Page 83 of Of Magic and Rum
Flicking my jacket collar over my face, I shove my hands in my pockets and head toward the river. A frigid chill has formed in the air, and a putrid smell invades my nostrils the closer I get to the dock. I cover my nose with my sleeve, gagging because it reeks of—death. A lifeless pirate hangs from the dock, their feet drooping in the water.
“Seas below,” I whisper, a knot twisting in my throat.
Imagining Jack in this man’s place raises a crazed bout of nerves and desperation—to do something. But without using my powers, what do I?—
“Anne?” A familiar voice beckons from behind me.
Slowly turning, I spy Omar, the brothel keeper, and smile. “Omar? What are you doing in London?”
He looks far fancier than the last time we met, sporting a burgundy frock coat and pristine powdered white wig. “Business, of course. But I’m quite curious about whatyou’redoing here considering the particular ship I saw you boarding.” Omar looks around for prying ears.
Closing the remaining gap between us, I usher him further away from town and keep my voice low. “Jack, the crew, they’ve all been captured. They’re sentenced to hang tomorrow, and I?—”
Omar cups my chin, turning my face from left to right. “You’ve gone and fallen for a sea wolf, haven’t you?”
There’s no point hiding it; honestly, I don’t want to keep it a secret. I’d shout it to the depths of the oceans if I could.
“Yes. Me and Jack, we’re?—”
Omar’s eyes close, and he waves a hand between us, fluttering one finger at a time. “Say no more, my dear. I had a feeling you stowing away on that ship would leave you with far more than you bargained for.”
And it did. Friends. Family. A lover and confidant. A sister.
“Can you help me?” I curl my hands under my chin. “Sunrise is only hours away.”
Omar nods and leads me further down the docks. “There’s a group here who positively hate red coats. Given some incentive, I’m sure they’d be delighted to provide a distraction and give the Royal Navy hell.”
“Incentive?” Frowning, I feel my heart plummet to my toes. “Omar, I don’t have anything. We were on ourwayto the score.”
Omar presses one finger between my shoulder blades. “Then you’d owe me. But Anne, I expect compensation as soon as you’re able.”
If we make it to Atlantis, I can pay him back and then some.
“I’m good for it, Omar.” I extend my hand.
A twinkle sparks in Omar’s eye, and he shakes in agreement. “Then let me round them up.” He snaps a velvet coin purse from his belt and holds it up to his ear, shaking it. “Yes, this should be quite enough.”
“You’re going to use your own money to hire them?”
Omar chuckles and hangs the pouch on his hip. “We’ve already shaken on it. You’re a pirate now, so how I get what you need should be no concern of yours, should it?”
“Probably not, but I can still be thankful.” I offer him a warm smile.
“Make yourself scarce until morning. I’ll provide the distraction, but the rest is up to you.” Omar slips a small knife from his pocket, much like the dirk I’d found when first arriving in the Caribbean. “Something tells me you’ll need this. Good luck, Anne.” Omar squeezes my bicep before walking away as if we’d never seen each other.
Holding the knife to the moonlight, I smile at the glittering green stones in the hilt. When I first met Jack, he’d have hated the idea of our lives banking on a dagger. And now, I’m going tosavehim with one.
Finding hiding places to keep warm from the cold autumn nights in England is a feat. I’ve not slept a wink when the sun’s orange and red rays peek at the horizon. Omar’s words were vague when he said he’d provide a distraction, and this makes me antsy.
When will this distraction start? Will it make the crowds rowdier? Should I expect pistol fire or even explosions?
My eyes have acclimated to the darkness, and the piercing brightness overtaking the sky makes me squint. I rub my arms, working the chill from them and coming to my full senses. Using the brick wall behind me as leverage, I push to my feet and secure the abandoned gray shawl I’d procured from a street bench around my head. As early as it is, the streets are already steadily filling with townsfolk.
“I hear they’re hanging the captain first,” a man in a brown tweed knee-length coat, trousers, and frilly linen shirt says to a young boy bouncing at his side.
The captain. My captain.Jack.
The boy’s blonde curls bobble as he jumps into a puddle. “But why?”
