vite !"
"Ohhh. Not Englishman, English m'am."
The little Berber pointed at the unconscious woman and thrust Apollo by the arm into the open doorway. Apollo didn't resist at first; he was torn between scrutinizing whatever catastrophe had taken place in the cabin and averting his eyes and nose. Then the steward's demand dawned on him.
"Ohhh, no."
Haffe scuttled around behind him, jammed a shoulder into his back, and braced both feet against the opposite passage wall, pushing with all his might. Apollo caught the sides of the door frame and held on for dear life.
"Sympathies, old man. It's a mess. But it's your mess." Then he looked back at the woman on the floor and recalled an even better reason for not getting involved.
"She's the one who kept banging on the wall that first night. I could barely hear the bets. Lost the fattest pot of the night thanks to her."
He pivoted, deflecting Haffe's force and sending him sprawling in the passage. But Haffe quickly recovered and darted around Apollo to make a stand between him and the bunk that was calling his name. Through the throbbing in his head, he made out the words "English," "lady," and "infidel."
It was suddenly all too clear. As a good steward, Haffe felt responsible for the woman's welfare. But as a good Muslim and an even better Berber, he could not bring himself to handle an infidel female, even a sick one.
" Assistez , Smeeth." Haffe was gray with desperation. " Pleeeease ."
Apollo squeezed his eyes shut and fought a growing urge to retch himself. Steady on .
"Where's her husband? Let him help you."
More linguistically mixed exclamations and ejaculations, of which only one was understandable to him:
"no man."
"Figures. Who'd marry a chit who pounds the walls during poker games?"
He turned back to the woman's cabin and stood for a moment weighing the situation. They were still the better part of a week out of Casablanca and she was clearly in bad straights. Left untended, she could die before they reached port. He might be a lot of less-than-sterling things, but he was not the sort to stand by and let a woman die without raising a finger to help. Muttering a few choice oaths, he sucked a deep breath and ducked into the woman's cabin.
"Get me a couple of blankets," he ordered Haffe, and knelt to pick her up.
" Merci , Smeeth!" Haffe began to rip blankets from her bunk. "May all your wives be gloriously fat!"
The distant voices of crewmen wafting up from the cargo deck awakened Abigail. She grew steadily more aware of her surroundings; the roar of the storm and the groans and shudders of the sea-battered ship had subsided, and monstrously fierce light was stabbing straight through her eyelids. She squeezed her eyes tighter shut, but something prevented her from turning away.
After preparing herself for the onslaught of light, she pried her eyes open enough to see that she was on the deck of the Star , wrapped in a restrictive cocoon of blankets and propped in a chair like the one in her cabin.
She had no idea how she'd gotten wrapped up like a mummy, why she was on deck, or what was wound so tightly around her head and under her jaw.
Opening her eyes wider, she took in the metal railing, the weathered wooden decking, and the rusted metal stairs nearby and realized she was on the narrow upper deck. Looking up she found she was wearing her own straw sun hat, tied firmly around her head with—good Lord—with her own stockings!
With concentrated effort, she was able to slide one of her arms up under the blankets to her face.
Rubbing her eyes turned out to be a bad idea; they burned as if she were grinding salt into them. She groaned and a deep male voice from nearby startled her.
"Don't do that. Here. Open up."
Chapter Three
She squinted and made out a hazy human outline moving between her and the fierce sun. Coming toward her was a cup of something dark and smelly. The man holding the cup didn't give her a choice about drinking or much of a chance to
"Ohhh. Not Englishman, English m'am."
The little Berber pointed at the unconscious woman and thrust Apollo by the arm into the open doorway. Apollo didn't resist at first; he was torn between scrutinizing whatever catastrophe had taken place in the cabin and averting his eyes and nose. Then the steward's demand dawned on him.
"Ohhh, no."
Haffe scuttled around behind him, jammed a shoulder into his back, and braced both feet against the opposite passage wall, pushing with all his might. Apollo caught the sides of the door frame and held on for dear life.
"Sympathies, old man. It's a mess. But it's your mess." Then he looked back at the woman on the floor and recalled an even better reason for not getting involved.
"She's the one who kept banging on the wall that first night. I could barely hear the bets. Lost the fattest pot of the night thanks to her."
He pivoted, deflecting Haffe's force and sending him sprawling in the passage. But Haffe quickly recovered and darted around Apollo to make a stand between him and the bunk that was calling his name. Through the throbbing in his head, he made out the words "English," "lady," and "infidel."
It was suddenly all too clear. As a good steward, Haffe felt responsible for the woman's welfare. But as a good Muslim and an even better Berber, he could not bring himself to handle an infidel female, even a sick one.
" Assistez , Smeeth." Haffe was gray with desperation. " Pleeeease ."
Apollo squeezed his eyes shut and fought a growing urge to retch himself. Steady on .
"Where's her husband? Let him help you."
More linguistically mixed exclamations and ejaculations, of which only one was understandable to him:
"no man."
"Figures. Who'd marry a chit who pounds the walls during poker games?"
He turned back to the woman's cabin and stood for a moment weighing the situation. They were still the better part of a week out of Casablanca and she was clearly in bad straights. Left untended, she could die before they reached port. He might be a lot of less-than-sterling things, but he was not the sort to stand by and let a woman die without raising a finger to help. Muttering a few choice oaths, he sucked a deep breath and ducked into the woman's cabin.
"Get me a couple of blankets," he ordered Haffe, and knelt to pick her up.
" Merci , Smeeth!" Haffe began to rip blankets from her bunk. "May all your wives be gloriously fat!"
The distant voices of crewmen wafting up from the cargo deck awakened Abigail. She grew steadily more aware of her surroundings; the roar of the storm and the groans and shudders of the sea-battered ship had subsided, and monstrously fierce light was stabbing straight through her eyelids. She squeezed her eyes tighter shut, but something prevented her from turning away.
After preparing herself for the onslaught of light, she pried her eyes open enough to see that she was on the deck of the Star , wrapped in a restrictive cocoon of blankets and propped in a chair like the one in her cabin.
She had no idea how she'd gotten wrapped up like a mummy, why she was on deck, or what was wound so tightly around her head and under her jaw.
Opening her eyes wider, she took in the metal railing, the weathered wooden decking, and the rusted metal stairs nearby and realized she was on the narrow upper deck. Looking up she found she was wearing her own straw sun hat, tied firmly around her head with—good Lord—with her own stockings!
With concentrated effort, she was able to slide one of her arms up under the blankets to her face.
Rubbing her eyes turned out to be a bad idea; they burned as if she were grinding salt into them. She groaned and a deep male voice from nearby startled her.
"Don't do that. Here. Open up."
Chapter Three
She squinted and made out a hazy human outline moving between her and the fierce sun. Coming toward her was a cup of something dark and smelly. The man holding the cup didn't give her a choice about drinking or much of a chance to
Similar Books
The Sister
Max China
Out of the Ashes
Valerie Sherrard
Monroe, Melody S. - Verdict (Siren Publishing Classic)
Melody S. Monroe
Danny Boy
Malachy McCourt
Dating Trouble (Grover Beach Team Book 5)
Anna Katmore
A Childs War
Richard Ballard
Trail to Shasta (9781101622049)
J. R. Roberts
Monster Baiter (An Obscure Magic Book 6)
Viola Grace
Advantage Disadvantage
Yale Jaffe