I watched with interest as the ship in the distance made its way towards us. The course it was taking was rather...unorthodox. A zigzag line bent by eighty-seven degrees wasn't something you got to see every day.

"Do ye think the captain of that ship enjoys a good cup of wine or ten occasionally?" one of the sailors whispered.

My stomach lurched.

"Please!" I moaned. "Don't mention wine. Or liquids. Or anything else food-related."

"That ship..." Mr Ambrose moved to my side, his eyes narrowing infinitesimally. "I very much doubt that wine, or any other kind of alcoholic drink, is the root of the problem. No sailor worth his salt would ever sail like this. Something seems fishy here."

"You...did you hear what I just said about not mentioning food?"

"But we do not really have to concern ourselves with this. We have bigger fish to fry."

This husband of mine was truly amazingly talented at listening to his wife, was he not? I was going to have to make very sure to show my gratitude during our honeymoon.

"Hm..." Eyes narrowing imperceptibly once again, "They've sped up. And they're truly heading this way. Seems like they are intent on pursuing us. But if they want anything from us, they will definitely eat humble pie and won't get away with paying peanuts. I won't let anyone take advantage of us and eat us out of house and home."

Grabbing the railing, I quickly leaned forward. "Bluuurgh! Grrg!"

"No need to bow to thank me. After all, you can be considered the apple of my eye."

"Bleeargh!"

By the time I resurfaced from beyond the railing once again, the ship had already gotten quite close to us. There were people scattered over the deck, some even hanging from the rigging. Dark-skinned people. Everybody was waving wildly, clearly trying to get our attention.

"Do you...still want to try...and avoid them?" I panted, clutching my stomach. I was tempted to ram an elbow into his, just to share some marital burdens—but I could not help notice how one of his arms lay around my shoulders, or how his other hand was holding my hair out of my face. I felt a tug at my heart.

Dammit! If he's being an arse, why does he have to be a bloody romantic arse?

"No. Not now." He shook his head, his expression as cool as a cucumber. "They're directly in our course now. If we try to avoid them, it would just waste more time than dealing with this. No use crying over spilled milk. With me here, dealing with whatever comes will be as easy as pie."

To hell with romance! I was going to get this bastard! Oh yes, I was really looking forward to our honeymoon nights. As soon as he was in my hands, I would...mwahahaha...

Insert cackling villainess rubbing her hands together.

"Ferguson!" Mr Ambrose barked. Apparently, he'd had enough of food metaphors for one day. "Telescope!"

A sailor rushed up to hand him the requested object and, lifting it to his eye, Mr Ambrose swept his gaze over the ship in the distance. His already stiff figure turned into ice on the spot.

"Mr Linton?"

"Yes?"

"Go below deck. Now!"

"And you think that commanding tone of yours is going to work on me why, exactly?"

Without a word, he handed me the telescope.

Raising it to my eye, I shifted the telescope until I'd found the ship, and saw...

Smoke.

Bullet holes.

Blood.

"Is that enough reason?" came his familiar cold voice from beyond my field of vision. "Go. Now!"

"Wait just a moment..." I held up my hand. "There's been a fight, yes. But it seems to be over. You see there, there, and there?" I pointed at different parts of the ship, where people were milling about. "They're all helping each other. The only thing they seem to be fighting with is the ship's rudder."

"Which is enough for me to send you down below." His voice came in a growl, like an overprotective lion chasing some dangerous ants away from the cave where his lady lion slept. What was up with him? Turning towards me, he gazed down at me, his eyes almost...desperate. "Just...go?"

How come he suddenly sounded so gentle?

"I'll take a few steps back," I agreed. "Just in case."

"Hm." He gave me a curt nod. "Adequate."

"Oh, it is, is it?"

"Indeed. I trust you."

Then turned his head to glance at Karim, and gave him a meaningful look. Immediately, the massive bodyguard moved to my side, placing his hand on the hilt of his sabre.

Oh yes, he trusted me. He definitely trusted me, the hypocritical bastard.

Yet...

Why was there suddenly a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth?

I didn't get the chance to answer that question before the crashing of waves and creaking of rigging interrupted my thoughts. A few moments later, a certain ship with tattered sails came into view off the starboard bow and came up alongside us. The ship's railing and sails were indeed riddled with bullet holes, but the ship itself seemed extremely elegant and luxurious. Golden ornaments, brightly coloured sails emblazoned with noble crests and insignias, tall deck structures made from expensive tropical woods...

It didn't escape my attention that, despite the scorch marks and bullet holes, this thing would make a far better honeymoon cruise ship than ours. The several dozen black men and women spread over the deck, however, didn't seem to have had a pleasant honeymoon, to put it mildly. Nearly fifty people in ragged clothes were scattered all over the place, milling about uncertainly, their eyes fixed on us with a mixture of uncertainty and fear. And not all of it seemed to come from facing Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

"Who are you?" Mr Ambrose demanded, letting his gaze sweep across the motley crew. "What do you want from us?"

It was left unsaid that, if his questions were to be left unanswered, the big man with the beard and turban beside my dear husband would be getting some cannon-aiming practice.

The dark-skinned crew on the other ship exchanged looks, then huddled together, whispering in some language I didn't know. Which, considering my proficiency of cursing in English, Spanish, Portuguese and French was saying quite something. Finally, they shoved forward an unfortunate sacrificial victim, who started speaking in broken English.

"We...um...we slaves. Taken from...from..." He scratched his head, helplessly. Apparently, he didn't know the English name for his birthplace. Perhaps it didn't even have one. In the end, he simply gestured to the southeast.

"Some place in Africa," Mr Ambrose made the obvious deduction. "They were most likely taken straight from their homes. But there only very few countries left that still openly practice the slave trade. Who..."

He glanced up to the other ship's mast, and I followed suit, trying to make out the flag that hung there. Yet nothing but tatters and rags remained.

Instantly, he refocused his cold gaze on the unfortunate translator. "Who took you? Who did you escape from?"

"Spain. We caught by Spain."

Others might not have noticed it, but I had been following this man around for years now, and had gotten the chance to get a, ehem....quite closely inspect his face. It was easy for me to spot the miniscule twitch of a muscle in his cheek.

"Spain? Hm. So it's the Spaniards, is it? Interesting. Very interesting indeed." Mr Ambrose's cold gaze bored into the poor translator. "I gather you managed to overpower your masters?"

"Fought them!" The man nodded proudly. "Won! Most gone. Rest locked up in ship belly."

"Indeed?" Head slightly cocked, Mr Ambrose stroked his chiselled chin. "Just out of curiosity, what are their names?"

The man looked back helplessly, then shrugged. "Not know. Just know they important. Silk clothes. Gold. Jewels. Much important."

"Indeed?" Mr Ambrose repeated, his eyes sparkling like the aforementioned jewels. Yet I somehow got the impression said jewels were not the reason he was still focused intently on that ship. If they were, he would already have traded the services of a navigator for all the shiny trinkets, banknotes and gold tooth fillings of the ship's unfortunate passengers. Instead, he still stood there.

Talking.

Something was definitely up.

"So," he spoke, his face betraying not even a hint of what was going on in his head. "I repeat, what do you want? Why did you stop us?"

The black man shifted uncomfortably. "We...no know the way. Must reach. Some place...no slaves. Please."

"Well..." Once again, Mr Rikkard Ambrose stroked his chin, actually managing to convey a troubled expression without moving a single muscle in his face. "I would very much like to help, but I'm afraid it will be problematic. I am nothing but a humble ship captain, charged by my employer with the timely delivery of my cargo. I fear that if I cause delays by helping you, my superior will punish me harshly."

"Pffft!" I managed to slap a hand over my mouth just in time to stifle the burst of laughter that threatened to bubble up.

"There, you see?" With a sombre face, Mr Rikkard Ambrose turned towards me. "Already my superior can hardly contain his anger." Then he turned towards me and bowed. "I beg you, Sir, please forgive this unworthy fool. I know my charitable heart is not good for business, but I cannot help myself."

My jaw nearly hit the floor. How...when...where...and most of all, what the hell?

"But," he continued, turning back to the translator, not giving him or me the chance to say a word, "if I could prove to my employer that we would not be losing out due to helping you, that there would be some profit, I would be more than delighted to render my aid."

The sly bastard. So this was what he was up to. Profiteering, while simultaneously portraying himself as the good guy for whatever nefarious end he was pursuing? Oh, I...I was going to...

...be able to do absolutely nothing.

Crap!

Sneaky ice-cold son of a bachelor! The way he'd set things up, all I could do was go along with the charade. However...

That didn't mean I couldn't have fun doing it, did it?

"Buffoon!" I barked, and, stepping forward, slapped the back of Mr Rikkard Ambrose's head. "You're already wasting my time and money again? We're on a schedule! Don't you remember what I always tell you? Knowledge is power is time is money!"

Then I slapped the back of his head again, just for shits and giggles, almost sending his beloved top hat sailing into the sea.

Very, very slowly Mr Rikkard Ambrose turned to focus his icy eyes upon me. "Yes, Sir. I'm so sorry, sir. I'm in the wrong, sir."

It was quite fortunate the crew of the other ship could not see Mr Ambrose's face right now. I, on the other hand, felt quite fortunate to be able to see it. Firstly, because he looked like he was about to eat me alive, and secondly...

Duh.

It was Rikkard Ambrose's face. I had married the man for a reason.

"Harrumph!" Raising my chin, I gave him a Don't-you-dare-disobey-me-minion look. "Well, you'd better remember that! You'll have plenty of opportunity to show proper remorse later. For now, see what you can squeeze out of these people. We have lost enough time already."

"Yes, Sir! Right away, Sir!" Bowing stiffly, he turned, and I, in keeping with the play, marched away across the deck. Yet the moment I had vanished behind a stack of crates, I stopped—and nearly collapsed from an acute attack of the giggles. Holy frigging fruit bat crap! That was amazing!

Trying to suppress my urge to fall over laughing, I clamped a hand over my mouth and leaned closer to the edge of the pile of crates, listening intently. From not so far away, Mr Ambrose's dulcet tones floated towards me.

"You see what I must deal with on a daily basis?" the voice of my poor, pitiful, hounded employee came from around the corner. "I truly want to help you from the bottom of my heart. But with this employer breathing down my neck..."

Behind the stack of crates, I grinned.

Just you wait, my minion! Once I get my hands on you, what I'm going to do with your neck will have little to do with breathing.

"Please!" I heard the translator's voice, almost begging now. "We need help! We not know where go! We not know how move ship! If spainish men catch up..."

Carefully, I pulled myself up the side of the pile of crates until I could peek over the top. Mr Ambrose, the master of magnanimity and charitableness, stood at the railing in a regretful pose. A short distance away was the translator, wringing his hands, an anxious expression on his face.

"What can we do? Please! We do anything you want!"

I felt the urge to slam my head against the crate.

You poor fool. Poor, poor fool.

Any moment...

Any moment now...

"How much money do you have?"

Bingo!

"We...we slaves. Just escape. We no have money."

"Gold? Jewels? Credit from a respectable bank?"

I hid my face in my hands. But I kept a crack between two fingers open, unable to resist the temptation to watch the unfolding disaster.

"No! We slaves! We not have anything, except clothes and ship we stand on."

"Hm..." A pair of cold eyes, suddenly thoughtful, were drawn to the luxurious, six-masted ship that on its bow proclaimed Tesoro de España. Treasure of Spain, if I wasn't mistaken. A contemplative sparkle appeared in his eyes, like the sun reflected by a mountain of gold. "So you have nothing but this ship...?"

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My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

Mr Rikkard Ambrose at his best! I hope you enjoyed his most magnanimous display of generosity ;)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob