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  “You did not answer my question,” he said, pushing the blade of the dagger against Oliver’s throat.

  The dagger, pressed hard against his flesh, made Oliver stiffen again. “I thought I could be o’ better use to Miss Riley by yer side.”

  “And again you thought wrong.” He shoved the boy from him.

  Oliver fell to his knees but quickly spun around to face him. “I feel real bad about leavin’ Miss Riley alone in that ally, and fully realize because I did, ’tis all my fault she’s been captured. Now, I need to set things right. I ’ave to ’elp ye save ’er.”

  “Well, you got that right, you should have stayed with her,” he spat, narrowing his eyes. “But now I will have to watch out for you, when I need all my focus to save Riley.”

  Oliver stood. “I’m not a babe in nappies, ye know. I can watch out for myself. Always ’ave. Nay a soul ’as ever coddled me. I’m smart, quite fast, know ’ow to fight, and I’m...”

  “As stubborn as a mule. And you continue to make unwise decisions.” He shook his head. “No wonder Addie is inclined to beat you.”

  Oliver raised a defiant chin. “Let’s get this beatin’ over and done with now so I won’t ’ave to ’ear another word.” He walked over to a stack of lumber and turned his back to Gabriel. Then he undid his britches and slipped them down to his ankles. “Take one o’ those small boards and do what ye must,” he said, bending over the wood.

  “I will not do this now,” he said, replacing the dagger in his boot.

  “Aye, ye will,” Oliver challenged.

  Gabriel stifled a smile as he looked down upon the bare, pale, and pimpled backside before him. “Dress yourself, boy,” he said, making his tone far angrier than he really felt. “I think anticipating your punishment will be far more deserving for your actions.”

  Oliver straightened himself to a standing position and pulled up his britches. “I was afraid ye were goin’ say that.”

  They caught their balance as the steamer lurched forward. He arched a brow. “Well, obviously I am stuck with you now.”

  Oliver smiled. “Aye, sir, that ye are.”

  Gabriel motioned to his surroundings. “Well, help me see what we have here while there’s still a bit of light from that window.”

  Oliver investigated the chamber. “I found a lanthorn that might be o’ some ’elp when it gets dark.”

  “You mean a lantern,” he said.

  “Nay, sir,” Oliver protested, raising the lighting device for Gabriel to see. “This is a lanthorn. The side panels are made o’ animal horn rather than glass.”

  He took the odd lantern. “I have never seen this type of light.”

  “Ye don’t much anymore,” Oliver explained. “They were used long ago. I remember my grandpapa ’ad one like it once.” He smiled. “If ye ’ave a way to light it, we wouldn’t ’ave to sit in the dark.”

  “The light shining beneath the door would draw attention to us,” he warned. “So acquaint yourself with what is here now, while we still can see what lies around us.”

  “I’ve found a bucket, and a rather large one at that. Should be good for usin’ as a privy when the need comes,” Oliver said. His stomach rumbled, and he placed a hand on his abdomen. “Sure ’ave a hunger.”

  “Well, it is your fault you will be missing the pea soup and roasted fowl Addie plans to prepare for dinner,” he said.

  Oliver swallowed hard. “Aye, ’tis a shame we’ll be missin’ such a delicious meal.” He glanced around at the room’s boxed inventory. “Think there’s somethin’ to eat in any o’ these crates?”

  “So far I’ve only found them filled with firewater and weapons,” Gabriel said.

  Oliver frowned. “Are ye speakin’ o’ spirits?”

  He nodded, then narrowed his eyes when Oliver’s face brightened. “And do not be getting any ideas. Drinking the firewater will fill an empty night, but not a hungry stomach. Besides, I thought you were here to help?”

  Oliver squared his shoulders. “I am, just thought it wouldn’t ’urt to warm our innards a bit, is all.”

  “A man cannot think or act with any real usefulness under such influence. So, our innards will have to stay cold.”

  “Perhaps then I might secure a weapon?” Oliver queried. “If I’m to be of any real ’elp, I’ll need at least a dagger.”

  “You might be right on that account.” He walked over to a crate and pushed aside a loose slat, then reached into the storage bin for a slim, stout-handled dagger. Handing the blade to Oliver, he said, “Keep it in your boot, sharp-edge to the back of your heel, and handle within easy grasp.”

  Oliver hid the blade as he was instructed. “What do ye think they’re goin’ to do with the rest o’ them?”

  “Sell them, trade them, whatever brings them a heftier profit,” he explained.

  “What would serve these scoundrels right is if we threw all o’ these weapons overboard,” Oliver commented. “What a commotion that would cause findin’ the crates empty.” Then his brows rose. “But it could be the ruckus we need in order to escape the boat.”

  “That would only cause them to search for the culprit who rid them of their stash, and instead of a diversion, they would form a hunt.” Gabriel paced in thought. “But I think your idea has merit, Oliver.” He gazed up at the portal. “If we pile a few crates atop each other, I will be able to reach the window. One by one, you could hand me a weapon, and we could empty the contents of only two crates.”

  Oliver frowned. “And wouldn’t two empty crates still ’ave them ’unting us down?”

  “Not if they did not find them empty,” he said.

  Oliver’s frown deepened. “And what would fill them if we rid the crates o’ the weapons?”

  “We would,” he said.

  Oliver scratched his head. “It seems I’ve missed somethin’ ’ere.”

  “Have you never heard the story of the Trojan horse?” He took a seat upon one of the crates.

  “The Trojan what?” Oliver said.

  “The Trojan horse,” he repeated.

  “Nay, I’ve not ’eard it told,” Oliver said, taking a seat upon the floor.

  Gabriel could not help but compare Oliver’s eager attention to that of his own. His people were excellent storytellers. Telling a tale or recounting an event around a fire pit was the main source of entertainment after a meal or just before bedtime. He would sit beside his father, looking at him just as Oliver was doing now, and waited with anticipation for the story to unfold. His mother, flanked by both his sisters, would add a word here or a comment there to make the story more exciting and meaningful. How he missed seeing their faces, hearing their voices, or the wide-eyed looks and laughter shared around the wickiup after the conclusion of a good story.

  And then suddenly his thoughts shifted from the days that were to a scene that confused him, as he saw himself with a child upon his knee. He was telling a story to the youngster, who sprouted a crown of dark hair resembling his own. The boy’s eyes were emerald in color, round and inquisitive, like Riley’s. And then, as he peered into his thoughts further, he saw her sitting beside him, her slim waist now swollen with child...his child. She was smiling as she watched him and the boy, her gaze tender and content. The connection felt as strong as the one he shared with Riley at the morning meal.

  He swallowed hard. Never did his mind send him such an image, not even when he was about to marry Fire Star. Could the vision be something he received from the spirits of his ancestors? Many times warriors in his tribe spoke of such things, vision quests they were called, guiding the warrior down the path he should take. But his path was not meant to tread beside Riley. He was needed home...where the Apache people lived. He had to release them from the white agents clutches and influence, make them once more an independent nation.

  “Will ye tell it, then, this Trojan horse story, or leave me to always wonder?” Oliver complained, bringing him back from his ponderings.

  He shook his head to clear it
from the intuition that unexpectedly autographed itself on his heart and started the tale. “It was a story my mother learned from her mother and passed it down to me and my sisters, about a war, fought thousands of years ago, between the Greeks and the citizens of a place called Troy.”

  “What were the two sides warrin’ over?”

  “The same reasons most wars are fought, out of greed for wealth, land, and power,” he said, thinking of how the white agents stole and plundered all the Apache owned or held dear...their traditions and pride as well. “The Greek’s leader, a man named Odysseus, wanted to conquer the city of Troy, but the Trojans had built such a mighty fortress for protection, infiltrating the walls became impossible. So, Odysseus came up with a plan.”

  Oliver crossed his arms across his chest. “And how is a plan made by men thousands o’ years ago goin’ to ’elp us today?”

  Gabriel frowned. “Well if you sit quietly and listen, you will learn.” He cleared his throat and continued. “Odysseus ordered a large wooden horse to be built with its belly hollowed out. Then a number of Greek warriors, Odysseus included, climbed into the horse. The rest of the Greek fleet sailed away to make the Trojans believe they had retreated, and the citizens of Troy were victorious.”

  “So the Trojans let their guard down?”

  “Well, not at first, but then they met up with Sinon,” Gabriel explained further. “Sinon was the one man the Greeks purposely left behind. So when the Trojans came out to marvel at such a large creation, Sinon pretended to be at odds with the Greeks. He led the Trojans to believe he had been deserted. Then he assured them the large wooden horse was safe and would bring them good luck.”

  Oliver snickered. “What gullible chaps these Trojans were.”

  “Well, keep in mind, they believed the Greeks had sailed away.”

  “Aye, ’tis the truth,” Oliver agreed.

  “The Trojans dragged the wooden horse inside the gates of Troy and celebrated their victory over the Greeks,” he went on. “But later that night after most of the Trojans were asleep or drunk, Sinon let the Greek warriors hiding in the horse’s belly out, and they slaughtered all the citizens of Troy.”

  “’Twas a clever ploy the Greek warriors came up with.”

  He smiled. “And there is no reason why we cannot do the same.”

  Oliver’s face brightened. “Do ye mean to say, after we empty two crates, we will each climb into one?”

  He nodded. “That is exactly the plan.”

  “Then we’ll be carried right into the Sea Patrol’s camp by their very own men,” Oliver concluded.

  Gabriel chuckled lightly. “And they will be none the wiser, my friend...none whatsoever.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The storage cabin was dark. The wooden floor beneath them creaked as the steamer rocked to and fro over the rough river waters. Gabriel could hear Oliver’s breath becoming labored as he lay beside him. While they worked, throwing the contents of two crates overboard, Oliver was occupied enough not to grow sick from the rise and fall of the voyage. But now as they rested and waited for the time to come when they would each have to hide in an empty crate, things were much different.

  If only Lady Abbott were on board, as she was when he and his sister traveled by ocean to England from America, to give out peppermint sticks or brew a cup of ginger tea. Both remedies helped Sunny endure a journey on the waters. He was sure it could help Oliver as well. But since such a hope was not available, Gabriel thought of another way to ease the sick stomach of the boy gasping beside him.

  “Detach your brain from what ails your body, Oliver,” he offered.

  Oliver gagged and then choked out, “Oh, aye, and ’ow is that possible?”

  “More possible then you would believe,” Gabriel said. “I have done it many times, as well as other warriors in my tribe. It is part of our training, and it serves us well.”

  “Then tell me quickly what I must do before I lose what little I ’ave in my stomach,” Oliver moaned.

  Bad enough the shipmates would find the bucket full, but finding the contents of Oliver’s stomach all over the cabin floor could really cause suspicion. Besides, smelling such a stench would get his stomach heaving as well. “Focus your thoughts on a time or place that made you happy...perhaps something you did that you enjoyed,” he explained. “Then bring the scene into the center of your vision. Now listen for the sounds and inhale the smells you experienced while you were there, and try to experience them again.”

  “Aye, I know of one...’twas when my mum was still alive, and she baked dumplin’s just for me, for my tenth birthday. She ’ad them ready and waitin’ for me on the kitchen’s table, the room delicious with the smells o’ ’er cookin, mingled with the scent o’ lavender she always wore. I got a whiff o’ the sweet aroma when Mum bent down to kiss my forehead. ’Twas a happy moment, with Mum singin’ as she worked.”

  Gabriel smiled. “And how many dumplings did you eat?”

  “The lot o’ them, I believe,” Oliver remembered. “Never could I get enough, as they’d melt in my mouth before I could begin to chew.”

  “What did your kitchen look like?”

  “’Twas just a simple room, actually. A large fireplace covered one wall, and Mum’s large, cast iron pot ’ung on a ’ook over the flames.” Oliver’s breathing eased as he explained. “Mum always kept a clean ’ouse, well-scrubbed and orderly. She worked from sun up ’til sun down makin’ sure all was right. We didn’t ’ave a lot, but she made curtains for the windows and always ’ad a vase o’ flowers on the table. ’Twas a good time; one I regularly miss.”

  “It sounds wonderful, as being with those you love so often is,” he said.

  “Aye, but then it ’urts something fierce when ye lose it all,” Oliver said. “When all ye ’ad is just in yer ’ead.”

  “Would you sooner not have those memories,” Gabriel said.

  “Nay, I am glad for them, even if sometimes they ’urt to think about. There’s still somethin’ about bein’ able to call upon them when ye need comfortin’ that makes them worth knowin’.”

  “Like now,” he said.

  “Aye, like now,” Oliver agreed.

  “So, how is your stomach feeling?”

  “ ’Tis feelin’ much better. Yer mind trainin’ ’as really worked.”

  Gabriel chuckled lightly. “Did you doubt me?”

  “Nay, I can see ye are a wise man, and I trust ye, but I ’ave wondered about one thing.”

  “What would that be?”

  Oliver cleared his throat. “I understand why it wouldn’t ’ave been a good plan to storm out and attack the scoundrels as they loaded the trunk into the wagon. And I know we ’ave to bide our time, find where they’re ’oldin’ Lady Wellington so we can put an end to all this.”

  “But...”

  Oliver finished Gabriel’s refrain. “But what ’arm can it do to find where Miss Riley’s being kept and let ’er know we’re ’ere to ’elp ’er?”

  “More harm than any good could come out of such a move, I am afraid,” he cautioned.

  “Why do ye say that, sir?”

  He turned to face Oliver, although in the dark he could not see the boy’s face. “Do you know the lay of the ship like the back of your hand so you could duck out of view should a ship mate appear?”

  “Nay, never ’ave I been on this ship, or any other in my life,” Oliver confessed.

  “Well, then, there lies the first problem. The second lies in the fact we have absolutely no idea where the trunk has been placed. For all we know, it could be in the captain’s quarters.”

  “Aye, it could be at that,” Oliver agreed. He then took an audible breath. “I just feel sittin’ ’ere in the dark, ready to lose whatever’s still in my stomach, is a sorry way to be ’elping Miss Riley.”

  “Did you ever hear of the Chiricahau Apaches, Oliver?”

  “Nay, sir.”

  “They were a ruthless bunch, robbing other tribes of their food and wo
men, as well as the white man. We were blamed and persecuted for the many things this tribe did. One day, when I was just a baby, the Chiricahua captured my mother,” he said.

  “Blimy, mate, what did yer people do?”

  “It was my father, Proud Eagle, who headed the rescue, coming upon their camp a mile away from our village. He found her stripped and staked out.” He remembered the pain in his father’s eyes while he told the story. Even decades later, the fear and rage Proud Eagle experienced had not calmed. Gabriel cleared his throat of his emotion and continued. “You can imagine how my father felt...how any man would feel, seeing his woman humiliated and frightened in such a way.”

  “Aye, ’tis a madman I’d be for sure,” Oliver whispered.

  “But being a madman would have only gotten my father, the men who fought beside him, and my mother tortured and killed. The instant he lost his mind, made an unwise move, would be the end of them all, forever,” he explained.

  “Aye, but ’twould be so ’ard not to want to just run in fightin’,” Oliver said.

  “Better to sneak in with a plan, Oliver, and come out walking.”

  “So, ’ow did yer father save yer mum?” Oliver probed.

  “Proud Eagle and his men hid in the brush until the Chiricahua bedded down on their blankets for the night, then they crept in and slit the enemy’s throats as they slept,” he said. “If a plan had not been hatched and carried out, the time to strike done at the most opportune moment, the night would not have ended with my father as the victor.”

  Oliver swallowed hard. “I see now what ye’re sayin’, but do ye think we’ll ’ave to do the same, then?”

  “In a real sense we are at war with these men, Oliver. There may not be an army of men against the ranks of another troop or big guns and other such weapons, but these men are the enemy and have taken what is ours. It is our right to fight them to get it back. If it comes to fatal blows, I can do it. For Riley’s sake, I will do it.” He sharpened his voice. “Can you?”

  Oliver’s voice trembled. “I can, if need be...for Miss Riley.”