Raised By Wolves Volume four- Wolves (53 page)

down.I felt a presence at my side and Gaston’s face broke the

surface. We held our position as he too looked about. I found myselflookingat him. He appeared as haggard as I felt. “We are inluck,”he whispered.
“Do tell?”
His smile was grim. “Look, the anchor is onthis side.”
I looked. The anchor and rope were somewhat to the vessel’s starboard with us. The current and breeze were pushing the sloop toward the point of land we had come from. The angle had not been obvious fromshore. It was indeed a lucky thing, in that the object of the sloop’s attention, the
Magdalene
, was somewhat to her port. We would not have to mess about with the damn rope directly between the two vessels where the sloop’s crew was staringwithsuchdiligence.
I looked back to the sloop and saw an equal amount of un-luck preparingto befallus, though.
“She’s preparingto sail,”I panted.
“Oui,” Gaston said. “The current is pushing her too close to land, and with the sun setting, they must think the Bard will make a runfor it soon.”
I swore and began swimming again. Anew worry came to me as I fought water that seemed the thickness of heavy porridge and determined to carry me back two lengths for every one I made. If Pete cut the rudder now, they would likely discover it well before we had completed our task. Yet, if he waited too long, they would raise sail and he would be hacking about at the end ofa moving vesseland they would discover him quite quickly when their rudder was sluggish. We had not discussed the timing of the venture with him. I supposed I had thought we would accomplishour goals at about the same time. I prayed he possessed—as he always seemed to—a far superior Gods-given grasp of the situation than I had had. Unfortunately, he could not see theywere preparingto sail.
It was a matter for the Gods, but I let it distract me from other cares as I strove to reach the unnaturally straight line of the anchor rope inthe clear water. I stayed deep, and mylungs were near bursting each time I clawed to the surface and carefully thrust my nose and mouth above the water for a great gasp of precious air.
Then the rope did a peculiar thing: it began to curve and sink. I stopped swimming and watched it with dismay; temporarily at a loss as to any explanation for the damn cable’s behavior. Gaston prodded my ribs and drove me to the surface. I broke the waves and thrashed about treading water, peering about ina frantic attempt to orient myself.
The
Magdalene
was a golden ship of myth. She was side-onto us withher sails raised and lit bythe sinkingsun. I saw the wind catch canvas and she heeled and practically leapt forward out of the cove. I could see Theodore in her waist looking at me. He seemed so close I could make out the details of his jacket and see the sun glinting in his eyes; yet, he also seemed a hundred miles away: a denizen of another time and

place. Gaston was yelling in my ear and I turned to find the

sloop bearing down on us—sideways. Her canvas was also raised, and she seemed to be turning to match the
Magdalene’s
course. The surprised, yelling faces pointing at us seemed very close indeed. And the barrels of muskets being aimed in our directionseemed the mouths ofcannon.

I gasped air and willed myself to sink as quickly as possible. Muffled thunder cracked and rolled above me and I saw the oddly slow course of a ball pass by my head. It looked very much like a glass wormhole in wood. I looked for more, and saw the monstrous shadow of the sloop’s deep keel coming for us: not straight on, or even side on, but as a slow wheeling paddle we struggled ahead ofina butter churn.

Gaston’s hands thrust out toward it from beside me. I had sunk backwards, pulling my knees toward my chest and imagining my arse filled with lead that could drag me deeper. I grabbed Gaston about the waist and thrust out with my feet. When the curving wall of wood struck, I felt for a moment that I might stand upon it, there, sideways in the water. Then my knees buckled under the inexorable force and I found myself squatting against it, tantalizingly close to the bow. I straightened my legs again with a desperate power I was sure I could not have mustered under other circumstances and pushed us up and to the right. The swinging prow clipped my shoulder as it passed and we spunfarther away.

Thankfully my matelot could still discern up from down, and he pulled us to the surface in a frantic bout of kicking. My shoulder was bruised and numb. We only had a chance to take another deep gasp of air before we perceived muskets being aimed at us again—this time from the other side of the bow as the sloop continued to wheel away from us—and the
Magdalene’s
course.

I encountered something rough in my spastic attempt to turn and dive:the damn anchor rope. I did not pause to consider the irony that I had gotten my hands on it at last only by dint of the damn vessel moving. Then the blessed golden air above exploded with gunfire again and I found the wherewithal to push myself under the rope and deep. There were several wormtrails around me, and I rotated to see thembetter. Instead I found the sea cloudyto myright. Gaston’s hand was onmybelt; pullingme

deeper.The cloud emanated fromhim. He was bleeding.

His face was full of shock and surprise. I got a grip on his neck and pulled him to me and kicked desperately for the surface. He convulsed and an explosion of bubbles came from his mouth. I was gripped by the knowledge it was his last breath. I could not let himbreathe sea water:I could not allow that to be the last thing he tasted. I kissed him, exhaling into his mouth in the process. He clung to me as we rose and I at last felt the air hit myforehead again. Our lips parted and we gasped as one.

He continued to cling to me, threatening to pull me under. Part of my addled brain said that was where we surely needed to be, but another told me it was death. I spun about, lookingfor the sloop.

She was there, anchored still by the once-again taut rope. Her deck was bedlam. The soldiers were firing toward the land now, and crumpling as those on land found their marks. However the men in her bow were beyond the range ofCudro’s muskets. The sloop’s sails were full, and she was twisted and heeling, pinioned between the wind and current and her anchor. Pete must have been successful in ruining her rudder, as her master obviously could not control her and there was too much confusiononher aft deck—whichwas inrange ofthe shore – for anyone to strike her canvas.

No one was looking toward us. Unfortunately, the current was pushingus toward her.
“Hangon,”I told Gaston.
He wrapped his arms about myshoulders and let me pull us to the anchor rope. I drew my best knife and attacked the sodden cable like a man possessed. It felt as if I was slicing throughbone, but strand bystand it beganto part.
“Will!”Gastongasped inwarning.
Though the gunfire had been continuous, I heard the change in the retorts, and knew without looking that the attention of their surviving marksman had returned to us. Using the remaining rope as leverage, I pushed us under and twisted to wrap my legs around the cable and hold us there as I finished slicing. Finally the last strand parted with a loud pop and we were sinking. I grabbed the limp cable stillattached to the anchor withone hand and thrashed to the surface withGaston’s help.
The sloop was now wheeling completely away—into the path of the approaching merchantman who was trying to steer

out and around her. My grip on what remained of the anchor

out and around her. My grip on what remained of the anchor cable was holding us still, and keeping us fromjoining the soonto-collide vessels. The men who had been firing at us were now trying to reposition themselves to keep us in range; running down the deck and afoul of the sheets as the sloop’s crew attempted to get their vesselunder control.

I looked about. The
Magdalene
was still a golden wonder, but she was well out in the channel now. Even if the sloop had a rudder, she would never catch her. Several people stood at the
Magdalene’s
stern, peeringour way. I could not tell who theywere.

On shore, Pete was waving frantically at us from the cover ofthe brush. I could see his worried face quite clearly.
“Where are youhit?”I asked Gaston.
“Myback,”he gasped withpain.
I twisted and snaked my free arm around him to feel up his spine. I found the wound high on his right shoulder, in the triangle ofmuscle near his neck.
“It is wayup here,”I told him.
He shook his head helplessly. “That is good. It feels like it is everywhere.”
“Hold on,” I told him needlessly, and began to swim for

shore. It seemed to take forever, and I was quite relieved when

Pete joined me to help. At last we had Gaston ashore and all I wished to do was lie in the dusky light and breathe in peace, but it was not to be.

“’OwBadIs’E?”Pete asked.

 

I rolled over and regarded Gaston’s back. The wound

I rolled over and regarded Gaston’s back. The wound was in the muscle as I had first surmised. I probed it gently, and —in addition to proving he was still quite conscious—found I could easilyfeelthe ballwithmyfingertip.

“I canfeelit,”I told his tightlyclosed eyes.
“Canyougrasp it?”he gasped.
“Truly?”I asked.
“Get it out!”he hissed.
“NotIf’E’llYell,” Pete hissed.

“ThereBeMenSearchin’FurUs.”

Gaston squirmed about untilhe could bite a root. I knew mincing about would just cause himmore pain, and so I probed the wound with abandon while he strained and groaned until I could get my fingers about the slick and slightly misshapen ball and pull it free. Then I leaned on the wound, pinning him to the ground and hoping that I could do some small thing to staunch the renewed flow ofblood.

Beyond our pained and desperate panting, I could hear stealthy men to our left, and loud and clumsy men farther away to our right—presumably at the cove’s dock. I could just make out the flicker oftheir torches throughthe brushand thick trees.

Agreat dark shape emerged fromthe undergrowth, and Pete almost attacked Cudro before he recognized himin the dim light.

“That group hasn’t talked to the ones on the sloop yet,” Cudro whispered. “Theydon’t know we’re here, but we need to move. What’s wrongwithGaston?”

“He took a ballinthe shoulder,”I breathed.
“God preserve us:canhe move?”Cudro hissed. “God preserve us:canhe move?”Cudro hissed. “I canmove,”Gastongasped.
“Where?”Pete asked.
“I want to work our way to the plantations to the east,”

Cudro said, “but that will either take us across the path of the menover there, or we’llhave to go throughthe water.” I swore quietly.
“NoMoreSwimmin’,” Pete said in a tired echo of my thoughts.
“Wading?”Cudro asked.
I looked inthe directionhe pointed, across the darkening cove. “It has to be deeper thanthat.”
He shook his head. “They won’t stay on the dock. Look, they’re already moving out. I’ll scout to see if they left anyone on watch, then we should be able to work our way around and thendownthe coast.”
I thought that sounded reasonable, as long as there was no more swimming.
Then Ash and—to my annoyance and surprise—Chris emerged from the brush to the accompaniment of Pete’s quiet swearing. I was beginning to think he was reading my mind, or we were at least thinkingthe same thoughts simultaneously.
“Did everyone else get aboard?”I growled.
She flinched. “Aye. I hid inthe brush.”
“Youdamned fool!”I hissed.
“I was not going to get on that ship without the two of you. When I saw you were not coming, I realized I made the right decisions,”she growled back.
“Later,”Cudro snapped.
“Later,”Cudro snapped.
“Aye, later,” I snapped at Chris. “Now, where is Gaston’s bag?”
Aheavily-ladenAsh unburdened himself enough to hand me our gear. With reluctance and pain, Gaston sat. I managed to wrap a tight bandage about the wound. I knew we should do more for it, but it was now quite dark and I did not feel we should light a torchor candle.
“Willthis do for now?”I asked himwhenI finished.
Inanswer, he leaned to me and kissed mycheek.
“Canhe move?”Cudro asked quietly.
Gastonnodded.
“Laudanum?”I asked.
He shook his head. “Water?”
Ash handed us a skin; and while Gaston sipped, I drank heavily. Then we chewed a little boucan. My stomach roiled at the unexpected sustenance and I realized I could not remember whenlast I ate. I gobbled what dryfruit we had to give it more.
“We’llneed food,”Cudro noted as he chewed a hunk of

boucan.“Wine,”Chris said dully.

Pete chuckled. “Rum.”
“Well, we’llnot find it here. Ready?”Cudro asked. Gaston nodded. I had dressed us both in breeches, now

I shouldered our bags, put two pistols in my belt, and got Gaston’s armaround my shoulder. I left the muskets and all else to the others. We began to make our slow way along the coast with Cudro and Pete scouting ahead and Ash bringing up the rear. Chris walked in front of me, pointing to this or that slippery rear. Chris walked in front of me, pointing to this or that slippery place, and pushing or hacking aside brush when necessary. I lost track of the hours and the distance as I concentrated on keeping Gaston upright and placing one foot in front of the other. As for my matelot, he remained conscious through most of it, and always apologized whenI ended up supportinghimcompletely.

I knew I should worry, but it was a distant thingI did not feelI could indulge inuntilwe could lie stilland eat and drink.
When the dawn came, we were miraculously on a boat and crossing the channeltoward the Haiti. I could not recallhow the small vessel was found or supplied with provisions: I only knew I had been told to climb aboard it. As we bobbed along, someone possessed the presence of mind to offer us food and water before the rum. I had actually been quite intent upon the rumwhenI smelled it. We ate a little and slept.
I woke hot and thirsty. The sun was high in the sky and beating down upon me, and Gaston was a pot of coals at my side. I looked about and found the boat swaying with the gentle swells at the edge of a heavily-forested cove. The sailwas down and our craft was tied to the roots of a tree. Ash nodded at me sleepily. Cudro and Pete were snoring in the stern. Chris slept curled in a ball near my feet. Gaston and I were nestled together inthe bow.
I found the water and then began trying to free our bags frombeneath Gaston in order to retrieve our tunics, to protect us from the sun. Then I felt the clammy fire of his skin. I became quite cold. He was burningwitha fever.
I began to curse and cry quietly as I tried to wake him. He at last regarded me with peaceful, sleepy eyes. “You are ill,” I hissed.
He smiled, nodded, and closed his eyes again.
“Non, non, non, non,” I muttered and slapped himagain. “You are fevered,” I said firmly when his lazy gaze met mine again. “I am sure it is the wound. What should I do? Is there a poultice…”
His eyes closed again.
The snoringhad stopped.
I ignored the rest of them and pulled the bags from beneathmymatelot withlittle worryofwakinghim. ThenI pulled him up and removed my hasty bandage of the night before. The wound was indeed inflamed and pussy, but not such that it stank or seemed bad enough for himto fever so. I had seen himapply poultices to wounds dozens of times. I was sure he had once told me what they contained. I could not remember any of it now.
I turned to my compatriots and asked, “Is there any rum left?” I regretted it when I saw the looks of pity and worry on their faces.
Cudro rummaged around and handed me a mostly full bottle. I pushed the wound open and poured a liberal amount into the hole. This succeeded in rousing my matelot enough for him to groan and grip the gunwale. I put the bottle aside and pulled his face up so that I could see his eyes.
“That hurt,”he breathed.
“Good,” I said grimly. “What else can I do? It is not awful. It is reddened, oui; and there is pus, but it is clear and not putrid.”
“How deep?”he asked.
I described it bydemonstratingwithmyfingers.
He nodded. “There is little for it other than allowing it to drain.”
“Youare fevered,”I said.
He smiled. “I wondered whyit was so hot.”
I grasped his face betweenmyhands. “I willnot lose you to this. What canI do?”
“My head and chest feel they are stuffed with wool,” he said distantly with a thoughtful frown. “I do not know, my love. Pray it breaks. Keep me cooler or warmer as I require. Do we have water?”
Abottle was thrust into my sight. I held it for Gaston and he drank in shallow sips. I fought tears as I loosely bandaged the wound with clean cloth. He chose to lie on his side with his wounded shoulder up. I propped our bags about himto provide as much comfort as I could. His eyes had closed, and I thought he had drifted away again, but his hand reached about until it found mine. I squeezed his fingers lightly, and he squeezed back.
“It’s likely he just needs more sleep,” Cudro said with gruffsympathy. “Yesterdaywas… longand hard.”
“Aye,”I said. “Very. And how willtodaybe? Where are we?”
“Off the Haiti—heading east,” he said. “We decided to tie up this morning rather than try and decide where to go. Where do we want to go?”
“CowIsland,”Pete said. “ButWeNeedBeRidO’’Er.”
Chris glared at him. “Why can I not go to this Cow Island?”
“NoWimen.”
“I amnot goingas a woman,”she said.
Pete rolled his eyes.
“We could head north to the Carolina colony,” Cudro