tomás waved them aboard the gig for the Gloria Maria. The Creek brothers, who had transferred over their emeralds, clasped arms with Mathias, Sophie, David, and Jacques in farewell. Then they mounted their horses and rode away in silence. Sophie, watching their departure, felt as though a shield had been stripped from her body, and she whispered an entreaty to the universe for their safe return to the Creek village in the familiar forests of the Georgia colony, hundreds of miles away.
Paper Woman: A Mystery of the American Revolution Page 19
