chapter 54

Deliverance

april 1821

The coastal packet cut smartly through the warm cobalt waters off the Brazilian coast; the sheets and rigging overhead slapped as the ship tacked in the evening breeze. It was quiet—most of the passengers were asleep, either on the foredeck or in their cabins.

Veeborlay leaned on the gunwale enjoying a late smoke before he retired. Stuck in that Amazonian hellhole port of Belém for almost a week by the horrendous weather, he was sure he’d be late for the king’s reception in Rio. But the teeming rain and low black clouds had finally lifted long enough for the packet to get underway. He gazed at the passing shoreline, relieved to see that the coffee-colored waters of the Amazon had been completely absorbed by the tropical Atlantic, which indicated that the packet was almost back on schedule. It was likely he would not only make the reception but, most important, be in time for the departure of the Dutch East India Company’s ship to Spain. He knew the ship’s captain wouldn’t wait for him, not with the kind of cargo they were transporting. If he wasn’t on board, all would be lost.

“Veeborlay.” A middle-aged man with a smart Vandyke trimming his chin limped toward Dutch from the stern. The man continued in Spanish, “You old scoundrel!” He was short and barrel-shaped and a beret of sorts almost, but not quite, covered the bald spot on the man’s head.

“Rossi, you old cutthroat,” the Dutchman replied with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. Abel Veeborlay had successfully avoided Vinco Rossi ever since he had spotted him coming aboard in Belém. It was impossible to forget the horse’s ass who had nearly gotten them both killed in that Barbados scam.

“Where are you going?” the merchant asked. Not used to receiving replies to his prying questions, Rossi persisted unabashedly, “To Rio, like myself, I’d say. But what manner of business brings you so far from your Barranquilla lair, huh, Dutch? King’s business, I’ll wager. But which king?” he quickly added with a knowing wink and a sly grin.

Abel Veeborlay restrained his desire to choke the bastard. Instead, he replied, “I’ve been invited to the reception.” That should be enough to keep the man peeved.

“You have an invitation to the Portuguese ruler’s reception?” Rossi asked incredulously. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe it. You’ll have to excuse me, nature calls.”

“I’ll wait for you right here.” The merchant called, “Perhaps you can wrangle an invitation for me as well? Old friends and partners, and all that. We may never see him again if he goes back to Lisbon.”

“You won’t see me either, if I have anything to do with it,” Dutch muttered, hoping Rossi overheard him. Turning toward the bow, he bumped straight into a fisherman in an orange hat and oversized jacket.

“I beg your pardon,” Veeborlay said in Portuguese. The man had apparently been leaning on the gunwale right behind him. The stranger nodded curtly and disappeared in the shadows toward the stern.

Dutch made his escape from the nosy merchant. There was simply too much at stake in this trip to Rio. He had two very promising major opportunities for a windfall: the Spanish inquisitor and the Brazilian king.

If his arrangements to get Marquez and the emerald out of the country and back to Spain on a company ship met with success, the grateful Spanish monarch would reward him handsomely.

In addition, as an agent of the Dutch East India Company, he intended to secure an exclusive trade agreement with the Brazilian royal couple. It didn’t really matter that the company couldn’t back up any of Veeborlay’s promises, so long as he came away with the assurance of a trade deal. That would earn a hefty bonus from the directors of the company.

And not to be overlooked was the fact that he was still on the British payroll. If he reported to the British any information he picked up in Rio, they would provide significant recompense as well.

It was a complicated and dangerous game, but one that Abel Veeborlay was well accustomed to playing. If he played this hand right, it could turn out to be very, very profitable.

They were alone in the dark, leaning against the starboard rail not far from the ship’s bow. Under a clear sky and a fair breeze, the ship cut neatly through the tropical seas. Off to starboard, flashes of silent lightning reflected off the dark-gray clouds hovering over the far-off western hills; along the shoreline, low mangrove forests slipped by under the faint southern stars.

William scratched his unkempt blond beard, causing the bells affixed to the sleeves of his ragged blue shirt to jingle. William’s hair was so dirty it could no longer be called blond, and the beard covered a nasty, recently healed scar along his cheek. At his feet, a large gray-brown dog lay asleep; an Indian boy was curled up beside the dog, one arm thrown over the animal. “Thanks for stopping me from throwing that Dutch bastard overboard.”

“Someone might have seen,” Nate pointed out. “And we’ll get information simply by my tailing him. I’ve already overheard that the king is returning to Lisbon. And that he’s having a reception at his palace the night before they depart.”

“That’s good to know.” It was imperative that William meet the royal couple, who should know above anyone if there were black orchids in the area. “It’ll also be better to corner Veeborlay in Rio. That’s the most likely place for him to meet the Spaniard. And it’s a good thing the Dutchman’s never met you, Yank.”

“Are you kidding?” Nate laughed softly. “After the Amazon, no one would know us from Adam anyway. Believe me.”

William considered this and, as much as he hated to admit it, Bidwell was right. They had lost everything in that terrifying plunge over the falls. But several days after, fortune finally smiled on them and they had found the blowgun at the side of the river. A completely healed Cauã showed them how to cobble together enough darts from palm leaves to enable them to cling to life on small game. But with the coming of the rains, the river rose fast and the current became unmanageable. The rough raft they had made was about to come apart when they intercepted an expedition of starving Portuguese explorers who had guns, a little dry power, and dugout canoes. Between them they barely managed to make it to the military outpost at Manaus, and from there to Belém.

Not only had their long struggle in the jungle changed their appearance, but they’d been away for so long that William was sure everyone in the duke’s support network in South America had to assume they were dead. However, seen in a different light, this presented an ideal opportunity.

Before leaving England, there was military discontent in Portugal over the lingering British presence after the Peninsular War. Two years later, William had no idea of the current political or military situation, either in Portugal or in Brazil. With his altered appearance, he could make his way to Rio posing as a traveling minstrel. The Indian boy and the dog rounded out the disguise.

The American interrupted William’s musings. “Good thing no one’s asked us to perform yet.”

A thin white scar tracked across Nate’s brown forehead; his face spouted a patchwork of black hairs. The Spaniard’s trail had grown cold upon reaching Belém several weeks ago. Nate had only asked to become part of Gunn’s little troupe on the ship only at the very last moment, when they spotted Veeborlay on the packet. Nate figured that only the emerald could drag Gunn’s Dutch friend all the way from Barranquilla to Rio.

“I don’t know about that,” William replied, “my card tricks are quite entertaining, even if you don’t think so. Those Portuguese soldiers certainly did.”

“They were drunk.”

“At least my card playing won these clothes. If you’re so clever, what extraordinary talent do you possess?”

“I figure that trick with the knife is worth something.”

“You mean where you stab yourself in the hand and bleed all over your audience? Yes, very entertaining, Bidwell, kept those chaps in Manaus in stiches.”

“That was one time, Gunn.

“Anyway,” Nate said, “the news the king is leaving must be of use to you.”

William replied, “Things must have really heated up since the duke’s briefing almost two years ago for the king to now depart Brazil and return to the troubled politics of Lisbon.” He wondered who the British were backing, and he was glad he was in disguise.

Nate said, “Veeborlay is planning on being at the king’s reception—said he has an invitation. Do you think we can get in?”

“I’m counting on my contact in Rio. He should be able to get us there.”

“Do you know anything about who’s running the colony?”

“Before I left Britain,” William replied, “I was advised that the entire Portuguese royal court arrived in Brazil from Lisbon in 1808 on a fleet of thirty-six ships.”

Nate said, “I recall hearing something about that, but don’t really remember why they left.”

“Napoleon. The prince regent Dom João ruled the Portuguese empire in place of his insane mother, Queen Maria, and made the decision to abandon the home country. Brazil was a natural refuge for them.”

William felt it couldn’t hurt to be frank with the American. A simple bond had been forged in the Amazon between him and Nate which, though not entirely devoid of friendship, certainly included trust. “The British navy escorted the struggling convoy across the Atlantic. Our countries have been close ever since. When his mother died, Dom João became King John VI. Brazil used to be the largest colony on the continent, but Dom João made it an equal partner in the Kingdom of Portugal.”

William added, “Part of my mission was to quietly meet, if at all possible, with King John on behalf of Great Britain. Wave the British flag, shore up our markets, and all that.”

Nate shook his head. “I have to hand it to you Brits, always looking for the next market for your biscuits. Damn, you’re almost as bad as we are.”

William considered that, then said, “This must be tough for you, Bidwell, having missed your chance with the emerald.”

Nate said, “So now you’re convinced the treasure the Spaniard took was the black orchid and not the emerald?”

“Why not? As you said, the queen wasn’t specific, and they treasured the orchids above everything. Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

They stared at the acrobatics of the blue-gray dolphins riding the ship’s bow wave, which glowed with marine phosphorescence.

“What do we do with the boy?” Nate asked.

William said simply, “He stays with me.”

They were quiet for a few moments, Nate lost in thoughts of their journey out of the Amazon, and William worried he was far too late to see his daughter alive again. The sliver of the moon cast a dull light on the wide, restless ocean.

“I have been away for a long time, Yank. Orchid or no orchid, I have to get on the first ship out of Rio for Britain.”

“You know,” Nate said, “I was wondering, How close did you get to the plant?”

William replied, “When our clothes were shredded by the waterfall, you could see for yourself. The cinchona bark I had in the pouch around my waist comes from that very tree. They were within my grasp, Bidwell. I was there.” William looked away, the frustration in his voice impossible to hide.

“Why do you keep that bark anyway? We don’t need it anymore.”

“I guess it reminds me of just how close I got.”

Regretting he had asked, Nate changed the subject. “If you’d seen what I took from that storehouse and put in the pack, you’d have wanted to search for it below the falls for a while longer.”

“If you’d seen that waterfall coming,” William snapped, “we’d have avoided this whole mess. This jungle business is supposed to be your area.”

Nate was defensive. “I’m a guide, not a fortune-teller.”

They were on the last leg to Rio and due to arrive early the next morning. Although the red bark was all William had to show from the Amazon, the ship’s hold held a case of orchids he had managed to collect during a brief layover in Recife. The strange and beautiful plants would please the duke, but there wasn’t any sign of black orchids.

“I’m starting to believe the black orchid can only grow on damaged bark,” William said, “where the tree’s sap is concentrated—that’s what makes the plant so potent.”

Nate shrugged.

The officer persisted, “If you recall, the orchids we saw were on a damaged part of that tree. And those giant wasps—I’m thinking they might be the key to the orchid’s reproduction.”

“So?”

“If those wasps exist only in the Amazon,” William concluded miserably, “that might be the only place on earth the plants are found as well.” If what the British officer said was true, the black orchid was much more singular than anyone could have ever imagined. And much more valuable.

“I’d like to keep everything that happened in the Sacred Land close to the chest, Bidwell; no need to tell anyone we saw the orchids.”

“And no need to say anything about the emerald either, Admiral.”

William said, “Not to worry. And once we get into the reception, I can ask the king if there are any orchids in Brazil. That’ll also be our chance to get the Dutchman alone.”

“You certainly have a lot of confidence in this contact of yours in Rio. They haven’t been much use so far, from what I can see.”

“This merchant has been doing business there for a long time. He’ll get us in.”

The ship abruptly changed tack and steadied into the breeze. The sails slapped loosely. In the moonlight, a small fishing boat drew alongside. A short, stout fisherman leaned over the rail and had a brief, guttural conversation with the captain of the packet, after which the fishing boat drew away. The captain steadied the vessel on its previous course. The sheets filled and snapped taut.

“Senhores!” one of the mates they had befriended called excitedly, working his way forward from the aft of the boat.

“Yes, what is it?” William answered in Portuguese.

“A fisherman from Rio spoke with the captain. There’s big trouble there.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Rebellion!”

“What did he say?” Nate asked.

William was grim. “Enough. Our plans may be in serious jeopardy.”