Castle of Fire

by Peter Greene

  “I am certainly not afraid of you!” Jonathan hissed through clenched teeth. “However, I do not wish to throw away my career over a duel with a useless, insolent, and cretinous codfish.”

  “You sound like your father, with your boyish insults!” said Spears.

  “A brute like you could never be so lucky as to hear his words, let alone meet my father!” snapped Jonathan.

  “Ah,” said Spears laughing again, “but I did! And I almost knocked him on the head, just last Christmas Day, at the docks!”

  Jonathan quickly remembered the story his father told him and how he suspected the attacker was Spears. It was now confirmed.

  Sean could see that Jonathan’s temper was rising. It looked dangerous to him. Not sure of what would happen next, he kept an eye on Lane, who also seemed on edge, looking about and even breaking into a mild sweat. This could get out of hand, worried Sean, still holding his blade in plain sight. Jonathan is always polite and always a gentleman. But I know his one weakness: his temper.

  There were times on the streets of London, Sean remembered, when bullies tried to take their food or blankets. Outnumbered and undersized, it didn’t matter; if Jonathan’s temper heated up, he could become dangerous. It served him well at times, and at others, his pride and sense of protection for his friends might have gotten him a few bruises from the bigger boys—bruises that he could have avoided.

  “I owe you a knock or two,” Jonathan said angrily.

  “Or maybe even four or five!” Spears said giddily. “Oh, I have been sitting on this for the longest time! I have been dying to tell you this one, Jonny Boy! You see, your family is not the only one with friends in high places. The Spearses have a few as well. One close friend of the family is Admiral Worthing! And my father called on him for a favor. Yes, you are seeing it now! Even your dull-witted mind can follow that my father orchestrated the blocking of your father’s promotion to admiral!”

  Jonathan swung, but Spears saw it coming and leaned back, avoiding the blow.

  “You grobian!” Jonathan yelled. “I will cut you down myself!”

  “Excellent!” said Spears. “That is exactly what I had in mind! Since there are no pistols to be found, the duel is with swords. Agreed?”

  “Absolutely!” called Jonathan, now writhing with anger. “Where and when?”

  “Jonathan!” cried Sean.

  “At the park,” snapped Spears. “Just south of the church on the edge of town. Sundown.”

  “I will be there!” Jonathan yelled, enraged and seemingly out of his mind.

  “Wayne,” said Lane meekly. “I think this has gone too far—”

  “Shut up!” Spears said, now grabbing Lane by the arm and turning away. They stomped off, Lane quite nervous and Spears laughing.

  Sean was certainly not laughing.

  “Jonathan! What were you thinking? You can’t fight him! One of you will be killed! It is murder! If the Captain finds out, that will be the end of you!”

  Jonathan watched Spears and Lane disappear around the corner of the small shop, and as they did, he seemed to calm down considerably. He took a deep breath and relaxed his stance.

  “It will not be the end, Sean! Have some faith!”

  Aboard the Danielle, there was a meeting of the minds in Captain Walker’s cabin. Mr. Koonts was there, sampling the few delicacies a ship’s officers could enjoy while in a port with fresh food. There were eggs, of course, and chicken, fresh fruit, and even cream for the coffee. Joining Koonts was Lieutenant Holtz, sitting with his surprised look as he contemplated a berry of some sort that Steward has acquired from a rushed trip to the grocer. Captain Walker was sitting at the large table across from Marine Captain Gorman, both sipping coffee and studying a large map of the islands off the eastern coast of Africa.

  “So you see, Captain Gorman, our guest, Kozak, has told us the manifest is here, in Fort De La Selva,” said Walker.

  “Yes,” said Gorman. “I have heard of Kozak and of the fort, and also of its frequent guest, Generalissimo Aguilar. It is well known that he arranges arms for South American colonies and also that he has been profiting from his dealings since the war began. He agrees to transport weapons to Napoleon’s troops through various networks, though always after he takes his share of the goods. If there is a manifest, then it is surely in his fort. “

  “I am not sure if Kozak can be believed,” Walker said. “He could be lying to save his skin. We will need to confirm this story of his, and the manifest would prove it.”

  “Let me have some time,” said Gorman. “I may be able to get some information out of him. A small threat, a slightly veiled ultimatum, can do wonders.”

  “Are you suggesting torture, Captain Gorman?” asked Walker.

  Gorman smiled. “Only if completely necessary; however, I think the threat of the noose will be enough to get him to talk. But no matter what, we should proceed immediately to Rio Muni.”

  “Gentlemen,” said the Captain, standing to signal the end of the conference. “We are taking the word of a pirate who is most probably lying to save his skin. To be sure, it is critical that we obtain that manifest.”

  “I will develop a plan for that,” said Gorman.

  All were dismissed. Gorman headed to the brig to interrogate Kozak.

  A small park with short green grass surrounded by tall trees and thick bushes seemed to be the most private place on the island. There were no benches, no wandering couples, no statues for viewing or fountains for wishing—just the grass and a small path that led across the center. It was like a shallow dinner bowl, with the trees for the sides and the lawn the bottom. Thin beams of sunlight streamed through the leaves, striking the park with sparkling sunrays as the evening came on.

  In the middle of the park stood four young men. Two were removing their dark blue naval jackets, the others inspecting two swords recently purchased from a local armorer. Neither combatant wanted to use his own blade as these new ones would be thrown into the sea to destroy any possibility of connecting them with the duel that was about to take place. It had been also agreed upon by all parties that the loser’s body would be dragged into the woods and buried in the soft loam. A story could then be told about how he had been seen in the company of a few local merchantmen and was last seen heading for their small ship. This way, desertion or foul play could be assumed by Captain Walker and the others.

  Sean, of course, believed that all of this was absolutely ridiculous and the falsehoods would be immediately seen through by even the numbest brains of the crew, let alone the officers. Jonathan would never desert and certainly was known to be too intelligent to be tricked by anyone. However, Sean was made to agree to the plan at the behest of Jonathan.

  He is clearly out of his mind! thought Sean.

  But no amount of talk or threat could convince him to abandon the idea.

  “I believe we are ready, Gentlemen,” said Lane, quite nervously, yet politely.

  “Agreed,” said Sean, still not believing the madness of this. Though Jonathan was an excellent swordsman, it had been seen again and again aboard the ship that he, for some reason, did not succeed against Spears. Was it just a bizarre circumstance? Did their two different fencing styles simply match up in such a way that Spears would always come out on top?

  Sean and Lane then each chose a blade and took their selection to their masters. Upon inspection, Wayne Spears and Jonathan Moore each held his sword in front of his face in salute of the other.

  “En garde!” called Lane.

  The sun was beginning to set on Ribeira Grande. By now, the sailors were all in their favorite pubs, entertaining themselves, stuffing their faces, and cavorting like bands of roving lunatics. Most of the fun was lighthearted; however, there were a limited number of instances of poor behavior and a few minor arrests by the local law officers. This was fully expected when any ship’s crew arrived in town.

  At the port dock, Lieutenant Harrison exited the small cabin on the stern of HMS Paladin
. He looked as if he had been smitten by one of Cupid’s arrows, the smile upon his face from ear to ear. His feet seemed to barely touch the deck as he lazily sauntered to the gangplank and then off to the dock, now and again spinning to look back at the sleek and handsome craft.

  “Just as beautiful on the inside!” he said aloud to no one in particular.

  Shortly, Garvey approached him and tipped his cap.

  “Ah, Garvey!” Harrison said. “Have you come to gander at the most beautiful vessel ever to grace the ocean waves?”

  Garvey scratched his head in wonder, trying to decipher Harrison’s words, then after a moment, realized that the Lieutenant was under the spell of the Periwinkle.

  “Aye, Lieutenant,” he said, “she’s a barky, that one is, but no, that is not why I am here. I am looking for you.”

  “You have found me—and found me in a delightful mood! I have just spent an hour with Lieutenant Sutton, the current captain of the Paladin. He has agreed to sail straight to England and alert any ships he sees to our mission. With the speed of that graceful lady, it would surprise me if he did not gather us one hundred ships! Captain Walker will be pleased as punch! Did you know, Garvey, that the teak wood on the inside of the Paladin’s hold is varnished? Amazing! It glows like honey!”

  “Aye, sir,” Garvey said impatiently. “I am sure it is most satisfying. However, I have a dire need. Urgent I would say. Life and death, sir.”

  Harrison’s smile was now fading from his face. He looked at Garvey and held up his hand.

  “Let me guess. Jonathan and Spears?”

  “Yes, sir. Seems the duel they are not supposed to have, well, they are having it.”

  “Where?” asked Harrison, visibly shaken by the news, his anger and concern growing.

  “The park at the edge of town,” Garvey said hurriedly. “I can’t be sure, but they certainly didn’t want me to hear what they were plotting. Sean and Lane are there as well!”

  “Blast!” said Harrison. “They are there as seconds, to make sure all goes according to plan! We must run, Garvey, double-time!”

  Harrison remembered the fencing matches that Jonathan and Spears had had aboard the ship. He believed Jonathan was not fighting to his full potential, losing on purpose, laying a trap for Spears. However, he also knew that sometimes things could go wrong, and sometimes fatally. He followed Garvey, both running as fast as they could into town, hoping to reach the park before it was too late.

  As always, Spears began his attack by charging heavily, lunging at his foe constantly, expecting him to retreat. However, somehow, Jonathan kept to his seemingly improved footwork and moved out of the way easily. Spears spun and renewed his attack, lunging and swiping with great fury. He was powerful and certainly seemed bent on killing Jonathan. His beats were strong and the swords clashed loudly as every advance was parried by Jonathan. Back and forth they moved, around the center of the park, at times into the trees, Spears beating and attacking, Jonathan parrying and slipping to either side to avoid Spears’s blade. It was frightening, and Sean was worried that this fight would end up just like all the others, with Spears as the victor. This time, however, the loser would be dead.

  This may be the last time I see him alive, worried Sean. But then he noticed an odd thing. As the swordsmen seemed to pause, Spears looked drenched with sweat and quite red in the face. Jonathan, on the other hand, didn’t even seem to be flush or tired. In fact, his face was the absolute picture of calmness and serenity.

  “How long have we been at it, Sean?” called Jonathan.

  Sean had no real idea, but gave an estimate.

  “Five minutes, maybe a bit more! Be careful, Jonathan!”

  Spears now took advantage of Jonathan’s distraction caused by his asking for the time. He completed a quick stutter-step attack with a quick lunge, aiming directly for Jonathan’s heart. Jonathan moved quickly to his left, avoiding the attack and causing Spears to stumble past. Not even turning, Jonathan lifted his blade above his head, flicked his wrist backwards and extended his arm behind his own back, catching Spears as he passed, the point scoring between his enemy’s shoulders.

  Spears toppled over into the grass and grimaced in pain. A small amount of blood could be seen through his white blouse.

  “A point, Jonny Boy!” said Sean, happily. He could not believe it. In their previous matches, Jonathan scored less than a handful of points against Spears, and this one, well, it was quite amazing to both Sean and Lane, and even more so to Spears.

  “Lucky!” said Spears as he stood up.

  “Must be,” said Jonathan. “But I find, the more skilled and talented one is, the luckier he seems to those who are unaware and of lesser skills.”

  “Really?” said Spears angrily. Like a wild beast, he charged, sword swiping. When he was but a few feet from Jonathan, Spears dove through the air in an attempt to tackle his opponent. Jonathan doubled over and squatted. As Spears was in midair above him, Jonathan quickly stood up, his shoulders striking Spears in the legs, causing him to spin end over end and land harshly on his back in the soft dirt. Jonathan then spun about, advancing quickly. He took a fast swipe with his sword, cutting off the majority of Spears’s ponytail precisely above his collar.

  “Arrrr!” yelled Spears. He stood and raised his sword once again.

  “Just lucky, I guess!” said Jonathan, smiling. “Your hair does look better neatly cropped, I must admit. Now, as we are almost eight minutes into the contest and the sun is setting quickly, I think we should end this. I am getting hungry!”

  “You cad!” said Spears, his anger suddenly renewing his energy. He went after Jonathan again and again, relentlessly and viciously.

  But to Sean’s surprise and joy, Jonathan continued to repel all attacks and scored a few quick hits to each of Spears’s arms and, quite humorously, one to each buttock. Neither wound was fatal; however, Spears was soon gasping for air, almost completely exhausted.

  Could it be, thought Sean, that Jonathan was not really trying all those times he faced Spears on the Danielle. Maybe he was waiting for an opportunity to trick Spears?

  “You know, Wayne,” said Jonathan as he easily executed his defense, “I knew it was you who pushed me off the plank in London. I saw your now-shortened ponytail as I fell. You could not help looking over the side, could you?”

  “So what?” said Spears, huffing and puffing. “You deserved it!”

  “Did I, Spears?” Jonathan said as he easily parried a misaimed slashing attack. “Then that is the crux of this whole issue, isn’t it? You think I deserve blame for your misfortune. I know you hate me and my father. But I will tell you something. With God as my witness, we have never even concerned ourselves with your existence. This hatred was created by you. There is no basis for it.”

  “Liar!” said Spears between labored movements. “You have kept us down!”

  “Why would we care, Wayne? We stand on our own, and you should too. Can’t we forget this duel? Let us go have a nice dinner and return to the ship. I am extending the hand of friendship—”

  “And I will cut it off!” yelled Spears, and he lunged wildly, almost barreling into Jonathan in a desperate tackle. Jonathan expertly met Spears’s sword, and in a twisting motion, spun his tip into the hilt and flipped his opponent’s blade into the air, to land lost somewhere in the wood. A sidestep and a thrust foot by Jonathan sent Spears falling, tumbling onto the ground with his face slamming flat in the dirt. He spun over laboriously to his back and tried to rise up to stand on his feet, but Jonathan advanced on Spears and backed him up to the edge of the lawn, until he had positioned him against a tree, unable to move. The blade of Jonathan’s sword rested upon the neck of Wayne Spears.

  “Kill me, then, you spoiled brat!” said Spears. “Take my future and my life! Use it to embellish yours!”

  Jonathan smiled a bit; then a feeling of absolute pity came over him. He realized that Spears would never get past his jealousy, his misdirected anger, and that was a sha
me. He would always be a danger to him and his father; however, he could not take his life. No matter what he was now, Spears had once been an innocent child and the influence of his father made him what he was today: a disgruntled malcontent with a chip on his shoulder, put there by a parent who saw the world through faded glasses.

  “Jonathan! Stop!” called Harrison as he reached the clearing. He and Garvey had finally arrived, winded and panting. Jonathan turned to regard them, then quickly looked back at Spears. His eyes narrowed and his voice was firm and strong.

  “Spears, I offer you this: I will not kill you, though I will regret this decision, I am sure. But you will pay me for your life with a simple deed. You will request transfer off the Danielle as soon as we return to the ship. If you do so, I will mention nothing about what you told me, or this duel. You will never speak to me, Sean Flagon, or my family again, or interfere with our lives.”

  Exhausted and spent, Spears considered this. Soon the weight of his absolute failure rose within him to spill forth in the form of tears. As they began to stream down his face, he considered all that had happened. Had he really tried to murder this boy? Had he really sunk to such a despicable low? Maybe it was true that his troubles were not the fault of anyone but himself. That notion would be hard to accept. And now, here was his enemy, offering a way out. The humiliation of it all was clearly becoming realized, and the thought of living with such defeat was certainly going to be unbearable. Though there was no clear answer, he did know one thing: that he did not want to die.

  “You can resign from the Navy,” said Jonathan, “if that suits you. Or, kill yourself. But your death will not be at my hand. Are we agreed?”

  Spears thought for a moment longer. All he could feel was his utter exhaustion. He was physically weak from the fight and mentally drained from the years of anguish he believed caused by the Moores. It was dawning on him now through pangs of realization, that possibly his view on this matter had been all wrong.

  “Agreed,” said Spears, finally.