The note was from Simon, who had arrived at the townhouse with the rest of their family just in time to receive a bedraggled, sceptical boy from whom he eventually coaxed one very important detail: the Spanish women were at the docks. Vincent discovered this only once he'd followed Thomas into the carriage with a deep frown, and the man had all but tossed the note in his direction. It was read and absorbed in a silence that neither man was willing to break.
As the carriage jolted over the cobbled streets, rage roared in Thomas' chest, the subject of his ire switching intermittently. The note would grab his attention and he would loathe his father and the abhorrent things the man would do for more money and more power. The note from the docks was a relief â there was a real chance they might rescue the women â but also strangely thrilling. He'd been waiting his whole life to avenge the sins of his family, and here he finally had the opportunity.
In the corner of his eye, he saw Vincent shift in the corner. His hand lifted, his mouth opened...
Thomas cut him off. "Not now, Vincent."
And with that, his fury changed focus to the man sitting opposite him blinking rapidly into the tension. The man he loved who had told him to hide himself away. If he reached beyond the anger in that moment, deep down beneath it, he might have found a bruised, aching heart that wished their conversation had never happened. So he did not reach.
Settling down further in his seat, Thomas folded his arms across his chest and stared at the seat before him. He was also insulted by Vincent's claim that he 'protected' the man! By asking Miss Clark to dance, he had thought only to spare Vincent discomfort â he had not intended it to be a dire insult to the man's character! He'd spotted her approach across the room and thought that Vincent couldn't ha-
That he could not handle it by himself.
Thankfully, the carriage jolted to a halt, pulling Thomas out of the way of any feelings of guilt and back into urgent anger where he belonged. He pushed open the door and leapt own onto the footpath, taking the stairs to the Humphrey townhouse two at a time. The butler was clearly expecting them â the door already held ajar â and before Thomas could ask, he was gestured to the study.
Jack was standing in the centre of the room, lanky and filthy, but with his chin held high as he surveyed the three men in front of him. Simon sat behind the desk, smiling comfortingly; Bart watched sceptically from across the room, leaning against a book shelf that didn't quite look like it could support his weight; and Matt lounged in an armchair, surprisingly without a drin-
No, never mind, Thomas spotted it on the table beside him.
The Humphreys did not hold his attention for long, however, and he quickly moved to Jack's side.
"You bring news, Jack?"
There was a fleeting shine of recognition, but Jack's serious stare remained otherwise unchanged as he turned his attention to Thomas. "Ay, we seen the women you wanted word of."
Thomas tried to keep his eagerness at bay. "How many?"
"'Bout a dozen?"
In other circumstances, he might have let out a whoop of joy. Instead, he clapped the boy on the shoulder. "Very well done, Jack. We'll get you some food, and perhaps a coat?" He glanced at Simon, briefly wondering if the man minded him giving orders in his home. The eldest Humphrey simply dipped his head to indicate the doorway, where a maid already waited.
She shepherded the boy out quickly.
"We've found them," Thomas declared into the waiting silence, hoping he imagined the tremble on his voice. He took a seat, perched on the edge of an armchair, just in case his legs were quivering too. He was filled with relief, like a wet cloth set across his chest, but there was also urgency; the women were still far from safe.
"Now what?" This, of course, from Matt, whose raised eyebrow felt like a personal attack.
Thomas was on his feet again before he knew it. "We go to them!"
If he'd been expecting a roar of support, he was left wanting. Instead there was silence again, interrupted only be the ticking of the clock on the mantle. With every second it counted, Thomas felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention, warning him that the longer they waited, the more they risked.
"I do not think that's wise, Thomas." Simon's tone was gentle and emphatic, but Thomas still glared at him. "What will we do once we reach the ship? I doubt they'd let us aboard if we asked politely."
Matt grinned, his eyes glinting through the whisps of brown hair that shaded them. "Then maybe we should not ask their permission!"
The man seemed satisfied when his elder brother shook his head, a weary sigh breaking free. "It's hardly wise to commit a crime to prove a crime, Matt. I'm sure Vincent would agree with me there."
Thomas tensed at the reminder of Vincent's presence. The man had drifted around the edge of the room, taking up a position opposite Thomas with his back against the wall. He was, of course, frowning. After a moment, he opened his mouth to comment, but the conversation had moved past him.
"How long do we have?" Bart asked glancing at the old clock on the mantle, a deep frown creasing his brow. "Do we have time for this conversation?"
"We cannot charge in without a plan," Simon reasoned, his tone even as ever.
Bart acknowledged this with a dip of his head, and it was Matt who seemed unconvinced. "What about if we charge in once we have a smidgen of a plan. It wouldn't do to work so hard on our attire only to miss the party completely!"
Thomas agreed, nodding firmly.
"The..."
"Perhaps we should send for the constable?" Simon shrugged lightly, leaning back in his chair to consider, whilst his youngest brother was already shaking his head.
"Would we really put it past Thorne to bribe a few constables? We need someone with more authority!"
Whilst Thomas didn't disagree, he couldn't help the frustration that bubbled up inside him. The longer they stood here, the greater the risk that his family would escape unscathed.
"If..."
"We can hardly wait on an audience with the Queen, Matthew."
And the most irritating part of all of this way Vincent, standing halfway across the room, trying to speak, and being wholly ignored by his family. Despite Thomas' current anger with the man, he could not deny his brilliance. If they had a chance, it would be with Vincent's plan.
"I was hardly suggesting that Bart, but it's nice to know how imbecilic you think me."
Thomas caught himself as his mouth opened, about to interrupt and order their attention to Vincent. His jaw snapped closed so quickly he felt it reverberate through his teeth. If the man did not want to be rescued then he could very well fend for himself! Even if delaying further felt like he was being boiled from the inside out.
"This is no time for one of your tantrums, Matthew."
Matt let out a huff, settling back in the chair more forcefully. He held his brother's gaze as he downed the last of his drink.
Perhaps they were all too concerned with Matthew's behaviour to hear Vincent's soft, "Excuse me..."
Bart's gaze was narrowed on Matt. "You're a damn-"
"Excuse me!"
For the first time in his life, Vincent was grateful when the attention of the room snapped to him, but that did not mean he was entirely prepared. He took a slow breath, gathering his sentences, and preparing-
"Vincent, is now the time-"
"Uh!" Bart was clearly surprised to be cut off by the sharp, unforgiving grunt, even more so to see Vincent's hands fly up to the level of his face, fingers spread as if he hoped to hold the room in place. He took another slow breath, slowly lowering his hands back to his sides.
"This, at its core," he said, steady and even, "is a legal matter. Slavery is not legal in England." He did not feel the need to add that it was also not technically illegal, either. He felt Thomas' eyes boring into the side of his face, but he didn't dare look. "That's not... I..." A quick huff of air and an internal resolution to continue. "We have moral objections, but that is not how we win this fight against the duke of Thorne."
The room accepted that slowly, each mulling over his words in their own way. Eventually Bart pushed himself away from the bookcase he leant against, folding his arms across his broad chest.
"Then how?"
"The magistrate." Vincent had expected more of a reaction, but he would make do with squints of confusion and slow nods of understanding. His hand skimmed the front of his shirt and he used the pluck of each button to steady himself. Then he continued. "The magistrate is the least corruptible and the most likely to help us. He can grant us permission to board the ship if we are denied."
Bart uncrossed his arms, leaning on the back of Matt's armchair whilst the younger man scowled up at him. "The magistrate then, but where do we find him?"
Matt's mouth opened, to quip or take a sip they would never know. A sharp push in the back distracted him as his drink was swiped out of reach.
"Harrison will know," Simon said, reaching for the bell to call the butler. "I'll take one of the carriages to go fetch him."
"I'm going to the docks." Thomas' tone brooked no argument.
Bart offered to join him and the other man accepted with a sharp nod as he undid the cravat at his neck and tossed it on the couch behind him. His jacket followed next. Only when he was rolling up his sleeves did Vincent realise the man was preparing for war.
"You'll join me, Vincent, and then Matt can go with the two of you. We shouldn't be much more than a half hour behind you."
"No."
This time he was less thrilled to hold the attention of the room.
Simon's frown was gentle. "You are the one best situated to make the argument to the magistrate."
Vincent felt something clench in his belly. He did not have time to explain that him going to the magistrate would only delay them all â the situation would be best explained at the docks, in full sight of the atrocities being committed. He did not have time to explain that the magistrate was obligated to investigate any illegality reported to him, or that he would take the word of the Duke of Germaine more seriously than a lordly lawyer who had never taken a case. And he did not have the words to explain that he would not let Thomas go to the docks without him.
Even still, he might have acquiesced to his brother, if the man had not continued. "The port will be dangerous, and I don't think..."
Once again, he was being protected. He shook his head firmly.
Simon's gaze flicked to Bart's before resting on him again. "Vincent, I must insist-"
"Oh, for God's sake!" Thomas stormed forward from his place near the door, glowering ferociously at Simon as he gestured to Vincent. "He's not fragile! The danger is not greater for him than for you or I â perhaps even less given it has been his mind that has figured all this out!"
For a moment, the only noise in the room was his deep breaths as Thomas slowly righted himself, tugging his vest back into place and raising his chin slightly. In all that time, he did not once look to Vincent.
"Now, are we done here?"
.
There was no subtly as they arrived at the docks â there was no need. The benefit of pursing those travelling by ship was that they could not flee quickly if spooked. But despite their breakneck speed, the journey had felt long. Vincent had spent most of that time studying the profile of Thomas' face and trying to figure out the mess of emotions in his chest.
Thomas loved him.
That confession, only hours old, felt like a lifetime ago. It was foreign and surprising, but had somehow settled in the bottom of Vincent's chest as if it had been made to fit there. It was an entirely confusing sensation.
If he added to that his anger from their earlier argument, and his fear that the women would be hurt, plus the worry that his plan would not work or that it might get the people he cared for hurt... And then the last, like a knife in his gut; Thomas would not look at him.
The carriage jolted to a stop, and Bart had the door open almost immediately. As he bounded out, Vincent was overwhelmed by urgency. He caught Thomas by the sleeve.
"The... I..."
The man's gaze locked on his, first flaming and then suddenly blank as his walls fell into place. His mouth twitched, but he did not speak.
Vincent swallowed heavily. "Thomas, we... I..." Still, the words would not come, and he saw the same irritation he felt with himself echoed on Thomas' face. Frustrated, Thomas detached Vincent's hand from his sleeve, the motion gentle but far from intimate.
As his hand fell back to his lap, Vincent wondered at why it suddenly felt so cold.
"Now is not the time," Thomas said, tone alarmingly even. "There are more important things at hand."
He turned abruptly, alighting from the carriage with a leap, and hurrying off into the early morning shadows. It took Vincent a moment longer to move, as first he had to swallow the lump in his throat. There were more urgent things, he conceded, but he doubted there had ever been anything more important.
Thomas forced all thoughts of Vincent from his mind, even the trail of warmth he still felt at his wrist, and he caught up to Bart as he stepped onto the docks themselves. It was eerie to be here at night, Thomas reflected as the hairs on the back of his arms stood to attention, without any movement or light to guide their way. A few worn lanterns flickered at the sides, cautioning them not to wander off into the waters below, but they seemed otherwise alone in the darkness.
"Which ship is it?" Bart asked softly. Still, it startled Thomas. This was all too quiet and calm for his liking, and he half expected armed bandits to launch themselves from the shadows at any moment.
He dragged himself out of that thought to consider Bart's question. He'd thought they'd be able to identify the ship by the screams of women and the hustle and bustle of slave traders. That assumption had clearly been false.
"Third on the right."
He had no reason to doubt Vincent's quiet reminder, but it still irritated him. He pushed forward putting distance between them, and purposefully approached the third ship on his right. When he was closer, he could just make out the Spanish flag hanging limply above them. Vincent was correct â this was the ship. Then why was there no movement?
The gangway, wooden and broken in some places, stretched from the ship down to the dock he stood on. With only a second to consider the consequences, Thomas gripped the railing and bounded up the ramp, finding himself on the deck in moments. He almost outran the gasp of surprise that Vincent let out behind him.
"Thomas, you cannot-" He interrupted himself with a second hiss, this one with more afront. "Bart!"
The heavy footsteps that followed told Thomas that the other man must have followed him on board, but as a bit of hushed debate broke out between he brothers, he chose to ignore them. Instead, he focussed on the ship. The main deck he stood on was not as large as it had looked from the dock, perhaps only four or five strides across. It was not falling apart, but neither was it in good repair, with broken or completely missing balustrades littering the railing. He circled the mast and then sought higher ground on the quarter deck. From there he could see the entirety of the deck and the port it was docked against.
And not a single other living being.
As if to prove him wrong, the Humphreys abled up onto deck at that moment. Bart was frowning, scanning the shadows around him carefully, as if he expected danger to launch itself forward at any moment. Vincent was also frowning, but in a resigned way, as if danger had already presented itself and no one else had noticed yet.
Thomas trotted down to join them. "If I didn't know better, I'd have thought this ship abandoned."
Bart nodded at him, folding his arms across his chest as he surveyed the deck. "They do not seem to be racing to depart."
Neither man knew much of ships, but they assumed some movement of the crew would be involved in leaving the port. Thomas' eyes fell to the hatch in the centre of the deck. If he were in the habit of hiding Spanish women against their will in a ship, he would put them below decks. A quick glance showed that Bart was thinking similarly, and they moved closer to throw the hatch open and reveal the depths beneath.
The first thing they revealed was the tip of a broadsword.
Thomas stepped back hurriedly, a grimace cutting his face that deepened as he heard Vincent's sigh behind him. He forced his mouth into a cheerful smile as a hulking man emerged from beneath the ship, followed by several less-intimidating others. The first was so large it seemed his shirt no longer fit; the sleeves were torn clean off, frayed edges dancing across swollen shoulders. He pointed the sword â one of several â at Thomas' chest.
"Yu're trespassin'," he declared on a growl.
Thomas' brows rose. "You are not Spanish."
The man opposite him was not the only one confused. Thomas, Bart and Vincent now stood in the middle of a circle of armed guards, vastly outnumbered. They did all look, however, distinctly English. Perhaps it was the pallor of their skin or breadth of their shoulders, but any of the men would have had a hard time convincing Thomas he was a Spaniard.
"Wot?"
Particularly when they spoke like that.
The hulking leader was frowning at Thomas in confusion, caught off guard by any response that was not fear or apologies.
"This vessel flies a Spanish flag. Should the crew not be Spanish also?"
The man's lip, lined by stubble, twitched. "What's it to you?"
Thomas shrugged lightly, turning slightly. As he spoke, he wandered a few steps, hands behind his back. "Well if we are, as you say, 'trespassing', I'd prefer to know exactly whose property we are 'trespassing' on."
There was another, distinctly Vincent-like sigh from behind him.
Frustratingly, the sword did not waver from him, even as the ruffian's face broke into complete confusion. "Shut up and stand still, or we'll run yas through!"
"Thomas." Bart's warning was low and emphatic, as one of the crew stepped in closer and the blade drifted only centimetres from his chest.
Careful to keep the emotion off his face, Thomas stilled, shrugging once more. This man was clearly in charge in this instance, but he hardly seemed intelligent enough to be the duke's lead man in a smuggling operation. There was someone here who would know more, someone who would be able to implicate the Duke of Thorne.
The large man stood with his back to the quarter deck, the door to the captain's quarters almost blocked by his broad frame. But his size could not hide the creak as it opened.
The leader seemed unsurprised â his sword did not waver â and he addressed his next question over his shoulder. "What d'you want us t' do with 'em, boss?"
From beneath the deck, a figure emerged into the moonlight that Thomas recognised instantly. It was alarming, he reflected briefly in a corner of his mind, to see a man who looked so very much like you and to feel only hatred. Edward Thorne stepped onto the deck with his critical gaze narrowed on Thomas, the ferocity of his sneer causing his upper lip to twitch.
He took a deep breath as he stepped up beside his man, running a cursory look over the others present before focussing back on Thomas.
"If I had known you'd be this aggravating I would have ended you the moment your pathetic life began."
It was hard to feel insulted when you were overjoyed, and strangely, Thomas was! The duke was here, at the scene of the crime, probably with Henry â he was proven right immediately as his brother stepped onto the deck and took his place at their father's right elbow â as a magistrate made his way to them. This was their opportunity to catch the Thornes in their crimes and truly have them find justice.
They just had to stay alive until the magistrate arrived.
Thomas' grin leapt into place easily, but he tried to make it more goading than genuinely joyful. "A tragedy indeed."
The comment drew a growl from his brother and his grin widened.
"I missed you too, Henry," Thomas said, before clapping his hands together as if a thought occurred to him. "Oh, and I must pass on felicitations for your betrothal! The announcement in the papers was very well put, though it failed to mention how much it cost to bribe the woman into marrying you?"
His brother's face snapped into rage. "Shut your mouth, you-"
Their father silenced him with a look.
He then turned his attention to his cuffs, tugging on the shirt where it emerged from beneath his coat and ensuring that the ruffles were equally ruffled. He took a few slow steps to the side, eventually raising his eyes to the Humphrey men. Even then, he waited a few moments before speaking.
"I'm afraid Thomas has had a bad influence on you all â it seems he is not the only one incapable of keeping their word."
Thomas bristled; that was the second time in as many days that his character had been besmirched. He fought to keep his composure and failed. "That is rich, coming from you! What promise have I ever broken?"
His sire whirled back to face him, his composure cracking. "This one!" he thundered, his arms thrown wide to indicate the boat. "You promised silence and ignorance if I allowed that friend of yours to live!"
Thomas's heart thudded once, heavily, and then seemed to abandon the job for a long moment. In all of this â the Spanish women, the flower, the connection to his family â he had not paused once to think about David's role.
"I knew we should have gotten rid of the oaf the moment he discovered us." Henry's grumble was not quiet enough to prevent his father from pinning his furious glare on him.
Thomas' mask of indifferent amusement had long fallen. He dragged his hair back from his face, uncaring that the sword aimed at him inched closer. "You did try."
His brother's gaze whipped to him. "What?"
"You tried... and failed." The story connected in his head, answering questions that had remained unanswered for more than a year. "That's how David ended up at the Humphrey estate." He gestured to the men behind him â as if anyone present had forgotten who they were â and in turning slightly he saw their expressions. Bart was frowning. Vincent was looking at him evenly, without a hint of surprise. Of course he'd figured it out already!
"Let me hazard a guess as to how it happened, and we can count your mistakes as we go, Henry." Thomas let his goading tone sneak back in, enjoying the shade of purple his elder brother was turning. "David found you transporting women as merchandise. Perhaps he followed you or maybe he stumbled across you â you're stupid enough for either to occur â and-"
"Shut up!" Henry yelled, stepping closer. His clenched hands flailed by his sides, his lip twitching with rage, but it was the little glances he threw their father which gave Thomas the most joy.
"He doesn't know?" Thomas asked, pointing at the duke. He let out a quick laugh of disbelief. "Was it your first time? Father dearest finally trusted you to commit crimes alone and you let the whole operation be discovered? Didn't want that to come out, did you, so you-"
"You arrogant-"
"-chased him down, and brutalized him a little. Did he have the signet ring already, or did that slide right off your greasy little hand when you beat him? And then-"
"- pathetic, disgusting â"
"-what? He got away? Or did you leave him for dead and the disagreeable chap failed to follow through?"
"Lying cur!" Henry was out of breath, practically steaming at the ears. He'd gotten much closer, but was too cowardly to venture beyond the sword that held Thomas in place.
"Enough." The duke's voice was flat, carrying the least emotion of the evening. "Do you hope to upset me, Thomas? As if I did not already know I have two disappointments for sons." He shook his head slowly, uncaring of or oblivious to Henry's flinch beside him. "What exactly do you hope to achieve here?"
Thomas did not think it wise to explain to the man that he was stalling.
"I'm trying to understand," he said instead, his head tilting to the side, "how exactly I came from your stock."
The duke looked at him, scrutinizing his face. It irked Thomas that even now, when no conscious part of him wanted any of his father's approval, that the threat of being assessed and found wanting still made him squirm. But he held steady, judging the man who judged him. As always, the duke was impressively attired, with no hint of frayed hem or missing button. It was perhaps the one thing Thomas had knowingly inherited from him; the ability to use clothing as a shield and tell the world whatever story you wanted. Everything else in the man was foreign to him.
"Believe me," Edward said eventually, his dark eyes holding Thomas', "I've asked that many times myself. I thought perhaps your mother might have had an affair, but then..." he smiled, "...she knew better."
Thomas' face froze in place, and he saw the duke's eyes narrow in victory. The moment was short lived, however.
"The... He..." Vincent drew the eyes of all three Thornes. His expression was still neutral, his keen gaze locked on Edward. "Just his good fortune then."
Over Vincent's shoulder, Thomas saw Bart throw his younger brother a deeply confused look. He was not alone in his surprise - the comment was entirely un-Vincent-like. Or rather, un-Vincent-like in public, Thomas reflected.
The duke was oblivious to the uncharacteristic nature of the jibe - or apparently to the jibe itself - he was more focussed on its delivery. "You have yourself a stuttering saviour, boy?"
Henry laughed, his head thrown back. Perhaps he was trying to redeem himself with his father, or perhaps he was just a little bit insane. "Is h-he trying to p-p-protect you?"
Edward ignored his elder son, his mockery turning to a sneer. "Or is this your new..." his lip twitched, "...friend?"
He gave Thomas a wide berth as he approached Vincent, running his unforgiving gaze across him from head to toe. "It does not surprise me that you would be attracted to weakness. I'm embarrassed on your behalf."
It had truly never occurred to Thomas to think Vincent weak. He was slim, yes, but there was power in him. He was not frail... And yet here was another person making that assumption, Thomas realised. Just as Vincent had feared...
"He is not the Thorne here who should be ashamed." There was no hesitation this time; Vincent's chin was held high.
Thomas felt oddly exasperated. Here he was, trying to keep the peace and yet Vincent of all people seemed set on riling the duke up! On any other day he'd be encouraging Vincent's outbursts â perhaps even swooning as the man defended his honour â but not today.
"Tempers are high," he said, his hands held out as he tried to placate his father. "Let us discuss this and then-"
"Let us not," the duke interrupted, moving back towards Thomas, the Humphreys forgotten once more. "It does not do to bargain with rats."
Thomas smiled, offering a slight shrug. "And yet I still try."
The Duke of Thorne struck hard and fast, his knuckles slamming into Thomas' cheekbone as he backhanded him across the face. Thomas' head whipped to the side and he stumbled - by will alone he stayed standing. There was a hint of movement behind him, but not even the Humphrey siblings dared intervene when they were so outnumbered.
It was not the first time Thomas had been hit by his father and â accounting for their two most recent interactions â he doubted it would be the last. Of all things though, implying the man was a rat was not the moment he expected to be struck.
Edward inspected the back of his hand, perhaps checking if Thomas' face had dared to damage him. "You never did learn to hold your tongue," he said, softly. Thomas was not entirely sure he was supposed to hear the comment.
The duke turned away from him, chucking his chin at the large leader. "Get rid of them."
Perhaps he caught the sinister grin the man levelled at Thomas, or maybe he realised the ambiguity of his instruction. "Do not kill them," he hissed, "That will bring hell down on us all. Just get them off the ship."
Pragmatic not compassionate; Thomas was hardly surprised. The instruction lessened some of his caution regarding the sword aimed at him though, and as the big man stepped in to take his arm, Thomas ducked out of reach. He would not be leaving this boat. Not of his own volition.
The man grunted, swiping for him again, but he danced out of reach. He had not paid enough attention, however, and as he took a step to the side his brother hit him across the back of the head and knocked him to the deck. He caught himself just barely before his face connected with the floor, stars swimming in front of his eyes. Taking a blow from his brother was more embarrassing that the duke, and he pushed himself onto his back to raise an eyebrow at the man.
"Still taking cheap punches from behind, 'ey Henry?"
The boot he took in the gut was expected.
The raucous that erupted behind him was not. Bart took a swing at the man closest to him, sending the man tumbling back into the railing. Vincent leapt in and collected his abandoned sword, brandishing it like a man who had enjoyed fencing lessons because no one had ever tried to speak with him during them.
Thomas let out a laugh, mostly to see the colour rise in his brother's face, and spat blood onto the deck; they would not go easy.
Edward, almost having reached the captain's cabin, turned with a growl of frustration. "I told you to deal with them! You outnumber them â how difficult can it be!"
The large man shoved his sword back in its sheath, picking Thomas up bodily by the shoulders. He fought, trying to wriggle loose, but the man's grip was like iron as he marched him to the gangway. He rested Thomas against the railing, and for one moment he thought the fellow might toss him bodily overboard and hope for the best. Thomas glanced down to see what his landing might entail, only to find a small huddle of men looking up at him in surprise and concern.
He knew Simon and Matthew, and then the helmets of the constabulary were recognisable. He did not, however recognise the chubby man in a fur coat and a thick gold chain around his neck. If he were to guess, that was the magistrate.
"Ahoythere!" He called, grinning despite his precarious situation. "Would you like tocome aboard?"
~~~
Hello Lovely Readers!
This holiday week is coming in clutch to help me finish off DohD and I'm so incredibly excited!! There are TWO CHAPTERS + AN EPILOGUE left!!! We are so amazingly close!
The biggest of thank yous to everyone still reading along - now's the time to share DohD with all of your friends who don't read ongoing works; they'll catch up just in time for the ending!
Please remember to vote & comment and let me know what you think about our boys' journey - it breaks my heart they're still at odds here but hopefully they'll figure it out soon!
xx Flo