The Queen Enslaved by Peter Meredith

Author:Peter Meredith [Meredith, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-01-29T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

After the explosion, Neil never lost consciousness; instead he experienced the passage of time much as he had the night before while floating in the harbor. He saw smoke and shouts and people going every which way. Someone tripped over him and shrieked in a high voice.

There were also threats and fights and more than one gun was pointed.

He sat up almost in the middle of it all, with his head feeling like it had grown to twice its original size.

“That’s the spy!” someone bawled and now guns were pointed at Neil. “That’s the guy who blew-up McCartt.”

“Huh?” He touched his head and found that not only was he bleeding, he had a hunk of wood stuck in his skull. That was far more alarming than being accused of something he didn’t do. “It wasn’t me. Say, how big is this?” Gingerly, he touched the end of the wood. His hands were numb as if he’d been sitting on them. This would’ve been indicative of traumatic brain injury; however, they’d been numb for days now.

One of the Magnum Killers peered down at him. “Kinda big.” Although this ranked low on the helpfulness scale, at least he wasn’t waving a gun in Neil’s face.

“Don’t talk to him,” his accuser cried, wild-eyed, and pointing a revolver. To Neil the gun looked like a gleaming smile; his eyes weren’t focusing that well. The man behind the gun was somewhat russet in color; his beard and hair that is. His clothes were a mismatch of blue jeans, camo shirt and black jacket. “Tell me, freak, who sent you? Was it Gunner? Was it the Queen? Was it the Captain?” His name was Emanuel Powers, but he hadn’t had the guts to ever use his first name around the Corsairs. Everyone knew him as Powers. He liked that.

“No one sent me. I fell off the boat last night is all. Really, if I was going to explode a bomb, would I do it while I was standing fifteen feet away? It wasn’t me. It was one of you, and it had to be the Captain behind it. He has spies everywhere.”

They all knew this and yet hearing it aloud, caused eyes to shift back and forth, and now more guns were being raised.

“Does anyone have a mirror?” Neil asked. It was almost as if the hunk of wood was messing with his reception. Everything seemed foggy. “Or a bathroom? Anyone know where the bathroom is?”

“You’re not going anywhere.” The gun was closer now but was still only a blur of iron. “No one is, not until we figure out who did this. I think we should tie this guy up and beat a confession out of him. Who’s with me?”

Half the hands in the room went up which was something of a math problem for Neil. Did that mean half of everyone wanted to torture him, or did everyone want to torture him but only raised one hand apiece? It was an equation that was beyond him.

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