The Joy of the Morning: A serialized historical Christian romance. (Sonnets of the Spice Isle Book 6)

by Lynnette Bonner

  It was also the exact kind of evidence he might be able to trade for RyAnne’s freedom. His heart constricted at the dilemma. And yet… He glanced back toward the wooden boxes. Perhaps…

  He took up the “blank” logbook and carefully held the first page over the heat from the lamp. Just as he’d suspected, the blank logbook was not blank at all. And the information it contained was precisely the kind of proof a court would need. It revealed a list of Khalifa’s contacts off the island. Merchants—if such men deserved such a benign term—living in India and the Far East. And then finally the last lines contained the names of Khalifa’s partners on the island. Trent whistled low at the number of names on the list and their various positions on Zanzibar. But of course they would have needed men in their pay who could look the other way at key moments. Trent scanned the names again. The name Harcourt was there right at the top of the first column, and with a line beneath it. But it only appeared once and with no other initials or names to indicate if the whole family was involved or just the head. Could Brayden be totally innocent of his father’s operations?

  Trent closed the logbook. He quickly gathered Khalifa’s letters from his wife and folded them together, then thrust them and the logbook into RyAnne’s violin case.

  He sank down at the writing desk and quickly opened the secret compartment at the base of Khalifa’s wooden box and withdrew the small bottle of ink. He sniffed it and was satisfied to detect the distinct citrus scent he’d expected. Taking up the quill and several of the blank sheets of Khalifa’s Harcourt letterhead, he set to hastily scrawling words across the pages. When he finished the first one, he pushed it toward Asha. “Heat that.” He scrawled information on several more sheets, having Asha heat the pages as they went. For the ruse to work, there should be more pages, but he was out of time. Hastily gathering up his handiwork, he tucked the newly minted letters into the wooden drawers. These he put into a haversack, which he slung over his shoulder.

  He shoved RyAnne’s violin against Asha’s chest. “Let’s go and save Miss Hunter and put a stop to a slave smuggling ring, shall we?”

  When they arrived at the harbor, Trent was relieved to see that indeed Harcourt’s ship still remained in the bay. He realized he’d halfway been afraid Asha might be wrong about that. His plan was really quite simple.

  William Harcourt was about to experience a mutiny on his ship. Trent’s only concern was whether he and Asha could pull it off, just the two of them. He was thankful for the guns he’d taken off Khalifa. He checked the rounds on the revolver and then held it out to Asha. “Can you shoot?”

  Asha gave a single dip of his chin, flipped open the cylinder to check the rounds for himself, and then slammed it home again. His face was set, and he gave Trent another brief nod.

  Good. The man at least looked like he was telling the truth. Trent turned to double-check his rifle and tuck extra ammunition into his pocket.

  There was a lad with a rowboat waiting for a fare at the end of the dock. Trent slung his haversack aboard and climbed in after it. Asha sank down on the seat just behind Trent, propping RyAnne’s violin across his knees.

  Trent motioned to the boy. “To the Indigo Fields there.”

  The boy didn’t move. “One shilling.”

  Despite his tension, Trent grinned at the lad’s savvy. He reached in his pocket and pulled out the required payment, handing it over.

  The boy nodded and dug his oars into the water without so much as a word after that.

  Trent turned on his seat to face Asha. “The crew will be light at this time because many will be on shore enjoying some leave.” He tipped his head toward the Indigo Fields. “A ship this size…I’m guessing there will be five men on board, at the most. We take them, and the rest will be easy to take as they come aboard.”

  Asha nodded. “I am not afraid.”

  Trent held out his palm for a handshake. “Glad to have you with me, friend.”

  The row boat bumped up against the side of the ship then, and a sailor peered over the side at them. “You lot! What you want?”

  Trent stood and smiled up at him, giving a gesture back to the pier. “I’m an old friend of Captain Harcourt’s. I bumped into him on shore, and he has offered me passage back to Zanzibar with my slave here.”

  He heard Asha give a little snort, but it was soft enough that the sailor above wouldn’t have heard it.

  “Cap’n Harcourt, you say?”

  Trent nodded. “Indeed. I’m actually a closer friend of his son, Brayden. But Captain Harcourt’s known me since I was a boy.”

  The sailor still didn’t look convinced that he should let them aboard.

  “Look.” Trent dug into the boxes at his feet. “I’ve got this letter here. Giving me permission to come aboard.” He held a page of Harcourt stationary aloft for the sailor to see. Of course from this distance Trent knew the sailor couldn’t read the writing, but hopefully he could make out the Harcourt letterhead at the top.

  Trent’s hopes were satisfied a moment later when the man’s countenance relaxed. “Right then. Gi’ me a moment.” The sailor disappeared, and a few seconds later the rope ladder fell over the side of the ship.

  Trent looked at Asha and said quietly, “Ready?”

  Asha nodded. “Indeed.”

  “Fast on my heels now. We’ll only have a moment before he’ll be demanding to see my reference clearly.” Trent took to the ladder, relishing the familiar feel of the buoyant vessel and swaying rungs testing the agility of his feet. The moment his boots landed on the deck above, he dropped his haversack to one side and stretched his arms languidly over his head. He made a show of bringing relief to an achy back, giving Asha time to join him, and himself time to evaluate the other topside occupants.

  He’d been right in his assessment. For there was only one other up top, and he was preoccupied with the nets he was mending.

  “I’ll see that letter of introduction now.” The sailor reached out a hand for it.

  But Asha was over the gunwale now, so Trent leveled his rifle on the man instead.

  “I say what—”

  “Hush now, lad, for if you make a fuss, I might just have to shoot you so I can deal with the others who’ll come to your aid.” He motioned with the muzzle of his rifle for the man to lie down on the deck.

  Asha had wasted no time in depositing RyAnne’s violin near the haversack and cat-footing it over to the man repairing the nets, and now he prodded him into a sprawl next to the first man. Trent covered them while Asha bound and gagged them. The moment the two men were secured to the mizzenmast, Trent motioned for Asha to follow him below.

  Why was it that now when he was close to rescuing RyAnne, his heart started hammering like a bosun repairing a loose deck railing? His mouth felt filled with cotton.

  Please, Father, don’t let me be too late this time.

  In the darkness of her cell, RyAnne felt her way to the bulkhead and put her back to it. She tipped her head against the wood and eased out a sigh. She’d really done it this time. No one on the docks would have even known who she was—even if they’d seen her kidnapped. Trent was going to return to the room and find her missing. But by the time he figured out where she was, it would likely be too late. She would be sold to some palace in the East before he could discover what had happened to her.

  Normally that thought would have sent her into a snit of despair, and yet she found herself feeling rather peaceful. She couldn’t quite put her finger on the reason, except that she’d already been through so much and knew all her trials had only made her stronger. They’d made her lean more heavily on her heavenly Father. And so she would in this instance too.

  If only she didn’t have to leave behind the captain. But even in that she had at least known love. It would give her a reason to keep on living in the years ahead. And perhaps one day the captain would find her.

  RyAnne huffed out a disparaging sigh. Now she really was in danger of putting a damper on her determination to hang on
to her joy.

  From behind her there came the snick of a match flaring to life, and warm illumination spilled through a square above her head, growing brighter as the match was apparently used to light a lantern.

  RyAnne scrambled to her feet and took hold of the bars in the doorway, standing on her tiptoes to peer out and see if she could catch a glimpse of who might be in the passageway.

  A figure stood outside her cell. The person was obviously studying her, but she could only make out a shadowy form, for they held the bright lantern high and in front of them.

  RyAnne squinted and shaded her eyes. “Who’s there? Can you please help me? I’ve been taken against my will. I’m the daughter of Doctor Ryan Hunter from Zanzibar. There is a man in Bagamoyo, Captain Trent Dawson, who will gladly pay you for my release.”

  A low snort preceded the lantern moving a little closer, but just then there was a sound in the passageway. Quiet voices. Stealthy steps.

  The lantern light snuffed out, and the quick sound of retreating footsteps was the only evidence that someone had indeed been there.

  Hinges squeaked. “RyAnne?”

  “Captain!” She could hardly believe her ears. “Is that you? I’m here!”

  “Asha, here!” Trent called. “The light.”

  A thrill of joy had RyAnne jumping up and down in her cell. “Be careful! Someone was just here!”

  A soft light grew stronger as Asha’s footsteps grew louder, and then he stepped into the room with a lantern held off to one side. It was truly them!

  RyAnne stretched her hands through the bars.

  But Trent was all business. “Someone was here? Which way did they go?”

  Her joy deflated somewhat. He was quite put out with her this time. “I d-don’t know exactly. They blew out the lantern before they retreated. But it had to be that way because you would have run into them if they’d come past you.”

  The captain moved beyond her cell door without so much as a glance her way. He held a rifle in his hands, its barrel glinting light from the lantern Asha held.

  Asha at least smiled at her. “You are well, Miss Hunter?”

  “I am. Thank you, Asha.”

  The captain and Asha searched the remainder of the compartment.

  Aided by the lamplight, RyAnne made out one other cell, which was empty, and an assortment of barrels and foodstuffs stacked along the bulkheads and hull, and hanging from overhead beams. But none of them concealed a person, neither behind nor within. Trent growled. “We look again, Asha.” They commenced their very thorough search a second time, but still not a soul was found hiding in the room.

  Trent returned to stand before her cell, hands hooked on his hips. He glanced around, then strode over and took down a ring of keys from near the main entrance. His boots clomped loudly as they returned to her cell. As he thrust the key into the lock, he met her gaze through the bars. “Are you sure you saw someone? It couldn’t have been your imagination?”

  RyAnne lifted her chin. “Someone was there!”

  Trent’s mouth quirked, and when he swung the door open, he took her hand and yanked her into a fierce embrace.

  She nestled her head beneath his chin, relishing the feel of his arms around her when only moments earlier she’d been certain she’d never experience this again. She felt a tremor work through him. So he truly was glad to find her safe. “I thought you seemed angry with me.”

  A sound rumbled in his chest. “Oh, I am. But we can talk about that later. For now, I need to get you to safety.” He took her hand and firmly drew her out into the passageway. When Asha followed them, Trent turned and locked the door shut behind them. “Wherever they are hiding, that ought to hold them.” He gave the stout oak door a slap with his palm. “Now come. Harcourt should be returning within the hour. We’ve a lot to accomplish before then.” Trent led them all up to the quarterdeck.

  RyAnne heard moaning and glanced up. Her brows rose. For there on the sterncastle stood four sailors all bound to the mizzenmast. One more had been bound to the deck’s rail. Trent pointed her into the captain’s cabin and thoroughly searched it.

  The room was lavishly appointed with a red velvet settee and silk curtains cordoning off the feather-ticked bunk against the bulkhead. The desk was a golden-red hardwood with gorgeous dark grains and intricately etched leaves around the lip. Clawed feet were hewn with the same delicate leaves. A large mahogany statue, crudely carved to look like a giraffe, stood to one side of the door. It was lashed to the bulkhead with a couple loops of rope, presumably to keep it from rolling around in case of a storm.

  RyAnne ran her hands over the smooth wood and then sank wearily onto the plush settee. “I suppose dealing in slaves must pay quite well.” The thought made her feel rather ill. She rubbed the toe of her boot over the place on her ankle that was still healing from the manacles she’d worn for weeks on end.

  Trent squatted before her and squeezed her shoulder. “We are going to put a stop to at least this ring. You have my word.”

  She pressed her lips together and nodded silently.

  Trent angled his head. “I need your word that you’ll stay in here. There’s about to be some nasty business outside, and I can’t do what I’ll need to do while I’m worrying about your safety.”

  RyAnne didn’t have the energy to even be offended that he didn’t trust her to stay put. She only dipped her chin. “You have my word.”

  Trent started away, but a thought occurred to her. “Trent?”

  He paused and looked at her.

  “How did you know I was here?”

  “Asha saw you kidnapped.” He tilted his head. “I found the letters.”

  Her heart pounded. “That’s why I was coming to find you. They have hidden words on them. I think heat—”

  “Yes. I know.” He seemed restless—in a hurry to return to the deck.

  “Did you…heat them all?”

  He nodded. “And they contain all the information we need to hand these scallywags over to Cornwall.”

  He left her then, and RyAnne paced the interior of the cabin. Surely her ordeal was almost over? All that remained was for Trent to capture William Harcourt, and then they would sail him and his crew to Commodore Cornwall and turn them over to him. Then she could go home and see Jasmine and Rory. And Mother. Her fingers clenched together in dread at the prospect of giving them all the bad news. But there was anticipation too. It would be good to see them again.

  She paced past the desk again, trailing her hand across the top. Her fingers bumped over a silver letter opener, and she paused to pick it up. The handle was a carved indigo flower, and the sharp blade gleamed in the light from the porthole.

  Beyond the cabin door, she heard raised voices. She dropped the letter opener back onto the desk and hurried to press her ear to the door. She didn’t want to miss a word of what was being said out there.

  Trent and Asha noticed the longboat leaving the docks at the same moment. Five men were aboard. A quick glance with a glass revealed that Harcourt was indeed among them. Trent strode over and made sure the rope ladder still hung to the waterline and then moved to stand behind a capstan. Asha had already taken his own shelter, out of sight.

  To ensure that all of the men came aboard and none escaped, they would need to let them all board the ship before attempting to take them. This was likely the most dangerous part of this whole mission, for it would quickly become obvious that something was amiss when none of their crew met them on the foredeck.

  He took a calming breath and studied the placid sky above. This was it. For RyAnne. And all those like her who hadn’t been given a choice as their freedoms were snatched away.

  One set of boots thumped to the deck. Followed by another.

  “I say,” one exclaimed. “Where is everyone?”

  “Likely in their cups w’ the cap’n’s best ale.” The other laughed.

  Two more sets of boots landed on the deck before the first voice spoke again. “I’m not liking the fee
ling of this, Captain.”

  “Aye,” Harcourt responded. “Spread out and see if you can discover what’s amiss.”

  “Asha, now!” Trent yelled as he swung out from behind the capstan and leveled his rifle on the five men, one of whom was still straddled over the gunwale. Trent adjusted his aim so that it rested pointedly on Harcourt. “Tell your men to lay down their arms.”

  Asha cocked his pistol meaningfully from where he’d appeared on the other side of the group.

  Flanked on both sides, the men who had automatically reached for their weapons hesitated and looked to their captain.

  Harcourt was no fool. He slowly lifted his hands into the air. “Lay down your weapons, men.” As his men complied and Asha set to tying them up, one by one, William glowered passionately at Trent. “What is this all about?”

  Trent almost laughed. “Oh, I think you know.”

  “Actually, I have no idea,” Harcourt retorted, but there was a tremor in his voice that gave away the lie.

  Trent delayed his response until Asha had finished tying each of Harcourt’s four men and had tugged Harcourt’s hands behind his back. Then Trent tilted his head to assess the impact of his next words. “I have letters written by the late Ali Khalifa that say otherwise.” He motioned to the gunnysack he’d left near the gunwale.

  “Late?” Harcourt broke off and glanced down to study the sack, his features paling slightly.

  So perhaps he hadn’t been aware that his lackey had been killed. “I’m afraid he was attacked by a lion that had been stalking the slave caravan he was driving across the continent. It only happened a couple days ago. It’s no wonder you hadn’t heard yet.”

  Harcourt’s face twisted into dismay.

  “I can see the question on your face. You are wondering what happened to all the slaves. I’m afraid I took the liberty of freeing all of them.” Trent felt great satisfaction upon delivering that bit of news.

  William’s face was now nearly as pale as his white shirt.