The Merman and the Barbarian Pirate by Kay Berrisford Page A

the quayside. In the gloom beyond the beacons, he discerned a four-wheeled carriage, with a driving seat at the front occupied by a liveried servant, and two footmen on the platform at the rear. One of the footmen held up a lantern, looking down his long nose at Raef and scoffing. Raef's head throbbed too much to glare back, and none of his thoughts seemed coherent, save one.
    Will I ever see Jon Kemp again?
    A yeoman flung him into the back of the carriage and instructed him to sit on the floor. Even for Raef's slim frame, it was a tight squeeze, and he found himself wedged in the foot well. He could hardly move, but still his captor bound his hands and feet with bristly hemp. By now, Raef's fears had numbed; he simply trembled and panted, letting it all happen to him, praying he'd descended into some bad dream. When the yeoman stepped aside, however, he saw through the open door that he'd still an audience to this nightmare. A group of onlookers gathered, with a face he recognized among them.
    It was Sarah, the girl who'd given him the whelks for Cecilia. He read what she mouthed, though he couldn't hear a word. "He'll come for you."
    Then the carriage door slammed, and Raef was lost in the darkness for long enough to wonder whether he'd imagined Sarah's message. Besides, how could she know that he —Kemp, Raef assumed—would escape, let alone come after Raef? Why would Kemp rescue Raef anyway? Raef wasn't even one of his men. Indeed, Kemp thought Raef a lunatic, probably all the more so for running into a fight, as a fool would, and getting caught for little reason.
    When the carriage door opened again, Haverford climbed in. Raef didn't lift his gaze from the buckled shoes and stocking-clad ankles that came to a rest close by. Haverford touched Raef's sore head, then gripped Raef's hair, twisting hard enough to sting.
    "Well, my rum lad." Haverford bore his teeth, more shark-like than ever. He slid his hand over Raef's face, smearing the blood. Upon finding the front of Raef's throat, he squeezed it. He meandered up again to force his thumb into Raef's mouth. The bitter leather of his gloves made Raef want to gag.
    "Are you his cabin boy?" asked Haverford, shoving his thumb deeper. Now Raef wanted to bite, but he daren't. "No, don't answer that. I don't want to know. I want to pretend I'm the first to play a little backgammon between those lily-white buttocks of yours. I would like to understand, however, how you managed not to drown this morning. It was choppy out in the bay, to say the least."
    He withdrew his probing thumb, then clipped Raef's ear so sharply it rang. "Answer me."
    "I-I'm a good swimmer," said Raef, because the truth was all he had. "A very good swimmer."
    "I see. Well, swimming won't help you now, my demure little he-doxy, because you're done for." Raef had worked that out. Though he still couldn't comprehend half the strange words the cursed lord uttered, he suspected horrors were in store. "And how delightful," drawled Haverford, "it will be to do you."
    Raef anticipated a nightmarish journey through the night, with Haverford's hands crawling all over him, and so much worse. While Haverford prodded and kicked him, the carriage clattered and lurched up a steep and winding track. The combination of fear and the jerky motion set Raef's stomach pitching again, and he wondered if he might vomit on Haverford's shoes. Nonetheless, Haverford soon tired of tormenting him. Indeed, on daring to glance upward, Raef noticed Haverford yawning. A short distance beyond the peak, they stopped outside a grand house—at least, it looked impressive from the few glimpses Raef grabbed as he was hauled from the carriage by one of the footmen. His feet were untied, and he discerned sweeping columns framing the house's entrance, topped with a majestic portico veiled in the shroud of night. Overall, though, the mansion seemed smaller than Haverford's.
    Haverford had not been expected, and the house was shut up for the night.