Elvin shook his head. “No, my lord. I have not. I was too afraid to follow her this time.”
“I will follow her. Alone.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Elvin kept staring at the treasure. “Are you sure?” His small green eyes flickered with a mixture of panic and hopefulness as he gazed up at Merritt.
“Of course. You are very loyal to me, Elvin. I never forget that.”
Most of the household staff were too afraid of Fortunata to stand up to her, and sometimes she withheld wages out of spite. Merritt always found a way to secretly pay everybody, but Elvin had three sickly sons that no magic seemed to cure. Merritt was determined to find a way to help them.
Across the room, he pulled his old trunk from against the wall. Filled with souvenirs from his ocean travels, it made a convenient hiding place for the peasant’s robes and pants he kept hidden inside a loose floorboard beneath it. He dressed quickly as Elvin watched him. Elvin never helped, at Merritt’s insistence. That way, Fortunata could never accuse him of aiding and abetting Merritt in what she would deem subterfuge.
Merritt looked over at him. “Please don’t worry. All will be well.”
Elvin swallowed. “Here. I almost forgot. I brought you bread and cheese and an apple.” He produced a paper parcel from his pocket.
“I feel a bit like Snow White.” Merritt grinned at him. “Off to visit the wicked witch.”
Elvin sniffed. “And it’s not too far from the truth. And at least we know this apple isn’t poisoned.”
Neither man said anything. It was well known that Fortunata frequently cast horrible spells on people and food, just to maintain control. Merritt’s love for his people was the only reason he stayed here. Otherwise he’d have built a raft and gone to look for his lost pirate.
Denny.
Just thinking about him pained Merritt’s heart. He took the package of food and squeezed Elvin’s shoulder. “Fear not. I shall return.” And with that, he took off. Outside, when he was certain nobody was looking, he went into the barn. Avery, his favorite stable hand, was brushing down the magnificent quarter horse, Cillian.
“Who’s been riding?” Merritt asked, surprised.
“The princess.” Avery had the same glum expression everybody had when they mentioned her.
“She’s returned?” Merritt panicked.
“No, sir. She forgot to tie up Cillian and he came running back here.”
Even the horses hate her
.
“He was shaky and covered in sweat.”
Merritt sighed. “She rode him hard. As usual. Don’t worry. I’ll take him back to her.”
“But—”
“She’ll never know. I can’t have her blaming you when she was clearly distracted.”
Avery hesitated. “Are you sure?”
People always said this when Fortunata was the subject of discussion.
“Yes, I’m sure. I’ll walk him back to wherever she went.”
“You can ride him, sir. Cillian loves you.”
“And I love him.” It was true. Merritt was an animal lover and took the care and comfort of all the creatures in his kingdom to heart. Cillian gave a gentle whinny, turned and put his muzzle into the palm of Merritt’s hand.
Avery smiled as Merritt sighed. Cillian was the most adorable creature. The sensation of the beautiful horse’s soft mouth on his skin always centered and calmed him.
“I’ll be gentle with him,” Merritt promised.
“You always are, sir, and he can handle your sister. I suspect he came home because he loathes being away from you.”
“Thank you.” Merritt saddled the horse and before he could even ask Cillian to take him to the forest, he took off, Merritt hanging on for dear life.
Cillian was a spirited, joyful creature. His sheer pleasure at running through the trees, along the edge of a rippling brook, then past a field of wild ponies had Merritt laughing as he gripped the reins.
At last they arrived in the only dark spot in the woods.
The witch’s house.
Cillian’s ears twitched as he bent his knees, allowing Merritt to climb from his back. Merritt took a deep breath, then, as his feet touched the ground, he patted the horse’s luxurious mane.
“Thank you, Cillian,” he whispered.
Cillian looked at him, his brown eyes alive with warmth and understanding. Merritt studied the house a moment. He could hear a pair of female voices and it didn’t sound like a happy conversation.
Oh dear.
Fortunata was frustrated.
“But can you see him?” she yelled.
“Oh yes. I can see him.” The second voice sounded weary.
“Well, what’s going on?” Fortunata demanded.
“Just one moment.” A pause.
“Well?”
Merritt reached into his pocket and removed the package of food Elvin had given him. He removed the apple, thrilled when Cillian threw his head up and down. Cillian adored fruit. Merritt rewrapped the package and fumbled for his pocket knife. He quartered the apple and fed each section to Cillian, who expertly ate the flesh and spat out the seeds. Merritt had never seen another horse do that.
Putting his finger to his lips, as though to shush Cillian, Merritt crept toward the house. He hovered below the witch’s window and was stunned when he raised himself a little and saw her scrying inside a large bowl of inky blue water. Merritt held his breath when a shimmering image emerged of Denny lying on the deck of a ship. He had wings.
Oh no
. Fortunata had bewitched him. They’d left the ship so fast that Merritt had been unable to speak to him. Fortunata had spiked a tonic she’d given Merritt and it had left him sleepy for days.
Fortunata poked at the corner of the wavering picture of Denny. She evidently spotted the black cross in the corner at the same moment Merritt did.
“What’s that X for?” Fortunata asked.
Gremma drew a sharp breath. Merritt studied her for the first moment. She was young. He knew that because he was aware of her real identity. He gulped. So this was what their long-lost cousin, Gremma, looked like.
Did Fortunata bewitch her? This looks like her handiwork. She’s fond of giving people warts. Especially attractive women.
It shocked him how hideous Gremma had become, her hair gray with white and red streaks through it. She had gnarled hands and huge, snaggled teeth. Dark bushy brows met above the bridge of her bulbous nose, which was covered in warts.
“The X means he’s marked for death,” Gremma murmured.
“Good!” Fortunata clapped her hands together.
“If you say so, my lady.” Gremma looked dubious.
Fortunata opened her mouth but a strange thudding sound interrupted everything.
“What was that?” Fortunata jumped to her feet.
Birds cried and flew to the highest treetops. A few small woodland creatures scurried away from the house. Merritt dropped to his knees then turned to look for the source of the sound. He was horrified to see Cillian lying dead on his back, all four legs stiff and pointing up into the air.
* * * *
A pair of dark-eyed faces peered down at him and Denny sputtered as a flurry of hands doused him with a bucket of sea water. Sun and salt smacked his eyes, making him close them again.
“Is he awake?” an anxious male voice asked.
“Let’s try it one more time,” another man responded. Again they doused Denny with the last thing he wanted in his face. More yucky sea water. It always made his wings sticky and impossible to unstick.
“Enough!” he shrieked, dropping the telescope, which was one of only two weapons he had. He felt for his knife. Gone. One of the men snatched up the telescope before Denny could reach it, and pushed at Denny with his foot. Denny coughed. The water tasted foul. What the heck was in it?
“Is it true?” one of them asked as Denny coughed and spat out the rancid-tasting water.
A tall, dark and very thin man stood poised with a third bucket, and Denny croaked, “You hit me with that and I’ll kill you.”
The man lowered the bucket but didn’t move away from him.
“Is it true?” another man close to Denny asked again, hunkering down beside him.
“Is what true?” Denny tried sitting. His head hurt like a mother and he gingerly felt the top of it. He was shocked to realize his scalp was covered in egg-like bumps. How many times had Rigby thunked Denny to keep him sleeping in his cabin? How much time had passed since he’d earned his dreaded fairy wings?
“What’s the date?” he asked.
“December fifteenth,” the man with the bucket said.
“December fifteenth?” Denny repeated. His mouth felt rubbery. He’d been holed up in his quarters for longer than he’d thought. Five months, not three.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” the bucket man asked.
“I would love one,” Denny said, then winced, expecting them all to laugh and jeer at him. He was making such an ass of himself these days.
“Would you like porridge? I can get some for you.” The man set the bucket on the deck beside Denny. He peered into it, relieved to see that it wasn’t a slop bucket, or somebody’s chamber pot. No telltale turds were doing the backstroke on the surface.
“Are you teasing me?” Denny asked.
“Of course not. I’ll bring you some right now.”
As the man hurried away, Denny wondered if he were dreaming. No. If he were dreaming he’d be back with his tethered prince.
The two remaining men helped Denny to his feet. One of his boots had a wonky heel thanks to his collision with the deck of the La-Di-Da. He could not bring himself to think of it as The Pirate Fairy. He kept stumbling thanks to the stupid heel but he gripped the rail and forced himself to watch his beloved ship sailing away from him. His entire life was on that vessel, including cash and jewels he’d hidden. He was grateful now for the gold he’d stashed in secret places on different islands. Oh, and then there was the house he’d purchased. That seemed farther away than ever now.
“Where are we?” he asked at last, surprised that he could hear music and laughter drifting across the breeze to him from his stolen ship. What the heck was going on over there? Did his crew hate him so much that they were having a farewell party?
“Here you are, sir.” The tall, thin man was back with a cup of coffee and a bowl of porridge.
He just called me sir. Maybe I’m dreaming. What a hateful dream, though.
Denny squinted up at the guy. “I know you,” he said, trying to place him.
The man beamed. “Yes, sir. I’m Ebba. You saved me from the blackbirding ship heading to Peru.”
Denny rifled his memory banks. The absinthe had really done a number on him. He couldn’t remember very much at all.
“The
Honor
, right?” Denny asked.
“Exactly.”
“You worked in my kitchen.”
Ebba nodded. “You paid me. And my brother.”
“Your name is Ebba?” Denny took the coffee, sniffed, then took a sip of it. “Isn’t that a woman’s name?”
Ebba’s face darkened. “I
am
a woman,” she said.
Oops
. “Right, right. Sorry. My mind’s a muddle. Still can’t see straight.”
You’re the homeliest one I’ve ever seen. How did I not notice this sooner?
“That’s okay,” Ebba kindly said.
Denny looked around at the many faces watching him. Up close nobody seemed ill. They all seemed normal. Happy, even. A few were thin and a bit frail, but the deck was clean of blood and vomit, unlike some blackbirding boats he’d attacked.
Things started coming back to Denny. “Ebba, ah, what about your brother, Larks?” Denny remembered
his
name all right. He couldn’t believe he was getting excited thinking about that delectable young man when he was in the middle of possibly the worst catastrophe of his life. Denny felt he could allow himself a small moment of erotic rhapsody. After all, things couldn’t be too bad if Ebba was calling him sir and bringing him food and coffee. The coffee was pretty tasty but had a little too much chicory for his taste. He seemed to remember Ebba had a zeal for the stuff, like a lot of Pacific Islanders. He stared at the bowl of porridge she still held for him and noticed the bits of black stuff studding the congealed blob.
“They’re currants, right? Or raisins?”
She gave him an odd look. “If it helps you sleep nights to think so, go ahead.”
“Meaning they’re not?”
“No. They are not.”
“I’ll stick with coffee then.”
“You used to eat my porridge when you thought it had raisins in it.” Ebba shrugged.
“Gah!” Denny clutched his throat with his free hand.
“Don’t worry. One man’s poison is another man’s or woman’s feast. Rat droppings are pure protein.”
Denny thought he might be violently ill as Ebba handed the bowl to a very pregnant woman. She picked out the tiny turds with her long fingers, flicked them overboard then spooned the rest of the bowl’s contents into her mouth. She was skinny and frantic-looking, poor thing.
“Hurry,” Ebba said to the woman. “We’re almost at the port.” She looked over her shoulder, throwing a distracted look back toward Denny. “Hide the gold Captain Rigby gave us for him.”
“Captain Rigby?” Denny almost choked on his coffee.
They all stared at him.
“But he’s my second mate.” He glanced around him. There was something very odd about all of this. “What’s going on?” he asked, almost falling to the deck thanks to his broken heel.
Ebba pulled a face. “Don’t worry. You won’t be sold into slavery until after the trial.”
He gaped at her. “What do you mean slavery? And what trial?”
“You’ll soon be on trial for your life.”