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Blake walked around the noisy tavern. The drunken sailors, the cursing, and the foul smell all reminded him of times he’d spent on the ship. The sounds started blurring in his head, and a slight buzzing appeared in his ears. There was nothing in this tavern to help him find Annalise. Deep down, he knew that. He was wasting his time there. But where was he supposed to go?
He kept walking, rubbing shoulders with drunken sailors.
What if it was too late? What if they boarded Annalise on one of those slave ships?
His breathing turned rapid, and the sounds blurred into one. Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. Blake ran out of the tavern as if the devil was on his heels. Once on the street, he took deep breaths. The smell from the Thames didn’t help. He felt nauseous and ill. His skin was clammy, and his heart beat rapidly against his chest.
“Blake!” Ford’s voice came from somewhere next to him, then, a strong hand clapped him on the shoulder. “Are you all right?”
Blake whirled around and saw Ford, his forehead creased in worry lines.
“I am well.” Blake took deep breaths and looked around. He had to be well. He couldn’t let the memories overtake him and make him useless. Annalise needed him.
“I’ve lost your friend,” Ford said.
Blake’s eyes widened. “What?”
“I’ve lost him. I left the tavern, but he was already nowhere to be found; I looked around but—”
A low whistle interrupted Ford, and both Blake and he turned in the direction of the sound.
“Could be a trap,” Ford murmured and took out his musket.
Blake followed.
“Be on the lookout, and don’t step far away from me.”
A few moments later, they reached an old, rickety building. The place was dark and ominous, but a few loud voices were heard arguing inside.
Jarvis stood there, peering in from the side window. Blake expelled a breath of relief. It seemed that he’d worried over his friend’s betrayal in vain.
“What do you see?” he asked.
“Just a few shadows. One of them is entirely too huge. There seems to be drinking going on.”
“How many?” Ford asked.
Jarvis shrugged. “You’re welcome to take a look yourself; it’s too dark. More than three, that’s for certain.”
“What do we do?” Blake asked.
Ford grimaced in thought. “Here’s what. I am going to knock—”
“Do you think the thugs will just open the door, let us in, and offer us tea and biscuits?” Jarvis gave a disbelieving huff.
“I shall knock,” Ford repeated slowly. “And you”—he pointed at Blake—“will stand just by the door, but not in the line of light. And you will give me the nod if the man who answers the door is one of the thugs who held you prisoner.”
“What if it is him?”
“Then I shall pull out my musket and shoot him, and you are free to follow me and shoot at anyone in the way.”
“But what if I don’t recognize him?”
“Then I shall ask him about the group of thugs who stole a beautiful lady and watch his reaction.”
“I have no issue letting the thief-taker go first,” Jarvis grumbled and hid behind Blake.
“All right, but don’t let anyone out of your sight. I don’t want them going for Annalise and whisking her away, or worse,” Blake said, his heart squeezing.
