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

by Kiernan-Lewis, Susan

  “How are you, sir?”

  The voice seemed to come out of Rowan’s head and at first he ignored it. But it did make him open his eyes again. When the gloom parted, he saw a figure seated on the floor across from him, his feet crossed at the ankles. Rowan cleared his throat.

  “If it had been a real beating, you would still be unconscious,” the voice said. Rowan picked up an accent. Dutch or German. “They are only trying to get your attention.”

  “Who are you?” Rowan raised himself up slowly on one elbow to look at the fellow. His back screamed with every movement.

  “My name is Jan Aldegonda. You are the one they call the giant. Mkubwa. They didn’t lie by much. You are very big.”

  Rowan clutched at the floor with one hand as he felt the ship ride out a long swell, picking up the vessel and easing it up and then suddenly down like one of the kiddie rides at Six Flags. Only when you’ve just had an inch of your skin flayed off and you haven’t eaten in two days, it ratchets up in a hurry to one of the most nauseating mother fuckin’ rides in history.

  Jan crept to his knees and crawled over to Rowan. “I have some experience in medical matters. If you will allow me?”

  Rowan glanced at the man’s hands—they were filthy, with dirt encrusted deep under his nails. He nodded and even that hurt.

  The man touched Rowan’s shoulder and gently positioned his arm so that he could view the damaged back. Rowan heard him suck in a hard breath.

  “Bad?”

  “Not too bad.” Jan shifted back on his heels. “I only have a bucket of mostly salt water in this place. It would only serve to hurt you. I can’t imagine it would help.”

  “I think I’ll pass,” Rowan said, collapsing back onto his side. He propped his head up on his forearm. “My name is Rowan Pierce,” he said. “I’m American. I fell off a passenger liner to London.”

  “Tragic story, meneer. I am very sorry. I was taking passage on the Eendracht heading to South Africa when this ship of devils set upon it. My ship was scuttled and all aboard murdered with the sole exception of myself.”

  “Why?” It was all Rowan had the energy for.

  “Why was I not killed too? Because I recognized the captain as Captain Erik Sully. And I knew he would value treasure above the pleasure of killing me.”

  “Why didn’t he just take it from you?”

  “It is not currently in my possession. We are going to Casablanca, where my compatriot keeps it safe for me. There I will trade it for my life.”

  “Must be some amazing treasure.”

  “Its worth is beyond the understanding of most mortal men.”

  “And this Sully bastard can be trusted to keep his end of the bargain?”

  The Dutchman shrugged. “It is my only hope.”

  “Yeah. I see that. Can I ask you something, Jan?”

  “Of course, meneer.”

  “What year is this?”

  The man blinked as if he misunderstood Rowan’s accent. “It is the year eighteen hundred and twenty-five.”

  “Of course it is.” Rowan groaned and pulled himself to a sitting position.

  Son. Of. A. Bitch. Although he’d already gotten most of the way there on his own.

  “How did you provoke them?” Jan asked.

  “They wanted to know what skills I had they could use.”

  “Ah. And you were not willing to help them.”

  “Sounds kind of stupid when you put it like that.”

  “Captain Sully is one of the most feared pirates along these parts. No one even knows where he came from. Before five years ago, he was unknown. A privateer, perhaps. Some believe he came from the depths of hell. Others from Australia.”

  “When will we arrive in Casablanca?”

  “Four days.”

  “I’m going to need to ask you for a favor.”

  “Anything, meneer.”

  “When they let you go, I’m going to need you to take a message from me and deliver it to three different law offices in Casablanca. Can you do that for me?”

  “It sounds extremely strange, but of course I can.”

  “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.

  “Hans! Goedemiddag, my friend,” Aldegonda said as they walked closer.

  “Jan! I cannot believe it is you. News of the Eendracht is all over the city.”

  Sully saw the pharmacist’s eyes dart to him and then back to the Dutchman.

  “Yes, but as you can see, I am well. Is Dirk here?”

  “Dirk?” Again the fat man was looking more at Sully than at Jan. “Dirk? Why, no, Jan.”

  “But he will be here soon, ja? Doesn’t he always come about now?”

  “About now? Oh, yes. You are right, Jan. If you would like to wait…”

  Aldegonda turned to Sully. “It may be an hour or so. I know a pub not far from here where we may wait more comfortably.”

  Sully looked at Hans. “And it is Dirk that we must see?”

  “Yes, meneer,” Hans said, his hands trembling on the counter in front of him. “You want Dirk.”

  Sully shrugged. “Then lead on to the pub.”

  The public house was a dark affair, but considerably cleaner and less threatening than any tavern or dining facility one might find within a half mile of the harbor. Still, Sully noted, these sorts of drinking establishments were the province—regardless of where they were located—of the shiftless and the opportunistic, the craven and the malevolent.

  After two glasses of watery rum, Sully he began to feel the first beginning twinges of concern. Aldegonda sat with his hands on the table across from him.