“You shall not go. The Nathan Ross goes on about her proper matters. The pearls stay where they are.”
He shifted his weight, looked quickly toward his brother.... He was poised for battle. By the very force of his word, there was a chance he might prevail. He watched the men, in whose hands the answer lay. If he could hold them....
Hands clamped his arms, and Mark smiled across the deck. Finch and old Hooper on one side, Varde and Morrell on the other. And after the first wrench of his surprise, he knew it was hopeless to struggle, and stood quietly. Mark strolled across the deck, smiling coldly.
“If you’ll not go, Joel, you must be taken,” he said. And to the mates: “Bring back his arms.”
Joel felt the cord slipped through his elbows and drawn tight and looped and made secure. Old Aaron Burnham pushed forward and tugged at them; and Joel heard him say: “They’ll hold him fast, Captain Shore. Like a trussed fowl, sir. That he is....”
“Captain Shore?” That would be Mark, come into command of the ship again. And Aaron added: “I’ve set the bolt on his cabin door, sir. Not five minutes gone.”
Mark laughed. “Good enough, Aaron. You and Varde take him down. Varde, you’ll stay in the after cabin. If he tries to get free, summon me. And—treat Mrs. Shore with the utmost courtesy.”
Varde was at Joel’s side; and Joel saw the twist of his smile at Mark’s last word. For a moment, thought of Priss left Joel sick. He thrust the thought aside....
They took him down into the main cabin; Varde ahead, then Joel, and old Aaron close behind, his hand on Joel’s elbow. Priss met them in the after cabin, crouching in a corner, white and still, her hands at her throat. Her eyes met his for an instant, before Varde led him toward his own cabin. Aaron, behind, looked toward Priss; and the girl whispered hoarsely:
“Is he—hurt?”