Raised By Wolves Volume four- Wolves (2 page)

“Let me get the charts before youget to it.”

“Let me get the charts before youget to it.”
Their feigned humor fled as the door closed. Gaston and
I exchanged one last private look and a sweet kiss before
dropping down from our hammock to meet serious gazes in the
small space. Dickey’s fine features were tight with excitement,
such that one might think he was accompanying us. As he rarely
went ashore since becoming the Bard’s matelot, I supposed his
participation in the intrigue necessary to enable our evening’s
little adventure had been quite entertaining for him. Striker
appeared somber, his dark eyes black and unreadable, though
the set of his strong jaw said much. Pete’s blue eyes were filled
withmischiefand none ofthe ancient wisdomthat oftenmade me
liken him to a golden god of old: though leaning as he was with
his arms raised upon a ceiling beam, and thus displaying the
handsome musculature of his chest beneath his bronzed skin in
the lamplight, I thought he looked to be a sculpture of something
more thana mere mortalman.
“YaBeReady?”Pete asked witha teasinggrin. “I stillsaythis is foolishness,”Striker said.
“We have had this argument,”I chided witha smile. “We
do not know what we face here, and so it is best we do not
make ourselves available to be detained, or have the ship seized
uponanchoringinthe Hole.”
“An’WeSurprise’Em!” Pete added with a clap of his
matelot’s shoulder. “’LessYaThinkYaCan’t.”
Striker made a disparaging noise. “I can swim with one
arm.” He raised and lowered what remained of his right arm in
emphasis, and I could well imagine him awarding his matelot his

middle finger as he once had.

middle finger as he once had.
Striker had proven he could swim when we careened.
He had actually proven that losing his right armat the elbow was
not an impediment to his doing many things, and even taken to
practicing writing with charcoal upon the deck with his left. I
supposed that if one always thought he might lose a limb in his
endeavors—as apparently Striker had always assumed, as he
came froma long line of pirates and seamen—one could accept
it readilyenoughand learnto make do.
“Well, we should be drawing abreast of the Palisadoes
Wall soon,” Dickey said, and went to stick his head out the
window. “This is as close as we dare pass, and Francis has
slowed us somewhat, but if we slow much more, the men will
wonder at it.”
“Allright,”I said grimly as I peered out the window. The
shore sliding along to starboard seemed very far away when I
considered that I must traverse the distance; but I knew I had
swumfarther onmanyoccasions.
“The Bard and Cudro are feigningspeakingofthe matter
now,” Dickey said, “and when I leave the cabin, Cudro will step
away fromhimand address the men, telling themthat we willnot
anchor inthe Chocolata Hole tonight because the sunhas set and
we do not wish to haggle with the governor’s men on matters of
what theymight taxuntilthe morrow. Thenhe willarrange for the
menthat wishit to go ashore onthe boats.”
“And him delivering that news and their grousing should
keep anyfromseeingus swimaway,”Striker said.
“Excellent,” I sighed, and considered the darkening
waters. I spied a shark fin far back in our wake, the yellow waters. I spied a shark fin far back in our wake, the yellow triangle glinting for a moment in the last rays of the setting sun before slipping beneath the waves. The damn creatures followed ships everywhere, seeking whatever men dropped over the
sides:and we were goingto drop ourselves over the side. Striker and Pete were already wearing only their
breeches as was ever their wont. I doffed my tunic, as I disliked
swimming in it; telling myself I had more in my sea chest at
Sarah’s. ThenI snorted at myfoolishness:here we were planning
to sneak ashore as ifthe whole colonyofJamaica might want our
hides, and yet I expected to find all I might need at the house. I
quickly prayed to the Gods that the former was the flight of
fancy. Of course, I didn’t want my things to be missing from
Sarah’s, either.
“Let this all be a lark at which we will laugh over wine
this night,”I muttered quietlyinFrenchbywayofprayer. Gastonregarded me sharply.
I grinned at himreassuringlyand shrugged.
He donned his tunic and breeches and strapped on his
sword belt, without his baldric or much in the way of his usual
assortment of weapons. We had indeed discussed this many
times: much like the matter of clothing, we would either not need
our pistols—whichwould take great effort to get ashore withdry
powder and the like anyway—or we would discover such
trouble awaiting us that it would be best to avoid conflict and
return to the ship to plan what we might do next. I joined my
matelot in equipping my sword belt with a few knives and
nothingelse.
When all were prepared, Dickey shook our hands to When all were prepared, Dickey shook our hands to
wish us fortune. “Do not forget to come and tell us if all is well,”
he admonished. “If we do not see you by the dawn, we will
assume some evil has befallen you and sail farther fromshore to
give us roomto maneuver.”
“Aye, aye,” Striker told him with a grin, and pulled the
slender man into a one-armed embrace. “Tell Cudro and the
Bard we will not be so happy at being home that we’ll forget
others worry.”
I chuckled at the irony: Striker was by far the most
accomplished worrier ofour number.
Dickey slipped out the door. Striker pulled Pete to him
for a quick kiss. My matelot did the same with me, and I
chuckled against his lips.
Scant moments later, we heard Cudro’s magnificent
voice boom from above, where he stood at the fore rail of the
quarterdeck to address the men. We turned to the windows, and
one byone, dove out into the sea.
The water seemed cold, and it drove away all thoughts
of our plan and what we might find ashore, invigorating my
senses and setting my muscles and skin afire:no matter what else
we might face, at this moment, there was only the sea and its
imminent dangers. The sun had truly set now, and I could see
nothing beneath the water, even though the sky still shone dully
with dusk’s light. I bobbed to the surface, pushing my fear of the
sea’s naturaldenizens beneathme, and tread water while seeking
my matelot or the others. I saw Gaston a few yards away and
swamto meet him. We located Pete and Striker nearby, and all
beganto swimto shore.
It was indeed an easy swim. My fears of sharks, and
other things unknown to man that might lurk beneath nighttime
waters, drove me to make fast work of it; but when I at least
reached the shore I had little regret for the endeavor: I felt more
alive thanI had inweeks, and I saw this sentiment mirrored upon
the faces of my friends. Gaston bowled me over to kiss me
exuberantlyinthe sand, and we laughed like boys.
After a short rest, we took stock of our surroundings
and discovered the Bard had indeed timed our escapade well.
We could just see the torches on Fort Rupert at the wall to the
west, placing us out of sight in the palms and bracken of the
Palisadoes: an area inhabited only by buccaneers who could not
afford habitationwithinPort Royal.
“If we are truly so damn concerned as to who might see
us,”Striker said as we stood and stretched, “we should not enter
bythe gate. Someone willsurelyrecognize us.”
With grudging sighs of agreement, we returned to the
surf, making our way through the waves toward the walland fort
until we were just beyond the light of their torches: at which
point, we took to deeper water to swim out and around the
defense works and return to the surfalong Port Royal’s southern
shore. Twilight had passed, and night was illuminated in silver by
a nearly full moon. We could clearly see the nearest buildings,
yet I doubted that anyone could see us as we walked ashore,
unless they were standing beyond the light of their cheery yellow
torches and lanterns and their eyes were well-accustomed to the
moonlight.
Though Port Royal was growing, lot by lot, nearly every day, the new dwellings had not yet reached the southern edge of the cay; and so we crossed a smallfield before being able to slip into an alley between buildings. Once in manmade shadows, we made our way quietly to Sarah’s. As we neared our destination, I saw the lot upon which my wife’s house had once stood: still vacant save the charred and twisted remains of the three-story structure. In the moonlight it did not look so much like the remains of a house, but more the blackened bones of some
monster ofold.
That it had not been rebuilt reinforced the quandary I felt
as to whether we were being overly cautious. The property
belonged to my father and had been designated as the site of my
wife’s home:that would be the wife ofthe Viscount ofMarsdale.
As I had renounced my claimto that title, even though I was still
married to Vivian, there was no Lady Marsdale, and the
property now served no purpose to my father. Yet, though six
months had surely provided ample time for him to be notified of
these things inEngland, and ostensiblyto replyto them—outside
the stormseason, it only took eight weeks or so for a ship to sail
between here and England—he had apparently not instructed
anyone to do anythingwiththis valuable piece ofproperty. Or he
had, and they had not had a chance to act on it, yet. Or he did
not care. All options that applied to his thoughts and reaction to
myconduct as well.
Despite having gained a deeper understanding of my
father’s motivations and feelings this last year, I despaired I
would ever know what he truly thought on any matter. My
relationship with him was much like that charred debris: a thing burned down and now awaiting someone to clear it away and
allow somethingnew to be built.
My reverie was abruptly ended by the bark of dogs as
we approached the back gate to Sarah’s house. The gruff
warnings of the pack of Spanish mastiffs thankfully changed to
yips ofglee as one ofthemcaught our scent and remembered us.
Surrounded by bounding great beasts, we entered the large yard
and threaded our way between the stable and cook house and
into the atriumwithinthe horseshoe ofthe house, where we were
met with squeals of delight from the women and embraces from

the men.Liam looked as he ever did: nose crooked in a half

dozen places, and skin tanned darker than his pale blonde hair. My sister Sarah greeted her husbands with delight and did not notice Striker’s missing arm for a surprisingly long time. My former tutor, Mister Rucker, was uncharacteristically gleeful in his greeting: embracing me tightly; and in such close quarters reminding me yet again how short he was now that I was a man. Bones, our lanky musketeer, was as laconic and lazy as ever, being the last to rise in greeting, but his smile was warm and sincere. Nickel seemed both delighted and alarmed at our arrival, and I wondered at that. But then I got my arms about Agnes and allother thought was drivenfrommyhead.

Agnes was pregnant. The bulge ofbabywas huge onher slender frame.
“Gods,” I breathed as she looked up at me with a happy

smile. I turned to Gaston and found him regarding her with a

mixture ofwonder and terror.
“Surprise,”Agnes said witha grin.
Gastonpulled her to himand held her close. “Are youwell?”he asked.
“Aye, aye,” she assured himand pulled away far enough

to gaze up at him. “I thought… I was quite surprised when… Well, I did not think… I didn’t think I wanted one so soon. But, now that he—or she—is here, I am very happy. It’s good, isn’t it?”

“It is wonderful,”he said softly. “I amverypleased.”

Her wide mouth smiled such that she was teeth nearly from one ear to the other, and her dark eyes glistened in the lamplight. She looked at me expectantly.

“I am delighted,” I said with great sincerity. Gaston would have the puppy he always wanted: a healthy one from a fine dam. And perhaps we could accomplish the whole matter of his producinganheir quickly, and thenI would no longer need to share him, and Agnes would be free to find some woman who would accept the love she so eagerly wished to bestow upon one ofher ownnumber.

I kissed her forehead and then his mouth. His gaze found mine as I beganto step back, and I lingered to whisper, “A good healthypuppy.”

He smiled withrelief. “Oui.”

“You are happy and healthy,” I said to Agnes. “How is everyone else?”
We were somewhat alone: the whirling stormof greeting had moved from us a bit, save for two calming dogs: Bella and her mate Taro, who seemed happyto flank me.
“Well enough,” Agnes sighed. “There is news, but…” She looked past my shoulder and her lip twitched in a crooked grin.
I turned and found Nickel hovering nearby. He met my gaze and the shadow of a flush came over his handsome face. He did not seem to have aged in six months, and I wondered if he would ever appear to be other thanthe planter’s sonescaping the priesthood we had first met.
“And how are you, Nickel?”I asked.
He gulped and nodded. “Very well, my… Will. Should I go and tellthe Theodores youare here, and… your wife?”
“Aye,”I said. “Is there somethingthe matter, Nickel?”
“Nay!” he appeared even more stricken and looked awayquickly. “I willbe back at once.”He hurried out.
Liam was suddenly at my side. “Silly lad. You’ll ’ave to sit himdownover a bottle and talk some sense into ’im.”
“Why?”I asked.
“’E be in love with your wife, an’ ’er with ’im, it would appear,” Liam said with amusement. “Ya ’ave my word nothin’ improper ’as ’appened. But ’e be all up in arms aboot it. I tol’ ’imya were a member o’ the Brethrenand yur matelot come first —an’ that be the thing ya might duel a man o’er—but ’e would na’ listen.”
It was difficult not to laugh. “So they are truly in love. I suppose that is… wonderful. And how has my wife been? Sober?”
“Oh, aye,”Liamsaid.

“And how is her babe?”Gastonasked.

“And how is her babe?”Gastonasked.
Liamfrowned a little. “Right enough, but not like Pike.” “Pike?”I asked.
“Yur nephew. None of us liked callin’ ’im little Pete or

some suchthing. So ’e became Pike.”

I thought that a good name, but as I thought on Jamaica in light of Liam’s news, I wondered how we would sort that matter out. I had promised Vivian I would not stand in the way of her happiness in matters of the heart if she should find someone. Of course, divorcing her would be difficult with all the fighting I had done to keep her in the face of my father’s insistence that I put her out; but did that reallymatter now? I was done with him. His opinion, or any other man’s, did not truly matter. But what ofJamaica:did Nickelwish to raise the child as his own, since she was his beloved’s; and would Gaston be happy to surrender her to another father? I glanced at Agnes: Gastoncould wellbe more acceptingofsucha thingnow.