It was like a vision of heaven, thought Kitty, as she watched the city of Barcelona unfold from distant smudge to clear definition over a period of an hour or so. She knew that Captain Prince had business here in the rookeries of the Raval district, and she also knew that this might be her best chance of escaping his maddening personal and sexual despotism and living her own life, however hazardous.
She had a pair of britches and a promise of a rowing boat from Tom; she had a bag of cunningly compiled treasures from the Captain's cabin, and she had picked up a couple of names of gem dealers from conversations she had overheard between Prince and his first mate. She had an opportunity. She was going to take it.
"So here we are, my dear," purred the Captain, standing behind her as she leant over the bulwarks, drinking in the scene. "One of the busiest sea ports on the Meditteranean, and an excellent place to do business. You know, I may even take you out to dinner in one of the fine seafood restaurants on the shore. Would you like that, my lady? You can wear the emeralds."
"That would be most pleasant, Captain," gushed Kitty, who had played the part of submissive mistress to perfection over the past fortnight. The Captain had been suspicious of her sweet passivity at first, but had soon grown accustomed to her demeanour and taken full advantage of it.
"Good," he said, dropping a kiss of approval on to the top of her head. "I'll go and give the order to weigh anchor. I suggest you go inside and prepare for lunch."
Kitty watched the Captain stride off to shout orders and rubbed her small hands together gleefully. Her moment had come. She raced inside the cabin and donned the britches and peaked cap Tom had stuffed inside her pillowslip. Then she took the pillowslip itself and stuffed an assortment of fine jewellery, plate and tobacco inside, tying it tight with cord and slinging it over her shoulder. She paused only for a second or two, to check her appearance in the glass and rectify any traces of over-femininity. No, she would do.
Her heart was lodged inconveniently in her throat and pulsing fit to disable her breathing as she skirted the cabin around to the aft of the boat, away from all the action.
"Tom!" she hailed the young man, who was hopping about in an agony of fear, holding on to a thick rope that dangled over the side of the vessel, down to a waiting rowing boat.
"Please be quick!" he pleaded, his voice cracking. "They'll be back here in ten minutes or so."
"Sure you won't come with me?" asked Kitty with an enticing wink, but Tom shook his head.
"The Captain will take it out on my family. I can't risk it."
Kitty shinned spryly down the rope and dropped into the boat. She had only rowed in a leisurely fashion on the lake in the grounds of Templecombe before and hoped she would have enough command of the oars to get to the quayside before she was reported missing. It was a long shot. But she thought it was worth it.
Her arms ached grievously, and she was tempted to throw the oars aside and just drift numerous times...but each time she looked back at the proud silhouette of the Occidental Orchid and was spurred on by vivid imaginings of exactly how the Captain would repay her disobedience. Half an hour later, exhausted and with limp arms, she dragged herself up the stone steps to the harbourside, gripping on to her pillowcase of riches for grim death and looking about the hurlyburly for a way out to the city.
Before she had even penetrated the thick wall of maritime humanity, an ill-favoured and unkempt man had sidled up alongside her and asked, "You come from Captain Prince? He send you?"
Kitty stared at him, calculating the most strategic reply to make. While her brain was ticking over, he spoke again.
"I am Paco; I can take you to Martinez. He want to see what you have; he very look forward to see your treasures. He can pay many moneys."
That made Kitty's decision for her. One thing she had to organise straight away was finance. Martinez was obviously somebody who had done business with the Captain in the past, and if she could pass herself off as his emissary, she could earn herself some easy money.
"Yes," barked Kitty with ersatz gruffness. "Prince sent me. He would have come himself but he's laid up with...scurvy."
"This way, Sir," bowed Paco obsequiously, ushering Kitty away past the hoiking and hollering of the quayside, past the feverish industry of the boatyards and into the walled city, through teeming slums by the side of the docks. Kitty craned her neck up to catch a glimpse of sky between the sheer faces of the buildings lining the dank alleyways up which they scurried. She could not help but feel vulnerable in the midst of such grinding poverty, knowing that her backpack contained enough to feed these waifs for the rest of their lives. The stench of disease flowed out of each doorway and over the cobbles, even emanating from the skirts of the dockside whores, a few of whom made suggestions to Kitty that she fortunately could not interpret.
After a number of twists and turns, Paco led Kitty through a blank doorway and down a dark staircase to a basement room lit by a couple of gaslamps and no daylight. He rattled off a rapid succession of sentences in a language Kitty did not understand – she did not even think it was Spanish – and a man emerged from the gloom, smiling sinisterly.
"Hello," he said in strongly accented English. "I was expecting your Captain. Who are you? You are from the Occidental Orchid, yes?"
"Yes," confirmed Kitty, suddenly overwhelmed with fear. What on earth was she doing? These were not people to be trifled with. Surely they would work out that she was just a clueless girl and leave her for dead in this murky underground cavern. She fought back an urge to start crying and said, "My name is Tom. Captain Prince sent me; he is unwell. I have many treasures for you to look at."
The man stepped further into the flickering light and Kitty began to discern his features. He was quite tall for a Spaniard, of a lean, hard build with hawkishly sharp features. His brown eyes were alert, his lips thin and cruel and he sported three earrings in his left lobe. On his right forearm Kitty noticed a tattoo of an eagle flying amongst the whipcord tendons.
"You are just a boy," objected Martinez. "Prince would not insult me by having me do business with children."
"I am not a child," asserted Kitty. "Please let me show you what I have."
Martinez nodded and gestured for Paco to bring Kitty a chair. "I have cognac," he offered. "And cigars. Even opium, if you like that."
"Oh...no, not for me. I would like some wine, perhaps?" Even as she said it, Kitty bit her tongue. Now of all times she needed a clear head.
"Muy bien. Paco! Wine!"
Kitty sat down and faced Martinez fiercely.
"Well, then, niño, show me what you have," murmured the Spaniard.
Kitty emptied her sack on to his table. He raised an eyebrow and made little crooning sounds in the back of his throat that frightened Kitty far more than anything he could have said.
"This is nice," he said. "Very nice. But Prince mentioned more. Why is he holding back? Where is the rest?"
"He wanted to bring the rest in person. He will be well again soon. Two, three days. Can you wait or would you like me to bring it myself?" The confidence in Kitty's tone was very far from heartfelt. She felt as if she had jumped ship at midnight and was floundering in dark, shark-infested seas with no hope of finding a way out.
"I prefer not to wait," hissed Martinez, clearly insulted for some reason. "I will tell you what, boy. I keep this here until you show up with the rest. Not a peseta will change hands today. You bring me the other things tomorrow without fail or I keep this as a free gift. Prince needs my goodwill more than I need his, you understand?"
Kitty leapt up, alarm etched across her face. "No!" she cried, and Martinez stood opposite her, drawing a blade from somewhere. Oh Christ. She could not fight him; she had no weapon and he would work out that she was a girl. Bloody hell, what now?
"I need money now," she told him desperately. "I have stolen this from Prince – there is no more. Give me what it's worth and I'll....be very grateful."
Martinez chuckled slowly and not at all reassuringly. "A little thief," he said throatily. "Even more reason why I should not give you anything. Captain Prince would not appreciate that, would he? And I value his trade."
Kitty scooped an armful of the best pieces up from the table and hurtled at full pelt towards the door, having no idea how she would deal with Paco when she got there, but giving it a game go all the same. In two strides, Martinez had caught up with her and crooked a steely arm around her throat, his blade touching her skin while his other hand pinioned her upper arm painfully. She screamed piercingly and he almost dropped the knife.
"You aren't a boy, are you?" he exclaimed, his voice exultant.
"I've told her before, she makes a very unconvincing male," drawled a familiar voice from the foot of the stairs. Seconds later the imposing figure of Captain Prince filled the doorframe.
Kitty did not know whether to laugh or cry. Despite the mocking curl of his lip in a feline smile, it was clear from his eyes that he was furious with her. Her shoulders slumped and she stared at the floor. Martinez took the knife from her throat and let her flop listlessly forward.
"Captain!" he exclaimed, clapping Prince on the shoulder and kissing both cheeks. Prince did not return the gesture, but took Martinez's hand firmly in his and greeted him with apparent warmth.
"Please accept my apologies for the inconvenience this silly girl has put you to," he said to Martinez, who shrugged in an open, villains-together gesture of forgiveness.
"It was no trouble; just a little amusement to pass a dull day," grinned his Spanish counterpart. "Now I look at her properly, I see she is very pretty. I wish I'd worked it out sooner..."
Prince's smile became a little less genuine then faded altogether.
"Please stay and eat with me," invited Martinez. "Paco! Go up to Xavier's and get me a zarzuela sent over. I need the good sherry too." Paco loped off up the stairs. "I always think you should mix business with pleasure." At the word 'pleasure' a lingering look was directed at Kitty, who maintained her stiff, petrified stance.
"There is certainly business to be done," nodded the Captain. Clapping Kitty on the shoulder he ordered her to stand facing the wall until he was ready to deal with her. Kitty shuffled over and faced the cold tiles that lined the room, crossing her fingers that nothing too appalling awaited her in the line of punishment. A faint hope, she had to admit.
Agonising scenarios played a continuous shadow-theatre in her head while she stood vaguely listening to the men talk commerce. After half an hour or so of haggling and discussion of the easiest fleets to rob, a delicious smell of cooked fish wafted over and she knew that the food had arrived. She heard the uncorking of bottles and glugging of liquid, the clashing of cutlery. She realised in a rush that she was very, very hungry, but had been too wound up with adrenaline and terror to acknowledge it. She longed for a bowl of the seafood stew and her hopes picked themselves out of the trench where they had been languishing when Martinez said, "We have plenty – perhaps the girl could take a bowl with us?"
But the Captain kicked them back down with a terse, "I think not; she is to stand there and contemplate her fate until I am ready."
