“All of the Henchmen wear the King’s Brand. Not the tunics—they want to earn the brand. It’s an honor. The adepts all have the brand. You really don’t remember?”
“I can’t say I do.”
“You branded me. You branded all of us.” She moved to the back side of the bed and stared out at the endless waters behind the window. “You seem to take pleasure in it. You were all smiles when you did me years ago.”
“I’m not a nice man, am I?”
She started tying her hair into ponytails. “Are you going to let me speak freely? I don’t want to be disrespectful and earn a whipping. Or be cast overboard like chum for the sharks.”
“I’ve whipped you?”
Abraham prayed he wouldn’t remember that. It seemed an unnecessary thing. The Henchmen were warriors, killers. They turned seasoned pirates into chop suey. No ordinary man would cross them after seeing that.
“I promise I won’t whip you. I’ve never whipped anybody. Well, not in my world.”
With her steady gaze on his, she said, “You are self-centered, arrogant, cruel, and malicious. You’ve killed your own men for speaking out against you. But they respect you even though our travels haven’t been going so well. They are safer with you than without you. They don’t have a choice, either way.”
Abraham buckled on his sword belt. The boat rocked hard to the right. He danced a step back. Sticks grabbed hold of the headboard.
“Whoa! The floor’s dancing.” Spreading his legs out, he steadied himself.
They were definitely in a spot of choppy waters. Dark clouds now covered the sea as rain came down.
“If I branded all of you, then who branded me?”
“King Hector.” Her shoulders swayed side to side with the jostling of the boat. “It’s a great honor but not publicly known. You are marked for a reason. If you are captured, the enemy will see the mark. They will kill you or torture you. No, they will torture then kill you. That’s why, at all costs, we avoid being captured. The mark is a death sentence even though it’s a great honor to die in the service of the king. It’s a better fate than what was already set aside for most of us.”
“So the brand creates loyalty. That’s interesting.” He scratched the black whiskers on his chin. “We can’t turn traitor because we’ll be killed for it by the king or by the king’s enemies. We are his property.”
“Death before failure. We are all a living and breathing death sentence.” She drank her wine. “The brand has powers too. It can stop a heart or summon a sky demon to anyone that deserts or is disloyal. It can bring luck, too.”
“That’s doesn’t sound right,” he said, rubbing his brand. “More stories to scare you. Besides, you said that the Henchmen were loyal to me.”
“You, Horace, Vern, and Bearclaw have been together a very long time—before I met you, back when you were the old Ruger and not the new one that took over a few years ago.” She finished off her port. “The king branded you, and you branded them. It’s a longer story.”
Even though thinking about it was grim, at least he had a clear understanding of what the brand was all about. He hoped it was another piece of the puzzle and that knowledge would lead him back to his world. He’d know who his troops were, too. The mark formed a brotherhood. All of them served the same king. They had the same mission. They were a team. He could relate to that. If there was one thing he understood, it was winning.
The King’s Brand. It sounds like the name of a cigarette company. Maybe I’ll be able to use it in the real world one day.
She finished braiding her ponytails and hung them over her shoulders. She approached him, touched his face, and asked, “Would you like a shave? You always liked it before. You’ll want to look presentable for the king when the time comes.”
“Do I shave me, or do you shave me?”
“Dominga shaves you. At least, that is your preference.”
Of the ten Henchmen, he’d only gotten to know half of them. Seven were men. He knew Horace, Bearclaw, and Vern. The other four he hadn’t become acquainted with. Three were women. He knew the faces of Sticks and Iris, but Dominga he didn’t know. He remembered a few riders with their faces partly covered in cowls when he’d encountered them at first. He could see only their eyes. One was small, and he assumed it was a woman even though he could have been wrong.
“I’ll wait,” he said. “We still have a few days at sea, and I’m used to a fuller beard anyway.”
“As you wish, Captain. Do you care if I move topside?”
“It’s raining.”
“I know, but I think you could use some time to yourself. I can send a retainer to set your bed.”
He nodded. “No. Dismissed.”
Without a word, Sticks departed.
Strangely, it felt natural to dismiss a woman he’d just slept with. The words came easy. Either he was getting used to becoming a captain, or the body he hosted was taking over. His fingertips tingled. He picked up Jake’s backpack and hugged it tight and fell backward onto the bed.
Lord, please tell me I’m not losing my mind.
25
The Past
On a hot and hazy day in Bradenton, Florida, in the spring of 2009, Abraham had recently signed a multimillion-dollar contract with the Pirates as their star pitcher. The Dominator, a name coined by his heated flock of fans, had come into his own. He pulled into the LECOM Field parking lot, driving a brand-new 2009 Chevy Kodiak truck with a smile as broad as the windshield.
Many of his teammates met him in the parking lot and checked out the new set of wheels. A lot of guys bought sports cars ranging from Ferraris to Porsches. Most of the bigger players could barely fit into the cramped cockpits of their European cars. Some of them were smart enough to buy a bigger Rolls-Royce or Mercedes. Abraham wanted to be different. He wanted big. He wanted roomy. He wanted American diesel. The Chevy Kodiak that Abraham rolled up in caught the attention of all of them.
The Kodiak was a vehicle true to its name. The midnight-black-edition turbodiesel king cab decked out in chrome made all the other cars look like kids’ toys.
Buddy Parker, star outfielder for the Bucs, flicked up his black hand and whistled. “Woo-wee, now that’s the perfect redneck vehicle. I’m going to get me one of them. I didn’t even know they made ’em that big. No, I’m going to get two. Let me drive it.”
“No, you have enough trouble keeping all four wheels of your cars on the road,” Abraham said. “But when your Mercedes breaks down again, I’ll be happy to tow you.”
Buddy laughed.
He and Buddy had come into the league at the same time and hit it off pretty well. Buddy was from Alabama, a country boy raised on the farms, who knew more about running a farm than he did baseball. He talked about cows a lot but hated chickens. He had a five-hundred-acre ranch not far from his hometown. Once a year, he would have a massive team party and made the rookies milk the cows.
Jake hopped out the back door of the cab. The sandy-haired eight-year-old jumped up into Buddy’s big hands. “Buddy! How many home runs are you going to hit this year?”
“One hundred,” Buddy said. He always said that.
“That’s impossible,” Jake said. “Even Hank Aaron couldn’t do that.”
“No, but I’m going to try. You just watch and see. Buddy Parker and Abraham Jenkins are going to make some noise this season. This year, the P in Pirates stands for pennant!”
“Can I get a little help climbing out of here?”
Jenny asked. Abraham’s wife climbed over from the passenger seat into the driver’s. She wore a black Polo one-piece tennis dress that showed off her great tanned legs. Her light-brown hair was long, straight, and pulled behind her ears. A lot of people told her she looked like Diane Lane. Abraham told her she looked better.
Buddy set down Jake and hustled over to the truck door. “It would be my pleasure to help the most beautiful woman in Florida.”
She let Buddy pick her up and set her down. She gave him a
big hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, Buddy. My husband forgot to bring the fire-truck ladder.”
Buddy tossed back his head and let out a gusty laugh that the entire parking lot could hear.
“It’s not that high.” Abraham pointed at the steps on the side. “You just have to step on these things, baby.”
“I know dear, I just wanted Buddy to put his strong arms around me.” She winked at Buddy.
Buddy kept on laughing and shaking his head. “Anytime. Anytime.”
She walked over to Abraham, rose on tiptoe, and kissed him. “Just teasing.”
“I know. But be careful. I’m not sure Buddy knows.”
Jake grabbed Buddy’s hands. “Come on. Take me to see the rest of the guys. I want to make fun of their errors and batting averages. Some of them really stunk last year. They need some motivation.”
“You got it, kid.” Buddy and Jake waved and walked away. “We ain’t going to win no pennant if they are playing that way.”
With her arms wrapped around Abraham’s waist, Jenny asked, “So how am I supposed to park this thing at the shopping mall?”
“You aren’t going to stay for practice?”
“Just teasing. I’m not going to spend all of our money yet. I’ll wait until the end of the week.”
“Just leave me enough to buy an airplane.”
“I’ll think about it.”
He leaned down to kiss her perfect waiting lips.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
Knock! Knock! Knock!
Abraham’s eyes snapped open. The dream from his past was gone. He found himself staring up at the wooden ceiling of the Sea Talon’s captain’s quarters and cradling Jake’s backpack.
“Oh no.”
Sticks entered the room, accompanied by Horace. Both of them were drenched.
Horace closed the door on the storming rain. “Pardon us, Captain, but we have a problem.”
The ship rocked hard to the left, half rolling Abraham out of the bed. He set his feet on the floor, set the backpack down, and rose. “Don’t tell me we’re taking on water. Or we’re lost.” He wiped the saliva from his mouth. The dream must have put him in a very deep sleep. He didn’t even remember feeling tired. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Hours,” Sticks said.
Beyond the windows of the cabin were nothing but stormy seas and sheets of black rain.
“Is it still daytime?” he asked.
“Yes.”
The boat rocked side to side.
He faced them and nonchalantly said, “Okay, tell me what has happened. And it better not be one of those sea-monster stories. I’ve been in the belly of a tunnel, now of a ship, and I don’t want to wind up in a fish belly like Jonah.”
“Who is Jonah, sir?” Horace asked.
“Never mind. Just tell me what happened this time.”
“It’s the frights, Captain. They’ve escaped,” Sticks said. “And two of your men are dead.”
26
Hard rain had soaked Abraham head to toe by the time he made it from his quarters belowdecks. The brig was located two levels below his cabin. It was an empty jail cell, made from iron bars that the rich sea-salt air had crusted over. Two Red Tunics lay outside the cell in pools of their own blood. Using a lantern for light, he bent over for a closer look. Their throats were torn open. They looked like an animal had attacked them.
The ship rocked.
Abraham caught one of the support beams, steadied himself, and stood up. “How could the frights have gotten out of there?”
The brig’s door had a simple lock-and-key mechanism, and it wasn’t damaged. He saw no sign of the key either.
“Who has the key?”
Horace pulled a key out of his pocket. “I have this one. Vern has the other. He’s searching for the witches. These are the only keys that I’m aware of. And no one was in the brig when we boarded. The keys were inside the brig, Captain.”
“Bring Vern down here, and find those witches,” Abraham said. “There isn’t any place to go on this ship. How hard could it be for them to hide? I want the ship searched from belly to mast.”
“Aye, Captain.” Horace hustled out of the room. His big feet pounded topside up the steps.
“This isn’t what we needed. This stinks,” he told Sticks, looking for some sort of affirmation. “Who in their right mind would have let the witches out?”
“The frights practice crafty ways of evil. They can beguile the mind if one is not careful. They should have been gagged,” she said. “Women’s words can be deadly.”
“They can say all they want, but they can’t make a key for the lock out of thin air.” He stepped into the cell and looked for anything out of the ordinary. The hold was barren, free of any cots, chairs, or blankets. “Didn’t they have shackles on?”
“Yes. But Vern took them off. He said if the ship sank, we didn’t want to lose our prisoners to the sea. They’d need to swim.”
“We aren’t going to sink.” The ship bucked up on a wave and crashed down again. Abraham corrected himself. “We probably won’t sink.” He made a disgusted look. The creepy frights on the loose opened up a nest of butterflies in his stomach. “If they were in shackles, we should be able to hear them from miles away. And this is a boat. I’m pretty sure chains on wood make a very noticeable sound.”
“We’ll find them, Captain.”
“Will you quit calling me Captain when no one else is around!”
“Yes, Cap—” She closed her mouth.
Inspecting the lock, he asked, “How dangerous are these frights? I know a sword can take them, but they are strong as a wildcat. What do they do?”
“Evil magic,” she said.
“Great.” Abraham wasn’t really sure what he was searching for in the cell. The danger was out of the cell, not in. But after having watched every episode of CSI twice, he felt as though a part of him knew what it was doing. Who do I think I am? CSI Titanuus. What kind of trace am I looking for?
Horace returned with Vern. Horace had the younger warrior by the nape of the neck. “Here he is, Captain.”
“Where’s your key, Vern?” he asked.
“It was stolen, Captain. I swear it.” Vern spoke with desperation. The haughtiness he usually carried was gone. “The moment I heard the frights were out, I checked. It was gone. But I swear on my sword I didn’t let them out.” He looked down at the sword on Abraham’s hip. “I swear it!”
Horace shook the man. “Quit whining like a dog. You’re a Henchman!”
Vern clammed up.
It became perfectly clear by the tension in the quarters that the old captain would have killed Vern without a word.
Abraham dropped his hand to his hilt. “Vern, where is the key?”
“I swear I don’t know. Captain.” He blinked rapidly. “I’ll help you find them.”
Abraham squeezed his hilt. Part of him wanted to cut Vern down, but that part wasn’t him. It was Ruger Slade, possibly taking control of him. He moved out of the cell. “Horace, lock him inside. And don’t lose the key.”
Horace closed Vern inside the brig. He twisted the key in the lock and tucked the key inside his tunic.
A pair of dark figures entered the tight quarters, Tark and Cudgel. They were a pair of well-built black men with light eyes that gave them a ghostly look. Tark had a beard, and Cudgel was bald. They wore tunics over the chain mail of the Henchmen. Stooped over, the lengthy Tark held out sets of shackles and irons. “We found these, Captain. Up on the poop deck. Didn’t see the frights, but we’ll find them. We always find them.”
Tark and Cudgel were the company’s scouts that rode out in front. Abraham didn’t remember meeting them before, but he knew exactly who they were the moment they showed up. They were brothers but not twins. He wasn’t sure, but Tark appeared to be the older, judging by the modest gray follicles in his hair and beard. They looked heavier in their wet armor but had sleek, wiry frames underneath. They carried long swords and dagge
rs like the others.
Abraham cast a backward glance at Vern.
“I didn’t even have the keys to the shackles. The retainers had them,” Vern said.
Cudgel wiped the water from his face and asked, “What are your orders, Captain?”
Abraham had to think about it. Tracking down murdering witches was a new experience. Commanding a bunch of strangers who appeared to be a bunch of natural-born killers was a new adventure too. He thought of the only thing he could do. When the team had a problem, they would all gather in the locker room. “I want every Red Tunic and Henchman topside now!”
27
The company lined up in the torrential sheets of rain. The only persons not in the lineup were Horace and Vern. He stood on deck, controlling the rudders from the ship’s wheel. Every other man and woman stood on the main deck, hip to hip, at parade rest with their hands behind their back. The Henchmen formed the first row. The Red Tunics made up the second.
Bearclaw anchored the line of Henchmen. Sticks was next, followed by Iris, Tark, and Cudgel. Beside Cudgel was a smallish woman with her face wrapped up in a cowl. Abraham pulled the cowl down around the woman’s neck and looked into the very pretty face of a petite black woman. Her kinky locks of hair rested on her shoulders. Her soothing light-blue eyes were captivating. That was Dominga, an out-of-place beauty, and he couldn’t blame her for covering up.
With the hard rains drenching his face, he said, “I’m going to need a shave later.”
Dominga nodded. He found it refreshing that she didn’t call him Captain. He moved in front of the last two Henchmen and stood between them.
How old are these guys?
The last two men in the row were a pair of surly graybeards. He looked down at them. Neither man looked fit enough to wear the armor or swing a sword. Their unkempt beards enhanced their shabby appearance. They could have passed for Nick Nolte from Down and Out in Beverly Hills on his worst day.
Abraham eyeballed both of them. “Have you seen any witches?”
The King's Henchmen: The Henchmen Chronicles - Book 1 Page 10
