by Cory Barclay
Gustav could see the relief splayed across the reeve’s face. It told him, once again, that something wasn’t right. Perhaps he’s guilty of something more ominous than simple tax evasion.
Bidding farewell to the reeve, Gustav told him he’d be back in the early morning hours, then climbed into the carriage with Hedda.
As the carriage rolled off toward the vacant plot of land across the way, Gustav took another swill from his bottle of laudanum. He glanced at Hedda, who squinted disapprovingly at him.
“Now I’m your auditor, Gustav?”
Gustav shrugged. “I had to call you something, my dear.”
CHAPTER FIVE
ROWAINE
“Yes,” Rowaine said, “I severed the captain’s prick, then his throat. If anyone wants to join him, my knife is ready.”
The tension on the Lion’s Pride was as taut as stretched rope, ready to snap. Rowaine stood at the ship’s helm, hands bloodied, eyes cast down at the crew. Half of them stared at her with daggers in their eyes, the other half held weapons aimed at the first half.
She gazed at the hardened faces. “I know I wasn’t the only soul tired of his antics, his madness, his bloodthirst. Constantly ordering us to go where we did not agree. Enough was enough. Captain Galager is dead. All we can do is go forward from here. I’m angry I didn’t slay him sooner. If I had, what happened to poor Dominic could have been prevented.”
A few mutterings floated through the ranks of the men. With fire in his eyes, First Mate Adrian Coswell yelled out, “You’re a traitor, you bitch. Who will lead us now?”
Daxton Wallace, his pistol pointed at the first mate’s head, clicked the matchlock, then whacked Coswell over the head with the butt of the gun. “It’s a bit obvious, isn’t it, mate?”
“L-long live Captain Row!” Jerome Penderwick shouted from the starboard railing. For such a skittish surgeon, he showed an amazing amount of courage.
“Yes, long live Captain Row!” Alfred Eckstein echoed.
Half of the shipmates followed suit, while the rest stayed quiet.
“I was next in line for the captaincy!” Adrian Coswell screamed, rubbing the back of his bruised head.
Daxton laughed. “I don’t think you’re in any shape to be bargaining, fool.”
I don’t want this, Rowaine thought. But she knew it couldn’t be helped. The mutiny was my idea. Someone has to lead these sorry bastards. She kept her gaze on the first mate, before abruptly turning her head, her red hair fluttering in the breeze. “How are our medical supplies, Doctor Penderwick?”
“D-dismal, my lady.”
She turned to the rigger. “And our riggings, Mister Eckstein?”
“Soggy ropes and loose lines,” the young man replied.
“Termites have gotten into our wood,” Daxton said, loud enough for all to hear.
Rowaine held her arms out wide. “Don’t you see, Mister Coswell? Henry Galager was leading us on a death march. Can’t you see the struggles of the men?”
“Henry Galager was my captain,” Adrian scowled.
“As he was mine,” Rowaine said, “but not anymore. Believe me, I didn’t plan on doing it like I did. But when I saw how he hurt Dominic, and what he was about to do to me—” she faced the floorboards and suddenly stopped speaking.
“You’ll never be more than a usurper to—”
A loud crack interrupted the first mate. Coswell crumbled to the ground in a heap. Daxton leaned over him with his pistol raised into the air.
“Dax!” Rowaine shouted as faces surveyed the commotion.
The bald carpenter shrugged nonchalantly. “I was gettin’ tired of his yammering.”
Rowaine groaned. I’m trying to bring us a sense of unity, and he threatens to divide us even more! He needs a talking-to.
Although there would be no official vote, it was clear what the outcome of Captain Galager’s death would bring. Having single-handedly spearheaded the mutiny, Rowaine became the de facto captain of the Lion’s Pride.
Now I need to figure out what to do with the people who hate me . . . including Adrian Coswell.
“Bring Coswell to Doctor Penderwick, Dax,” Rowaine ordered. “Make sure he’s okay, Jerome.”
The surgeon nodded, scrambling over to the carpenter and fallen first mate. Grabbing Adrian’s arms, while Daxton took his legs, they carried him through the parting crowd to the stairs.
As they reached the hallway, Daxton gasped then stepped aside, forcing the small surgeon to follow him—they almost dropped Adrian in the process.
Dominic Baker stood in the doorway, head downcast, his tunic torn, hands at his side, fists clenched. His normally kind face was masked with pain, his mouth a mere slit, his eyes burning with rage.
As he limped ahead, the men quietly got out of his way. When the cabin boy stepped onto the bloody deck, he stared down at Captain Galager’s severed penis.
Then he stomped hard, directly on target, a grotesque squelch sounding beneath his foot. With dead eyes aimed at Rowaine, he spun around and headed back downstairs.
As his footsteps faded, no one spoke.
Rowaine sat in the same room she’d been playing cards in just hours before. Things have changed so quickly. She felt dizzy, but tried to hide it by crossing her arms over her chest and pursing her lips. Daxton, Alfred, and Jerome stood solemnly in front of her.
“Where’s Dom?” Rowaine asked.
“Locked in his room, Row . . . er, captain,” Alfred said. “He refuses to come out.”
Rowaine frowned. “Even though I asked him to be here?”
“Er . . . especially because of that, I’m assuming.”
Rowaine understood. He blames what happened to him on me. I would too, were it me.
“We m-must go on w-without him,” Jerome stuttered, nodding to himself.
“The amputator is right,” Daxton said. “No offense, Row, but why do we need him here? He was just the cabin boy.”
Rowaine shot Daxton an icy glare, forcing the big carpenter to find an interesting speck on the wall to stare at.
“Because I’m going to name him my first mate, Daxton.”
The carpenter’s shoulders slumped.
“Isn’t Daxton the most able and senior of our group?” Alfred asked.
“Yes, captain, s-should we really have s-such a youngster in charge?” Jerome added.
An hour into my captaincy and I’m already sowing discord. I’ll need to change that. “I am the captain, boys. You said it yourselves.” She faced the carpenter. “Don’t worry, Daxton, you aren’t forgotten, but I’ve made my decision. Dominic Baker is my first mate.”
Daxton said nothing. For the first time in a while, his lips stayed still.
“With that being said,” Rowaine continued, “we need to make our plans. I consider you three—and Dom—my cabinet. I’ll be asking you for advice. Can I trust you in that?”
She eyed each man one by one. They all nodded firmly, although Daxton hesitated a beat.
“Our first plan of action needs to be docking the ship. We will return to port on the Dutch coast, unload our loot, and acquire more men.”
“More men?” Alfred scoffed. “Is that necessary? We can hardly keep the men we have aboard content.”
“We need to replace Captain Galager’s loyalists with our own. I don’t trust half those wretches. We’ll simply trade them out.”
“They won’t like that, Row . . .” Daxton said, trailing off.
Rowaine narrowed her eyes. “I don’t care what they like, Dax. That’s why I have you three—to help make this work.”
“Right,” said Daxton. “But before any of that, we need to figure out what we’re going to do with Coswell. We can’t trust him, either.”
In unison Alfred and Jerome both nodded.
“I know that,” Rowaine said. “As long as he goes, the people loyal to Galager will go with him.”
Daxton sneered, his mouth agape. “Let him go, Row? You can’t be serious. You’re asking for a
counter-mutiny doin’ that. What do you plan to do, simply let him wander off when we dock, free to assemble his own crew?”
Rowaine slowly exhaled. “We’ll be out of port soon enough—”
“We’ll need at least a week on land,” Daxton argued, “which gives him plenty of time to raise a ruckus. Not only that, but we’ll have to come back to land at some point. Revenge will be the only thing on his mind—as I’m sure it is right now.”
“Well, he’s un-unc-unconscious right now, so I doubt he’s thinking much of anything,” Jerome quipped.
“What do you suppose we do, Dax?” Rowaine asked.
Daxton reached into his tunic and produced his pipe. “I figured it was pretty clear, Row. Adrian Coswell needs to die.”
Rowaine was shaking her head before he even finished. “I won’t have any more blood on my hands.”
“That’s fine,” Daxton said. “I’d be happy to do it.”
Rowaine sighed, raising her eyebrows and turning to Jerome and Alfred.
“I’m w-with Daxton, captain. Adrian Coswell is a major t-t-threat,” Jerome said.
Rowaine was shocked to hear that from the usually peaceful surgeon.
Alfred spoke. “It’s too messy. Row, er, the captain is right. We don’t want to risk another mutiny by provoking the men who are loyal to Adrian’s cause. I don’t think we should kill him.”
All eyes focused back on Rowaine.
She sighed. After a short moment, she said, “I’ll be democratic about this and ask Dom his opinion.”
“Good luck getting him out of his room,” Alfred said.
“I’ll worry about that,” she said, then spun toward Daxton as he lit his pipe. “But you’ll need to put that out, Dax.”
“Why is that?”
“Because you’re going to steer the boat to land.”
Daxton gaped. As Rowaine stomped away, she heard the carpenter yell, “Don’t worry, captain, I can steer and smoke at the same time!”
It was true that Rowaine wanted Dominic’s opinion on what to do with Adrian Coswell, but there was more to discuss than that. She raced to his cabin and knocked softly on the door. “Dom, it’s Row,” she said, barely more than a whisper.
Silence.
After a moment, Rowaine knocked again, harder this time. “I need to speak with you, Dom. It’s important.”
More silence.
Rowaine sighed. “Look,” she began, “I know you blame me for what happened—and I’ll never forgive myself, believe me. I wish I’d blasted that bastard’s head off before it came to this, maybe while he was strutting on that tradeship’s prow. That would have saved us all a lot of—”
The door creaked open. Dominic’s face appeared in the doorway, but he looked different. Gone was the kindness in his eyes and his soft features—replaced by hard angles and a clenched jaw.
“I don’t blame you, Row,” he said, stepping out of the way to let his captain in. He ambled to his bed and sat down on the hard cot, wincing.
Rowaine paced the room, ready to go into her spiel, but she stopped. Taking a deep breath, she sat on the chair opposite Dominic and asked softly, “Are you okay?”
“I don’t want to discuss it,” Dominic said, his head slouched. “Why are you here? What do you want?”
Rowaine’s throat clenched and her heart sank to her stomach. Never before had Dominic spoken to her in such an abrupt, snappish way. She paused for a moment—her mind somersaulting—barely able to speak. Now she knew how Jerome Penderwick felt every day of his life.
Clearing her throat, she fought back tears so Dominic wouldn’t see her weakness.
“I want to know what you fancy we should do with Adrian Coswell . . .” she finally said.
Certain what his response would be, Dominic surprised her.
“Let him go,” he said.
Rowaine teetered back. “B-but, he was Captain Galager’s right-hand man, Dom. He hates you—he hates everyone.”
Dominic shook his head. “Too much blood. I’ve seen too much blood.”
Rowaine started to speak again, but Dominic cut her off. “If you already know what you’re going to do, Row, then why ask me? Do what you will. You have my answer.”
Rowaine took another deep breath. Her heart began racing. She had a sudden desire to leave the room. Seeing her best friend this way was just too depressing. But she fought on. “I’m making you first mate,” she announced.
Dominic just stared at the ground.
Rowaine craned her neck sideways. “Did you hear me, Dom? I said you are going to be my first mate.” But her words sounded hollow. In fact, the whole room felt hollow and empty. As if Dominic’s body was there but not his soul.
“I’ll let you know if I accept,” Dominic said softly.
Rowaine felt a flash of anger. “With respect, Dom, I am the captain of the Lion’s Pride now. It isn’t your decision to deny or accept. Now, can I trust you to do as ordered?”
Dominic nodded. “Of course,” he muttered, “I wouldn’t dare deny the command of my fearless leader—”
“Enough!” Rowaine growled. “You must stop this self-pity, Dom. I need you back!”
Dominic said nothing. The longer the silence lingered, the more Rowaine regretted her outburst. “I . . . I’m sorry,” she finally said. “But I’m going to need your help. Please. You’re the only one I truly trust.”
Dominic’s eyes finally found Rowaine’s. Maybe it was his realization that he needed to stop wallowing, or Rowaine’s words about trust, but finally, through tearful yet firm eyes, he said, “What is it you need, captain?”
“I need you to find out who spoke about our mutiny to Galager. Someone squealed. That is the person I want to kill, dammit, even more than Adrian Coswell. Someone betrayed our trust and I want you to find him. When we dock in the harbor, I imagine everyone will head for the taverns. That will be where you’ll discover the traitor.”
“I’ll get to the bottom of it, Row, you have my word. Any suspects?”
“Besides you and me, three others knew about the mutiny. And they’re all currently standing in the card-room.”
CHAPTER SIX
SYBIL
Sybil sat in a pew near the back of the church, watching her husband survey the front of the room. Dieter ran his hands over the fresh wood of the back wall, then moved to the pulpit.
He seems at peace, she thought, back where he belongs.
Dieter’s church was basically complete, though it still needed some interior work, such as the stained-glass windows, some statues, and paintings of the Virgin Mary and Jesus. But for now, simplicity would suffice.
Though Dieter would never be a ministered priest again, his current neighbors didn’t need to know that. He was still the holiest man within thirty miles. People valued him.
The day before he’d confessed to Sybil his nervousness about giving a sermon. But there was no question he was glad to be part of a congregation again. He liked their new neighbors, and they liked the Nicolaus’.
“You’ll do fine,” Sybil reassured him. “The people here need hope—something to take their minds off their farming and their poor lot in life. And you can give them that hope.”
Dieter kissed Sybil passionately, then asked, “Are you sure you want to teach those rambunctious children? Do you believe they’ll listen to you?”
Sybil looked into his eyes. “Do you remember when we first met?”
Dieter grinned and blushed. “How could I forget? You were in a white gown, searching for the perfect apple.”
“And what was I to do with those apples?”
“Feed the poor.”
Sybil nodded. “We walked hand-in-hand through Bedburg’s slums, serving the most destitute and needy. I’ve never felt more useful. And I want that back. You belong in a church, preaching, just like I belong with the children, helping. You taught me things that opened my mind, Dieter. I too wish to help unburden those around us—the young innocents—from the stresses surrounding the
m and their families. From taxes and farming and war. Just as you do.”
With a single finger, Dieter caressed Sybil’s soft cheek. “You’ll do great, my love.”
And so Sybil sat in the back pew, surrounded by a dozen neighbors and their children, watching Dieter prepare for the first day of his new life. She marveled at how different he looked compared with just three years earlier.
Claire, the French wife of Leon Durand, Dieter’s construction helper, ran a hand across her pregnant belly. As she too watched Dieter, she seemed to be thinking the same thing as Sybil. She leaned over to Sybil and whispered, “Your husband is quite enticing, Beele. So . . . confident. You’re a very lucky woman.”
Sybil turned red. “Leon is a fine man as well, Claire. And your daughter is adorable,” she added, speaking of Claire and Leon’s first child, Bella, the twelve-year-old sitting next to Martin.
Martin and Bella were whispering to each other, but Sybil paid them no attention, instead admiring her husband, remembering how shy and pale and soft-spoken he once was. Now his chiseled and bronzed features from his labors in the sun cast an impressive, confident, and, yes, enticing image. It may have taken him time to find his place in life, but now he was a strong man with a commanding presence. A man whom people listened to.
Sybil smiled to herself. She wasn’t sure if Dieter’s transformation came from his departure from the Catholic priesthood, or from their difficult journey across the North Sea, or their frightening time and escape from Bedburg—or a combination of them all. But whatever it was, he was indeed a changed man, that much was clear.
Dieter lifted his worn copy of Martin Luther’s Ninety-Five Theses from the pulpit, holding it high for all to see. Sybil had given him that leather-bound book, stolen from her father, and it had become Dieter’s instrument of change.
“Martin Luther tells us,” Dieter began, “that we can only achieve repentance by our practice of faith alone—not through our deeds.” The small room drew silent as all eyes focused on the speaker at the pulpit.
