Page 60 of A Prince Among Pirates
He’s staring at me as he lies on his side, his eyes wide and still. Blood drips from the red-soaked blond curls on his head, and I can hear the sickeningtap, tap, tapof each droplet hitting the floor. His mouth hangs open, as if he died with a scream on his lips—but he couldn’t have, could he? Surely someonewould have heard it? SurelyIwould have heard it…?
As my gaze moves to the open gash across his throat, the realization that his body, like his blood, isstill warmsets my pulse racing even faster. His body iswarm. His blood still flows from the tear in his throat. He was killed meremomentsago.
And I could be next.
I haul myself up using the table, leaving a handprint of blood on the worn wood. Two mugs—his killer wasjusthere. They weredrinkingtogether. He could very well be in the house still! How long does it take a body to cool after death? How can this be a question I’m asking myself?
I still can’t breathe. I look at Reuter and the pool of warm blood at my feet, and bile bubbles up in the back of my throat. I wish, more than ever, that I had taken one of the twins with me.
No—I wish I had never come searching for Jeffrey Reuter.
I need to get out of here.
I need torun.
The killer is almost certainlyin this house, and he must know I was looking for Reuter. I cannot fathom how, but it’s the only way this makes any sense. I am most certainly next. This whole setup is a warning—why else would he wait to kill Reuter untilsecondsbefore I arrived?
I slip once more in the blood, and for the first time a sob escapes me. I can’t help it.
I run from the house, slamming the door open as I careen through the doorway. I’m not even sure my feet touch the ground as I rush down the front steps. Blood chases me in thefootprints my boots leave behind as I run back into town as fast as I can, Jeffrey Reuter’s silent death scream forever seared into my memory.
And the shadow of his killer close behind me.
Twenty-One
My lungs burn with the exertion of running. Accidental pirate or not, I was still bred a gentleman, and we are simply not built for activities like running for our lives on cobblestone inheels. I don’t even know where it is I’m running to. I’ve entirely forgotten the name of the inn where I was meant to meet Captain Sharpe, and I’m not brave enough to slow down so I might read the street signs.
The port isn’tthatbig. If I run long enough, surelysomeonewho knows me will come to my rescue. Despite my hoping for exactly this, when a handdoesshoot out of the crowd to grab at the back of my jacket, I can’t help but scream. I try to wrench away, but another hand covers my mouth, and moments later I am dragged off the street and into a tight alley that smells of piss. I flail my arms to fight my assailant off—it is justtoomuch to be attacked like this on the very same day I’ve nearly witnessed a murder!
“Mr. Kit!” a familiar voice hisses in my ear, just as the back of my hand makes contact with a face. I stiffen and open my eyes. The alley is shadowed by the buildings; even now in the afternoon light, it is hard to see who stands in front of me.
The red hair is a giveaway, though, and heat floods into my cheeks and chest. “I’m sorry,” I blurt. Christ—have I everblurtedbefore?
“What’s happened?” Trevor asks, even as he’s rubbing his jaw. A little dramatic—I know I didn’t hit him that hard.
“Mr. Kit, yer covered in blood,” Tristan says from behind me, releasing me to put some distance between himself and my blood-soaked clothes.
I can’t answer. My chest is heaving, my head spinning. I try to explain, but instead I am just spluttering and humiliating myself as tears come pouring down my cheeks all at once. I am so relieved it’s the twins who found me. While I am sure they will tease me later for crying in public, they won’t do it in front of the other men.
“Trevor, find the cap’n,” Tristan says, pulling my jacket off my shoulders.
Trevor stares at me for a moment, then nods and flees from the alley.
“My clothes are ruined,” I sob, because I can’t bring myself to talk about Jeffrey Reuter’s body and the blood pooling beneath it. I want to erase the image of his hollow, terrified eyes as they stared through me.
“Come on, let’s get ye out of sight,” Tristan says. I hear therustle of fabric as he pulls my purse from the jacket pocket. Then he abandons my best jacket in a puddle of what I am certain is urine. “What do you have in here, rocks?” he grumbles.
“Yes,” I whimper—and, bless Tristan, he laughs.
I am not quite far enough along in my life as a pirate to laugh in a situation like this. I’m not sure Ieverwant to be that far along… though at the same time, I wouldn’t mind having the ability to find the humor in this moment. As it is, I am struggling just to think over the pounding of my pulse in my ears and the ache in my chest.
I try to control my breathing as Tristan hauls me through a door at the back of the alley. “You, lad,” I hear Tristan say, and some inner voice allows me to recognize the irony of sixteen-year-old Tristan calling anyone “lad.” But then a boy of about twelve approaches us, his brows high as he stares at me. I can’t tell if it’s the blood or my wretched crying that has him so horrified, but either way, I suppose he is right to be so.
“I need a room,” Tristan says, digging into the purse to pull out a few coins. He drops them into the boy’s hand. “There’s an extra shilling in there for ye if ye tell no one that doesn’t look like me.”
Clever. Tristan is so clever when he wants to be. If I weren’t still trembling from shock, I might praise his quick thinking. As it is, all I want is to be safe behind a locked door and to get out of these bloody clothes.
Moments later I get my first wish.
