Free Race to World's End (Rowan and Ella Book 3) by Susan Kiernan-Lewis Page B

the rat. He positioned himself
on his side, careful not to touch his back to the wall. The brig was dark, the
wooden slats of the floor wet and slimy, the odor of the place a combination of
death meets diarrhea and rotting food.
    “How are you,
sir?”
    The voice seemed
to come out of Rowan’s head and at first he ignored it. But it did make him
open his eyes again. When the gloom parted, he saw a figure seated on the floor
across from him, his feet crossed at the ankles. Rowan cleared his throat.
    “If it had been a
real beating, you would still be unconscious,” the voice said. Rowan picked up
an accent. Dutch or German. “They are only trying to get your attention.”
    “Who are you?”
Rowan raised himself up slowly on one elbow to look at the fellow. His back
screamed with every movement.
    “My name is Jan
Aldegonda. You are the one they call the giant. Mkubwa . They didn’t lie by much. You are very big.”
    Rowan clutched at
the floor with one hand as he felt the ship ride out a long swell, picking up
the vessel and easing it up and then suddenly down like one of the kiddie rides
at Six Flags. Only when you’ve just had
an inch of your skin flayed off and you haven’t eaten in two days, it ratchets
up in a hurry to one of the most nauseating mother fuckin’ rides in history.
    Jan crept to his
knees and crawled over to Rowan. “I have some experience in medical matters. If
you will allow me?”
    Rowan glanced at
the man’s hands—they were filthy, with dirt encrusted deep under his
nails. He nodded and even that hurt.
    The man touched
Rowan’s shoulder and gently positioned his arm so that he could view the
damaged back. Rowan heard him suck in a hard breath.
    “Bad?”
    “Not too bad.”
Jan shifted back on his heels. “I only have a bucket of mostly salt water in
this place. It would only serve to hurt you. I can’t imagine it would help.”
    “I think I’ll
pass,” Rowan said, collapsing back onto his side. He propped his head up on his
forearm. “My name is Rowan Pierce,” he said. “I’m American. I fell off a passenger
liner to London.”
    “Tragic story, meneer . I am very sorry. I was taking
passage on the Eendracht heading to
South Africa when this ship of devils set upon it. My ship was scuttled and all
aboard murdered with the sole exception of myself.”
    “Why?” It was all
Rowan had the energy for.
    “Why was I not
killed too? Because I recognized the captain as Captain Erik Sully. And I knew
he would value treasure above the pleasure of killing me.”
    “Why didn’t he
just take it from you?”
    “It is not
currently in my possession. We are going to Casablanca, where my compatriot
keeps it safe for me. There I will trade it for my life.”
    “Must be some
amazing treasure.”
    “Its worth is
beyond the understanding of most mortal men.”
    “And this Sully
bastard can be trusted to keep his end of the bargain?”
    The Dutchman
shrugged. “It is my only hope.”
    “Yeah. I see
that. Can I ask you something, Jan?”
    “Of course, meneer .”
    “What year is
this?”
    The man blinked
as if he misunderstood Rowan’s accent. “It is the year eighteen hundred and
twenty-five.”
    “Of course it
is.” Rowan groaned and pulled himself to a sitting position.
    Son. Of. A. Bitch. Although
he’d already gotten most of the way there on his own.
    “How did you
provoke them?” Jan asked.
    “They wanted to
know what skills I had they could use.”
    “Ah. And you were
not willing to help them.”
    “Sounds kind of
stupid when you put it like that.”
    “Captain Sully is
one of the most feared pirates along these parts. No one even knows where he
came from. Before five years ago, he was unknown. A privateer, perhaps. Some
believe he came from the depths of hell. Others from Australia.”
    “When will we
arrive in Casablanca?”
    “Four days.”
    “I’m going to
need to ask you for a favor.”
    “Anything, meneer .”
    “When they let
you go, I’m going to need you