Call of the Raven by Wilbur Smith & Corban Addison

Author:Wilbur Smith & Corban Addison [Smith, Wilbur & Addison, Corban]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC000000 Fiction / General
Publisher: Zaffre

Tippoo arched his back and pulled on the oars. With his strength to power her, the little dinghy leaped through the placid water of Baltimore harbor like a mayfly. In the stern, Mungo watched the port glide by: the red brick warehouses that lined the wharves; the chandlers and dry docks and shipyards. Schooners and sloops flitted across the bay, while a squat paddle steamer chugged her way south. Beyond, the spires and civic monuments of the city rose above the skyline.

“If you are so rich now, why can you not pay someone else to row?” Tippoo said. He was teasing—he had barely broken a sweat.

Mungo laughed. “Because I have better things to spend my money on.”

He had remained in Richmond for a week after Rutherford’s death, just long enough to cash in his inheritance. He did not go to the funeral. He knew it would cause a minor scandal in Richmond society, but he did not care. He was never going back.

He returned to Baltimore and found Tippoo passed out drunk in a brothel, with three whores wondering how to shift him so that the next client could have use of the room. Mungo had helped move the giant to more salubrious accommodation. When he came round, Mungo told him what had happened in Richmond, and the fortune he had inherited.

Tippoo, who had never had more than a few dollars to his name, had taken the news pragmatically.

“You can buy me a drink,” was all he had said.

Now Tippoo leaned back on the oars. “When will you tell me why are we here?”

“There is something I want to show you.” Mungo looked ahead. “Steer right a little, toward those slips.”

“Sometimes I think you only like to watch me row,” Tippoo complained. “Do we go all the way to New Orleans?”

The smile faded from Mungo’s face as quickly as a cloud covering the sun.

“Not yet.”

For the last week, there had only been one thought in his head. Rutherford had helped Chester seize Windemere, disgrace Mungo, murder Oliver and Camilla. Now Rutherford had given Mungo the means to get his revenge.

A small steam launch powered past, not far off their starboard side. Black smoke belched from her funnel, and the clatter of her engine drowned out every other sound. She was an ugly vessel, Mungo thought, a bulldog among the clippers and schooners whose white sails graced the harbor like swans.

The launch’s bow wave rocked the little rowing boat.

“I have underestimated Chester at every turn,” Mungo said. “I will not make that mistake again.”

“Next time, take more guns,” said Tippoo.

“I cannot defeat him with brute force alone.”

All across the Atlantic and back on the Blackhawk, Mungo had had plenty of time to contemplate his revenge. A powerful man like Chester would be well protected—it would not be easy for Mungo to get close enough to put a bullet in him. And even if he could, that would not be enough.

He would repay his debt to Chester in full. Humiliate him, bankrupt him, reveal him to the world for the monster he was.

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