One of the boats, a large one with a bunch of cargo crates on its deck, was starting to pull away from the dock. This might be her chance. Lucy ran onto the dock and, not daring to hesitate for an instant, hurtled herself into the air.
She thumped down on the boat's deck behind a large pile of crates.
"What was that?" said a man's voice on the other side.
Well, they were speaking English, at least. She had no idea what the accent was. It sounded lilting and slightly Irish.
The gap of water between the boat and the dock widened. The boat's motor chugged beneath her as it pulled out.
But the tiger and the wolf were still coming. They reached the dock. The wolf skidded to a stop, seeming to feel that the widening gap between the ship and the dock was too far. The tiger, however, didn't stop.
Oh no, oh no. Lucy hastily scrambled along the row of crates, trying to get away.
The boat was turning slowly as it moved away from the dock. The tiger sailed through the air, and then it was hidden from her by the crates and the rotation of the boat's movement. But she felt it hit with an impact that shook the entire deck.
There were shocked exclamations from the men on the deck.
Lucy pressed herself against the crates.
There was only a little space, just a couple of feet, between the crates and the boat railing and the dark water starting to speed past. She wedged herself into that space. The crates were tied down with huge ropes lashed through rings to hold them in place, so she didn't think they were going to fall on her.
On the other side, she heard yelling and someone bellowed, "Is that a thunderin'tiger?"
Lucy tried very hard to think invisible thoughts.
From her position huddled against the crates, she couldn't see what was happening on the other side—although it seemed to involve yelling and thumps and snarling—but, as the boat straightened out to leave the harbor, she had a good view of the dock. The wolf was just slinking off. She caught a glimpse of the bear at the top of the hill before it, too, disappeared into the weeds and rocks along the road.
A huge splash sounded at the boat's stern. Lucy craned to see what had happened.
The tiger surfaced a moment later. Disgruntled, it started to swim for shore.
Lucy really hoped that had been Hendricks.
The boat was picking up speed, churning out of the harbor. As it left the sheltered water, the deck began to roll more steeply. Lucy waited nervously to see if she was going to get sick, but she didn't feel bad. She had been yachting a few times with her family as a girl and had enjoyed it.
On the other side of the crates, the men were talking again. "—bleedin' tiger, what'd it do, escape from a circus?"
"I handy 'bout died at the look on yer mug, Gary," another one laughed.
The boat rotated slowly, keeping the coast on Lucy's side, and began motoring along. Lucy watched the coast speed past. It was green and wild, with steep rocky cliffs and jagged stands of evergreen trees.
The sailors sounded nice. Lucy wondered if she dared climb over the crates and try to talk to them. She decided not to; she was too afraid of being put ashore or taken back to the dock where Uncle Rodric's goons were waiting for her.
And she had no passport, no identification, nothing to prove that she was who she said she was.
An even worse thought occurred to her than being sent back to her uncle. What if this ship was headed to some foreign country? She might end up somewhere she didn't speak the language or know anyone.
Her shocking isolation was beginning to set in. She was twenty-four years old and had never been on her own before. She had no idea what she could do to earn money, or how people even went about getting a job. She didn't know how she was going to live.
One problem at a time. First she had to escape; then she could deal with the rest of it. Nothing else mattered if she couldn't get away.
Lucy sank down and put her back against the crates. She pulled the loose, fluttering sleeves of her blouse around herself and looked around for something to cut the wind. There was a flap of loose canvas. She crawled under it. The smell was awful, a mix of old fish and diesel, but it helped keep her warm.
I'll see how far we're going, she thought. If this went on for very long, she was going to have to break her self-imposed isolation and find someone to help her.
If only she could call someone.
But right now, wracking her brain, she couldn't think of anyone who might help. No more than anyone had helped when her uncle had locked her up in his villa in France. Her parents were dead, and all her parents' friends were also her uncle's friends. The people her own age that she had been friends with years ago had deserted her, interested in her only for her family's money, and when it really mattered, they had turned out to be fair-weather friends at best.