The Red Pearl (10 page)

“SOON AS YOU’RE FINISHED, YOU get to work.”

Antonia looked up from her breakfast. Rowena swung her pistol around before re-pocketing it. “Are we clear?”

Antonia nodded. Adams was off in search of game, though he hadn’t gone far. They could hear him scouring the brush and laying animal traps. Antonia turned to the horses, which wandered the barren grounds for something to graze, and she possessed a sudden idea. Perhaps she could leap atop one and ride away.

She had never ridden a horse before, aside from the previous day. She’d surely have trouble maneuvering one by herself, let alone mounting it. Yet, it was certainly a possibility. If only she could ensure she’d not be shot down before she made it from the camp…

“You almost done?” snapped Rowena.

Antonia set down the pan they’d given her. She could hardly think, let alone eat with the other woman breathing down her neck like that. “I suppose I’ll see the map now.”

Rowena handed over the vellum, and Antonia took it, feeling a sudden sense of awe to be touching such an ancient and valuable artifact, the very artifact for which Robin had spent nearly half his lifetime searching.

Carefully, she unfolded it. She took a breath, peering down at the artful scrawl stretching across the page from corner to corner, each line in faded red ink, surrounding beautifully drawn sketches. Beside the script, she could see where Ricardo Rivera had copied his Innían translations.

Rob,
she thought yearningly. This was
his.
How unfair that she should be holding what he most coveted, most desired outside of the Red Pearl itself.

She turned it over. The Skarsköt writings continued, and these without translation. This, Antonia knew, would be her job. Anxious, she glanced up. It was early morning, but the sun was already beating down over her. “I’m afraid the sun will damage the page,” she confessed. “Look.” She showed Rowena a corner where the script was almost pink. “The ink’s already fading as is.”

The woman’s mouse-brown eyebrows came together. “Ought you to read it in the shade?” She indicated a thicket of trees.

“Inside a tent would be better.” Antonia twisted her lips. “I’m used to reading sequestered. One needs plenty of peace and quiet to concentrate on Skarsköt.”

Rowena seemed to be debating over whether or not she found this remark cheeky. After a moment, however, she led Antonia to the women’s tent. “In you go, then. Here’s a quill.” She shoved a feather quill and inkwell into Antonia’s hands. “Be sure to write everything down on the map.”

Antonia reentered the shelter. The sun shone through the white ceiling, allowing her to see well enough, and the temperature in there was far more comfortable. Not to mention, she was glad to be alone.

Settling down into her corner, she laid the map over her knees and began with the first symbol. It was a little half-circle with a slash running through. She knew of two symbols which resembled it, but couldn’t determine which one this was. She’d have to transcribe the rest of the letters first, before she could attempt to translate the whole word. Tedious work, indeed.

“Hmm.” She moistened her lips, poking her head outside the tent. “Rowena?”

The woman, who was manicuring her fingernails, turned.

“Have you any paper to spare? I don’t want to write on the map until I’m sure my translations are accurate.”

Rowena’s expression was smooth. “I’ll take a look.”

Antonia returned inside, moving onto the next symbol. It was clearly a dotted hook, which made the
ch
sound. But she was stuck once again, as soon as she reached the next letter. Whoever had written this map centuries ago had possessed quite fancy penmanship. So fancy, in fact, it was difficult to read.

She studied the symbol a long while, and had still not determined what it was by the time Rowena returned with a thin, tatty booklet. “Jules said you can write in this. He doesn’t need it anymore.”

Antonia surveyed it. It appeared to be an old printed handbook of sorts.

“How’s it coming along?” Rowena asked, and though the question itself could have seemed friendly, every bit of her impatient tone was not.

“Very slowly,” answered Antonia, not bothering to conceal her annoyance. If the woman would simply leave her alone, she could return to work.

Detecting this, Rowena stalked out of the tent. But Antonia found she could no longer resume her focus on the map, try as she may. Instead, she bubbled with resentment. Robin had actually
dated
that woman? What the devil had he possibly seen in her?

It took hours. She skipped lunch, poring over the old vellum well into the early hours of evening, just to work out the first few lines. Even then, she still didn’t recognize a few of the words. She’d have to rely on context to fill them in.

Her eyes and head ached once darkness fell and dinner was served. Directly after eating, Antonia climbed into her blankets, exhausted. Thankfully, Rowena and Adams did not question or bother her, seeming only relieved that someone was finally doing the job.

The whole night through, Skarsköt symbols danced through her dreams. She saw the map even with her eyes shut, and vaguely wondered if this was how Robin felt, pondering it day and night, as it consumed his every waking—and sleeping—thought.

Antonia spent another morning in study. She took her time, until she’d translated nearly half the page. When she periodically emerged from the tent, she scanned the land for any sign of Robin. Where was he? Was he still looking for her? Surely, it was only a matter of time before he caught up with them.

And that was why she was altogether disconcerted when she finished her lunch that afternoon to discover Adams dismantling the tents. “What are you doing?” she asked him.

He turned to look at her for what felt like the first time. Antonia was put off by the coldness in his eyes, and the way his mouth seemed incapable of smiling. “Changing camps,” he replied. “Got to get a move-on.”

Changing camps?
But how would Robin find her if they moved? “What’s wrong with here?” She tried to sound innocent.

Adams ignored her, strapping a bag to his horse’s saddle.

Once more, Antonia was forced onto the second horse with Rowena, blindfolded, and made to ride farther up the mountain. With every step of the horses’ hooves, she meditated on Robin, as though her thoughts could materialize the man. She even prayed to the goddess Azea, although she knew the deity owed her no favors, especially not after Antonia had abandoned her.

Their second camp was woodsier than the first, and the young woman wondered where Adams would manage to erect the tents. But erect them he did, some spaces apart, and as evening fell, he went to work on a new fire pit.

Unexpectedly, Rowena tossed her a brown paper bag. “Take a break tonight, scholar.”

Antonia peered inside to see an assortment of food. Her stomach gurgled.

To her dismay, however, the woman slinked up beside her and loosened Antonia’s hair ribbon. Antonia stood still as her hair tumbled down her back in sunny, flowing curtains.

“My, my,” Rowena whispered, stroking it. Antonia cringed. “How pretty. I daresay, you looked a bit stuck-up wearing it back.” She squinted. “But now, one could almost say you look rather…sensual.”

Antonia spoke before thinking. “Robin says it looks best pulled back.”

She immediately regretted her statement as an amused simper spread across Rowena’s lips. “Did he, now?” she clucked. “Let me guess: he said he likes it that way because he can better see your lovely
face
?”

Antonia froze.

“He used that one on me, too.” The woman cackled, and Antonia felt sick to her stomach. Rowena leaned in. “Now, go enjoy your little meal,” she gave Antonia a shove, “and stay in your tent awhile.”

Antonia must’ve looked confused, for the woman dropped her voice. “Come, girl, do I need to spell it out for you? Jules and I desire to be alone.”

Antonia blushed.
Oh.

“Now scram.” Rowena shooed her. “And don’t come out, unless you want to be shot.”

Or unless I want to vomit my intestines out
, thought Antonia disgustedly, climbing into her shelter. Once in privacy, she kicked the other woman’s bedroll. Were these people so crass that they’d actually be intimate together right outside of her tent, where she could plainly hear them? She seethed. How long had the pair been playing Robin, sleeping together like this behind his back?

Too appalled to dwell on it, she ignored Rowena’s command to take a break, and resumed her work. When darkness fell, she lit a lamp, still jotting down notes and copying her translations onto the map.

Thankfully, her concentration muted her surroundings, and Antonia didn’t hear much outside but the crackling fire.

THE TENT FLAP LIFTED, ILLUMINATING the interior with vibrant sunlight. Antonia glanced up at the mane of brown waves greeting her. “Annie.” Rowena blinked. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

Antonia ignored her, looking back down at her notes. The woman had interrupted her train of thought yet again.

Rowena followed her gaze. “You know, your translations had better be accurate,” she warned. “If you’re giving us false directions…”

“Funny.” Antonia sniffed. “It had never occurred to me to deceive you.” She met the woman’s shadowy eyes. “Deception’s
your
specialty, isn’t it?”

Rowena’s mousy eyebrows narrowed. “Just know, I’m watching you, Annie. So if all of this—” she indicated the map and Antonia’s notes—“is simply your ploy to buy time…”

“I don’t need to buy time.” Antonia raised her chin. “Robin will come for me. Any hour, any day now.”

Rowena stared at her. Slowly, she broke into a low, cringe-worthy cackle. “Why, but you are
in love
with him.”

Antonia’s breath caught. “What? No I’m n—”

“Oh, it all makes perfect sense now.” Rowena exhaled with relish.

Antonia’s pulse quickened. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Dear, dear.” Rowena gazed her over as though surveying something pathetic. She issued another scathing laugh. “I’ll admit, he can be cute when he’s not too busy getting in his own way. But rest assured, you’ll soon find yourself bored and disappointed. Robin Watkins is no more than a wanderer, a dreamer without a dime. As useless as his bumbling father.”

Antonia’s breast burned in indignation.

“Now, Jules Adams…” The woman sighed. “He’s a man with a fortune, a legacy.”

Antonia boiled. “His
father’s
fortune,” she snipped. “Which the man gained by
stealing
from Thaddeus Watkins—!”

“Oh, but truly.” Rowena bobbed her brown head, grinning. “It’s clear as crystal. You
love
Robin.”

“I— I hardly know him,” the girl protested. But even amidst her denial, her stomach fluttered with nerves.

“Yet you’ve unshakable faith in him?” Rowena
tsk
ed. “Ah, Annie. You are young. You’ll soon learn that love is only a game. And men like Rob,” she shrugged, backing out of the tent, “are simply losers.”

Soon as she was gone, Antonia hurled her sandal at the tent flap. It bounced off the canvas with a thud. Heart pounding, she curled up in the corner, unable to banish Rowena’s accusations from her mind. How preposterous, Antonia thought furiously. Of course she wasn’t
in love
with Robin.

…Right?

She closed her eyes and pictured his face, his auburn hair and blue eyes so striking, so comely. Every cell in her being suddenly clung to the image of him, compelled like magnets toward his every aspect, the sound of his voice, which she sorely missed, the memory of his warm mouth on her hand, her lips…

Her eyes shot open. Why was she suddenly breathless at the recollection of his kiss? It was horrid, really. Not much of a true kiss at all.

Yet, now she was desperate for it.

I’m only desperate to be rescued
, she corrected herself, hugging her knees to her chest. But where
was
he?

Antonia shivered, although the climate wasn’t cold. Perhaps the man had given up on her, after all.