Wake of the Bloody Angel (14 page)

For an instant the rage remained; then it faded. He nodded and sheathed his sword. I kept mine out. No one was laughing.

“I thought I had you,” he said, shaking his head.

“The only mistake you made was assuming that,” I said. “In most cases you’d be right, but the minute you get someone with a cool head and fast reflexes, you’ve left yourself wide open. How many of you have killed a man with the first blow when he saw you coming?”

One raised his hand, then added sheepishly, “He still managed to stab me, though.”

“Exactly. You have to disconnect your emotions from your brain. It’s okay to scream or yell or do anything to try to startle the other guy. But it’s got to be an act, and you’ve got to be above it watching.”

They looked grudgingly impressed. Or rather, most of them did. I said, “Now, who wants to try me next?” I pointed my sword at Suhonen. No sense putting off the inevitable any longer. “You?”

The big man stepped away from the group and drew his huge, curved cutlass. His bare muscular body gleamed like a well-polished wooden idol. Only the sound of the ship creaking broke the silence.

I had little experience with cutlasses, either wielding or avoiding, but a sword was a sword and a man was a man. If I couldn’t take him, I had no business in this job. Or so I told myself as he towered over me.

“It’s practice, Suhonen,” Clift warned from the stern.

“I won’t hurt him much,” Suhonen said. He smiled as if taking me down wouldn’t make him muss his hair. When he flexed, the skeletons around his neck seemed to dance.

I didn’t even raise my sword. I just waited. It was one of my best talents. I could outwait a rock until it turned to gravel.

Suhonen couldn’t. He suddenly slashed at me, which was the only real way to use a cutlass. He did it all with his arm, which was bad because it was weak and left him off balance. I knocked the stroke aside, impressed with the casual strength behind it, and put everything I had into a blow that would’ve decapitated him had we been fighting for real. As it was, my sword flat rang his bell and he dropped at my feet, his blade skittering across the deck until it knocked over a bucket of soapy water. He didn’t go all the way out, but it was a near thing.

I belatedly felt the sheer force of the blow I’d blocked in my arm, shoulder, and back. Fuck me—if he’d been really trying, I’d have been in trouble.

“He had reach and size on me,” I said to the others, “but he—”

Suhonen, dizzy and pissed off, tried to tackle me when he thought I wasn’t looking. I tossed my sword to Jane, who’d appeared at the front of the crowd; then I stepped aside and snatched Suhonen’s wrist as he stumbled across the spot I’d just occupied. I bent it back hard and he fell to his knees, his superior size and strength useless. “Ow, stop, I give!” he cried.

I wasn’t quite ready to believe him. “He’s younger, bigger, and stronger, yet he hasn’t laid a hand on me,” I said, and wrenched his arm so that he cried out again. “That’s because he’s angry and embarrassed, and I’m not emotionally involved in this. Now I’m going to let him go, and if he tries anything else, I’ll put him down just as easily.”

That was the kind of thing I
had
to say. Truthfully, I had no idea if I could catch him off guard again.

I released him and he jumped to his feet, eyes blazing, cradling his wrist against his chest. I stood with my hands at my sides and kept my gaze locked on his. I saw the rage fade, replaced by uncertainty, fear, then respect. He rubbed his temple where my sword had smacked him. At last he said, “This is stupid. I know how to fight. I’m outta here.”

He stomped down into the hold. The other five watched him go, then looked back at me.

I glanced over at Jane, who just smiled and shook her head. Clift watched as if he’d seen it all before. And Dorsal the cabin boy perched atop a barrel, knees drawn up to his chin and his little brow furrowed in concentration.

Jane tossed my sword back to me. I caught it, twirled it end over end, and said, “Next?”

chapter ELEVEN

Sundown
again found me on the forecastle staring out at the water. I noticed many of the crew, when not actually working, did the same. There was something about the ocean’s vastness, and that unbroken horizon always out of reach, that encouraged introspection at both sunrise and sunset. Still, I tried very hard to keep my mind pointed forward, and not back; I was in no hurry to revisit my past. But after a while, it grew harder and harder to avoid. I sure hoped we found some real pirates soon.

Avencrole, the ship’s cook, came up from the hold with a basket of assorted chicken heads, feathers, and feet. He was the palest person on board because he hardly ever emerged during the full light of day. He went to the rail and dumped his refuse, saying, “Good-bye, Leon. Farewell, Mr. Allen Sr. Give my regards to the sharks, Harry.” He rattled off a dozen other names and good-byes before all the pieces were gone.

I had to ask. “You
name
the chickens?”

“Of course I do,” he said cheerfully as he shook the last of the feathers from the basket. “Name them after every enemy I have. That way it’s a tremendous joy chopping off their squawking little heads.”

“I hope you’re careful not to name them after any current shipmates. They might take it the wrong way.”

“Everyone on this ship is a darlin’. Well, except for a couple of the new men, who haven’t learned their sea manners yet. There’s one lad who keeps bothering me for lemons to bleach his hair, of all things. As if we should all get scurvy just to preserve his vanity. A few more weeks should get rid of that particular defect of personality.” Whistling, he carried the basket belowdecks.

That left me alone with my thoughts again. Thankfully Jane joined me at the rail, handed me a tankard and poured me some rum. We touched rims and she said, “That was some show you put on today. Where’d you learn to do that?”

“Fight?”

“No, teach.”

“I was a mercenary for a long time. Someone had to train the new recruits.”

“I thought you didn’t become a mercenary until you’d already had training.”

“Not always. Sometimes you have to pack the ranks with whoever you can find.”

“A rrow fodder?”

“Hopefully not. Hence the training.” I raised my tankard in salute, hoping it would end that thread of conversation. Just to be certain, I asked, “So what’s it like being back at sea?”

“It’s okay. Parts of it are nice. But it’ll never be what it was, will it?”

“Most things aren’t.”

She looked out at the glorious sunset. “And as much as I hate to admit it, I miss Miles. Do you miss Liz?”

“Sure.”

“You trust her while you’re gone?”

“I do.”

“That must be a good feeling.” She took a long drink and emitted a dainty burp. “Speaking of good feelings, that big guy you took down at swordplay practice is muttering about how he’s going to pay you back the first chance he gets.”

“Suhonen?”

“His first name is Sue?”

“Don’t be a jackass.”

“You’re no fun. Yes, Suhonen.”

“Well, I’m not hard to find.”

“I imagine he’ll wait until our first boarding action, figuring in all the confusion no one will know who actually stabs you.”

“Is that right?” I took another drink. I’d half suspected this would happen, and knew what I had to do. “Doesn’t he realize
you’d
know?”

“He doesn’t know me.” She batted her eyelashes dramatically. “I’m sure he thinks I’m just a big ol’ helpless girl.”

I handed her the mug. “Where is he?”

She nodded toward the foremast. A handful of men stood together talking, and Suhonen towered above them. “Do you want to go get your sword first?”

“Nah. I don’t want to kill him.”

“I was thinking maybe you didn’t want
him
to kill
you.
But it’s your life.”

I walked over to the group. Suhonen stood with his back to me. His friends saw me and fell silent. I said, “Suhonen.”

He turned slowly, first his head and then those enormous shoulders. If you could awaken a mountain, I suspected it would move like that. He said nothing, but his right hand went to the cutlass at his waist. In the light from the sunset, he was already the color of blood. Great omen.

I kept my hands loose at my sides. Beneath my feet, the deck rolled in a steady rhythm. My stomach trembled a little at the movement; must’ve been a touch of seasickness.

“What do you want?” he said.

“I hear you’ve been talking about me. I’d like to hear what you have to say.”

“Why?”

“I’m paid to be curious, so sometimes I do it just to stay in practice.”

His expression grew dark. “Where’s your sword?” he rumbled. “My cutlass does my talking.”

“I don’t need it. I’m not here to fight with you.”

His friends backed away.

“What if I’m here to fight with you?” he challenged.

“Then you’ll die,” I said as simply as I could.

“That’s big talk for an old man with no weapon.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “You should think really hard about what kind of weaponless old man would say that kind of thing.”

I wasn’t as tough as I implied, but I was better than Suhonen thought. As he pondered my comment, though, I did begin to wish I’d brought my sword. Still, I was betting that under the bluster and hurt pride, he really didn’t want to fight me, he just felt like he had to. I needed him to realize he didn’t.

“What’s going on here?” Quartermaster Seaton said, barging in between us. “Suhonen, are you causing trouble?”

“No trouble,” I said, never taking my eyes off the big man. “I was correcting some of his misconceptions.”

Seaton showed no fear of the larger, stronger man. “Is this about this afternoon? Grow the hell up, Suhonen. No matter how good you are, there’s always somebody better. Fact of life, on land or sea. Even for you.”

“I’ve got no fight with you, Suhonen,” I added. “If you have one with me, let’s settle it now.”

The moment hung there long enough for the last edge of the sun to drop below the horizon. In the fading glow Suhonen said at last, “Nah. I just . . . I don’t lose many fights. I don’t have much practice at it.”

That was fair, and honest. I extended my hand, and he shook it. With a little extra effort, he could’ve shaken all of me. But if I read him right, we were back on the same side.

Seaton
hmph
ed in annoyance. “Well, unless you two are going to get married as well, I’m going back to finish my dinner.”

I felt Jane behind me, nudging me with the jug of rum. I took it and poured a round for Suhonen and his friends. When I returned the jug to Jane, she felt its weight, scowled, and said, “That’ll be on my expense report, you know.”

JUST
after solid nightfall, a cry of “All hands on deck!” rang out. I left my cabin and followed Jane through the hold, where we joined the line of crewmen going up the steps. On deck I saw no immediate reason for the order, but seeing the entire crew mustered in one place drove home again how crowded the little ship really was. I thought how ironic claustrophobia was in the middle of the wide ocean.

“What’s going on?” I asked Dawson, the ship’s carpenter.

“Time for the show,” he said, then added proudly, “I built the props, you know.”

“Show?” I repeated to Jane.

“A ship’s crew has to entertain themselves at sea,” she said. “I always made sure we had three good musicians aboard. Without it, all that downtime can be deadly.”

A row of lanterns were lit along the front edge of the quarterdeck, and a curtain made of old sailcloth was strung across on a frame. The men sat or stood, some climbed the shrouds, and a few perched on the fake cargo crates. A spot was reserved for Jane and me right up front, with Captain Clift. I sat between them like a chaperone.

Seaton stepped out in front of the curtain. He clutched the lapels of an officer’s jacket and puffed out his chest. He said, “We have a surprise for our employers to night. In honor of their quest, and ours, we’d like to present a short production of
The Wake of the Bloody Angel,
composed by—” He bowed. “—yours truly.”

The men clapped enthusiastically, and some chanted, “Black Edward! Black Edward!” Several men raised their knives above their heads and tapped the blades together in a chorus of metal clacks. One man, a red-faced sailor with a cap and voluminous sideburns, was already so drunk, he didn’t even notice he’d dropped his knife, which stuck point-first into the deck between his feet. He still waved his hand among the knives, and miraculously avoided any slashed knuckles.

Seaton held up his hand for silence. He cleared his throat and in a booming orator’s voice said, “Oh, for a spark of lightning, that would inspire the highest heaven of creation. The wide ocean for a stage, admirals to act, and captains to cheer the rolling scene! Then would the great Black Edward stand before us for true, and at his feet, snapping like sharks, should slaughter, heartbreak, and avarice crouch in readiness.”