Free The Unfortunate Son by Constance Leeds Page B

love the sea.”
    “Oh yes, I see that, but I think there is something you’re even more fond of, no?” When Luc just smiled, Pons added, “Though I’d have to say there is nothing in the world that could beat hooking a tunny.”
    Luc laughed and shook his head. “I don’t know how it feels to hook a tunny, and I don’t think I’ll learn that lesson today.”
    “Perhaps tomorrow. Time to head in if we want to be home by midday. Take the oars while I check the lines. Maybe we’ll have better luck on the trip in.”
    Luc settled into the middle seat and began to row. His hands had callused in his months of fishing, and although he was still slender, his shoulders and arms had strengthened. He leaned into each pull. The boat rose in the water and pushed ahead with each stroke. As he rowed, Luc scanned the water for the color changes that might mean a school of fish. Way out on the horizon, he noticed a dark speck.
    “Pons, there’s something out to the south of us,” he said, pointing.
    Pons squinted. At first he saw nothing. Luc continued to row, studying the distant edge of his vision, where the sea and sky met.
    As he watched the speck grow, Luc said to Pons, “It’s a boat. She’s moving fast.”
    Pons looked up and across the water, shielding his eyes with his hand. He took a deep breath.
    “We shouldn’t have come out so far. Put everything youhave into those oars, Luc. I’ll take over as soon as I have the lines in. I’ll hoist the sail, too. Pray for more wind. I wish we had a second set of oars.”
    “That vessel has two sails. Three-cornered like ours but red and bigger. She’s heading for us.”
    Pons raised his sail, and it luffed; he pushed the tiller until the canvas puffed out. He slid forward, and controlling the tiller with his bare foot, Pons took over the oars.
    “Let me row. When you’re rested, we’ll each take an oar. We need to get in before they catch up to us.”
    “Who is it, Pons?” asked Luc, rolling and massaging his sore shoulders.
    “I’ll not say what I fear. Not yet.”
    The speck on the horizon grew, and soon Pons could pick out the two masts and the varnished hull of a dhow cutting fast toward the little fishing boat. Luc took one oar, and he and Pons rowed, pulling with every bit of strength. Together they hunched forward, and together they snapped back, the oars rising and dipping, both pulling hard against the sea. The little fishing boat surged ahead with each stroke, but they could not outrun the larger two-masted dhow that was closing in.
    Luc saw the crew: dark-skinned, bare-chested men with shaved heads, leaning over the sides of the dhow. On the prow stood a robed, turbaned figure with his arms folded against his chest. The fishing boat continued to lose ground against the larger vessel, and soon Pons and Luc could hear the voices of their predators.
    Pons turned to the boy; his face was gray, and his lips were pale. “Put down your oar, Luc. We’re lost. Pray to the Lord, for surely this is the worst, and maybe the last, day of our lives.”
    Pons crossed himself and dropped to his knees, but Luc took both oars and put everything into his strokes. The dhow was pulling alongside; one of its sailors heaved a sharp and heavy iron hook. The smaller boat shuddered and rocked steeply as the hook crashed into its bow, tangling the rigging and splintering the mast as it fell. Before Luc could take a breath, strange men were screeching and howling, throwing ropes, and clambering into his boat. Pons was felled with a single punch.
    Luc scrambled to reach Pons, but he was plucked up and tossed over the thick shoulder of a man who shinnied up a rope ladder to the larger boat. In vain, Luc hit, kicked, and squirmed. The sailor tossed him onto the dhow’s deck, and someone bagged him with a rough cloth. Luc struggled, but unseen hands tied a rope around the sack, binding him in a dark, airless roll. He could barely breathe, and he felt himself being lifted and