Paradise Island (2 page)

“Let's go.”

Together they maneuvered him behind the crates to where their dingy was moored, hidden beneath the planks of the pier. As they moved him, Estelle saw a satchel at his waist. She flipped it open, and several items fell out.

There was a flash of gold in the dark. A ring. The band was thick and large enough for a man's finger. It was scratched and well worn; the gold that had once been shiny was now dull. For such a small object, it was weighty. Estelle picked it up, turned the ring over and saw a raised image of a handcrafted skull.

The skull was vulgar. Its mouth hung lose, hinged open in an eternal silent scream. The eye sockets were elongated, as though the skull were squeezed. The grotesque eyes seemed to bore into her as though there was an unearthly force contained inside. She stared into the eyes as though hypnotically drawn to them. The metal started to buzz with a living energy that permeated her skin and made her palm tingle. It heated within moments, sinking into her bones as though fusing body to metal.

“What is it, Estelle?” Claire asked.

Estelle shook her head, hurriedly slipping the ring into her satchel at her hip. ‘It is nothing.' Now was not the time to become drawn into an enchanted object, or whatever it was.

A carefully folded map was amongst the objects from Gregory's satchel. She opened it, seeing what she could in the darkness. A part of it had been marked with red ink. This was something she'd question him about when he was safely aboard her ship. She folded the map and put it in the satchel.

The last item was a man's pocket watch. Something half familiar tugged at a loose memory. She slowly picked up the watch, her breath catching in her throat as the vague, familiar feeling transformed into awareness. The outside of the watch was tarnished much more than she remembered.

“What is it, Estelle?”

“I knew he was responsible. What other reason could he have for keeping this?”

“It's a gentleman's pocket watch. Why wouldn't he have one? He is a man, after all,” Claire exclaimed.

“It's not his. This time piece belonged to my father.” Estelle opened it. The glass that covered the hands of the clock had been smashed.

There was a photo of a woman and a child, cut to fit into the inside of the cover. It was, browned and water marked. She ran the pad of her thumb over the image of the woman. “My mother,” she said by way of explanation. “I was only two in this likeness.”

“She is very beautiful,” Claire said.

Estelle snapped the lip closed. “I really can't remember her. She died soon after that photograph was taken. My father hired the best nannies after her death. I was too young to know any better so it really doesn't matter.”

It was no use dwelling on the mistakes of the past. It was useless and wouldn't bring her any closer to her goal of jailing the man who'd killed her father. “Let's get him into the boat.”

“Look at the size of him. What if the boat tips with all our weight?” Claire asked.

“Hmmph. You're right. Can't kidnap a drowned man. I'll get the rope from the dingy and we'll lower him down gently.” Estelle sprang down the ladder from the pier and quickly gathered the rope in the hull of the dingy.

When she was back on the pier she secured one end around his torso. Her fingers moved automatically as she tied the knots in the rope, used to the complicated twists and turns she used aboard her ship. His warm, masculine smell drifted from the folds of his shirt, infusing the air around her with the spicy aroma of the sea. It reminded her of the clean, crisp air of Paradise. Warily, she shook the sensations off — as unusual as they were, this was no place to explore them.

She wound the other end of the rope around a wooden pole and quickly tested it with a few strong tugs. The knots held. She sat back on her haunches when she was satisfied, and was surprised to find she was a little out of breath. She wiped the hot prickle of perspiration from her forehead.

“Right. We'll get his feet over the edge and lower him down.”

Together they inched him over the edge using the makeshift pulley system she'd made. His shirt caught on the rough end of a plank and there was a rip of material as the fabric gave way, baring his chest. Estelle caught a glimpse of toned, lean muscular planes before he disappeared over the edge.

“Lower him slowly, until he is just above the water,” Estelle said.

Estelle wound an extra length of rope around the pole when they had positioned him above the dingy. “I'm going to get in first to guide him down.”

“How are we all going to fit?” Claire asked.

“I'm going to swim. There will be room enough for you both that way.”

“But the water is freezing.”

Estelle reached out and squeezed Claire's hand. “I'll be fine. A bit of cold is nothing, and besides, our ship isn't very far away. We'll be there in no time.”

Estelle quickly climbed down the ladder until she stood in the hull of the dingy. She maneuvered the craft until it was directly beneath Gregory. She reached into her belt and retrieved the hunting knife she wore in a leather sheath.

“Lower him a little more,” she called, as loudly as she dared.

Slowly, Claire lowered him. Estelle steadied herself, reached around his back and cut the rope. Gregory's boneless body toppled onto her. She fell backwards. Her rear end hit the hull and she was covered by cumbersome limp limbs and an unforgivingly solid body.

She spat out a mouthful of his hair, gasping as his dead weight pressed down on her chest. Although he was heavy, he wasn't oppressively so and Estelle wondered at how good the solid pressure of him felt against her own body, how well they fit together, like two halves of a whole. Neither too small nor too large. It was as if his body was made solely for her tall frame.

“Estelle, are you all right?” Claire's voice was strained as she climbed down the ladder.

Estelle saw her through a blurry red veil. “He's as bulky as a bullock.”

She managed to squeeze her arm between them and shuffled as best she could in the small craft that threatened to capsize with every movement. She slipped out from under Gregory and maneuvered him so that he was secure in the hull. She sat on the small, rough cut bench seat, breathing heavily and waiting for her heart to resume a normal pace.

Gregory filled the hull almost to capacity. Through the whole episode he hadn't so much as uttered a sound. A slight frown creased her forehead. She hoped that she hadn't given him too much of the drug. There was no time to worry about that now, though. With the threat of being found by his crew at any moment, she would need to get to the safety of the
Wanderlust
, her own ship. She had a fierce crew of fifty women, rescued from the mistreatment of men and all ferociously loyal. Between Claire, Dalia, herself and twenty other women, they'd wrested the
Wanderlust
from her enemy — the cruel Jack Cutlass.

Estelle slipped into the water and beckoned to Claire to move into the dingy. The freezing sea soaked into her clothes, weighting them down and quickly numbing her skin, but there was no time to waste. They needed to get away. Claire picked up the oars. The craft slid smoothly through the gently swelling water, and soon the pier and Gregory's ship disappeared into the dark night.

She barely believed that they had actually done the impossible and kidnapped Captain Gregory Marshall. A slow smile spread over Estelle's face. He was going to repay the debt he owed her family, and she was going to make sure he paid back every last penny with blood. It was going to be entertaining to watch the star of the Royal Navy pay for the heinous crime he had committed and for which he had thus far managed to avoid retribution. But first, she needed to find out exactly what had happened, because there was only one person who really knew what had gone on that night long ago. And that need was the only thing that stood between his life and his dispatch into the afterlife.

They had to be getting close to the
Wanderlust
. The waves had become increasingly choppy, the white peaks often breaking over the top of their little rowboat. They had taken a direct line out from the shore and had been steadily rowing for an hour. Estelle strained to see the telltale signs of Dalia's gift using her hiding talent, eager to find the safety of the
Wanderlust
beneath her feet and the warmth of fresh, dry clothes.

Years ago, she'd rescued Dalia from the bowels of an Arabian slave ship, severely beaten, stolen from her family, and destined for slavery. Estelle had offered to take her back home, but the traders had slaughtered her entire village save for the few women that would fetch them a good price on the slave market. Dalia would have fetched the best price. Olive skinned and long limbed, with cat-like, slanted eyes that were long-lashed and of the darkest brown, the crew had been careful to miss her face, but the bruises on her body could not be hidden.

Estelle had left the fate of the crew up to Dalia when she had rescued her. Dalia asked her gods and Estelle had found the smallest island, without water or food sources, and had left the pirates there to ponder their remaining days before a long, miserable death.

Dalia had always had her gift. As far as Estelle could determine, Dalia was able to hide the things that people looked for, like a hairbrush left on a dressing table, or a cup of wine on a dinner table. More than once they'd doubled over with laughter as Dalia hid a crew member's dinner while her head was turned. Whether it was a mind trick, Estelle didn't know, but she had become so used to it that she was getting very good at finding things, much to Dalia's recent amusement.

It was more than a simple reflection. If that was so then the viewer would see themselves when they were upon the object and be able to find it. It was more a shimmering of light that covered the object. If she was still enough, Estelle would see light flickering, like fleeting dashes of sunlight from the surface of water. In cases of large ships like the
Wanderlust
, she would see an outline, where the light may be darker or brighter than its surroundings.

Her own gift had started differently. It still reminded her of that terrible night that launched her into adulthood at the tender age of fourteen. She'd first used it when a sailor wanted his way with her.

It was soon after the disappearance of her father and she'd no family or money to turn to so she had taken work as a tankard girl. One night a man paid her more than a passing interest. She had screamed, loudly — a sound from the depths of her soul. He'd instantly keeled over unconscious. She'd run then, fearful of what she'd done, but not before she landed a hard kick to his ribs and heard one snap satisfyingly under her foot.

She had learned, through years of trial and error, the subtleties of her voice. Knew how to control it a little more than she did ten years ago, although she still didn't know where it came from. She didn't need to scream to knock a man senseless now. She could sing and render him unconscious for a much longer time. She had made her own melody, a lullaby she'd half remembered from her mother. It had come in handy, enough for her to escape from trouble on numerous occasions.

Estelle double checked the star she followed, and recognized the disjointed flickering line below it — the
Wanderlust
. Relief poured through her as she realized they were almost at the ship. If she looked carefully she might even see her black-clad crew wandering the decks, shadowed and near invisible against the night sky. Dalia would hide the ship, but would not hide the crew. She never used her gift on people, shrank away from doing it, but didn't ever say the reason for it. She would just solemnly shake her head and say that it is never to be done. She would fail her gods somehow if she did.

Estelle kicked her legs, now barely feeling the propulsion through the water. Although she was fit, the row out to the harbor and the swim back in freezing water had sapped her body of its usual strength.

“We're here, Claire. Can you whistle for them?” Estelle whispered through chattering teeth. She gripped the side of the rowboat with both hands and let her body relax, grateful to float weightlessly in the water.

Claire pulled out a whistle tied to a string around her neck and let out two sharp shrills. An immediate answering whistle drifted over the water.

Estelle watched where she expected the
Wanderlust
to be. Watching something hidden reappear was something she always found utterly amazing. Parallel horizontal lines sparked lightning fast in opposite directions, like taut expandable ropes snapping back and forth.

The lines sparked in shorter distances, growing in thickness, pulsating with bright flashes of light. Estelle glimpsed her beloved ship and she swelled with pride. She would never tire of seeing it. It was her hard won freedom, her home.

The shimmering lines flashed slower and then stopped, revealing her ship. One second there was endless waves and a dark horizon, and the next the
Wanderlust
was dancing on top of the ocean, sleek, black and proudly majestic.

Figures appeared over the railing and a rope was dropped over the side. Black-clad figures climbed over the side of the ship and down the rope. Soon her crew helped her frozen limbs up the ladder. A blanket was thrown around her, which helped to ward off the chill of her wet clothes and the bite of the night breeze.

“Come into your cabin, Captain,” Jade, her first mate, said.

Estelle shook her head, straining to look through the shadows at the gun rail. “I'll wait for Claire.”

Claire climbed over the edge of the boat, clearly fatigued. Her white blonde hair shimmered in a silken curtain, and she flicked it behind her back with a quick twist of her slim wrist. She turned, and with the aid of Estelle and other crew members, brought Gregory's unconscious, heavy body up and over the side of the ship. It took several hands to maneuver his large frame onto the deck.