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. He, too, saw the approaching sail. "You know,
something about that ship looks familiar," he said, grasp-
ing opposite sides of the wildly swaying barrel, trying to
steady it.
"I know!" Tas snapped his fingers. "I recognize the cap-
tain's red flag with the golden cloverleaf symbol. It's the
ship we booked passage on, and then you threw me on
my head!"
Woodrow's blood froze in his veins. How could that
ship have got behind them?
"Paddle, Mr. Burrfoot!" Even as he made the desperate
cry and stabbed his own oar in the water, Woodrow
knew that the attempt was useless. He closed his eyes and
steadied his nerves for the inevitable.
When the human opened his eyes again, he could see
the ship was much closer -- close enough for him to pick
out the dark, sinister form of Gisella's killer at the bow,
looking like its figurehead. His cloak flapped around his
knees, and he was flanked by two sailors who scurried
about, one with a long pole with a hooked blade and the
other with a rope.
As the ship approached, it did not reduce its speed. In-
stead, the sailor with the long pole hooked its blade onto
the barrel. The barrel tipped dangerously and some wa-
ter spilled over the rim as it swung toward the ship. As
the barrel bumped against the hull of the ship, the second
sailor tossed a rope down to the two castaways. "Climb
up quick!" he barked. "We ain't got all day."
Keeping one suspicious eye on Denzil, both figures
clambered up the side of the boat. The barrel was set
adrift. Through all of this, Denzil stood in the forecastle
and watched, perfectly playing the role of the disinter-
ested stranger
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