The Daredevil Snared. Stephanie Laurens
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would all abide by whatever Caleb decided.
It was his call. His responsibility.
He closed his eyes, searching for inner guidance—and remembered some of the tales he’d heard of Royd’s exploits.
Faced with this situation, if Royd were in his shoes, what would Royd do?
Phrased like that, the answer came in the next heartbeat.
Caleb felt his features ease. He opened his eyes, swept the group, then looked at Phillipe. “Our mission is to get the information back to London. But it won’t take all of us to accomplish that task.”
Phillipe merely arched his brows, inviting Caleb to continue down that path.
Looking at his men, Caleb said, “Once we’ve collected all the information London will need, if we’re where we think we are, even going directly north to the estuary, it’ll take at least two days to get the information back to The Prince. After that, it’ll be three weeks to get to London. Then realistically, it will take another three weeks minimum for any rescue force to reach here—and that’s assuming they’re ready to set sail within days of our news reaching Whitehall.” He scanned the faces. “That’s more than six weeks, very likely more than seven, that those held captive in the compound must survive.”
Various scenarios, various arguments, flowed through his mind. “As I see it, there’s nothing—no orders or mission considerations—that require all of us to leave and escort the information to London.” He glanced at Phillipe. “The Prince is fastest, so she should take the packet, but there’s no reason The Raven has to follow.”
“No, indeed.” Phillipe’s dark eyes glinted with amused approval—and encouragement.
“Against that,” Caleb continued, “we cannot know what might happen at the mine over those crucial seven weeks. Miss Fortescue told us that Dubois is already under pressure to mine faster, to get as many diamonds out as quickly as possible, presumably so the mine can be closed and the captives eliminated, thus concealing all evidence of the scheme as well as the identities of the villains behind it.
“So”—he drew a deep breath—“given the ultimate intent of our mission is to rescue the captives, in the circumstances in which we now find ourselves, I believe our correct way forward is to send the information back to London with an escort capable of ensuring it gets through, while the rest of us remain here—in readiness should something go wrong at the mine such that the captives need us to intervene. And if nothing adverse occurs, we’ll be here, in position to join the rescue force when it arrives.”
Approving murmurs broke out all around.
Caleb cocked a brow at Phillipe.
Phillipe grinned and nodded. “An excellent summation of the current state of affairs. And as we all know, those who survive are those who adapt to changing circumstances—to what they find on the ground.”
Ducasse, Phillipe’s quartermaster, who had been talking animatedly with Carter, Caleb’s bosun, turned to Caleb. “The boy said there were only twenty-four canaille in the compound. There are twenty-five of us. Why can’t we take the compound and free the captives ourselves?”
Carter leaned forward to ask, “Do we really need to wait for the rescue force?”
Caleb sobered in a blink. “Yes. We have to wait. If it was just us against the canaille”—he used Ducasse’s highly appropriate description—“and the captives were safely screened from any clash, that would be one thing. But from everything we’ve heard about this Dubois, at the first hint of an attack, he’ll lead his men to seize the women and children. He’ll hold them as hostages and force us to surrender.” Caleb shook his head. “We can’t go that route.”
“I agree.” Phillipe met Ducasse’s eyes, then looked around the circle. “By all accounts, this Dubois is not a commander we should even poke.”
Caleb nodded. “For instance, even though it’s tempting, we will not attack this group of six who took the diamonds to the coast and have yet to return. Removing them will alert Dubois that someone is out here—that, most likely, someone knows about the mine. He will then tell his masters, and they might decide to preemptively shut down the mine—which is the opposite of what we want.”
Ducasse frowned. “But won’t it be the same later, even when the rescue force arrives?”
“Once we have more men and resources, we’ll have more options, but you’re correct in that to take the compound, we’re going to need an effective diversion—one that distracts Dubois and his men long enough for us to get between them and the captives.” Caleb pulled a face. “I’ve no idea what such a diversion might be, but that’s something we should use our time here to plan.”
“What we need to do at this point,” Phillipe stated, “is to keep things as they are, as far as possible exactly as they are, until the rescue force gets here. All we do should work toward that goal.”
“So we wait and we watch”—Caleb gave his words the weight of an order—“and we only intervene if something occurs that threatens the captives.” He looked around the circle and saw understanding and agreement in all the men’s faces. “We’ll set our initial mission on course for completion, but as many of us as possible will remain here, both to continue to scout and prepare for the eventual storming of the compound and also to act as the captives’ last line of defense—as extra protection until the rescue force arrives.”
* * *
The following morning, as they had the morning before, Caleb and Phillipe and two of their men scrambled into position on the rock shelf before the compound woke for the day.
Caleb observed the same pattern of activities; he jotted down the more relevant—such as the movements of the guards and male captives—then turned his attention to putting the finishing touches to his diagram of the compound.
More than an hour later, Phillipe jogged his elbow.
When Caleb glanced his way, Phillipe nodded toward the compound’s gate. “The boy’s leaving, but no one’s with him.”
They watched for ten more minutes, but no one—mercenary or captive—made any move to follow Diccon.
Phillipe caught Caleb’s eye. “Shall we?”
Caleb nodded, tucked away his notebook, and got to his feet. “He might have news for us.”
They found Diccon in the area between their camp and the lake. He was circling a large berry vine-cum-bush, swiftly picking berries. His face lit when he saw them. “I hoped you’d come. I didn’t want to go to your camp in case you had guards.”
Caleb smiled and ruffled the boy’s hair. “They know who you are.” He crouched and looked Diccon in the eye. “Do you have any messages for us?”
Diccon nodded. “From Capt’n Dixon and Miss Katherine. Capt’n Dixon said as he and Mr. Hillsythe would need until tomorrow to do their reports for you—they have to be careful about getting the paper to write on, but he said they’d have everything ready for you by then.”
Caleb nodded. “Good. And Miss Fortescue?”
“She said as she would bring the reports out to you tomorrow—that she’d come out with me like she did yesterday. Dubois agreed to let her collect nuts again tomorrow, but wouldn’t let any of the other women take her place today. He’s like that.”
Caleb dropped a hand on Diccon’s shoulder and rose. He exchanged a glance with Phillipe, then smiled down at Diccon. “It’s nearly noon, and there are plenty of fruit trees around our camp. Why don’t you come back with us and have something to eat?” The boy was little more than skin and bones, and they had a good supply of jerky.
Diccon grinned and nodded. He fell in between Caleb and Phillipe, and they made their way back to the camp.
Both Caleb and Phillipe settled down to finalize the reports