Preacher 26 Preacher's Frenzy by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 24

Water sloshed in Preacher’s face, filling his nose and mouth and making him sputter as he jerked his head up to get away from it. He got a bit of relief, but then the world shifted under him and the water washed over his head again. In addition to almost drowning him, the vile, oily, scummy taste of it gagged him and made his stomach wrench in protest. When he got his head above the surface, he spewed out what he had just swallowed. He tried to paw at his eyes and wipe the nasty stuff out of them, too, but he couldn’t raise either hand. As awareness and understanding began to seep back into his brain, he realized that his arms were pulled back painfully and his wrists were lashed together behind his back. He attempted to kick his feet and found that his ankles were bound, as well. He forced his eyes open and blinked them rapidly. After a few moments, his vision cleared, but he couldn’t see much. Thick shadows wrapped around him in the gloomy darkness. Here and there a thin shaft of brilliant sunlight slanted through the gloom. The light came in through cracks between the boards that formed his prison, wherever that might be. Gradually, as he twisted around and worked his way into a sitting position with his back braced against a slimy surface behind him, Preacher’s brain began to work again. He heard creaking and slapping sounds, and the water-covered surface on which he had been lying constantly tilted back and forth beneath him. The water was only a few inches deep, he saw as his eyes adjusted more to the poor light, but he had almost drowned in it anyway. He was in the hold of a ship, and based on what he was experiencing, it had to be at sea. It wasn’t Preacher’s first time on a seagoing vessel, but his experience in such matters was very limited. Luckily, he had a strong stomach, or he might already be heaving his guts out. It could still come to that, he thought. He shook his head to get his wet hair out of his eyes. If he had more trouble headed in his direction, as seemed likely, he wanted to be able to see it coming. As he sat there breathing hard, he thought about the dire situation and how he had come to be in it. The last thing he remembered before waking up with that bilgewater in his face was being in Simone LeCarde’s sitting room on the upstairs floor of the Catamount’s Den. Simone had honored her deal to protect Edmund Cornelius and Lucy Tarleton by getting rid of Preacher. She had claimed that she wasn’t going to kill him, and clearly, she hadn’t. But he was willing to bet he was no longer in New Orleans, just as she had said would be the case. The questions were, what ship was he on—and where was it bound? He listened and heard footsteps and voices overhead.

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