Constantine Capers: The Pennington Perplexity Natalie Brianne (best summer reads of all time .txt) 📖

She decided that she preferred the moonlit ghosts to the shadowy, pitch-black interior. Byron’s eyes must have adapted faster than hers as he led her down the corridor with no problem. She felt the wall as she went, trying to make sense of where they were. When Byron found her lagging, he took her by the hand to make sure they stayed together. Their fingers fit well together, and she could feel his warmth through her gloves. When they reached the darkest part of the ship, she closed her eyes, and trusted that Byron would guide her safely through. The atmosphere lightened near the back of the ship where the grate was, and Byron took out his lockpicks again. She placed a hand on top of his.

“Can’t you at least explain what you’re doing?”

He paused a moment then nodded.

“This ring has several tools on it that can be useful for picking a lock. Some locks can be opened using a skeleton key.” He lifted several of the keys on his ring.

“Others, like this one, need different tools in order to be cracked. Picks, and a tension wrench.” He lifted two tools from the ring. “These types of locks have spring-loaded pins that fall into place, locking the door. When you use a key, it raises those pins, so the lock will open. You place the tension wrench on the bottom to keep the pins you’ve already raised from falling down again and use the picks to raise them.” He demonstrated. “After a while you can do it by sound, but you usually start with the feelings in your hands.”

“Why do you know how to do this?”

“Same reason as you. I was curious. When we get back to Palace Court, I’ll help you practice.”

This lock took a little more time than the main door. She watched every movement with careful attention. Eventually the lock clicked. He pulled on the grate and it moved without sound. Someone must have oiled it recently. It swung open to reveal a ladder going down further into the ship. Byron slipped into the opening in the grate and started to climb down. When he was a good way down Mira started herself. How grateful she was for trousers!

About halfway down the ladder the walls surrounding them disappeared. It was dim, but she could still make out how large of an area there was. It was huge. Her steps echoed as she made her way down the ladder. She reached the bottom and found that crates lined the walls, extending out towards the ladder. Byron hid in the shadow of one. She joined him.

“What is this place?” she whispered

“A cargo hold of sorts, but not a normal one,” he whispered back.

They both turned to examine their hiding spot. Sturdy wood, probably oak. It was made of slats nailed together. He attempted to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. He walked around it, examining every part. While Byron engaged in that endeavor, Mira looked around. This cargo hold held dozens of crates. A whiteish-grey powder was scattered on the floor in places. She walked further in and found what looked like a door. She remembered the doorlike panels on the outside of the ship. This was likely the only real one. Probably used for loading and unloading. Near the door there weren’t as many crates, but square outlines in the white powder suggested there had been more.

A rumbling startled Mira from her investigation. A squealing noise soon joined in as an opening appeared beneath the door. She stood there a moment, unsure of what to do. Then, coming to her senses, she ducked quickly behind a crate. The noises stopped, and heavy footsteps with a large gait approached. Most likely a tall man. A second pair of footsteps followed the first. Two tall men. They moved to a crate three down from hers. They grunted, and wood scraped on metal for a moment. It stopped, and the footsteps went back towards the door. Panicking, she moved to another crate. The men returned for another one, and another. She moved further and further back. She heard more footsteps returning before it was logical for the first set of men to be back. There were more of them. With the constant flow of footsteps, she could no longer move without fear of being found. She leaned against her crate and tried not to breathe too much. Her heart pounded in her chest. They lifted the crate hiding her.

“Hey now, Sam, it looks like we’ve found ourselves a stowaway.”

She quickly found herself between two of the tallest men she had ever seen. Probably about six foot seven. Rippling muscles. Dangerous slanted eyes. One gruffly pulled her up by her arm, and she noticed tattoos decorating his forearm. She tried to struggle, but it really was no use.

“What are you doing here?” he asked her. She looked up at him in fear. Not knowing what to do she started speaking in French. He looked surprised.

“Do you speak English?” he asked. She kept speaking at him in French, nearly hysterical. Babbling about nothing. Praying that he didn’t understand. He turned to his companion.

“Do you speak French?” His partner shook his head. “Neither do I. We’ll have to take her back to headquarters. I bet the boss does.” She struggled again, but he held her fast.

“Shouldn’t we just kill her now, Joe? She’s seen things she ain’t supposed to.”

“She must have slipped on during the last shipment from France. She’s probably harmless. It’s better to take her to the boss.” They dragged her out of the cargo hold. She looked back towards the crates hoping to find some trace of Byron but she didn’t see him.

There were six men in total, all with a similar build. They loaded the crates into a wagon which read “Schwarz and Sons Butchery,” in big, red letters. Mira felt herself growing faint as they pulled her closer to the wagon. Right before they reached it, she felt