"Well now." The Southern drawl was less pleasant as Drummond ran his eyes over Watters. "This one I know. Sergeant Watters, I believe?" He raised his voice. "Take them below. Keep them separate."
Watters had time for a single glance along the deck. He was on a two-masted sailing vessel with a large crew and various canvas covered bundles tied to the deck. The crew looked efficient but spoke in a variety of tongues, from the accents of the Confederate States to French and others that Watters did not recognise. Powerful hands grabbed him and hustled him down a steep companionway that descended into the depths of the vessel. A door opened, and he was thrown into darkness.
Drummond thrust his head in. "We"ll speak later," he said, nodding. "And you will tell me why you are here." His nod car
