Prologue
June 1822, British colony of Ceylon
The tinkling laughter of a small child echoed through the decaying walls of the abandoned house, a remnant of the Dutch colonization that had flourished there for generations. A tall gangling boy of twelve, barefooted, and dressed in the plain white pants and shirt of a plantation worker, heard the giggling and knew exactly where his prey had chosen to hide—behind the vine-covered lattice in the dooryard, just as she always did. He grinned and was about to call her out and end their game of hide-and-go-seek, when two boys came racing up to him.
He recognized them as the two sons of the Earl of Pembroke; the earl and his family were visiting from India. What the boys wanted with him, he had no idea. After all, he was just a servant, while they were practically royalty.
“Quickly, give it to him!” one of the nattily dressed boys insisted, and the other one shoved something against Jack’s chest. He caught it, and the two boys ran away laughing.
The something was wrapped in a woven tapestry. It filled his arms, though whatever the tapestry hid, it did not weigh very much. “My thanks, I think,” he said more to himself, lifting his eyebrows in confusion.
Curious, Jack was just setting the bundle on the ground, intending to open the tapestry and inspect this uncommon gift, when he heard a man cry out, “There is the thief! Catch him!” Rising to his feet, a startled Jack stood firm as three turbaned men, obviously plantation workers from India, surrounded him, their black eyes burning with rage.
“Where is your cohort?” one asked him. “We know there are two of you.”
“I have none. I’m here alone,” Jack replied, darting a swift glance toward the dooryard. She had nothing to do with this, whatever this was, and he prayed she’d remain hidden.
“Why did you take Shiva?” another man asked him.
“I didn’t!” Jack responded adamantly, but he thought he knew who had. The same man pulled on the tapestry and out rolled a statue the length of Jack’s forearm. He recognized it as one of the gods the workers worshipped. He had seen statues like it sitting in the shrines the Indian men had been allowed to build. It was said they worked better when they could pray to their gods. The men looked at him, their expressions fierce.
“The evidence does not lie,” the third man stated smugly, and then all three men began hitting and kicking Jack, while cursing him in their own language.
The next thing Jack knew, his father’s employer, Sir John Conlon, was standing over him, as his father wiped the blood from Jack’s bruised and battered face. Nearby, Sir John’s great horse, Jupiter, whinnied, pawing the ground, impatient for his exercise.
“I didn’t take it,” Jack mumbled through his split and swollen lips.
“We know that, lad. My daughter saw everything and told us what happened,” Sir John informed him. “Do not concern yourself. I have been assured by his Lordship that his sons will be punished for their prank.”
Jack doubted that very much, but at least the Tamil men were gone, and four-year-old Katherine was safe. She stood at her father’s side, her big blue eyes filled to overflowing with tears, and Jack’s heart ached to see her so upset on his account.
“I ran as fast as I could,” she said, gulping back a sob.
“Do not cry; I am all right. You saved me, Lady Katherine,” Jack assured her as he rose to his feet. Even though his face hurt terribly, he was smiling. He would always have a smile for her, always protect her.
Chapter 1
August 1844, on the high seas
Jack was smiling fondly at the memory from his youth, when his trusted friend and crew member found him gazing out to sea.
“Do ye think we’ve lost them, Captain?” the grizzled, bent old man asked, as he squinted in the same direction.
“For now,” came the captain’s short reply. Dressed in yellow, snug-fitting breeches, a long-sleeved white linen shirt, and a
June 1822, British colony of Ceylon
The tinkling laughter of a small child echoed through the decaying walls of the abandoned house, a remnant of the Dutch colonization that had flourished there for generations. A tall gangling boy of twelve, barefooted, and dressed in the plain white pants and shirt of a plantation worker, heard the giggling and knew exactly where his prey had chosen to hide—behind the vine-covered lattice in the dooryard, just as she always did. He grinned and was about to call her out and end their game of hide-and-go-seek, when two boys came racing up to him.
He recognized them as the two sons of the Earl of Pembroke; the earl and his family were visiting from India. What the boys wanted with him, he had no idea. After all, he was just a servant, while they were practically royalty.
“Quickly, give it to him!” one of the nattily dressed boys insisted, and the other one shoved something against Jack’s chest. He caught it, and the two boys ran away laughing.
The something was wrapped in a woven tapestry. It filled his arms, though whatever the tapestry hid, it did not weigh very much. “My thanks, I think,” he said more to himself, lifting his eyebrows in confusion.
Curious, Jack was just setting the bundle on the ground, intending to open the tapestry and inspect this uncommon gift, when he heard a man cry out, “There is the thief! Catch him!” Rising to his feet, a startled Jack stood firm as three turbaned men, obviously plantation workers from India, surrounded him, their black eyes burning with rage.
“Where is your cohort?” one asked him. “We know there are two of you.”
“I have none. I’m here alone,” Jack replied, darting a swift glance toward the dooryard. She had nothing to do with this, whatever this was, and he prayed she’d remain hidden.
“Why did you take Shiva?” another man asked him.
“I didn’t!” Jack responded adamantly, but he thought he knew who had. The same man pulled on the tapestry and out rolled a statue the length of Jack’s forearm. He recognized it as one of the gods the workers worshipped. He had seen statues like it sitting in the shrines the Indian men had been allowed to build. It was said they worked better when they could pray to their gods. The men looked at him, their expressions fierce.
“The evidence does not lie,” the third man stated smugly, and then all three men began hitting and kicking Jack, while cursing him in their own language.
The next thing Jack knew, his father’s employer, Sir John Conlon, was standing over him, as his father wiped the blood from Jack’s bruised and battered face. Nearby, Sir John’s great horse, Jupiter, whinnied, pawing the ground, impatient for his exercise.
“I didn’t take it,” Jack mumbled through his split and swollen lips.
“We know that, lad. My daughter saw everything and told us what happened,” Sir John informed him. “Do not concern yourself. I have been assured by his Lordship that his sons will be punished for their prank.”
Jack doubted that very much, but at least the Tamil men were gone, and four-year-old Katherine was safe. She stood at her father’s side, her big blue eyes filled to overflowing with tears, and Jack’s heart ached to see her so upset on his account.
“I ran as fast as I could,” she said, gulping back a sob.
“Do not cry; I am all right. You saved me, Lady Katherine,” Jack assured her as he rose to his feet. Even though his face hurt terribly, he was smiling. He would always have a smile for her, always protect her.
Chapter 1
August 1844, on the high seas
Jack was smiling fondly at the memory from his youth, when his trusted friend and crew member found him gazing out to sea.
“Do ye think we’ve lost them, Captain?” the grizzled, bent old man asked, as he squinted in the same direction.
“For now,” came the captain’s short reply. Dressed in yellow, snug-fitting breeches, a long-sleeved white linen shirt, and a
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