The Gift

by Bryan M. Litfin

  Teo finished his breakfast and started to head upstairs. Passing by the bar, he glanced at the pirate one last time. As he was about to turn away, his eyes fell on something that halted him in his tracks.

  No! That can’t be!

  Teo’s knees went weak. He rubbed his eyes, then looked again at the pirate to be certain of what he had seen.

  Sure enough, it was there.

  Around the captain’s neck.

  A golden pendant of Iesus Christus.

  Exactly like the one I gave to Ana!

  The implications were staggering. Teo gripped the bar for support. It took him a few moments to collect his thoughts.

  Summoning the bartender, he paid for a bottle of the best whiskey available. Vanita’s wealth was funding the journey to Roma, and she would consider this money well spent. The pirate captain noticed the expensive purchase, then looked at Teo for the first time.

  “Good stuff,” Teo said, tipping the bottle. “Have a drink with me?”

  The captain scowled, but the fine liquor was too much of a temptation. He slid his empty glass across the bar, and Teo filled it. For as long as seemed polite, Teo made small talk with the foul-mouthed sailor. Finally he pointed to the pendant. “Where’d you get that thing?”

  The captain glanced down. “This? It’s a little trinket I bought off the fool who runs our resupply station. We’re headed there now. I have a debt to settle with that swindler.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah! Bought some merchandise off him, then a squall rolled in. Had to leave without my rightful property.”

  “What was it?” Teo asked, his heart thumping.

  “A young whore he had for sale. Dirty little thing. Makes me hot just to think of her.”

  Teo swallowed his whiskey to hide his astonishment, then asked in a measured tone, “Good-looking wench, was she?”

  “You ain’t kiddin’. Pink lips, curvy body, long legs. And by the gods, you shoulda seen those—”

  “What was she wearing?” Teo interrupted.

  “Huh? Oh, some old rag. Rough material.”

  “Sackcloth?”

  “Yeah. Sackcloth and no shoes. And her hair was all chopped in the back like she was some low-class peasant. But there ain’t many peasants that look like her.”

  Teo’s mouth had gone dry, and his palms were sweaty. The pirate’s crude description sounded like Ana, and the man owned a pendant identical to hers. Coincidence? Or . . .

  Could she be alive?

  Jumbled thoughts rushed through Teo’s mind. The Overseer is arriving today, he remembered. I’m supposed to translate the diary.

  But these men are leaving right now to claim a slave that might be . . .

  No . . . It probably isn’t . . .

  But what if it is?

  Deu, is this really happening? Is Ana alive?

  With cold rationality, Teo told himself there was no chance the unfortunate peasant woman was Ana. Nevertheless, he decided he had an obligation to check out this lead, just in case.

  “Where is this resupply station of yours?” he asked, hoping he sounded nonchalant.

  “It’s an island up north. Why? What do you care about that place?”

  Teo poured another shot of whiskey for his drinking companion, who was well lubricated now. “No reason. It’s just that I have some business in Manacho.” Teo examined his fingernails. “I’m looking for passage. You take fares?”

  The captain scoffed. “We don’t want no landlubbers on our ship.”

  “There’s a price for everything, Captain.”

  The remark made the pirate raise his eyebrows. “Twelve scudi,” he said boldly.

  Teo raised his glass. “Done.”

  “Alright then, pack up. We leave the harbor within the hour, bound for Hahnerat.”

  CHAPTER

  13

  The cauldron clanged against the ground outside the shacks in the Defectives’ camp, drawing all eyes toward it. Everyone stared in horror as its precious, steaming contents disappeared into the muddy earth. A kitchen slave with a clubfoot stood over the cauldron, his mouth hanging open. The rain that soaked his skeletal body made him look like a wraith from another world.

  “Fool!” A brawny foreman marched over and sent the slave sprawling into a mud puddle. “Look what you’ve done! Curse you and your warped foot!” The foreman raised his club and began to strike the fallen man. A crowd of Defectives watched the scene with fearful eyes. Pleas for mercy rose from the unfortunate cripple as he tried to shield himself from the blows. His pitiful cries were echoed by many of the onlookers. To their simple minds, the violence was disturbing and traumatic.

  At the edge of the crowd, Sol whispered a prayer through clenched teeth. “Deus, have pity! Make him stop!”

  The fallen man was bloody now, his face slick with reddened mud. The foreman paused and looked at the crowd. “See that?” he cried, gesturing with his stick. “Screw up like he did and it’ll happen to you too!” His face contorted into a grimace. “You worthless retards! You’re not even human! This is all you deserve!” The foreman gave the man on the ground a hard kick.

  Sol could stand it no longer. He stepped forward and stared at the foreman. “They are human,” he said evenly. “Every one of them.” Though he wanted to say more, the foreman’s fierce expression made him hesitate.

  “I said they’re not!” The foreman stormed toward Sol with his club raised. His nose was wrinkled into a snarl, and he bared his teeth like a wild animal. Rainwater dribbled down his face. “Are you contradicting me, old man?”

  Sol didn’t answer. A breathless hush descended on the crowd of Defectives.

  Twice the foreman feigned an attack, pretending to bring down his club on Sol’s head but pulling short at the last moment. The action was intended to make Sol grovel. He did not. The foreman uttered a derisive laugh and spun to face the onlookers.

  “I could kill him now, couldn’t I? I could kill this sorry excuse for a man and it wouldn’t matter one bit!” He paced back and forth, staring at the Defectives. Wherever he looked, the frightened slaves retreated from his gaze. “And why is that? Because he’s not human! He’s a worthless piece of trash. Just like the rest of you. Worthless and godforsaken.”

  “They are not forsaken. The God of heaven loves them.”

  The foreman whirled toward Sol, and this time he did not hold back. His club swept around in a vicious arc. Though Sol managed to turn away and fend off the blow with his arms, the impact staggered him. He collapsed in the mud. The foreman raised his club again.

  “Wait, sir.”

  Sol glanced up from the ground. His shoulder throbbed where the club had struck it. Bard stood over him, speaking to the foreman.

  “I know you could kill him,” Bard said, “but this one’s a hard worker. Our team needs him to move the marble. If we lose this man it will slow our progress.”

  “So?”

  “The bosses won’t like it, and they might blame you. Are you sure it’s worth it?”

  Sneering, the foreman turned away. He returned to the man who had dropped the cauldron, nudging him with his foot. The Defective’s bony limbs barely twitched.

  “Look at him! He’ll be dead before sundown. And then what? You think your lives are bad now? There’s a special place in hell reserved for you. The demons love to torture your kind. Day and night you’ll suffer their torments.” He brandished his club and thrust out his chin. “Speak up! Who else is ready to contradict me? Go on—step forward! I’ll send you to the underworld with my own hands!”

  The Defectives lowered their gaze and shrank back. Thunder rumbled in the distance as the rain began to fall harder. The foreman strutted around with his club until the crowd melted away. He cursed and spat on the fallen man, then stalked off.

  Only Sol and Bard were left. Sol reached up so his blond friend could help him stand. They did not speak as they approached the crippled man lying in the muck. Sol knelt beside him and took his hand. It was lik
e grasping a handful of twigs.

  “Can you hear me, my brother?”

  The man’s eyelids barely opened. “Am I going to die?” he whispered.

  Sol nodded. “I think so.”

  “I’m afraid.”

  “Do not fear. What that evil man said isn’t true. There is a good God who welcomes all who turn to him.”

  “Will he save me . . . from the demons?” The man’s breathing was very shallow.

  Sol bowed his head, unsure how to answer. He wanted to offer comfort, but there wasn’t much in the Old Testament about the afterlife. He decided to focus on the character of Deus. “The Creator God made you in his image,” he said. “He sides with the oppressed. He is a strong protector. The wicked gods of this world have no power next to his.”

  The corners of the crippled man’s mouth turned up a little, and his knobby hand relaxed in Sol’s. His head lolled back into a puddle. He was covered in water and blood. “Deliver me,” he murmured. Tears gathered in Sol’s eyes as he watched the suffering man exhale his final breath.

  With the foreman gone, the Defectives began to return. They stood in a circle, staring at Sol as he held the hand of a corpse. The rain was heavy now. Its steady patter was the only sound in the bleak camp of the enslaved. At last a few of the watchers turned to leave. One after the other, they slipped into the gloom.

  Bard’s eyes were fixed on the dead man’s face. When he finally spoke, his words were bitter: “So much for your mighty God.”

  He shook his head and walked away, leaving Sol alone in the driving rain.

  The run-down barque chased three merchant ships and captured one of them during the run to Hahnerat. Teo stayed out of sight during the fighting, which didn’t last long. The merchants surrendered quickly to the pirates, losing their cargo, their provisions, their rigging, and even the clothes off their backs. The pirates left the unfortunate sailors in their skivvies with one cask of water and no means of controlling their ship. “That should make things interesting,” the captain remarked as he sailed away. His men got a good laugh out of that.

  Teo had been assigned to sleep in a dark corner of the ship’s hold. Surrounded by frayed ropes and various odds and ends, he whiled away the long hours and tried to avoid the pirates as much as possible. He wasn’t afraid of them—they were buffoons mostly—but he didn’t want any trouble. He only wanted to reach the island of Hahnerat and find out who the mysterious woman was. Teo steadfastly refused to believe it might be Ana. Though he could have conjured up many joyous scenarios, he knew if he opened his heart to that possibility, the agony would be unbearable when his hopes were dashed. The likelihood that Ana would be waiting for him at Hahnerat was almost nil. Hardening himself, Teo resisted his hopeless daydreams.

  Even so, when the ship finally began to near the distant island, Teo realized he needed to make some plans. He sat in his musty corner and considered his next move but couldn’t think of a good solution. The pirates expected to pick up the woman and use her for pleasure aboard the ship. Somehow he would have to prevent that. Teo didn’t want to see any woman suffer such a fate—and he certainly wasn’t going to let it happen to Ana.

  It’s not Ana, he reminded himself.

  But if it is, I’ll scuttle the ship with every man aboard before I let them . . .

  Quit it, Teo! It’s not her!

  He reached for his rucksack and stood up. Pirates or not, he needed some fresh air. Teo strapped his sword and ax to his hips, having made a habit of keeping his weapons with him at all times because they were well-made and valuable. No doubt the unscrupulous sailors would try to steal them if they could. The only other items of value he carried were the books he had wrapped in an oilskin inside his pack. Books were precious enough to tempt a thief, and Teo hadn’t felt comfortable leaving them behind in Vanita’s care. His little library included a lexicon of the Fluid Tongue, the Versio Prima Chiveisorum, Sol’s Talyano Old Testament, and a treatise he had accidentally brought from Chiveis on explosive powder. However, the book he cherished most was the least valuable of them all: the deteriorated copy of the Sacred Writing from the lost temple of the Ancients. Teo attached deep sentimental value to the book. It was, along with the bearskin cloak folded at the bottom of his pack, one of his last remaining links to Anastasia of Edgeton.

  Unless . . .

  No. Don’t go there.

  The sun was shining, and the breeze felt good as Teo emerged onto the barque’s main deck. Its square sails were tight and well-trimmed. Apparently the pirates were skilled sailors despite the shabby appearance of their vessel.

  After a few minutes the captain spotted Teo and approached. He pointed to a scrubby strip of land a short distance from the ship. “Well, landlubber, we’re at Hahnerat. We’ll get our woman, then head to Manacho and drop you off. Unfortunately” —the captain looked at Teo with a devious gleam in his eye—“there’s been a complication.”

  “What’s the problem?” Teo took a step toward the pirate, staring at him for a few seconds. Men like this understood only power and aggression. They needed to be backed down or they would try to take advantage.

  “The Likurian coast guard is on patrol,” the captain said. “We don’t go anywhere near Manacho when they’re around. You’re the only reason we’re stopping there. It’s risky.”

  “So? I paid the outrageous fare you asked. I don’t care about your risk.”

  The pirate scowled. “I care about my risk. I’m adding a surcharge.”

  “No, you’re not. We agreed on a price, and that’s all you’ll get from me.”

  “Five scudi more,” the captain said.

  Teo threw back his head and laughed. “Forget it, scoundrel! You’ll taste my steel if you try. Besides, I don’t have that kind of money with me.”

  The captain’s eyes fell to Teo’s waist. “I’ll take that instead,” he said, pointing.

  So that’s it! He wants my blade! The sword of Armand was worth far more than five scudi, but Teo realized the “surcharge” was simply a ploy to obtain an excellent weapon. He wasn’t about to let the pirate have it.

  “Unbuckle your sword and give it to me,” the captain demanded, holding out his hand.

  “And what if I don’t?”

  The captain stiffened. He was a big man, and Teo readied himself for action. He could see where things were headed. Some of the other sailors began to drift over, sensing imminent violence. Casually the captain removed his jacket and tossed it aside, then pulled on a pair of leather gloves.

  “I’ll fight you for it,” he said, raising his clenched fists. His gold tooth gleamed inside his greasy beard.

  Teo saw his chance. “You want to fight me, is that it? What’s in it for me?” He looked around at the gathered sailors. “What do you think, men? Shouldn’t your captain offer me something in return? I’ll give him this fine blade if he can beat me in a fistfight. But if I win, there’s something I want from him.”

  To save face with his crew, the captain was forced to agree. “Alright, what do you want, landlubber?”

  “I want your slave woman on Hahnerat. If you lose this fight she’s mine.”

  The sailors erupted in a rousing cheer. The stakes were high, just the way they liked it. Somebody tossed Teo some black gloves like those worn by the captain. He had noticed the pirates wearing them when they brawled, for a hand that couldn’t hoist a sail or swing a cutlass was no use aboard the ship. Laying aside his weapons, Teo donned the gloves. He was tugging on the second one when the captain swung his fist and smashed him in the jaw.

  Lights exploded in Teo’s head as he stumbled backward against the ship’s bulwark. The captain barreled toward him, but Teo regained his footing and met the charge with a left jab. The blow halted the captain’s advance, giving Teo time to counter with a right hook to his opponent’s body. It wasn’t fleshy like Teo expected, but thick and firm. Underneath all that pirate couture, the man was a fighter.

  “I’m gonna split your skull,” the captain
growled.

  He came in fast, throwing a series of punches that Teo couldn’t completely dodge. Each blow felt like a blacksmith’s hammer. Teo reeled under the assault while the crewmen cheered their leader. Clinching, the captain gave Teo a fierce shot to the kidney. Razor-edged pain engulfed him. Teo broke the clinch, then immediately attacked with a left feint followed by an overhand right to the mouth. Although the blow split the captain’s lips, he refused to go down, countering with a swift jab that rang bells in Teo’s head.

  The two men grappled and jockeyed for position on the ship’s deck. Unexpectedly the captain threw his knee into Teo’s gut, knocking the wind from him. An uppercut caught Teo by surprise and made him black out for a moment. Seeing his opponent’s defenses were down, the captain pressed his advantage with a flurry of savage punches. Several hard blows connected. Teo felt his knees go watery as he took the pummeling. He shoved the pirate back, shaking his head to clear the fog.

  “You’re dead, landlubber!” the captain screamed through bloody lips. He surged forward.

  Instead of dodging, Teo seized the man’s outstretched arm, then threw his shoulder underneath his enemy’s armpit and spun around. Bending at the waist, Teo used the captain’s forward momentum to lift him off his feet. For a split second the captain was upside down with his legs in the air. Then he hit the deck hard, landing on his back amid a chorus of groans.

  Dazed, the captain struggled to his feet. Teo didn’t hesitate. He swung a tremendous haymaker that caught the man on the point of the chin. Blood and sweat exploded in the air. When the captain thumped to the planks without catching himself on his arms, Teo knew he was out cold.

  The onlookers weren’t sure what to say. An awkward silence hung over the crew. Teo strode to the unconscious pirate and yanked off one of his gloves. With his boot knife, he cut a slit along the glove’s fingers. Finely ground metal powder spilled out.

  “Your captain is less than honorable,” Teo declared to the crew. “The knuckles of his gloves were weighted!” He used his toe to roll his enemy over. The captain’s tongue dangled out of his mouth, and he emitted a weak gurgle. Reaching into the man’s shirt at the neck, Teo removed a golden object. “I claim this pendant as a penalty against my dishonest opponent!” None of the sailors raised a protest.