The mercenaries also breakfasted, in their case under another palm-thatched awning erected in front of the guard tower, close by the kitchen. From their position on the rock shelf above and to the rear of the compound, Caleb and his men could get no clear view of the mercenaries as they broke their fast.
Caleb grunted. “I would have liked to get a look at this Dubois and his lieutenants.” They all knew that the mercenaries they’d seen thus far were followers, not leaders.
In contrast, they were fairly certain who among the male captives were the leaders—the officers.
“That’s Hopkins—the one just joining the other three.” Caleb focused on the four men who sat together at the side of the fire pit closest to the mine. “I met his sister in Southampton. They share that same odd-colored hair.”
“I’m fairly certain,” Phillipe said, his eyes narrowed on the group, “that the lean, brown-haired one will prove to be Hillsythe. He looks like I imagine one of your Wolverstone’s men would look. Which leaves the other two as Fanshawe and Dixon.”
“That matches their bearings,” Caleb said. “From the way they hold themselves, they must be either army or navy.”
They watched, but gained no further clues as to who was whom among the captives. Caleb made a note of their number. “I make it twenty-three men all told, six women, and twenty-four children.”
Phillipe stirred. “Most of the children are young—less than ten or so. There are only five who are older—four boys and that fair-haired girl.”
“I think,” Caleb said, studying the girl, “that they must be the ones Robert and Aileen had to allow to be taken.”
Phillipe nodded grimly. “I read that in Robert’s journal.”
After the meal, the captives dispersed. The men headed for the mine in groups, followed by most of the children. A few of the children, all girls, went to an awning-shaded work area closer to the rear of the compound—closer to the base of the cliff from which the men watched. The girls picked up small hammers and started to take rocks from one pile, tapping each, then sorting them into two piles, one much larger than the other.
After a moment of studying them, Phillipe offered, “I think they’re sorting the raw ore into the chunks that might have diamonds and those that most likely don’t.”
Caleb grunted.
On quitting the fire pit, the women carried the tin plates and bowls back to the kitchen, then they retreated to a hut that sat directly behind the long central barracks that housed the mercenaries. An armed guard patrolled the area before the hut’s door, but as with all the guards, including the pair who had climbed to the tower and the fresh pair of guards who had slouched into position on the recently opened gates, he appeared utterly confident and clearly expected no threat.
Sitting on Caleb’s other side, Norton humphed. “It’s as if the guards think they’re just there for show.”
Miss Fortescue was the last of the women to enter the hut—the one Diccon had dubbed the cleaning shed. There was something in the way Katherine Fortescue held her head that effectively conveyed her complete disregard for the mercenaries about her. It wasn’t as overt as contempt but was a subtle defiance nonetheless.
Regardless of his absorption with jotting down everything useful he could about the camp, Caleb had spent long minutes drinking in every aspect of the delectable Miss Fortescue. For despite the privations of her captivity, she was enchanting, with her brown hair shining and with features that, as far as Caleb could make out, were striking and fine, set in a heart-shaped face. As for her figure, not even the drab, all-but-shapeless gowns that all the women had, apparently, been given to wear could hide her nicely rounded curves.
Regardless of the situation, his interest in Miss Fortescue was a real and vital thing—definitely there and, quite surprising to him, distinctly stronger and more compulsive than such attractions customarily were. Why a woman he’d never even met should so effortlessly capture his attention—fix his senses and hold his focus—he couldn’t explain.
“I haven’t been able to count all the mercenaries yet,” Phillipe said, “but Diccon’s number of twenty-four in camp at the moment, plus Dubois, seems about right.”
Reluctantly eschewing his thoughts of Katherine Fortescue, Caleb jotted the number in his notebook, then looked down at the compound once more.
Four of the male captives—none of them the officers, all of whom had vanished into the mine—had hung back in a group to one side of the mine entrance. As Caleb watched, two mercenaries ambled out from the central barracks and, each holstering a pistol, walked to join the group.
Nearing the four captives, one of the mercenaries waved the men to a cart parked nearby. Two large water barrels and four large cans for filling them sat on the cart. The four men fell in; they lifted the cart’s axle and started the cart rolling across the compound toward the gate.
Caleb watched the men angle the cart through the gate, then turn in the direction of the lake. “Hmm.”
The animal track they used to reach the rock shelf, if followed in the opposite direction, ultimately led down to the lake. On the previous day, they’d joined and later left the track halfway up the hillside and hadn’t noticed the proximity of the lake, but that morning, a glimmer of light off the water had flashed through the trees and drawn their collective eye. They’d made a brief detour; they hadn’t wanted to be there when the men with their guards came to fill the compound’s barrels. They’d lingered only long enough to fix the scene in their minds. The lake was fed by a stream rushing down the hillside; it was small, but from its intense color, it was reasonably deep. A short, narrow wharf jutted out along one bank, no doubt built to facilitate drawing water for the camp; on all the other banks, dense vegetation crowded the shoreline.
Caleb, Phillipe, Norton, and Ellis continued to watch the compound, but captives and mercenaries alike seemed to have settled to their morning’s duties. The only people coming and going were the children who occasionally emerged from the mine, lugging woven baskets filled with loose rocks that they added to the pile the girls were sorting, then returned to the mine.
Letting his thoughts about the lake slide to the back of his mind, Caleb spent some time drawing a detailed map of the compound, marking in all the buildings and structures and noting the position and direction of the tracks, including the animal track leading to the rock shelf, plus the location of their camp in the jungle clearing and the position of the lake.
After a moment, working from memory, he added a crude sketch of the lake itself. He studied the sketch for several minutes, then glanced at Phillipe. “Those weapons we took from Kale and his men.” They’d gathered all the weapons before burying Kale and his crew, and had searched and removed more from the buildings in the slavers’ camp, then they’d bundled the weapons up and brought them along in case of future need. “There are far more than we could ever use ourselves. What about creating a cache nearby—somewhere those in the compound could get to when the time to fight arrives?”
Phillipe lightly shrugged. “Why not? Better than just discarding them when we leave—no sense wasting good weapons.” Briefly, he studied Caleb’s eyes, then faintly smiled. “Where were you thinking of burying this cache?”
Caleb grinned. “The lake. There was a mound just beyond the end of the wharf.” He pointed on his sketch; Phillipe, Norton, and Ellis leaned closer to look. “If we buried the cache there, it would be easy for those in the compound to get to. And they only send two lackadaisical guards with four men—that’s not bad odds.”
Phillipe nodded. “That’s also an easy place to describe to those in the compound.”
“And as we’re only talking of a month,” Caleb said, “two at the most, before a rescue force arrives, then even with light wrappings, the powder should still be useable.”
Norton pointed down into the compound. “There are the men bringing back the water barrels.”