***
"It is a shame that Mr. O'Neill could not come, but I must admit, your company was very much enjoyable."
Brand smiled at the false compliment of the trader. He was no fool. No one, save his brother, and perhaps Ramsay, found his company appealing.
Holding up his wine glass, he saluted. "Thank you for allowing the payment. I believe Ramsay values your business hand."
"As I value his. It has already been decided and I am thankful for your coming. Having to sell them off to someone else would have been as profitable, but it would have injured our relationship."
Brand nodded, staring at the pasty-coloured man, with too mighty a tummy, too few a hair on his head, and too insincere a mouth. Business was good as long as there was income. None would fault him for choosing another customer. There absolutely was no need to lie.
A knock. Guy, one of the younger workers on The Rescuer entered. "Sir," He bowed. "The ship is ready sir. We must leave now."
Brand rose up, grateful for the timely rescue. "Thank you, once more, Mr. Pettigrew." He held out his hand, "I shall have a note sent to Ramsay of the concluded business."
"As would I, while I await his cargo ship." Mr. Pettigrew accepted his handshake. "Safe travels."
Brand walked with his usual half-tilted swagger, returning to The Rescuer, swinging the bottle of whiskey Mr. Pettigrew had so generously, and surprisingly, given. The sun had slipped away completely, leaving the sky a dark cloak of nothingness. A few gulls screamed overhead, and the tide slapped lazily against the pilings.
The noise when they had first arrived had lessened as the people began to depart. Many sellers packed their wares, returning to their homes, and the uncultured women were assuming subtle positions in the dark. Evening had fallen, a day had passed, and he could not wait to be perfectly removed from the place.
Although on foreign soil, the docks kept their familiar smell of brine and tar, and the old wood remained slick beneath his boots. The wind curled around him as he strode up the gangplank and onto the ship's deck. Familiar boards creaked beneath his boots, and the sea rocked gently against the hull. Henry bowed to him as he busied himself with a sail and from the starboard, Jack bowed to him. He acknowledged them with a nod.
"You returned timely." Lawrence appeared beside him, dressed every part the quartermaster he was, his right boot in his hands rather than on his foot. "Any later and Mr. O'Neill would be saddled to come for you instead."
Brand spared the man's joke a small smile. "How great your threat, how silent the execution of it."
Lawrence laughed, leaning on the railing and setting his boot on his foot. Then, "Guy upheld your word?"
"Timely."
He had told young Guy to come pilfer him from the company of Mr. Pettigrew with false information. It was a perfection.
Turning to face Lawrence fully, he asked. "Where is he? Stephen?"
"He is yet to return from town." He pulled his coat closer as the breeze stiffened. "I believe he is marvelling his wife with trinkets at the marketplace."
Brand nodded, looking at the faded sky. Night had come already. What more could she buy? With a mighty sigh, he handed Lawrence the bottle of whiskey. "All is set?"
Lawrence nodded, taking the bottle. "Of course. We only await Stephen and his wife."
"Mr. Lawrence!" Someone called from the starboard. "You are well needed at the helm."
"I must depart." He said with a smile. Then, "If it is no trouble, see to our course. I must see to the helm and the unfurling of the sails." He was nodded away. With a full bow, he turned and disappeared below deck, taking the whiskey with him.
Brand's hands grabbed and tightened on the rails. He blinked consciously looking out towards the small seaside town. He had spent three weeks travelling to the country and two days attending to Ramsay's business. There was no need to linger more. There was nothing of note to call one's attention. The town was as he suspected it to be, boring and lacking anything to excite.
Has anything ever caused you excitement?
Have you ever been taken with anything, or anyone?
Except for the seas, have you ever waited eagerly for anything?
His subconscious barraged him.
Ignoring the questions in his head and the truth they hoped to find, Brand walked into his cabin and turned to the maps on the table. He was captain after all. Another manned the helm, but he commanded the ship and ought to be knowledgeable of all possible passages.
"Last man onboard?!" Someone suddenly called into the distance. It was Lawrence.
"Aye!" Another answered a few seconds later.
Brand turned to the door. Stephen and his wife had returned.
"We set the course then!" Lawrence yelled. "All hands on deck! Raise the anchor! Hoist the main sail!"
"Aye!" More than one voice called back.
A blare resounded, the ship gave a careful groan, and soon it was on its way, troubling the waters and the almost quiet evening as it did.
Brand returned his eyes to his assignment of perusing the map, tracing the plausible ways on the sea, and marking out possible paths.
***
Madelyn stirred awake, shifting, only to press her face against a sack of scented produce. The scent was rich and unfamiliar—herbs, spices, perhaps medicine? What was that? Had the Delacourts brought supplies into her room without her knowledge again?
She winced from the pain at the back of her head and a frown creased her forehead. Her room was not a storeroom. When would they cease treating it like one?
Turning to lay supine, her hand settled over her stomach. She stilled, waiting for the first of Jeffery's family to call her. Who would? Margaret? Cliff? His mother? Or perhaps, Jeffery himself?
No call did, nor did any come barging into her 'room'. Slowly her eyes opened.
She turned, sending a frightened glance about the room. This was not Widhalm Mount, she thought, and it certainly was not her 'room'. It was bigger.
Alarmed, she tried to sit up, but winced when an unforgivable throb shot through her head. The floor was hard and cold, and her head hurt. Truthfully, every muscle of her body ached, every part of her was terribly sore.
Of course, she was not at Widhalm Mount. She had fled that monstrous place a while back, but it seemed her mind had not. It had taken her there countless times, and again, it had visited one more time.
And they had visited.