The Columbus Affair: A Novel

siblings came east and became the Windward Maroons. Nanny and the others traveled west and became the Leewards. She built Nanny Town, clearing 600 acres of raw forest. She fought the British and, while her brothers and most Maroons sought peace, she merely signed a truce. Legend said that immediately afterward she asked the British to shoot her. They obliged, but Nanny spun around, then straightened up, walking to a British officer and returning the bullets that had been fired her way. She pointed toward the sky and told him, “Only one can kill me.”

He smiled. That was the thing about legends.

You wanted to believe them.

He stared out at the mountains, packed with a profusion of lush vegetation, a sea of green, the morning sun casting the thick slopes in a purple glow.

What beauty.

He gathered the dogs and opened the gate. The animals fled the kennel, stretching their legs, readying themselves for a hunt.

He was still bothered by the attempt on his life.

Being born Maroon was an initiation into a secret society. His mother taught him as a child “never tell more than half of what you know. That’s not lying,” she would add. “That’s smart.” His father had been more practical. Hammering into him more of Maroon culture. Secrets shared become secrets betrayed. “Go to your grave,” his father said, “with your secrets.”

That was how he justified not telling his mother about his life. A betrayal? Sure. Was he a hypocrite? Probably. He resented Frank Clarke keeping things from him, but his friend had been right in the cave. He’d done the same toward his mother.

And the colonels?

Those men he resented.

That was the thing about Maroons. They’d never been able to stick together. Grandy Nanny herself led 300 of her people from the west to the east in what was known as the Grand Trek. Her goal was to reunite the two Maroon factions into one, then attack the British with a full force. But her brother, Cudjoe, who headed the east, refused. He wanted peace. So she retreated to the Leeward side and resumed the fight. And though she eventually made a truce, she never made peace.

Smart lady.

The dogs seemed anxious.

Two of them tangled.

He yelled and halted their dispute.

Both retreated, and he petted each, letting them know that everything was okay.

Maroons were taught early in life to not speak of their ways. Any knowledge dispensed should come in small increments. Trust was fragile. To reveal all of what you knew made yourself vulnerable to betrayal. Speaking freely of “Maroon things” ran the risk of incurring the ancestors’ wrath.

Best to say nothing.

That was what he’d been taught. Frank Clarke, too.

So why was he bothered by Frank’s withholding?

Simple. He was not an outsider.

He was Maroon.

Frank’s statement that he was not trusted by the others—that hurt him. Who the hell were they to judge?

And to decide to kill him?

“Ungrateful bastards,” he whispered.

What to do now. The mine was nothing and, according to Frank, no one knew what had happened to the gold and silver objects.

Then again, he had no way of knowing if any of that was true.

Always guard your knowledge.

Was Frank Clarke still protecting?

The dogs continued darting in all directions, always circling back to where he stood. Clouds had rolled in off the peaks, the sky the color of ashes.

His phone rang.

The display read UNKNOWN.

He decided to answer.

“Zachariah Simon,” the voice said.

He steadied himself.

“I understand you want to talk to me.”

“Actually, I’d like to kill you.”

And he meant it.