Shadow Play (42 page)

Stooping beside her, silhouetted by the dim light spilling through the doorway behind him, he said, "I've just spoken to Wickham. He's seen King's men in the village asking questions. He suspects King may be with them."

She clutched his arm. "Oh, God."

"Get your clothes on as quickly as possible. Wickham's waiting for us at the ship. He's made arrangements for us to board, and once there we'll be safe. The captain's called in his men and we're setting off at first light."

She nodded, and though her knees were weak, managed to drag on her clothes in the dark with Morgan's help. She
didn't take time with the sandals, however, but swiftly tied them together and draped them over her shoulder as she followed Morgan down the corridor to the entrance of the hotel.

The rain was a solid wall of water falling from the sky. Standing on the threshold of the building, Morgan gazed out into the torrent and removed his knife from its sheath. Looking back at Sarah, he said, "Stay as close to the buildings as possible, and do something about your hair. All those blond curls will be like waving a flag in front of a bull." He plopped his hat on her head. "We'll duck down the alley and approach the docks through the jungle. That way, if anyone besides us happens to be out in this flood, the likelihood of our being seen won't be so great."

"Right," she said, and stepped toward the door. As he grabbed her, she looked around.

A fine mist covered his face, and his lashes were heavy with rain as he watched her eyes. More softly, he said, "Keep running no matter what. Run and don't stop until you see Wickham. Do you understand me, Sarah?"

She nodded.

"No matter what happens. No matter what you see or hear, you keep running. Promise me."

"I promise."

Flashing his lopsided smile, he kissed her mouth. ' 'That's my girl. Are you ready?"

"No."

' 'Me neither.'' He turned her toward the door and shoved.

As bleak as the night was, there was an eerie, shimmering red glow to the sky caused by heat lightning, and suddenly Sarah understood Morgan's concern over their being spot- ted. As she dashed down the street, keeping close to the buildings, her shadow kept pace with her, dancing along the ground and walls, surrounding her in as many as three images as she reached the alley and ducked around the corner. The rain drummed on the roofs of the buildings,
cascading from the eaves, drowning out the sounds of her footsteps and labored breathing.

The buildings backed up to the jungle, so slipping into its dark depths took little effort. The foliage and the crowding bamboo that grew near the creek they were forced to ford did nothing to lessen the deluge that pounded their heads and shoulders as they fought
their way through the vegetation. At last they reached the docks. The piers appeared to be deserted. At the end of one wharf the hulk of the
Amazonas
could be easily detected. "Keep low," came Morgan's voice behind her. "Stay as close to the edge as possible. If there's trouble, jump for the water."

"But I can't swim," she reminded him.

A moment of hesitation passed before he said, "So you'll learn—fast."

They crept along the dock, slipping behind canvas- covered crates piled high, squatting behind overturned canoes, until at last they discovered Sir Henry and Kan standing beneath an umbrella at the end of the
Amazona's
gangplank. The pair waved as they hurried on board the ship.

"By Jove, I was becoming frantic," Wickham declared, handing Sarah his umbrella. "Not ten minutes ago there were several men prowling the docks, and I thought for certain you would be found. Quickly, my dear. Get inside before you're drowned by this downpour."

Relieved, Sarah hurried with Kan through the corridor to a dimly lit room. Hesitating and throwing up her hand to partially cover her eyes, she blinked in the light. At last she managed to focus on several curious seamen, and finally on the captain himself.

"Miss St. James, what a great pleasure to meet you," he said in a thundering voice.

She almost wept as she accepted the man's proffered handshake. To actually hear a friendly English accent seemed too good to be true. She began trembling so hard
in relief she was forced to sit in a chair the captain hurried to offer her.

Then Wickham joined them. Hugging herself, Sarah stared at the door behind him, anticipating Morgan's ap- pearance. She couldn't wait to throw herself into the arms of the man she loved.

But there was no Morgan. Not after ten seconds, or twenty, or thirty. She got to her feet. "Where is he?" she demanded.

"My dear..." Wickham reached for her, his face concerned.

She batted his hands away and moved toward the door. He caught and held her.

"He'll be back," Wickham said. "He left something at the hotel and had to return."

⁴
'What? What could he have left? There wasn't anything. He's lying. He's gone back to face King. He never in- tended ..." She took a breath. "I'm going back as well. I won't let him do this."

"You're going nowhere," Wickham responded with authority. "I promised him I would

keep you here, and that's what I intend to do. By Jove, you're a headstrong young woman. Now sit in that chair and behave like the lady you are, or were before that bloody American coerced you into this fanatical escapade."

⁴
'The
bloody American
did no such thing," she responded hotly. "I am responsible for this escapade, and if anything happens to Morgan ..." Sinking into the chair, she closed her eyes. She choked and fell silent, then whispered, "Dear God, I simply wouldn't want to continue living."

The hours dragged by, and as the rain ceased and the dawn crept over the treetops, Sarah continued to pace. While the seamen rushed about the decks, preparing to shove off, she threw herself on the captain's mercy and pleaded for more time.

Sir Henry tried to reason with her. "Sarah, it's imperative that we get those seeds to England as quickly as possible.

They are highly sensitive and even a day's delay in planting could mean disaster with the propagation."

She slapped his face. "How dare you measure a man's life as less important than those bloody seeds!"

Chagrined, he rubbed his cheek. "Miss St. James, we are not simply measuring one man's life here, but the future of an entire country—England!"

"England, sir, can go to hell!"

She ran from the cabin as the shudder of the starting engines made the vessel shift beneath her like some great cat stirring from sleep. That was when she heard the first gunshot. Running to the rail, she gripped it with both hands and peered through the dense steam rising from the river. There was nothing... then—

Morgan was running through the vapor, a flash of black hair and white breeches as he barreled his way down the pier toward the ship. "Run!" she screamed, knowing as she cried it that the steamer was inching away from the dock and he would be lucky to make it even if the gunman behind him didn't murder him first. She beat the rail with her fists, and with tears of fear and joy pouring from her eyes, she urged him on.
                                 
_

The shots rang out again and again, and through the fog Gilberto de Queiros appeared, slowing only as he raised his revolver and aimed at Morgan's back. Morgan stumbled and Sarah clutched her heart and prayed aloud. Then he was sprinting down the pier, and there were seamen crowding around her and yelling, "Jump! Jump!" and he did, stretching for the rail with his hands, barely catching it, almost losing it, before three sailors leapt forward, grabbed his wrists, and pulled him over.

He fell into her arms; they collapsed on the deck. Weeping his name and kissing his face and throat and chest, she demanded, "Where have you been? I was frantic, Morgan. Terrified!"

A moment passed before he could speak. "I had to go back. By the time I got ready to leave the hotel, there were
several of King's men snooping about. I had to lie low until I thought they were gone, but they saw me and..." He took a deep breath and, upon releasing it, said, "Damn, I thought I wasn't going to make it."

Taking his face in her hands, she asked, ' 'What was so important that you had to risk your life?"

His mouth curled as he rolled away and opened his vest. Huddled against his chest, the marmoset peered up at her with wide, unblinking eyes.

"I forgot my monkey."

Chapter Twenty-one

They steamed into Belem two weeks later. It had been a somber fourteen days. Although the
Amazonas's
crew had been more than accommodating and Sarah and Morgan, and to a lesser extent Sir Henry, shared a feeling of accomplishment there was no shaking the sobering fact that King and his cohorts were still behind them. Their only hope was that King had been unable to requisition a boat in Coari that would be fast enough to keep stride with the
Amazonas.
But that wasn't likely, as they'd noticed several small freighters docked there. King was capable of commandeering a boat if he was so inclined. And this time there would be no Gilberto sent to do King's dirty work for him. The next foe Morgan faced would be the
patrao
himself.

It was imperative that the
Amazonas
get through customs as soon as possible. There could be -no chance of King's confronting the cargo ship at sea.

As Morgan and Sarah stood at the rail, watching the bustling Belem port, Wickham joined them. "The captain tells me it'll be eight o'clock tonight before we're up for
inspection. That should give us time to put our plan into action."

"Which is... ?" Sarah asked.

Offering Morgan a cigar, Wickham gazed put at the scattering of fishing boats. "We'll

put on a banquet, with lavish food and all the champagne the port officials can drink. We'll be celebrating the find of a lifetime—the rarest orchids in the world. We'll ply them with drink until they're so intoxicated they wouldn't know an orchid from an entire rubber tree." Raising an eyebrow at Sarah, he said, "You'll be a great asset, I might add. I would imagine they don't often have an opportunity to sup with a beautiful lady such as you. It'll mean getting rid of those distasteful clothes, however, and dressing you in something more appropriate to your station."

"I rather like these clothes," she said.

"No doubt, but they don't suit the occasion." Addressing Morgan, he handed him a fistful of money. "See that Sarah gets the clothes she needs. You should have little trouble finding ladies' apparel in Belem. In the meantime I'll make the arrangements for the banquet. I've spoken with the captain on the matter, and he intends to discuss the situation with his cooks. I'll have the champagne brought on board as soon as possible. Until then, the two of you stay out of trouble. Once we're through customs there will be no de- laying or turning back. If you aren't aboard this ship, you are out of luck. Do we understand, Mr. Kane?"

"Yeah," he replied.
"We
understand."

"Good. Then off with you. Be back no later than six o'clock." He walked away.

Morgan made a rude gesture. "Bastard. He'll take the credit for this when he's got those seeds tucked away at Kew Gardens."

*
⁴
I don't care, if it means that I'll have my father's debts cleared," she stated.

Leaning back against the rail and crossing his arms over his chest, Morgan narrowed his eyes. "I might have thought
that too, once. Now I keep thinking of the sacrifices we made, and for what? What do
we
get out of it?"

"The Queen's thanks?"

"Sorry, Sunshine, I ain't impressed." Tossing his cigar overboard, he caught her arm and guided her toward the gangplank.

Although she had dreamed the past weeks of re- turning to civilization, Sarah was disconcerted to find that she was irritated by the press of people around her. It was easy enough to spot the English amid the Portuguese, and native South Americans. They were the only ones wearing suits of English wool, frock coats of heavy material, top hats, gloves, and twill shirts. The women fared little better in their burdensome taffetas, velvets, silks, and bustles. All carried kerchiefs and mopped their faces continually. Sarah and Morgan had ventured no farther than a third of a mile into the city before she

counted four ladies who, having swooned from the heat, had been dragged into the shade by escorts who were frantically waving fans in their faces in hopes of reviving them. With chagrin she realized that, while she now found such clothing ridiculous in such a clime, not so long ago she had been vain enough to dress in the same manner.

They located a shop that sold ready-made clothing. The proprietress clucked her tongue at Sarah's attire, and when she learned she wore nothing beneath, the rotund woman nearly collapsed with the vapors. She would not be satisfied until she had wrapped Sarah in a corset, drawers, a chemise, and several petticoats, not to mention stockings.

While the shopkeeper bustled about the establishment, Morgan stood with his back to Sarah and watched the street while feeding the marmoset on his shoulder shelled nuts from his pocket. She wished with a passion that this night could be over. They were so close to freedom, yet so much could go wrong. Were the customs officials to discover the
Hevea
seeds, they could be hauled into prison. And there
was King, who might have already arrived in Belein and be stalking Morgan at this very minute.

Sarah did her best to force back her panic. Every face had become a threat, every shadow suspect. But what frightened her most was the fact that Morgan, too, jumped at every sound or movement and continually looked over his shoulder. And there was something else. Something less tangible, but just as disturbing, that kept tapping her on the shoulder, filling her with a trepidation she could not shake.

Not once during the entire two-week voyage down the Amazon had Morgan said he loved her, and although their intimate moments together were impassioned and tender, he had stopped short of discussing their future, refusing to acknowledge her comments on marriage and babies and happily-ever-afters- She broached the matter as they were strolling in search of a gentlemen's clothier. "Morgan, we need to talk."