Raised By Wolves 1 - Brethren (26 page)

“Aye, Bradley sent me. He invited me to sail with him and I am considering it wholeheartedly. I asked for his aid, and he said he wished to have no part in this endeavor as… I believe he is concerned for his respectability. As for my being a planter,” I snorted derisively. “I have little interest in it. My father wished for me to come here as his agent because he thought I might die and save him a bit of trouble, and there was no one else he wished to risk. There is no love lost between us, and I have not lived under his roof but for two months these last ten years.

I came because… I will inherit. When I do, I can do much good with the title, or so I tell myself. In the meantime, acting as his agent, I can at least see that those he has contracted are treated well.”

They seemed somewhat taken aback by my vehemence. I glanced at Gaston and found his eyes large upon me. He quickly regarded the deck.

“We Be Bondsmen Once,” Pete said, so that I shifted my attention to him. He scratched his head and pushed the cheesecake back toward me with a guilty smile.

“I am sorry,” I said quietly.

A slow smile spread across Striker’s face. “Let’s get your man.”

I shook my head and smiled sadly. “The entire point of the endeavor is that he be no one’s man.”

“Aye,” he grinned. “Let us get our weapons.” They slipped off the quarterdeck to the deck below.

I hazarded another look at Gaston and found him studying me intensely. Once again, he looked away quickly when our eyes met. I wished to speak but did not know what to say, and the wolves were still within hearing.

He stood abruptly and took his musket to Pete, who stowed it in the area from which they were retrieving their weapons.

“So, that forty pounds, you willing to share it out?” Striker asked.

“Aye,” I shrugged. “I already considered it well spent. Recouping a fraction of it will be an unexpected pleasure.”

“Were Bradley and Siegfried at that party tonight?” Striker asked as they returned to the quarterdeck. They now wore no more clothing, but they were wrapped in belts and baldrics laden with as many weapons as Gaston carried, but no muskets. Striker chuckled before I could respond. “Damn, you’re the Lord it was to welcome, aren’t you?”

I sighed and took another pull on the bottle. “Aye. And I met all of the important people I was supposed to meet and promptly escaped.”

“So Bradley doesn’t have the balls for it anymore, does he?” Striker said with a lopsided grin. “Getting all respectable. Were they chasing women at this party, proper ladies?”

“Aye,” I said with a raised eyebrow.

Pete and Striker exchanged a look.

“I feel sorry for Siegfried,” Striker shrugged.

“Ya Ever Do That I’llFuckin’ Kill Ya,” Pete said with a look that made him appear anything but the affable idiot he seemed previously.

Striker blew him a kiss, and they smiled with sarcastic sweetness at one another.

I suppressed a laugh. As I looked about at my three new companions, I realized the Gods had tipped their hand; and I was momentarily in awe of their magnanimity.

Wherein I Throw Myself To Destiny

The wolves informed the men drinking in the bow that they were going into town. The four of us slipped over the side to the boat Gaston and I had borrowed from the beach.

“You know her anchorage in the dark?” Striker asked, as if he expected me not to know the answer.

“There are four ships at anchor. I checked their positions from the King’s House this evening. She is on the end, farthest west, closest to the Passage Fort.”

They took a set of oars, and Gaston and I took the other. I looked to him before we were swallowed in the darkness beyond the North Wind’s lanterns. He was studying me again; and once again, his eyes darted away when they met mine. I still could not read his expression.

We spent the passage quietly discussing various tactics, each based upon what we might find. We found the King’s Hope easily in the moonlight, and glided silently to her side. Pete drove two axes into the hull and we all held our breath to see if the noise was heard. Then he climbed up to stand on them and peer over the gunwale. He waved us up a moment later.

There were lights and men on the quarterdeck and forecastle. The three men astern stood near a lantern, and I recognized one of them as the first officer. The rest of the crew seemed to be clustered about the bow, as they had always been during our voyage. They were playing cards. I could hear snoring as well. Coming over the gunwale into the waist, we were in shadow and alone. We crowded together and crouched Raised By Wolves - Brethren

very low between two cannon.

It had been decided that Gaston and Striker should take the captain’s quarters and Pete and I should search for Davey – and once finding him, set the ship afire below the waterline. I had wanted to stay with Gaston; but Pete had been adamant about firing the ship, and I was the only one who knew Davey.

To my amusement, Pete kissed Striker on the cheek. Then he waved for me to follow, and we slipped across the deck to the hatch and dropped into the hold below.

It seemed quite large, now that it was devoid of cargo. I assumed Davey was somewhere in the darkness around us. I listened. I heard rats and the faint clank of metal from the stern. Pete had heard it as well. I started to move in that direction, but Pete stayed me with a hand upon my arm. In the dim light from above, I saw him take a lantern from its hook just below the hatch. Then we padded aft, even our bare feet sounding loud, despite the muted voices from both castles and the omnipresent water on the hull about us.

I stopped when my outstretched hand encountered wood, a pole that swayed at my touch. I guessed it to be part of the whip staff apparatus which steered the ship. Somewhere in this area, the whip staff above us was connected to the rudder in the water at the very rear of the vessel.

Pete handed me the lantern, and I lit it. The sudden illumination was blinding in the enclosed space; and it was a moment before I could perceive much of anything. Then the light showed a man chained to the hull beside the steering apparatus. It was Davey, though I almost did not recognize him for the bruises. He was sleeping or unconscious.

Seeing his battered face, any remaining remorse I might have felt about destroying the ship vanished. If doing this to a man was considered a routine part of one’s livelihood, then perhaps it was a livelihood that deserved a considerable setback. Burning one ship was not going to make any other merchant vessel treat its crew more humanely; but there was the principle of the thing, and in this instance it mattered to me.

I assessed the chains on Davey. He was manacled, and the chain between his wrists was connected to another that ran to a bolt in a beam of the hull.

“We will need keys,” I muttered to Pete.

“Naw ya won’t,” a voice growled from behind me. It was not Pete. It was Cox, the bo’sun.

I spun low and drew a dirk.

“Thought you’d come.” He grinned at me and brandished an axe.

I was somewhat alarmed, as I did not see Pete and wondered where he had gotten off to. Then arms closed around the very surprised bo’sun: one around his throat and the other about his chest, pinioning his axe arm above the elbow. Pete’s head loomed over the man’s shoulder and grinned at me. I stepped in quickly and relieved Cox of his weapon with a twist to his wrist.

“Did you think I would come alone?” I asked in pleasant whisper.

“Not that I would truly need help with the likes of you. Now, where are the keys?”

He glared at me and I rested my blade across his chest, leaving an ever deepening line of blood as I pressed. He gasped and struggled and finally snarled, “My pocket.”

I let him fumble in his own pocket with his free hand. He gave me a key ring.

“Ya Want Ta Kill’Em?” Pete asked.

“I want him dead.” I shrugged and prepared to thrust with my blade.

“I’llDo It,” Pete said and adjusted his grip to the man’s jaw. Then he jerked up and back and there was a popping sound. The bo’sun slumped to the floor.

“Less Blood Ta Slip On When We Be Runnin’.” He pushed the body out of the way.

I had to admit he had a point.

“I have never seen a man killed like that before,” I said. I did not think I possessed the strength, but I vowed to remember it in case the need ever arose.

Davey had woken. He blinked at the light and recoiled.

“It is Marsdale,” I hissed.

He shook his head. “You came?”

“Aye, and now we must go.”

“I didna’ think you’d come.”

“I said I would aid you.”

“Aye, but…”

“We do not have the luxury of discussing this now.” I got him out of the chains and pulled him up to his knees.

Davey regarded Pete curiously and then moved slowly past him, not out of recalcitrance, but out of stiffness and injury. I sorely wished we had possessed the time to kill the bo’sun slowly.

Once Davey was at the hatch, Pete took the lantern from me and admonished, “Watch Now.” His eyes gleamed with enthusiasm.

“Ya Got Ta Watch While It Catches. It Be Blue An’ There Be Lines.”

I watched. He threw the lantern against the beam Davey had been chained to, so that it broke and sprayed oil all about. Pitch and tar burn faster than wood, and a ship is nothing but the three together. The pitch caught first; and as he said, flame shot along the planks in blue lines.

It was beautiful, mesmerizing even, as the wood caught hold and the flames billowed up to flow across the ceiling.

Pete roughly grabbed me and pushed me ahead of him and up the hatch. He was laughing. I realized I had been too busy watching to realize the danger.

We found Davey leaning on the gunwale, regarding us with horror as the smoke began to billow up from below. I looked about for Gaston and Striker and did not see them. Pete helped Davey over the side to the boat. I stayed in the shadows and waited until our missing companions came bounding out of the cabins. We all slipped over the side, Striker passing a chest down to Pete before he disembarked. The hull was hot beneath my hands, and the stars and moon were obscured by smoke.

The crew was yelling and beginning to run about.

Then we were off. We rowed north like madmen, away from Port Royal, so as not to run afoul of the doomed ship’s own longboats or be seen by anyone looking across the harbor at the commotion. The burning ship’s bell sounded frantically, and then there was a loud explosion as the powder magazine caught. I truly hoped all of her men were clear. I supposed I would hear tell of the outcome in the morning.

In the darkness, we worked our way around toward the Passage Fort and then headed south again, so it would appear that we had come from there. Our pace relaxed and we were able to make introductions. Davey seemed a little dazed by the turn of events, and asked several times if my companions were actually buccaneers. This caused the others a great deal of amusement.

“You’re one of us now, mate,” Striker informed him. He kicked the box, “And you’ll receive your first share of booty once we get back to the North Wind.” We had agreed that Davey would receive a share, since without him the whole enterprise would not have been conceived; and he would need money to equip himself for his new life.

I could not see the expression on Davey’s countenance after Striker’s words, but his shoulders spoke unreadable volumes. He sat perfectly still. There was no tension in his wide back, and he did not stoop or straighten; he just did not move. I could see the wolves watching him in the moonlight, judging his reaction with a mix of amusement and wariness. I had imagined Davey would be happy with this turn of events; but I surely did not know him well enough to know. He slowly turned to look at me over his shoulder.

“You robbed the ship?” he asked quietly. “And burned it?”

“Aye,” I said with a shrug. “Had to cover for your rescue.”

“It is the way of the coast,” Gaston said in French.

Davey frowned at him. I translated, though it helped little as Davey did not understand what the coast in question was. Nor did I, other than knowing we were amongst the brethren of one.

Pete stopped rowing and clapped Davey heartily on the shoulder.

“Not One O’Ar Ships. You’llGet Past It.”

Davey nodded. “We’re not goin’ ta hang?”

“If we’re found out we might,” Striker said. “Ship’s gone. No witnesses, no bodies if we’re lucky between the fire, the explosion, and the sharks. Just the five of us. Course the Captain and his matelot know of it. But despite their trying to be proper gentlemen, they won’t say anything.” Striker looked at me and frowned. “Anybody else who might know you wanted to get him free?”

“Two, both beholden to me in some fashion.” I knew Theodore and Fletcher would be dismayed, but I was sure in my heart they would be admirably silent about it all unless they knew the details. “As long as they know not of the money and I say the burning resulted from the heat of the moment, as it were.”

Striker grinned and nodded. “Same goes for Bradley. And I’ll trust your judgment on yours. I have a feeling that you’ve been involved in enough endeavors of this nature to be a good judge of a man in that regard.”

“Aye,” I smiled.

Davey turned to find me in the moonlight. He was grinning this time.

“You robbed and burnt the ship.”

“Christ’s balls, I think he’s beginning to see which end’s up,” Striker laughed.

I chuckled and glanced at Gaston. I found him watching me again.

This time he did not look away when our eyes met.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He snorted and looked away with a thoughtful frown. “Non, thank you.”

Though we witnessed a great deal of commotion along the harbor wharfs, none came toward us. We rowed through the dark. In the aftermath of the excitement, my bowels chose to remind me of their existence. I found myself unable to row as I hunched over the oar in pain.

“Will?” Gaston hissed. I felt more than heard or saw the others stop rowing.

“It is nothing. Merely cramps. More of the same involving my bowels,” I whispered back, though it did little to prevent the others from hearing as all was quiet about us.