Ocean Without End by Kelly Gardiner

cheeky. Probably some Santa Lucia tart, that’s all.’
    Stay calm, I told myself. Keep that anger tight and cold.
    But he knew, that corsair. He cast a quick glance at my clenched fists and turned away.
    Then, in an instant, I knew the name of this Barbary captain. I drew the secret from somewhere deep within me: the whispered name of every mother’s fear. Hussein Reis. The Irish Arab. The fair-haired captain turned Turk, they said, and grown rich on the slavery route. One of the so-called renegades — European sailors who sailed in the fleet of the Ottoman Empire. Hussein Reis, captor of innocents, pillager of fishing towns and cathedrals alike. He showed no pity, never dispensed the mercy of Allah.
    What did Hussein Reis want with Santa Lucia?
    I felt as if we were fixed in time, the three of us,suspended in amber like insects, in that stifling cabin. I waited for an eternity while Diablo studied the chart once more and mumbled to himself.
    Every so often he shot a question at me. How high was the cliff around Isola di Bravo? Could it be climbed? Was there a ledge inside the grotto? How could I be sure?
    Hussein Reis stared out the cabin window, as if surveying the coast. He was still staring, unsurprised, when the cry came from above.
    â€˜Sail ho!’
    â€˜Hell!’ cried Diablo, scrambling to his feet. ‘Clear for action!’ he shouted as he ran from the cabin. ‘Weigh anchor!’
    There was a huge commotion on deck. I stayed where I was. So did Hussein Reis. I didn’t dare move until he did. Finally, he sighed. ‘What’s your name, child?’
    His eyes caught a reflection from the water outside the window.
    â€˜It’s Lily, sir.’
    â€˜Lily? And your father’s name?’
    I gulped. ‘I don’t really know, sir.’
    He looked away again. ‘I see. Well, Lily, it seems like we’re in for a scrap here, so you get yourself somewhere safe.’
    â€˜Yes, sir.’
    â€˜Oh and … Lily?’
    I said nothing.
    â€˜You are right. It’s a fool’s errand looking for treasure in the Golden Grotto. Don’t tell Diablo that — it only makes him angry. Let him search in vain ifhe must. But remember, should you need to, you can dive as deep as you like in the grotto, and you will find safety.’
    â€˜Yes, sir.’
    I bobbed a curtsy, as best I knew how, and backed out of the room. What an odd man.
    The ship was in uproar, with men running everywhere and carpenters clearing for action while gun crews ran out the cannon. The galley was chaotic, as Cook tried to douse the fires and stow his gear all at once.
    â€˜That’s all we need,’ he moaned. ‘One moment it’s bleedin’ dinner guests, and then it’s a naval patrol.’
    I helped him batten down until he ordered me away to check on the livestock. On deck, the captain’s voice was getting louder and louder as the crew scrambled to get some sail up, anything to get us out of the cove and into clear water. The sleek Arab taridha was already beyond the headland, oars striking the water in unison, its vast lateen sail catching the light breeze. At the tiller was the slender figure of Hussein Reis, in his blue robes, one arm raised in farewell to Gisella .
    On the horizon were three ships on the hunt, perhaps for us — Spanish or French navy. Had they even sighted our masts against the coast? I said a silent prayer that we might be caught, swiftly and with no mercy.
    The crew had some sail aloft, although not enough to make us too visible. Gisella lurched suddenly as the wind caught the canvas, though the boys were still groaning at the capstan, straining to bring theanchor to the surface. At last, with a final push on the spokes, they had the anchor free of the water and ready to be lashed down.
    Another cry from above: ‘Rocks! Away on the bow!’
    A few of the men up on the yards were shouting down to us and pointing. I ran to