down the
cano
, pulling on the oars with all her might.
She rowed swiftly, rowed until her shoulders hurt; she spotted terrifying, ridged silhouettes cutting sinuously through the water here and there, vast, dark shapes in the shallows, but she refused to turn back.
And then, about a half hour into her perilous journey, she spotted the lazy riverboat, slowed by its barge piled with lumber. The steamer traveled on the main river, but Eden took the smaller
canos
that ran parallel to it; thus, she managed to stay hidden by the jungle brush while keeping abreast of the larger vessel.
She made swift progress t hank s to the strengthening current as they neared the
Gulf
of
Paria
. Soon, mangroves began to appear, and she could taste salt in the air.
She grinned with hearty enthusiasm when she noticed she was actually pulling ahead of the steamer. It had run into a spot of trouble on a sandbar. Though it wasn’t a race, arriving before Lord Jack did could only work to her advantage.
She rowed harder.
Before long, she came to powdery white beaches lined with graceful palm trees. Windy white-tops broke against the shore, while farther up the beach, fat iguanas sunned themselves on the rocks. Ahead lay the wide blue ocean, with the
island
of
Trinidad
slightly to the north.
In the narrow strait called the Serpent’s Mouth that flowed between the island’s southern edge and the mainland, a magnificent seventy-four-gun ship rode at anchor on bare poles, revealing the intricate webwork of rigging that supported the three towering masts.
No room
? she thought with a snort. Lifting her telescope to her eye, she read the ship’s name painted near the jib.
The Winds of Fortune
. It was his vessel, all right—as big as a floating castle and bristling with deadly armaments.
Awed by the majesty of the great vessel, she studied the colorfully painted figurehead for a moment, while the ship’s attendant cutters scurried about the copper-clad hull like drone ants around the queen. Her gaze ran the length of the two-hundred-foot hull with its double gun decks, all the way back to the carved and gilded stern.
How in blazes am I going to get on that thing?
she wondered, peering through her spyglass. She considered her options.
Climb up one of those ropes
? She was a skilled climber, after all.
No, they’ll see me. What about those big crates they’re loading aboard? Perhaps I could stow away in one of those
.
It seemed as good a plan as any.
Taking one, long, last look back at the jungle and wondering if she would ever see it again, she faced forward once more, steeled her nerve, and then darted out of her hiding place, running stealthily from rock to rock toward the great pile of wooden crates being loaded onto the ship.
With the sailors distracted by the steamer’s late arrival, finally free of the sandbar, Eden stole over to the pile of crates variously labeled PINEAPPLES, LIMES, COCONUTS, MANGOES, and BANANAS. She wrenched the top off one and dove inside, hastily pulling the lid back on over her head.
From the inside, the big crate was about the size of a jaguar trap. Again she thought of Connor and wondered how he might react when he discovered she had fled.
She waited, heart pounding, then she held her breath as more of Lord Jack’s sweaty sailors returned, trudging back through the sand to continue their task of loading the crates onto the longboats for transport to the huge gun-ship.
“Boney’s balls, these limes is heavy!” a man in a red shirt exclaimed as he picked up the crate Eden was hiding in.
“At least we won’t get scurvied, eh?”
“Give me a hand with this one, Sharky! I’ll break me damn back,” the first said, but t hank fully, nobody noticed her presence as they carried her crate over to the longboat end stacked her in with all the others.
Before long, the cutter took to the waves, the seamen rowing out to the ship and complaining all the way about the heat.
Rolling a few limes out of her
cano
, pulling on the oars with all her might.
She rowed swiftly, rowed until her shoulders hurt; she spotted terrifying, ridged silhouettes cutting sinuously through the water here and there, vast, dark shapes in the shallows, but she refused to turn back.
And then, about a half hour into her perilous journey, she spotted the lazy riverboat, slowed by its barge piled with lumber. The steamer traveled on the main river, but Eden took the smaller
canos
that ran parallel to it; thus, she managed to stay hidden by the jungle brush while keeping abreast of the larger vessel.
She made swift progress t hank s to the strengthening current as they neared the
Gulf
of
Paria
. Soon, mangroves began to appear, and she could taste salt in the air.
She grinned with hearty enthusiasm when she noticed she was actually pulling ahead of the steamer. It had run into a spot of trouble on a sandbar. Though it wasn’t a race, arriving before Lord Jack did could only work to her advantage.
She rowed harder.
Before long, she came to powdery white beaches lined with graceful palm trees. Windy white-tops broke against the shore, while farther up the beach, fat iguanas sunned themselves on the rocks. Ahead lay the wide blue ocean, with the
island
of
Trinidad
slightly to the north.
In the narrow strait called the Serpent’s Mouth that flowed between the island’s southern edge and the mainland, a magnificent seventy-four-gun ship rode at anchor on bare poles, revealing the intricate webwork of rigging that supported the three towering masts.
No room
? she thought with a snort. Lifting her telescope to her eye, she read the ship’s name painted near the jib.
The Winds of Fortune
. It was his vessel, all right—as big as a floating castle and bristling with deadly armaments.
Awed by the majesty of the great vessel, she studied the colorfully painted figurehead for a moment, while the ship’s attendant cutters scurried about the copper-clad hull like drone ants around the queen. Her gaze ran the length of the two-hundred-foot hull with its double gun decks, all the way back to the carved and gilded stern.
How in blazes am I going to get on that thing?
she wondered, peering through her spyglass. She considered her options.
Climb up one of those ropes
? She was a skilled climber, after all.
No, they’ll see me. What about those big crates they’re loading aboard? Perhaps I could stow away in one of those
.
It seemed as good a plan as any.
Taking one, long, last look back at the jungle and wondering if she would ever see it again, she faced forward once more, steeled her nerve, and then darted out of her hiding place, running stealthily from rock to rock toward the great pile of wooden crates being loaded onto the ship.
With the sailors distracted by the steamer’s late arrival, finally free of the sandbar, Eden stole over to the pile of crates variously labeled PINEAPPLES, LIMES, COCONUTS, MANGOES, and BANANAS. She wrenched the top off one and dove inside, hastily pulling the lid back on over her head.
From the inside, the big crate was about the size of a jaguar trap. Again she thought of Connor and wondered how he might react when he discovered she had fled.
She waited, heart pounding, then she held her breath as more of Lord Jack’s sweaty sailors returned, trudging back through the sand to continue their task of loading the crates onto the longboats for transport to the huge gun-ship.
“Boney’s balls, these limes is heavy!” a man in a red shirt exclaimed as he picked up the crate Eden was hiding in.
“At least we won’t get scurvied, eh?”
“Give me a hand with this one, Sharky! I’ll break me damn back,” the first said, but t hank fully, nobody noticed her presence as they carried her crate over to the longboat end stacked her in with all the others.
Before long, the cutter took to the waves, the seamen rowing out to the ship and complaining all the way about the heat.
Rolling a few limes out of her
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