“It’s Jacinth and Alphonse,” called the voice from outside. “Who else might it be?”

  Cesar opened the door at once, admitting the two carpenters eagerly. “Come in, and welcome. Be comfortable. I will tell you what you must do, and I have your money ready.”

  “Give it to us at midnight, when our watch is half-over,” said Jacinth. “We’ll like it better then.”

  “As you wish. Midnight it will be. It is a good thing you are doing,” Cesar said as he motioned them to stools on the far side of the kitchen. “Accept Mister Fleming’s hospitality while I make coffee and sandwiches for you. He’s a little high in the instep, but he won’t begrudge you something to eat. I’ll give you some sandwiches now, and then you can take up your posts for the night. There will be more at midnight, and I’ll make sure there’s plenty of coffee for you.”

  “That’s good,” said Alphonse, the taller of the two. “If we have to be up all night, we’ll need coffee.”

  “Of course,” Cesar agreed. “And I’ll leave fruit out, in case you want something between sandwiches.”

  “So long as they aren’t bland. The English like everything bland,” Jacinth complained.

  “Mister Fleming is not so strict,” said Cesar, “and he doesn’t mind some pepper in his food.”

  “That’s good, then,” said Jacinth. “Where are the lanterns?”

  “In the entry hall, near the front door. I’ve refilled them, so two should get you through the night.” Cesar had taken a loaf of bread and was cutting it into generous slices. “This was baked this morning.”

  “Then it is fresh,” Alphonse approved. “Very good, Cesar. If the food is good, it doesn’t matter if the pay isn’t.”

  “He’s not cheating you,” Cesar said abruptly, his voice sharpened by anxiety. “Your pay is not too low, and there is food. That’s not cheating.”

  “No, it’s not,” Alphonse said at once. Then he cocked his head. “How does it happen that you have a sticking plaster on your forehead? You hadn’t one yesterday.”

  “There was an incident, here, this afternoon,” said Cesar. “That’s one of the reasons it is good to have you here tonight. Not that I anticipate more trouble, but you never know.”

  The sound of water in the pipes stopped, making the next remark sound louder than it was.

  “Is there more than one reason for having a guard tonight?” Jacinth asked.

  “There was one last evening, and it is reason enough for guarding the house. Now there are two or three reasons,” Cesar answered.

  “Is any of it about Mister Krandall’s murder?” Jacinth didn’t seem bothered by his question.

  “We don’t know,” said Cesar. “It is possible.”

  Alphonse tossed his head. “How do you come to be hurt? What about Mister Fleming?”

  “He wasn’t here. I don’t know if the … young men who came were looking for him, or just bent on trouble.” He reached for the tub of butter, tested it with a small spatula, and began to smear it on the sliced bread.

  Jacinth pursed his lips. “This may be a tricky night.”

  “It may,” Cesar agreed, putting the butter back in the icebox. “You will need to be very alert. Henry Long is supposed to bring out a tin of kerosene this evening. You ought to expect him.”

  “Very good,” said Jacinth. “We won’t shoot him.”

  “Excellent,” said Cesar, taking the tops of the cardunes and chopping them for sandwich greens; they were tough but their flavor was excellent. “If anyone other than Henry or my nephew Joshua tries to come here, stop them, find out what they want, and send word to Mister Fleming before you decide anything.”

  “Of course,” said Jacinth, familiar with guard procedure. “He may not like being wakened in the late night.”

  “He would prefer it to being killed,” said Cesar, carefully disposing the greens on the buttered bread. He could smell the chicken in the oven, and he knew he would shortly have to get to work on the swordfish.

  “That he would,” Alphonse said with a chuckle.

  “Keep that in mind while you watch,” said Cesar. He began to pile the sliced chicken breast onto the bread and greenery.

  “That is a good sandwich you’re making,” said Jacinth as if he had just noticed Cesar’s efforts.

  “I am not finished yet,” said Cesar, smiling in spite of himself.

  The two brothers exchanged glances. “This and coffee is very good.”

  Cesar took a string of onions from their hook on the wall and cut away two large ones, then hung the string back in place. “Do you want one or two slices?”

  “Two,” said Alphonse.

  “One,” said Jacinth.

  “Very good,” Cesar said, stripping the papery outer layers off the onions and plying his knife expertly. When he had finished adding the onion to the sandwiches, he sliced the rest of the onion and the second one, then reached for a black, cast-iron saute pan.

  “Mister Fleming eats well,” said Alphonse.

  “So he should,” said Cesar. He was about to say something more when a loud explosion thundered through the night air.

  The three men were frozen in place for two eternal seconds, and then they all rushed for the door even as Fleming, half-dressed, came down the front stairs barefoot shouting, “What the devil?”

  Cesar was the first through the door. He pointed to a column of black smoke beyond the trees rising into the lurid light of sunset, coming from under the clouds and turning them smoldering red. “That’s near the main road through the village.” The thought of fire in that gathering of mostly wooden houses was a frightening one, and all of them recognized it.

  “Or on it,” said Fleming. “Good Lord! What next?” He made a clicking sound with his tongue. “You three, go see what’s happened, and help out if it’s needed.”

  “Are you certain?” Cesar asked nervously.

  “Yes, indeed. Go now. I’ll come along as soon as I put on some shoes. Have Dominique phone for help.” He turned away and sprang up the stairs.

  Jacinth stepped out on the porch, frowning portentously. “It is a bad fire, I think.”

  “It may be. We won’t find out standing here,” said Cesar, already starting down the drive. “Hurry up. Alphonse, you go to Dominique’s. Jacinth and I will see what has happened. You might ask Dominique to pay attention to everything she hears.”

  “Very good,” said Alphonse, trotting off at a good clip.

  “Come, Jacinth,” said Cesar. “We have work to do.”

  Chapter 11

  BY THE time Fleming reached the scene of the explosion, at the edge of the village fishing dock, there were half a dozen men in an improvised bucket brigade throwing water on the fire that had reduced a shed to rubble and ashes; the villagers were making the main effort to save the pier and the boats beyond. He set down his lantern and took up a place in line, his dress-shirt rolled up at the sleeves and his hiking boots at odds with the rest of his clothing.

  Cesar, who was working the pump, called out, “The fuel-storage tank exploded, sah!”

  “I can see that.” Fleming swung a full bucket to Jacinth, who was next in line, and reached for an empty one coming back from the front of the brigade. “Does anyone know why?”

  “Haven’t had the chance, sah,” said Jacinth. “Got to keep the fire under control.” He took the next bucket and passed it along.

  Fleming continued to work while the buckets were filled, water tossed on the fire, and the buckets returned. For more than an hour, he labored with the rest, falling into the rhythm of the task. Gradually the water beat back the fire. After the first twenty minutes, he noticed that the flames were losing ground, and soon the clouds rising had white steam mixed with the oily black smoke. In another forty minutes, the last of the fire was out, and the men working the bucket line stopped their efforts. All of them had smuts on their clothes, arms, and faces. They showed up most plainly on Fleming’s pale face and formerly white shirt where the lantern-light struck him; yet every man in the bucket brigade was speckled with ash and cinders, visibly or not, so they didn’t tease Fleming.

  Jared Smith, whose boat was now safe, was the first to break away from their line. “I’ll go get rum,” he volunteered, and was encouraged by a ragged cheer. His brother Timothy stretched and yawned as if just awakening rather than ending two hours’ labor.

  Thomas Hatcher, the town butcher, began to stack the empty buckets. “Time enough to view the damage tomorrow, I think,” he declared.

  Dominique’s houseman Bonsard came to the head of the line just as it broke apart. “My employer offered twenty-five pounds toward rebuilding.”

  It was a substantial amount for this village, and Thomas Hatcher, who was one of the village leaders, nodded. “She is a very generous woman, your employer. Tell her we are grateful.”

  “That I will,” said Bonsard, and turned away, preparing to go back to Dominique’s house.

  “Tell her that I hope her gift is an example to us all,” Hatcher called after him, glancing at the men still gathered between the dock and the pump.

  Fleming sighed, knowing what was expected of him, but worried about spending so much. “I’ll give twenty pounds,” he called out, and was rewarded with a smattering of approving hoots.

  Cesar came up to him. “That is money from your building fund, isn’t it?”

  “I’m afraid so,” said Fleming with a philosophical nod and a smile that didn’t quite work. “It’s expected of me, and at least it will go to build something.”

  “But it delays the work on the north side of the house,” Cesar reminded him, as if it might have slipped Fleming’s mind.

  “Don’t trouble yourself,” Fleming recommended. “There’s almost two hundred pounds in the safe. In six months, I’ll have enough, with or without this twenty for the pier.” He noticed that Alphonse and Jacinth were coming toward him, their eyes shining with excitement. “Are you ready to go back to your guarding?”

  “If there’s lots of coffee,” said Jacinth. “This was a hectic evening.”

  “Let us hope it is the last episode of the sort for the rest of the evening,” said Fleming. He went to pick up the lantern he had carried into town, checked its flame, and took up Cesar’s as well.

  A general whoop announced Jared Smith’s return with a half-gallon jug of dark rum. There was a surge in his direction, but Fleming remained where he was.

  “It is a good reward,” said Alphonse a bit wistfully, going to retrieve the other two lanterns.

  “Not before guard duty,” said Jacinth. “We would fall asleep before midnight.” He looked directly at Fleming. “We will take our reward in the morning, sah.”

  “And you shall have it,” Fleming promised, starting to walk back toward the road that passed his drive.

  Cesar clapped his free hand to the sticking plaster on his forehead. “The chicken will be ruined,” he lamented.

  “There’s still the swordfish,” said Fleming. “Sauté it with the squash and things, it will suffice so long as there’s a tasty soup.”

  “A beef stock with onions, barley, and diced ham,” said Cesar, glad now that he hadn’t put the soup on to heat before the explosion rocked the town. “New bread. There should be sufficient for all.”

  “A lucky thing this didn’t happen three nights ago,” said Jacinth, lengthening his stride to keep up with Fleming.

  “Why is that?” Fleming asked. He could remember no event that would have kept the villagers from working on the dock.

  “Monsieur Soleilsur’s yacht was still at the pier, and it would probably have burned,” Jacinth said as if this must be obvious. “It is a fine old ship, kept in magnificent shape, a ketch, sleeping eight plus crew.”

  “And who is Monsieur Soleilsur?” Fleming inquired.

  “He is a good friend of Dominique’s,” said Alphonse. “He was with her for five days.”

  No wonder Dominique had been so gracious about paying for repairs, thought Fleming, who recalled he had heard some rumor about Dominique’s wealthy patron, who it was likely would in future want to tie up his fine ketch again at the dock. “It would have been a shame if any boats were damaged.”

  “So it would. And a wealthy man like Monsieur Soleilsur could make his loss a misfortune for the village,” said Jacinth.

  “How could he do that?” Fleming could think of a few ways, but he was curious to know how Jacinth saw the problem.

  “He could do many things. He could blame the villagers for the fire, and demand recompense from the courts. It has happened in other towns, sah, and you know it.” Jacinth did his best to show a ferocious grin.

  “This is hardly the same,” said Fleming, feeling suddenly awkward, for he knew it was an easy thing to blame misfortune on ignorant natives; even when they were responsible, the burdens imposed upon them were heavier than for whites.

  “You have more trust in Monsieur Soleilsur than I do,” said Jacinth without apology. “It is a good thing he left before the fire.”

  “As you say,” Fleming agreed. They were almost to his drive and the darkness of full night was enormous, the lanterns insignificant as matches against it. He raised his lantern to take stock of what lay ahead. There were indentations in the dust, small three-quarter circles indicating a donkey had passed this way recently.

  Cesar grinned and bent over the hoofprints. “This is Jonquil,” he exclaimed, smiling broadly. “See? There is a notch missing from the off-side rear hoof.”

  “Oh, Lord,” said Fleming.

  “That means Bathsheba is at the house,” he added for the benefit of Alphonse and Jacinth. “Why else would Jonquil walk down this road?”

  “Not a reason in the world,” said Fleming, and chuckled. “It will serve you right if that pestilent donkey of yours has eaten up the kitchen garden.”

  “Bathsheba would not permit it,” said Cesar. “No,” he went on, “you may rest assured, sah, that my wife will take care of your house and grounds as carefully as she looks after your clothing and shoes.” He walked faster, entering Fleming’s drive ahead of the rest.

  There was a long slow curve around to the left that finally brought the house into view. Lamps were lit in four of the rooms and there was a lovely aroma coming from the open kitchen door. At the side of the house, a dun donkey was tied to a fencepost on a short lead. Looking at it, Fleming was almost overwhelmed by a rush of assuagement, and he realized he had been afraid that the explosion and fire might have served as a distraction for other acts, acts that might have been disastrous for him and his house. He told himself that occasionally coincidences were only coincidences, and he could not persuade himself it was true.

  Cesar was up the steps and into the house four strides in advance of the rest. He blew out his lantern and carried it toward the kitchen, calling out, “Bathsheba!”

  “There’s no need to shout, Cesar,” came her deep, comfortable voice. “Come in. Come in.”

  By now Fleming was inside, Alphonse and Jacinth immediately behind him. Fleming went along to the kitchen, anticipating a scolding from Bathsheba. “Well, I suppose I have you to thank for saving the food? It was good of you, Bathsheba.”

  She flung up her hand as she caught sight of Fleming. “You! You are a trial, Mister Fleming, that you are. Keeping all manner of hours. And your garments! Shoes and trousers last night, a shirt and trousers tonight. There’s no dealing with you, sah. Indeed there’s not.” Her strong, dark face and robust body always commanded Fleming’s respect, and he showed it now.

  “You are too good for any of us, Bathsheba,” he said.

  “As well you know it,” she responded sharply. “When I saw everyone running to the center of the village, I decided you would be with the rest, and I doubted that Cesar would take the time to bank the stove or put the dinner in the warming ovens.” She shot him a look of victory. “You are a good man, Cesar, but you are too impulsive.”

  “The dock was burning,” said Fleming before Cesar tried to defend himself. “Would you have let it burn?”

  She snorted derision. “I have coffee ready, and the sandwiches are in the icebox,” she told the men. “You, Mister Fleming, had better get out of your clothes and into something you cannot ruin. Put your clothes at the foot of the stairs and I will take them on my way out.”

  “As you wish,” said Fleming, making his concession too quickly for Bathsheba to enjoy it. “How long until—?”

  “You have slightly more than half an hour,” said Bathsheba, dismissing him. “Now,” she went on to the other three, “you must wash up at once. There is work for all of us. Jacinth, you go first, and then take up your post. Then Alphonse. And last of all, you, my sweet.” She bustled about the kitchen, readying the last two dishes. “No loitering.”

  Jacinth left the kitchen at once and ducked into the half-bathroom near the pantry. In a moment, water was whispering through the pipes.

  “How long have you been here?” Cesar asked his wife.

  “Somewhat more than an hour,” she answered. “I knew you would leave everything in disarray. Men always do when there is an emergency. I decided I had better come along. Still, it took time to arrange things at our house, with Joshua being with Lolanda. He wanted to fight the fire with the rest, but I said he must not, that there were men enough to deal with it, and that Lolanda needed his help more than the men at the dock did.”

  “That was good of you,” said Cesar, ignoring Alphonse, who was listening with undisguised interest. “Lolanda would be troubled if there was such danger and she was alone.”

  “Given her situation, who can blame her?” Bathsheba asked, almost accusingly. “She needs to be helped, and she cannot rush at anything.”

  Husband and wife exchanged an uneasy glance that held messages only the two of them could read. It was into the silence that Jacinth walked as he left the half-bath, a towel in his hand, his hair wet.