Midnight Jewel
Page 65
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“Two usually.” Jenks scratched his head. “Probably double if they’re keeping a bigger group of prisoners.”
“Easy enough then. Let’s go rustle some of the others up.” Tom beckoned me to follow as he and Jenks moved back toward the crowd.
I glanced between them. “Right now?”
“Sure,” said Tom. “You need it done right away, don’t you?”
“Well . . . yes. But I thought there’d be some sort of plan.”
“Of course there is. We’ll overpower them, get your friends, and be on our way.”
I was so used to Grant’s calculation and scrutiny that a quick, impulsive act was startling.
As we crossed the room, the crowd’s indifferent air shifted dramatically. People stopped what they were doing, shouting out greetings to Tom. He responded in kind, calling many of them by name and making jokes as he did. A few of the pirate pretenders jumped to their feet, hoping to be noticed. They shot me envious looks, and I tried to act like I was completely unimpressed by a den of pirates. Secretly, I was fascinated. I could understand the glamour and intrigue that surrounded them—especially if saving others was a regular practice. But what about their other activities? Stealing? Assault?
Tom kept walking until he reached a table where three masked men played cards. All immediately looked up. “Gentlemen,” he announced. “Allow me to present the angel I told you about the other night, the one who rushed bravely into battle, defending me against some of Abernathy’s goons.”
One of the men guffawed. “I still can’t believe you needed help.”
“I wouldn’t have needed any help if someone had told me Abernathy was still angry about that incident last week.” Tom looked pointedly at another of the men, a gaunt one in a striped shirt who seemed very young.
“I hadn’t heard anything, boss! Honest,” cried the man. “And you know me. I’ve always got an ear to the ground.”
Tom smiled, but there was a tightness in his voice. “Well, use both ears from now on.”
One of the men, his head shaved and a silver hoop in his ear, stood and shook my hand. “I’m Elijah. That was my wife and boy you helped. You need anything, you ask.”
Despite his tough appearance, I heard true emotion in his voice. “I’m glad to have helped,” I said.
“Are you from the continent, Miss?” The question came from the man in the striped shirt. “Skarsia?”
“Lady,” corrected Tom. “One must always address an angel as ‘lady.’ And anyone who knows anything knows she’s from Belsia, not Skarsia. Anders is from Skarsia. Does she sound like him?” Tom’s gaze swiveled to me. “But we really must decide on a name for you at some point.”
“You can call me whatever you want,” I said, “as long as we can help those people.”
“She’s all business, our angel.” Tom nodded at Elijah and the young man. “You two are visiting the jail with us. Peterson, go find Anders and make sure that shipment goes as planned.” To me, Tom said, “This isn’t really the kind of thing that requires a mastermind to pull off. You don’t even have to come along, if you don’t want to.”
The old thrill of helping Lonzo and my father coursed through me, but I didn’t know exactly what Tom was asking. “What would you have me do?”
“Knock a few heads together. Swing a sword.” He scrutinized my waist. “Do you even have one? Or just that sad excuse for a knife?”
I pushed back my cloak and remembered I needed to play bold, no matter how embarrassed the blade made me. “It’s better than nothing.”
“Debatable. Peterson, please assist the lady.”
Peterson removed a leather sheath from his belt and handed it over without question. I ran my fingers over the wooden hilt, embellished with bronze and bone, and pulled out a dirk. Its straight steel blade was about seven inches long and had a point so sharp, it probably could have cut my old knife in half. More than a dagger, less than a sword. I hadn’t practiced with a weapon like this in years and never with anything so fine. It took my breath away, and I admired it for several more moments before sliding it back into its holder.
“I can’t—”
“Hush,” interrupted Tom. “And tell me if you’re coming with us or not.”
I bit my lip and felt like I was standing on the edge of this blade, teetering between two drastic decisions. I’d come to Cape Triumph with simple plans. Settle into comfortable married life, pay off Lonzo’s bond. And then I’d become entangled in espionage. I’d sneaked out of Wisteria Hollow’s protective circle. I’d robbed a home. I’d interacted with pirates . . . and now I was going to fight alongside them.
“I’ll go,” I said, fastening on the dirk.
Tom beamed. “You’re certain?”
“Positive. I need this.”
I needed to remember the principles I’d always held so dear. I needed to remember what it was like to fight for the innocent. And—at least for a night—I needed to forget about Grant Elliott.
CHAPTER 19
CAPE TRIUMPH’S MAIN JAIL WAS OUTSIDE THE ACTIVE city center but close enough to simplify prisoner transfers to the courthouse. “There are smaller holding areas,” Tom told me as we traveled in the darkness. “The soldiers have one at the fort. And the militia has a watch of sorts that also maintain a couple. But mostly those places are just to hold petty criminals. Keep drunks confined overnight. The bigger prizes are kept here.” “It all sounds very . . . sloppy,” I said. “The city watch in Osfro wasn’t always effective, but at least they had a system. Here, there’s no real central law enforcement.”
“Easy enough then. Let’s go rustle some of the others up.” Tom beckoned me to follow as he and Jenks moved back toward the crowd.
I glanced between them. “Right now?”
“Sure,” said Tom. “You need it done right away, don’t you?”
“Well . . . yes. But I thought there’d be some sort of plan.”
“Of course there is. We’ll overpower them, get your friends, and be on our way.”
I was so used to Grant’s calculation and scrutiny that a quick, impulsive act was startling.
As we crossed the room, the crowd’s indifferent air shifted dramatically. People stopped what they were doing, shouting out greetings to Tom. He responded in kind, calling many of them by name and making jokes as he did. A few of the pirate pretenders jumped to their feet, hoping to be noticed. They shot me envious looks, and I tried to act like I was completely unimpressed by a den of pirates. Secretly, I was fascinated. I could understand the glamour and intrigue that surrounded them—especially if saving others was a regular practice. But what about their other activities? Stealing? Assault?
Tom kept walking until he reached a table where three masked men played cards. All immediately looked up. “Gentlemen,” he announced. “Allow me to present the angel I told you about the other night, the one who rushed bravely into battle, defending me against some of Abernathy’s goons.”
One of the men guffawed. “I still can’t believe you needed help.”
“I wouldn’t have needed any help if someone had told me Abernathy was still angry about that incident last week.” Tom looked pointedly at another of the men, a gaunt one in a striped shirt who seemed very young.
“I hadn’t heard anything, boss! Honest,” cried the man. “And you know me. I’ve always got an ear to the ground.”
Tom smiled, but there was a tightness in his voice. “Well, use both ears from now on.”
One of the men, his head shaved and a silver hoop in his ear, stood and shook my hand. “I’m Elijah. That was my wife and boy you helped. You need anything, you ask.”
Despite his tough appearance, I heard true emotion in his voice. “I’m glad to have helped,” I said.
“Are you from the continent, Miss?” The question came from the man in the striped shirt. “Skarsia?”
“Lady,” corrected Tom. “One must always address an angel as ‘lady.’ And anyone who knows anything knows she’s from Belsia, not Skarsia. Anders is from Skarsia. Does she sound like him?” Tom’s gaze swiveled to me. “But we really must decide on a name for you at some point.”
“You can call me whatever you want,” I said, “as long as we can help those people.”
“She’s all business, our angel.” Tom nodded at Elijah and the young man. “You two are visiting the jail with us. Peterson, go find Anders and make sure that shipment goes as planned.” To me, Tom said, “This isn’t really the kind of thing that requires a mastermind to pull off. You don’t even have to come along, if you don’t want to.”
The old thrill of helping Lonzo and my father coursed through me, but I didn’t know exactly what Tom was asking. “What would you have me do?”
“Knock a few heads together. Swing a sword.” He scrutinized my waist. “Do you even have one? Or just that sad excuse for a knife?”
I pushed back my cloak and remembered I needed to play bold, no matter how embarrassed the blade made me. “It’s better than nothing.”
“Debatable. Peterson, please assist the lady.”
Peterson removed a leather sheath from his belt and handed it over without question. I ran my fingers over the wooden hilt, embellished with bronze and bone, and pulled out a dirk. Its straight steel blade was about seven inches long and had a point so sharp, it probably could have cut my old knife in half. More than a dagger, less than a sword. I hadn’t practiced with a weapon like this in years and never with anything so fine. It took my breath away, and I admired it for several more moments before sliding it back into its holder.
“I can’t—”
“Hush,” interrupted Tom. “And tell me if you’re coming with us or not.”
I bit my lip and felt like I was standing on the edge of this blade, teetering between two drastic decisions. I’d come to Cape Triumph with simple plans. Settle into comfortable married life, pay off Lonzo’s bond. And then I’d become entangled in espionage. I’d sneaked out of Wisteria Hollow’s protective circle. I’d robbed a home. I’d interacted with pirates . . . and now I was going to fight alongside them.
“I’ll go,” I said, fastening on the dirk.
Tom beamed. “You’re certain?”
“Positive. I need this.”
I needed to remember the principles I’d always held so dear. I needed to remember what it was like to fight for the innocent. And—at least for a night—I needed to forget about Grant Elliott.
CHAPTER 19
CAPE TRIUMPH’S MAIN JAIL WAS OUTSIDE THE ACTIVE city center but close enough to simplify prisoner transfers to the courthouse. “There are smaller holding areas,” Tom told me as we traveled in the darkness. “The soldiers have one at the fort. And the militia has a watch of sorts that also maintain a couple. But mostly those places are just to hold petty criminals. Keep drunks confined overnight. The bigger prizes are kept here.” “It all sounds very . . . sloppy,” I said. “The city watch in Osfro wasn’t always effective, but at least they had a system. Here, there’s no real central law enforcement.”
