In The Wreckage: A Tale of Two Brothers by Simon J. Townley Page A

as he could, calling out Faro’s name. Then Jonah’s name.  
    The men surrounding them fell quiet. A moment of silence hung over the town. Then a shout, from streets away, a deep-throated roar that could only come from a bear of a man. A man who spent his life shouting over the top of a North Sea gale.  
    Jonah had heard him. Jonah was on his way.  
    The men around them melted into the stones and wood of the town, into the rocks and trees that surrounded the settlement, gone faster and more silently than they’d appeared. Jonah roared again, calling Conall’s name. This time Erica answered, shouting out their position.  
    Jonah and half a dozen of his men rounded a corner, Faro among them. Jonah held his cane in his left hand, a sword in the right. Conall realised the cane concealed the sword. That’s why he carried it, yet never needed it to walk. The man looked vulnerable but he was always armed.  
    Conall stood proud, his knife drawn. He’d screamed for help, but been willing to fight. He’d show Jonah he’d been true, he’d been a man, ready to defend the captain’s wife, to do right by the ship.  
    Then Erica ran her hands through his hair, kissed his cheek like a mother might, and told him to put the knife away. He scowled at her, but she didn’t see. Jonah reached them and pounded Conall on the back with his bear fist, knocking him off balance. “Don’t be roaming through quiet parts of town. Sure I said that, somewhere,” Jonah said. “Come on, Mrs Hudson, let’s get you back to The Arkady . Captain’ll be worried.”  
    The sailor scurried to gather up the flowers he’d scattered into the road. Erica insisted she was unharmed. She’d get on with her shopping, she said. But Jonah would hear none of it. He and his sailors escorted them back to the ship, left them there, with strict orders not to set foot on land again without a proper escort. By which he meant him and all his men. Erica protested, knowing Jonah Argent couldn’t give her orders, but he meant well by it, only wanted to protect her, so she did what he said.  
    News travels fast on a sail ship, and Heather ran to her mother, Rufus snapping at her heels. Conall scooped the animal into his arms and held him close, burying his face in the terrier’s fur, losing himself in the familiar, comforting smell of dog.  
    Jonah emerged from below deck with three handguns. Conall had never seen a gun for real, only in books, and he stared, opened mouthed. Jonah tucked one gun into his waistband, handed another to ‘Bones’ Bagatt. The second mate was on watch, responsible for keeping the ship secure. “We’ll take no chances,” Jonah told the crew as he readied them to set off into town to search for the captain.  
    Conall waited until Jonah was alone for a moment, no one else close to hear. “Who were those men? They weren’t like the rest of the townsfolk.”  
    “There’s always bad ‘uns. Everywhere you go. Always been true that,” Jonah said. “Men that look out only for themselves. Lot of it around.” He leant down, whispered. “Fine looking woman, Mrs Hudson. Fetch a deal of money, in certain parts, if you know what I mean.”  
    “Slavers?”  
    “Worst kind. You keep watch on this deck, you understand. And keep the girl below. Out of sight.” Conall glanced towards Heather. “Tell her to stay hidden. And she’s not to set foot on shore.”  
    “You tell her” Conall said. “I’m not allowed to talk to her. Captain’s orders.”  
    Jonah clipped Conall around the ear, but the blow didn’t hurt. “I’ve seen you talk to her.” The man grinned like a wolf about to rip open its prey, a silver tooth glinting at the back of his mouth, then roared for his men and was off down the gangplank, his cane clomping as he went.  
    Conall put Rufus into Heather’s arms, his hand accidentally brushing her breast beneath her blouse. He felt his face redden. “Thanks for looking after him.”  
    “It’s all