The Payment

by Michelle E Lowe

  Instead of losing his temper, he took a breath and said earnestly, “I’m sorry, Vela. I am sorry you lost your mother. Sadly, it is something we share in common.”

  Vela steadied her sobbing and turned her head to look over at him. Her eyes spoke of uncertainty.

  “I have not only lost my parent but my purpose, as well,” she told him. “A purpose my mother gave me. I’ve been set adrift.”

  “You’re scared,” he stated.

  Vela nodded slowly. “Suddenly, my future has been handed over to me, and I have no inkling of what to do with it.”

  “I’m going to make tea,” Kolt abruptly announced.

  She scowled at him. “Pardon?”

  “You look like you could use some, too,” he noted, walking over to the kitchen.

  Once there, he searched for matches with which to light the stove. “Um, could you help me? I’m afraid I do not know my way around your kitchen.”

  Vela sat up and stared at him a moment. She sniffed and slid off the table. “The matches are in this jar,” she informed him, entering the kitchen.

  She lifted the lid from a decorative jar by the stove. She struck a match and lit the burner. They stood, waiting for the water in the kettle to boil.

  There was a scratch and then a whine at the rear door. Vela opened it and in trotted a dog. Apparently, the canine was known to her, for she crouched down and lavished affection on it.

  “I think everything is going to be all right,” Kolt finally said.

  Vela glanced at him. “I believe so, too.”

  * * *

  “Men, I thank you for your service,” said Orenda to the soldiers she had left in charge of the Norwich children. “It is time for you to return to yourselves. When I release you, each of you will have no memory about this. You will depart and go to wherever it is you need to be at this time.”

  The possessed guards nodded in unison.

  Everyone stood outside in the front yard with his horse ready nearby. Due to the days of acting as babysitters, the men had not taken care of themselves. They were unshaven, their clothing disheveled and dirty, and they smelled badly of body odor.

  Orenda turned to Hugh and Jeneal, who were standing at the open doorway. “Do you children have anything to say to these nice soldiers for looking after you?”

  Hugh waved. “Thank you. Goodbye.”

  The soldiers waved back with expressionless faces.

  “Very good,” Orenda praised them. “Gentlemen, I free you from my hold. The demon blood has no more control over you.”

  The moment she uttered it, they blinked many times until their eyes became their own again. As commanded, they spoke not a word, only mounted their horses and rode away.

  Orenda ushered the children into the house and closed the door.

  “All right, my dumplings,” she said, setting Jeneal down on the blanket near the hearth, “this is where we say our goodbyes.”

  “Where are you going?” Hugh asked as Orenda placed wood inside the fireplace. The baby made a noise. “And Jeneal wants to know if you’ll ever come back.”

  Orenda lit the kindling and stuck it under the logs. “There. That should warm things up in here.”

  She faced the children and the clean room. Before sending the soldiers on their way, she had them clean the house and put everything in its proper place. “To sleep, my doves. Perhaps, when you’re much older, I will see how you are doing, but never again shall we meet.”

  Their expressions became somber.

  “But your mommy is coming back,” she added.

  Their little faces lit up again.

  “Yay!” Hugh shouted while clapping his hands.

  His sister did the same.

  “What about Daddy?” asked the boy.

  “He’ll be here very soon,” she promised, tapping him once on the tip of his nose.

  She rose to her full height and looked at them a moment. “You are both wonderful children. Brave and smart. Thank you for allowing me to borrow your mother. I shall never forget you.”

  With her job done, Orenda began feeling drowsy. Freya lost, and everything was going to be right as rain—for now, anyway.

  Orenda closed her eyes, and just as she traveled into restful darkness, she overheard Eilidh say, “Hi, babies. Are you hungry?”

  “Mommy!” Hugh exclaimed in excitement.

  Orenda felt his small arms embrace her.

  “I love you, Mommy.”

  It was the last thing Orenda heard before she fell into blissful sleep.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Kneel

  Pierce anxiously waited for Robert to return home. He was also happy to be out of that blasted coffin. It wasn’t as confining as the trunk Archie and Clover had used to sneak him past the guards in Reading, but its implied purpose was dreadful, all the same.

  While inside the prison, Archie and Clover had placed the coffin lid over him before Darius and some prison guards carried it out and loaded it into a cart. Pierce was glad they hadn’t nailed the damn thing closed. Darius told Luke he would drive the cart to the harbor himself. The gate had opened and off they went.

  After riding in near darkness for some time, the light barely peeking through the spaces between the lid and the coffin, the cart stopped and he heard Archie speaking to Darius. To his surprise, the man didn’t put up much of a fight when Archie requested that he and Clover take over. It suited Pierce just fine, so long as he could visit Robert without Darius looming about.

  When they arrived at Robert’s townhome, Penelope nearly fainted.

  “I thought you were put to death.”

  “I was,” Pierce confessed, standing at her doorstep. “Mind letting us in? I’ll tell you everything.”

  She quickly allowed them in, and he learned that Robert had yet to return home since leaving that morning. Pierce traded Robert’s tailcoat for his own black dapper coat. He was happy to have it back. Penelope handed over the wedding bands. It felt good to have his hugging his finger again, as well as Taisia’s on his pinkie. She gave him food, the first meal he’d had in days, and after he ate, they retired to the sitting room and he explained the whole story about the In-Between and the djinn.

  “Kolt is your son?” Clover gasped in shock.

  After everything I told them, that’s her only question? Pierce thought. Bloody hell, the single-track mind of a teenager.

  “He is, indeed,” Pierce confirmed. “I’m going to ask Chief Sea Wind to sail me to Lepe where Kolt is.”

  Pierce could already see Clover wanted to come along.

  The front door creaked open. Penelope, who was standing at the archway, looked ready to burst at the seams.

  “Are you drunk?” she asked, her excitement diminished.

  There was a shuffling of feet. The door slammed shut, and then was more sloppy footwork. “I am,” Robert admitted, staggering to the archway. He leaned against it to keep from falling over.

  “Robert,” said his wife, “there are people here to see you.”

  He lifted his head before turning to everyone standing in his sitting room. “Uh?”

  Pierce wondered just how many of each person Robert was seeing in his intoxicated state. His expression barely changed as he stared at Pierce.

  “’Ello, Rob,” Pierce said in greeting. “You all right, mate?”

  Robert tilted his head sideways, wobbling it about like a newborn kitten. He staggered over and fell. Pierce dove in to catch him. Robert clutched onto his arms to stay on his feet. His eyes were so glazed they shined like mirrors.

  “Am I all right?” he repeated egregiously. “Are you off your rocker, Pierce? Of course, I’m not all right. I watched you drop from the scaffold. You’re my friend and you’re dead!”

  Robert appeared as though he might weep. Instead, he pitched backward.

  “Whoa, now,” Pierce said, tightening his hold.

  “Robert!” Penelope cried, rushing over.

  “He’s fine,” Pierce assured her,
dragging him over to the fainting couch. “He just passed out, is all.”

  With Archie’s help, Pierce laid Robert on the couch.

  “Oh, darling,” Penelope moaned, sitting beside her husband and stroking his hair. “You’re a mess, my love.”

  “Damn,” Pierce huffed in disappointment. “I was hoping to tell ’im goodbye.”

  Penelope tilted her chin up at him. “Take him with you.”

  He stared at her queerly. “Take him with me—to my home?”

  “No, silly. You mentioned you are going to Lepe, oui?”

  “Aye.”

  “Splendid. I’ll give you money for him to buy a train ticket back to London.”

  “And you don’t mind? Me stealin’ him?”

  “Steal away,” she granted with an airy wave. “It will utterly devastate him if he misses the opportunity to say goodbye. Besides, I don’t want the boys waking up from their nap and finding him in this state.”

  He and Archie loaded Robert into the bed of the cart. Penelope offered them a quilt for her husband to lie on as well as one to drape over the coffin. She gave Pierce a hat to wear to help hide his face, and off the four went.

  When they reached the Ekta, Pierce never received so many hugs in a single day. Sees Beyond hugged him and kissed him all over his face.

  “You are alive. Oh, thank you, Great Spirit.”

  Everyone onboard, even Waves of Strength, was happy to see him. Even so, they did not express a lot of surprise on seeing him alive. He reckoned Sees Beyond’s spirits had informed her of the situation.

  “There is wine in my quarters, should you care for some,” Chief Sea Wind offered.

  “Cheers, Chief. I ought to take care of my mate, Robert, first.”

  “We shall see to him. We’ll walk him to a hammock below deck. Go have a drink,” the chief urged.

  “Erm, all right?” Pierce yielded, mystified by the chief’s insisting tone.

  He decided against doing what he would normally do and ask a load of questions. Besides, after the day he’d had, he reckoned he really could use a drink.

  Pierce entered the chief’s quarters and spotted the bottle and a couple of drinking glasses on the table at the back of the dimly lit room. He walked over to it and poured a glass. The wine smelled heavenly and tasted insanely good. Chief Sea Wind only drank the finest, after all.

  He let out a contented sigh before a creak in the floor sounded behind him.

  “So, you’re the famous Pierce Landcross,” came a voice he did not recognize.

  He instinctively reached for his pistol, then remembered he no longer had it, or any other weapon, on him. Pierce was almost too afraid to turn around.

  The only light source came from the grey sky outside, and that barely penetrated the large windows behind Pierce. Everything else was masked in shadows. A well-dressed, clean-cut man stood near the doors. On seeing him, Pierce slumped and sighed in despair. “Your Highness.”

  “You look good for a corpse, Landcross,” Prince Albert commented. “Doesn’t he, Lord Javan?”

  Darius appeared from the shadows as if he were a damn nightmare to stand next to His Highness. “That he does, my lord.”

  The floor creaked all around as guards emerged from behind the columns. He had been ambushed.

  Blast it all! How could he have been so stupid? It occurred to him that when Darius left, he headed straight to the palace to snitch about his resurrection. For all Pierce knew, he only informed the prince and not the Queen—the only one out of the three of them who didn’t want him counting worms.

  “You astound me, Landcross,” His Highness admitted while approaching. “There seems to be nothing we can do to get rid of you. Even hanging you didn’t work.” He stopped before Pierce and stared at him intensely. “Maybe cutting off your head will do the trick.”

  Why had the chief not warned him? In fact, the chief had pretty much hand-delivered him to the prince. Was it because the Sea Warriors were in Albert’s territory? Or, had Albert lied to them and told them he wasn’t there with malicious intent?

  “Is he usually this quiet?” His Highness asked when Pierce failed to find the words.

  Darius approached, shaking his head. “What you are witnessing is a rare occurrence, Your Highness. Usually, he doesn’t know when to stop talking.”

  “Is that so?” said the prince. “I am rather disappointed. I wanted to find out what the fuss was about.”

  Pierce had never been the sort to beg for mercy, though the thought did cross his mind at that moment. However, he had saved the man’s wife, and then, as a thank you, he had ended up in prison and was then hanged by the neck for his trouble.

  “If it’s all the same, Your Highness,” Pierce finally said, “although London prisons have some smashing accommodations, I’d rather not return to any of them.”

  “Ah,” said Prince Albert. “He does speak.”

  “I can dance, too,” Pierce threw in.

  “Oh, and he also thinks he’s funny, Lord Javan.”

  “He does, indeed, my lord,” Javan said.

  At this point, Pierce wished they’d just kill him already.

  “Well, Mr. Landcross,” said the prince, “I fail to see what the ruckus is about you. I’m certainly at a loss.” He slipped off his glove, probably to grip his gun better. “I will, however, say this . . . thank you.”

  Pierce jumped when the man thrust his hand out at him. Shock rendered him motionless for a moment before he eventually understood and shook his hand.

  “You are a hero,” the prince added.

  Unable to think of what to say, he turned his focus on Darius, who gave him an urgent look that seemed to suggest he should say something in return.

  “Ch-cheers, Your Highness,” Pierce said.

  The prince let go. “There is someone else here to see you.”

  His Highness turned, and a guard opened the door. The men moved aside so Pierce could set his sights on his new visitor.

  It was none other than Queen Victoria.

  She stepped inside as guards lit the lanterns hanging from the wooden columns. She stopped and stood in a dignified pose, dressed in a royal blue gown with black trim. Her dark chocolate hair appeared to have been recently washed. It was styled with a thin, twisted wire band decorated with white pearls around the bun atop the crown of her head. Her hair covered her wound.

  “Hello, Landcross.”

  Caught off guard, he bowed awkwardly. “Erm, my Queen?”

  If he was going to keep running into royalty, he reckoned he might someday need to learn the proper etiquette when in their presence. About the only thing he did know was not to turn his back on them, which, given his sort of dangerous lifestyle, he’d never done with anyone.

  “I wanted to see you before you left,” she confessed, folding her hands in front of her. “And to thank you for saving my life.”

  Pierce shrugged. “You’ve spared mine in the past. I owed it to you.”

  “Perhaps,” the Queen allowed. “Lord Javan, if you please.”

  The Persian took hold of the hilt of his sword. “Set down the glass,” Darius whispered to Pierce. “Put it down, now!”

  His sharp command made Pierce set the glass down on the table behind him as Darius unsheathed his sword and approached Victoria. Darius bowed deeply to her as he handed the weapon over, hilt first.

  “Thank you, Lord Javan.” She accepted it. “Landcross, come forward.”

  Fuckin’ hell, he thought. She can’t be serious!

  He stood before her.

  “Kneel,” she ordered.

  Aye, she’s bloody well serious, all right!

  He fell to one knee and bowed his head. The sword touched his right shoulder and then his left. “Rise, Sir Pierce Landcross.”

  Pierce rose as a knight, something he’d never have believed could happen even if a billion fortunetellers had predicted it. The title was a great honor. Pierce couldn’t deny that.

  “Congratulations, Si
r Landcross,” announced the Queen, handing the sword back to Darius.

  Pierce bowed more formally. “Thanks, Your Highness.”

  She kissed him on both cheeks and looked at him directly. “Farewell to you.”

  “Goodbye, Highness,” he said with a wink.

  She smiled and turned to leave.

  After she was gone, her husband, the consort, said to Pierce, “Lord Javan informed me that you wish to let people believe you’re dead. If you want to remain ‘dead,’ then I suggest staying out of England—forever.”

  It didn’t take a psychic to read that the prince never wanted the likes of him in his kingdom again.

  Just before taking his royal leave, Prince Albert added, “In fact, it’d be best if you simply left this continent altogether.”

  Pierce couldn’t agree more.

  The prince left, taking the rest of the guards with him.

  “Does this mean I get no lands?” Pierce jokingly asked Darius.

  “You are lucky to even be granted the title.”

  “Aye. A far cry from what I thought was going to happen. You bloody well both scared the piss outta me.”

  Darius smirked. “It was the prince’s idea. Here.” He reached behind him and pulled out an Oak Leaf pistol. “I’ve been holding onto this.”

  Pierce beamed. “Ah, cheers,” he said happily, taking his weapon.

  To no one’s surprise, the chamber remained empty, but all the same, it was rather nice having the ol’ pistol returned.

  “I never knew you were partial to antiques, Landcross.”

  Pierce narrowed his eyes at him. “That’s Sir Landcross.”

  Darius snorted and sheathed his sword. “Adieu.”

  “Adieu,” Pierce replied.

  Darius went out the door, and out of Pierce’s life, forever.

  Pierce poured more wine and watched through the window as the Queen and her consort got into a very plain carriage waiting by the dock.

  “Sir Landcross,” he muttered while lifting the glass to his lips. “Fuckin’ hell.”

  * * *

  After Chief Sea Wind agreed to sail to Lepe, the ship was made ready and a short time later, the Ekta headed down the English Channel.