Chapter 13 #2
Brodie processed this. Mountains meant freedom but poverty. Ships meant risk but the possibility of returning to Scotland, to his brothers, Cameron and Connor, to the life he’d lost. He’d go see Elspeth, see how she was faring, and he’d throw himself on his brother’s mercy.
“Which route does the network use most?”
“Mountains. It’s slower but surer. Ships are too unpredictable—schedules change, captains get caught, too many variables.” Josiah took a drink from his waterskin. “But Thomas thinks you might prefer the sea route. Says you’re a sailor, know your way around ships. That right?”
“Privateer. Four years under Captain Renard before I was sold to the widow.”
“Then you’d have value on a ship. Might be able to work your passage instead of paying.” Josiah studied him. “But the girl—Maddie, she’d have no value to a captain. Would have to hide her or convince him she’s worth the risk. And women on ships... it’s complicated.”
Complicated meaning dangerous. Meaning a hundred ways for things to go wrong.
“How soon could either route be arranged?”
“For the mountains? Jonah could have you moving within days if Thomas gives the word. He’s got guides who can get you through the jungle, safe houses along the way, contacts with the Maroon leadership.
” Josiah paused. “For a ship? That’s harder.
Have to wait for the right captain, the right cargo, the right moment.
Could be a week. Could be a month. Could be never. ”
“But if we run to the mountains, we can’t change our minds later and try for a ship.”
“No. Once you’re in the interior, you’re committed.
The Maroons won’t let you leave once they’ve taken you in—too much risk you’d be captured and give up their location.
” Josiah’s expression was grave. “That’s the choice, MacLeod.
Fast and uncertain, or slow and sure. And you’ll have to decide soon, because Thomas says the widow’s planning something. ”
A whistle cut through the air. Williams, signaling the end of the break.
The afternoon was worse than the morning. The sun reached its peak and seemed to stay there, baking the fields until the air shimmered with heat. Brodie’s back was on fire, his arms trembling with every swing, his vision tunneling to just the next stalk, the next cut, the next breath.
He lost time. One moment he was cutting cane in the middle of the row, the next he was on his knees in the dirt with Kwame’s hand on his shoulder.
“Water. Now.”
Brodie drank. The world steadied slightly.
“Williams didn’t see,” Kwame said quietly. “He’s checking the far field. But you need to get up. Need to look like you’re working when he comes back.”
“I’m trying—”
Kwame pulled him upright. “And that’s enough. Now pick up your machete and cut three more stalks before you rest again. Three. Count them.”
One. The blade bit through cane.
Two. His arms screamed.
Three. He made it.
“Good. Now, five more.”
Kwame stayed close the rest of the afternoon, calling out numbers, breaking the impossible task of cutting acres of cane into manageable pieces. Three stalks. Five. Two. Four. Over and over until the sun finally began its descent and Williams called them in.
Back in their quarters, Brodie collapsed on his pallet while the other men washed and prepared for the evening meal. His shirt was stuck to his back with blood and sweat. Every muscle felt like it was tearing apart.
“Let me see.” Abena appeared like a ghost, carrying her basket of herbs. “Don’t argue. Josiah sent word you were in bad shape.”
She peeled the shirt away carefully. Her sharp intake of breath told him what he already knew—the wounds had reopened, probably been bleeding all day.
“You’re an idiot for going back to the fields this soon.”
“Wasn’t given a choice.”
“Men always have choices. Die now or die later. You’re choosing later.” She began cleaning the wounds with something that stung like hellfire. “Which is actually the smarter option, so maybe you’re not completely stupid.”
Despite the pain, he almost smiled.
“Thomas will come see you tonight,” she continued, working efficiently.
“Says it’s urgent. Something about decisions needing to be made.
” She glanced at him. “Whatever you’re planning, do it soon.
I can keep these wounds from going bad, but I can’t keep you alive if Williams works you like this every day. Your body will give out.”
“How long do I have?”
“A week. Maybe less.” She wrapped his back in clean cloth. “After that, infection or exhaustion will kill you. Probably both.”
A week to decide between mountains and ships, between slow freedom and fast risk, between staying to fight and running to survive.
After Abena left, Brodie lay in the darkness and counted his breaths. Each one hurt. Each was a victory.
Somewhere in the great house, Maddie was counting too. Counting the days until the widow’s patience ran out. Counting the cost of her refusal to spy on him. Counting the ways they might both die if they didn’t find a way out.
The door opened quietly. Thomas slipped inside, moving with the practiced silence of someone who knew exactly how to avoid detection.
“You look like death.”
“Feel worse.”
Thomas sat on the floor beside the pallet, keeping his voice low. “Josiah told you about the routes. Mountains or ships.”
“Aye.”
“I need to know which one you want. Need to tell Jonah so he can make arrangements.” Thomas’s expression was serious in the dim light from the single candle. “But there’s something else you need to know first. About the widow.”
Brodie waited.
“She’s been asking questions. About Maddie. About where she really came from, how she really survived that shipwreck.” Thomas paused. “And she’s been visiting the old garden at night. More than usual. Something’s happening. Something bad.”
“What kind of bad?”
“The kind that ends with people disappearing.” Thomas’s voice dropped even lower.
“There’s a boy in the kitchens, he works with Abena.
He says he saw the widow and two overseers dragging something through the garden gate three nights ago.
Something wrapped in cloth. Couldn’t see what it was, but it was person-sized. ”
Ice formed in Brodie’s gut.
“The same night Jacob went missing?”
“The same night.” Thomas met his gaze. “Whatever the widow does in that garden, she’s doing it more often now. And I think Maddie knows something about it. I think that’s why the widow’s so interested in her.”
The pieces clicked together like a lock tumbling open. Maddie’s strange knowledge. Her questions about the garden. The way she’d looked at the gate like she recognized it. Like it meant something.
“If the widow takes Maddie to that garden—”
“She won’t come back.” Thomas’s jaw was tight. “Which is why you need to decide. Mountains or ships. And you need to decide tonight, because Josiah can have everything ready in three days. After that, it might be too late.”
“The mountains,” Brodie said. “It’s surer. And right now, sure matters more than fast.”
Thomas nodded. “I’ll tell Jonah. He’ll have guides ready, supplies arranged, route planned. Three nights from now, you and Maddie run for the interior.”
“Will she be ready?”
“She’ll have to be. Because the alternative is the old garden, and no one comes back from there.” Thomas stood. “Get some rest. Heal as much as you can. In three days, you’ll need every bit of strength you’ve got left.”
After he left, Brodie lay in the darkness and listened to the night sounds. Insects. Distant voices. The creak of the building settling. His back throbbed. His arms ached. But he was still breathing.
Still fighting. And that would have to be enough.