The Red Pearl

by C. K. Brooke

  She turned it over. The Skarsköt writings continued, and these without translation. This, Antonia knew, would be her job. Anxious, she glanced up. It was early morning, but the sun was already beating down over her. “I’m afraid the sun will damage the page,” she confessed. “Look.” She showed Rowena a corner where the script was almost pink. “The ink’s already fading as is.”

  The woman’s mouse-brown eyebrows came together. “Ought you to read it in the shade?” She indicated a thicket of trees.

  “Inside a tent would be better.” Antonia twisted her lips. “I’m used to reading sequestered. One needs plenty of peace and quiet to concentrate on Skarsköt.”

  Rowena seemed to be debating over whether or not she found this remark cheeky. After a moment, however, she led Antonia to the women’s tent. “In you go, then. Here’s a quill.” She shoved a feather quill and inkwell into Antonia’s hands. “Be sure to write everything down on the map.”

  Antonia reentered the shelter. The sun shone through the white ceiling, allowing her to see well enough, and the temperature in there was far more comfortable. Not to mention, she was glad to be alone.

  Settling down into her corner, she laid the map over her knees and began with the first symbol. It was a little half-circle with a slash running through. She knew of two symbols which resembled it, but couldn’t determine which one this was. She’d have to transcribe the rest of the letters first, before she could attempt to translate the whole word. Tedious work, indeed.

  “Hmm.” She moistened her lips, poking her head outside the tent. “Rowena?”

  The woman, who was manicuring her fingernails, turned.

  “Have you any paper to spare? I don’t want to write on the map until I’m sure my translations are accurate.”

  Rowena’s expression was smooth. “I’ll take a look.”

  Antonia returned inside, moving onto the next symbol. It was clearly a dotted hook, which made the ch sound. But she was stuck once again, as soon as she reached the next letter. Whoever had written this map centuries ago had possessed quite fancy penmanship. So fancy, in fact, it was difficult to read.

  She studied the symbol a long while, and had still not determined what it was by the time Rowena returned with a thin, tatty booklet. “Jules said you can write in this. He doesn’t need it anymore.”

  Antonia surveyed it. It appeared to be an old printed handbook of sorts.

  “How’s it coming along?” Rowena asked, and though the question itself could have seemed friendly, every bit of her impatient tone was not.

  “Very slowly,” answered Antonia, not bothering to conceal her annoyance. If the woman would simply leave her alone, she could return to work.

  Detecting this, Rowena stalked out of the tent. But Antonia found she could no longer resume her focus on the map, try as she may. Instead, she bubbled with resentment. Robin had actually dated that woman? What the devil had he possibly seen in her?

  It took hours. She skipped lunch, poring over the old vellum well into the early hours of evening, just to work out the first few lines. Even then, she still didn’t recognize a few of the words. She’d have to rely on context to fill them in.

  Her eyes and head ached once darkness fell and dinner was served. Directly after eating, Antonia climbed into her blankets, exhausted. Thankfully, Rowena and Adams did not question or bother her, seeming only relieved that someone was finally doing the job.

  The whole night through, Skarsköt symbols danced through her dreams. She saw the map even with her eyes shut, and vaguely wondered if this was how Robin felt, pondering it day and night, as it consumed his every waking—and sleeping—thought.

  Antonia spent another morning in study. She took her time, until she’d translated nearly half the page. When she periodically emerged from the tent, she scanned the land for any sign of Robin. Where was he? Was he still looking for her? Surely, it was only a matter of time before he caught up with them.

  And that was why she was altogether disconcerted when she finished her lunch that afternoon to discover Adams dismantling the tents. “What are you doing?” she asked him.

  He turned to look at her for what felt like the first time. Antonia was put off by the coldness in his eyes, and the way his mouth seemed incapable of smiling. “Changing camps,” he replied. “Got to get a move-on.”

  Changing camps? But how would Robin find her if they moved? “What’s wrong with here?” She tried to sound innocent.

  Adams ignored her, strapping a bag to his horse’s saddle.

  Once more, Antonia was forced onto the second horse with Rowena, blindfolded, and made to ride farther up the mountain. With every step of the horses’ hooves, she meditated on Robin, as though her thoughts could materialize the man. She even prayed to the goddess Azea, although she knew the deity owed her no favors, especially not after Antonia had abandoned her.

  Their second camp was woodsier than the first, and the young woman wondered where Adams would manage to erect the tents. But erect them he did, some spaces apart, and as evening fell, he went to work on a new fire pit.

  Unexpectedly, Rowena tossed her a brown paper bag. “Take a break tonight, scholar.”

  Antonia peered inside to see an assortment of food. Her stomach gurgled.

  To her dismay, however, the woman slinked up beside her and loosened Antonia’s hair ribbon. Antonia stood still as her hair tumbled down her back in sunny, flowing curtains.

  “My, my,” Rowena whispered, stroking it. Antonia cringed. “How pretty. I daresay, you looked a bit stuck-up wearing it back.” She squinted. “But now, one could almost say you look rather…sensual.”

  Antonia spoke before thinking. “Robin says it looks best pulled back.”

  She immediately regretted her statement as an amused simper spread across Rowena’s lips. “Did he, now?” she clucked. “Let me guess: he said he likes it that way because he can better see your lovely face?”

  Antonia froze.

  “He used that one on me, too.” The woman cackled, and Antonia felt sick to her stomach. Rowena leaned in. “Now, go enjoy your little meal,” she gave Antonia a shove, “and stay in your tent awhile.”

  Antonia must’ve looked confused, for the woman dropped her voice. “Come, girl, do I need to spell it out for you? Jules and I desire to be alone.”

  Antonia blushed. Oh.

  “Now scram.” Rowena shooed her. “And don’t come out, unless you want to be shot.”

  Or unless I want to vomit my intestines out, thought Antonia disgustedly, climbing into her shelter. Once in privacy, she kicked the other woman’s bedroll. Were these people so crass that they’d actually be intimate together right outside of her tent, where she could plainly hear them? She seethed. How long had the pair been playing Robin, sleeping together like this behind his back?

  Too appalled to dwell on it, she ignored Rowena’s command to take a break, and resumed her work. When darkness fell, she lit a lamp, still jotting down notes and copying her translations onto the map.

  Thankfully, her concentration muted her surroundings, and Antonia didn’t hear much outside but the crackling fire.

  THE TENT FLAP LIFTED, ILLUMINATING the interior with vibrant sunlight. Antonia glanced up at the mane of brown waves greeting her. “Annie.” Rowena blinked. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

  Antonia ignored her, looking back down at her notes. The woman had interrupted her train of thought yet again.

  Rowena followed her gaze. “You know, your translations had better be accurate,” she warned. “If you’re giving us false directions…”

  “Funny.” Antonia sniffed. “It had never occurred to me to deceive you.” She met the woman’s shadowy eyes. “Deception’s your specialty, isn’t it?”

  Rowena’s mousy eyebrows narrowed. “Just know, I’m watching you, Annie. So if all of this—” she indicated the map and
Antonia’s notes—“is simply your ploy to buy time…”

  “I don’t need to buy time.” Antonia raised her chin. “Robin will come for me. Any hour, any day now.”

  Rowena stared at her. Slowly, she broke into a low, cringe-worthy cackle. “Why, but you are in love with him.”

  Antonia’s breath caught. “What? No I’m n—”

  “Oh, it all makes perfect sense now.” Rowena exhaled with relish.

  Antonia’s pulse quickened. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Dear, dear.” Rowena gazed her over as though surveying something pathetic. She issued another scathing laugh. “I’ll admit, he can be cute when he’s not too busy getting in his own way. But rest assured, you’ll soon find yourself bored and disappointed. Robin Watkins is no more than a wanderer, a dreamer without a dime. As useless as his bumbling father.”

  Antonia’s breast burned in indignation.

  “Now, Jules Adams…” The woman sighed. “He’s a man with a fortune, a legacy.”

  Antonia boiled. “His father’s fortune,” she snipped. “Which the man gained by stealing from Thaddeus Watkins—!”

  “Oh, but truly.” Rowena bobbed her brown head, grinning. “It’s clear as crystal. You love Robin.”

  “I— I hardly know him,” the girl protested. But even amidst her denial, her stomach fluttered with nerves.

  “Yet you’ve unshakable faith in him?” Rowena tsked. “Ah, Annie. You are young. You’ll soon learn that love is only a game. And men like Rob,” she shrugged, backing out of the tent, “are simply losers.”

  Soon as she was gone, Antonia hurled her sandal at the tent flap. It bounced off the canvas with a thud. Heart pounding, she curled up in the corner, unable to banish Rowena’s accusations from her mind. How preposterous, Antonia thought furiously. Of course she wasn’t in love with Robin.

  …Right?

  She closed her eyes and pictured his face, his auburn hair and blue eyes so striking, so comely. Every cell in her being suddenly clung to the image of him, compelled like magnets toward his every aspect, the sound of his voice, which she sorely missed, the memory of his warm mouth on her hand, her lips…

  Her eyes shot open. Why was she suddenly breathless at the recollection of his kiss? It was horrid, really. Not much of a true kiss at all.

  Yet, now she was desperate for it.

  I’m only desperate to be rescued, she corrected herself, hugging her knees to her chest. But where was he?

  Antonia shivered, although the climate wasn’t cold. Perhaps the man had given up on her, after all.

  MAVERICK PACED THE PLATEAU, SNIFFING. Rob ascended the hill, gasping to catch his breath. He gazed about. Someone had certainly made camp here, and recently. There was a fire pit, even a few food wrappings on the ground. Another day hiking through the mountains with the guidance of Maverick’s nose, and it appeared they were getting closer. They had only just missed whomever had been there.

  The dog pawed at the dirt. Rob crouched down, inspecting the soil. He spotted them at once: hoof prints. There’d been horses! It had to be them.

  He glanced into the sky. It was darkening already. Much as he hated to stop now, he couldn’t risk the sun setting before he’d found a viable place to camp. A fire pit had already been built at this place; he’d settle there for the evening, and continue first thing at dawn.

  Rob only prayed they hadn’t hurt the girl. He didn’t know what they wanted with her. And neither did he know how he’d live with himself, had any harm befallen her. In such a case, he was unsure whether he’d have the heart to continue his search for the Red Pearl at all.

  He gathered some branches for a fire and removed the bedroll from his rucksack. Previously, he had repaired the horseless carriage, and left it parked at the foothills with the rest of his things. He simply had to trust that nothing would happen to it in his absence. It would’ve been impossible to drive it up the mountains’ steep, rough slopes.

  The sun had hardly risen when Rob and Maverick awoke. The dog scouted ahead of him, nose to the ground, and they wove uphill around boulders and endless trees. At long last, across the morning breeze, Rob heard it: the soft whinnying of a horse. Maverick cocked his ears and raced ahead, Rob chasing behind. He spotted something through the trees, what looked like the peaks of tents.

  The man slowed his pace. “Maverick,” he hissed. The dog stopped, and Rob held a finger to his lips.

  He peered through the brush. There were, indeed, two tents erected near a smoldering fire pit. Behind them stood his and Adams’s matching chestnut horses, their reins tied to a nearby tree. But he saw no people. Perhaps they were still sleeping, he mused. Which tent was Antonia’s?

  A twig cracked beneath his boot as he stepped forward. Rob winced. If he was going to accomplish this, he had to be far more careful. Watching his footing this time, he took another step.

  “Watkins.”

  His heart nearly stopped beating at the sound of the familiar voice. Spinning around, Rob found himself face-to-face with none other than Jules Adams, who was carrying an armful of firewood.

  Rob stared at his former best mate, momentarily stunned. Regaining his senses, he thrust back his arm and slugged the man in the nose.

  Adams stumbled back, dumping the firewood onto the ground. Rob leapt from the way as the heavy logs bounced and rolled precariously near his feet.

  “Give it up already, will you?” Adams lunged, making to grab him. Rob ducked.

  “Why, Jules?” He blocked the man’s fist. “We were all going to split the fortune. I thought we had an agreement—”

  Adams pushed him, and Rob staggered back. “The agreement was always between me and Wen.”

  “So you used me.” Rob’s gut twisted. “Both of you. All along.”

  “And why not?” Adams sneered, black hair falling over his eyes. “Your obsession with the pearl is legendary in itself. If anyone could find the map, it was you. After all, you were the only fool crazy enough to actually rob a—”

  “So, when did you two decide all this?” Rob interjected. “Since the very beginning?”

  “Rob, I said give it up. Rowena and the map are mine. Now, go home.”

  Furious, Rob picked up one of the fallen logs. Adams didn’t miss a beat. At once, the man picked up another log and hurled it. It struck Rob in the chest, knocking the air from his windpipe.

  Wheezing, Rob swung his log. Adams caught the other end, attempting to pull it from his hands. Maverick began to bark in distress, and rushed to his aid. But Rob called him off. He didn’t want the dog getting hurt.

  In the time it took Rob to deal with the animal, however, Adams had raised another log, preparing to swing. In that moment, Rob had no choice. It was strike or be struck. With a savage grunt, he hurled his log against the other man’s temple, sending him toppling over. Adams lay unconscious, facedown upon the ground.

  Pressing his boot over Adams’s back to keep him down, just in case, Rob rummaged through his former friend’s rucksack. The first thing he spotted was a length of rope, which he used to bind Adams’s limp wrists together.

  There. At least the man would be out of his hair for a while.

  He then hurried through the brush with Maverick. The commotion had drawn the others’ attention, and Rob’s heart skittered the instant he saw her: Antonia, with her blonde hair flailing in the breeze, looking awestruck as she stood at the mouth of a tent.

  “Annie,” he cried jubilantly, bolting for her.

  Her eyes shone a mixture of joy and terror as she took but a small step forward. Rob’s spirits plummeted to see the cause of her trepidation. Standing behind her, pointing a pistol directly at the back of her head, was Rowena.

  He stopped. “Wen.” He forced his voice to stay level. “Come on. Put the gun down.”

  “Where’s Jules?” Rowena’s dark e
yes shifted to the trees.

  Rob shrugged.

  “I heard you arguing with him.” She jammed the pistol over Antonia’s ear. “What’ve you done with him?”

  Tears streamed down Antonia’s face as her blue-gray eyes besought a thousand wordless pleas.

  Rob held up his hands. “He’ll be here in a second,” he lied calmly. “Just let her go, and let’s talk, all right?”

  Rowena didn’t budge.

  “Wen, please. She’s innocent. You don’t want to do this.” He took a careful step forward. “Listen. You can…you can keep the map, all right? All I ask is that you let Antonia go.”

  Antonia trembled, her eyes widening.

  But Rowena only sighed. “I’m afraid I cannot do that, Robbie-dear. You see, our little Annie’s already translated the rest of the map for us. As such, she knows the way to the pearl. So you understand why I can’t give her back to you now. For, I know full well she’ll only try to help you beat us to the punch.”

  “B-but I haven’t translated it all yet,” stuttered Antonia. “I don’t know where the p-pearl is, I swear—”

  “Shut up.” Rowena shoved her.

  Rob winced. “Don’t talk to her like that. And if you want to aim your pistol at someone, aim it at me. I’m the one who dragged her into this, in the first place. She has nothing to do with it.”

  “Fine. I’ll aim it at you.” Rowena shifted her weapon, pushing Antonia aside and stalking toward him. He held up his hands. “This is your last warning, Watkins,” she growled. “Now get lost, or next time, I swear I’ll shoot both of you.” But Maverick’s frantic barking startled her, and she jumped back as the dog bounded at her, teeth bared.

  “Mav, no,” Rob hollered as the animal lunged with a snarl. Rowena cried out, backing away and pointing her weapon at the dog. “Don’t shoot him, please,” Rob begged her, moving quickly to restrain Maverick. But the dog leapt at her again.

  “Get away,” Rowena howled, waving her gun in the creature’s sable face. Rob watched, momentarily confused. He was, of course, relieved she wasn’t shooting…