“You...” began Elora, as she prepared to hurl herself at Reuben but was pinned down by Pinky’s hand at her throat, completely encircling her neck, the finger and thumb touching.
Reuben remained calm, still training his gun on Nat. Elora wanted to rip that infuriating smile off his face.
“Your name?” He turned to Nat, pleasantly.
“Nathaniel Delamere,” Nat stammered through gritted teeth.
Reuben relayed the information over the phone and waited for a response.
“OK ... No, we won’t ... You’ve got the coordinates. There’s a big field adjacent to the canal, one of my men will meet you on the bank ... OK, see you in forty minutes.” Slipping the phone back into his pocket, he sat back against the door. He gave Pinky a curt nod and Elora felt the meaty hand release from her neck.
“You didn’t need to shoot him,” she blurted out as she slipped to the floor to inspect her uncle’s leg.
The bullet had entered the outer edge of Nat’s left shin, grazing his tibia and ripping a deep gash into his flesh. Mercifully it had missed the main artery. The copper smell of blood blended with the cordite that filled the room. Nat must be in excruciating pain yet didn’t make a sound.
Reuben chuckled. “You’re right. I didn’t need to do it. Same as I don’t need him to live. He’s of no interest to Silk, so...” He flicked his silver coin into the air. “Heads he lives, tails he dies.”
“No!” Elora yelled. For the first time since the thugs came aboard she felt blind panic. Reuben caught the coin and held it palm-out for her to see. It was heads.
“Best of three?” asked Reuben as he tossed the coin again, a smirk forming on his face. He caught the coin but held it in his fist.
“It’s not up to fate if you keep flicking your coin until you get the result you want,” Elora argued, eyeing his gun hand and wondering if she could reach it before he had time to react. She guessed she wouldn’t.
“True. So maybe I’ll keep playing until you behave. Now sit down,” he demanded, shoving the coin back in his pocket.
Elora thought fast. Reuben was going to kill Nat anyway. So why delay unless he wanted to placate her? She decided to do as he said but would need to come up with a plan in the next forty minutes.
Sitting next to her uncle, she leant down and placed a hand over his wound. “This needs a bandage and antiseptic, probably stitches too,” she said tersely, searching for the bullet and seeing that it had disappeared into the sofa.
“I need a tall Scotch, ice and a nice Cuban but it isn’t on the cards.”
Elora was silent as she sat beside her uncle. He squeezed her leg reassuringly, yet she guessed he knew as well as she did that his chances were not good.
“Whose Silk?” asked Nat, frowning towards their captor.
Reuben remained silent as he took the coin from his pocket once again and gave it a flick. He caught it and glanced at the result. “Just a man, a very rich man who wants this little girl.” He waved the gun in the direction of Elora. “Don’t know why. Don’t really care. If he’s paying, he can have who he wants.”
“So, you’re mercenaries?” Nat asked.
“I prefer ‘contractors’. It sounds more professional.”
“But why her? She’s done nothing wrong.”
“Mine’s not to reason why. But it’s got something to do with what she was singing. Or how she sung it. I’ve spent the last six months hanging around this city, waiting and searching for a girl who could sing the way she did. To be honest, I thought I was wasting my time. Silk didn’t give me a description, only said to hang about until I heard something special. That I’d know it when I heard it. I thought he was a bit crackers - he’s a bit strange anyway - but the money was good, and the job was easy. But after hearing her yesterday...” He gave a satisfied whistle. “Well, that was something special.”
Hearing his words, Elora burned with shame. This was her fault. If she hadn’t sung that damned song, none of this would be happening. She was about to plead to Reuben to let her uncle go, it wasn’t his fault, but Nat spoke before she had the chance.
“Please. You can’t let him take her. There’s a lot more at stake here than you think.”
“I’ve been doing contracts for quite a while now. Always get my mark, never fail. It wouldn’t look good if I didn’t deliver the goods now would it?” Then changing the subject, he turned to his over-sized companion.
“Is it me or is it getting darker in here?”
“The lights are powered from the battery,” offered Elora. “If the engine’s not running, the battery won’t charge. There’s an oil lamp over there.” She nodded towards the bookshelf. An idea was forming in her mind. She only hoped Nat would pick up on it. After all, fire was an element.
Reuben indicated for Pinky to light it and Elora watched his gorilla-like hands fumble with the glass cylinder, making the lamp seem delicate. Twice he came close to dropping it but eventually the room began to fill with a warm glow. Pinky smiled to himself as if he’d achieved some exceptionally hard task. Elora tapped her uncle’s knee and subtly inclined her head towards the lamp. Nat’s eyes narrowed to slits. He had got the message.
“You going to rustle me up a cup of tea while we wait?” Reuben asked, flicking his coin repeatedly. Elora wanted to shove that coin down his throat.
“No, she stays with me,” said Nat forcefully, laying a hand on her lap to still her as she began to rise.
She thought she could have been more help from the kitchen, maybe come at them with a frying pan or knife but her uncle had placed his hand on her knee. He wanted her where she was.
“I’ll make you a cup of tea, alright. How many spits do you want with that, two?”
Reuben chuckled. “No, it’s fine. I can wait until you’re gone then make a cup of tea myself before I torch your boat.”
Elora wanted to say something clever but couldn’t at that moment think of anything. Next to her, her uncle had already begun to hum a tune under his breath.
“What’s he doing?” asked Reuben, amused. Elora didn’t reply. She was getting a strange sensation from her leg, beneath where Nat’s hand was placed. She turned to him, but his eyes were closed tight, his brow creased in concentration. The feeling in her leg was similar to what she felt in her stomach when she sang the song that had got her into this mess in the first place. A crackling sensation, like static that pulsed through her body in time with her heart beat. She realised Nat was drawing energy from her, like a torch pulling volts from a battery. He may have been weakened from his injury and needed her for the magic but as the room suddenly brightened she realised that he had something else planned. She needed to distract Reuben.
“That’s an interesting tattoo your bitch has got on his face. A fist? What does it mean, that he’s a knucklehead or something?”
Reuben grinned, but it was Pinky who replied.
“Sometimes I can’t make up my mind if I want to punch somebody or put the nut on them.” His voice was deep and throaty with the hint of a Scottish accent. “But with this...” He pointed to the tattoo on his forehead, “I get to do both.”
Suddenly, a bright flash exploded from the lamp and Pinky fell to his knees, cracking the polished floorboards and sending a jolt through the Molly that ran from stem to stern. His big hands were rubbing at flames that suddenly sprouted from his scalp, even though there was nothing for them to burn upon. He screamed as he patted frantically at the top of his head.
