The Charlotte Series: Book 2: The Rebel's Prize

Sixteen - Part 1

It was easy to see that the crew of the Charlotte was a loyal lot. Captain Bricker said his daughter was taken and they scrambled over each other trying to be helpful. A long lanky fellow climbed to the docks and took off running like the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels. No doubt he was off to get the port authority.

In short order they helped Master Bailey into the longboat and disappeared into the mist. He watched until their light was only a faint glow. Having fixed their general direction, he looked about for a boat he could steal. It took several minutes and as he knelt to free the mooring line a cannon echoed across the water.

Curse his bloody bad luck. He was too late...again.

Sounds of a sea battle drifted eerily through the mist. Faintly they mixed with the lapping of the waves, the flapping of sails, the creaking of the docks, and the cries of the seabirds. There was no reason to follow them now. The crew of the Charlotte obviously located Mrs. Bailey and he had no doubts Master Bailey would rescue his wife.

He'd heard a thing or two about the great Master Bailey as he searched for word of the Charlotte and Dizzy Richard. He was skeptical, at best, for legends are seldom near the true measure of a man. Still, he'd seen the master fight five to one. It was two to one when the master was left to bleed out on the road while his wife was snatched out of her bed. That he lasted so long was impressive.

When the master rode through the mist and nearly fell from his horse, he watched in disbelief as the man stumbled toward the dock. As improbable as it seemed, the man yet lived, though his hastily bandaged wound bled far too much. The man was so pale he resembled a spectre moving through the mist. Perhaps the master was legend...and perhaps he would die in this rescue...

Not bloody likely.

No, the great fencing master would rescue the girl, which left him with but one choice: find a berth to India. After several steps he threw his hands up as he vividly described the lineage of the bloody pirates that kept causing him so much vexation. The harbor was once more serene. Obviously the abductors hadn't expected pursuit to be beaten so swiftly.

Honestly, he hadn't expected the master to live either.

Voices carried through the mist and one of them was cursing loudly in a foreign language. The sloppy stack of crates and rope wasn't an ideal hiding place, but with mist and shadow it would serve his purpose. The boat pulled to the dock not ten feet in front of him. Even in the mist he could see very clearly. His fingers curled tightly into fists as he laid eyes on the foreigner.

He clenched his jaw so tightly his back teeth ground together. Trembling with restrained rage he suppressed the urge to leap onto the man and sink a blade into the prisoner's throat. His chance would come. For now it was better to wait...and watch.

The prisoner struggled against his cuffs and though his curses were foreign the meaning was not lost on the captors as one of them cuffed him upside the head.

"That'll be enough of yer gibberish. I ain't none too keen on the likes of ye either, mate. Might as well get it in yer thick skull, yer goin' t' gaol* whether ye likes it or not!"

"Blake, stay behind 'n tidy it up."

"Aye sir."

As they passed his place the prisoner turned to stare at him. Though he was hidden in the shadow, he didn't miss the gleam in the prisoner's eyes or the cold smile before he was dragged off. A moment later he approached Blake.

"Oy, let me give you a hand with that."

With a nod of thanks the sailor named Blake tossed the mooring line. He caught it deftly and knelt to secure the longboat. Hoping Blake would be in the mood to talk he broke out his most genial grin.