The Red King (27 page)

“How much firepower would be needed?” Andrew
sat on a crate, surrounded by the crew, all of whom were serious
and intent on finding an answer.

Yousef pursed his lips, considering. “We’d
need forty guns, at least half of them twelve-pounders, and the men
to fire them to even stand a chance.”

A murmur ran through the circle of men. “The
Taibhse
cannot hold that much poundage. It would sink her,”
Jack commented. The men agreed and talk broke out on all sides.

“What if we had another ship?” Andrew spoke
loudly, being sure to carry his voice above the rising din.

They all stopped and looked at him. “What’s
that you say?” Jack asked, curious.

“If the
Taibhse
could take another
ship, one of comparable or greater size, could we do it?” Andrew
repeated, looking him in the eye.

“We would need another crew to compliment a
second ship,” Yousef said.

“Then a larger one, needing only a
supplemental crew to support our numbers,” Andrew offered, leaning
forward, his elbows on his knees.

“The captain has saved that many three times
over. If the word goes out, a crew would be had,” Jack said, head
closer to Yousef as if he wished to keep it between them. He
straightened and looked to Andrew. “What are you getting at,
Andrew?”

Andrew took a deep breath. “The plans have
changed, out of necessity. The captain needs your help.”

“Changed how?”

“The original plan was a suicide mission,”
Andrew said, answering Yousef directly.

“Suicide? Then what the Hell have we been
doing all this time?” Jack asked, angrily. “More important, what
have you been doing?”

Andrew ignored the pointed question and took
a deep breath. “It was a deception; only at the end would it be
known to all. It was kept that way to prolong hope, your hope, and
the deeds you have done in the interim only served to strengthen
that faith. Now
Ruaidhri
needs your strength and your
cleverness, or the mission is lost.”

The men were silent for a moment, and then
all of them raised their voices at once. Andrew stood and held his
hands high, trying to call them to silence. There was no change in
the commotion until a booming voice called from the gunnel.

“Quiet all!”

It was Malik; just arrived and climbing over
the rail. Rory was there, as well, observing them with eyes
narrowed, suspiciously. He looked directly at Andrew and asked,
“Are you inciting mutiny, Andrew?”

The men all stood tall, staring straight
ahead, so they did not see the slight lift to Rory’s mouth as he
spoke. Andrew did, entertained the idea of smiling back, but
decided follow his lead. “No, Captain. Never,” he said, as calm and
serious as he could manage.

Rory took slow steps up to stand before him.
His gaze was filled with warmth and humor, but his words were
sharp. “I must warn you, the penalty for mutinous activity is the
lash.”

Andrew knew it was not a flogging, but death.
The teasing was exposed and there was a snicker to Andrew’s left.
He suspected it was Yousef.

“I assure you, Captain, we speak of a matter
of great consequence.” Andrew was proud of his serious, steady
manner. He lowered his eyes. “Though, I will present myself for
reprimand, if you deem it necessary.”

From behind them Malik groaned, “Oh, Christ.
Here we go again.”

Laughter erupted around them and Rory and
Andrew succumbed to it, as well. Andrew resisted the urge to pull
Rory’s smiling mouth down to his but did not stop himself from
whispering, “We shall discuss the lashing, later.”

“You are the damnedest thing,” Rory told him
under his breath. Then to his men he asked, “What’s the meaning of
this, then?”

All of them looked to Andrew. Rory turned his
head. “Andrew?” he asked, expectantly.

“I had questions regarding the capabilities
of this ship,
Ruaidhri
. They were happy to oblige me,”
Andrew answered.

“I see,” Rory said, casting his eyes around
the crew. He turned back to Andrew. “And why did you not come to me
for these answers?”

“You seemed disinclined to respond to my
inquiries,” Andrew said. He did not by manner of speech or
expression show that he was relentlessly distracted by Rory’s hands
and lips at his every attempt. At least, that was what he
hoped.

Rory looked very pleased with himself.

“We speak of our plan,
Ruaidhri
,”
Yousef said.

All of the playfulness left Rory’s
expression. “Our plan?”

“Aye, Captain, our plan,” Yousef insisted. He
lifted his chin and said loud enough for all to hear. “We all got
our grievances, don’t we? We’re in ‘til the bitter end and to the
last man.”

There was a chorus of “Ayes” around them.

Andrew held his breath and watched as Rory
turned in a slow circle, scanning the faces of his crew. For a
fortnight Andrew had been trying to draw the information from Rory,
but every question was skillfully avoided. When Andrew had seen
Jack at the fire last night, he’d requested a meeting. It had been
difficult to convince the men to discuss anything without Rory
present, but Andrew’s insistence and their trust of him held sway.
He had wanted to wait until he had a more cohesive idea, something
complete to present as a possibility, before telling Rory. This
early interruption could be the end of his plotting, but he would
wait and see before using his only argument.

“Andrew has told you that I have ended the
mission.”

Yousef spoke up again. “Yes, Captain.”

“Did he tell you why?” Now Rory looked at
Andrew.

Yousef cleared his throat. “Yes, sir,
and…”

Rory slanted his eyes to him but did not turn
his head. “Speak freely.”

“I’m glad of it, and I would wager every man
here feels the same.”

Rory’s eyes returned to Andrew. “Then what is
this gathering about?”

“
Ruaidhri
,” Andrew began, speaking
clear and loud so that all could hear. “We have an idea. It is not
yet fully formed, but it may offer another chance.”

“Tell me,” Rory ordered, folding his arms
across his chest.

“If a broad enough diversion could be
presented to the keep, could not a small group of men steal inside
and do the deed? It would entail great cunning and a heavier, more
powerful ship, but any sort of external attack would draw the
attention of all inside,” Andrew said, concentrating on saying the
words slowly, clearly. He wanted Rory to be certain that this was
not some flimsy dream.

“You think to take a
slott
; a medieval
fort meant to withstand the North Sea, repel foreign invaders, and
protect the city beyond?” Rory asked. His voice held no emotion but
there was something hard in his eyes.

Andrew shook his head. “Not take, distract.
If the denizens of this fort are fighting an external force
something internal could strike. Reports have it that this
slott
, as you would call it, is only half standing, having
been damaged by invaders and neglect long before Maarten
appropriated it. If this is so, then how fearful would those within
its walls be when battered by cannons?”

“And what of those men we send inside? Will
they not also fear for their lives?” Rory asked.

“All they need do is enter, do the deed, and
retreat. The remaining rooms are not vast, it wouldn’t take long,”
Andrew answered. He waited, holding his breath again, as Rory
processed what he had said.

At last, Rory spoke. “Our ship cannot hold
the weight of guns the size of which you speak.”

“Then we use another.”

“And where will we find a crew for this other
ship?” Rory asked. His words were clipped, as if he were angry.

“I believe you have willing crewmembers here.
And how many more would come forward if word was spread; eager to
help the Red King?”

“Spread the word too far and you shall lose
your advantage,” Rory countered.

“Then offer the ship you take to the men
aboard. Surely some were pressed into service; still more might be
tempted by the offer. Give them the chance to be masters of their
own fates in return for their help.” Andrew stopped, panting a bit.
The simple act of speaking the idea out loud had made his heart
race. He could see Rory turning it in his mind, staring at him
thoughtfully.

“You’ve given this some thought,” Rory said.
His eyes were still hard.

“I have, but there are still details
unfinished, questions unanswered,” Andrew conceded. He was feeling
apprehensive; angering Rory had not been his intention.

Rory turned to Jack. “Well?”

“Your pardon, Captain?” the man asked,
surprised.

“Is it possible?”

Andrew saw their eyes meet and Jack nodded,
slowly. “If Jan de Worrt’s vanity and madness is as complete as has
been reported, he would never expect a direct assault. Aye,
Captain, it could work.”

“Would you be willing to put everything you
have now at risk to do it?” Rory asked, looking at Yousef but
speaking loudly enough to carry across the deck.

“
Ruaidhri
, we all relish the chance to
take our anger directly to Maarten. You have us at your disposal,”
Yousef said, firmly.

“Aye.” Jack agreed as he stepped forward. The
rounding chorus of agreement returned and most of the men crowded
closer.

“You have us, one and all, Captain,” Malik
confirmed, moving into the circle. “We follow you, whatever you
should decide.”

Breath bated, they endured an endless stretch
of silence. Andrew shook, his hands fisted by his sides. He could
feel the anticipation in the air, the current of excitement
emanating from the men. It kept him breathless, made his heart race
and his head spin. He’d been sure of the crew’s support but without
Rory’s leadership it would never even begin, much less succeed.

“It will take more daring than you realize,”
Rory said, at last. “None of you have travelled so far north. The
sea around Esbjerg is rough, icy, and requires a heavier hand. A
larger ship, too, will be more difficult, and though I know some of
you first sailed aboard a frigate or man-of-war you’ve grown
accustomed to this lovely girl. Most of you have never fired
anything larger than the guns on this ship. There is danger, too,
in sailing the Channel, for the Navy still patrols the waters
whether it be at Cromwell’s request or the King’s. They could halt
our crusade with a single broadside.” Rory paused, looking in each
of their faces, showing no sign of emotion.

“The men we send inside -- if they can get
inside -- will be doubly vulnerable, not only to oppositional
forces but also to nature, herself. It will be no leisurely stroll
through the gates. To enter from the unengaged battlements will
require a lengthy climb from afar, in wind so cold it can kill an
unprepared man before he walks a mile. There will be snow, possibly
freezing rain, over rocky terrain. All it will take is for one man
to spot us and the alarm would be raised. And then, we would get to
walk back to the rendezvous.” He raised an eyebrow as he scanned
the circle. “Are you still determined?”

Rory turned on the spot to seek out each and
every face. He stopped when he came to Andrew. “Your answer?”

Andrew straightened his shoulders and lifted
his chin. “His evil is pervasive, but in truth my need is to be rid
of the hold this man has over my own happiness,
Ruaidhri
,
and move on with my life.”
Our lives
, he wanted to say, but
held his tongue. He put forth in his gaze only steady resolve.

Rory took a great, heavy breath. “Malik!” he
called, after a moment.

“Aye, Captain!” the man shouted in reply.

“Is the ship ready to sail?”

“She will be before the next bell, sir!”

Rory raised his eyes to stare at Andrew.
“Then take her to Algiers and have her fitted for long patrol;
stock provisions for the open sea and proper warm clothes for all.
Men, seek any comrades you think foolish enough to join us, but
keep the purpose behind your teeth. Jack, you keep your eyes sharp
and find us a ship that will carry us to Denmark and home
again.”

At the last order, a cheer went up, carrying
to the sky and setting to flight the birds perched on the masts and
rigging.

“I will need you to take a letter to
Etienne,” Rory told his First Mate. “And I am serious that you
should keep this venture to yourselves. Remind them, before you
send them into the city.”

“Of course, Captain,” Malik answered, nodding
respectfully. When Rory was striding away to the cabin Malik went
straight to Andrew. “Well done, little wolf!” he cried and lifted
him high.

“Malik! Please!” Andrew shouted, but he
laughed, too. Malik was ecstatic, grinning from ear to ear as he
returned Andrew to his feet. “We’ve done nothing yet. Rory is
right, this will be perilous. It must be carried out with great
cunning or we will all be dead.”

“Or worse,” Malik agreed. “It is possible,
but either way we’ll be done with the chasing and the fighting. I
think,” he said, more gently, “that I would like to rest a while,
Andrew.”

“What would…what will you do, when it’s over,
Malik?” Andrew asked, noticing for the first time Malik’s tired,
wistful eyes.

Those eyes looked past him, to the horizon.
“I don’t know, so long as it is not fighting and running I could
find some peace in it. Perhaps I will go to Scotland, to see if I
still have a home there. More likely I will seek me widow with soft
curves and a fiery heart, who finds me acceptable despite my plain
face and my size.” He smiled, turning back to Andrew. “I will
follow
Ruaidhri
for as long as it takes, but a bit of quiet
wouldn’t be amiss.”

Andrew put his hand on Malik’s, who in turn
covered that one with his other. “It is richly deserved.”

“What will you do?” Malik asked him after a
moment.