Tarnished Journey: Historical Paranormal Romance (Soul Dance Book 4)

by Ann Gimpel

  He started in the lower hold area. The faint stench of sickness still hung in the air. How in the goddess’s name had someone managed to come up with plague victims to stash here? The disease had been all but eradicated. This wasn’t the seventeenth century anymore where no one understood the bacteriologic underpinnings of illness.

  When an answer rose, his gut contracted in disgust. The Nazis. They experimented on humans, injecting disease vectors into innocent men and women. At least that tacked down the most likely candidate for who’d sequestered gold aboard this ship. They must have had plans for it, otherwise the coins would have joined all the other loot the Nazis had stolen, much of it diverted to Swiss banks.

  Germany doesn’t control the Netherlands. Not yet at least.

  Perhaps this stash was part of their plans to occupy the country. If that were the case, someone would surely miss this ship and set out after it. Stewart sent up a silent plea that whichever god controlled the storm harassing them would up the ante for any German vessel that had the temerity to track them.

  No one in their right mind would set sail in the gale buffeting them from all sides, but it had to clear sometime. By then, they’d be well past the Netherlands coastline—or at the bottom of the North Sea.

  He took stock of a tidy engine room. As Cadr had noted, fuel wouldn’t be a problem. Other smaller rooms lined both sides of a central corridor. He found both water and liquor and a room that had once held food. Grain sacks had been decimated by rats. Too bad the little fuckers hadn’t all died before they inhaled everything that wasn’t nailed down.

  Stewart lifted a hand and called his mage light. It glowed a soft blue, and he examined the bevy of shelves and cupboards. Heavy metal canisters had been pushed to the back. He dug them out and pried them open, delighted to find they contained rice and sugar. Both were crawling with weevils, but certainly edible. The weevils would rise to the top in a pot of boiling water and could be skimmed off.

  He rolled his eyes. In the era he’d come from, all stored food was infested with something. It was only the twentieth century that had seen the rise of a squeamish population unwilling to share their rations with bugs.

  “There ye are!” Cadr ducked into the storeroom. “Hey! Ye found food. Vreis should have taken more time.”

  “’Twasn’t obvious. These containers were pushed to the rear of the lower cupboard. How are things topside?”

  “Better, but the current is chasing us to the east. I came this way to fire the engine. We’re still headed to Edinburgh, eh?” He raised a dark brow to punctuate his question.

  “Not sure.”

  “What do ye mean by that? Has something changed?”

  “Yara is seeing if she canna raise one of the sea or weather gods.”

  Cadr’s blue eyes widened, and he stared at Stewart. “All right. Give. What is she? Surely not Romani since I truly dinna see her until she allowed me to. No Rom can do that. Druid magic outplays theirs every single time.”

  Stewart raked a hand through his hair, snagging wet strands that had come half unbraided with his splayed fingers. Soon enough, everyone would know about Yara, and he wasn’t in the habit of keeping anything from Cadr or Vreis.

  “Rhiannon’s daughter. I have no idea who sired her.”

  A sharp intake of breath betrayed Cadr’s surprise. “By all the bloody saints, ’twasn’t the answer I’d anticipated. Not that ’tisn’t welcome news, mind ye.”

  “What did ye think her to be?” Stewart cut the flow of power, and his light flickered and died, leaving them in relative gloom.

  Cadr shrugged. “Mayhap a witch or even a Druid like us. She dinna have the feel of a Rom to me.”

  Stewart grinned crookedly. “Well, she’s Celtic, right enough. So she’s more closely aligned with us than the Rom are.”

  “Why was she masquerading as Romani? Was that story she cooked up about her caravan disbanding so much nonsense?”

  “Nay. She dinna know who her mother was. I pushed her to figure things out, and she’s still at the front end of that process.” He took a measured breath. “Her initial reaction to the news wasna verra positive. She was furious—and scared half to death.”

  “Interesting. I wonder which of the other ancients will surface afore this is over. Back to the question of which way we’re going, though. I’ll engage the engine, but then I have to head back to the helm and tie in coordinates. If we do naught—”

  “Aye, we’ll end up in Denmark,” Stewart cut in. “How about this? Let’s assume our original course will work and do what we can to cross into the lee of the British Isles. Once we’re there. We can sail up the coast.”

  “Leaves only the wee problem of getting across the North Sea.” Cadr rubbed his hands together. “I love the simple challenges.”

  Jamal skidded into the small space. “There you are. Anyone want to take a quick look at the gold? I’ve sorted it.” He frowned. “Someone’s going to miss it. My estimate is it’s worth better than half a million Reichsmarks.”

  Cadr whistled long and low. “Damn good news, if ye ask me. I’m off to work on the engine. Wait till Vreis hears that amount. He thought ’twould be far less.” He pushed around Jamal and left, whistling an old Scottish folk tune.

  Jamal crossed the small space and glanced into the open rice bin. “Excellent. I am hungry. I’ll get a pot of this cooking in a little bit.”

  “Did ye find more gold?” Stewart asked. “Is that why the value went up?”

  “Yes. I found more coins and several more bars stamped with Switzerland’s seal.” Jamal’s nostrils flared. “The Swiss are a bunch of bastards. I’d rather not be caught with anything of theirs, even if we weren’t the ones who stole it in the first place.”

  The deck beneath Stewart’s feet hummed as the engine sputtered to life.

  “Switzerland, eh? Nazis did stash resources in Swiss banks. Makes sense they’d have Swiss gold. It also lends credence to my theory about the coins being part of Germany’s plan to occupy the Netherlands. They’re readying resources for their push into that country, plus it’s a handy spot to hide treasure they’ve laundered through Switzerland.” Stewart dusted his hands together. “Two birds with one stone. Move money where ye expect to need it, and get purloined wealth out of a direct line of fire.”

  “Maybe so.” Jamal blew out a tight breath. “The coins are mostly old, though. It’s almost as if someone stumbled on an old galleon and plundered it.”

  “Old coins are worth more than new.”

  “Yes, I know that. I taught ancient and medieval history at the university in Innsbruck.”

  “How apt for a shifter who lived through that time.” Stewart chuckled.

  So did Jamal. “I’m not that old, but it’s funny because Ilona said almost the exact same thing when I told her what I taught. Come on. Maybe we can figure out a way to hide the gold and magic things up so no one can find it.”

  The ship creaked and groaned as it fought the wind. Stewart followed Jamal out the door and back into the narrow, low-ceilinged corridor.

  “How long will this journey take?” Jamal asked as he strode to another open door. “My wolf isn’t happy. Ships aren’t a natural environment for shifters. Except maybe Meara. Speaking of which, do you have any idea what happened to her?”

  “Nay. I havena seen her since she announced she was going to alert everyone to take some downtime and get some rest herself. To answer your other question, I have no idea how long this crossing will take. With reasonable weather and good wind, mayhap three-and-a-half days. With the storm that’s raging, it could take a week.”

  “A week? My wolf just barked insults and threatened to jump overboard and swim for the nearest shore. Good reason not to shift.”

  “Weren’t ye planning to do that to scout out more dead rats?”

  “Didn’t need to. Between Vreis and me, we found them all. In here.” Jamal pointed. “What Meara said was she was going to tell everyone to rest. She doesn’t sleep. At least no
t much. She’s up to something, which is why we haven’t seen her.”

  Stewart looked at the gold. Jamal may have piled it in neat stacks, but the motion of the ship had spilled the coins in long arcs. The bars had fared somewhat better. He bent and sifted a few coins through his fingers, recognizing Spanish doubloons from their feel in his hand even before he saw the likenesses of Ferdinand and Isabella.

  “Let me run this past you,” Jamal said. “My suggestion is we parcel out the coins so each of us has a few. Not a huge number. The rest, we can dump inside a storage cask and spell it so no one can find it.”

  Stewart straightened. “And I have an even better idea. We each take a dozen or so coins, and then we fill a barrel or two with the rest of the gold and chuck it over the side.”

  A slow smile crawled across Jamal’s austere features. “That way even if the Nazis catch up with us—and they’re bound to locate this boat eventually—they won’t find anything. I admit I wasn’t certain vampires wouldn’t see through any spell we put together.”

  “Exactly. No point in being greedy about the money. A few coins will buy us whatever we need in the way of shelter and supplies.”

  “I like it.” Jamal shoved a few handfuls of coins into his various pockets. I’ll begin parceling out the coins and tell everyone else to stop by here and help themselves. Meanwhile, I’ll grab a wooden cask. I saw several lined up in a closet near the engine room.”

  “Get two. They won’t be so awkward to move that way.”

  “How hard do you think it will be to find dealers in antique coins, so we can turn these”—Jamal waved a hand over the assorted piles at his feet—“into something a little more usable?”

  “And ye’re asking me why?”

  Jamal shrugged. “You’re from the British Isles.”

  “Och, laddie. I left there a verra long time ago. Not so long ago that coins such as these would have passed for legal tender, but long enough I have no idea how easy ’twill be to turn them into pound notes.”

  “Thanks. Guess we’ll figure it out together.” Jamal slipped past Stewart, his pockets jingling with coins.

  So long as Stewart was in the hold where the corpses had been, he shut his eyes and deployed magic to see if he could figure out anything further about the disease-ridden bodies. They’d been dead when they were dumped here, and the illness may have looked like plague—he assumed open sores, blackened flesh, and lots of dried blood—but it didn’t have quite the feel plague had.

  He remembered it well from the times it had scoured villages and townships near him, decimating more than half the population. The more data he gathered, the more certain he was that the four hapless souls tossed into this hold had been the victim of Nazi medical experimentation. Even though plague was caused by bacteria, it was probably easier for the Reich’s doctors to get hold of something simpler that would also kill in short order.

  “Holding a wake for the recently departed, are you?” Meara inquired in a dry voice that snapped his eyes open.

  Stewart bypassed her sarcasm. “Have ye explored this place with your power?”

  The vulture shifter shook her head and extended her hands. Power crackled around her, turning the air blue-white. “Fascinating.” She cut the flow of her magic. “Not plague. Was that your assessment as well?”

  He nodded. “Any thoughts about the gold?”

  She bent and turned a doubloon over in one long-fingered hand. “This one is real, so I assume the rest are as well. Explains why the bodies were here. Also adds urgency to us reaching land so we can jettison this ship.”

  “We’re not going to reach anywhere requiring westerly travel unless we get a break in the weather.”

  Meara eyed him up and down. “You haven’t been up on deck in a while, huh?”

  “Nay. I’ve been taking stock of the ship’s provisions and—”

  Meara made a chopping motion with one hand. “The weather improved. Not all over. Just in a swath around us. We’re making good enough time, Cadr and Vreis are ready to raise the sail again.”

  Stewart bolted for the door. “Means I need to cut the engine.”

  “I already did. It’s why I’m on this level. I sensed deployed power, knew it was you, and got curious.”

  Stewart stopped in the doorway and turned toward Meara. “Did ye do something?”

  “Like what?” She turned her hands palms upward.

  “Alter the storm that wanted to kill us.”

  “I may be a first shifter, but weather working is beyond me. That’s your purview, Druid. And it appeared it was beyond yours as well.”

  Hard-to-stomach truth slammed into him on the heels of Meara’s observation. Yara had to be behind this. There weren’t any other possible candidates.

  He twisted on his heel, intent on finding her to see what kind of deal she’d struck with whichever god she raised.

  Meara raced after him and closed her fingers around his upper arm. She was strong, and her hand may as well have been a vise. “Not so fast, Druid. You know what Yara is. Tell me.”

  He tried to jerk out of Meara’s grasp, but she held fast.

  “She’s Rhiannon’s daughter. Everyone will know soon enough.”

  “Indeed?” Surprise and grudging respect lined Meara’s words. “Did you figure out—?”

  “Nay. But I have a niggling suspicion we shall have the goddess in our midst sooner rather than later now that Yara knows who she is.”

  “Aside from the obvious that she might deign to assist us”—Meara stepped in front of him—“what good will having her here do? Surely, you’re not planning to snoop into her long-buried secret. She went to a lot of trouble to hide her own daughter in a Romani caravan.”

  “She could not verra well have sequestered her in a shifter den,” Stewart countered. “The elders would have exiled her once she hit womanhood and hadna shifted.” Stewart augured his gaze into Meara. “Let go of me. I want to find Yara. Something happened after I left her with that spell book of hers. Sooner we know what it is, the sooner we can plan accordingly.”

  “What exactly was she doing with the spell book?”

  “Locating a sea or weather god for me to talk with.” He ground his teeth together. Given the abrupt shift in their fortunes, the god must have showed himself to Yara.

  Christ! Was she all right? Worry left a sour taste on his tongue.

  “Let go of me.” He yanked away from Meara, breaking her hold on him. Either his desperation lent him added strength, or she was done with him.

  It didn’t matter. He swarmed up the first ladder to the center deck where he’d left Yara and pelted down the corridor. Her cabin door stood open. The book was there, but she wasn’t.

  He needed to be smart about this. The boat wasn’t that big, and magic was the fastest way of locating her. He walked into the cabin, inhaling the scent of her power. Pine and vanilla and something unique to her. Air around the book pulsed warmly as if it approved of his presence. He had little doubt it had ways of making its displeasure known as well.

  He sent his power spinning outward and found her on the main deck near the wheel. Made sense. He should have gone there first. If she’d cut some kind of deal with a god, they might want her outside to watch them work their miracle. The gods could be extremely narcissistic like that.

  Stewart hastened back along the corridor. When he emerged on deck, he stopped dead. Meara certainly hadn’t stretched the truth. Black clouds boiled behind them and off to both sides. Clouds so ominous, wind screeched and rain spat from them. Yet directly above, the sky was a lighter gray without a storm cloud to mar things. The mainsail was indeed deployed, and a brisk breeze drove them forward. Cadr and Gregor were hooking up more canvas to maximize their momentum.

  They weren’t even tacking. Vreis grasped the wheel with a satisfied expression, meaning he wasn’t struggling to hold the boat on course. Yara faced away from him, staring out to sea with her arms by her sides.

  He hurried to her and said, �
�Whoever ye raised, ’twas a solid choice, lass.”

  She shot him an undecipherable look before resuming her thousand-yard stare out to sea. “Manandan mac Llyr said he’d see us safe to Scotland.”

  Stewart whistled long and low. “Aye, and I remember that one. He’s verra powerful.”

  Yara did look at him then through eyes narrowed to slits. “He remembers you as well—and Cadr and Vreis. I believe that was why he deigned to help us. What is your last name?”

  “Macleod. Why?”

  She rolled her eyes and brushed hair damp from spray away from her face. “He asked me, and I didn’t have any idea. Just your first name seemed to do it, though. I’m guessing you and Cadr and Vreis have been together for a long time.”

  “Aye, that we have.” Stewart risked a brief scan with magic, but hers had formed an impenetrable shield again. Different from the one he’d come across initially, but the barrier was just as dense.

  “If you want to know something, ask me.”

  What could he say? That he was worried the sea god had done something to her? “It’s fine. I was just concerned ye were all right.”

  She folded her arms beneath her breasts. She was heartbreakingly lovely, and he longed to crush her against him, but he suspected she’d misinterpret his intentions. He didn’t understand the intense attraction that made it hard to leave her side, but just because he felt it didn’t mean she did.

  “Ye needn’t remain here—” he began. Perhaps they could talk a bit below decks. Clarify things. Cadr, Vreis, and Gregor had the ship well in hand.

  She pointed at the sea, still rough, but not nearly as bad as the water behind them. “Need to keep an eye out for Manandan, if he shows up again.”

  “Lass. He’s a god. He found you afore, and he can find you wherever ye might be aboard this vessel. He splits his time betwixt the Otherworld and the sea. I doona believe we will see him again once we dock in Edinburgh.”