Raised By Wolves 1 - Brethren (40 page)

“Because if he is not in here caring for you, the crew may feel he was told to leave you, and they will become angry with Bradley, and I wish to avoid that.”

“Why did you not say that in the first place?” I said with exasperation. “You made it sound as if we needed to hide lest we be thrown off the ship.”

Striker frowned. “I’m sorry. I did not mean for you to take it in that fashion.”

Gaston appeared relieved. “I am not familiar with public opinion running in my favor.”

“Well.” Striker smiled. “If Pete hadn’t stopped you and you had tried to make good on some of your threats, then I would be bearing different tidings; but as it is, you were not in the wrong.”

“I was not mad last night. Angry, but not mad,” Gaston said quietly.

“Aye, I know it,” Striker said soberly. “You could be reasoned with.

I saw you on Granada when you lost your senses. You could not be reasoned with, then.”

Gaston was frowning. “What did you instruct Pete?”

Striker shrugged. “Pete and I discussed it and decided that if Will is unavailable, or in truth, even if he is available, that if things come to that end, it would be best if Pete dealt with you to keep you from harming anyone.”

My matelot appeared sullen, yet he nodded slowly and said, “Thank you.”“Hold,” I said. “The decision as to what is to be done with him is mine, is it not?”

“Aye,” Striker replied. “Pete will help you as you need him, and follow your direction in such matters.”

I was relieved. I did not need to be fighting both of them at such a time. Still, some of what he said troubled me.

Gaston spoke before I could. “Will, do not let your regard for me blind you when I am blind with madness.”

“Aye,” Striker added. “I believe in that event, Pete will have a clearer mind about the matter.”

I nodded resignedly. The whole possibility seemed remote and impossible, as if we were discussing battling dragons or some other mythical monster. I could not imagine Gaston behaving as they said.

I could not picture in my mind what form this insanity took. Did he rave and foam at the mouth? Did he speak in tongues? Did he gain unnatural strength? They implied that he did not know his fellows; but he did not have many friends, so I could see where perhaps he would not want to acknowledge them if he were overwrought with emotion. I doubted it applied to me. I could not see how Gaston would ever hurt me. The rain stopped in the afternoon. A likely little cove had been found and a boat dispatched to scout the area. They returned bearing the news that though the beach was good for careening, it was a bit shallow; and the entire ship could not be pulled ashore without clearing brush. The maintenance to the boat could still be accomplished, but the whole of it would take several days longer than usual. This would put us in greater danger, as we were in French territory and unsure as to whether or not there was a war. The extra days would, however, give us the necessary time to make the boucan. There was talk of whether or not to wait and find a better location, but the question of the hogs remained. They stank, and they would not survive sailing about the sea, as we had no food or water for them. We would have a ship full of dead swine once the heat took hold. The whole matter was put to a vote, and the common opinion was to get the Hell off the stinking boat – or rather get the hogs off so we could clean her. Even if this took a week and we were in enemy territory.

Once this issue was decided, the discussion began of how best to accomplish this. After great debate, the following strategy was devised: We would be organized into three groups. The first would be relatively small, and was tasked with offloading the cannon and establishing a defensive perimeter, then mounting watches and providing protection to the rest. Striker would lead these men. The second group, which would include most of the crew, would clear space for us to careen, build a small hog pen and assist in the offloading of the hogs, and careen the ship. This bunch would be led by Bradley. The third small group would be composed of actual boucaniers, the men who had actually made boucan. They would build the pits necessary, cut the firewood for the pits, slaughter the hogs, and prepare the boucan.

Gaston and I would be amongst this group, along with Liam and Otter, and unfortunately Cudro. There were three other men I had not met, but Liam and Otter seemed familiar with them. Since he knew all and was not in dispute with any, Liam was placed in charge of the endeavor. I was relieved at this, as I had been afraid Cudro would be awarded command, and I knew he would cause nothing but trouble for us. As if hearing my thoughts, the big Dutchman immediately grumbled that we would need another man, as I was next to useless in my current state. Liam hushed him and said he didn’t plan on my doing much of anything, anyway, and I would do what I could. I was not pleased. On the one hand, I was obviously well-regarded, but on the other, I felt as useless as Cudro deemed me. I silently vowed to do my share of the work despite my condition.

Weapons and tools in hand, we were one of the first parties ashore.

In the name of the common good, Gaston and Cudro did not argue over the details, but they did not converse either. After much thinking and consideration of the lay of the space available, the number of hogs, and the need to hold the entire operation to as short a duration as possible, three large pits were decided upon. One man was assigned to clearing and digging each, while the others began to collect the necessary materials for building the smoking platforms. Gaston and I ended up digging, in the same pit, as I was not deemed an entire person for the purposes of the endeavor.

We worked quickly, as we wanted to accomplish as much as possible before nightfall. After a mere hour, I was forced to admit that even under the best of health I was no match for any of the men about me. I had never performed hard labor in my life. The musculature I possessed, such as it was, resulted from hours of daily practice with weapons, not digging. I did not have calluses to protect me from the rough wood of the shovel, and I quickly blistered. The heat was oppressive, my back and shoulders ached, and my bowels still did not like me in the least. Yet I refused to stop, until Gaston threatened me with the shovel if I did not go and sit in the shade.

Feeling woefully inadequate, I sat in the gathering twilight, drank water, and watched him work. He was intent upon his task, and moved with fierce determination, as if he disliked every shovel of sand and wanted it gone as quickly as possible. He did not falter or slow; this after slaughtering hogs for hours the night before and then not sleeping while dealing with me in my delirium.

It occurred to me that even if I was superior to him in skill, a thing I doubted, he would still win in any duel we might have, due to his being far more powerful than I and possessing a great deal more endurance.

I felt a boy again, watching a man and realizing what I was not. I sadly recalled how I used to feel while watching Shane practice. There had been the constant feeling that I would never equal him. What I had been thinking of Gaston was a disturbing echo of those memories. In not being able to be them, I wanted to possess them, or be possessed by them. The thought made me shiver, and not with pleasure. I had never experienced that with the other men I had known: not even Alonso.

Night fell upon us, and the men gathering supplies were forced to stop when they could no longer see. The pits were finished by lantern light, because they did not require a great deal of precision. They merely needed to be roughly square. After some discussion, we decided to stop for the night and get a start at first light. One of the men brought us roast pork from the cookfire. We sat about and ate, and Liam entertained us with stories of the Haiti and crocodiles.

Gaston noticed my damaged hands when I winced while taking the water bottle from him. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing of concern, I blistered my hands.”

He took my right hand and explored it with his fingertips. I winced and cursed as he probed.

“You fool,” he snapped. “Come with me.”

I was not pleased with his tone, as he had not been teasing at all.

Yet I let him pull me to my feet and lead me to the sea.

“Wash them,” he commanded.

I knew it would hurt, but my preparation for the pain was wholly inadequate. It brought tears to my eyes and I knelt in the sand and cursed vividly, slinging several insults his way. He bore it without comment until I was through.

“What were you thinking?” he asked. He was angry, truly angry, with me.

I was still in a fine pique. “I feel inadequate. I am damn near useless. I know nothing. I can do little. And I have the constitution of a girl.”He sucked wind at this and walked a little from me. “You have a fine constitution. If you did not, you would already be dead. And do not assume girls are weak in that regard.”

I wondered what had prompted that last remark.

“For your first year here,” he continued and abruptly dropped beside me to stare into my eyes in the moonlight. “You are as a child again, and you will need to allow people to care for you. There is no shame in it, Will.”

His eyes were ferocious, and it took an act of courage not to look away.

“I understand.” Though I did not.

He backed away a little: no longer angry, but now distraught. He clutched at the sand.

“I do not want to lose you,” he whispered without looking at me.

Then I understood, and I was awash with shame.

“I am sorry. Truly. I am stupid when it comes to… It has been said that I will probably be the last to recognize my own death, as I will not realize it is upon me and argue with the reaper out of confusion and indignation.” Alonso had yelled that at me once after what he considered a harrowing encounter with a band of robbers. I had been amused. I had also been drunk. We had not been harmed, and as a result I had literally seen no harm in the matter. Regarding the event from the light of sobriety, I had come to understand how dangerous it had been, and why he had been afraid. At the time I had viewed it as a lark, and if sober would have viewed the outset of it the same.

“And even you have noted I am not always a cautious man,” I added.

Gaston took a deep breath and calmed himself somewhat. “You do not see the dangers here at all, do you?”

“Non… Not as you do, obviously. Gaston, I have courted death all my life, at least since I left home.”

“Why?” he asked fiercely. “Do you wish to die?”

“Truth? I have not feared it. And there have been times when I wished it.”

“And now?” He was intense again and his eyes were brutal and glittering in the moonlight.

“I do not,” I whispered.

He pounced, knocking me back into the sand and sitting astride my chest. Panic began to overtake me; and I fought it even as I tried to resist him pinning my wrists beside my head. He was as strong as I had guessed. I could not move.

“Swear it!” he hissed, his nose an inch from my own.

“I swear I do not want to die,” I whispered. “Now get off me,” I said with more conviction. “Now!”

Something snapped in his demeanor, and he was no longer fierce.

He released me to sit back. His fingers hovered and then stroked my face.

“Do not…” he whispered, almost too low for me to hear. “I cannot…

Not again…”

I was torn between comforting him and getting out from under him. I was not sure what the next moment would bring in terms of his demeanor. I stroked his arms up to his shoulders and guessed as to the correct words. “Hush now. I will not leave you. I will not die.”

He threw himself onto my chest and buried his face in my neck.

I held him, as there was naught else to do. In time, he had calmed enough for us to return to camp. He did not speak, but followed meekly as I led him there. I curled around him protectively, and he slept. I was awake for hours, and not just because of the insects swarming about.

A small fear was growing, now that I had witnessed his madness, or at least a taste of it. I could begin to understand the monster I faced.

I wondered what the others had seen the night before. Had he been so unbalanced and ephemeral of temperament then? If so, it was no wonder Bradley feared him.

I fought the fear. I alone could not succumb to that. I would be betraying him to do so. He was my matelot. He had warned me to the best of his ability. Others had warned me. I was the one who had not been able to comprehend.

Now that I understood, I set about thinking of ways to handle him in addition to what Pierrot had suggested. I realized Pete’s help would probably be required under certain circumstances, as I could not control Gaston physically.

I woke alone, and looked around to find Gaston already working on the platform for the pit he had dug. He appeared calm and deep in concentration, as he used palm fronds to bind sections of wood to the notched posts he had driven into the bottom of the pit. I relieved myself, found water, and went to join him.

“So was that a small example?” I teased lightly.

He stopped to regard me with searching eyes. I smiled at him and let my regard for him show in my gaze. He closed his eyes as if in pain and looked away; but a small smile traced his lips.

“Very small,” he whispered.

“If it is any consolation, I am glad this occurred here, just betwixt us, and in small measure. I now have a greater understanding of Pierrot’s advice and your own dire warnings. I am glad I was not introduced to you in that state amongst a whole herd of antagonists. I shall be better prepared now. Can you tell me what brought that on, or do you know?”

His hands stopped working, and he thought.

“I was reminded of my sister’s death.” He looked at me, his eyes holding mine. “Will, I cannot discuss that.”

Questions whirled about, but I nodded my acquiescence to his unspoken demand. I would not ask. I allowed myself to note that his sister had probably passed away due to a sickness of some sort, but where and when this occurred would have to remain a mystery until he chose to reveal more.

“What can I do to assist?” I asked.

He smiled thinly. “Show me your hands.”