Page 161 of Storm over the Caribbean
***
The city was a beautiful place—but certainly not one I had expected to see around here. My mental image of the Caribbean—which, admittedly, was rather biased after the last few weeks—was one of coconut trees, banana plants, and picturesque wooden huts at the shore. It wasnotone of elegant, classical white villas, decorated with columns and arches, which looked like they’d been plucked straight from classical Greece. All that was missing was a Spartan hoplite marching down the beach.
Sidling up to where Mr Ambrose stood at the prow of his flagship, I leaned over towards him. “Did I miss something? Did we accidentally sail the wrong way and end up in southern Europe of all places?”
“Unlikely, Mr Linton.”
“Then what the heck is this place?”
“I have never been to this particular place before, myself. But if I were to guess? Hamilton. Which would make this the island of Bermuda, one of the few remaining British colonies in the Caribbean.”
I frowned. “First your ships are attacked by a completely English-speaking pirate crew, now we find they were organized from a British colony? Call me a pessimist, but things seem to be pointing in a certain direction.” Fists tightening I stared at oneof the elegant white buildings. “Or rather, in acertain someone’sdirection.”
Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh.
I didn’t speak the name out loud. But did I really need to? The man was Mr Ambrose’s arch-rival. The only other man in the British Empire who could compete with him in wealth and power. And, more importantly, a man who had absolutely no compunctions about using that power to ruthlessly exterminate his enemies.
Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced at Mr Rikkard Ambrose’s face. It was unmoving as ever, and yet, somehow, there was a tension there that hadn’t been there before.
I swallowed.
“Do you think that Dalglie—”
Abruptly, he raised a hand, cutting me off mid-sentence. I was about to ask why, when I heard the footsteps approaching from behind.
“Report!” Mr Ambrose barked without turning around. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the first mate approaching, coming to a halt only a few feet away.
“Aye aye, Captain! We’re approaching the island, Captain! Shall we find a quiet bay to anchor in?”
“No. Sail into the harbour.”
The first mate blinked. “Sail…into the harbour?”
“Yes.”
“Um…with cannons firing?”
“No. With the Jolly Roger not flying. We are here to meet someone, not shoot them and loot their house.”
“Um…aye aye, Captain!”
With a disappointed look on his face, the first mate turned around and started to slink off, until—
“And about ourotherships…”
The pirate stopped in place. “Yes?”
“Find a quiet bay for them to anchor. Make sure they stay out of sight until the time comes.”
I could practicallyfeelthe grin spreading across the pirate’s face. “Aye aye, Captain!”
With those words, the first mate whirled around and dashed off, shouting commands to his men.
“So…” Taking a deep breath, I turned back to face the swiftly approaching island. “We are going to do this. We’re going to meet our ‘employer’.”
“Indeed.”
“And we are going to head into the unknown, with the only people at our back being bloodthirsty pirates who betrayed their last captain at the drop of a hat because a certain someone gave them more loot?”
