Seven Stones to Stand or Fall (Outlander)

“She…scare…” He looked helplessly back and forth between his wife and his employer. Then he nodded a bit, making up his mind, then looked at Grey while pointing to Azeel. He lowered his hand, indicating something—someone?—short. Then turned to the sea and flung his arm wide, gesturing to the horizon.


“Africa,” he said, turning back to Grey and putting his arm around his wife’s shoulders. His face was solemn.

“Oh, Jesus,” Grey said to Azeel. “You were brought from Africa as a child? Is that what he means?”

“Yes,” she said, and swallowed again. “I was…very…small.”

“Your parents? Were they…” His voice died in his throat. He’d seen a slave ship only once, and that at a distance. He would remember the smell for as long as he lived. And the body that had bobbed up suddenly beside his own ship, thrown overboard by the slaver. It might have been dead kelp or a blood-bleached scrap from a whaling ship, bobbing in the waves, emaciated, sexless, scarcely human. The color of old bones.

Azeel shook her head. Not in negation but in a vain refusal to think of dreadful things.

“Africa,” she said softly. “They are dead. In Africa.”

Africa. The sound of the word prickled over Grey’s skin like a centipede, and he shook himself suddenly.

“It’s all right,” he said to her firmly. “You are free now.” At least he hoped so.

He had managed her manumission a few months before, in recognition of her services during the slave rebellion during which the late Governor Warren had been killed by zombies. Or, rather, by men under the delusion that they were zombies. Grey doubted that this distinction had been appreciated by the governor.

Grey didn’t know whether the girl had been Warren’s personal property, and he didn’t ask her. He’d taken advantage of his own doubt to tell Mr. Dawes, the governor’s erstwhile secretary, that as there was no record of her provenance, they should assume that she was technically the property of His Majesty and should thus be omitted from the list of Governor Warren’s belongings.

Mr. Dawes, an excellent secretary, had made a noise like a mildly consumptive sheep and lowered his eyes in acquiescence.

Grey had then dictated a brief letter of manumission, signed this as acting military governor of Jamaica (and thus His Majesty’s agent), and had Mr. Dawes affix the most imposing seal in his collection—Grey thought it was the seal of the department of weights and measures, but it was done in red wax and looked very impressive.

“You have your paper with you?” he asked. Azeel nodded, obedient. But her eyes, large and black, lingered fearfully on the ship.

The master of the cutter, having been apprised of their presence, now popped up on deck and came down the gangplank to meet them.

“Lord John?” he asked respectfully, bowing. “Lieutenant Geoffrey Rimes, commander. Your servant, sir!”

Lieutenant Rimes looked about seventeen, very blond and small for his age. He was, however, wearing proper uniform and looked both cheerful and capable.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Grey bowed. “I understand that you…er…obliged General Stanley by bringing him here. And that you are now willing to convey me and my party to Havana?”

Lieutenant Rimes pursed his lips in thought.

“Well, I suppose I can do that, my lord. I’m to rendezvous with the fleet here in Jamaica, but as they won’t likely arrive for another two weeks, I think I can deliver you safe to Havana, then skip back here to make my meeting.”

A small knot formed in Grey’s stomach.

“You…mean to leave us in Havana?”

“Well, yes, my lord,” he said cheerfully. “Unless you can manage your business within two days, I’ll have to. Orders, you know.” He pulled a commiserating face.

“I’m not really meant to be going to Havana, you know,” the lieutenant said, leaning forward in a confidential manner and lowering his voice. “But I hadn’t any orders to stay in Jamaica, either, if you know what I mean. As written, my orders just say I’m to rendezvous here with the fleet, after delivering the message to Admiral Holmes. As I’ve already done that…well, the navy’s always willing to oblige the army—when it suits,” he added honestly. “And I’m thinking it wouldn’t do me any harm to have a look at Havana Harbor and be able to tell Admiral Pocock about it when he gets here. The Duke of Albemarle’s in command of the expedition,” he added, seeing Grey look blank. “But Admiral Pocock’s in charge of the ships.”

“To be sure.”

Grey was thinking that Lieutenant Rimes was equally likely to rise to great heights in his service or to be court-martialed and hanged at Execution Dock, but he kept these thoughts to himself.

“Wait a moment,” he said, calling the lieutenant’s attention—momentarily distracted by the sight of Azeel Sanchez, brilliant as a macaw in a yellow skirt and sapphire-blue bodice—to himself.

“Do you mean that you intend actually to sail into Havana Harbor?”

“Oh, yes, my lord.”

Grey cast a glance at the Otter’s unmistakable British colors, lifting gently in the tropical breeze.

“You will pardon my ignorance, I hope, Lieutenant Rimes—but are we not at war with Spain just now?”

“Certainly, my lord. That’s where you come in.”

“That’s where I come in?” Grey felt a sort of cold, inexorable horror rising from the base of his spine. “In what capacity, may I ask?”

“Well, my lord, the thing is, I have to bring you into Havana Harbor; it’s the only real anchorage on that coast. I mean, there are fishing villages and the like, but was I to land you in one of those places, you’d have to make your way overland to Havana, and it might take longer than you’ve got.”

“I see…” said John, in a tone indicating quite the opposite. Mr. Rimes noticed this and smiled reassuringly.

“So, I’ll bring you in under colors—they won’t shell a cutter, I don’t think, not until they see what’s what—and deliver you as an official visitor of some sort. The general thought perhaps you might be bringing some message to the English consul there, but of course you’ll know best about that.”

“Oh, indeed.” It couldn’t be patricide, could it? he thought. Strangling a stepfather, particularly under the circumstances…

“It’s all right, me lord,” Tom put in helpfully. “I’ve brought your full-dress uniform. Just in case you might need it.”



IN THE EVENT, the officer of the battery guarding the boom chain declined to allow Mr. Rimes to pass, but neither did he offer to sink him. There were a good many curious looks directed at the cutter, but Grey’s party was allowed to come ashore. The officer’s English was on a par with Grey’s Spanish, but after a long conversation filled with vehement gesticulations, Rodrigo convinced him to provide transport into the city.

“What did you tell him?” Grey asked curiously, when at last they were allowed to pass through the battery guarding the west side of the harbor. An imposing fortress with a tall watchtower stood on a promontory in the distance, and he wondered whether this was Morro Castle or the other one.