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“—to do that?!” He pointed at Rodrigo, and his voice shook with outraged horror.
“Justice,” said Accompong, with simple dignity. “Don?
??t you think so?”
Grey found himself temporarily bereft of speech. While he groped for something possible to say, the headman turned to a lieutenant and said, “Bring the other one.”
“The other—” Grey began, but before he could speak further, there was another stir among the crowd, and from one of the huts, a maroon emerged, leading another man by a rope around his neck. The man was wild-eyed and filthy, his hands bound behind him, but his clothes had originally been very fine. Grey shook his head, trying to dispel the remnants of horror that clung to his mind.
“Captain Cresswell, I presume?” he said.
“Save me!” the man panted, and collapsed on his knees at Grey’s feet. “I beg you, sir—whoever you are—save me!”
Grey rubbed a hand wearily over his face and looked down at the erstwhile superintendent, then at Accompong.
“Does he need saving?” he asked. “I don’t want to—I know what he’s done—but it is my duty.”
Accompong pursed his lips, thinking.
“You know what he is, you say. If I give him to you—what would you do with him?”
At least there was an answer to that one.
“Charge him with his crimes, and send him to England for trial. If he is convicted, he would be imprisoned—or possibly hang. What would happen to him here?” he asked curiously.
Accompong turned his head, looking thoughtfully at the houngan, who grinned unpleasantly.
“No!” gasped Cresswell. “No, please! Don’t let him take me! I can’t—I can’t—oh, GOD!” He glanced, appalled, at the stiff figure of Rodrigo, then fell face first onto the ground at Grey’s feet, weeping convulsively.
Numbed with shock, Grey thought for an instant that it would probably resolve the rebellion . . . but no. Cresswell couldn’t, and neither could he.
“Right,” said Grey, and swallowed before turning to Accompong. “He is an Englishman, and as I said, it’s my duty to see that he’s subject to English laws. I must therefore ask that you give him into my custody—and take my word that I will see he receives justice. Our sort of justice,” he added, giving the evil look back to the houngan.
“And if I don’t?” Accompong asked, blinking genially at him.
“Well, I suppose I’ll have to fight you for him,” Grey said. “But I’m bloody tired and I really don’t want to.” Accompong laughed at this, and Grey followed swiftly up with, “I will, of course, appoint a new superintendent—and given the importance of the office, I will bring the new superintendent here, so that you may meet him and approve of him.”
“If I don’t approve?”
“There are a bloody lot of Englishmen on Jamaica,” Grey said, impatient. “You’re bound to like one of them.”
Accompong laughed out loud, his little round belly jiggling under his coat.
“I like you, Colonel,” he said. “You want to be superintendent?”
Grey suppressed the natural answer to this and instead said, “Alas, I have a duty to the army which prevents my accepting the offer, amazingly generous though it is.” He coughed. “You have my word that I will find you a suitable candidate, though.”
The tall lieutenant who stood behind Captain Accompong lifted his voice and said something skeptical in a patois that Grey didn’t understand—but from the man’s attitude, his glance at Cresswell, and the murmur of agreement that greeted his remark, he had no trouble in deducing what had been said.
What is the word of an Englishman worth?
Grey gave Cresswell, groveling and sniveling at his feet, a look of profound disfavor. It would serve the man right if—then he caught the faint reek of corruption wafting from Rodrigo’s still form, and shuddered. No, nobody deserved that.
Putting aside the question of Cresswell’s fate for the moment, Grey turned to the question that had been in the forefront of his mind since he’d come in sight of that first curl of smoke.
“My men,” he said. “I want to see my men. Bring them out to me, please. At once.” He didn’t raise his voice, but he knew how to make a command sound like one.
Accompong tilted his head a little to one side, as though considering, but then waved a hand, casually. There was a stirring in the crowd, an expectation. A turning of heads, then bodies, and Grey looked toward the rocks where their focus lay. An explosion of shouts, catcalls, and laughter, and the two soldiers and Tom Byrd came out of the defile. They were roped together by the necks, their ankles hobbled and hands tied, and they shuffled awkwardly, bumping into one another, turning their heads to and fro like chickens, in a vain effort to avoid the spitting and the small clods of earth thrown at them.
