Declan absorbed what it said of the situation that one of Wolverstone’s own had vanished. Imagining what might be going on, he frowned. “What does the governor—Holbrook—have to say about this? And the commander at Thornton, as well. Who is that, incidentally?”
“A Major Eldridge is the commanding officer at Thornton. With respect to Dixon, he’s as baffled as we are. As for Holbrook…” Wolverstone exchanged a glance with Melville. “Holbrook appears to believe the, for want of a better term, local scuttlebutt—that people who vanish in that manner have, and I quote, ‘gone into the jungle to seek their fortune.’” Wolverstone’s gaze locked on Declan’s face. “As you are someone who, if I’m reading between Royd’s lines correctly, has walked into those same jungles in search of fortunes, I’m curious as to what your opinion of Holbrook’s assessment might be.”
Declan returned Wolverstone’s steady regard while he considered how best to reply. Given he would be contradicting the stated opinion of a governor, he chose his words with care. “As you say, I’ve been into those jungles. No man in his right mind would simply walk into them. The roads are mere tracks at best and are often overgrown. Villages are primitive and few and far between. The terrain is difficult, and the jungles are dense and, in many places, impenetrable. While water is, in general, plentiful, it may not be potable. It’s entirely possible, if not likely, that you will meet hostile natives.” He paused, then concluded, “In short, any European venturing beyond the fringes of a settlement would need to gather a small company, with significant supplies as well as the right sort of equipment, and assembling all that isn’t something that can be done without people noticing.”
Melville humphed. “You’ve just confirmed what Wolverstone’s been telling me. That we—meaning the Crown—can’t trust Holbrook, which means we can’t trust anyone presently on the ground in Freetown.” Melville paused, then grimaced and looked at Wolverstone. “We probably shouldn’t trust anyone in the fleet, either.”
Wolverstone inclined his head. “I believe it would be wise not to do so.”
“Which,” Melville said, returning his gaze to Declan, “is why we have such urgent need of you, sir. We need someone we can trust to go out to Freetown and learn what the devil’s going on.”
Wolverstone stirred, reclaiming Declan’s attention. “We should clarify that, in part, our urgency is fueled by wider considerations.” Wolverstone caught Declan’s gaze. “I’m sure you’ll recall the case of the Black Cobra, which ended with a public hanging just a year ago.” When Declan nodded—who hadn’t heard of that episode?—Wolverstone continued, “The Black Cobra cult, controlled by a trio of English subjects, caused significant harm to our colonial peoples. That the cult was able to spread so widely, and act for as long as it did, was an indictment on the British government’s ability to manage its colonies.” Wolverstone’s lips thinned. “The government—the Crown—does not need another similar incident raising further questions about our ability to rule our empire.”
Declan didn’t need further explanation. He now fully understood that the pressure on Melville to find out exactly what was going on in Freetown, to resolve the matter and re-establish appropriate order, was coming from a great deal higher up the political pole. “Very well.” He glanced at Wolverstone. “Do you know when The Cormorant is due to reach Southampton?”
“Royd said it sailed…it would be the day before yesterday.”
Declan nodded. “They most likely left late, so the earliest into Southampton would be tomorrow morning, but allowing for the winds and the tides, it’ll probably be later. The crew will need a day to fully provision the ship from our stores there. I’ll use the next two days to see what information about doings in Freetown I can glean from the London docks, then I’ll leave for Southampton the following day and sail on the evening tide.”
“How long do you think it’ll take you to reach Freetown?” Melville asked.
“With favorable winds, The Cormorant can make it in fourteen days.”
“There’s one thing both Melville and I wish to stress. Indeed,” Wolverstone said, “you can consider it a part of your orders—an instruction not to be ignored.”
Declan arched his brows.
“The instant you learn anything—any fact at all—we want you to return and bring that fact back to us.” Wolverstone’s voice had assumed the rigid tones of absolute command. “We cannot afford to lose more men while continuing to have no idea what is taking place down there. We need you to go in, winkle out a first lead—but we don’t, specifically do not, want you to follow it.”
“We need you to come back and tell us,” Melville reiterated.
Declan didn’t have to think too hard to understand that the political pressure for some answers, any answers, would be mounting by the day.
Wolverstone’s tone was dry as he remarked, “I realize that, as a gentleman-adventurer, you would prefer not to operate under such a restriction. That is, however, what is needed in this case. The instant you learn anything—and especially if, subsequently, you sense any opposing reaction—you are to leave immediately and bring that information home.” He paused, then, in a quieter tone, added, “We’ve lost too many capable men already, and for nothing. That cannot go on.”
Although he hadn’t personally received orders directly from Wolverstone before, Declan knew enough of the man’s history to know that last stipulation was a very un-Dalziel-like stance. The man had been renowned for giving his operatives objectives as orders, allowing said operatives to execute their missions largely as they saw fit. Dalziel had always shown an appreciation for flexibility in the field. And an expectation of complete success.
Which, more often than not, had been met.
That he was being so very cautious—indeed, insisting on such rigid caution—Declan suspected was more a reflection of the seriousness of the situation rather than any indication that the leopard had changed his spots.
He didn’t like the caveat, the restriction, but… “Very well.” If all he was required to do was learn one fact, that would probably take him no more than a day. In effect, his unusual orders would reduce his time away from Edwina; he decided it behooved him to be grateful rather than disgruntled. He glanced at Melville, then looked at Wolverstone. “If there’s nothing else…?”
“I’ve penned a letter giving you the authority to call on the West Africa Squadron for any assistance you might need,” Melville said. “It’s with my secretary—you can pick it up as you leave.”
As Declan rose, Wolverstone, too, came to his feet. “Short of a compelling need, however, I would suggest you keep that letter to yourself. Use it only as a last resort.” He met Declan’s eyes. “Were I you, I would trust no one. Not with the details of your mission. Not with anything they do not need to know.”
The cool incisiveness in Wolverstone’s words told Declan very clearly that neither Wolverstone nor Melville trusted Governor Holbrook or Major Eldridge, or Vice-Admiral Decker, presently in command of the West Africa Squadron. And if they didn’t trust them, they didn’t trust anyone.
There was something rotten in Freetown, and it had spread and sunk its roots deep.
Declan exchanged a nod with Melville.
Wolverstone extended his hand, and Declan gripped it and shook.
“We’ll expect to see you in a month or so.” Wolverstone paused, then, releasing Declan’s hand, murmured, “And if you’re not back inside six weeks, I’ll send Royd after you.”
Declan