The Red King (7 page)

There was the sense that this was destined,
as though there was a greater plan in this world of pain and death
he found himself. This was not entirely the captain’s design; no,
it was much broader, painted by a fuller brush. It unnerved him,
thinking that there was a reason he was here, and that perhaps was
the reason he found himself wanting to stay. He wondered, then, if
it was part of this design that he accept Rory’s offer.

At first it had been his fear of the captain
himself that prevented his acceptance. There was so much at stake
and so little by way of return, how could he agree? That fear had
faded and been replaced by a burning, longing curiosity. With a
wider array of options, albeit not enough to Andrew’s liking, he
found that the initial payment did not leave him cold with terror.
There was still fear, certainly, but it was of the future. What
would be the cost of finding this Maarten, of killing him…how high
would it be? He could not help but be afraid, not that it would
take his life, but that he would be left alone once more.

It came to him that he liked it here, on this
ship with these men, and would stay on to learn to be one of them
if he could. He wanted to help these battered souls, to see them
find peace. In this short span of time, spent with men damaged by
the ever present avarice of Man, he had learned a deeper
appreciation for life. It was a far richer tapestry than he’d ever
imagined while hidden behind the stone walls of his quiet abbey.
This was what it meant to be alive, truly what it meant to
serve.

That thought caused Andrew’s appetite to wane
and he set his cup down. He returned to the deck to stand at the
bow, letting the wind and spray blow into his face as the sky
darkened. He stayed there for a long time.

“Are you counting them?”

Andrew jumped. He looked over his shoulder
and saw Rory not far from him. The man’s handsome countenance was
cast into silver by the moon. “Counting?”

“The stars; you have the look of someone who
wishes to know their numbers, even though they know there are some
things that will be forever beyond them,” Rory answered, moving
closer now that Andrew had acknowledged him. His hands very
carefully took Andrew by the waist, giving him time to
withdraw.

Sighing, Andrew turned back to the sky. “I
don’t know what I seek, Captain. I have always had someone to ask
before, somewhere to turn for help when I was confused. I no longer
have that.”

Rory nodded, his hair brushing across
Andrew’s cheek and causing a shiver. Thinking him chilled in the
night air, perhaps, Rory slipped his arms around him, pressing
closer.

“There is a point when your decisions become
your own, Andrew. It is the most vital point of becoming a man,
more important than breadth of chest or hair on your chin. I’m
sorry that you face this now, after losing so much.”

Though his mind was racing, Andrew stayed
silent. He had so many questions, so many doubts, but he pushed
them aside to rest against Rory, in the circle of his arms, as the
ship moved through the velvet night.

It was morning; the sun was starting to seep
into the hold. Andrew was half-awake, still feeling Rory’s arms
around him, wondering how much longer he could stop himself from
accepting the man’s offer. He craved the touch of his hands, the
feel of his mouth, and felt his body respond to their memory. He
moaned, very softly, when his mind led him to recall the slip of
Rory’s tongue on his. There was a hot, throbbing pressure between
his legs; the sort of pressure the brothers told him was the
Devil’s call. This time, though, summoning the scripture did not
ease the heaviness. His mind wandered, envisioning Rory’s mouth
elsewhere on his body but he still resisted the urge to pleasure
himself. It would take more than a daydream to break training of
rod and penance.

“All hands! All hands!

It took Andrew a moment to fully wake up, and
when he did he had a bit of trouble getting extracted from the
hammock in which he had been sleeping. He could hear running,
yelling, and the sounds of frantic preparations all around him as
he pushed himself up off of the floor.

Catching one of the men by the arm, he asked,
“What’s happening?”

“We’re under attack!”

“What?”

“The damned raider ship circled around after
the storm. They placed themselves between us and land and approach
at full sail with guns ready. Unless you have a station for battle,
I suggest you stay below.” The man left him there.

Andrew ran onto the deck, anyway, searching
for Rory. He saw him in the rigging, moving across it quickly,
effortlessly, securing and releasing lines in order to set to full
sail. His hair was loose, his expression savage but joyful, and he
shouted orders down to Fleming. “We have the wind, leave off the
oars! We need the guns, Fleming! Ready the guns!”

Rory saw Andrew then, standing unsure in the
midst of it all, and leapt down to land gracefully before him.
Andrew was breathless, both with fear of the coming battle and from
his sudden, thudding heart. “I don’t know what to do,” he said.

“You will stay below, out of the line of
fire. We can out maneuver her, but there will still be rifle fire
as we pass. I want no chance of you being hit by a stray bullet.”
He took Andrew’s face in his hands and kissed him with great
feeling before moving on to the foremast.

Malik passed him then, carrying a large
basket atop his shoulder. “Follow me, Coinin. I have work for
you.”

Andrew was set to striking the shot for the
small cannons being readied on deck. “See how they’re smooth,
perfectly rounded?” Malik said, holding one up so that the sun lit
the surface. “We need them dented, dimpled, to make them fly
straight. Take the hammer and set to, and hurry.”

Andrew did hurry, ignoring the pain in his
fingers when he missed. He was too focused to be worried, a fact
that he took for granted until the heard the first of the warning
fire. It seemed so close. Too close. When Malik returned for the
basket, Andrew asked, “How much danger are we in Malik? Please,
tell me.”

Malik said, “You need to stay below. You need
to do as you were told.”

“I don’t think I can stand not knowing…not
helping. I have to do something!”

Malik left him without answering.

Undeterred, Andrew climbed the steps to the
top of the hold. He peered out but kept low, barely raising his
head above the rim. The men were quiet; those not working the jib
or rudder were stationed at intervals with weapons ready. He could
not see Rory or Fleming at all. He saw Yousef kneeling nearby with
a belaying pin in one hand and a boarding axe in the other.
“Yousef,” he said, wanting to call out loudly but not wanting draw
attention to himself. “What is it? What’s happening?”

“The captain means to board her. We have to
circle the ship until we can come about the side. It will take more
precision than might, so we have to listen careful for the
commands. So far they haven’t even had a chance to try and
broadside us, but their rifles are ready. Keep low.” It was the
third admonishment he’d received and it touched a nerve.

“I can do something! I’m not helpless!” he
said, his newly discovered temper flaring.

Yousef quirked an eyebrow at him and said,
“Get to the kitchen and help prepare for wounded, we’re likely to
have many today.”

Andrew punched the wooden frame at his side.
They were all correct, of course, Andrew was useless here. He
abandoned his spot and followed the instruction, finding a handful
of men already at the tables. He was given a long bit of raw muslin
and set to tearing long strips for use as bandages. He had just
begun when there was a barrage of gunfire from above. It was not
their own.

“That would be the schooner. They know we’re
too fast for them big guns so they’ll to try to pick us off with
little ones,” one of the other men told him when he jumped.

“How successful should we expect them to be?”
Andrew asked, his voice quavering a little. The sounds of the small
cannons echoed through the room.

“Not as much as they’d like, to be sure.
We’ll do more damage with our nine-pounders than them with those
big guns. She’ll be boarded and that’s when the real fighting
begins.”

There were more sounds of battle; guns,
shouts, even a few screams. Andrew could make no sense of any of
it. He sat as still as a statue, his entire body tensed and aching,
listening to the fury up above them. At one point he caught himself
whispering a prayer, his lips and heart leading while his mind was
spun up in anxiety. There was a wrenching noise and the ship
shuddered all around them, knocking them all sideways as the two
vessels were brought alongside.

It had taken much less time than Andrew
expected. In fact, less than they all expected.

“Oh, a bad sign, to be sure.” The man who’d
spoken to him before said this with a shake of his head.

“Why? What does that mean?” Andrew hated not
knowing, hated having to question everything.

“Means they want us on their ship; could be
for slaughter by far greater numbers or surrender…I know which
one’ll cross the captain’s mind. Now’s a question of whether it’s
worth it to complete the attack.”

The fighting sounds retreated, becoming
muffled, more distant. Andrew gave in to his curiosity and went
back to the hold, ignoring the men’s pleas to stay. He crept up the
stairs to crouch were he’d been before, his heart gripped by cold
fingers.

There was no one moving on their deck, not a
man was upright. There were no more volleying shots, only the clang
of metal and savage cries of intense fighting but all from across
the plank on the other ship. He could hear moaning, close by, but
their maker was out of his range of vision. Quickly, he crawled
forward, coming about to hide behind a half-opened crate. He could
now see the source of the moaning, the man was only a few feet from
him.

“I can hear you. Hold fast, we’ll get you
below as soon as we can,” he said, hoping his words would
comfort.

“Aye, you’d better,” was quipped in a pained,
familiar voice.

“Fleming!” Andrew rushed to him, as much as
he could on hands and knees. The man was on his back, bloodied on
the right side, but lucid enough to smile at him.

“It looks worse than it is, I promise.”

Andrew was pale and shaking, but determined
to help. “Was it a bullet or a sword?”

“A goddamn spear! Can you imagine? He stuck
me from a yardarm away! He was gutted himself just after, fucking
bastard,” Fleming said. “Do you see the captain?” he asked,
grabbing Andrew’s arm.

“No, I don’t see anyone. They’ve all gone
across.”

“Then you leave me here and go back down!
You’re unarmed and untrained and there’s no one to help if anyone
comes back across to escape. They’ll slit you from groin to
gullet!” Fleming ordered, his fingers tightening, shaking Andrew to
be sure he understood.

“You can’t stay here alone! You’re as
unprotected as I am!” Andrew was alarmed by the prospect of
boarders, but unwilling to leave the man alone.

“I can play dead, or at least unconscious.
You’re not safe here! Get back below!”

The bleeding was not slowing. “You need help,
Fleming. I’ll go below, but only to fetch bandages. I will be
back!” He heard the man cursing as he crawled his way back to the
hold.

Oh his way, his hand struck a knife, and
Fleming’s words were still fresh in his mind. He picked it up, not
stopping to study it or place it in his belt. He made it safely to
the hold, then down to the kitchen. “I found Fleming, he’s hurt.
There’s no one else about, they’re all on the other ship! Hurry…”
He stopped, his mind finally recognizing their stricken faces.
Before he could turn around, he was taken from behind by the throat
and the sharp point of a dagger pressed just below his eye.

“How’s this for a surprise?”

Andrew froze. It was Acklie. “What are you
doing here?”

“Just introducing myself, pretty. Drop
it.”

Andrew released the dagger he still clutched.
He saw the men start to rally, but Acklie pressed the knife harder
into his flesh. They stopped moving when Andrew gasped and
stiffened.

“You all would be better off puttin’ out the
fire,” Acklie sneered.

“What fire?” one of them asked.

As if bidden, there was an explosion behind
him, and flames leapt into view. He pulled Andrew to the side as
they ran past. “First lesson of ships and sailing, pretty one, is
that fire kills everyone. They’ll be busy for a bit, and a bit is
all I need.” He shoved Andrew down over the table.

Andrew pushed back up, twisting to send his
elbow into the man’s ribs as hard as he could. He managed to slip
sideways but tripped over one of the baskets and fell into the
hull. Acklie was on him then and Andrew struck out, desperate,
catching the man in the groin. He had nearly made it out of reach
but he was caught by the ankle and dragged back. “You little fuck!
You think to bring me low?”

Acklie hit him in the back, knocking the air
from his lungs. Then he struck lower, a vicious blow that nearly
caused Andrew’s bladder to let loose. Andrew was unable to move,
stunned and hurting. He felt Acklie’s hands on him, ripping at his
belt, tearing at his pants. Andrew made it to his knees, but Acklie
pushed him down again. “No!” he cried.

The man straddled his thighs and pried open
Andrew’s cheeks. “That’s a good boy. Let me see this treasure.” He
spit there to wet him. “The Red King doesn’t like to kill his
prisoners, s’what I hear. I’ll pay my ransom and be on my way,
shortly, but I think I’m owed a taste of this.”

Acklie put his hand on Andrew’s back and
pressed down with all of his weight. Andrew grunted, unable to move
or catch his breath. Acklie’s fingers made their entry and the man
chuckled at Andrew’s distressed cry, his kicking and bucking. He
felt something beneath him, bruising his chest; the hilt of the
dagger. He’d fallen on top of it when Acklie tripped him. He was
unable to get to it, unable to use it, but he knew it was there and
it gave him hope.