The woman’s eyes widened. “Why’re you giving me these?”
“Because your information about the ship has helped me greatly.” Before the woman could respond, Anne picked up her skirts and tore off, leaving Cara and Coyle to follow as best they could.
Anne’s heart thumped painfully in her chest and sweat covered her back by the time she reached the crowded waterfront. It was just as the woman had said. Squinting against the brightness of the sun, Anne could make out a large regiment of men standing on the pier, all of them dressed in red long coats and carrying muskets. The crowd surrounding the soldiers was thick as well. It was hopeless to try to get any closer.
Quickly scouring the area around her, Anne spied three barrels nearby, tethered to a wooden post. She scrambled to the top of one and held on to the rough pole as her eyes darted to the familiar ship in the distance. From this vantage point, she had a clear view of the damaged Deliverance and a grateful sob tore from her throat. They’d made it. The Deliverance had actually made it. There were fresh patches in the hull, evidence of some recent repairs. The sails, too, looked like they’d been pieced together and hastily sewn.
“What do you see, Anne? Is it the Deliverance?”
Looking down, Anne met Cara’s hopeful gaze. Anne beamed at her. “It is!”
Coyle helped Cara climb up beside Anne and the two of them clutched each other for support.
“Look at you. You’re shaking.” Cara gave Anne a squeeze. “Do you see Teach anywhere?”
“Not yet.” She looked for the familiar black hair amongst the teeming crowd, but could not see him. Time seemed to stand still for her, now that she was this close. Six weeks of waiting and wondering if she would ever see Teach again. Anne nearly suffocated beneath the weight of her own anticipation. She didn’t want to think about the fact that he might not be on board.
One of the soldiers called out an order and the mob parted, quieting down as they made room on the docks. Several men with scruffy beards and unkempt hair formed a line, surrounded by soldiers on each side. They marched single file toward a waiting cart. There! Anne’s insides tightened and her heart began to drum with furious force when she saw Teach take his position at the back of the line. His broad-shouldered build towered above the rest of the crew, and his clothes were wet and dripping.
“Teach!” Her voice rang out across the horde and his head shot up. “Teach!” Anne yelled once again, not caring about the attention she drew to herself.
His gaze locked on hers across the distance, his features pronounced and striking, even with the growth of facial hair. His skin was bronzed and the sun glanced off his rich black hair. He took a step in her direction. The soldier to his right slammed the butt of his musket into Teach’s stomach and Teach doubled over.
“Oi!” Cara cried. “What’s that all about?”
Another soldier stepped forward and clasped irons around Teach’s wrists and ankles. A pounding sounded in Anne’s ears, and her blood pulsated through her body. Desperate to get to his side, she scrambled down from the barrels and attempted to push her way through the crowd, but it was no use. There were too many people blocking their path, and everyone’s eyes were riveted on the drama unfolding before them.
Grabbing Anne’s hand in his, Coyle managed to shove his way a few feet, but they didn’t make much progress.
“Where are they taking them?” Anne asked, trying to peer over the shoulders of other onlookers.
Coyle ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. Perhaps to the fort.”
She could hear the distinct clang of iron and the sound of a struggle, accompanied by the frenzied cheers of the throng. “We must go there.”
“They won’t let us in, Anne. We’ll have to wait to see what’s to be done. Uncle Alastair will know what to do.”
Wrenching free of Coyle’s grip, Anne dove through the mob, ducking between people as they followed the soldiers and the crew of the Deliverance. Along the way, several men reached for her, taking the opportunity to grope at her arms and chest, but Anne brought out her pistol. Anger and desperation lent her strength. Using the butt of the handle as a cudgel, she left more than a few of them in her wake, clutching their hands and howling in pain.
But she was too late. By the time she reached the end of the crowded docks, the wagon had disappeared down one of the side streets.
Shaking her head, she tried to breathe, but it felt like iron bands squeezed her chest. The crew of the Deliverance weren’t the ones who had unlawfully attacked a ship. Somehow, they’d managed to survive the assault, so why were Teach and his men being treated like criminals? What cruel twist of fate would bring Teach to Nassau, only to have him taken from her once more?
The crowds slowly dispersed, going back to their normal routines on the busy waterfront. Anne stood motionless, unsure what to do next. Her mouth was dry and a headache started to coil behind her eyes. She couldn’t stop thinking about Teach. He’d looked tired, but his face had lit up at the sight of her. She closed her eyes against the memory of the soldier hitting him in the stomach. She’d never seen Teach brought low by anyone, and the frustration and rage she’d felt was immediate.
“Let’s go back to the Fox, Anne,” Cara said, putting her arm around Anne’s shoulders. Coyle nodded in agreement.
They turned, but movement farther down the docks caught Anne’s attention. Glancing up, her pulse thudded darkly at the sight of slaves shuffling forward—men, women, and children—their ankles and wrists in chains as they disembarked from a ship. They were practically naked. Filthy rags hung from their limbs, barely covering them.
Even from a distance, the sores and open wounds covering their skin were visible, with clouds of flies swarming the air around them. Like walking ghosts, they moved forward, their once proud spirits beaten into submission. There were no crowds to gawk at the sight. No gasps of shock or outrage at their treatment.
“We have to do something” Anne said, her voice low and tremulous. Bile rose in her throat.
Coyle hesitated, the color leaving his cheeks. “Let’s get back to the Fox, Anne.”
One of the older slaves stumbled, his injured leg giving out beneath him. A man stepped forward, his pale skin mottled with pock scars and his clothing stained red. He wielded a braided leather whip and raised his arm to strike. Bright spots danced in front of Anne’s eyes and a roar in her ears drowned out the noise of the busy wharf as she squeezed the trigger of the unloaded pistol in her hand. The loud click of the hammer sounded like a clap of thunder. Heads turned in her direction, including the man with the cow skin.