Raised By Wolves 2 - Matelots (100 page)

“I would rather have you go to the Queen, now that the ships have arrived,” Striker sighed. “But if you must, you’ll not go into town alone.

And you’ll send someone to find me if you run afoul of Morgan.”

Gaston frowned at this. “Why?”

Striker sighed. “He wishes for Will to translate, and has been awaiting news of Will’s recovery from a blow some Spaniard gave him.”

I ignored Striker’s words, and thought of Morgan and what he might want. The idea of translating the cries of tortured men filled me with dread: not the like of the cave, but of a more depressing and mundane variety. It was not a thing I wished to ever do. And obviously, I could not bring his demands to the good citizen hostages this time.

Gaston was shaking his head firmly. “Will cannot.”

“Well, as he can’t talk, I know that,” Striker said with some exasperation. “That is not the problem; I do not want Morgan to see him if he is addled, or mad, or whatever state he is in.”

My matelot sighed. “Neither do I.”

“I’ll send Liam with you,” Striker said.

Gaston regarded Striker as if he were mad. “Did I not just say we do not wish to discuss the matter?”

Striker shook his head and smiled sadly. “Aye, aye, but take pity on him; with his matelot gone, he’s not been himself, and he’s been right worried about the two of you. I’m sure you can ask him to shut up if you explain why.” His look said he did not accept any reason we had yet given him as adequate, but perhaps we could work some miracle with Liam.I liked Liam, and I knew whatever query he would make and anything he would say would be from a good heart. I tapped Gaston’s shoulder and nodded.

He sighed but nodded to Striker. “All right, we will take him.”

“There is another thing,” Striker said, and worried his lip with his teeth.“What?” Gaston asked with narrowed eyes.

“The Spaniard, Alonso, there,” Striker said and gestured. “Do either of you wish him dead?”

Gaston’s sigh was prolonged, and he glanced at me with guilty eyes.

“Nay. He should not be harmed. I am sure Will would not want him put with the others.”

Striker shook his head. “That’s not a concern. He doesn’t wish to return to Panama, and he has some ideas on smuggling from these parts, and… well, he’ll be sailing with us.”

Gaston swore low and vehemently in French.

“Fine,” he at last said in English. “I suppose that is… as it should be, somehow. The irony is fitting.”

Striker leaned close to whisper to Gaston, but I heard him anyway.

“Did you two fight over him?” he asked.

I walked away, my eyes firmly on the cave wall. I saw images dancing upon it, and heard sounds whispered all about. I had talked with Alonso. I had talked with him of many things. He did not wish to return to Panama. His brother had wanted his money, and his wife was from a convent and possibly better off without him. And he could take no lover of merit and thus relieve his heart. And of his heart… well, he still cared greatly for me, though somewhere in the light, a voice whispered that it was a mistaken and misguided thing. I had left him for a reason. I had always left men like him – even those who did not compete with him in stature in any way – for a reason.

Gaston was beside me, his hand in mine. I squeezed it reassuringly and turned to find him regarding me with concern. I could see the words waiting behind his eyes, all jumbled and pressed together, waiting to spew from his mouth if I would but let him. I shook my head and he bit his lip.

A diffident Liam joined us a moment later. His gaze was all over me, and I could see the millions of words behind his eyes as well. Gaston released me, and gently towed Liam beyond my hearing.

I studied what I could see of the town as they talked. Someone was roasting beef in the fort, and the smell of it made my stomach clench painfully. I was nearly driven to brave the other men in order to attempt to fetch some, but I knew not how I would eat it.

“Will, are you well?” a voice asked from behind me.

I whirled to find Nickel and Bones standing there watching me.

Nickel had spoken. I shrugged and smiled a little.

Nickel seemed unsure of this response. Bones was fine with it, however.

“Striker said we should do a useful thing and join ya in goin’ ta town,” the lanky man said with a shrug. “I thought we were doin’ well enough for the world holdin’ that wall up with our shoulders.”

I smiled sincerely.

Nickel rolled his eyes and smacked Bones’ arm.

Gaston was beside me. He studied the newcomers intently.

Nickel took a step back. “We are to accompany you to town,” he told Gaston with a polite bob of his head.

“Let us all go, then,” Gaston said with a tired sigh and a glare in Striker’s direction.

I tapped him on the shoulder and pointed at my belly.

My matelot immediately frowned with concern and asked Liam,

“Were you able to feed Will… while he…?”

Liam shook his head.

Gaston cursed and, after motioning for me to remain where I was, headed toward the fire.

In the uncomfortable silence that followed, I glanced at Liam, and found him regarding me with a thoughtful mien. When my gaze met his, he came to embrace me.

“Ya worry none, now,” he said.

I nodded, and wondered what Gaston had told him.

“What happened…?” Nickel began to ask.

“Nothin’ Will wants ta speak ov,” Liam said quickly, and stepped between me and the boy. “Leave ’im be.”

Neither Nickel nor Bones was the stubborn or ornery type, and so they nodded amicably. The curiosity in their eyes still bothered me, but I supposed I could bear it. I knew I had done much to earn it. That thought alone was enough to threaten me with the light. I turned away from them and resumed studying the harbor and town beyond.

The light, or perhaps the darkness I would not let it reveal, was a hungry rumbling in my head and heart that nearly matched the pain in my belly. This struck me with renewed fear, but now I was not afraid I would remember that which I sought to avoid, but that its inevitable visitation upon me would occur at an inopportune time – say in the presence of anyone other than Gaston – and I would be struck by some frenzy or other loss of reason and control. Yet I knew that if I were to return to the officer’s room and attempt to turn to the light of my own accord, I would not be able to. I was still not ready. Thus, I wondered how long I could hold it at bay.

Gaston returned with a hunk of meat and a cup of warm water.

With Liam’s help, he minced the beef as finely as could be managed.

Then they put the bits into the cup and gave it to me to drink. I was able to suck the little pieces between my lips. Most went down my throat and made my belly happy, but a surprising number of little morsels seemed quite intent in staying betwixt my teeth. I rinsed them out as best I could, and resolved to suck on the remnants without complaint. I was quite disheartened with the idea of eating in this manner for several weeks.

“I suppose we could make a mash o’ fruit for ’im,” Liam said. “Iffn we ’ad bread, we could make a puddin’.”

Bones joined in on thinking of other things they could reduce to mash to feed me; and Gaston gave me a rueful smile and went to stow his musket and my bag with the other men, so that I was not carrying all our gear.

As we headed to the gate, Liam ceased reminiscing on the things one added to a pot to make a truly fine stew, and paused to look around. The smile quickly left his face; and a great sadness suffused him, and he cursed quietly and fell in with us.

I touched his shoulder gently, and he shook his head. “I keep lookin’ for ’im is all. I forget,” he said thickly.

As, I too, had felt there to be a thing missing in Liam’s presence, I could only imagine how it must have been for him: to be ever beside a man for twelve years and then to have him gone.

I looked to Gaston and saw his bandage, and fear and pending grief gripped me in equal measure. I stumbled.

Gaston was quickly beside me. “Do you wish to do this today?” he whispered.

I nodded. I felt little choice in the matter. I could not hide.

Our search for an alchemist or apothecary was not noted or impeded by any we encountered, and truly I was surprised at how few of our men we did see; but then we were avoiding the main castle and the square near it, where Morgan had holed up and the prisoners were held. At last we located a shop, and I assisted Gaston in rummaging about the place, until he did indeed find what we sought: not as bags of the flower pods to be pressed, but in a great jar of the elixir already prepared. Gaston explained to our friends that we were acquiring medical supplies, and then he and I spent a good deal of time carefully distributing the laudanum into smaller bottles and vials that we could put into Gaston’s bag. When we truly had three times as much of the substance as Gaston had ever made before – and we had been forced to appropriate another sack to carry it all – he regarded what was left of the jar with a heavy sigh.

“We must take the rest to Farley,” he said. “He might be disposed to use it.”

I was disposed to use it then and there, and I indicated as much to Gaston. He awarded me a patient smile and prepared a small draught for each of us.

I was offering my small glass in toast when we heard a trumpet call.

Liam called for us from outside. With grim looks, we downed our cups and hurried to see what the fuss was about.

In the square, we quickly learned that Bradley’s men had easily held off a force sent from Panama. Much of this fortune was due to the mountains and treacherous forest east of us, and the road only being able to pass through an easily, defensible narrow defile.

“Ah, you,” a man cried when he spied us, “Lord Will, the Admiral be lookin’ fer ya. The Spaniards sent a man and a letter.”

Gaston cursed, but I sighed. We began to follow the man back to a large house on the square. Liam sent Nickel to fetch Striker, and then he and Gaston were tight about me.

“Do you wish to do this?” Gaston asked me in French.

“Can ’e do this?” Liam asked Gaston in English.

I snorted with amusement and continued following the man leading us to Morgan. The laudanum was easing all my cares away, and I seemed to have no issue with the languages.

Gaston’s hand closed tightly about my arm, and he turned me to face him. He studied me with an earnest frown. I awarded him a shrug and kissed his nose.

He sighed and addressed Liam. “He will not appear addled, just drunk. And if he does exhibit strange behavior, we can explain it as the drug I gave him.”

Morgan was ebullient when we reached him: this seemed as much due to my arrival as to the victory. He thrust a letter at me and demanded, “Tell me what it says.”

“He cannot,” Gaston said, and pointed to my bandaged jaw.

“Does he need that?” Morgan asked with annoyance.

“He will need paper,” Gaston said firmly.

Morgan swore. “We will need that, well enough, for the writing of a return missive. Hurry, hurry, their envoy is waiting, and I wouldn’t have him think us barbarians who can’t even write.”

I endeavored to ignore their search for paper and ink, and unfolded the page and began reading. The letter was from the President of Panama. We were expected to leave by nightfall. I wondered what the president would do if we did not go, since he had already failed to reach us. In that, I thought the letter to be a rather perfunctory gesture made in the expectance of such. What else could he do, congratulate us?

Once they gave me paper, I knew Morgan would have no patience for reading any notes I might make as to the tone, and so I merely rendered a literal translation.

Morgan was greatly amused, and in his pacing about, he mentioned the possibilities I had considered. Then he said, “But it is no matter.

Our ships are here; we can retreat any time we wish.” He looked to one of the captains. “Begin loading the treasure, but make no alarm of the matter.”

Striker had arrived while I translated the note, and Gaston had left my side for a moment to speak with him. Then Striker had stood about waiting with the other captains present.

Morgan now looked to Striker and told him, “Leave a few men at your fort as lookouts, and bring the rest into town. I do not fear the sea.”I wondered if Striker would be so kind as to leave us at the fort. I wanted little of the town, and I was not yet ready to be stuck upon the ship. But, of course, he might not think we were capable lookouts.

Morgan turned back to me, and began to dictate his response before I could allow that thought to make me angry, or sad.

As I had expected, Morgan ransomed the town for a truly noble amount of three hundred thousand pieces of eight, threatening death to all the prisoners and destruction of the town and forts if his demand was not met. I made it sound polite and a little less perfunctory than the president’s note, without any sarcasm as to lack of a Spanish position.

When I finished, Morgan considered the Spanish words, mumbling through them. I could see doubt in his eyes as he occasionally glanced at me.

With a sigh, I snatched another piece of paper and wrote, It is as you said, and it is polite. Go ask someone who reads Spanish to read it aloud for you, or translate it. I suggest Julio.

He snorted dismissively, and folded and sealed the page. “Nay, I trust you. I am merely concerned that the blow to your head might have diminished your diplomatic abilities, seeing as it was a Spaniard that struck you.” He chuckled, but there was mischief in his eyes, as if his mention of the matter was goading.

I wanted to tell him that it was not a Spaniard who struck me, but Pete, because I had been…

The room spun and I found myself in the cave again. The light was blinding, so bright I could not see anything within it, even though I was facing it. I felt a great urge to throw my hands before my eyes and cry out; but there was a steadying hand upon my arm, and I turned to find Gaston watching me with worried eyes. For a moment we were in the cave together, and then we were once again sitting at the table in the house Morgan had claimed.

“He becomes dizzy from the wound on occasion,” Gaston was telling Morgan.