The Red Pearl (9 page)

SOMETHING WASN’T RIGHT. AS SOON as Antonia had risen to use the ladies’ room, the pair of hatted patrons seated nearby him stood to their feet as well. Their backs were turned, so Rob couldn’t make out their faces. Yet, there was something oddly familiar about them…

Either way, he didn’t like the way they followed Annie, tailing her with swift, purposeful strides. At once, he arose, making after them, but the damned waitress was in his face again.

“Sir? I hate to inform, but we’re all out of our luncheon special.”

“Fine.”

“Can I get you something else instead?”

“In a minute.” He pushed past her, irritated. Antonia had already disappeared into the crowd, and Rob could no longer spot her. He only saw the two hatted figures rounding the corner into the far hall.

“Excuse me.” He by-stepped a circle of men and women congesting the space between the bar and tables, not caring that he’d probably stepped on someone’s foot. His muscles tensed as he pushed someone’s out-turned chair from his way.

“Hey, what’s the big idea?” A young man clutching a drink, who’d apparently been about to sit there, tossed up his free hand.

“Sorry,” Rob muttered. But no one had heard him.

The young man’s friend, who was twice as large, confronted him. “Is there a problem?”

Rob glared up at the brute. “Hey, get out of my face, all right?”

“Pardon me?”

Several onlookers emitted low whistles, watching the spectacle with evident amusement. Rob hadn’t the time for their nonsense. Flustered, he ducked away from the large man and turned the corner to the back hall.

“Annie?” He pounded on the door to the women’s privy. The worst he could do was embarrass her, were she inside. But there came no answer. Heart hammering, he peered to the end of the hall. His gut twisted to see the backdoor just flapping shut.

He darted toward it, boots pounding over the ceramic tiles. He thrust open the door and raced out to the street, whipping his eyes every which way. At last, he spotted them: two dark-clad, capped figures hoisting a blonde girl onto a chestnut horse—
his
horse.

“Adams!”
he bellowed.
“Rowena!”

Their heads swiveled around. Sunlight glinted off the shorter figure’s hand and illuminated something silvery. Rowena was holding Antonia at gunpoint!

Rob wanted to scream. First his map and horse, but now Annie? Would they stop at nothing to sabotage him? His best and only friends, whom he’d trusted and loved, whom he’d thought he’d known so well…

Why had they seized Antonia? If they hurt her, if they laid a finger on her… Well, he’d never let that happen. Madly, Rob raced down the block. Why in hell had he parked the prototype so far away? “Maverick,” he thundered. “We’re leaving!”

The dog, who’d been idling nearby, glided to his side. The pair leapt into the horseless carriage.

“Come on,” Rob muttered as he turned the key in the ignition. The engine gave a cough and began to vibrate. He wasted no time in slamming his foot onto the accelerator. “Out of the way,” he cried to a cluster of pedestrians.

With cool looks and a few rude gestures, they backed away, and he floored the pedal. He could see them now, the chestnut horses galloping west into the mountains. People hurried from his path as he sped faster, gaining on the steeds.

Maverick barked, and Antonia’s blonde head shot around at the sound. For half a moment, her eyes met Rob’s from the distance, and her horrified features lifted with tangible hope.

Wen and Adams had heard the dog, too. Glancing over their shoulders, they kicked the horses’ sides, propelling them, and veered off the road. Rob followed, gritting his teeth as the carriage bumped on the rocky terrain. Wherever they were taking the girl, he would go. She was innocent, for the gods’ sakes. What did they want with her?

He drove over a particularly large stone. At once, he knew it had been a mistake. He didn’t like the way the impact jostled him, smacking his leg against the door. Still, he kept driving, even as the horses wove up a dirt trail, heading straight for the foothills.

Something to his left jiggled, and the carriage tilted.
No,
he begged inwardly.
Please…

It was one of the front wheels, he realized. The stone he’d run over had knocked it off-kilter. If he didn’t stop to adjust it now, it could detach entirely, and he’d no idea how to reattach it. His knuckles blanched over the steering wheel, and his eyes burned. He couldn’t drive fast enough with the rogue wheel. And the horses were already climbing into the mountains.

His vision blurred as he slowed the carriage to a stop. He felt wretched, sick. The scene unfolded like a nightmare before him, the three riders shrinking as they ascended the hills, until disappearing entirely behind the brush—and him, powerless to stop them.

Rob thrust open the door and slid out, dragging his forearm over his eyes. How could he have let this happen? Furious, he slammed the door shut. The carriage wobbled precariously on its loose wheel.

“Think,
man,” he commanded himself. But all he could picture was Wen’s pistol cocked at Antonia’s back, and he thought he might be ill.

His breaths ragged, he knelt down to inspect the wheel. No matter what it took, he’d fix it and go after the girl. He’d sooner get shot than permit any harm befall her.

THEY WEREN’T FAR INTO THE mountains when the female of the duo withdrew a black scarf from her bosom. Without a word, she’d tied it over Antonia’s eyes.

Antonia trembled, but would not cry. “You’re Rowena, aren’t you?” she said, straining to keep her voice even.

“Shut up, girl,” was the woman’s response, accompanied by the digging of her pistol into Antonia’s lower back.

They rode for what felt like hours, although it may have only been one or two; Antonia would never know. She saw nothing as the horse beneath her trotted ever farther up the winding heights. More than once she considered flinging herself down, but didn’t know how high up they were, nor how near any precipice. If she jumped off the horse, she could very well fall to her death.

Silence was her only option if she wished to survive. She didn’t know why they’d abducted her. But she knew who they were. After all, they had turned when Robin had called out their names: Jules Adams and Rowena Wildaison. Antonia recalled the pair being equally unpleasant the day she’d first encountered them.

“Here,” grunted Adams from atop the other horse.

At long last, the animals slowed. Rowena hopped down behind her, and Antonia was forcibly grabbed and hoisted off the horse.

Her heart thumped so intently, she feared her captors would hear it. The scarf was then unceremoniously yanked from her eyes. Antonia blinked, readjusting to the sunlight as it poured through the sparse pines. They were in the mountains, all right. And very high up.

Adams untied a roll of canvas from his horse’s saddle. He began to erect a tent, while Rowena removed her cap. Layers of brown waves fell down to her narrow shoulders, and Antonia recognized her more clearly.

Rowena’s dark eyes glinted beneath heavy hoods of charcoal paint. “Nice to finally come across someone in this godforsaken place who can read Skarsköt. Pray tell, could you have announced it any louder in the dining hall?”

“But we’ve really Rob to thank, don’t we?” muttered Adams. “Seeing as he was dumb enough to leave Maverick sitting outside the hostel.”

“A dead giveaway.” Rowena tossed her cap aside. “I knew he’d come after us, obsessed as he is with the pearl.” She tossed her cap aside.

“And he’s coming after you still,” Antonia declared, glaring at her.

Rowena eyed her curiously. “Perhaps. Yet, which do you think he’s after?
You
or the map?”

Antonia swallowed. She didn’t like the way her captors now smirked at her, as if insinuating something—though what, she’d no idea. “Both, I’m sure,” she finally answered.

This only seemed to widen Rowena’s smirk. “Then we’ll make sure to be
extra careful.
” The woman gave a patronizing wink.

Antonia fumed. “What do you want, then? Have you taken me because you heard me say I can read Skarsköt?”

Rowena feigned surprise. “Ooh.
Intelligent,
this one.” Her sarcasm was not missed.

Antonia fought the overpowering urge to sock her. So, this was the woman who had deceived Robin, who’d shattered his trust and broken his heart? Impossible though the man might be, he didn’t deserve that treatment. Not from anybody. And especially not from the likes of Rowena.

For a moment, Antonia wondered if she ought to lie, to claim she really couldn’t read the script. If they couldn’t use her, then maybe they’d let her go. Then again, her ability to read the archaic writing was their only incentive for keeping her alive. Nay, she realized, she had to own her knowledge. And with it, she had to assume some degree of authority, even if feigned, lest they terrorize her all the while.

The young woman lifted her chin. “I’ve been a scholar of the script for six years. It’s very complex, you know.”

Rowena threw down her satchel. “No kidding.” She opened it and removed something. Within seconds, she was holding both the old vellum map and her pistol in Antonia’s face. “Now,
read it.
”

Antonia’s pulse quaked. “But it cannot be read this way.”

Rowena clutched the trigger.
“Read.”

“Please,” Antonia whimpered, her eyes welling in spite of herself. “No matter whom you ask, no one can read Skarsköt point-blank like this. It’s like a c-c-code. It takes days, weeks of study—”

“Bollocks.” Jules Adams sneered.

“I swear.” Sweat dripped from Antonia’s brow. “If you ask another translator, they will only tell you the same thi—”

Rowena’s gun emitted a bone-chilling click. “Perhaps I’m willing to take my chances with another translator.”

Antonia could barely breathe. “Just think,” she whispered. “You have me, a capable reader, standing right here. How long have you been looking for someone?” She gulped. “Right now, you’re closer to having the whole map translated than ever before. You could give me a f-few days. That’d still be faster than killing me, then having to find someone else to do the work.”

Rowena gave her a rigid look before finally lowering the pistol. By the time she did, Adams had finished erecting the tent. He went to work on a second one.

“So, what does it take to decode this thing?” Rowena waved the map irreverently. “Do you need supplies, or something?”

Antonia sighed, trying her best to imitate haughtiness. “
Normally,
I’d need my scrolls, dictionaries, lexicons. But seeing as you two
kidnapped
me like this, I suppose I’ll just have to do it by memory.”

Rowena jammed the pistol into her breast, bringing her crimson lips to Antonia’s ear. “Put on airs with me, missy,” she breathed, “and I’ll remind you who has the gun.”

Antonia shuddered as the woman’s breath lingered against her cheek, even as she backed away. Burning with fury, she said no more.

Evening descended, and Adams built a fire. Antonia was somewhat surprised when they offered her food. It wasn’t much, but she supposed they needed her fed and with her wits about her, if they wished to have the map translated.

Ceaselessly, she prayed that Robin would rescue her. She could picture it clearly, the man bursting through the trees, mowing down the brush with his carriage and sweeping her up into the seat beside him.

Then again, the carriage couldn’t drive up mountains, could it? And Antonia didn’t even know where in the wilderness she was. How would Robin ever find her?

Still,
she thought resolutely, chewing her charred meats, he’d not let her perish out here with these awful people. After all, he’d carried her through the Greyer Woods, and sucked poison from her hand in the Pirsi Desert. He’d even come chasing after her, earlier that day, as far as he could. No, Robin Watkins wasn’t the type to give up. He’d come that far after the map, hadn’t he?

…The
map.

With an inexplicable sinking feeling, Antonia pondered Rowena’s words. Sure, Robin had followed her until they’d lost him at the foothills. But had it all been for Antonia? Or was it for—as always—the treasure map?

Nighttime fell, and her captors lit lanterns. The two spent a while murmuring together while Antonia sat removed, unable to discern their words. Eventually, they leaned in and kissed. Antonia was disgusted by the smacking sound of their lips as they released.

The surly man went into his own tent, and Antonia understood that she was to share the other with Rowena, who obviously intended to keep watch over her. Antonia shook with dread. She wouldn’t put it past the woman to shoot her in her sleep. Then again, they needed their translator alive, didn’t they?

Reluctant, Antonia followed Rowena into the second shelter. As expected, the woman dropped her bedroll at the entry, so Antonia couldn’t run off (not that she’d be fool enough to try in those mountains, anyway). Rowena then pointed to a crumpled wad of blankets in the back. “You can sleep there.”

Already, Antonia longed for Mrs. Watkins’s bedroll. Her nights in the desert with Robin in that warm, soft bedding were infinitely preferable to sleeping in a tent with the formidable Rowena, and a couple of ragged blankets.

Shivering, Antonia lay down. Maybe Robin would come in the night, sneak upon them and snatch her back, returning her to his safe, familiar company.

She didn’t know how long she lay awake waiting for him. But it was a very long time.