Order of the Golden Dawn (Neophyte Series 2)

5. The Royale Fortune

        BEFORE A SUSPICIOUS CAPTAIN Roberts, we stood, the fate of our very lives resting in the hands of a stranger. The bosun had bound our wrists in chains, though there was nowhere to run but the cold, unforgiving depths of the ocean. The tapping we had heard in the tavern, it turned out, was not from a cane at all; rather, it was the captain's pegged leg. His long, black beard draped over his belly, concealing a scarred face marked by a lifetime at sea. No doubt, the nicks and cuts told tales of battles fought and won—each a story the likes of which I had only read about in novels. Now, as he loomed before us, much taller than I'd expected, his commanding presence shrank my spine. His piercing black eyes locked with mine, as though we shared some distant bloodline. As he stared us down, his hand rested steadily on the holster at his waist. He paced back and forth, the blunt sound of his wooden leg punctuating each step.

'Leave us,' he ordered the bosun, who turned and left without a word, the door closing with a grim finality. I kept my head low, hoping the captain wouldn't recognize me, but his keen eyes missed little.

'So . . . did you do it, boy?' he asked, pausing to gauge my reaction. 'Did ya take out Lewis Carroll?'

'Does it matter?' I replied, keeping my voice even. 'Guilty or not, the reward remains.'

'It matters a great deal,' he huffed, stepping closer. 'Can't very well have a murderer lurkin' about me ship, now can I?' His nearness made my legs feel weak. 'Answer the question, or it's the depths for ya, boy.'

'No, I didn't kill Lewis Carroll,' I replied truthfully, hoping he would grant me the benefit of the doubt, as he had in the shop earlier that day. 'He was a dear friend—mentor-like even.'

'I suppose you don't know who did, then?'

'Jack the Ripper,' I answered without holding back. 'A man by the name of Robert D'Onston.' His eyes twitched at the mention of the name, and I knew it had struck a chord. 'Do you know him?'

'Not the man, but the name,' he replied, shrugging. He flopped down behind his desk and gestured for us to take the chairs in front of him. 'The D'Onston bloodline is well known in the shipping industry . . . as is the name Bishop.' His huff was one of frustration. 'You come from good stock, from what I know of ya. I shall sent out a pigeon to warn the crown—'

'NO!' both of us shouted at once. 'Please, at least not for a while.' Jordan continued. 'They mustn't know our whereabouts.'

'You knew my father?' I asked, my throat tightening. The subject of his death still haunted me. But I had hoped that the link would buy us some sort of discretion.

'Aye, I did.' He glanced from me to Jordan, who remained uncharacteristically silent. 'Briefly, mind you. Thomas Bishop pays well for discretion, and an opportunist like meself is useful to a man like that.' He paused, looking me over. 'You'd be his boy, I take it?'

I didn't answer, but the way he phrased it gnawed at me.

'I couldn't help but notice the past tense,' he went on. 'Died in the fire, didn't he, boy?'

'I don't know,' I admitted, my voice strained. 'I wasn't there to see it, but . . . it's likely.'

'My condolences, if it be true.' He forced an empathetic smile. 'I gather tryin' to return ya to him would be a waste of me time, then.' Roberts huffed again, frustrated. 'Could've showered us in riches if that be the case.'

'So . . . you're not going to hand us over to the authorities?' I asked, a sliver of hope in my voice.

'I didn't say that,' he replied, his lip curling into a smirk. 'Ten thousand pounds is no laughin' matter in my line of work, and half my crew would gladly turn you in if given the chance. So, the only real question is, what in the hell are you doin' on me bloody ship?' He waited, but neither of us spoke.