Inside, they discovered that Mr. Beddloe had overturned a stack of orange crates with his boot. Splintered wood lay in heaps and oranges rolled to the far reaches of the galley.
Upon seeing them, Beddloe let fly a long string of invectives in Italian.
“Mr. Beddloe,” announced Jason, “I see you’ve been busy. If you want an orange, all you need do is ask. This is my associate, Miss Isobel Tinker. How lucky for you that she’s come along; now we may come to terms in earnest. She speaks fluent Italian.”
Jason glanced at Isobel to confirm this and she rolled her eyes. To Beddloe, she rattled off some version of his introduction in slickly accented Italian.
“See? Better already,” said Jason. “Now, with a lady in our midst, it’s never been more important that you put forth your most gentlemanly behavior. She will translate, but she will not tolerate rudeness or disrespect. I will tolerate even less.”
Isobel translated with far less flourish—four or five words—and crossed to the snarling pirate, studying him. In more rapid Italian, she made some sort of invective followed by a handful of questions.
Beddloe answered with another round of surly profanity. Isobel made a face, shook her head in exasperation, and took a step back.
Jason moved around her and dropped down on one knee. “I’ll say this only once more, Beddloe. You will address the lady with respect.”
He reached behind the chair and gave the ropes a firm yank, tightening the binding at his wrists. The pirate snarled and exclaimed something in Italian.
Jason returned to Isobel’s side. “I hate interrogations,” he mumbled.
“He’s saying,” translated Isobel, “that he wants his money now.” She looked at Jason. “What money?”
Jason shrugged.
“He’s saying,” she said, “that you arepayinghimfor any information he may reveal.”
She looked back and forth between Jason and the bound pirate. “So you haven’t beaten him?”
“Beatenmay be a relative sort of term for what I’ve done. Perhaps a little? Although I allowed Shaw to do most of the work. Pirates must be convinced to leaveperfectly warm taverns and perfectly potent rum to be rowed offshore and tied up for questioning.”
Before she could respond, the pirate let forth another stream of angry Italian.
“What is he saying?” Jason asked.
Isobel looked back to the pirate, asked two questions in Italian, and listened to the spittle-punctuated reply.
To Jason, she said, “He says your cousin and his friends are surrounded by heavily armed guards on a barrier island off the southeast coast of Iceland. The island is a mile from the glacier caves, very remote, and difficult to navigate. Icebergs abound. He says rescuing them is out of the question, so make no attempt. He says the ransom demanded by his boss is the only way you’ll see the Englishmen safely returned.”
Jason let out a noise of frustration. Jokingly, he asked, “Should we ask him if Doucette accepts bank notes?”
Before she could answer, the pirate spoke again. His tone had changed, although still heavily laced with contempt. Beddloe sounded as if he had made some realization.
Isobel looked at the pirate. When she answered him, her Italian was slow enough for Jason to follow.
“Perhaps I am,” she told the pirate.“So?”
Now the pirate was off again, exclaiming in rapid-fire Italian. Jason was lost, but Isobel listened, stepping closer to look the man in the eye. Twice she held up a gloved hand and asked for clarification.
When their conversation was over, she turned to Jason. “This man has recognized me.”
“A former patron to Everland Travel, is he?” Jason teased.
“Very clever. No, a former, er,friendof Peter Boyd’s.Peter has been back to Iceland—the Vagns said this too. As late as last year.”
“Alright—so?” Of all the things Jason did not care to discuss, at the top of the list was Peter Bloody Boyd.
“Peter returned to ramble about the volcanoes and soak in the thermal pools. But the Vagns said he also spent time with the pirates, which Mr. Beddloe has just confirmed. He’s asking me where Peter can be found.”
The pirate and Isobel exchanged a few more lines in Italian.
