Page 73 of Escaping Pirates
There was a slight crunching as the lid was prized off, and the ghostly moonlight streamed in to illuminate my tar-covered body. Both Gil and Peter Pan looked much too smug as they looked at me, crouched like a toddler hiding from its mother.
“Hang on to these,” Gil told me, handing me the flares. “It’s going to be a long day for you. I don’t envy your position.”
Peter stroked the stubble on his jaw. “She’ll be found there. Captain wanted to re-tar some of the rope.”
Gil thought for a moment, then a wicked smile lit up herface. “The captain wasn’t going to start the rope project until tomorrow, and she won’t be found, even if the barrel’s opened. Peter, can you give me that old sheet?” Once it was handed over, Gil sliced through the torn sail, then covered the open barrel face so the fabric draped down to rest just above my head.
“We’ll nail this down and fill it up. Even if they open it up, it will look like a barrel full of tar.”
“Great, more mess,” I grumbled.
CHAPTER 26
The scent of tar thickened with every breath, sticky and cloying as it caught in my throat. I kept my mouth pressed up close to the small knothole on the side of the barrel, hands still cupped around it like a tunnel to the outside, drawing in tight, shallow sips of cleaner air. Sweat slid down my spine to puddle at the barrel’s base and my legs cramped beneath me, but I didn’t move. I didn’t dare.
Dawn had already come and gone, but I hadn’t felt the ship set sail yet. I gripped the flares between my knees and ignored the drips of tar that slowly seeped through the fabric overhead to drizzle onto my shoulders. It was viscous enough that it would likely take two full days to drain through the fabric.
“Good morning, gentlemen.”
My stomach spasmed. Tyrone was awake and greeting his crew.
“Croy, is the cargo inventoried?’
“Aye, Captain.”
“The ship ready to set sail?”
“Aye, Captain.”
“The girl is still in her quarters?”
“I haven’t looked yet.”
Gil piped up. “I’ll go check! Can I go, please?”
“Sure, lad. Run and go check.” There was casual amusement in Tyrone’s voice, but there wasn’t a shred of amusement in my body. I was about to be sick.
Several moments passed while Tyrone called out standard orders, preparing to set sail.
Footsteps pounded the deck. “The girl’s gone! I checked her room, and the wash stationandthe kitchen!”
There was silence, then the explosion.
“What do you mean, she’sgone?” A heavy thud rattled the boards outside my barrel. Something or someone had been struck. Had Tyrone hit Gil? Boots scraped roughly against the planks and the deck trembled.
“Find her, you incompetent fools!” Captain Tyrone's voice cracked like a whip. “She was locked in! She couldn’t have just vanished! Where was the watch? Who saw her last?”
Murmurs and stammered excuses followed.
A crash. A shout. Another blow.
I swallowed hard, the taste of tar bitter on my tongue.
“I was on the late watch, Captain,” a deep voice rumbled. “Bram fell asleep on his shift but the only one I saw during mine was Gil coming back, then he and Peter took the rest of my shift.”
“Gil! Did you see the girl? Why were you off the ship?”
“I was just getting the tar you wanted, Captain,” Gil squeaked in a perfect imitation of a frightened boy. “Look.”
