Ursa’s wife appeared with bowls of food. “First you eat then wait for the dark,” the old woman announced.
Duncan grasped enough about the Africans to know there was much about their ways he did not understand. “Nails?” he ventured, but Conawago pushed a bowl of stew into his hand, then began peppering Ursa with questions about his tribe. Duncan finished eating and kept watch out of one of the slit windows. An hour after sunset Sinclair climbed inside, extending Duncan’s medicine bag before checking his sling and supply of pebbles.
Minutes later, Nancy, the maid from the house, appeared, holding another sack. “Bloodiest we could find,” she said, then made a solemn bow to the old woman before departing. Ursa took the sack to the nearest platform and upended it, spilling out six cuts of raw beef, then looked up expectantly. Duncan reached into his medicine bag and handed him the last two vials of laudanum. Ursa made a clicking sound and three of the African men approached, wearing mischievious smiles.
“We go now, McCallum,” Ursa stated. He embraced his wife, who waited at the loose plank, then led Duncan outside.
Patrick Woolford waited for them by the little cemetery above the manor house, silver buttons glistening in the moonlight. Duncan had seen him wear his captain’s uniform perhaps five times in as many years but they had always been at formal, social occasions, not for a raid on the king’s own soldiers. Woolford nodded to Tanaqua, Ursa, and Sinclair, best of the sling shooters, who stood at Duncan’s side. Conawago gestured Woolford down the path over the hill as Duncan and his companions slipped into the shadows.
Hobart’s surly sergeant was on guard duty by the brazier where the path split, branching toward the small mill dock and the mill itself. “Far enough, gents,” he barked in his nasally Welsh accent as they approached. Duncan, listening at the side of the mill, gave a nod to Sinclair, who whirled his sling and released. The guard at the rear door to the mill, out of sight of the others, dropped to the ground. “These be restricted grounds,” the sergeant warned.
Woolford stepped into the light. “Stand down, sergeant,” he replied in his best tone of command. “I am here to speak with the officer in charge.”
“The officer in charge right now be me.”
“Sir. The officer in charge right now be me, sir.” Woolford corrected. “You are addressing a captain of His Majesty’s rangers.”
The sergeant hesitated, studying Woolford’s uniform suspiciously. “Thought all the rangers were disbanded after the hostilities.”
Woolford glared at him.
“Sir,” the Welshman stiffly added.
“Not all of us. There’s still much to be done in the northern theater.”
“This be Virginia, sir.”
Woolford nodded toward the man’s blue armband. “And you work for Virginia now. An officer in the standing army always has precedence over a militia officer.”
“Normally that be right, sir,” came the sergeant’s airy reply. “But I just can’t see how some northern forest walker has say over me.” The arrogance on his face faded as Ursa and Conawago appeared at Woolford’s side.
“You have an artifact stolen from the north. That makes it northern business.”
“Art-i-fact,” the sergeant repeated, motioning forward the third sentry, who paced along the riverbank. “Don’t know what you mean, sir.”
Duncan and Tanaqua stole around the building to the spillway by the millpond and knelt in the high grass to study it. The channel that powered the mill was blocked by four slats of wood, letting the force of the water spill into the river. Ursa nodded to Duncan, then threw a stone into the nearby brush. The sentry from the river turned and ventured toward the sound. As soon as he reached the darker shadows behind the building Sinclair dropped him with another stone. Duncan and Tanaqua darted to the mill and slipped through a window.
“A mask,” Duncan heard Woolford say to the sergeant. “Painted red. Taken from our allies the Iroquois.”
“Have to take that up with the chain of command, as they say.”
Woolford impatiently shoved the man aside. The sergeant only laughed and watched the three men enter the mill. Duncan and Tanaqua waited for them at the end of the darkened corridor. As Conawago lifted the lantern that hung inside the door, a woman cried out and Lila rose up from a pallet. Giving up all pretense of subterfuge, Duncan hurried to meet Conawago at the door of the center storeroom. His heart sank as they looked inside. The plate of food offerings was crushed, the unlit candle broken. The mask was gone.
“The Commodore said it had to be secured,” came the sergeant’s gloating explanation behind them. “To keep the heathens down.”
“Secured where?” Woolford demanded.
“Secured by Lieutenant Kincaid.”
The sergeant gasped as a knife materialized from behind him, pressed against his throat. “Where?” Tanaqua demanded. “Where is the Blooddancer?”
“They-they didn’t share the destination with me. I swear! The lieutenant just said it would make a pretty bonfire when all this was over.”
“And she said over her dead body!” Lila inserted. The maid was standing at the doorway.
“Shut up, you bitch!” the sergeant growled.
“Who?” Duncan demanded. “Who said that?”
The sergeant recoiled as he recognized Duncan. “You be one of those Judas slaves, by God!” In one fluid motion Sinclair jerked away the man’s musket and pivoted the stock up into the sergeant’s jaw. He collapsed, unconscious.
“Who?” Duncan demanded again of Lila, who was grinning at the sergeant’s crumpled body.
“That nice lady from up north, with the pretty chestnut hair. Mr. Kincaid had two of his soldiers bring her here, to keep her quiet. He told her his men would pack her bags ’cause Lord Ramsey ordered him to take her to London.”
“London?” Conawago asked.
“The lord says he is to take her back to meet the man he has arranged for her to marry. A wool merchant from Yorkshire who is a cousin of the great lord’s, the lieutenant said. They sailed away at last light.”
Duncan sank onto a crate. It was not the first time Ramsey had kidnapped his own daughter. He had been determined to break her strong will for years but Edentown had always been her fortress. She had extorted his agreement to stay out of the New York colony but now, because of Duncan, she had abandoned her sanctuary and against all odds encountered her father.
Woolford saw his anguish. “Duncan, we tried to get her to go with Analie back into the woods.”
“Back?”
“She insisted on riding with Analie from Conococheague, saying it would be faster than a boat from Philadelphia. I told her to go back to her horses and let us deal with her father. But she would have none of it, said she would not leave without you.”
Duncan, numbed, slowly looked up. “You should have forced her.”
“Force Sarah Ramsey? You know better.”
“I can’t help her, Patrick.” The words stabbed at his heart.
“Not now, Duncan. Not tonight. Tonight we need you.” When Duncan did not respond Woolford pulled him to his feet and shook him. “We need you now!”
Half an hour later, with the unconscious marines tied to a tree by the river, they stood on the ridge looking down at the mill. Woolford had had to lead the stunned Duncan away but he had revived when they reached the little pond behind the mill. Ursa had jumped into the raceway and lifted out the four boards that blocked the water from the wheel, then Duncan and Woolford piled four kegs of gunpowder on the flat grindstone in the mill. Duncan had emptied a cask of turpentine onto the stone and set a candle on it, where it would be upended when the grinding stone hit it. They waited until they heard the big wheel moving, turning the stones, then disengaged it with the long lever rising through the floor beside the grindstones. Sinclair would wait there, and when the candle had burned down two finger-widths he would pull the lever to engage the wheel before running back over the ridge.