Page 39 of Escaping Pirates (Legends of Neverland #4)

T he late-afternoon sun beat down on my face and neck. The crew had quickly lost interest in me and had gone back to their regular duties.

With each of the ship’s rocking motions, the ropes cut into my skin with renewed vigor. The thin layer of tar coating the ropes amplified the daytime heat and made my cuts sting and smart, and the sweat clinging to my eyelashes caused my vision to blur.

As the Kraken’s Revenge came within hailing range, I felt Gil brush up behind me. She leaned in to whisper, “Hold still. Work on those ropes fast.”

I felt something cold and sharp slip between my palm and the rope, wrapped in a scrap of cloth so it wouldn’t cut me until I needed it. Glass, by the feel of it. Smooth on one edge, jagged on the other.

I blinked once, the only thanks I could manage before Gil was gone as quickly as she’d come.

The ropes bit into my wrists, coarse and tight, each twist perfectly placed to hold firm.

The stupid bounty hunter really was too good at knots.

The shard of glass was warm now, nestled between my palm and the thick rope, sticky with sweat and already slick along the sharp edge.

I shifted my fingers, curling them just enough to find the edge again.

A thin, clean cut sliced open the pad of my middle finger.

I gritted my teeth and forced the pain down.

I didn’t have time for pain. I didn’t have time for sawing through these impossibly tough ropes.

Ahead, the Kraken’s Revenge was drawing closer, its black sails blotting out the horizon.

Somewhere on board, hopefully, was Harlan.

I didn’t allow myself to think about a situation in which Harlan was already…

He had to be alive. He just had to be.

My jaw ached from how tightly I clenched it. My back was damp with perspiration, though the flecks of ocean water and the constant breeze should have cooled me. I shifted the glass again and began to saw.

The first few movements were clumsy and the angle was all wrong. If only I could see what I was doing! I couldn’t even feel exactly where the rope began and my skin ended. The shard scraped across the hemp, catching, then slipped with a stinging slice against my palm.

I stifled a cry.

The rope was thicker than I’d thought, tight with salt, tar, and time at sea. It had swollen slightly from sea spray, making it even tougher to cut. I twisted my hands, adjusted my grip, and pulled the shard taut against one of the fibers. A few strands gave way with a frayed snap.

It was working.

Slowly.

Too slowly.

The ships were nearly side by side now, the Fortune Hunter brushed up next to the Kraken’s Revenge . Orders were shouted deck to deck and there was the heavy thud of gangplanks being readied.

I didn’t have enough time.

My breaths became shorter and shallower, my movements more frantic and haphazard, resulting in several more slashes to my fingers and hands as I continued to hack away at the ropes. I ignored the new cuts. There was no time to feel pain or think.

Pirates were already crossing over to Harsh’s ship from Tyrone’s.

Where was Harlan? The ship was near enough that I could make out faces, but none were of the man I loved.

Spots popped into existence in my vision and my pulse raced.

I strained against the ropes, but they were still too tough for me to break, even sawed halfway through.

“Harlan,” I whispered in a choked voice.

Tyrone was buckling on his sword, smiling smugly as he watched me pull at the bonds that kept me tied to the mast.

“Ooooh, Blossom, look! Isn’t that Scurvyella?” Sugar’s sycophantic voice triggered a surge of strength, and I managed to hack through another fiber in the rope. How I wished that I could take her voice and sink it to the bottom of the ocean so I never had to listen to another syllable ever again.

Blossom laughed. “I think it is! I thought she drowned ages ago. Looks like she would have done better to stay here. We should call her Tar-ella now!”

The girls walked away with linked arms, laughing to themselves. If Harlan wasn’t with them, he must be in his cell—if he wasn’t already…

I wrenched so hard against the ropes that my shoulder nearly dislocated. I had to get over there, I had to. Even though I had no plan, no fighting skills…I had to do something before Tyrone got to Harlan first. I had to warn Harlan .

Gil bobbed past me, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. “Captain!” she called. “Can I carry something for you? Or I could take the helm if you’re going to be away! Or I could take over the crates you wanted loaded…”

“Just take the crates, Gil,” Tyrone said dismissively. “Put them wherever Harsh wants.”

“Aye, aye, Captain!” Gil said, beaming ear to ear. “My privilege! I’ll get them now! I’m stronger now, you know…” her chatter faded into the background as she picked up a small crate and tottered across the gangplank to the Kraken’s Revenge .

Tyrone didn’t spare Gil a second glance but took a long time to appraise me. I stopped my sawing motions and concealed the glass in my palm as he slowly walked over to me and put his hand on the mast above my head so he could lean in close to whisper in my ear.

“I’m glad you’re here to watch this,” he said softly. “Now pay attention and know that you caused this. He’ll be dead before dawn. I’m going to enjoy this.”

He pivoted on his heel and marched away, headed toward the gangplank as the sun’s final rays cast one last beam of light upward and then faded.

My time was up.

The shard of glass slipped again, slicing a thin line across my thumb. Blood smeared the hemp, making my fingers slip. I sucked in a breath, pressed harder, carving the edge with slow, careful determination. Please, please let the deepening darkness hide my actions from the crew.

Another strand popped.

My wrists were raw where the ropes rubbed with every movement, but I kept going.

The glass was nearly impossible to grip between my bloody fingers, and I had to wedge it between my thumb and forefinger and drag it like a saw against the same weakened spot.

I focused on the sound, not the creak of the gangplank or the sea below, but the tiny rasp of glass against rope, working at it bit by bit.

And all the while, I thought of Harlan. I couldn’t lose him. Not like this. But even if I could get to Harlan, what then? I couldn’t take on two full pirate crews; no one could. I needed Korth’s navy, but how to alert him?

Another strand gave way.

Harsh stood on his own deck, shouting orders, all the while waving to his brother as Tyrone walked across the plank. Lanterns were lit along the deck, casting long, eerie shadows of the crew’s movements over everything, undulating like snakes slithering across the pirate ship.

The rope was almost sliced through. I could feel the slack growing with every careful draw of the glass.

I paused to flex my fingers, the blood sticky between them. My breath came in shallow gasps, my arms aching from being held in place too long and my shoulders screaming.

Gil had vanished into the crew crowding the other deck. Had she gone for Harlan?

Please , I prayed. Let her find him. Let her get to him before Tyrone does. Before Harsh realizes what’s going on. Before it’s too late.

There was another rasp from the rope and I felt it give.

I was able to move my wrists—just an inch or two, but I could move them.

Tyrone was talking to Harsh, head inclined, and he gestured toward where I was bound to the mast. Harsh nodded and beckoned for Steele to come over, then gave him a muttered order.

I started sawing faster.

My hands shook, but I didn’t stop. I wouldn’t. I gritted my teeth and pulled, each tug slicing another layer of rope .

Then—

Snap.

The final strand tore loose.

My hands flew apart. I gasped, nearly dropping the glass.

Steele had returned, holding a long, slim black case that was barely visible from all the lantern light. He opened the case to display the contents to Tyrone and revealed…

Flares.