Free Fires of Delight by Vanessa Royall

edge of the curtain aside and peered out. This room was at the end of an alley, as she had surmised on the previous evening, but she was surprised to see how close the harbor was. She saw the Battery fortress, squat,ugly and ominous, and the Union Jack atop it, whipping in the breeze. If Washington were to be successful, God grant, in the forthcoming campaign against Cornwallis in Virginia, the Stars and Stripes would fly above that fortress soon. The moment had been a long time coming too. It was October of 1781; the war was over five years old.
    Selena noted as well the many ships lying at anchor in the harbor, the freighters and the little gunboats and three monstrous British men-o’-war. She saw another ship too, which, by its position in the harbor, she knew to be the one she’d seen while clinging to the pier ladder last night. Neither warship nor freighter, it was low and sleek. A row of cannon gleamed along its main deck. She saw no flag atop its mast, but the one word Liberté , stood out along its gleaming hull.
    French? That was impossible. It would have been the height of lunacy for a French captain to bring his vessel into New York harbor, which the British Navy dominated so thoroughly.
    Maybe it was a captured French ship.
    Still, the name of the vessel struck a chord, and she fingered the golden cross at her throat.
    Then she washed, ate a piece of bread left over from the night before, and drank some water from the pitcher, wondering how soon Gilbertus Penrod would arrive. She would have to ask him to try and get a dress, a coat, and a good pair of shoes. Royce’s clothes—the British officer’s uniform—sagged across the back of a chair, his boots on the floor beneath the table. A good disguise for him if they meant to get out of New York unaccosted. She would need rather fine garments as a woman travelling with such a man. One thing you had to say for the British: They knew how to outfit an army in style.
    Too bad for them that they did not know how to win wars.
    Royce stirred, rolled over, sighed luxuriously, but went on sleeping. Selena smiled. What a glorious day this was!
    Growing restless, however, she got up and walked around the room. It was small, but after her tiny cell, it seemed like the great hall of a palace. She traipsed about quietly, exulting in freedom. Then as she passed the little cupboard, she remembered that Royce had gone to it just before he’d joined her in the bedroll. Glancing over at him, she stooped and opened it. Another bottle of wine, some apples, and a rather woebegone blanket. She tookan apple and bit into it greedily, noticing as she did so a small, dark bundle half-concealed by the blanket.
    She reached in and took it out.
    A pouch made of leather with a rawhide drawstring. Its contents were lumpy and hard.
    Taking the apple and the pouch, she went back to the table, sat down, and undid the drawstring.
    An observer, had there been one present, would have seen her eyes widen in astonishment, even alarm, would have noted how she seemed to gulp and stop chewing the bit of apple in her mouth.
    Selena looked into the pouch and saw a cache of gold sovereigns along with emeralds, rubies, sapphires, and several diamonds of various sizes.
    There was a fortune in the pouch!
    More startling, the gems were cut and polished. It appeared that they had been deliberately and expertly removed from their settings in brooches or rings, bracelets or necklaces or earrings.
    Why did Royce have these jewels?
    Looking over at him now as he slept on, she could not help but remember what he’d been like when she’d first met him, and how he had cherished adventure on the high seas, enriching himself with the bounty of plundered ships.
    But he was no longer like that at all.
    Was he?
    Mystified, distracted, and a little worried, she tightened the drawstring and returned the pouch to its hiding place.
    “I’ll ask him about the gems when he awakens,” she said to herself.
    No , she decided