The Iron Palace (12 page)

“It’s a gift.”

“One ye’ll find handy, no doubt. Not that Bloodbeard goes in fer fightin’ much, nevermind his talk. He favors easy pickin’s.”

Froan followed his instincts when he replied. “Some would say easy pickings are slim ones.”

“And Ah might be one o’ them,” said Toad in a low voice. He glanced at Froan appraisingly. “Ye’re dressed like a fensman, but ye don’t talk or act like one. Most can’t fight and are only good fer pullin’ oars.”

“I was raised in the fens, but my mam came from other parts.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know,” said Froan. It was true, and he felt a twinge of regret when he realized that he’d never find out.

With Toad as his instructor, Froan quickly mastered rowing. It was simple work, but punishing to someone unaccustomed to it. Despite cutting strips of goatskin from his cloak to cushion his hands, they soon felt raw, and it wasn’t long before Froan’s back and arms ached as though he’d been pummeled. Bloodbeard set the oarsmen’s pace by hitting a small wooden hoop with hide stretched over it, and his beat was a quick one. Propelled by rapid strokes, the boat darted swiftly about the river like a water strider searching a brook for prey.

Although they approached a few vessels, the captain chose not to pursue any of them. One appeared too large and had armed and armored men pacing its deck. Another was laden with lumber. The final boat was a tiny one manned by a fisherman who looked relieved when they passed him by. “If we’d happened on him earlier,” said Toad, “he might be sittin’ in yer spot now.”

Froan was glad that the fisherman wasn’t. Despite his sore muscles, he felt extremely fortunate. By a stroke of luck, he had fallen in with pirates, and anyone who aspires to lordship needs armed men. His situation seemed ripe with potential, although it was far too early to formulate any plans. For the time being, Froan intended to learn all he could and heed those dark instincts that had served him so well.

W
HEN DUSK
arrived, Bloodbeard gave up the hunt. He headed his vessel downstream and set a less strenuous pace for the oarsmen. The change came as a welcome relief to Froan, whose hands had blistered. Aided by the current, the boat moved swiftly down the darkening river. Nevertheless, it was midnight before the craft veered toward a small, wooded island. Froan strained to see it by starlight, but he could make out few features other than a pair of hills that rose from the isle’s interior. Although the island was only a dark shape to Froan, it was apparent by the way the tillerman guided the boat that he was familiar with its shoreline.

Soon the boat swung into a cove. “Oars in!” shouted Bloodbeard. The boat glided toward a narrow beach. When its keel scraped gravel, the crew climbed over the sides without being told. Froan followed their example and jumped into waist-deep water. “Beach her!” bellowed the captain. Grabbing the boat’s sides, the men pulled it onto dry ground. Then they unloaded the sheep and other loot from the bow. The
beasts struggled in their grasp and made panicked cries. Although he was unfamiliar with sheep, Froan rushed over to help a pair of men who were trying to carry a ewe. The frantic animal was managing to kick despite its bound legs.

“If we cut its throat,” said Froan, “we’ll have an easier time carrying it.”

“Aye, but Bloodbeard wants the mutton kept fresh,” said the other, “so that’s the end o’ it.”

Froan grabbed the sheep’s flaying hooves. “Then I’ll give you a hand.”

The men headed away from the cove, and with Froan’s help, they managed to carry their struggling burden. The path they followed wound uphill through a grove of trees, over a crest, and down into a depression between the two hills. There, hidden from any eyes on the river, several fires burned. A dozen people moved about them, and Froan was surprised to see that they were women and a few young children.

The firelight also revealed a haphazardly erected campsite. There were three shelters, and as Froan drew closer to them, he could see that they were constructed of sailcloth, scraps of lumber, branches, and small tree trunks. They seemed the work of men who were more adept at stealing than building. There were also crude pens made from branches that held an assortment of livestock. Judging from the trampled state of the clearing and the amount of garbage lying about, Froan surmised that the site had been occupied awhile.

Large kettles hung over two of the fires, and the women began ladling food from them as soon as men appeared on the crest of the ridge. By the time Froan had helped deposit the ewe in a pen and cut her loose, a meal of mutton stew accompanied by boiled roots was laid out on a pair of broad planks that served as a crude table. A wide assortment of vessels contained the food—wooden bowls, metal plates,
and differing sorts of crockery—and the women who served the meal were equally varied. One woman wore a formerly elegant gown of pale blue cloth that had been reduced to dirty rags. Another was dressed in tattered peasant garb. The woman beside her wore man’s clothes with the shirt torn open so her breasts were revealed. The only things the women seemed to have in common were their youth, signs of ill treatment, and a certain comeliness despite their disheveled and threadbare state.

Froan turned to one of the men who had carried the ewe. “Are those women captives?”

“Nay,” replied the man. “Ye can ransom captives.” He grinned salaciously. “Them wenches are plunder.”

“The children, too?”

“Oh, they’re just bastards. The ones we didn’t drown.”

As Froan walked over to the table, he noted that one of the serving women was pregnant and two of the toddlers running about had red hair. He grabbed a bowl of stew and a plate of roots. Then, since there were no benches or chairs about the table, he looked for a place in the clearing to sit. As Froan settled on a spot of ground out of the traffic, Telk came over to sit beside him.

“Froan,” he whispered in an uneasy voice, “we’re among pirates!”

“You must call me Shadow for now,” Froan whispered back. “And we’re not among pirates, we
are
pirates. I told you our sword practice would come in handy.” Froan gazed into his friend’s eyes and noted a trace of lingering madness. Probing deeper, he saw that while Telk had been rendered incapable of disobedience, abandoning home had gone against his nature. That conflict was the source of Telk’s disturbance, and Froan felt that there was little he could do to relieve it. He didn’t even try. Instead, he sought to bolster Telk’s courage.

“I told Bloodbeard that you and I were a pair,” whispered
Froan, “and I meant every word. They’ll remember the day Shadow and Bog Rat arrived. Though I killed that man to save our hides, I’ll tell you something.” Froan fixed his eyes on Telk and let his power flow from them. It felt stronger than before. “It was a thrill to kill him. Spill a man’s spirit, and it washes over you. It feels good, like warm sunshine or a hearty meal. Moreover, that bastard deserved to die.”

“Mayhap so, but—”

“No buts about it. When it’s you or him, it always must be him. And don’t wait for your foe to make the first move. Strike hard and never hold back. Never! You’re a pirate now. Be a bloody one and thrive!”

Froan watched with satisfaction as his words—and the power behind them—took hold. They enflamed Telk and drove out his fear. A gleam came to his lunatic eyes, and he grasped his sword hilt tightly. “Aye, I’m Bog Rat now. And Shadow, I’ll do ya proud.”

Froan grinned and slapped Telk’s back. “I never doubted it.”

Then the two turned to their food with appetites made ravenous by all their rowing. While they ate, the women began pouring ale and serving it. One of them approached Froan and Telk, bearing a pair of brimming wooden bowls. Barefoot and dressed in ragged peasant’s clothes, she seemed a girl—perhaps only sixteen. A tangle of long, frizzy brown hair surrounded a pretty face that was marred by bruised, swollen lips. She gazed at Froan curiously before handing him a bowl. “They say ye’re tha one what killed Sturgeon,” she said in a low voice.

“I am,” replied Froan.

The girl smiled, revealing that two of her front teeth had been knocked out. “Bless ye!”

Seeing promise in the girl’s reaction, Froan returned the smile. “So my deed pleased you?”

“Aye.”

“I know nothing of these men or their ways,” said Froan in a low voice. “Perhaps we could talk.”

The girl looked about anxiously. “Ah don’t know.”

Froan caught her eyes with his, then spoke in a low, compelling tone. “I’d be grateful if you did.”

The girl fidgeted a moment before speaking. “Ah can’t now. Later, when tha servin’s over. Walk into tha woods, and Ah’ll find ye.”

Froan nodded, then sipped his ale as the girl hurried off. Though he had heard of the drink, it was new to him. At first, he thought it tasted like bog water, but he gradually grew used to it. When he drained his bowl, a different woman came by to refill it. Shortly afterward, Bloodbeard sauntered over to him. Both Froan and Telk rose as he approached.

“Shadow! Bog Rat!” called out the captain in a voice somewhat thickened by drink. “The newest o’ my crew. We eat good, nay? And drink good, too. Prove handy, and ye’ll feast every night and share in the booty.”

“And the women?” asked Froan. “Do we get our share of them?”

Bloodbeard grinned. “Well, ye’re a randy lad fer sure. Be ’ware that the wench in the blue frock and the one that’s fat with child are mine. The rest are fer the takin’. Aye, ’tis a grand life fer the right sort o’ fellow. And the wrong sort …” The captain cast a look of exaggerated menace. “Well, the river licks his bones.”

“You’ll find us the right sort,” said Froan.

“Ah hope Ah will,” replied Bloodbeard. “And ’bout those wenches: Some men are jealous, so pay heed o’ who ye tup. Ah don’t look kindly on fightin’ over whores.”

“I appreciate knowing where I stand,” said Froan, “and thank you for it. Bog Rat does, too.”

“Good,” said Bloodbeard. “So that’s settled.” He sauntered off to have his bowl refilled.

“What an ass!” Froan whispered to Telk before getting more to eat.

As a woman ladled out more stew into Froan’s bowl, Toad walked over to him. “Ah see Bloodbeard spoke with ye.”

“Yes,” replied Froan. “It seems we’ll soon be fat and rich.”

Toad grinned. “Aye, just like the rest o’ us.”

“Well, at least he spoke to me,” said Froan. “That’s more than most have done.”

“Ye’re fresh plucked from the river,” said Toad, “and have yet to prove yer quality.” He glanced about slyly, then lowered his voice to a whisper. “After what ye did, best sleep out o’ sight tonight.” Then he raised his voice again. “When we capture a ship, we’ll take yer measure. Bloodbeard puts the new men on the boarding party to see how they fare. There’s more to piratin’ than pullin’ oars.”

“I’ll remember that,” replied Froan. Then he lowered his voice and added, “and the friend who said it.”

Toad nodded and rejoined the men who were growing boisterous with the ale. Froan retreated to where Telk sat on the edge of the clearing. Telk soon lay down and dozed off, but Froan remained alert and observed the drinking men. Even before Toad’s warning, he had no desire to join them. Rather, he would wait until they wished to join him. He knew that might take days or even moons, but he was patient. In the end, he felt certain that they would flock to him. It was his destiny.

The drinking went on far into the night, but eventually the men began to stumble off to the shelters. Froan looked for the girl who had spoken to him, but he couldn’t spot her. Nevertheless, when the women stopped serving, he rose and wandered off into the woods, leaving his snoring friend behind. Once he passed beyond the edge of the trees, he halted and waited. Before long, he heard quiet footsteps
and saw a dark figure moving toward him. Then he heard a whispered voice. “Shadow?”

“Here,” Froan whispered back. The figure came closer, and he recognized the girl. “You’ve learned my name, but I don’t know yours.”

“Ah’m Moli.”

“I’m glad you came. Almost no one’s talked to me.”

“Aye, they’re afeared ta.”

“Why?”

“Sturgeon had two friends, Pike and Chopper, and they’re fixin’ ta do ta ye what ye did ta him.”

“I see,” said Froan, feeling anger well within. “How will I know them?”

“Pike braids his beard. Chopper’s missin’ tha tip o’ his nose. He carries an ax and is quick ta use it.”

“You’re brave to come to me. Why did you bother?”

“ ’Twas Sturgeon what broke my teeth, and”—Moli shyly looked down at her feet—“and there’s somethin’ ’bout ye. Ah can’t say what exactly, but it sets ye apart. So Ah’m hopin’ ye’ll remember Ah did ye a good turn.”

“I will, Moli. You won’t regret tonight.” Froan pulled Sturgeon’s silver ring from his thumb—the only finger that it fit—and handed it to Moli. “Here. I want you to have this.”

Moli gazed at the ring and then at Froan in surprise before she slipped it into a pocket in her skirt. “Ah must go. ’Twill go ill fer me if Ah’m seen with ye.” Then Moli hurried to one of the shelters and disappeared into it.

Froan remained in the shadow of the trees and crouched down to watch the clearing. After a while, he observed two men emerge from a shelter. In the dim light they were little more than shadows, but Froan saw that one carried an ax. They entered another shelter, but after a short while exited it and entered the third one.
They’re looking for me
, Froan thought. Soon they emerged from the shelter and began to search the clearing. They found Telk sleeping and stood
over him as they whispered to each other. Eventually, they moved on, leaving Telk unharmed.

Froan moved on also, retreating farther into the woods. He trod quietly and cautiously until he was far from the campsite. When he found a dense stand of undergrowth, he crawled into it. Despite his fatigue, thoughts of his enemies prevented sleep. Froan lay awake, pondering how to deal with them. He didn’t drift off to sleep until he had a plan.

T
HE PIRATES
slept late, and it was well past dawn before Froan spied a man exit a shelter. A lifetime of early-morning milkings had accustomed Froan to rise at first light, and the habit served him well. He had returned to camp, found what he needed, and retreated into the woods well before anyone stirred.