The flexible rattan cane whistled shrilly as it slashed down across Archer’s back. The shock of it caught him unprepared and it was all he could do not to yelp. He caught his breath and tensed, waiting for the next. He’d just about decided that was all when the bosun, craftily watching for his guard to go down, gave him two more in quick succession.
“That’s enough,” Adrian said. “It is Mr. Marshall’s turn, after all. A dozen, if you please.”
“Predictable,” Will muttered. His face twisted as the first blow landed, but his mobile mouth compressed, and no sound escaped but a faint gasp of impact. The grate rattled each time his body jerked in reaction.
It was too close; Archer couldn’t bear to watch. Not that the punishment was especially severe—they’d each had this sort of thing a time or two as midshipmen, on
Titan
—but knowing that he was responsible made it almost unbearable. His own back stinging in sympathy, he stared out past Will, past their captors, to where Captain Smith stood, hands tied behind him and surrounded by half a dozen guards. His face was granite, eyes hooded by the angle of moonlight, but something about his posture made Archer think of a loaded cannon awaiting the match.
Adrian’s voice pulled his attention back. “That’s 12.” Will let out a breath and sagged against the iron. “And one for good measure.” After it had landed, too fast for him to brace against it, Adrian caught Marshall’s hair and yanked his head back. “And have you any words for the shipmate who brought this upon you, Lieutenant?”
Will bared his teeth in a wild, dangerous smile. “I certainly do.” His eyes challenged Archer to share the joke, and his voice was strong and clear. “Well done, Mr. Archer. Better luck next time.”
The cane came down hard. No set number, and the bosun put his full strength into every blow. Archer only felt it secondhand, and that was bad enough. It went on and on; he lost count around 30. He could see that the punishment was breaking through Marshall’s resolve; his gasps were very nearly sobs by the time it finally stopped. “Will,” he hissed, “for God’s sake don’t antagonize him. How will we escape if you can’t move?”
Thank God, Captain Smith must have had the same notion. In the quiet after the last stroke fell, his voice cut like a sword across Marshall’s labored breathing. “Hold your tongue, Mr. Marshall.” Smith turned to Adrian. “I do not usually take pleasure in seeing a man hang, sir. But in your case I shall make an exception.”
“The sentiment is hardly original, sir,” Adrian said mockingly. He strolled over to inspect his handiwork. “No lasting harm, I’m sure. We don’t want to damage valuable merchandise, after all.” His eyes met Archer’s through the grating. “You will see to it this does not happen again?”
Not trusting his voice, Archer gave a tight nod.
“Very good.” Adrian gestured, and his men hurried to release them from the gratings. Will moved unsteadily, his face and posture rigid; Archer tried to stay close enough to give him something to lean against. His skin was clammy where they touched, and he was already shivering. When they were standing on the maindeck, near Smith, Adrian surveyed them all with satisfaction. “I trust you gentlemen now realize who is captain aboard this ship?”
In unconscious unison, they both looked to Smith, and Archer seized the chance to communicate. “We made no escape attempt, sir.”
“Thank you, Mr. Archer,” Smith said, his answer nearly drowned by Adrian’s furious, “Get them below!”
“Silence!” Smith roared. It was an order that would quell the deck of the
Calypso
in mid-battle, and he seized the moment of quiet that followed. “You have been playing at pirates far too long. You men—all of you—are no longer simple criminals, you are traitors so long as you follow this man, and no port in the land will be haven to you. England is at war, you fools—and you are interfering with officers in His Majesty’s Navy!” His glare raked the deck. “I am prepared to offer amnesty to any man who renounces this treasonous swine and accepts his duty to his country!”
Even Archer found himself swayed by the force of the Captain’s personality; he was ready to renounce the treasonous swine on the spot even though he bore him no allegiance, and he guessed that half the men present felt the same. If the three of them had not been bound, Smith might actually have carried the day. But the precarious moment passed as Adrian stormed over, caught Smith by one arm, and threw him bodily to the deck. Then he grabbed two of the sailors who had been standing openmouthed and pushed them toward Smith. “Take him below and lock him up and report to the bosun for a flogging!”
As they took the Captain away, Adrian whirled on his men, half of whom were still staring at the little drama, and pointed to Marshall and Archer. “Get them below,
now!
If I see any more disobedience, I’ll have you all shot!”
“By whom?” Will murmured, too quietly for anyone but Archer to hear.
If he had not been so battered already, Archer would have elbowed him in the ribs. He scowled instead, and Marshall managed to restrain his irony until they were back in their cell. They weren’t blindfolded this time, possibly because there was nothing much to be seen: no other cell door along this companionway. The Captain must be imprisoned elsewhere.
Once inside, Will’s brave mask dropped. He caught at the bulkhead with both hands, his body shaking, while Archer swiftly leveled the straw that had been kicked around, straightened the sailcloth, and found his purloined table linen. He couldn’t do much, but anything to keep down the welts would help.
“Come on, Will,” he said, supporting him under the elbows, careful not to touch his back. “Lie down and keep still. We need to get some sea water on those stripes. You probably aren’t feeling it all yet, but they’re going to hurt like blazes.”
“I... was beginning to notice.” Moving very carefully, Will stretched out face-down while Archer soaked the cloth in the wash-bucket. “It was worth it, though. Did you see that bastard’s face when Captain Smith shouted? He had no idea what to do. If the Captain had had one minute more the crew would’ve been singing ‘God Save the King’.”
“But he didn’t have that minute.” Archer hated to sound a sour note, but he couldn’t imagine what Adrian was going to do to salve his wounded pride, and he was quite sure that, whatever it might be, he wouldn’t like it. He lifted up the dripping cloth, reluctant to put salt water on the stripes where the skin had split. Had to be done, though; it would slow the bleeding. “Brace yourself, Will. I’m sorry.”
William’s whole body jerked at the touch. “Thank you. He didn’t have it this time, but, Davy, what he did has changed everything.”
“It’s made Adrian madder than a hornet, I could see that.”
“No, think about it. The Captain said he had his own family guarded. This crew has probably been kidnapping wives, children, maybe older folk—landsmen, if all they knew was that they were on a ship. We could tell much more, just from the way she moves. And we know we’ve been out of port most of this time. They’ve probably never dealt with sailors at all, and when they went for Captain Smith, they overreached themselves.” His grin was a faint echo of what it had been above. “Now they’ve got a tiger by the tail. I don’t know if the Captain can actually grant amnesty, but I’d wager he could wangle a pardon for any sailor who helps us.”
“They’re criminals,” Archer objected. “What do they care?”
“They may be rogues, Davy, but they’re English rogues; at least some will have families in England. And they’re sailors. Every man on that deck who heard our Captain now knows what a real captain looks like, and they know that what they’ve got is no match for him. And Adrian will know that, too, so he’ll have to set his crew to watching one another, and he can’t be sure a few of them won’t conspire against him.”
“I hope you’re right.” What Will said was making sense, and it seemed to be distracting him from the pain, though how he could think at all, the way his back looked, was beyond Archer. The cloth was already warm from the heat rising off the welts; he’d have a rainbow of bruises by daybreak. “It’s best to keep this cool. Would you rather I take it off or pour water on?”
“Whatever’s easier, Davy. Thank you.” He set his teeth as Archer rinsed and replaced the cloth, then rattled on. “We must be ready to take advantage of any disaffection in the crew. All we need is information on this ship’s position, and, if we’re near land—”
“We may be,” Archer interrupted. “When they brought me back, Adrian told the guard to tell Brown to let him know when they were out of sight. He could have meant out of sight of land, so there was no chance of anyone with a spyglass seeing us on deck.”
“Or out of sight of other ships. If that’s so, and we could get a few minutes on a clear deck—”
He broke off with a strangled cry. Archer caught his shoulders and steadied him. “The worst starts a little while after you think it’s over, Will. It passes.”
“How—long?”
“I don’t know, the most I ever got was a dozen. Moving makes it worse, though. Try to keep still.” Will muttered something. “What?”
“Still... worth it. To watch that arrogant bastard realize he’s caught a man who’s stronger than he is.”
Archer noticed pale dawn light beginning to seep through the ventilator. “Try to rest, Will. See if you can sleep.”
“You must be joking.”
“You’re one to talk. God in Heaven, Will, whatever possessed you to goad him like that?”
“I hate bullies.” His voice was rough with pain. “Reminds me of that bastard Correy.”
That hit Archer like a blow. Did William have second sight? Then he realized it took no clairvoyance to see the similarity. “Well, there’s no shortage of bullies in the world, and we’ve certainly met our share...”
He checked the cloth again, rinsed it mechanically.
And I’m no better at facing them now than then.
There was no need for Will to be lying here suffering. He’d taken the beating as though he’d won a prize, thinking it meant Archer had been following Smith’s orders, when all he’d been trying to do was protect his own cowardly self from something he had no hope of escaping.
It’s not as though he means to kill me, not if he wants the ransom.
And besides, he had already capitulated. Adrian could send for him at any time, have him delivered to his cabin, and he was powerless to prevent it.
Better not to think about that just now. “Will, would you like some water? To drink, I mean.”
“I would.” It took a few moments, getting Will up on his side, letting him drink, getting him settled again. “Thank you. Davy—”
“Yes?”
“When all this started, you said something—to Adrian—it sounded like you were agreeing to something. What was all that?”
Archer had turned to rinse the cloth; Will couldn’t see him cringe as he scrambled to avoid an outright lie. “You were right, when you thought he wanted—information. It slipped my mind last night, but he did ask about what the
Calypso’
s been up to. He wanted a list of the ships we captured. And he wanted to know how long the old girl would be in for repairs. I told him we’d been captured before we learned about the repairs, and I couldn’t discuss military information until I’d spoken to the Captain.”
“Oh. Good, Davy. Exactly right.”
“I thought I should talk to you first, in the morning, and we could decide upon some useless information to feed him.” He knelt to replace the cloth and bowed his head. “I—I had no idea he’d do this, Will, can you forgive me?” The last, at least, was entirely the truth.
“There’s nothing to forgive, Davy,” Will said wearily. “You were doing your duty. Besides, he almost had to make a show of force at some point, just to discourage us trying to get away. We don’t even know that this wasn’t all for Captain Smith’s benefit. It may have been to threaten the Captain—my ‘uncle’—into cooperating. Since they haven’t just killed me out of hand, he must have given them that story.” He rested his chin on his fists. “We know the Captain is challenging Adrian’s authority. Aboard his own ship there is no greater threat. If he loses control of his crew, Smith will step in and take it.”
“But it was clear he wanted something from me—” Archer despised himself for the half-truth, but the whole truth would have been worse.
“He may simply be trying to break you—I’m sorry, I don’t mean that as it sounded—to force you to give him information—to prove that he has the power to do it, not because the information is of any use.”
“You may be right.” Archer pulled out his handkerchief, moistened it, and wiped Will’s face. That he did not protest the attention was an indication of his pain. He was precisely right, too, even if he had not guessed Adrian’s aim.
And the bastard does have the power, Will, because he can hurt you, and I cannot bear that. Damn him to hell, how did he know?
“I’m sure he’s getting fat with ransom, but watching that performance of his, above... he’s doing it for power, Davy. For control.” Will’s speech was slower, now, and his dark eyes looked dull. The pain was wearing him out. “He must have had spies in Portsmouth when we came in. He knows what we brought home. Unless there were some secret dispatches on one of those ships—things we really don’t know about—it just doesn’t matter. All that information will be in the
Naval Gazette
. Don’t torture yourself, Davy. Let him think he’s won. Play for time.”
“I thought I might tell him about prize captures that have already been published. You’re right; no acting lieutenant is going to be privy to secret documents, anyway.”
“I think the Captain will be the key to our getting out. We must be ready when he makes his move. God, if I can ever be half what he is...” His voice trailed off as his eyelids slid shut.
“You already are,” Archer said quietly. “Half, at least.”
When he was sure William was asleep, he covered his friend with the second bit of sailcloth so he wouldn’t take a chill, then spread out both their jackets to lie on himself. He rolled up their shirts as a pillow and settled on his side, shifting until he found a position that didn’t pull at the welts on his own back—nothing compared to Will’s, but damnably uncomfortable. His mind drifted as he watched the narrow bars of light from the ventilator creep slowly across the wall. Inevitably, the prospect of what lay ahead, probably by the time the sun went down, began to loom.