Prologue
Off the coast of Tintagel, England
Late November 1818
“Blackstone, give up, now. Your men have either perished, or they’ve been captured,” William said, thrusting his sword at the bald man in a skull cap in front of him.
“Never! This is only an imposition. There are more children where these came from,” the man taunted him. “So many children that I can fill ship after ship…”
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” William declared as he parried. “You’ve kidnapped your last child.” Blackstone’s mud-colored eyes stared back at him. “Admit it! Are you not the Pied Piper?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Blackstone said in a gravelly voice.
“We’ll find out soon enough. You’re under arrest for the attempted smuggling of these children.” Any man who stole children and sold them into slavery deserved no compassion. William thrust his sword at the enemy.
Blackstone blocked the strike, the two steel sabers clanging loudly against one another. William stepped back and thrust again.
Blackstone parried and thrust yet again, forcing William to dodge a swipe across his midsection. He noticed the man looking behind him before swinging his blade once more.
The storm raged, violently tossing the small smuggling vessel against the cresting waves, with massive sheets of water washing over the deck. William kept his feet planted on the deck, bracing himself whenever the ship climbed the waves.Rain pelted down as thunder and lightning crashed. Mentally, he tallied the children he had seen brought aboard. According to his count, his men should have transferred all the children to his vessel by now.
William and his men had been watching the man the man theythoughtwas the Pied Piper for almost a week, observing his movements and the number of girls and boys he’d kidnapped. But was he the Pied Piper? According to sources, Blackstone was planning to sell the children into slavery in the Ottoman Empire. Thirteen children had been stolen.
There was a special place in hell for people like Blackstone. William would see that the man found his way there.
A sudden wave swept over the ship’s side, washing a screaming Blackstone into the rough seas.
The skies grew dark, with lightning flashing to the left and right of the boat. William scanned the waves with his spyglass and spotted the smuggler bobbing in the water, frantically waving for help. Pulling off his jacket, William was readying to jump into the choppy waves to rescue the bastard when a child’s voice cried out from the depths of the deck. Stepping away from the railing of the boat, William spun around, listening for the faint voice again. It was windy and rainy, but there was no way he would leave one child behind.
“M-mama… P-papa…” the frail voice cried. “It’s m-me, Beth. P-please… help me… I want to go home.”
“Where are you, Beth?” William said, making his way along the deck, straining to see the child in the shadowed darkness. “My name is William. I’m here to help you.”
“I-I don’t know where I am… It’s so dark… I’m s-scared,” the little girl returned, louder but still somewhat muffled.
William kept moving along the rain-swept deck. “Keep talking to me, Beth, and I’ll find you. I promise I’ll take you home. Tell me about your mama and papa.” The voice soundedlike it was coming from farther away, where several barrels had been lashed together.
After a moment, the child began to talk. “Mama likes to sing when she braids my hair. Papa always says she sounds like an angel. Mama’s cheeks turn rosy when Papa says that, and then he kisses her on her rosy cheeks and that makes her giggle, and then I start giggling too and then we all giggle, even Papa…”
Smiling at the little girl’s sweet description of her parents, William was able to pinpoint her voice to one of the barrels. Sliding his dirk from his boot, he used it to pry off the lid, uncovering a small child of maybe four or five years squatting in the bottom, clutching a rag doll. He snatched her up and held her tight, bracing himself against the sway of the boat. “Beth, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” He hugged her tight as the little girl burst into tears.
“Are you William?”
“Yes, sweetheart. You are a very brave little girl.”
“I am?”
“Yes, indeed. I’m going to get you back home to your mama and papa, all right?”
She nodded, her wide, luminous eyes gazing up at him trustingly.
“Sweetheart… do you know your last—your other name?”
“Mama calls me Beth Ann Wilson wh-when I feed Whiskers from the breakfast table,” she whimpered, clutching her dolly.
“Beth, what’s your dolly’s name?” he asked gently.
The little girl glanced down at her doll. “Alice.”
