Free The Castle by Sophia Bennett Page B

while. Very boring, in fact.
    I thought about what I would do when the boat landed. Find Max, find Dad, escape. Somehow. I had no idea how. Max Wahool would help me. I’d just have to make it up as I went along.
    I became obsessed with watching the ever-changing sky, which was the only thing that did change around here. At sunset, I was sitting on the bed, admiring the way the sinkingsun created a pale gold ribbon of light under the glowering clouds, when out of nowhere, a crewman appeared outside the window. He had bright white teeth to match his white sailing jacket, and wore sunglasses despite the gloomy weather. Behind them, he was staring right at me.
    I froze. No breath to scream, no time to hide. He grinned and adjusted his shades to a nattier angle. Then he walked away. For a moment, I was rooted to the spot, before scooting – too late – to the blanket box. I waited in the stuffy darkness as the seconds ticked by, but there were no shouts, no running feet. Nobody came barging through the cabin door, searching for a stowaway.
    Back in my hiding place, still gasping for breath, I tried to make sense of it all. It was as if the crewman had just been admiring his own reflection. Yes! He had! The windows must be mirrored on the outside. Even if they walked by, nobody could see me. Privacy glass. I liked it. I liked it very much.
    I’d also learnt another thing. I’d been worrying that at any time the princess might come and find me in her cabin. Now, though, I knew I didn’t need to worry – about the princess anyway. There was no princess.
    Or rather, there was. The crewman’s jacket had said Princess Nazia in smart blue letters, matching letters on the silk robes in the closet. Princess Nazia was the yacht. And she was magnificent: the best in her class.
    The Princess sailed on for another day. I spent most of it sitting by the window, staring out at the stormy skies. By now I assumed we must be heading for one of Mr Wahool’s properties in Miami or the Caymans. Where else could possibly be this far away?
    The following morning, though, when I woke upsomething was different. It took me a long time to work out what it was, but the hum from the engines had changed: it was lower and slower. The permanent vibrations I’d been feeling through the floor were almost gone. I wondered whether the boat had stopped, but then it pitched and rolled as it went over a wave.
    I peered out cautiously into the bedroom: still empty. Outside, the sea was calm and the sky was a piercing blue. There was land ahead at last. Scrubby green hills with white houses on them and, near the waterline, white blocks of flats. This wasn’t how I’d pictured Miami.
    I could just about make out the crew calling instructions to each other as the Princess navigated a careful course between dozens of other boats. The place was packed with them, heading to and from the shore and lined up in neat rows. The Princess was bigger than all of them, and every single person on every other boat turned to check her out. She must look good, I guessed: sleek and elegant, but most of all, absolutely huge. From my hiding place near the top, it was like looking down on toy boats in the water.
    It was time to hide again. At first I tucked myself up in the too-small steamer trunk, waiting for someone to come and unload the furniture, but when the pain got too much, I stumbled back to the closet and hid in the blanket box, where I must have fallen asleep.
    When I woke up, the vibrations were back and the engine hum was higher. We were moving again. I risked a peek through the closet door into the room beyond. Still empty. We were sailing along the coast now, past other yachts decked out in fairy lights. I had no idea what we’d just been up to in the port.
    *
    That night, I found out. Not intentionally.
    I was crouching down behind the bar, getting more snack supplies. It was two-thirty a.m. The saloon door opened and someone