Shadow Play (15 page)

"And she suffered for it the rest of her life, I can almost assure you," Wickham replied. "Besides, this effort to propagate rubber outside Brazil is futile. Of the two thou- sand or so seeds that were smuggled out years ago, only a dozen or so germinated. One can hardly monopolize the industry with so few trees. Aside from that, I have to wonder if the damnable trees are subject to cultivation. While living here I have done my best to propagate the
Hevea
—"

"You don't say." It was Henry, speaking up at last.

"Yes," Wickham replied. "Experimentally I have planted seedlings on the Tapajds plateau not far from here. Most have died, I confess. Not long ago I heard a passing
serinquero
say, 'If God had intended rubber trees to grow in rows, He would have made mem like that.' By Jove, but I have almost come to believe it."

The American left his chair and, taking up the bottle of brandy, walked out the door into the sunbaked garden. Within moments he was surrounded by a dozen naked, brown-skinned children offering him carvings and baskets for any treasure he had on his person.

' 'Odd chap,'' the Englishman said; then, noting the frown of concern and fatigue on Sarah's face, he stood. "You should rest. I'm certain conditions on the steamer were far from comfortable."

The thought of sleeping in a real bed lit Sarah's face with a swift and appreciative smile. Excusing herself from Henry and glancing one last time out the window, she followed her host from the room.

She did not sleep immediately. She was too hot and restless and fearful that Wickham would convince her companions to return her to Bel6m. She stripped off her clothes, leaving on only her chemise and drawers, and paced the sparsely furnished chamber before settling in a chair by the open window and turning her face into the warm but pleasant breeze. Swatches of light and shadow sliced through the shifting foliage and the air hummed with the constant drone of whirring insects and calling birds. Propping her elbow on the windowsill, she cupped her chin in her palm and watched a dozen or so children kick a coconut in the dust, their squeals of laughter seeming oddly relaxing. Soon she found herself chuckling too, imagining joining mem, as she might have years ago, before womanhood had robbed her of the right to such freedom that only the young were al- lowed. Somehow it didn't seem fair, such fun. Someday they, too, would grow up and find themselves encumbered with the tedious responsibilities of adult life. The sobering idea made her sigh, and leaning her head upon the window frame, she closed her eyes, allowing their musical laughter to send her almost, but not quite, to sleep.

Then the breeze died, and the air became warm and stagnant. The children's laughter dwindled as they hurried away, and all that was left was the rustling voice of the living forest.

Forcing open her heavy-lidded eyes, Sarah drowsily raised her head and discovered Morgan leaning against a nearby kapok tree. His shirt was open to the waist, his hair falling over his forehead in a rich black wave that stirred with some wisp of air. Spellbound, she could not move; the ability to breathe normally seemed to have left her. Like that night in Belem, she was aware that he could easily see her state of partial undress from where he stood, and was just as cognizant that she didn't care, though she should— oh, she definitely should. Such behavior would be deemed scandalous back in England. But this was Brazil, six thou- sand miles away from the strict moral code of London society.

And it was hot, so very hot. Perspiration coated her face and throat and shoulders, making the fine cotton of her chemise cling damply to her breasts, which felt sensitive and full. She was filled with the shocking urge to release her hair and shake her head so the gold waves spilled over her breasts and around her face. But somehow she sensed that the act would cause her more restiveness than it would Morgan. He was used to loose women throwing themselves at his feet, but no decent woman would allow herself to remain in the same room with him for more than five minutes—not if she valued her innocence. Yet she had allowed him to kiss her, to touch her...

Here she was, and there he was, and while she had begun to tremble with the memory of their passionate meeting on the
Santos,
he had not so much as blinked. What was he thinking? That she would fail miserably at this mission, no doubt. She really shouldn't care what Morgan Kane thought of her or her body. But she did. God help her, she did. Suddenly she wanted to prove to him that she wasn't just a pretty face with flighty ideas. She wanted to show him that she could be strong. Then perhaps he would come to respect her and... what?

Why should it matter whether or not he cared for her?

She lowered her lashes to cover her eyes, wondering how the air had so suddenly managed to turn to steam. Her skin burned unbearably. Even the trickle of perspiration down the back of her neck felt annoyingly uncomfortable.

At last, when she was able to control her confused senses, she lifted her gaze to the kapok tree with the intent of putting Morgan in his place, of showing him that his presence meant no more to her than the irritating hum of a persistent insect; that no woman of her quality could be the least bit moved by his subtly arousing gaze or the sensual promise of his experienced mouth—a mouth that had given her not one moment's peace since it had kissed her that night on her father's veranda.

But he was gone.

The river was narrowing. From where Morgan sat on the end of the pier he could just make out the image of trees on the distant shore. Awash in sunset, the lofty branches appeared ablaze against the violet sky. The cooling air hummed with sounds, each noise magnified by the falling shroud of night. At dusk the jungle was a symphony of distant hisses, crackles, peals, and whistles. If he listened closely he could recognize the breaking of tree limbs or the rustle of branches as a rare breeze sighed through them. And like the forest, which never really slept, the water kept flowing, as smoothly as liquid glass on the surface, but always dark and deep, as mysterious as any ocean and twice as dangerous. As Morgan gazed out over the seemingly tranquil surface, the water would suddenly boil in places, disturbed by schools of fish, snakes, or perhaps the monstrous piranha, the three-hundred-pound Amazon catfish that scoured the shallow waters just offshore in search of food— which, if one could believe rumors, included small children who happened to be swimming or bathing too far from their parents. When the river churned just below his feet, Morgan shivered and drew back onto the pier. Only then did he realize that Wickham had joined him.

"Pleasant evening," the Englishman said.

Morgan continued to smoke and said nothing.

' 'We missed your company at dinner.''

Silence.

"Very well," Wickham said. "I take it you're not a chap for small talk. Then I shall get to the point. I cannot believe you would undertake such a futile task as venturing overland into Japura, Mr. Kane, especially with a woman—a lady— such as Sarah St. James. Why, the trip on the
Santos
has brought her to exhaustion's door. Oh, yes, yes, I realize she tries to hide her fatigue, but it is most obvious if you only take a moment to notice. She will die out there and you know it. You all will. I beg you: reconsider this madness before it's too late."

Morgan studied the glowing tip of his cigarette, wondering why he didn't assuage the man's concern with the truth. For the last hour he'd sat on the pier staring out at the devil's paradise—hell's green door—thinking the same thought. Before arriving in Santarem he'd

had every intention of dumping Sarah, if not here, then in Manaos. But Henry was right. Manaos was far too remote; few whites ventured as far as that isolated village. Except for the rubber growers, who were mostly of Portuguese descent, the Indians rarely met outsiders. No telling how long she would be forced to live among the natives until she found her way back down the Amazon. On the other hand, it seemed fate had played right into their hands. Here in Santarem was an Englishman who would see to her welfare were he and Henry to disappear into the night.

Wickham came to the edge of the pier and squatted beside him, resting on his heels as he gazed out over the river. Without looking at Morgan, he said, "Henry and I have come up with an alternative plan. Are you willing to listen?'' At Morgan's brief nod, he continued. "Leave the girl here. I'll see to her comfort, you can be sure. You, on the other hand, continue on your quest. I will supply you with men who are capable of dealing with the dangers of the floresta, and I'll arrange for enough small boats to see you to your destination. You'll need supplies—food, medication... guns. What you've brought won't last you a week in that hell. If you had truly survived an escape overland through Japura, you would know that." Looking at Morgan directly, he added, "Personally, I think the story is a lot of poppycock. The last reported expedition that ventured into Japura was never heard from again. They were a lot of botanists on some hunt for orchids or some such rot. But that is beside the point. Quite obviously you have succeeded in convincing Sarah and those Indians that you are capable of such a feat. I'm not certain she truly believes you, but she is desperate enough to try anything, I think."

Morgan exhaled smoke through his lips before saying, "And just what do you get out of this—I mean besides Sarah, should we decide to leave her here?"

"I assure you, my intentions toward the young woman are strictly honorable, Mr. Kane. I care only for her welfare. You see, I don't think for a moment that you will survive this journey. In fact, I don't quite believe your reasons for making it. She has told me how much—or how little—she paid you to bring her here. A few hundred pounds seems far too slight a reward for such an arduous task. Therefore, I suspect you have some ulterior motive for wishing to breach King's compound. I won't press you for the details. It's really none of my business as long as it's your own neck, and not Sarah's, that you are sacrificing. As for what I get out of it..." He shrugged.
^l4
It is only what I've wished to achieve by remaining here. I want to collect enough of the
Hevea
and smuggle them out of the country so the world rubber market is no longer under the domination of men like King."

"That won't happen overnight," Morgan replied.

"Quite right. Once the seeds are planted, it will take some twenty or thirty years before die trees are mature enough to produce enough sap to be profitable. By then the Amazon as we know it will no longer exist. Peaceful villages like Santarem, Manaos, and Coari will be awash with a decadence that we are unlikely to see anywhere else in the world. And all will be controlled by people like King. They will rape this country for all it is worth. America's barbaric slavery of the Negroes will dim in comparison to what the
patraos
will do to the natives of Amazonia. I tell you, it will be a bloodbath."

Standing, Wickham arched his back to alleviate the strain of stooping for so long. Morgan remained sitting, his legs outstretched upon the weathered dock and crossed at his booted ankles. His cigarette had burned low. Its smoke filled his nostrils and made his head swim. Or perhaps the sensation had been brought on by too much whiskey and sun. Or simply because he knew the time had come to walk away from Sarah St. James and never look back.

Removing his hat, he wiped his brow with the sleeve of his shirt and looked up at the Englishman. "What do you want?"

"Make certain Miss St. James gets her rubber seeds. A hundred thousand at least. After I've seen to Miss St. James I'll await you in Coari, since chances are better there of hiring a freighter large enough to accommodate our load. I'll do what I can on this end to make arrangements for passage down the Amazon, through customs, all the way to England. Do we have a deal, Mr. Kane?"

Morgan replaced the hat on his head, cocked it at an angle over his right eye, then tossed the smoldering cigarette butt into the water. He regarded Wickham's extended hand for a long moment before shaking it. "Yeah," he said. "We have a deal.

WlCKHAM WAS TRUE TO HIS WORD. WHILE MORGAN RElaxed in Santarem and Henry accompanied Sarah on excursions to catch butterflies, the Englishman arranged for their journey to Japura. By day three all was ready: men, boats, supplies, guns, and ammunition. There were enough Winchester Model '66 rifles, capable of firing fifteen rounds before reloading, to outfit a small army. Then Morgan realized that they
would
be waging a war... against nature, and the devil. He wondered which would prove the deadliest foe.

They were to set out an hour before dawn—without Sarah. By the time she awoke to discover them gone, they would be several hours upriver. The decision to leave her behind had not been easy. He'd been tempted to change his plans and allow her to come along just for the sake of bolstering their spirits. So far she'd handled herself respect- ably. But it was one thing to brave the heat and discomfort of the steamer without complaining, and another to face the perils of the Amazon, where death could come at you out of nowhere and snuff out your life in a second. She couldn't stand up to the rigors of the journey. Resilient and obstinate though she might be, she was still only a woman. A beautiful, gentle creature more suited to a manor house than the Amazon.

The sky was dark as the Indians boarded their canoes. Morgan and Henry stood at the end of the pier watching Wickham relay his orders to Kan, who aside from Wickham, was the only man among them who could speak the Indians' language fluently.

"I feel terrible about this," Henry said. "Sarah trusted us."

"Yeah, well, this was your idea. Just swagger on down to Japura, you said. Prove your manhood and filch a bunch of rubber seeds for the little lady."

Henry huffed and turned away so quickly the bones in his nose clattered together. He

paced the length of the pier before rejoining Morgan. "We could at least give her her money back, since you've bamboozled Wickham into this deal."

"Me?"

"All right. So I might have convinced him to supply us with more Indians and guns. Regardless, we don't need Sarah's money any longer." He held out his hand. "Let's have it. I'll leave it with Wickham. At least on that point my conscience will be clear."