Page 38 of Of Might and Mettle

“And if he doesn’t?” James frowned.

Payton’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

James shrugged, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m just saying. If this guy”—he waved in Antonio’s direction—“was the one who stopped Thomas the first time, don’t you think he’d have planned for this again? The other guards and the king will listen to him. He wouldn’t have come for us alone.”

Payton scowled. “The steward said one of them got away in the courtyard, but he’s taking care of it with his men. The one who got loose was just a regular guard. No one will listen to him over a decorated soldier like our captain here.” He smirked.

Oh, you would be surprised.

The rest of their conversation was hidden from him, gusts of wind snagging the words from their lips and casting them far away from where Antonio could hear.

His mind whirled with all the ways he might be silenced—and any hope he had of getting free. With the dark sky, the black, churning waters, and his very real difficulty in swimming, they didn’t even have to tie him up for him to drown. They could just throw him over the railing, like James said.

He needed to convince them otherwise. But what could he offer these sailors that the Empire didn’t already? He was trapped.

Oh, Jesus, he prayed, get me out of this!

The two sailors neared, and he caught snippets of their conversation again.

“. . . do we really have to kill him?” James was saying with a grimace. “What if we just knock him out and take him with us?”

“You think he’ll make the three-week trip any easier?” Payton snapped. “You can be in charge of him if you want.”

James scowled. “Well, if you don’t want the responsibility, maybe you can just leave him on the other side of the island. He’ll never make it in time to warn anybody before we’re well on our way back to the Empire.”

“And let anyone find him and raise an alarm?” Payton scoffed. “Sir Thomas would end us both. And I value my family. Do you?”

“I do,” James snapped back.

“Then what’s your problem? It’s either his life or ours. I don’t like it more than you do, but it’s got to be done. Better now that the rain is coming in. You don’t have to watch.”

As if on cue, the dark storm clouds that had been chasing them opened, releasing a torrent of rain.

They cut the ropes tying Antonio to the mast. He jerked, reaching for Payton’s sword, but he was shoved back. Another crew member grabbed his other arm, and he was pinned as they dragged him toward the railing.

And then he was over.

Weightlessness lasted a second before cold water engulfed him. The currents swirled around him, and he was pushed by an undercurrent of a wave above him. Kicking and pumping, he fought for the surface, breaching the waves enough to catch a glimpse of the boat retreating farther away.

And turning around.

Panic sliced through him like a branding iron. He swam, fighting as much as he could, and with the rain blurring his vision, the Swordfish took a wide turn, avoiding him entirely. Maybe they thought he’d already drowned.

He would soon.

He wanted to believe he’d make it out of this, that somehow he would wake up on the riverbed, alive and breathing, like he had in the last rainstorm, but there was no ground beneath his feet now. And he didn’t even know the first way back to shore.

“God, save me!” he coughed, fighting for breath after another wave almost dragged him under.

Something slapped the water before him and he reached for it. Maybe it was a piece of seaweed or driftwood. His hands closed around a rope, and then it pulled taut.

He tried to yank himself closer to whatever vessel had tossed him the line, but a sudden swirl of current almost made him lose his grip entirely. He wrapped the rope around his wrists and let whoever it was on the other end—friend or foe—pull him steadily closer.

Then he gripped the edge of a rowboat, and arms yanked him up. He fell into the boat, sputtering and coughing as one man slapped his back, expelling water from his lungs. The second man sat before him, coiling up the rope.

“You’re under arrest,” he said. “If you cooperate, I might be able to lessen your sentence—”

Antonio glanced up at his savior and almost fell over again. “Passport guy?”