Blood in the Water (7 page)

Eric gasped for air. “He stole what’s mine. I want it back.”

“Is that all?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

She pulled the knife away and wiped it on Eric’s heaving chest. “He’s on the Hawk. Trying not to die.”

Eric just lay there puzzling out what that meant. The quartermaster stood, and he gasped several full breaths. She walked away down the pile. Eric had to scramble to catch up. “What happened?”

She made a vague gesture at the fallen merchant stall. “Someone intended this for you.”

“Kyros was here,” he said. She led him to a pile of black on the ground, harder than rock with exploded spikes out of the top.

She leaned her boot heel on one of the spikes and heaved. The spike tip snapped into the dirt. “People are saying a demon vomited fire on top of him.”

“He survived this?” Eric turned the shard of stone over in his hands, sharper than any knife he owned.

“You could call it that. He made it about two feet away.” She pointed. “Collapsed on his face. He’s been unconscious since then.”

Eric rubbed his chest, and for once Ghalil had nothing to do with it. There was a tightness there he couldn’t explain. He needed to see Kyros, and he wasn’t sure yelling at him was even on the table anymore. “Take me to him?” he asked. “Please?”

She gave him a once-over. Then nodded. “Don’t make me have to kill you.”

Araceli, she said her name was, and she didn’t let him row the boat. As they jumped across the bay, Eric realized that might be a good thing. Her broad arms heaved with a force he wasn’t sure he could match. And she maintained that speed all the way out of the bay, around to the Northwest, and down the coast to a much smaller cove where the Hawk bobbed out of sight. The ship sat with her sails furled, anchored close on shore.

They climbed to the top deck, and Eric felt the stares like points of heat. Without Araceli leading the way he wouldn’t have made it to the stairs.

Two decks down, the quartermaster stopped him at the door. “If you start any shit, I will put a knife through your eye.” The quiet desperation in her voice made Eric’s stomach flip. She opened the door.

A man at the table sat up, pushing glasses up his nose. The boatswain? If he said anything, Eric missed it. Kyros lay unmoving on the bed, body red and bloated, skin missing more than it was there, blisters from head to toe. Black. Chunks of roasted flesh. Eric knelt at the bedside and covered his mouth. His fingers shook. “He’s dead.”

“Not yet,” Araceli snapped at him. She urged the other man out and closed the door, leaving Eric alone.

****

Chapter IV

May

Two Weeks Later

The groaning wouldn’t stop. Kyros struggled to breathe, to move, to speak. He felt heavy, and too hot. Everything twitched like it was too tight. And the groaning kept going on and on.

Someone brushed his hair back and whispered in his ear. Kyros opened his eyes and realized the moans came from his own chest. His mouth snapped, dry. Why was breathing so difficult?

“Easy, easy, don’t move. That isn’t a good idea, I promise.”

He recognized that voice but couldn’t place it. The head petting stopped. He missed it. Something dripped on his lips. He licked at it. Beer. What on earth happened?

He tried to speak and just managed a croak. Then exhaustion swept over him and he only knew black.

The next time Kyros woke he screamed in pain, which only caused more. Everything burned. His hip seared, as if Theo had jabbed him with still-molten metal. He blacked out.

Kyros woke to words in his ear, whispers about nothing and a hand stroking his forehead. It was the only place that didn’t hurt. He managed a grunt. Beer appeared and Kyros thought he remembered doing this already. The liquid cooled things, though, and he lapped at it until he was too tired to swallow anymore. He slept.

He didn’t know how long he wavered between the two states. Everything was pain. Sometimes there was sleep. Usually he dreamed about pain.

His arm itched. Kyros reached with his other hand to fix that. As soon as he made contact, fire spiked through his body. He hissed and didn’t try again. Eric appeared over him. “I told you not to move. It’s still not a good idea.”

“What—” He didn’t have any spit to work with. Eric held his head up and nursed a mug of grog between his lips. That helped. He tried again, “What are you doing here?”

Eric crossed his arms. “You took something of mine, which I found by the way, thanks.”

“I mean… why am I here… with you?” What did he mean, anyway?

“You tried to get your fool self melted.”

Kyros didn’t know how to process that. His blank expression must have conveyed such, because Eric sat down on a chair beside the bed and sighed. “People are saying a demon vomited liquid fire right onto your chest. By the looks of things, I’d say your leather fetish saved your life. You’ve got a permanent belt loop though.” Eric touched something on his hip that was attached to him but not in any way flesh. He didn’t feel the contact so much as the pressure which… he just couldn’t explain.

He lifted his hand and started when it came into vision, red and swollen. Too red. Peeling. “I don’t understand?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“The jar…” Kyros turned his head to look at the bottom drawer across the room and the motion pulled things that weren’t supposed to be tight. “I spoke with a man about the top to your jar. He said he didn’t want to sell it.”

“Why?”

“Dunno. Said he changed his mind. I asked to see it.” Kyros looked up at Eric and squinted, trying to remember. “I was going to steal it from him if I needed to.”

“How did you plan to steal it?”

“I asked to see it. I had to press him about it.” Kyros put his hands up in a shape over his stomach. “He brought out a box. Said I could see it. I opened it…” Roar. Horns. Red eyes. Claws. Fangs. Kyros remembered fear. Stumbling back and away. Not fast enough. Too stupid to run. “Who is Ghalil?” Eric jerked against the bed and Kyros saw him rub his chest. “Someone you know?”

“Where did you hear that name?”

He wanted to sit up. He tested his stomach and it didn’t try to eviscerate him. He managed to scoot back a bit and sit against the headboard. He could see Eric properly now, and the man looked ragged. “How long have you been here?”

“Ghalil.” Eric insisted. “Where did you hear the name Ghalil?”

Oh, right, he was telling a story. “I opened the box and this… monster came out. Huge. Horns. Like… I don’t know. It demanded to know where Ghalil was. It tore Martin into pieces when he couldn’t produce. Almost tore me apart. Spat… slag from a forge or something, straight on my chest— blue drapes.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I tangled up in blue drapes. I think that’s why I didn’t just… melt on contact. I got out of there. I ran… I… I don’t know where I ran to?”

Eric shook his head. “You fell over where you stood. You should be dead.”

“How long have you been here.”

“Three weeks. I arrived a few days after your… accident.”

Kyros pressed his lips together. “It wasn’t an accident. They thought I was you. Who is Ghalil?”

Eric stood. He lit a lantern in the far corner of the room, and Kyros tensed. Visceral memory screamed through his body. His heart raced. He clenched his teeth. Eric closed and locked the window. He barred the door.

He took off his shirt.

A black tattoo crossed his chest and ribs. The flickering light of the lantern made it look alive, moving across his skin. Eric stepped closer. It
was
moving, writhing in place, held to one spot by a nipple ring that also pierced the socket of its eye. Kyros whispered, “What is that?”

Eric passed a hand between them. “Kyros, meet Ghalil. Ghalil, Kyros.”

“What?” Kyros glanced up at Eric’s face but had to look at the not-a-tattoo again.

“It’s a spirit, bound to my body. The full moon lets it tear out, which is exactly as painful as that sounds. It slaughters everyone in sight. It might come back on its own. I use cinnamon to call it back in if it doesn’t.”

“That’s why you need the jar.”

“I’ve been trapped with this thing for six years. I need it out.”

The door shook, someone trying to enter. Then they pounded on it. Araceli shouted, “Eric, you quit whatever it is you’re doing and open this door!”

“What if I’m taking a shit?” He yelled back, yanking his shirt back on.

“I’ve seen worse! Open up.”

He slid the bar up and let her in. “He’s awake,” he said without malice.

Araceli came straight to the bed, her hands full of something charred. “How are you feeling?”

“Chewed up and spit out,” Kyros admitted. “I’m surprised you let him on board.”

“I told you I would escort him here.” She held the charred thing up to Eric. “Found that today in the wreckage. No sign of the top, but if he did sell it, it should be listed.”

“This whole thing is a damn goose chase,” he said, flipping through the back of the ledger. “Even if it is listed, there’s no way to kno—” Eric pressed his lips together, and Kyros saw his fingers clench.

“What is it?”

“Phillipe Lamar.”

Araceli looked at Kyros. He shrugged, then regretted it with a wince.

“Do you know him?” Eric asked, staring hard.

“No, should I?”

“Don’t feed me any shit, Vindex. Do you know him?” He snapped the book closed with one hand.

Kyros scowled. “No. I don’t.”

Eric stared for another heartbeat then let his breath out. He handed the book back to Araceli. “On one of the last pages you’ll find an entry for the sale of several pieces to a Phillipe Lamar, and the purchase of one box, about this big.” He held his hands up in the same shape Kyros used to describe the demon box.

“This guy wants you dead,” Kyros said. “Or your…” He gestured with one hand, “…guest.”

Eric wiped his hand down his face. “I got word of a treasure cache on a plantation island. Lamar’s island. Good source of info. Good proof. Great results. We broke in. Stole everything. Including a chest carved with a rune on the top that I thought would sell.”

“The one in your cabin?” Kyros asked.

Eric nodded. “I opened that chest and freed Ghalil. I don’t know how long it stayed locked in there, but it preferred to take a host” —Eric gestured at himself— “than wander free and risk being locked away again. We fled.”

Eric took a seat. “When we were in Nassau, a man claiming Phillipe sent him found me at one of the taverns. Insisted that I stop collecting pieces to the puzzle jar. Later, when I realized you had taken the jar I assumed you were working for him, too.”

“Thanks,” Kyros said indignantly.

Eric just gave him a flat-eyed look. “Phillipe, or someone claiming to be him, is listed in that book as purchasing the jar top and selling the box to the vendor. He intended it to kill me, and when you walked in with my name and my letter…” Eric lifted an eyebrow at Kyros.

“Hey, tell me you’d rather be in this bed. We can switch.”

Eric’s haughty expression dropped. “No,” he said. “And I’m sorry. I just wanted…” Eric slid a glance at Araceli who tactfully peered at the ledger instead. “I’m glad you’re going to be okay,” Eric said. “I need to pay Lamar a visit. Maybe after I’ve taken care of this I’ll drop in on you again. Make sure you’re healing up okay.”

A pause breathed between them.

“That’s it?” Kyros asked. “You’re just leaving?”

“Yes.” Eric turned and walked away.

Kyros blinked at the door. “Follow him,” he said to Araceli. “Get this ship unmoored and in the wind. If he is going after some revenge trip on a plantation, we’re going to back him up.”

“Okay.” Araceli closed the ledger and set it on the table.

Kyros blinked again. “Really? No argument?”

“This Lamar guy. He tried to kill you. Well, he tried to kill Deumont but he got you instead. Point is, no one messes with what’s mine. This deserves some retribution, and the guys need a place to point their fingers and blame. Lamar sounds like as good a target as any.”

“Oh… well, okay, then.” Kyros nodded at the door. “Hop-to.”

She smiled. “I’ll send food over.”

“Can… can you blow out the lantern?”

She looked at him funny but did as he asked. Darkness slashed through the room. With the window still closed, only light from the deck spilled into his doorway. But the fire was out and that unknotted his gut.

He’d never had an issue with flames before. Then, he’d never been burned to a crisp, either.

****

June

Two Weeks Later

Eric crouched in a tangle of ferns, fingers twitching to draw his sword. He heard Araceli shift in the tree branches above him. “See anything?”

“Guys are patrolling in pairs. Swords for sure. Maybe pistols too. There’s a lookout tower near the warehouse— man up there has a rifle.”

“Slaves?”

“None that I can see, everyone must have bunked up for the night.” She swung down from the branch and landed, crouched, beside Eric. A move more subtle than he thought she could manage.

Eric said, “The warehouse is where we’ll make our profit. The estate is probably where he’s keeping the jar top.”

“Divide and conquer?”

“That’s what I’m thinking. I’ll take Lamar.”

“Why do you get to kill the guy?”

He glanced at her. “Why, you want to kill him?”

“I’d like to poke a few holes, at least.”

He grunted. “Your guys know how to pillage and burn?”

She slid a sarcastic look at him. “This isn’t our first plantation.”

“Some of mine are new at this, I have a high turnover rate.” He didn’t miss the glance she flicked at his shirt. “So who’s your lead man?”

“Javier,” she said. “Can your men follow a stranger?”

“They don’t have a choice.”

The two of them scrambled back to the overgrown jungle where a group of ten pirates waited in utter silence.

“There are six patrols of guards, two each, and one man on a watchtower with a rifle.” Araceli drew a crude map in the dirt. “The warehouse is to the right of the estate.”

“That’s where you all will focus,” Eric said. “Javier, you’ll lead the group. Take everything worth taking and hoof it back to the boats. Leave one for the quartermaster and me.”