Paper Woman: A Mystery of the American Revolution (32 page)

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, he 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.

Two brawny
sailors stashed the passengers' gear and weapons aboard the gig and helped them
aboard.
 
Then they shoved off and rowed
east of north toward a channel that led around the tip of Anastasia Island,
allowing a parting view of the old fort's coquina walls, agleam in a sunrise
that blazed over the scarlet uniforms of soldiers on watch.

They pulled
alongside the seventy-foot
Gloria Maria
, her hull painted a pumpkin
orange, the green and red of Portugal as her ensign.
 
Sailors steadied the gig.
 
Tomás climbed the boarding net, and weapons and gear were hauled up.

Sophie boarded
with the help of Mathias and Tomás.
 
On
deck, while the crew of twelve echoed commands in Portuguese and made departure
preparations with line and shroud, she got a better view of the British
ship-of-the-line and merchant brig anchored to the north, both close enough to
spot men on deck and up in the shrouds.
 
David, Mathias, and Jacques climbed aboard, and the passengers retrieved
their property for Tomás's tour around the deck and down the companionway to
their cabins.

In the narrow,
lantern-lit corridor below, she noticed Mathias's dazed expression.
 
"Are you all right?"

"Fine."
 
He seemed to be concentrating.
 
"Just fine."

Jacques whipped
out his flask.
 
"
Bon voyage, mon
neveu
."
 
Mathias motioned it
away.
 
"I see it in your eyes.
 
It is the le Coeuvre curse.
 
We were not meant to be sailors.
 
Lovers, drinkers, and wanderers,
oui
.
 
Sailors,
non
."

"I cannot
stay drunk the entire voyage."

"Suit
yourself."
 
Jacques swigged brandy.

Their cabins,
side by side, both measured all of five feet wide by ten feet long.
 
Jacques and David took the second
cabin.
 
By the time Sophie toted in her
gear as well as Mathias's — because a greenish cast had settled over his face —
she found little room to move about the first cabin.
 
Hands on hips, she surveyed hammocks, blankets, and pillows
stowed along one bulkhead, a hinged desk opening out from the opposite
bulkhead, and a stool, closed chamber pot, and bucket below the desk.
 
The port light let in daylight, and an unlit
lantern hung near the doorway.
 
For
this
they had each paid a horse?
 
The red
wine had better be damned good.

Beneath her
feet, the ship gave a lurch, and wonder filled her voice.
 
"We're moving!"

But something
other than wonder had captured Mathias's face.
 
His mouth made a noise like, "Urp."

"Say,
you'd better get back up on deck."

"Urp."

She helped him
down the corridor, and they clambered back up the companionway.
 
On deck he dashed to starboard just in time
to retch over the railing.

She decided
against checking on him.
 
That he could
be sick before they'd even reached the open sea didn't bode well.
 
He'd probably have to stay drunk the entire
voyage, like Jacques.
 
Any fancies she'd
entertained about picking up where they'd been interrupted the night before
fizzled.
 
Not that their cabin was
conducive to such activity, anyway.

Jacques
meandered from aft and offered the flask to his nephew again.
 
Hanging over the railing, Mathias
refused.
 
David strolled over to Sophie.
 
"A bloody shame he feels so badly.
 
And how is
your
stomach?"

She inhaled the
sun-warmed, salty breeze of early morning with pleasure.
 
"Apparently the St. Jameses are a
seafaring lot."

He craned his
neck back to gaze at a sail unfurled.
 
"She feels alive, doesn't she?"

Capitão
Arriaga paused from striding aft to smile at Sophie and David.
 
"
Bom dia
, my
passengers!"
 
He unfolded a
spyglass, his smile on them sharpening.
 
"Help me solve a mystery aft."

He continued on
his way, and she eyed David.
 
Arriaga's
words hadn't sounded like a request.
 
They found the captain aiming the spyglass at the ship-of-the-line.
 
She didn't need it to spot two redcoats on
deck watching the
Gloria Maria
take leave of St. Augustine.
 
She and David exchanged a glance, and both
swallowed.

Arriaga
adjusted his spyglass.
 
"Sebastião
says the major and lieutenant queried him this morning, looking for an elderly
colonist and a young Frenchman.
 
They
have the most peculiar expressions, like hunters who have lost prey."
 
He handed her the spyglass.
 
"See if it is not so."

Dry-mouthed,
she aimed the spyglass toward the warship
Zealot
.
 
There stood Edward, sunlight gilding his
hair, Apollo determined to capture Daphne.
 
At his right stood Fairfax, his face full of madness and undefeat, his
russet hair like solar fire, King George's very own god of war.
 
She clamped her lips together against the
scream tearing her soul:
Go back, Edward, and let us be
!

"
Senhor
Hazelton, I remind you that Portugal is neutral in this war.
 
I will not harbor rebel spies."

"I'm no
rebel spy,
capitão
."

"But I
saw recognition in both your faces just now.
 
You know those soldiers.
 
They
seek you, too, do they not?
 
Answer me
quickly, or I drop anchor and allow them to board."