Chapter 22 How Dark the Night? #2
Caleb slipped the Ring onto his finger. A perfect fit, heavy with a power and authority that spanned time. The amber jewel in the center glowed.
Flinching, Liam gasped.
Alden grabbed the second ring and held it up to the one on Caleb’s finger.
Both were nearly the same size, both made of gold, both had a reddish-yellow gem in the center.
Both had etchings around the jewel and down the sides.
“The only difference I see is the Ring’s gem is larger, more brilliant, and the markings are in ancient Hebrew.
While these,” he pointed to the other ring, “are in what appears to be Egyptian hieroglyphics.”
Caleb stiffened his jaw. He’d been surprised to find so similar a match among the chest of jewels they’d recently pilfered off a Spanish merchantman. “The problem lies in whether the marquis has ever seen the real Ring and hence, would be able to tell the difference.”
Alden handed the fake ring to Caleb. “He’s quite accomplished, but I wager he’s only heard descriptions of the relic. ’Tis worth the attempt.”
Liam’s gaze remained locked on Solomon’s Ring. “How powerful is it?”
“Not as powerful as God, Liam,” Alden said pointedly. “And its power hails from the darkness.”
Ignoring Alden’s words, Liam’s green eyes glittered. “Are you taking it with you?”
Caleb shook his head. “Best to keep it safely locked up here should Montverre break his word and take me captive.”
“I’m going with you,” Alden announced, his tone brooking no argument.
“Nay.” Caleb slipped the fake ring into his pocket. “I must go alone. I cannot have her harmed.”
The door creaked open, and in swept Ayida, tray in hand, and a warm breeze in tow. The sound of a flute, the rap-tap of bones and spoons, along with a sailors’ ditty followed her in from above where the men were enjoying a night of revelry now that the repairs were completed.
The cook’s sharp gaze went from Caleb’s uneaten bowl of fish stew to him. “You can’t keep up your strength, Capitaine, if you don’t eat.”
“Not very hungry tonight, Ayida. Thank you.”
While she busied herself collecting his bowl and silverware, Caleb faced Liam. “Get above and ensure the men are behaving themselves and not overindulging. We may have only moments in which to weigh anchor and set sail.”
It all depended on how long it took the marquis to figure out the ring was a forgery.
Pulling his gaze from the artifact, Liam nodded and left, grumbling under his breath. Something Caleb was accustomed to with the Bosun.
Ayida began singing a song in her native tongue before hoisting her tray upon her shoulder and leaving.
A spike of unease traveled down Caleb’s spine.
Odd, that. He’d never sensed anything but kindness and gratefulness in the Creole, but Brandt’s warning rose to prick his suspicion, reminding him that he’d trusted a woman once. And paid for it dearly.
Alden arched a brow. “Faith now, too many people know about the Ring. Best hide it well.”
“Indeed.” Moving to his bookshelf, he pulled out a copy of The Practice of Piety by Lewis Bayly.
“No one will look in here.” Chuckling, he flipped it open, revealing a small leather box hidden in a cutout section in the middle of the book.
Handing it to Alden, he tugged off the Ring and set it inside the box, then closed it, and inserted the book back onto the shelf.
“You may be right about that.” Alden chuckled. “I don’t believe anyone aboard has the slightest interest in piety.”
The sound of shattered porcelain rang from outside the cabin door, drawing both their gazes. Moving toward it, Caleb swung it open. No one was there.
Nothing but the shard of a broken teacup teetering on the deck.
Caleb could not afford to make any more mistakes.
He must not fail. His life and the lives of Desi and his crew lay in the balance.
Hence, the reason he and Alden made their way to the old auction yard to survey the lay of the land, seeking out potential hiding places the marquis could use to ambush them.
Leaving the town behind, Caleb trudged up the winding path, hoisting the lantern above his head. Behind him, Alden’s bootsteps brought more comfort than he cared to admit. So much rode on the outcome of this night. Did Caleb trust God? Did he trust himself?
In the distance, moonlight cast long, spectral fingers over a raised stone platform. The slave auction. The hush of night pressed close about him, save for the rasp of crickets and slap of waves, and Caleb studied every shadow for lurking danger.
A sudden rustle of skirts drifted past his ears.
“I knew you’d come.” A figure stepped out from the shadows. Both Caleb and Alden drew their blades.
?
Ayida, a single candle in hand, crept down the companionway to the captain’s cabin.
She eased the door open and slipped inside.
The scent of sodden wood, aged parchment, whale oil, and musk swirled around her as the light from her candle shoved shadows aside.
She couldn’t help but grin. Setting down the candlestick, she moved to the bookshelf.
From her position outside the door, it had been far too easy to listen in on the captain and Alden’s conversation, to see through the slight opening where the captain had hidden the Ring.
Finally, she would have the old, powerful relic.
Pulling down the book, she opened it, found the hidden box and the Ring right where the good captain had placed it.
She held it up to the flickering light, admiring the fine jewel in the center and the etching along the sides.
The etchings moved, the words slithering like snakes.
Shaking her head, she blinked. They stopped.
The Ring grew warm, radiating a power she knew did not come from the light.
She could give this to that bèt Montverre as she’d vowed. Or she could keep it for herself, for her people. Shouldn’t something this powerful be in the hands of the oppressed and not the oppressors? Think of the good she could do. And Montverre would never know she’d found it.
Closing the book, she placed it back on the shelf, pocketed the Ring, grabbed the candle, and started for the door.
A hard object struck her from behind. Pain thundered through her skull. Before she fell to the deck, a green sash floated across her vision.