Page 54 of Escaping Pirates
I kept my distance. “I don’t believe I have. Should I be impressed?”
“Youwillbe.” He winked. “This little beauty talks better than most men do, except for Gil, that is.”
He uncapped the tube with a flourish and pulled out a narrow stick wrapped in waxed parchment. “Flares,” he explained. “Color-coded, single-use, sky-illuminating magic.”
He held one up. It was gold-tipped, sleek and deadly looking.
“This one?” he said. “It signals betrayal, war, and danger. A gold flare at sea gets attention fast and makes people nervous.”
He swapped it for a blue one. “This one says all’s well. Peaceful waters. Nothing to see here.”
Then a third that was a deep scarlet. “And this one? Well…that one’s personal. Red’s for business. Agreements. Quiet understandings.” His smile sharpened. “The kind of signal you send when you don’t want the law involved.”
I raised an eyebrow. “So you use colors to send secret messages?”
“Not so secret if you know the code,” he said. “But powerful, when you think about it. One spark in the sky, and someone miles away knows exactly what you mean.”
“I’ve never seen one before,” I admitted, captivated against my will. “How bright are they?”
“Why don’t you try one and find out?” Tyrone put the red and gold flares back into the chest but kept the blue out. “It’s calm waters tonight. Let’s let others know all is well.”
He placed the flare into a hollowed-out tube near the helm then rotated it so the wick stuck out. “Want to do the honors?” he asked me, holding out a flint and steel.
“I will!” Gil’s blond head popped up from the stairwell. “Can I light it? Please? Please? Please?”
I smiled at him. “I’m sure you’d do a better job than I would. I don’t light fires very often.”
Tyrone nodded his approval and passed the flint and steel over to Gil, who looked as though he’d received a decade’s worth of birthday gifts all at once. All the skill I lacked in fire-making, Gil made up for with plenty to spare. It only took him one try to light the wick, and he sprang back, beaming ear to ear, as it sparked to life.
BOOM.
A bright blue explosion lit up the velvety darkness high in the sky, scattering sparks of light all across the heavens.The crew oohed and aahed, and Gil let out an audible “Wow!”
“People in Ebora and the ships halfway to Haven Harbor would have seen that,” Tyrone told me.
“I’m impressed,” I told him. Had Harlan seen? Did he know about flares? If only I had a secret symbol that I could use to pass messages to him.
“It’s amazing how fast things can change with a little fire in the right hands,” Tyrone told me. “Don’t you agree?”
I gave a non-committal nod of the head.
“We have about five more days until we make port,” Tyrone told me while escorting me back to my quarters. “The crew has some entertainment planned until then. You’re welcome to attend or stay in your room as you see fit.” He handed me a key when we reached my cabin. “You are in control of your own locks aboard my ship. No one is allowed entry to your chambers without your express permission.”
“Thank you.” I took it, once again grateful for his thoughtfulness and hospitality. He was no Harlan, but maybe I had been wrong to put my guard up so high around Tyrone. I knew he and Harlan had no love for each other, but if I played my cards right and phrased it as a personal favor to me, would Tyrone be willing to help free Harlan?
CHAPTER 20
This was entertainment?
The makeshift ring was roped off in the middle of the lower deck, and a thick crowd of sailors had gathered around, jostling elbows and passing coins back and forth as bets were laid. It was the applause and cheering that first attracted my attention, and when coupled with Gil’s incessant begging to attend, I had finally agreed.
I stood near the back, half-shadowed by a post, trying to make myself appear as small as possible. This wasn’t what I’d expected when Tyrone had told me there’d be “entertainment” belowdecks. I had pictured cards or dice, maybe a drinking contest. Something crude, yes, but not brutal. Not this.
Two shirtless men were in the ring, circling each other like sharks. One was a wiry man with scars mapping his chest like dried riverbeds through a desert. The other was built like a barrel and already bleeding from a split lip. Their feet shifted steadily across the boards, boots thudding in rhythm with the shouts of the crowd.
“Go on, Dex! Break his nose!” someone hollered.
“Ten coin says Flint drops him in the next minute!” yelled another.
