CHAPTER 11 “I hope to give them indigestion.”
“I am most grateful, Monsieur James, that you have agreed to help us.” The musical voice was Mariette’s, but the soot-smeared face, visible under an oversized watch cap, betrayed no hint of the beauty she had displayed the previous evening—and the ragged coat and trousers hid every curve of her figure.
“I’ve agreed to nothing,” Bowie said. “You promised me a look at your precious map.”
He tried not to sound petulant. It had been her curves, in addition to the evidence of the hideous golden dagger, that had brought him to this battered brig named Lucinda, docked at the foot of Barrack Street. Mariette’s only explanation for her change in appearance was that she did not wish to excite the curiosity of the ship’s captain and crew.
Andre looked
