Deadly Shoals (34 page)

“Did it take long?” Wiki asked.

“Nope. We started the moment the schooner was moored, and got the last into the boats by dark that same day. Slept on the schooner, sailed the boats down the river before dawn, and were at the estuary by sunup. That was the last I saw of the Río Negro—we took our departure as soon as we was all back on board the brig.”

“This was on the fifteenth?”

“Aye.”

“And Peter and Dick were with you?”

Nash's brows shot up. “Well, of course! I doubt they've ever jumped ship in their lives. They'll get a nice advance in Rio, after we've sold the brig, and a whole lot more money after they've worked their passage back to New York. Why forfeit all that by jumping ship in a godforsaken place like the Río Negro?”

“So you haven't lost any of your men?”

“None,” confirmed Nash, and then went on, “We've decided Rio de Janeiro is the best place to put the
Athenian
up for sale. Would've been there before now, except for a couple of little whales.”

Distracted, Wiki exclaimed, “Whales?”

“Aye. We had trypots on board, of course, and they topped up our seal-oil barrels nicely.”

Wiki shook his head in awe, thinking he would never stop learning about Yankee opportunism, and then, because he wondered whether Adams had set off for the
salinas
before or after Jim Nash took his departure from the dunes, he asked, “Was Adams still on board of the schooner when you left?”

“Nope. He came on my boat as far as El Carmen. We dropped him off at the steps, and that's the last I ever saw of him.”

Wiki sat up straight, because this gave an entirely new slant to the affair.

Captain Coffin said curiously, “Why did he want to get back to El Carmen?”

“He was in a passion, to tell the truth, on account of the nonappearance of that sailing master he'd hired. Once he found him, he was heading back upriver on horseback to collect the
Grim Reaper
and sail her down again to load the provisions—or so he said.”

Wiki said slowly, “So he could have arrived back at the store to find the provisions gone.”

“Well, if that was the case, it would've done nothin' to calm him down.”

“Adams was angry by nature, or so I noticed,” Stackpole remarked.

“Ain't that nothing but the truth!”

Surprised, Wiki asked, “You knew Adams well?”

“I should say I did,” Jim replied with emphasis. “Sealed a couple of seasons with him, on my very first voyage.”

Wiki exclaimed,
“Adams was a sealer?”

“Didn't you know?” Nash looked surprised. “But that's why we gave him so much business, on account of I knew him so well.”

Urgently, Wiki said, “What kind of man was he—what was Adams like?”

Jim thought a moment, and then said, “I liked him. He was a damn fine seaman, and even better at the sealing business. Entertaining, too—full of rousing yarns. Flashy sort of cove, had a lot of confidence in himself. Wore a sort of medal about his neck, a curious thing, one of those old Spanish coins with a cross on one side, and a three-masted ship on the other. What d'you call 'em—pieces of eight? The first seal he ever killed vomited it up in its death throes—must've swallowed it with some gravel when it scooped a fish off the bottom. It was gold, but he bored a hole in it and hung it round his neck, and reckoned it brought him luck.”

Stackpole fished about in his pockets again, brought out a medal, and shoved it at Jim Nash. “This it?”

Nash took it, and inspected it. “Aye,” he said, handing it back. “How did you get hold of it?”

“Cut it off the string that hung around the neck of his corpse.”

Jim Nash grimaced. “So his luck deserted him in the end, poor old Caleb—though I reckon it was running out already. Sorry about that, because I respected the man. Taught me a lot, though you had to watch his temper. He'd fly into a murderous rage without a hint of warning, and even though he was a little chap, it was a good idea to get out of the way quick. He once even flew at
me
with his cudgel. I might've been just eighteen, but I was a lot bigger than him, and he learned not to try that again.”

“Was he apt to bear a grudge?” inquired Captain Coffin.

“You can definitely say that. He bore no grudge ag'in me, because I beat him fair and square, but if he thought he'd been done wrong, he wouldn't rest till he got revenge. He was a good sealing man, though—could put away four hundred seals a day without straining himself overmuch, or even givin' himself a fright.”

Wiki asked, “So why did he get out of sealing?”

“There was a brawl of some sort—but I don't know the details, on account of I wasn't there, it being a later voyage. Someone told me he left his ship in a hurry—in Montevideo, I think—and that was the last I heard of him for quite a few months. But when we arrived up the Río Negro in October 1836, there he was in charge of that store—told us he owned it, and that this was the life for him. It was a real surprise, I tell you—and very useful, too, considerin' we was doing business in those parts.”

Stackpole said, “The first time I dealt with him, he seemed to be doing well.”

“He was doing very well indeed. Within a couple of years, though, he was lookin' considerable poorer.”

“I noticed that, too,” said Stackpole.

“General de Rosas has deliberately ruined the economy of the Río Negro, according to a customs officer we met,” said Wiki.

“That's what I heard, too,” said Jim. “That quack of a surgeon, Ducatel, was particular' vociferous about it.”

“I also heard that they're plotting revolution,” Wiki went on.

“Well, I must say that don't surprise me.”

“Did Adams ever talk about it?”

“Nope, he never mentioned anythin' along those lines. I don't reckon he was interested in politics, just in making money—and I got the strong impression he was badly lacking in that department. The agent's fee for selling the schooner would've come in mighty handy.”

“Adams was after more than the fee,” Stackpole growled. “That deed of sale might have been real, but all along he was planning to keep the schooner for himself.”

“I find that hard to believe,” said Nash, exhibiting loyalty to an old sealing mate. “Though he was certainly on his beam ends,” he added thoughtfully.

Wiki asked, “Did he say anything about going back to sealing?”

“Well, now that you mention it, just before I gave him the job of selling the schooner, he did ask if we needed another hand on the
Athenian
. But of course I had to say no, what with the brig's owners orderin' us to put her on the block.”

There was a shout on deck—Mr. Seward issuing orders to take in the new topgallant. They all looked up at the skylight, where a gust of wind abruptly rattled the panes. Jim drained his brandy and stood up. “Better run,” he said.

They all crowded up the companionway, Captain Nash first, then Wiki, then Captain Stackpole, with Captain Coffin bringing up the rear. When Nash opened the door at the top it was to find the rain lashing down, and he stopped short, grimacing. Wiki could see his boat's crew waiting by the davits to lower his boat, once he was inside it. Their heads were pulled down between their shoulders as the wind gusted and the rain hissed. “Who wouldn't sell a farm to go to sea?” he rhetorically asked, and braced himself to run.

Wiki stopped him by gripping his arm, saying urgently, “Who was the sailing master who didn't turn up? Did Adams mention his name?”

“Aye, but what the hell was it?” Nash stood and ruminated a moment, rain dripping off his nose, but then shook his head, made a dash for the boat, and jumped inside it. The davit falls rattled as his men eased off the ropes, and the boat lowered in jerks, so that his burly form disappeared bit by bit.

Just as his waist was at the level of the rail, light dawned in his face. He shouted, “I remember now—the name was Harden!”

Then, without another word, he was gone.

Sixteen

The commotion of taking in sail was short-lived. Within minutes the sky was patched with blue, the wind had moderated, the rain had stopped, and the reefs in the canvas were being let out. Wiki stood at the larboard rail with his hair whipping about his face as he watched the
Athenian
draw away to the north. Then he realized that Captain Stackpole had joined him. The whaling master was leaning on the rail staring moodily at the gray, heaving waves.

He looked at Wiki and said, “So Adams hired two seamen and a sailing master, contrary to my instructions. Why d'you reckon he did that?”

Wiki said nothing, instead thinking with astonishment that he missed Forsythe's pungent comments and flashes of insight, and that he would have given a great deal to talk with the southerner right now.

Tiring of waiting for an answer, Stackpole shifted, demanding harshly, “So when d'you reckon it was that Adams made up his mind to steal the schooner? After Nash had left, or before?”

“Jim Nash said that Adams asked him for a job on the
Athenian,
but he had to say no, as he had instructions to end the voyage and put the brig up for sale,” Wiki finally replied. “When he offered the schooner to you, Adams knew that you intended to take her on a sealing voyage. Did he ask you whether you'd give him a job as your sealing master—or even one of your sealing gang?”

Stackpole shook his head.

“Then I think you have your answer.”

The whaleman's expression was blank for a moment, and then grim. “He planned to steal her right from the start, and take her out sealing himself,” he said, almost to himself. His voice rose as he bitterly demanded, “Why didn't he steal the money, too? That would've really made his day!”

Wiki shrugged. “If it had been cash money, it might have been different—though he would have had two lots of people chasing him up, Nash for his money, and you for your schooner. But a bank draft was too complicated. He would have had to get to a big town to cash it, with an increased chance of being caught. No, it was easier for him to hand over the draft when Nash signed the deed of sale.”

Stackpole sighed deeply. “So that's it,” he said. “Nash has his money, but I don't have my schooner. And there's not a bloody thing we can do about it.”

“I don't agree,” said Wiki.

His father had quietly joined them, Wiki saw. He leaned his back against the rail with his hands in his pockets and a quizzical look in his half-shut eye.

Stackpole, who hadn't noticed Captain Coffin's arrival, said, “What do you mean?”

“I think we should get back to the Río Negro.”

“The devil we're not! I need to get back to the
Trojan
!”

Captain Coffin said to Wiki, “I assume you've got a good reason for saying that?”

Wiki nodded, remembering what Forsythe had exclaimed when he'd learned that the clerk had been killed:
“You reckon the storekeeper's killer missed the boat because he wanted to get hold of that bill of sale, but then hung around for seven or more days before he finally got around to knifing the clerk?… But the bloody schooner was gone!”

As the southerner had said, it didn't make sense—which meant that the only logical reason for killing the clerk for the bill of sale was that …

Wiki said with perfect certainty, “The schooner's still up the river.”

Stackpole exclaimed, “But you were so certain that she'd sailed!”

“I know,” Wiki admitted, feeling rueful. Bernantio and his gauchos, silent and secretive by nature, had headed upriver at the gallop after leaving him and Stackpole at the dunes, he remembered. At the time, he'd assumed that they had given up the hunt, but he'd forgotten the famous stubbornness of the
rastreadores.
If they hadn't been distracted by frantic rumors of a French invasion, they would have found the schooner, he was sure, and knew now that he shouldn't have paid them off so fast.

He said, “She's hidden in the willow trees at one of the little river islands upriver of the salt dunes, most likely with her masts unstepped.”

Stunned silence, during which Captain Coffin studied Wiki's face. Finally, he remarked, “Well, the wind's in our favor.” Then he headed to the quarterdeck to issue orders to Mr. Seward.

Captain Stackpole was staring at Wiki with conflicting emotions chasing across his face—hope, followed by disbelief, and finally speculation. He said, “Did you change your mind because of something Nash said?”

Again, Wiki paused, remembering that Stackpole himself had remarked that once the schooner was gone, the deed of sale was no longer important, but said, “Jim did make it apparent that the killer didn't have a crew to get the schooner out to sea.”

“But Adams had shipped two seamen and a sailing master! Against my instructions,” Stackpole added moodily.

More evidence that Adams had planned all along to steal the
Grim Reaper,
Wiki thought. He said, “There were only the two Gomes fishermen on board the schooner, remember, and Nash didn't think much of them.”

“But Adams was collecting the sailing master…”

Stackpole's voice faded as realization struck. “It was Harden!” he exclaimed. “And Harden's joined the expedition fleet!”

“I wonder why Adams hired him, in the first place?” Wiki asked. “Nash told us that Adams himself was a fine seaman. Did you know that he was a sailor?”

“I had no idea that he was either a sailor or a sealer—for me, he was just a trader. I only ever dealt with him at his store,” Stackpole said. “So it was big news to me that he might be a fine seaman. However, though he would have taken command on the passage to the rookeries, he would then put someone else in charge of the schooner while she was lying off the sealing beaches. It was more important for Adams to be on shore to oversee the sealing gang, while whoever was looking after the schooner took care of sending men, provisions, and tools to the beach as needed, and stowing furs as they came on board.”