Stephanie Laurens – A Buccaneer At Heart (страница 11)

He paused to glance back—to see if the tender had been hauled in and if The Trident was drifting out again—but the stands of palms that lined the shore, and the black shapes of the village houses with their palm-frond-thatched roofs, blocked his view.

His men milled behind him. Cloaked in darkness, he turned and strode on.

He’d been to Freetown before; his memory of the settlement’s geography was rudimentary but sufficient, and Declan and Edwina had spent hours describing the various areas of the town as they now were. So while he didn’t have anything resembling an accurate map, he had a fair idea of where he was heading, and the pulsing throb of many lives lived at close quarters drew him steadily on.

They entered the settlement proper—the area defined by recognizable streets, even if the surfaces were merely beaten earth—from the east and made their way toward the nearer edge of the commercial district. There, traders’ stores, smaller warehouses, and inns and taverns catering to various types of travelers congregated between the end of Water Street and the shore.

Robert halted in the middle of a dark street that in one direction led to Water Street and in the other to the wharves the local fishing fleet used. He looked around, then glanced at his men. “Let’s see if we can find an inn—one catering to merchants should suit. I want something not too far from this spot. Meet back here in ten or so minutes.”

With nods, the men spread out, drifting down this alley, that lane. Robert himself walked on toward Water Street, but found only stores and offices.

He was walking back to where he’d parted from his men when Benson came trotting out of a lane on the side of the street away from the harbor.

He fell in beside Robert. “Nice little place just along there, Cap—sir.” With a tip of his head, Benson indicated the lane he’d come out of. “Could be our place.”

Robert halted. “Let’s see what the others turn up.”

Gradually, the other three drifted back. Harris had found another inn, but was dubious about its quality. “Bit too run down and leery, I’m thinking. We’re supposed to be respectable, right?”

Robert nodded and jerked his head toward the lane. “Let’s take a look at the place Benson found.”

Benson’s find proved to be perfect for their needs. Only a few doors from the street connecting with Water Street, the inn was small, unassuming, and run by a stalwart couple, who, by their careful manner, clearly strove for security and respectability, and therefore also offered a degree of privacy to their guests.

Posing as a trader visiting the settlement to determine what prospects for goods for Europe and the Americas the region might provide, Robert hired three decent-sized bedchambers—one for him and two for his four men to share.

His men knew how to slip into the supporting roles he’d assigned them, bobbing respectfully to the landlady and dismissing with relaxed thanks the landlord’s offer to have their bags carried up.

After reassuring the landlady that they wouldn’t be putting her to the trouble of making up a meal for them at such a late hour, Robert accepted a lighted lantern from his host and followed his men up the scrubbed wooden stairs.

His room was neat and clean, the bed a touch more solid than a cot, with decent linens and a fine net looped over a metal circle suspended over the well-stuffed mattress. The room also contained a simple desk and a single straight-backed chair. Robert swiftly unpacked the few clothes and other items he’d brought with him and tossed his seabag into the narrow armoire.

After discussing his options with Declan and Edwina, he’d decided to avoid the port and enter the settlement on foot, and subsequently to assume an identity and a purpose that would keep him well away from—essentially out of sight of—all the various local authorities. And even farther from local society.

Declan had been here mere weeks ago, and too many would recognize the similarity between them. Robert’s hair was a darker shade of brown than Declan’s, and his features were a touch more austere, but they both had blue eyes and in so many other ways echoed each other physically that Edwina had been adamant that even if people didn’t recognize him as Robert Frobisher, they would definitely recognize him as a Frobisher.

While Declan’s appearance in the settlement, explained by being on a honeymoon cruise with Edwina, would have passed muster well enough not to raise any suspicions, a second Frobisher turning up a month later would certainly make any villain with links to the authorities...twitchy, at the very least.

Luckily, Robert wasn’t the least averse to what was—compared to where his usual missions landed him—slumming it. Posing as a trader meant he didn’t have to call on anyone, didn’t have to play the gentleman-diplomat-captain—didn’t have to do the pretty by anyone at all. He could simply get on with this mission—get started immediately on picking up the slavers’ trail, finding their camp, then heading back to England.

In pursuit of that goal, he returned downstairs. His men were waiting just inside the inn’s door. At his nod, they all filed outside.

Robert paused under the narrow porch that ran along the front of the inn. Looking into the darkness, listening to the distant yet raucous sounds emanating, no doubt, from the taverns lining the docks, he confirmed his bearings, then looked away from the harbor toward the now largely silent streets that terraced the slope of Tower Hill.

All was quiet up there.

“Time to learn the lie of the land.” Lips quirking, he glanced at his men and tipped his head toward the quieter quarter. “Let’s take a walk.” At this time of night, they could go all the way up to Fort Thornton itself, then descend and walk the length of Water Street, through the heart of the commercial district.

In a loose group, they strode down the lane, then up the road to Water Street. They crossed the thoroughfare and started up the slope into the residential streets, dimly lit by flickering flares, beyond.

They weren’t out to take the air. All of them scanned the streets, taking note of landmarks, occasionally turning to look down at the settlement and the harbor beyond. Sauntering along, Robert slid his hands into his pockets. “We’ll save the docks for last.”

That was where the greatest danger of him—or even his men—being recognized lay, but by then, most of those sober enough to trust their eyes would have gone back to their bunks, and those remaining would pose no real threat.

When they reached the precinct of the fort, a jumble of buildings squatting behind a timber palisade, they hugged the shadows, careful to avoid the sentries keeping watch from the flare-lit area before the gates.

“How they expect to see anyone with all that light about, God only knows,” Coleman muttered.

“Oh, they’ll see ’em,” Fuller replied. “Just too late to save themselves.”

Robert’s lips twitched at the sneering comments. Even though his men weren’t navy, they had a seafarer’s contempt for those who served on the land.

As they headed down the hill again, Robert felt satisfied with the day’s progress. By the time they returned to their beds, they would have a working knowledge of the settlement, enough to see them through their mission.

Enough to be able to start investigating properly tomorrow.

The inn would provide a safe base. Undoto’s church and the tavern the old sailor Sampson frequented were a little farther up and around the hill—easy to walk to from the inn. The slum where the priestess Lashoria lived also lay in that general direction, but farther away from the settlement’s center.

While they ambled down the length of Water Street, noting the shops and offices along the way, Robert reviewed his potential contacts—Lashoria, Sampson, and Babington. Of the three, Babington was the one Robert felt least confident about asking for help. He knew Babington better than Declan did; they’d crossed paths several times. Babington was a shrewd negotiator, more so because he didn’t appear to be outwardly aggressive—much like Robert himself. In Robert’s opinion, Babington was not properly appreciated by his own family. He was largely wasted here, essentially playing nursemaid to Macauley—who, heaven knew, needed, and would accept, no one’s help.

Babington might prove to be a valuable ally, but attempting to recruit him might also be a big mistake, depending on where his loyalties lay. Robert had no intention of revealing any of the mission’s more pertinent details—such as their belief that there was a diamond-mining operation involved—unless he could first satisfy himself as to what Babington’s priorities truly were.

Given that dealing with Babington might not be straightforward, Robert decided to call on Sampson first. Declan and Edwina had suggested that interviewing Lashoria would be best done in the evening, so he’d start his day with Sampson and see where the trail took him from there.

He’d been following the direction his men had been taking without any real thought. Refocusing, he discovered they’d circled around and down to the end of Government Wharf.