When she awoke, Ella saw immediately that she wasn’t tied up or bound in any way. She could also tell that the closet she was in was small and dark. And it was moving. A vicious thread of panic wormed up from her gut as she realized from the sway and creak of her cell that she was on a moving boat. She scrambled to her feet and instantly fell. There were boxes and heavy coils of fat rope laying about that, in the dark, she couldn’t see or maneuver around.
That bastard! He’s kidnapped me!
She inched her way along the rough wooden wall of her enclosure until she saw cracks on the floor that indicated a door. She grasped the long wooden bolt, surprised that it was on the inside instead of the outside, and threw the latch up.
What kind of a jail is it that latches on the inside?
Which made her wonder—who latched it?
“Oy! How be me matey? Ye need to lay off the grog, lad. Little fella like yourself—”
“Stow it, dickhead,” Ella said, blinking into the sunlight where Roger loomed over her, backlit. She could see he had a tray of food in his hands. “You can’t do this. I’m an American citizen.”
When her eyes adjusted to the sunlight, she saw that the closet opened up onto a narrow outdoor corridor. Over Roger’s shoulder was nothing but blue sky. No buildings in the background. No wharf sights. They were on the ocean. God knows where.
“Yer voice sounds prissy-like,” Roger said, frowning.
“Why did you drug me?” Ella asked, forcing her voice as low as she could make it. “Why did you bring me here?”
“Leave off, boy. Captain sent me for more recruits.” He shrugged. “So I recruited ye.”
“How did I get locked in? The latch is on the inside.”
“Sure ye was a jolly dog last night. Ye don’t remember, do ye? Sometimes the dope does that to a man. Never seen it turn ‘em quare before though.”
Ella rubbed a hand across her face. She had to get off this boat. She had to find information on Rowan. What a mess. Why the hell didn’t she pack a derringer when she and Halima were trying to plan for every event?
“Might as well have a mug o’ tea, matey. Y’ain’t going nowheres.”
Ella weighed her options. She had little doubt she could outmaneuver this moron—as soon as she figured out a way to actually get off the ship—but what then?
“What ship is this?”
Roger grinned and handed her a steaming tin of tea. “Like I said before, this is the Constantine.”
“Have you heard anything about anyone being picked up by any ship any where near here?”
Roger looked at her in stark amazement.
“Hello? I’m asking you a question.”
“From where did you say you came? The Americas?”
Ella spoke more slowly. “Have you heard any news about a man being picked up from a nearby island?”
“The Dutchman.”
“No. He isn’t Dutch. He’s big, though.” Ella stood on her tiptoes to indicate Rowan’s six-foot-four height. “And broad shouldered.”
“Blimey,” Roger said, a look of incredulity creeping over his face. “The giant? Sully has ‘im, doesn’t he?”
Ella jumped up with excitement, knocking over her tea. “Sully? The pirate, Sully?”
Roger nodded, only now his eyes strayed to her chest and Ella had a very bad feeling, which she confirmed when she looked down and saw that the straps she’d used to flatten her breasts had snapped. She was not only fully pushing against the blouse of her cabin boy’s shirt, she was showing remarkable cleavage in the process.
Crap!
“Scuttle me and rot my bones!”
“Okay, Lurch. Let’s not get distracted here.” She didn’t bother with the deep voice. It was pretty clear from all viewpoints that she was female.
Ella closed the gap between them with one step and jerked the knife free from the man’s waist sheath. He grunted as if he’d been hit but didn’t drop his mug of tea.
“Stand over there, please,” Ella said, motioning to the far end of the corridor. “And if you’d be so kind as to tell me where, exactly, we are?”
Roger stared at her with his mouth open. “Ye’re a wench!”
“What time did we lift anchor? What direction from Casablanca are we heading?”
She watched a stupid grin spread across his face and she felt her panic ratchet up. What moron smiles when he’s got a knife on him? A moron who knows there’s a pal nearby with a gun.
“Oy, Roger. Ye brought us a toy for the long voyage, so ye did.”
Ella took a step back toward the cell and, still holding Roger’s knife in front of her, glanced off to the side to see a very large, very hairy man holding a pistol aimed at her.
Did she have time to dart back into the cell and lock it before he pulled the trigger? It occurred to her that was a big risk to take when the best-case scenario then had her trapped like the proverbial rat in the cell.
Should she go down fighting?
“Drop the knife, lass,” the ape with the gun said. He took a step forward as he spoke.
“I don’t think so.” Ella’s hand felt sweaty around the knife grip. She shifted her focus to the man with the gun although Roger was nearly as threatening.
“Cap’n won’t want her killed,” Roger said. “And Cook won’t want another ‘un to patch up.”
“Stow it,” the gunman snarled.
Deciding delay was better than whatever these two had in mind for her, Ella jumped back into the cell and slammed the door shut. She dropped the knife and grabbed for the locking lever with both hands, trying to wedge it into place before they could wrench the door open. Her fingers felt for the locking cradle in the dark, one hand holding the lever and sweat popping off her as she heard the men’s shouts on the other side of the door. Her right hand located the cradle and she slammed the lever down, but before it could catch and lock into place, the door jerked open.
Ella stood in the shaft of daylight staring into the face of the ape with the gun. With his free hand, he grabbed her by the front of her shirt and yanked her out of the cell.