Race to World's End (Rowan and Ella Book 3) (8 page)

“I’ll see to it
that you’re paid. Just leave an address at each of the law offices and I’ll see
to it you’re rewarded.”

“It isn’t
necessary, my friend. I am not inhuman. I do not need to profit to want to help
my fellow man.”

“I don’t mean to
offend.”

“But we have
nothing with which to write this letter.”

“You’re going to
have to memorize it and write it down when you can. Can you do that for me?”

“Of course. May I
ask why three law firms?”

Rowan eased
himself down onto the floor. The distraction of the conversation had served to
mitigate somewhat the terrible pain migrating up and down his back, but now he
just wanted to sleep if that was at all possible.

“Because it will
increase the chance that my letter arrives when it needs to. You’ll instruct
the attorneys to mail the letter to an address in Cairo.”

“Surely sending
three letters is unnecessary,
meneer
?
The mail system in north Africa, while slow, is much improved.”

Rowan sighed, the
exertion of the conversation weighing heavily on him now. “The letter will need
to be sent to the Cairo address sixty years from the day you walk into their
offices, Jan. Arranging to send three just helps to increase the odds that one
of them gets through.”

Jan nodded, his
face puckered in confusion. “You rest now, my friend,” he said. “The night is
building another day. You must be ready for it.”

Rowan heard the
man crawl back to the opposite side of the brig before blessed sleep overtook
him.

***

“My dearest Ella,
I pray you get this letter and that when you do I am also there to read it with
you and have a good laugh. If I am not, it means I’m still trapped back in
1825. As of July 22, 1825, I have been kidnapped by pirates; specifically, one
“Captain” Erik Sully. We’re headed to Casablanca and I don’t know where from
there. When I’m on dry land, I’ll write again. Meanwhile, don’t leave the baby
to come looking for me. Trust that I’ll find my way back to you. I don’t know
how, but I will. I love you beyond all imaginings, precious girl. Love, Rowan.”

Rowan knew Jan
thought he was more than a little crazy, but to his credit he diligently
memorized the letter and recited it back to Rowan several times a day. Rowan
had no doubt the man would remember it to write it down. He also had no doubt
the man would go to three law offices and do what Rowan asked of him.

He had plenty of
doubt, however, about whether or not Sully would let Jan live that long.

“Thanks, Jan,”
Rowan said, leaning tenderly against the brig wall. His back was sore but
healing and he was ever mindful of it. That was another thing he Jan to thank
for. He was healing.

The morning after
the beating, two crewmen arrived to escort the prisoners to the upper levels.
Jan was taken to the ship’s galley and Rowan to the ship’s boatswain.

Albert Pernon was
an affable sort. Five years ago, he’d been a ship’s carpenter back in Marseilles…until
the night he’d been unofficially and involuntarily pressed into service on the
Die Hard
. Life in France was hard for
Pernon—he had a wife and six children to support. As many before him, he
soon discovered that the life of a pirate had its benefits. After a year, he
stayed voluntarily and took his share of all plundered loot.

“I understand you
are a carpenter,
non
?” Pernon said to
Rowan, waving away his guards.

“Who told you
that?”

“Monsieur
Aldegonda. It is not true?”

Rowan had told
Jan that during the night when the Dutchman had pressed him for details of what
skills he might have that could prove useful to the pirates. He couldn’t blame
Jan for telling. He just wanted to spare Rowan any more beatings.

“It’s true,”
Rowan said gruffly. “I know my way around a hammer and saw.”

“
Bon
. We sustained considerable damage in
our last battle,
oui
? You understand?
Below the water line.”

Rowan worked the
bulk of the day with Pernon; found him friendly and even good company. When the
guards returned for him at the end of the day, they surprised him by escorting
him to the crew’s mess below decks, where he sat with the rest of the men to
eat. Jan served them, and gave Rowan a solemn wink. Rowan responded with a
begrudging nod of thanks.

That night, they
were both returned to the brig and locked in as usual.

“I hope you will
forgive my betrayal,” Jan said. “There’s no point in fighting them. Perhaps
because you are not a coward, you cannot see that plain fact.”

Rowan actually
laughed when he said that, but Jan continued. “You have a skill that they
value. You will eat better, suffer fewer beatings and eventually earn the
respect of the crew. You can’t affect your escape from inside this jail cell.
Go along until your moment comes.”

Rowan had to
admit it made sense. And spending his days doing productive work with his
hands—in the sun or even the rain—beat staring at the rancid,
sodden wooden planks of his cell below decks.

“Why were you
going to Cape Town?” he asked Jan one night after nearly a week of living and
working together on the pirate ship.

Jan tried to
reposition himself for a more comfortable night’s sleep.

“I am the second
son of a powerful and wealthy man in Amsterdam. I am motivated, therefore, to
prove myself to him. And to my older brother, who is by a different mother.”

“What happened to
his mother?”

“Oh, she is alive
and well and supervising my father’s household in Amsterdam.”

“I see.”

“I am my father’s
legitimate heir in many ways and I carry his name.”

“But you were
born on the wrong side of the blanket.”

“How colorfully
put.”

“So you had
something going on in South Africa? A money-making scheme?”

“An old classmate
of mine from university works as a pharmacist in Casablanca.” Rowan saw the man
hesitate as if not sure he should say more. “We are…partners…in a starting venture
in South Africa that should make us both rich. If I can live long enough.”

“What’s the
product?”

When Jan frowned
in confusion, Rowan said, “Is it a service or a product, this venture you and
the pharmacist pal are cooking up?”

“Ah. Definitely a
product
, as you say. Although
admittedly some might view it as a service.”

“Is this the
treasure you’re giving to Sully in Casablanca?”

“Partly. Although
what I give him will in no way detract from the worth of the treasure as a
whole. In fact, it might even serve to increase it.”

“Very mysterious,
Mr. Aldegonda. A treasure that’s not diminished by giving it away.”

Jan laughed.
“Well, it’s not meant to be. It’s just that I have a sworn pact of secrecy with
my friend in Casablanca.”

“He won’t like
you bringing the good captain to take some of the treasure.”

“No, and I worry
a little about that. I would not do anything to endanger his life. But I feel
confident he will understand that it’s necessary.”

“Sounds like you
two are pretty close.”

“He is closer
than a brother to me.” Jan laughed bitterly. “Do you have any siblings, my
friend?”

“Two sisters.”
Rowan found himself thinking of his younger sisters and was amazed that it had
been so long since he’d called them to mind. They were silly girls, but loving
and sweet. He supposed there was a good chance he would never see them again.

“And you are
married?”

Rowan nodded.
“How did you know?”

“I was here when
they stripped your hand of your wedding band. I was glad it wasn’t on too
tightly.”

“Then I guess I
am too. I’ve only been concentrating on how much it sucks to have lost it.”

“Where is your
wife?”

“She lives in
Cairo with our son.”

“Cairo? Surely
that is not a safe place for a woman alone?”

“She’s a very
capable woman. Trust me.”

Three days later,
before a full day of hammering on the newly repaired
Die Hard’s
hull was finished, Toad appeared to tie Rowan’s hands
together and escort him back to the brig. It was unusual but not surprising.
Rowan had been smelling something in the air for the last full day.

It smelled like land.

As Rowan was
bustled into the door of the small below-decks jail cell, Jan was being roughly
escorted out. The two stopped just long enough as they passed to speak a few
words.

“God go with you,
Jan,” Rowan said. “Good luck.”

“Thank you, my
friend. And you, too. Although your adventure is just beginning, I fear.”

“Remember…”

“
My dearest Ella, I pray you get this letter
…”
Jan called over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, my friend. I will deliver your
message.”

As the door
slammed between them, Rowan realized his hands were still tied.
 

***

“I don’t want
there to be any chance that someone visits without an invitation,” Sully said
to Toad as he watched the pirate flag come down from the highest mast on deck.

“Everyone in
Casablanca knows the
Die Hard
,” Toad
said with a shrug.

“That may be,”
Sully said, finding himself annoyed at Toad’s subtle insubordination. “But this
isn’t the day to rub it in their faces. I want to be back and on our way before
the next tide.”

“With the
Dutchman?”

“That remains to
be seen.”

Sully glanced
over at the young Dutchman as he stood between two pirate guards. Could this
seriously be the big treasure he’d be searching for? Could it really be in the
hands of such an innocuous looking man?

Stranger things had happened
. And Sully had good reason to know that.

He nodded at the
Dutchman, who looked every bit as nervous as he had a right to be, Sully
thought. Aldegonda stepped forward and then looked over his shoulder, as if
surprised that his guards wouldn’t be going with him. Toad stepped up and
grabbed him by the shoulder. Sully knew the internal struggle in his
quartermaster not to fling the man into the harbor waters.

A vicious man.
But useful.

Toad prodded the
Dutchman over to where Sully waited. The three walked single file over the
gangway that bridged the gap between dock and ship, and led into the city.
While their prisoner walked between them, he directed them through the ring of
wharf pubs and outdoor
souks
that
were the sailor’s first glimpse of Casablanca. Sully had enjoyed this town on
many occasions but knew not to linger here too long.

When he saw that
the Dutchman was leading them out of the rougher element of the city and into
the outer ring of respectability and middleclass residences, he was glad he’d
opted to change his clothes for something less ostentatious.

They paused at a
crossroads as Aldegonda appeared to be trying to get his bearings and Sully
turned to his quartermaster. “Untie his hands and go back to the ship.”

At first Toad’s
hands remained at his side and Sully wondered if he was going to have to shoot
the sorry bastard, although it occurred to him he really needed to do that
where the crew could see him.

No sense wasting a perfectly good killing if it doesn’t
serve to underscore my authority.

“Ye’ll be needing
me,” Toad said, eyeing Aldegonda as if the man would somehow be able to
overpower Sully—four inches taller and fifty pounds heavier.

“You’re dressed
like a brigand. I don’t need people remembering us.”

It was the right
argument and Toad nodded grimly. He grabbed the Dutchman’s bonds and sliced
through them with one slash, which at the sound of the poor man’s yelping
included the cost of a nasty cut as well.

“Make sure
Die Hard’s
ready to go when I get back.
We’ll want to go fast,” Sully said.

Without another
word, Toad turned and left. Sully knew Toad didn’t like being cut out of this
part of the transaction.

He now has no way of knowing how much of the treasure I’ll take
for myself before divvying up.

Fifteen minutes
later, the two men stood in front of an apothecary shop in a cluttered narrow
street lined with dress shops and bookstores. Inside the shop, with every dusty
shelf crammed with hundreds of small flasks and bottles—many empty, some
filled with colored fluids—was vacant except for a portly man sitting on
a wooden stool in front of a counter.

When the fat man
saw the two approaching he stood, but from the look on his face it was
difficult to tell if he was happy to see them or scared out of his mind.