She ate breakfast with the larboard watch and went below to pet the goats, only to learn they’d been “hired out as landscape contractors,” as Bos’n put it. They were happily grazing in one of the terraced gardens near the river, accompanied by Big Jim. He and the goats would be retrieved just before the ship set sail.
Jonesy had gone to oversee delivery of the horses and their supplies. Bos’n was overseeing the preparations in the center hold and ensuring the crates of wine that had been delivered when they’d first arrived were securely stowed elsewhere. Of Nick there was no sign. Even Oscar the cat was gone. He’d seen a rat climbing up the mooring rope and gone hunting. The rose bushes were on deck, getting sun by the windlass.
Harriet was at the rail admiring the hillside that rose up beyond the river, committing every detail of Portugal to memory and wondering what to do with herself, when Zach climbed up from the hatch.
“Good morning, m’dear,” he said, joining her at the rail. “I was thinking of going to the market.” He pointed to a spot up the hill. “I hear there are more shops here per square mile than on Bond Street. Care to join me to investigate that claim?”
She grinned in delight. “I’d love to!” She quickly retrieved her leather purse, tucking it securely inside her shirt on its long strap around her neck, and followed Zach ashore. He aborted his instinctual gesture to offer his arm, and instead patted her shoulder.
The open-air market was a cacophony of sound, color, and scent. Vendors under canvas shelters and open tables offered everything from hot pies, fruit, and other grocery items to small tools, clothes, blankets, and other textiles.
“If Caroline is going to receive a lace mantilla, I think I’ll get something similar for her sisters,” Zach said. He examined the tortoiseshell combs and other hair accessories, asking Harriet’s advice, and eventually picked out a brush and mirror set, a colorful shawl, and two distinctly different combs. He tucked his purchases into a linen sack that he pulled from a coat pocket.
At another merchant, he bought a curry comb and other tools he’d need to care for his stallion and Tesoro on the voyage home and tucked those in the linen bag, too. The ship already had a pitchfork and other big tools on board for cleaning up after the goats.
Harriet was loath to spend any money but couldn’t resist bringing home souvenirs from her adventure. She bought a simple tall comb and lace mantilla set for Mama, in a lovely shade of lavender given that she still wore half mourning. At the next booth was a display of knives and small leather goods. She perused the knives, thinking of Gabriel. She liked one with a large bone handle that was long enough to wear in a scabbard. “This looks like the knife Jack showed me that he’d carved,” she told Zach, pointing to it.
Zach looked shocked. “He showed you his knife with the naked women?”
She frowned, trying to recall the details. “The carving was of a mermaid. I think her breasts were covered by seashells.”
“Never mind. I must be thinking of a different knife.” In Spanish, he inquired the price from the shopkeeper, a woman about the age of Harriet’s mother, with graying hair peeking out from her colorful headscarf.
Oh. It was much higher than she’d thought. With the modest budget she’d set, she’d have almost nothing left to buy anything for herself. She picked out a small folding knife instead that was half the price.
As she pulled her purse out, a large hand reached in front of her, grabbed her purse, and the thief took off running.
Chapter 20
The thief had gone only gone a couple of steps when Harriet’s brain caught up with what had happened, and she instinctively gave chase. The crowd of shoppers in the market slowed his escape and she was able to catch up before he’d gone far.
He was tall and broad, much bigger than her younger brother, so she decided her only chance was to take him out at the knees.
She dove, wrapping her arms around his legs, and he went down hard on the cobblestone street. He rolled over and she scrambled to straddle his thighs, making sure to hook the tops of her feet over his shins so he couldn’t buck her off. His neck was too thick to wrap her hand around, so she rested the heel of her hand just below his Adam’s apple as she reached between his legs with her other hand until she felt soft flesh, and squeezed.
In the act of swinging his fist at her, he yelped and froze.
“Thief,” she ground out. “Give me back my purse!”
He had the dark hair, brown eyes, and olive complexion of the local men, and not much older than herself. He easily outweighed her by double. She focused on the anger in his eyes and tried to ignore the long scar that sliced one side of his face from cheekbone to mouth that bespoke a dangerous life, or the fresh abrasion on his chin she’d just caused.
Through the coarse wool of his trousers, she got a tighter grip on his family jewels. “Give!”
His eyes widened. “Desculpa!” he said, his voice strained. “Peço desculpa!”
She didn’t break eye contact with him, but from the edges of her vision saw people gathering around them.
“He says he’s sorry,” came Zach’s amused voice from behind her left shoulder.
“Tell him to give back what he stole.”
Zach briefly addressed the thief.
The thief’s hands had been out to his side, but he slowly moved one toward his coat pocket. She tightened her fingers another fraction.
“Aqui!” His voice rose an octave. He reached in his coat pocket and retrieved three purses, one in floral silk brocade, one in ivory muslin embroidered with grapes and vines, and Harriet’s plain leather drawstring pouch, and dropped them on the ground. “Está aqui o que roubei!”
“Here’s what he took,” Zach quietly translated.
