Was there anything he did not turn into a double entendre? Standing rigid, ignoring the touch, Archer tried to sound reasonable. “You see my point, I’m sure. I am only trying to determine whether I have an accurate understanding of our—agreement—and whether you intend to honor it.”
“Yes, I see.” Adrian’s hand closed around the tail of hair at the base of David’s neck, and Archer held very still, barely breathing. “But surely you realize that our agreement is not the only element in play here. I could scarcely overlook Captain Smith’s behavior and expect to maintain discipline, you know. I thought I was extremely generous in giving your friend a day’s respite.”
He let go, but leaned closer. “Allow me to ease your mind. At the moment, Mr. Marshall is facing only a spell of close confinement.” He patted Archer’s shoulder in false reassurance. “Don’t worry, laddie, you’ll get him back, safe and sound—when you’ve fulfilled your part of the bargain.”
Archer could think of no response, but it seemed none was expected. Adrian was speaking to hear himself speak.
“Think of it as an incentive. As to his situation in future... I am a gourmet, not a glutton. I appreciate Mr. Marshall’s considerable charms, but I shan’t concern myself with them until I have had my fill of yours. So his welfare rather depends upon you, don’t you think?”
So William would be, if not safe, at least a little removed from danger. For the moment. “I think....” Archer swallowed. “I think my actions really matter very little. You might prefer me to believe his safety rests in my hands, to hold me responsible should you decide to torment him further.”
Adrian laughed. “You are perceptive, laddie, but you underestimate your own appeal. I intend to enjoy you slowly and thoroughly. But since you mentioned fighting, let me warn you—your friend will indeed be punished for your transgressions. I insist upon your full cooperation. If you think to refuse me anything—
anything,
mind—he will be back at the gratings. Three strokes for every ‘no’ you utter. Do you understand?”
Archer nodded once, not really surprised.
“Good. I may as well inform you now, regarding other offenses, so you will not waste time considering them. If you kill any of my men, Mr. Marshall will lose a finger for each death or serious injury. An eye for an eye, so to speak.”
“You care so much for your men?” It seemed inconceivable.
“I do not wish my tools destroyed,” Adrian said with a shrug. “If you merely injure anyone, I shall turn your friend over to the crew for a space of time determined by the severity of your offense. There are no few who would enjoy him, and none of them are as considerate as I. If you raise a hand to me—pay attention, now,” he said, lifting Archer’s chin with one finger “— he’s for the gratings, then the crew, and then the gelding knife. I have a man who lived with the Turks for a year or two; he can do it so fast your head would spin. Do you understand
that?”
“Yes,” Archer whispered. His head was already spinning. Christ. What kind of madman had they fallen in with?
“Yes, what?”
“Yes—” His voice squeaked a bit; he cleared his throat and met the icy stare
. No. I will not call you ‘sir’ unless you order it.
“Yes, I understand.”
Adrian smiled, apparently choosing not to acknowledge his minor rebellion. “I’m so glad. If you should happen to kill me, the crew has permission to do what they like with all of you. I have naturally left instructions for your friend to be killed as well, but they may choose to have him ransomed, or sold into slavery in North Africa. That, by the way, is what will happen if for any reason we are unable to ransom you. A good merchant knows many ways to turn a profit.”
He caught one of Archer’s wrists and held it up, observing a slight tremor in his hand. “Fairly quivering with anticipation. Perhaps I should send my barber down to help you shave.”
Archer closed his fingers into a fist and twisted it away. “I’ll manage.”
“In the finest naval tradition, I’m sure. The shaving gear will be here shortly.”
He left and swung the door shut, then looked in through the window. “Please don’t think about cutting your throat, Mr. Archer. I’d have to send your friend back to clean up the mess.”
“I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction.” Archer was amazed at how steady his voice was, and pleased to see Adrian at a momentary loss.
But he had to have the last word. “That would hardly be my first choice. Don’t dawdle.”
Archer kept his composure until the man had gone. Then he sank down against the wall, wrapping his arms around himself.
How will I ever—Never mind how. Just take one moment at a time. Don’t think. Just breathe.
The shaving things appeared. Archer looked at the razor for a long moment. No. Somehow, even when things were at their worst with Correy, suicide had never seemed a possibility. And in this situation, it really would be the coward’s way out.
He shaved by touch, not carefully; there was no way to prop up the mirror where he could see it, and he really did not give a damn. Halfway through, it struck him that he had been genuinely relieved to find that Adrian had not arbitrarily decided that Marshall would be a more entertaining dinner guest. William’s safety truly meant more to him than his own. The thought was somehow heartening.
I wonder how Will would deal with this
.
To his very great surprise, he realized that the answer was, probably, not very well. That notion was startling. But when Correy first started pushing, testing the newcomer, Will had fought. Never mind that he had been alone, that he had no way of knowing that Correy was a bully who only attacked when he was sure of winning; Will simply stood up for himself, even though his life had been on the line.
In this situation, though, he’d dare not fight. William would risk his own life, but not theirs. He would ultimately be forced to submit, and Archer had no doubt that his determination would hold... but it would damage him, take some last bit of innocence he probably didn’t even know he had.
And that’s not a problem for me, is it? Not anymore.
At any rate, this was not Marshall’s demon. It was his own, and no one else could face it for him.
A fatalistic calm settled over Archer as he wiped his face, put on his jacket, was muffled and escorted above. His hands felt like cold stone, his mouth so dry he might have been chewing cotton. What was it Captain Smith had said, a thousand years ago, in the waggon?
“There are some circumstances that put us entirely at their mercy. And sometimes there is no mercy to be had.”
“Let him think he’s won. Play for time.” I hope to God the Captain’s plan is working. I hope he really has one.
Fourteen steps from the hatch to the quarterdeck. Down three steps. And the cloak came off and one guard knocked at the door and Adrian waited within with that smug, self-satisfied smile.
No mercy to be had.
I’ll just have to manage without it.
When we get back to the Calypso, I am never going belowdecks again.
Marshall didn’t really mean it, but he was almost ready to volunteer for another beating if it meant he would be able to stand up straight for a little while.
Adrian apparently had a strange sense of humor. He’d simply had Marshall moved from one small space to another space that was the same overall capacity, but instead of a room six by six by eight, this was a storage locker four feet high, six feet deep, and nearly a dozen long. Mathematically, in fact, it was exactly the same size as the room he’d been in for the last five days, but this was one case where mathematics did not tell the whole story. The thing was half-full of scraps of old sails, and Marshall was fairly certain he was not entirely alone in here; to be sure, all ships had rats, but from the squeaks and rustling he knew that he was tremendously outnumbered. He had never had any great fondness for rats, and being in such close quarters was giving him a sincere aversion to their company.
He slipped and scrambled to the far end of the locker, where a louvered vent let in a little light and sea air. Propped open to one side was a shutter that could be slid into place to close it against bad weather. He was glad they’d left it open; he never would have found it otherwise.
Marshall pressed his face against it, and saw the late afternoon sun dancing on the water. It was not until then that he realized how much he had missed the sight. Being shut up in that cell had been wearing at him without his even knowing it.
A deep breath of daylight helped. Very well, he was in a long narrow box, with rats. He wasn’t going to get much sleep between now and whenever they let him out. What could he do in the meantime?
Get the place in order, for a start. If he’d been in charge of the men responsible for this mess, their ears would be singed. He took off his jacket and waistcoat and laboriously began folding and shifting the bundles of canvas until he had cleared the four feet of decking below the vent, then made a stack of larger scraps that would serve as a seat of sorts.
It took time, and he found himself having to rest more often than he expected; his back was taking its time healing. Perhaps the exercise would help speed things along. Having something active to do gave an unexpected boost to his spirits, at any rate.
As he worked, he discovered that many of the sails had been torn or cut raggedly, and the threads could be unraveled. What was it David had said—that with a line, they might get their door unbarred? If he were here long enough, he might be able to braid one out of this stuff, or at least unravel a supply they could work on in the cell. He didn’t think he’d be searched when they took him back, and rope was always useful.
He sat on his little divan, leaned back—and arched forward with a curse. Better not try that, yet. He got up and shifted the canvas so he could lean sideways. That would do, and he had a couple of feet clear in front of him; nothing would be able to creep up without his seeing it.
Until it got dark. Dear God. They could come at him in the dark.
Well, all this canvas had to be good for something. A smaller piece, rolled up, would serve as a kind of bat to fend off anything he might see or hear. That took only a moment, and he felt slightly better with the flimsy weapon in hand. Rats weren’t completely stupid; he had nothing for them to eat. Even if—oh, Lord, he mustn’t think about it—even if the half-healed stripes on his back smelled attractive, he was too large to be easy prey, and if he made enough of a fuss, the vermin would learn to leave him alone. They got in here, there must be a way for them to get out.
While he had light, he decided to clear a little more room. He toyed briefly with the notion of heaping the old sails in front of the door, blocking it, so they’d have to dig him out.
But that would be a waste of time. Antagonizing the guards would not make them more amenable to Captain Smith’s offer. And, after all, he wanted out as soon as possible. He wanted out of here right now.
Not likely.
He returned to folding and stacking the sails. The rat-noises seemed to have diminished; maybe they’d decided to go somewhere quieter.
Yes, go away! Go bother your damned captain.
I wonder if he’s taken Davy off to dinner again.
That would make sense. If Adrian did not realize that any information Archer gave him was already cleared by Marshall, he might think it would be clever to hold the interrogation while Marshall was out of the way. Or he might threaten to separate them until Archer gave him the list. In which case, with luck, he might not be here too long.
He hoped Archer had been able to settle down a bit. David had no reason to feel responsible for that beating. Neither of them had any control over Adrian’s whims, and Marshall strongly suspected the whole business was just a game, anyway. Somehow, as painful as the experience had been—and still was—it had not been as bad as he’d expected. The helplessness had been the worst. And it wouldn’t matter much, in the long run, if Adrian decided to knock him around a bit more. Davy shouldn’t let it bother him, it wasn’t worth agonizing over... though he would have felt terrible, himself, if their positions had been reversed.
He had another couple of feet clear. That should do nicely.
The rats can have the first six feet, I’ll take the second.
Marshall picked up one last scrap, shook it out and something dropped from the canvas, hit the deck, and rolled.
Something metallic.
~
Supplemental Log, HMS Calypso, in for repair, Portsmouth. Lt. Anthony Drinkwater, in temporary command. 20-7-1799
More news! Upon rereading Captain Smith’s letter, preparatory to sending it to Ad. Roberts, I was struck by his reference to a previous expedition to France which was required to be carried out in considerable secrecy. After that adventure, Capt. Smith discussed with me the desirability of documenting the conduct of activities that must be done in secret but may later be subject to official scrutiny. To that end, he has been investigating various substances that may write invisibly and yet be revealed when the paper is subjected to proper treatment, usually heat. Hoping that my surmise would prove correct, I conducted an experiment upon his letters with our cook’s flatiron. The letter to the Earl is only that, but the other is a treasure trove! Again, I reproduce the captain’s words so that we may retain a record:
Well done, Mr. Drinkwater! Abducted in carriage by sham Lt. who has left the area. Waste no time on him. Driven through countryside in freight waggon, then, I believe, returned to P’mouth & brought on board between 3-4 am, in biscuit barrels; find ship that took on provisions at that hour. Ship’s captain calls himself “Adrian.” My height, age appx. 30, red hair, beard, athletic build. Well-spoken, well-organized, arrogant. All crew aboard masked in our presence, & seem to be a mix of ratings & landsmen. I am held separate from the others; if you find this ship, a surprise attack in force holds the best chance of extricating us alive. Any approach
must
be clandestine; these blackguards have spies in Portsmouth, quite possibly even on HM’s ships. I will, of course, try constantly to effect our escape independent of your efforts, & I am certain Mr. Marshall & Mr. Archer will be doing the same. Good hunting!