Page 74 of Escaping Pirates
Every muscle in my body seized with fright as the barrel’s lid was lifted to reveal the pool of tar suspended over my head.
“See? I heard that you wanted it, so I got it for you and came right back, but I didn’t see your girl.”
“Cover that back up! Bram!” Tyrone bellowed. “Sleeping on the job? What’s wrong with you?”
“An accident, captain. It won’t happen again.”
Tyrone let out a stream of foul oaths as Gil put the lid back on my barrel.
“She doesn’t care as much about him as I thought. Fine. Fine.” The air seemed to pulse with fury outside my hiding place. Then I heard it, the sound I dreaded most. The flare case was being unlocked and opened.
The following pause stretched long. And then: “Where are my flares?”
Boots scuffed. Another chest opened and a drawer slammed.
“She took them,” Tyrone muttered. His voice had become so controlled that it was unnerving. “Shetook the blasted flares.”
My palms were damp with sweat as I clutched the flares, only feet away from where Tyrone stood.
There was a short, humorless laugh. “She thinks she’s so clever. Does she think she can get to the boy before me? Fine. Let her find what’s left of him.” Then he shouted, “Get this ship moving. We sailnow.And check everything. Every hold, every crate, everybarrel.If she’s still here, she’ll wish she wasn’t.”
My heart punched against my ribs. The footsteps scattered. Orders were shouted and the sails above creaked to life.
I curled tighter, barely breathing, the tar pressing in on every side.
He was going for Harlan. It was what I should want, but now, all I felt was fear for his life…and for my own.
Around mid-day, when Tyrone had simmered down to a boil, Gil came and hopped up to sit on top of my tar barrel. She gossiped away to the crew, cheerfully hypothesizing ways I might have escaped and predicting who would win the next fight. The incessant chatter could easily have annoyed the crew, but instead it seemed to have an oddly calming effect, for them and for me. Gil narrating everything made being trapped in a barrel slightly more tolerable.
Throughout the day, Gil would often say things like, “We sure seem to be making good time! If the wind keeps up like this, how long do you think it will be until we reach theKraken’s Revenge?”
I appreciated the running commentary, as it gave me some semblance of time passing and something to think about besides my current predicament. I wished I’d thought to bring in food or a water skin, but my dread about what would happen once we caught up to Harlan would probably have hindered my ability to eat or drink anything. Besides, after my months aboard Harsh’s ship, hunger was an all-too-familiar sensation for me.
Sweat dripped from my brow into my eyes, and every joint in my body ached from the hours of prolonged stillness, but I didn’t dare shift. We were nearly there. We had to be.
The deck around me creaked and echoed with hurried footsteps. The crew had spotted another ship. Was it theKraken’s Revenge?
“Can I get a telescope to look?” Gil asked, hopping off the barrel and going to the railing. “I think that’s the one!”
Then came the moment I didn’t expect.
There was a crash, a curse, and someone stumbled. Perhaps too many hands had been reaching for too few ropes, but whatever the reason, someone fell against the barrel. I had just enough time to realize what was happening before the world tilted.
The barrel lurched, then rolled.
I tumbled with it, arms flailing for balance, the stench of tar coating my skin and choking my lungs. The barrel slammed down the stairs, bounced once, and exploded apart at the bottom with a splintering crack.
I hit the boards hard. After the darkness of the barrel’s confines, the bright afternoon light stabbed my eyes and temporarily blinded me. The shattered remains of the barrel scattered and the flares tumbled down beside me.
The shouting stopped.
For half a breath, no one moved, and my cramped limbs protested the recent jarring movements.
Then someone cried, “It’s that girl!” at the same moment that Tyrone roared, “Elena!”
I scrambled upright, snatched the flares, and bolted. My shoes, slippery from the tar, slapped the deck, and I was slow and clumsy from being cramped for so long. Hands reached for me. Someone grabbed a fistful of my shirt, but I twisted free, the tar-slickened fabric slipping from his grasp.
Where was I even going? There was no way out. I had no way to set off the flares to alert Korth; it might inadvertently make Harsh think Tyrone set it off and was signaling for Harlan’s death.
