Page 103 of Eternal Craving

“What did it feel like fighting in the coliseum?”

“You mean apart from the blood, gore, and endless death?”

“Why didn’t you run away at the start?”

“Why do you ask so many questions?”

“You could have broken the chains, escaped. What did they have over you?”

Her expression changed as she daydreamed; she was somewhere else, somewhere far off.

“I love you.” I tried to smile. “And no matter what happens, I’ll protect you.”

She held my gaze. “And I promise you that we’ll find Jacob.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

We found there to be a drastic contrast between England and Spain.

The weather felt colder – much colder – and the sweeping landscapes were bleaker. A round tower greeted us at the mouth of Portsmouth Harbor. We sailed beneath it, passing several British Navy galleys heading in the opposite direction, out of the port. Trade ships vied with us for prime dock space. Our captain’s experience paired with his connections won out, and we were soon ready to disembark.

Our journey had been eventful. We’d endured a storm – more like a tropical hurricane – and the ship had become waterlogged. For us though, there was temporary respite from the elements as we lay within our wooden chests, self-imposed prisoners, willing the voyage to end, and hating every second of it. And others had noticed the strange disappearances of several passengers. We were reassured by our captain that this was unusual, and we were more than welcome to return to Spain as guests upon his ship. Although we weren’t responsible for the weather, the same could not be said of the missing people.

I assumed I wasn’t the only one amongst the passengers who considered kissing the ground after we were docked. People scurried about, their faces full of worry. We edged our way into the center of the frantic crowd, all moving as one, trying to get to dry land.

Once free of the throng of passengers, we began searching for The Pride-and soon found it.

I parted with the last of our money by paying the ship’s sailors for information. They admitted to us that several boys had been aboard, the youngest matching Jacob’s description. After some coaxing, we ascertained that he’d been quiet during the journey, complaining little, but begging to be taken home. On their arrival, all four boys had been bundled into a horse-drawn carriage.

Struggling to remain calm while hearing all of these details bordered on torture for me, though my desire to slaughter everyone in our path was crueler. Sunaria’s grip on my arm was a constant reminder not to arouse suspicion and put us in harm’s way. These men were merely the messengers, witnessing the kidnapping and not partaking in it. As such, they got to see another day.

Portsmouth and London were connected by only one road. Our carriage wheel came loose, causing further delays – but we didn’t wait for them to attach a new one. We headed out on foot since there was an ever-growing distance between us and Jacob’s carriage.

I looked forward to ripping out the throats of the men who’d participated in my son’s abduction. I wondered how Sunaria could bear to be this close to me when my emotions were in turmoil. I pushed her away and, if such a thing were possible, at the same time I clung to her.

London seemed to have swallowed up Jacob’s carriage.

Climbing out of ours, we were met by a maze of white-washed, half-timbered houses that lined twisting, filthy lanes. The air was thick, the smell verging on unbearable. I was struck by a heavy yearning to return to my homeland. There seemed to be something about the city’s grayness that reflected onto its populace, who, scurrying about, all seemed eager to buy or sell something, or as we noted on more than one occasion, steal something.

The spire of St Paul’s Cathedral rose up out of the skyline, a fervent reminder of the Catholic Church’s ironclad rule.

People barged past us, not wanting to engage. A foul stench lingered in the air.

“Don’t people here ever wash?” I covered my nose, though it didn’t make much difference.

“We need to slow down,” Sunaria said.

I glanced at her with surprise. “Why would you suggest that?”

“We’ll find him.” Sunaria faced me and rested her hands on my shoulders. “He’s here.”

We continued walking past old wooden homes that overlooked narrow drain channels with sewage flowing nearby. We were in the center of a rundown market. Poverty was everywhere and the difference between the wealthy and poor was easily evident. Those few with money dressed in fine linen, riding on horseback or within plush carriages. In stark contrast, the poor wore homemade, knitted outfits, some donning tatty leather shoes, and others were even barefoot.

“No one looks more than thirty.” I looked at her for answers.

“There’s disease here,” she said. “That also means fewer night walkers. Those who do linger are not the sort you want to associate with.”

Panic hit me. “When do we start?”