The Mosque Hill Fortune (The Sons of Masguard, Book One)

Chapter Twelve

“Hm,” Marshall said, strapping on his sword. “Well, then you and I might be in a bit of a pickle from the outset, Mad Dog, because if all goes according to plan, we’ll not be crossing paths with the Baron again. Not on this voyage.”

McKinley looked confused. “Whyever not? The dastardly devil is doing his evil best to stand in your way, isn’t he? How is confronting him not in the plan?”

“Because our mission is not to pursue a distraction for the sake of vengeance.”

“So, let me get this straight,” said McKinley. “You’re just going to set a direct course for Mosque Hill, no bones, no waylaying, is that correct?”

“Correct enough,” Marshall allowed.

“That’s a terrible plan.”

“Is it now?”

McKinley sighed in dramatic fashion. “Take it from someone who knows a thing or two about the fine art of acquisition. First you take out the competition. Then you go for the prize. Much simpler as a general rule. Besides, I’ve seen the float he’s riding. She’s lighter and faster than the Albatross by far. If you turn this into a race, he could be there and back before we ever caught sight of our destination. He could fund his every evil inclination, steal the throne, sign dozens of anti-do-gooder laws into effect, banish every beast with a positive bone. Imagine it, Marshall. He could make your stoicism illegal.”

“You’re right,” Marshall replied stoically. “He could. If he had any idea where to find the island.”

“But the Baron has your traitorous commander. Won’t he offer up the directions from that map you have hidden away in here somewhere?” Then, when Marshall looked unhappy with his apparent knowledge, he said, “What? I have ears. I use them.”

“It won’t play out that way, I assure you,” answered Marshall. “The map alone isn’t quite the advantage Von Ulric believes it to be. It is only one of two elements required to find Mosque Hill. Without the second, he’s as good as lost.”

“What is the second?” He waited a moment for Marshall to respond, then held up his hands in surrender. “Right, right. Don’t tell the pirate.”

“Moreover,” Marshall continued, “Taking the time to find and confront him would be riskier than you realize. The Baron has allied himself with the Kathkan Empire. We have no way of knowing how many ships he has at his disposal, or what their interests in this endeavor may be. There are too many players in too many positions, and I’ll not fight them blindly. Or do you think it wise to tackle the Empire with a single ship?”

McKinley answered with a roll of his eyes. “Fine, I get it, you aren’t one for the long shots. We’ll do it your way. And remind me to never play chess with you.”

“As to the terms of your release…”

“Yes!” Coming to his feet, McKinley placed his palms on the desk and leaned forward. “Firstly, if you want to hold onto any delusions about me not sneaking into your cabin and slitting your throat in the middle of the night, you’ll never, and I mean never, call me ‘Mad Dog’ again, savvy?”

“Conceded,” Marshall stood to match him. “Your carpenter, along with any of your crewmen knowledgeable in ship design, will be assigned immediately to the repair crews, where they will work without complaint and without sabotage. I can’t make it clearer that, by assuring me of their full cooperation, you are putting your life on the line. Should any of them do anything at all to jeopardize the safety of my crew or the success of our mission, I will end you without ceremony.”

“Conceded,” agreed McKinley.

“Very well then,” Marshall pushed off the desk and turned for the door.

“I wasn’t finished!” The Marauder stopped him, his features hardening to a seriousness, an anger, that Marshall wouldn’t have thought him to own. “When we get there, the Fortune is mine and mine alone. No debates, and no one stands in my way.”

Marshall held his eyes for a long moment.

“Conceded,” he said at last.

“And,” McKinley stepped forward to meet him, “Don’t think for one second that I owe you anything for sparing my life.”

Moving to open the door, the captain gestured for his pseudo-prisoner to exit ahead of him, assuring, “The thought had never occurred.”

≈

It was a strange scene on the deck of the Albatross. Pirates and soldiers standing eye to eye without strategy or malicious intent. Amidst the uncertainty, one individual turned quietly to another.

“I’m curious, Father,” Amelia whispered. “Is this what you might consider a miracle?”

The muscular fox smiled his answer. “Could it be considered anything less?”