Wild Silver - the Delaneys

by Iris Johansen

  “They all say that, don’t they, Henry?” Bassinger’s laugh was high and excited. “First there’s anger, then the pain, and then the screaming.” His voice lowered. “And then the pleading. I’m going to enjoy that most of all. When you’re down on your knees offering to do anything I want if I’ll only stop the pain.”

  “I’ll never go down on my knees to you.”

  “Yes, you will, but first I want to make you scream very loudly so Nicholas can hear you.” The whip whistled again. “I have a fancy to let his highness know how much I’m hurting you. Scream high and sweetly, bitch.”

  The whip struck her back, slicing through the velvet as if it were only mist. The sudden pain caused her to gasp and reach out blindly to grab the rail and hold on tight as waves of agony rolled over her. She would not fall. She would not scream. It was the only victory she could wrest from her helplessness. She would not give Bassinger that triumph.

  “Scream!” The whip struck again.

  She gritted her teeth and looked blindly out at the river as the hot agony scalded through her.

  “Scream!”

  The lash struck again.

  “I’ve told them to keep the boilers going full blast.” Valentin rushed into the pilot house, skidding to a stop as he reached Nicholas. “I think we’re drawing closer but—” He stopped as he gazed at Nicholas’s face. “What’s wrong?”

  Nicholas didn’t reply, his agonized gaze riveted on the riverboat ahead of them.

  Robert finally answered for him. “Bassinger has tied Silver to the rail,” he said hoarsely. “He’s using a whip on her.”

  Valentin’s gaze followed that of Nicholas and Robert to the brightly lit Texas deck of the Mary L. He swallowed. “Christ, how long has it been going on?”

  “Five minutes, maybe a little more.” Robert looked away, his hands tightening on the wheel. “It can’t go on much longer. She’s a woman, for God’s sake. She’ll collapse and that will be the end of it.”

  “She won’t collapse.” Nicholas’s eyes were glittering in the lantern light. “I wish she would. She won’t give in to the pain until he kills her.” He turned to Robert with barely leashed violence. “He’ll kill her, dammit. We can’t let that happen. Get me closer so that I can use this rifle on him.”

  “I’m trying.” Robert’s face was taut with strain. “I can only go as fast as the boilers will let me. The Rose is heavier than the Mary L. We’re edging up on her and I should have you within range in another few minutes.”

  “A few minutes!” Nicholas looked at him incredulously. “He’s beating her to death with that whip.”

  “Nicholas,” Valentin’s voice was very gentle. “He can’t do any more than he’s doing right now.”

  Nicholas began to curse beneath his breath, his dark eyes wild in his pale face. He strode across the room and jerked open the door. “I’ve got to do something. Do you know what it’s like to have that lash flaying your back? We may not be in range, but we’re close enough so that a few shots may gain his attention. Maybe he’ll decide to postpone his demonstration until another time.” He ran down the steps to the Texas deck and then to the rail at the front of the riverboat. He knelt, steadying the rifle on the rail. Dear God, what if Bassinger ignored the shots? He swallowed as the bile rose to his throat at the thought. His hands were shaking and he tried to steady them on the rifle, his gaze on Silver’s straight, rigid figure at the rail of the Rose.

  He could hear Bassinger yelling something over and over as the whip cracked on Silver’s slender back. What kind of whip was it? Igor had used a knout on him. Ten lashes with a knout were supposed to kill a man, but thirty hadn’t killed Nicholas. She had taken more than ten lashes now. Pray God, it was another kind of whip Bassinger was using on Silver.

  God, why did she stand there so proudly? The silent defiance of her stance was all that crazy bastard needed to keep that lash ripping at her. There was a blurring before Nicholas’s eyes and then he felt two tears run slowly down his cheeks. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve before he took aim with the rifle.

  The shot startled Bassinger enough to cause him to freeze and peer out into the darkness. He turned to Henry. “How close are they?”

  “Not close enough,” Bracken said. “That shot couldn’t have come within fifty yards of the Mary L.”

  “But they’re growing nearer.” Bassinger hesitated. “Tell the pilot to put on more steam.”

  “They’re going at almost full steam now,” Bracken said. “I don’t know—”

  “Put on more steam,” Bassinger said between his teeth. “I know you’re enjoying this pretty little slut’s punishment but she’ll still be here when you get back.”

  She might at that, Bracken thought. Silver’s spine was still as ramrod straight as when Bassinger had started, though the scarlet velvet was now almost completely cut away and her golden back crisscrossed with angry red weals. “I wanna be here when she breaks.”

  “Then hurry.” Bassinger turned back to Silver. “She can’t last much longer.”

  Bracken gave a last reluctant glance at Silver and then hurried down the deck toward the staircase leading to the pilot house.

  A second shot echoed over the river.

  “Nicholas must be very perturbed to try anything so futile,” Bassinger drawled. “It has to be annoying for him to feel so helpless. But you’re not helping me, my dear. One shrill, agonized scream would increase his pain tremendously.” He drew back his arm. “I’m done toying with you.” The lash came down with his full strength behind it, breaking the skin and causing a tiny river of blood to run down her back. “Scream, you strumpet!”

  A shudder of agony wracked Silver’s body.

  She did not scream.

  “We’re not gaining on them.” Nicholas ran up the stairs to the pilot house. “We’re supposed to be gaining on them. What the hell is wrong?”

  “They’re putting on more steam.” Robert’s gaze was fixed in horror on the Mary L and his voice was only a level above a whisper. “My God, they were going at almost full steam and they’re still feeding those boilers.”

  “Then they’ll pull away from us,” Nicholas said hoarsely.

  The pilot numbly shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

  Hope leapt within Nicholas. “Why not?”

  “Lord.” Robert closed his eyes. “The Sultana.” His eyes flicked open and he swerved the wheel violently to the left.

  “What the devil are you doing?” Nicholas shouted.

  “I’m getting out of the way.” Robert didn’t look at him as he veered toward the eastern bank of the river. “And hoping to God I’m in time.”

  “Out of the way of what?”

  “Those boilers are going to blow. The Mary L can’t take that much steam with those faulty boilers. They’re going to blow up and take the Mary L with her.”

  “Blow up?” Nicholas could only stare at him. “Silver is on the Mary L. It can’t—”

  The Mary L exploded.

  Who was screaming? Silver wondered dazedly. She knew it wasn’t herself; she had kept all the screaming inside, where it could give Bassinger no pleasure. Yet these screams held all the pain and desperation she had refused to release.

  She opened her eyes. Smoke. Black smoke. A red glare. Fire? She struggled up on one elbow. She was still tethered to the rail, but now a section of the rail was on top of her, torn from its moorings by the explosion.

  Explosion! The memory brought her sitting bolt upright and she gasped with pain as she once again became conscious of the fiery throbbing of her lacerated back.

  Bassinger? She forced herself to turn and look around the deck, though every movement was an agony. No Bassinger. The deck was littered with shattered glass blown from the windows of the pilot house, and there were little fires licking at the wooden planks of the deck from the broken, overturned lanterns. Her gaze lifted and shock plummeted through her. “Oh, my God.”

  The pilot house that had formerly perched o
n the Texas deck had vanished, one of the tall smokestacks was gone entirely, and the other was broken and spewing a thick cloud of scalding steam. The railing at the front of the boat was aflame and she could hear a crackling roar from the hurricane deck that denoted a larger fire raging below. The boilers, she thought. Robert had said something about the faulty boilers on the Mary L, she remembered vaguely. They must have exploded when Bassinger had ordered the added steam.

  The rail was pressing heavily on her lower body and she tried to push it off her before she realized it was impossible. She would have to cut the rawhide strap before she would be able to move the railing.

  The riverboat suddenly gave a lurch that sent a thrill of fear through her. The Mary L was taking on water. It wouldn’t be long before it began to sink and she was bound helplessly to the rail.

  The broken glass!

  She carefully edged sideways until she could reach a pointed sliver of glass and pick it up with her thumb and forefinger. The glass sliced through her flesh and blood spurted. She dropped the glass. Blast it! She tried again and managed to keep her grip on the sliver this time. Carefully she began to saw through the rawhide thong binding her to the rail.

  Who was that screaming? It was a chorus of voices, men, women, and children in an agony of terror. There was something she should remember, but she couldn’t seem to think. The frayed rawhide thong snapped and she pushed the heavy railing off her legs. Now for the ropes binding her wrists. She would need a larger piece of glass.

  The passengers! Bassinger had said he had locked the doors of the staterooms. They were prisoners caught in the fire and death below. She had no time to saw through the ropes.

  The fires from the lanterns … The flames could burn through the ropes far quicker than she could cut through them with pieces of glass.

  Faster but more painful. There were several burns on her wrists and forearms before she managed to rid herself of the ropes. She wouldn’t think about it; the burns hurt no more than the stripes on her back.

  Then she was on her feet, running toward the stairs. A thicker haze of smoke lay over the deck below and she could barely make out the door to the grand saloon as she made her way toward it. She stumbled. There was something in her way …

  Bracken. His eyes were open and staring, a two-foot jagged sword of glass penetrating his breast. Silver took a deep breath and swallowed hard. She mustn’t be squeamish. He was in the way. She grabbed Bracken’s legs, tugging and pulling until he was clear of the door.

  The riverboat was now listing heavily to the starboard and she had difficulty keeping her balance as she ran into the grand saloon. The Mary L was structured much like the Rose, the doors of the passenger cabins opening on either side of the common room, she noticed with relief. But thank God, it was much, much smaller and the shouts and pounding appeared to be coming entirely from behind the ten doors on this side of the saloon. “I’m coming,” she called desperately. “It’s all right, I’ll get you out.”

  But how? She had no key and no tool to open those locked doors.

  Well, there were plenty of tools on the boiler deck.

  If there was still a boiler deck.

  Still, it was her only chance. She turned and ran from the saloon and then down the steps to the boiler deck.

  There were no fires on this deck; the entire deck was flooded with at least three feet of muddy river water.

  Nothing was left of the boilers but jagged fangs of metal …

  Bodies floated like garish bits of flotsam …

  Horribly scalded bodies …

  Silver closed her eyes for a moment, unable to bear the sight. Men should not look like this in death. There should be dignity.

  She opened her eyes and forced herself to look around. Her sick horror would not save the people locked in those cabins. It was river water not water from the burst boilers that was now flooding the deck. It should be safe to go down and look around. She jumped down onto the deck and waded through the water, averting her gaze from the gruesome carnage around her. A moment later she had located a crowbar, grabbed it, and was hurriedly wading back toward the stairs.

  Then she was running up the steps, down the deck, and into the saloon. She inserted the crowbar into the doorjamb of the first door. “It will only be a moment. I have something now.”

  It took so long, she thought in despair. Why wasn’t she stronger? The wood finally splintered and the door swung open. A young woman wearing a flowered pink peignoir and carrying a small child ran out into the saloon as tears ran down her cheeks. “We’re all going to die!” she sobbed, clutching the child desperately.

  “No.” Silver was already working on the next door. “Help me!”

  “But we’re going to die.”

  “You may be stupid enough to die here, but I intend to live,” Silver said impatiently. “Now, help—”

  “Silver!” Nicholas’s voice!

  Relief surged through Silver. Nicholas was strong. Nicholas would help her. “Here! In the saloon, Nicholas.”

  Then he was beside her, his face blackened by smoke, his white shirt grimy and stained. “You’re very dirty,” she said vaguely. “Help me, Nicholas, there’s not much time.”

  He stood there, looking at her, an odd radiance shining beneath the grime. “You’re dirty too.” His index finger reached out to gently touch her sooty cheek. “I thought you were dead.”

  “I will be if you don’t help me get these poor people out of their cabins.” She pried desperately with the crowbar. “Bassinger locked them all in and this damn boat is sinking …”

  “Stand back.” He took the crowbar and broke the lock with one slicing blow. “Valentin is in a rowboat tied to the stern of the hurricane deck and Mikhail is picking up survivors in another boat.” He was going from door to door swiftly breaking the locks. Passengers were streaming from the cabins into the saloon; the smoke was thickening. “Get to the boat at the stern and off the Mary L,” he shouted.

  There were cries of relief and a rush toward the door of the saloon as the freed passengers dashed toward safety.

  Silver stood and watched as the saloon emptied. Two more doors.

  “Dammit, Silver, get out of here,” Nicholas said harshly, glancing over his shoulder.

  She shook her head.

  He broke the lock and moved to the last door. “You’ve done your part. You can’t help here. Why the hell don’t you get off the boat?”

  Two men dressed only in their long underwear rushed by her and out of the saloon.

  “I can’t leave,” she said simply. “Not while you’re still here.” It all seemed very clear, even through the haze of pain and exhaustion enveloping her. She could not leave when Nicholas stayed. She could not live if Nicholas died.

  Then the last door was open and Nicholas was running toward her, grabbing her by the arm and pushing her from the saloon. A towheaded boy of thirteen years or so rushed by them toward the small boat at the rear of the deck.

  It was difficult to walk, she thought dimly. Her legs felt as heavy as if she were still wading through the water on the boiler deck. But there was no water here. How puzzling.

  “Are you all right?” Nicholas asked quietly. “I’d carry you, but I don’t want to touch your back.”

  Her back. Oh, yes, Bassinger had been whipping her. It all seemed like such a long time ago. The pain was now coursing not only in her back but in every muscle of her body. “I … can … walk.” She was almost to the rail. Only a few more steps. “I … didn’t scream.”

  Nicholas’s hand tightened on her arm. “I know you didn’t.”

  “He wanted me to scream. He kept saying it over and over.”

  “Lord.” Nicholas’s voice was hoarse, ragged. “For God’s sake, Silver, shut up. You’re killing me.”

  “I’m sorry … I didn’t …” What had she been going to say?

  Then Valentin was reaching out to help her into the boat, seating her beside the towheaded young boy who had passed them
on the deck.

  Cork life preservers floated on the surface of the river, and she could see several men clutching them and swimming toward the Rose.

  Nicholas untied the rope, jumped into the boat, and sat down beside Valentin. “Let’s go. The Mary L can’t stay afloat much longer taking on this much water.” He grabbed an oar and he and Valentin began to row with powerful steady strokes away from the riverboat.

  The Mary L was listing and, except for the hissing of the escaping steam from the broken smokestack and the harsh whoosh of flames, was ominously silent. Tears began to flow down Silver’s cheeks as she gazed at the wreckage. How many lives had been lost? How many might still be lost in this river tonight?

  “It won’t be long now,” Nicholas said gently. “You’ll be back on the Rose in a few minutes.”

  “Some of those men in the water will have burns.” She spoke haltingly, trying to think clearly through the pain and horror clouding her comprehension. “I’ll have to use linseed oil and wrap them in raw cotton.”

  “You won’t do anything but go to bed,” Nicholas said grimly. “We’re heading back to St. Louis and they’ll get plenty of medical help there.”

  “No, I can—”

  “Savron!”

  The cry was a shriek of terror and Nicholas turned in his seat to look back at the Mary L. The red glare of the fire on the hurricane deck was mirrored on the waters. A dark head was bobbing on the wavelets spread by the slowly sinking riverboat. “Savron, help me!”

  Bassinger!

  Bassinger was clinging to one of the supports separating the hurricane deck from the boiler deck, a rivulet of blood running down his face from a cut on the temple. “Come back! I can’t swim!”

  Nicholas gazed at him, his face as hard and stone cold as the men who had died on the Mary L this night. He turned and looked at Silver sitting ramrod straight, bearing her pain and exhaustion in silence.

  He started to row again.

  “Savron, come back.” Bassinger’s voice rose to a panicky screech. “You can’t leave me!”

  “Can’t I?” Nicholas took another long pull at the oar. “Watch me.” Then he remembered Silver’s words.