Page 106 of Storm over the Caribbean
“That’s my fellow castaway.” Mr Ambrose shrugged. “You can see why I didn’t want to bring him in here. The fellow isn’t exactly made for the rough life. Freddy the Fatty here was the ship’s cook on the ship I boarded before I got shipwrecked. Andan amazing ship’s cook he is, even if he can’t stop sampling his own cooking.”
I froze.
Whatdid he just call me?
“Freddy the Fatty, eh?” The pirate leader scrutinized me, licking his thick lips. “Well, if his figure is anything to go by, the food should bereallytasty.”
Was it possible to murder someone with your gaze? If so, Mr Ambrose and the pirates were going to be bloody stains on the sand in about five seconds.
“Oy, you! Fat little fellow!”
Scratch that. Three seconds.
Eyes glittering with the promise of death, I looked up at the beefy pirate leader. “Yes, oh lean, muscular leader?”
“Ha! So the little piggy has fire in his belly, does he?” His eyes narrowed. “Well…let’s see how long it lasts, shall we?”
Uh-oh…
“Volunteer!” Gaptooth snapped his fat fingers. “Now!”
Instantly, a figure stepped forward. He wasn’t nearly as big as Cyclops. No, he was tough and sinewy, with steely eyes, and, more importantly, steely knives in both hands.
“What?” The single word that escaped Mr Ambrose’s lips was a hiss. “But—”
“But what? Just because he can cook, you think he’ll get in scot-free?” Gaptooth smirked. “Not under my watch. Jack?”
The knife wielder stepped forward into the circle, displaying a grin that looked like he’d slashed his own face open with a blade. “My pleasure.”
“Jack? Just Jack?” I cocked a challenging eyebrow, trying to resist the urge to cross my arms protectively over my belly. “The others all got fancy nicknames, and you couldn’t find a better pirate name thanJack?”
“Oh, I did.” He raised one knife, staring at me over the blade. “They call me the Jackal.”
“How…imaginative,” Mr Ambrose complimented, his voice as cold as ice. “Seems you are in dire need of someone beating some creativity into you.”
“Is that so?” Jackal smirked. “Come and try.”
Eyes narrowing infinitesimally, Mr Ambrose stepped towards the ring. “Gladly. I—”
“Stop!” Gaptooth barked.
Both men froze. Mr Ambrose’s head snapped up to stare at the pirate leader, his eyes filled with the promise of violence. “Stop? Why should I stop? I’ve hunted quite a few beasts in my life. I’ve yet to kill a jackal.”
He didn’t turn towards me. He didn’t even glance my way. But I didn’t need him to in order to understand what hereallymeant:I’m going to fight for you. You will not be harmed. The both of you.
I swallowed, hard.
“I saidhewill fight!” Gaptooth stabbed a finger straight at me. “And I bloody meant it! You…” He levelled a look at Mr Ambrose. “Get out of that ring before I put you down!”
Mr Ambrose gave a dismissive snort. “He’s just a bloody cook! He won’t even give him a decent fight. Let me—”
“No deal,” the pirate leader hissed. “Cook or no, either he fights, or he dies. Now!”
I felt dread settle into the dark pit that was my stomach. From behind, I saw a muscle in my husband’s neck twitch. There was a long moment of silence as he and the fat pirate stared at each other—then Mr Ambrose lowered his head and took a step back. And another. And another. Every step he took was as if he were walking through molasses. But he did take them. When he finally exited the ring and approached me, our eyes met.
I’m sorry. I couldn’t protect you.
How was it that, without a single sound leaving his mouth, I could so easily read the unspoken words in those deep, dark eyes of his?
