Captured (38 page)

“Yes?”

“You are Edward Oakes?”

“Of course.”

“The same Edward Oakes who purchased one thousand dollars’ worth of lottery tickets from the Confederate States Lottery Commission?”

“I certainly did.”

Given that the Confederate States Lottery Commission didn’t exist until five minutes ago when Monty made it up, Cole decided that was quite a feat.

“Very good, sir,” Monty answered. “I’ll just need to see your ticket, then I’ll be on my way.”

“My ticket?”

“Yes. There’s also the matter of the delivery fee. As you recall, that’s strictly the responsibility of the winner. Five hundred dollars to transport Apollo on the blockade runner that just came into port.”

“Five hundred dollars?!” sputtered Oakes.

“Yes, sir. A negligible sum when compared to the value of the horse. Why, the saddle alone is worth more than twice that. Now, sir, may I see your ticket?”

“Well, I don’t… That is…”

“Your ticket, Mr. Oakes?”

“I don’t carry the damned thing on me, you know!”

“Of course, sir. But you understand I will need to see your ticket before I can deliver Apollo.”

Oakes reached for his wallet, removed five crisp hundred-dollar notes, and thrust them at Monty. “This is all you need to see.”

Monty glanced at the bills, his expression pained. “This is most irregular. I’m afraid I’m not authorized to deliver the horse until after I see proof that—”

“Are you calling me a liar?” Oakes demanded hotly.

“Of course not!” Monty stammered, clearly appalled. “Sir, I never intended—”

“Then take the damned money and bring me my horse. I bought the tickets and he’s rightfully mine. I expect to see you first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, sir. Yes, sir.” Monty accepted the bills and scribbled down his address. He shook the man’s hand one last time. “You have no idea what a delight this has been for me, Mr. Oakes. Until tomorrow, then.” He tipped his hat and made his way back through the crowd.

“He’s quite something, isn’t he?” Devon said to Cole.

“Unbelievable,” Cole answered, grudgingly impressed. He watched as Oakes’ friends congratulated him on his good fortune, and felt not the slightest twinge of guilt at having taken the man’s money. After all, Oakes had been eager to deprive a rightful owner of a thoroughbred Arabian. Had he at any point admitted that he hadn’t bought the lottery tickets, he never would have been taken.

Cole escorted Devon from the tavern. They climbed into the wagon and rode the short distance back to the Ghost. Monty was waiting for them at the gangplank, his jovial smile firmly in place. “Cooperative chap, wasn’t he?” he said, referring to Oakes. “Not overly burdened with brains, of course, but a pleasure to do business with just the same.”

“How’d you know he wouldn’t see right through your story?” Cole asked as he assisted Devon from the wagon.

Monty snorted. “I’ve yet to meet an intelligent man who called his wife ‘woman’.’”

Cole looked from Devon to her uncle, taking stock of their situation. They were behind enemy lines, about to risk their lives once again to make it through the blockade. The closest thing he had to a father-in-law was the most outrageous con man he’d ever met in his life. His new bride was a convicted murderess he’d been blackmailed into marrying.

He’d never been happier in his life.

“I’m proud of you, Uncle,” Devon said, standing on tiptoe to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “There’s just one more thing I’d like you to do for me.”

“Anything, my girl.”

“Give Cole his watch back.”

Cole’s eyes widened as he automatically reached into his shirt pocket and came up empty. Devon turned and moved toward the gangplank. Monty frowned and let out a deep sigh. He shook his head as he passed Cole his watch, a sorrowful expression on his face.

“I’ve done all I can, Captain,” he said. “But I’m afraid it’s hopeless. That girl’s never going to make a proper thief. She’s just too bloody soft, that’s all there is to it, just too bloody soft.”

Cole watched the gentle sway of Devon’s hips as she made her way up the gangplank. He couldn’t agree more.

Devon felt the ship’s engines rumble to life beneath her feet and steeled herself for the run. They’d made it into Wilmington, there was no reason they wouldn’t make it out. Expect, of course, that on the way in they’d had the element of surprise on their side. This time, the blockaders would be waiting for them. She suppressed a shiver, fighting to keep her courage up. Cole would make everything all right. He always did.

She looked for him now, wanting to be near him as the ship pulled away from Wilmington. But the decks were piled so high with cotton, she couldn’t see anything. In fact, every square inch of the ship was tightly packed with thick bales of their new cargo. Just crossing the deck felt like wandering through a maze. She lost her footing and stumbled a few times, for the ship seemed to be lurching from side to side. She frowned, wondering if they were having engine trouble.

Finally she made it to the bridge. Cole acknowledged her, then went back to his testing maneuvers. She understood now why the ship felt as if it had been jarring back and forth. He was putting his pilot through his paces, forcing him to make abrupt stops and hard turns. Testing the Ghost to see how she would react. Even Devon could feel that the ship was a bit sluggish, slower to respond to the commands. The hull sank lower in the water than ever before, and the ship groaned under the excess weight. She studied Cole’s face. He didn’t look worried, just serious, as though he were memorizing each slight pull and gentle sway the Ghost made.

They continued that way to Fort Fisher, executing the same jarring stops and starts. Uncle Monty and Earl Finch soon joined them on the bridge, assuming the same places they’d had earlier. Conversation was kept at a minimum. “Captain,” the pilot said as they neared the fort, “there’s a barge heading our way.”

“Go around her,” Cole answered.

The pilot steered to port, attempting to maneuver around the small ship. The barge answered with a shotgun blast and made to cut across the Ghost’s bow. “Looks like she wants us to stop,” said the pilot.

Cole frowned as he stared at the barge, then nodded. “Cut the engines.”

The barge sailed toward them, lapping up beside them until they tapped against the ship’s hull. “Permission to board, Captain,” they called up.

“What the devil do they want?” Monty muttered under his breath.

“I’m not sure,” Cole replied.

Finch turned at that and stared hard at Cole. “I thought you made this run all the time.”

Devon stood still, wondering if they’d just given themselves away, but Cole merely shrugged. “I made it not more than three months ago,” he coolly lied. “My ship was allowed to leave harbor quite unmolested.”

Finch let the matter drop as Cole turned to his pilot and said the only thing he could under the circumstances. “Let them board.”

His crewmen threw down a line. The men in the barge secured their boat and climbed aboard. The group consisted of about ten men, each carrying a stick wrapped tightly at the ends in a dark gauzy fabric, as well as a thin iron pole. The last man to board carried a flaming torch. Devon caught her breath, imagining for a moment that they meant to put the bales of cotton to the torch. Instead they made no move, but waited quietly while their leader approached the bridge.

“Cap’n,” the man said once he reached them. He wore linen pants and a shirt that might have been white at one time, but were now streaked with sweat and smoke. His skin was coarse, a thick stubble of beard shadowed his cheeks. His hair might have been blond or brown, it was simply too dirty for Devon to tell. “Mighty fine ship ye got here,” he said. “Mighty fine.”

“Who are you?”

“Name’s Lerner. Former overseer of the Clarke Plantation. Now I work for the county trackin’ down runaways.” He glanced around the bridge, his eyes widening as he noticed Devon. His lips curved into a lewd smile‌—‌a smile that made Devon feel as filthy as the man who bestowed it upon her. “Mighty fine cargo ye got aboard too.”

“What do you want?” Cole snapped.

Lerner reluctantly dragged his eyes away from Devon and looked at Cole. “New rules, Cap’n. Any ship that leaves Wilmington has to be smoked and searched.”

“I don’t have time for this.”

“Sorry about that, Cap’n, but it’s the rules. Fort Fisher won’t let nobody through unless we give the signal that you’re clean. Won’t take more than thirty minutes.” He raised his hand and gestured to his men. “Get to work, boys!”

The men below touched their gauze-wrapped sticks to the torch. But rather than flare up, the sticks emitted ah acrid, hazy smoke. Even from up above and removed as she was, Devon could feel her eyes and lungs begin to burn. She instinctively moved closer to Cole and felt the comforting pressure of his arm as he slipped it around her waist. They watched in silence as the men moved through the thick maze of cotton bales, applying their torches to the narrow spaces between. The minutes passed in torturous slowness.

“Hey! I got me one!” one of the men shouted, his voice thick with excitement.

She felt Cole grow rigid beside her as the men converged en masse. Two men stood at either end of the narrow aisle where the cry had come from and shoved their smoking torches down the tight space. The rest of the men scrambled up the cotton bales and positioned themselves above, jeering and shouting they swung into the aisle below with their long iron rods. Devon’s stomach plummeted as she watched. She clenched her fists against the folds of her skirt, fighting to keep from crying out.

Finally the men ceased. One of them moved into the narrow aisle and dragged the captured slave out by his heels. The runaway was perhaps eighteen years old, no more. The boy doubled over, tears streaming down his face as he choked and gasped for air. His skin was torn, cut and bleeding from the vicious jabs.

Cole lurched forward, but Monty caught his arm and held him back. “Steady, my boy,” he whispered. “Steady. There’s nothing we can do.”

Devon shot a glance at Finch, but he was too busy watching the furor below to notice the exchange. She realized with acute despair that Monty was right. They were in no position to help the slave. Had Cole known earlier that the runaway was aboard, he might have been able to do something. But not now. They wouldn’t make it past Fort Fisher without Lerner’s signal that the ship was clean. Or without raising Earl Finch’s suspicions that Cole was anything but a loyal Southerner.

Cole must have come to the same conclusion, for he didn’t move again when Monty released his arm. But knowing him as well as she did, Devon didn’t miss the cold fury in his eyes as he watched the men shackle the slave’s wrists and ankles, then toss him into the barge below.

Lerner turned to Cole, a gleeful smile on his face. “Hiding any more runaways, Cap’n?”

Cole swung around, glaring at the man with the full weight of his fury. Lerner’s smile abruptly froze as he took a startled step backward.

“You got what you wanted,” Cole said with a growl. “Now get the hell off my ship.”

Lerner flushed with anger. “You just watch your step goin’ through that blockade, Cap’n. I wouldn’t want my men to have to waste their time cleaning up pieces of your ship once it gets blown to bits and washed back down the river.”

“Have you finished your business, Mr. Lerner?”

“We’re done,” Lerner sneered.

“Excellent. Then allow me to assist you off my ship.” Cole hauled him up by the collar.

“What the hell—” Lerner twisted and took an ineffectual swing, but he was too late. Cole dragged him to the rail and tossed him overboard like so much unwanted garbage. They heard a loud splash as Lerner hit the water, followed by the sound of furious and rabid curses.

“Well done, Captain,” Monty said. “The man was desperately in need of a bath, wasn’t he?”

Finch frowned and shook his head. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Smith.”

“This is my ship, Mr. Finch. I run it my way, and I don’t have room aboard for scum like Lerner.”

“How do we know he’ll signal the fort that we’re clear to proceed?” Finch pressed.

Monty smiled. “Unless he’s a complete fool‌—‌which, mind you, is not impossible‌—‌he’ll stay out of our way. If we don’t get past the fort, who do you think is the first one we’ll go after, with all guns blazing?” He pointed to the barge as a small green flag was raised from the main mast. “There! What do you know, looks like our good friend Mr. Lerner figured that but all by himself.”

Cole nodded to the engineer, and the engines rumbled to life once again. They sailed in under the protection of Fort Fisher and settled offshore to wait until dark. Devon stayed on the bridge as Cole made the rounds among his men, checking the guns and ammunition, offering words of encouragement Finally they were ready to begin. Cole signaled to the man posted at the aft chains. Instead of raising anchor, the crewman merely pulled a pin out of the link, letting the chain slip quietly back into the water.

The night was clear, the sea calm, a crescent moon shining bright in the midnight sky—-dangerous conditions for making a run. Nonetheless, the Ghost crept stealthily forward, moving like a phantom warship into an enemy sea. Their run had begun.

Devon’s hope that she would be better able to stand the stress of their passage, since she’d been through it once before, was dashed within minutes of leaving the fort. Each stop and start, each near-miss, sent chills down her spine and turned her knees to jelly.

Judging from the strained expressions of her uncle and Mr. Finch, she wasn’t alone in that feeling. Even the pilot looked done in; his face was pale, his shirt soaked with sweat. Only Cole remained relatively calm, his expression betraying nothing but fierce concentration. “Easy now,” he said in a low whisper, speaking to no one in particular. “We’re almost there, just another mile or so.”

No sooner had he spoken the words than Devon heard him whisper harshly, “Pilot, hard aport! Cutter on the starboard bow!”

Devon glanced ahead to see a small rowing boat with perhaps a dozen men patrolling the water. The ship jerked to the left, missing the cutter by a hair’s breadth. Apparently the men inside the small boat were taken as much by surprise as the crew of the Ghost. Devon heard their shocked cries as their oars split against the hull.