In The Wreckage: A Tale of Two Brothers by Simon J. Townley Page A

around. Two more rushed from the inn and lunged at him. He twisted, turned, struggled to break free. One of them wrapped an arm around Conall’s neck, held him in a head lock. He wriggled, his ears and cheeks scraping on rough wool of the man’s coat. Conall broke free and ran but there was nowhere to go.  
    “Come here,” one of the men shouted.  
    Conall yelled Jonah’s name. Argent was armed. If these men had no guns, he could deal with them in a moment. He screamed again for Jonah as the men rushed him.  
    He fought back, kicking and punching when he could, but there were too many and too strong. Heavy blows landed on his back, his sides, on his skull. He fell, his face splattered with mud, cheek pressed against hard stone. One of the men pinned him down. Another tied his hand behind him. He tried to yell once more but his voice was feeble, little more than a croak.  
    “Good for the mines, this one,” a man said.  
    “Fetch a fair price.”  
    A roar like a charging bear erupted from the inn. He twisted his head around and saw Jonah charge from the doorway. In his right hand he held a pistol. The gun fired, the noise echoing across the bay, and one of the attackers grunted, staggered and fell across Conall’s legs, a hole in his chest, blood pouring into the mud.  
    The men grappled with Jonah. He got off another shot, but he was soon overwhelmed, the gun snatched from his hands. The big man went on fighting, even as half a dozen of them punched and kicked, hanging onto his arms. Disarmed, his legs knocked from under him, Jonah went down, a gnarled, ancient tree toppling after centuries of grasping for sunlight.  
    Kicks and blows rained onto Jonah’s body. Conall tried to call out for help, but it was hopeless. Where were the sailors from The Arkady ? He tried to stand, struggling to his knees, hands roped behind his back. One of the men cursed, striding towards him. Conall felt a brush of air, a blow to his skull, and the world went black.  

Chapter Eight
S LAVERS

    Conall woke in darkness. Pain throbbed in his head, his back and shoulders aching, bruised and tender. He lay on a cold, hard floor, face down, the left side of his face pressed against stone. He shifted his arms, groaned with the effort.  
    “Lie still boy. There’s nothing to be done. Rest yourself,” Jonah said.  
    Conall looked up, trying to see the first mate. The room was black. He sensed the man, sitting a few yards away. “Where are we?”  
    “No telling. A brick building, small room. Door’s bolted. No way out.”  
    “What happened? Who were those men?”  
    “Slavers.” Jonah’s voice was weary, almost resigned, but bitter. A deep anger simmered underneath. “Always hated slavers.”
    “The captain will be looking, he won’t leave without us.”  
    “He’s a good man. He’ll look. But he won’t find us, and he’ll sail soon enough. He’s got a crew to protect. Women and children. Can’t put them in danger for the sake of two missing men.”  
    “The sailors. They’ll tell him we were at that bar.”  
    “That won’t help us much. He’ll get no truth in that place.”  
    “We should never have gone there.” Conall heard the accusing tone in his own voice, the self-pity, and regretted the words the moment they were spoken.  
    Jonah grunted. “You should’ve stayed put, where I left you. Learn to do as you’re told, follow orders.”  
    “The captain’s orders? Or yours?”  
    “If it’s blaming someone you want, then carry on. Won’t do no good though. Won’t get us out of here.”
    “What will?”  
    “Waiting. For the right moment.”  
    But what if the moment never came? And even if he escaped, how would he find Faro again, and Rufus? Or Heather? He rolled onto his side, sat up. He needed a plan. What would Faro do? If his brother was here, he’d already be scheming, working out ways to get them free. But Faro brother was locked in the brig of The Arkady , sailing north.