The Turner Chronicles Box Set Edition

by Mark Eller

  His mouth felt dry.

  "Grab hold!" Captain Hardesty's cry came to him through the cabin door. When the ship violently shifted, Aaron fell into the hammocks. He pulled himself upright and went to the door. Opening it, he saw the ship was turning, heading toward the corsair on the Lady's right.

  "Sails ta the starboard," Crusty called.

  A fireball skipped across the deck, bouncing right past the cabin door. Set aflame, Easy Sue screamed. Crewmen raced past carrying buckets of sand and water to put the fire out. Once drenched, Sue stopped screaming. She gurgled, moaned, and grew silent.

  Aaron's breath rasped in his tight throat. The quivering in his hands became a shaking so powerful he almost dropped his shotgun,

  The Little Lady had maneuvered to turn back on her original course. One pirate ship approached from starboard. The other ship remained on the far side of its sister ship, out of the action until it reversed course. Looking up, Aaron saw the Lady's sails flap loosely. Her speed continued to drop, but she still turned so he suspected the sails would catch wind in only a few moments.

  He stumbled out of the cabin's doorway to take a position behind one of the shields. Surprised, Emus Montpass glanced at him before turning his attention back to the loaded crossbow in his hands. The sight sent a shiver of realization through Aaron.

  "Jesus," he cursed. "I forgot to load the thing. " He fumbled two slugs and three buckshot into the Model Twelve's receiver. Opening the chamber, he shoved another buckshot shell inside.

  "Here she comes," the pilot whispered in a fear tight voice.

  The man's hands shook, too. Aaron wasn't the only one scared out of his mind. Then Aaron realized the pilot's shaking meant he would likely miss when he fired the crossbow. Things were not promising when the good guys were too frightened to shoot straight.

  "Rise and fire," Captain Hardesty yelled.

  Crew rose over the shields and fired. Dropping back down, they grabbed sling shots and rose again, whipped their slings in fast circles, and flung the shot at the enemy ship.

  Aaron forgot to move. Eyes wide open, Montpass stared sightlessly at him with a crossbow bolt sticking out of the bridge of his nose. The bronze end quivered with Emus' shaking head, and then it stilled, a horrible and horrid message telling Aaron the Lady's crew wouldn't live through this encounter. Thin lines of blood trailed from the pilot's wound.

  Emus leaned and slowly fell, a string cut marionette without a master controlling its course. Horrified, Aaron looked on the back of the pilot's head where the bolt's point showed through Emus' shattered skull. Brains and blood drained from the opening.

  Stomach churning, he raised his shotgun, stuck its barrel over his shield, and pulled the trigger.

  Nothing. A frightened check showed he had left the safety on.

  "Douse the fires! Douse the damn fires!"

  Frump

  Aaron rose slightly to peer at the attacking ship. The distance was growing greater. The pirate showed no sign of turning around, and nobody shot at them. The other ship pulled away, too.

  "Call out injuries."

  A couple voices sounded.

  "Here," Aaron yelled. "Mister Montpass is dead."

  Crusty arrived in moments. "Makes two," he said sadly. "Sue war burned ta death."

  "Why aren't they coming after us?"

  Crusty gestured to the port side. "Looks loike six or eight ships coming up. Thar's enough time fer the bastards ta finish us off, but not ta offload our cargo and escape afterward. Help me get Mister Montpass ta someplace decent. Captain won't loike seeing 'er husband laying out loike this."

  * * *

  Dusk was less than an hour away when the other ships drew near. One loaded a dinghy with crew and sent it over while the Little Lady's sailors put their ship back to rights. When the small boat reached the Lady, Crusty dropped a rope ladder over the side. Half a dozen people scrambled onto the deck. Each newcomer was straight backed, stiff shouldered, and wore uniforms screaming navy.

  A woman with several ranking bars on her shoulders stepped up to Captain Hardesty. "Any insurmountable damage? Will you need a tow?"

  "We lost our pilot and a sailor," Hardesty answered mechanically. "A couple others were injured, but their injuries aren't bad. No real damage to the ship."

  "Did you do any damage to them?"

  Face haggard, she shrugged. "Not to their ships, and I doubt we injured anybody. My people aren't soldiers. They were scared. Some forgot they had weapons."

  The woman nodded. "That isn't unusual. It takes training to get past fear. Miss Halnferd."

  Another woman snapped her heels. "Mam!"

  "Pilot these people to the nearest port. Stay alert and avoid pirates. We will pick you up at our convenience."

  "Yes, Mam!"

  The officer's expression was grim. "Don't expect us very soon. We're going hunting."

  * * *

  The nearest port turned out to be the Lady's intended destination. They reached it not too soon for Aaron. After the pirate attack, his mood turned horrible. He fell into a brown study, a self inflicted castigation for his cowardly performance. In his mind, he continuously replayed the sequence of the short battle, trying to come up with an explanation or excuse for his inaction. Nothing made him look better. The jury was in, and the truth was found. Aaron Turner had become a cowardly man.

  Nobody said anything to him. He suspected they dealt with their own demons. More than one eye shed tears when two canvas-wrapped and lead-weighted bodies slipped over the side of the ship, splashed into the waves, then quickly spiraled down. Aaron watched while the bodies sank out of sight, bubbles trailing to the surface as temporary markers for the watery grave.

  The long memorial service was hard to hear over the creaking of wood and the folding crash of growing waves against the hull. Captain Hardesty cried until the last word was spoken, and then she retired to her cabin. Two days passed without her coming out. Eventually, Major Fitzbeth went to see her. When there was no answer to Fitzbeth's pounding on the captain's door, the major used an ax to beat it in.

  Captain Imelda Hardesty lay dead in her bunk. There was no sign as to why she died. No mark marred her body. No drugs were found. Suicide was whispered, but there was no proof, and really, suicide was too shabby for such a fine woman and captain.

  One Eye claimed Hardesty died of grief. According to ship's rumor, she and Emus had been together since they were children. One Eye said he guessed the two had not been apart for more than two days in the last thirty years.

  Miss Halnferd, the navy pilot, took charge of the ship, posting orders and running the crew like they were enlisted personnel. This was exactly the treatment the remaining crew needed after watching a third canvas wrapped body slip over the rail and sink beneath the waves.

  Aaron took it upon himself to clean every stain of blood off the deck. To him, the unassigned labor was a form of penance. Hard as he tried, he could not remove every sign of the charred decking from where Easy Sue had burned. Not every fading trace of blood disappeared from where Emus Montpass died.

  Two days after the captain's internment, the Little Lady sailed into port and set anchor between another merchantman and a small navy messenger ship. A dozen boats pulled out from the docks in a contest to be the first to reach her, their crews yelling they had the best rates and gentlest handling when unloading cargo. Miss Halnferd chose three at random and advised the crew to supervise the transfer of cargo. Having no responsibilities on the ship, Aaron and the major were placed into the first boat heading back to shore.

  As they neared land, Aaron looked back to see the Lady growing smaller. Figures moved purposely about the deck as other boats were loaded. He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw someone stop working long enough to wave. An unhappy people, that crew, unhappy and lost, wondering where they would go from here. The Lady had no owner or captain or contract. Aaron doubted this crew would serve together again.

  "A hard trip, Mister Turner," Fitzbeth said quietly.
"I was proud to see you do more than your share. To tell the truth, I felt worried about traveling with a pampered rich boy. I was afraid you would take on airs. Instead, you fit right in. You even helped defend the ship."

  Her nod seemed approving. "You may be rich, but I'll say you're a good man. You have compassion and courage."

  Aaron looked back at the Lady as he listened to Fitzbeth's lies. He thought of Sue's laugh. He thought of Captain Hardesty at the poker table. She had taken her losses in the same manner she pulled in her winnings, with calm equanimity and wry humor.

  He thought of the pilot, of Emus Montpass. Shaking and stinking with fear, Emus had risen above the shield to fire his crossbow. He released his bolt, doing his duty to his captain and crew. True, his effort were unneeded, his death an unnecessary tragedy, but he died with courage. He died with dignity.

  Aaron remembered the shotgun's trigger against his finger. He remembered the silence as his shotgun refused to fire. Unlike Emus, fear had ruled him. He had not thought, had not acted. Instead, he did nothing. Aaron could no longer deny the truth. Very little of the man he had once been remained. The hero Missy remembered was gone, washed away in idleness and an alcoholic fog.

  Gods, he wished he had his Talent Stone. He needed to run away from himself.

  Aaron wished even more for a drink. He had been sober for far too long, ever since the captain's funeral. Only a few days ago, it seemed like an eternity. After the funeral, the mourning sailors finished off the last of the ship's ale, leaving nothing for a heartsick and confused man.

  Aaron looked back to the major. Broad and strong, she owned conviction and purpose. When she caught his gaze, he gave her a mirthless smile. His stomach churned as he spoke. "Major. I know exactly what I am. "

  Chapter 13

  Major Fitzbeth arranged for them to travel with an escorted caravan, but the privilege meant they would have to wait two or three weeks. This made their time tight since the conference was due to begin in just under two months. On the other hand, it also improved their chances of reaching their destination.

  As soon as they hit land, Aaron got drunk and then spent two days sobering up. On the following day, he crawled out of bed, studied himself in the room's mirror and saw an unkempt drunken slob who depended on the strength in a bottle.

  Aaron had always been a coward. Physical confrontations frightened him, but he had sometimes acted despite his fear. He may not have always been the hero, but he had never before frozen while others died.

  His room held several bottles. Most were empty. Some few still held wine and whiskey. Carefully opening his window, Aaron threw them outside.

  He was through. Never again.

  Finished, he looked out the window to the littered street below and felt remorse. His belly thirsted. Want coursed through him.

  Gods damn it. He would not give in. He would not give in. He would not give in. He would not!

  Moving to the center of the room, Aaron struck a pose. This, he told himself, is the ready stance, the beginning move of Perk's training. High block. His arm raised. Low block flowed into front punch into front block into side kick. He progressed from white belt into yellow and moved deeper into the bastardized compilation Perk had formed. Her discipline wasn't judo or karate or anything else Aaron had ever heard of. Instead, the combat forms she taught were a composite of all her varied training in more than half a dozen arts. The forms she taught Patton were refined from the ones Aaron first learned, but the basic truths were the same. Aaron knew what he had to do. Until now he had lacked the motivation to do it. Even those last days on the ship had been little more than play.

  He did know what to do. He knew everything Patton had shown him and everything he learned from Perk years earlier. All he had to do was teach his body how to remember. He had to work and sweat and become so worn out his alcohol parched body was exhausted. His hours of exercise on the ship were only a prelude to what he needed to put himself through now.

  * * *

  On the twelfth day after landing, stinking of stale sweat and corrupt pollution, Aaron pulled himself from his room and asked for directions toward a public bath. Once there, he was shown a series of three pools, each boasting a different temperature. The hot pool was for washing, the cold for rinsing, and the warm pool was for soaking aches out of tired muscles.

  He scrubbed down and rinsed. Being clean felt good.

  Bath finished, Aaron decided his clothes needed cleaning. Going back to the hotel, he gathered them up, and after inquiring, walked to a common area where people did their own laundry.

  An hour later, he walked away, reluctantly bringing a green-eyed follow-along woman who had introduced herself as Melna Linley. Young and vibrant, she quickly become a bother.

  "Come on, just let me buy one pair," she begged. "I'm not asking for much. One pair."

  Her hand touched his shoulder as she tossed long hair out of her eyes with a quick flip of her head.

  "No," Aaron told her and clutched his dripping duffle tighter. Like him, she had been doing her laundry in the common area. Unlike him, she had left her wet clothes behind because she wanted to get her hands on his pants. Apparently, Miss Linley owned plans his recalcitrance thwarted. Well, she could just remain thwarted, because his clothes had been made in Isabella. Without his Stone, he couldn't replace them for several months.

  "I'll give you four gold for them," she promised. "Six."

  "No," Aaron repeated.

  The pesky woman stopped him with a hand on his chest. Smiling, her bold gaze studied him from his head to his feet, stopping momentarily where they had no business being.

  "I don't remember seeing you before. " One hand resting on a hip, her head canted to one side, allowing long dark hair to fall over her right shoulder. Blue eyes peered at him out of a face appearing more refined than most of the others he saw around them. Her skin was light dusky, speaking of exotic and mixed parentage.

  Like many other women in this part of the world, she stood shorter than his five-foot-six. Her body appeared straight and lean. Her shirt was unbuttoned halfway down her front, daring and provocative in this place, and yet visually safe because she owned very small breasts. Only a bare hint of cleavage showed.

  "Only been here for a few days," Aaron told her. He tried to move past her blocking body. The hand on his chest stopped his forward progress with firmer insistence.

  "I've been here for a few months, but I'm leaving soon. I've been bored. I've been very, very bored. Dinner tonight? My treat."

  Smiling, Aaron felt flattered because something strange had happened in these last years. Though women still flirted with him, he seldom received the female interest that had once routinely come his way. Being approached by a woman in her late teens or early twenties was no longer an everyday occurrence. This girl, she tempted him. She was brazen and exciting, but she was young, and he was thirty-eight.

  Shaking his head, Aaron silently called himself a fool for adhering to principles belonging to another world. The travesty of his marriage to Kit wasn't even a figment anymore, and the last thing Amanda expected was fidelity. Maybe loneliness had become an unbreakable habit. Maybe a bottle was the only lover he truly desired.

  "I'm a bit long in the tooth for you, much older than I look. In a couple years I'll be hitting forty. " Pulling her hand away from his chest, he backed away.

  "Ohhh reeally. " Her voice purred. "Interesting. I know of this really nice place, a bit risqué, but it has good food. At six they put comedians on the stage and afterward a band plays dance music. You'll like it. Shall I pick you up at five?"

  Aaron chuckled. "You are one bold lady."

  She shrugged. The movement briefly opened her shirtfront, giving him a glimpse of a beginning swell. "And why not? Men are harder to find every year. Most of the good ones have a couple wives already and not much interest in other women except as casual lovers. Have you any idea how many women turn to other women for their lovers? Me? I like men. They're fascinating, a
nd you're the most fascinating one I've seen in weeks. So how about it? Dinner?"

  Aaron shook his head. "Thanks, anyway."

  "Your loss. " Flowing forward, she pressed her body tight against him. Her lips touched his lightly as she whispered. "This is what you're missing. "

  She kissed him almost as well as Missy had kissed him so many weeks earlier. Finishing with a gentle touch on his cheek, she stepped back. Her eyes roamed about his body again, and a small smile played across her lips.

  "You liked it," she noted. "It shows. "

  "I did like it," Aaron admitted,"but not enough for dinner. " Stepping around her, he moved past. Behind him, Aaron thought he heard a frustrated groan and the brief stamp of a foot. He grinned. The woman was bold and intriguing, but not someone he could become interested in even if he was looking. Her very boldness and the practice shown by her kiss would always make him wonder about the seriousness of her commitment. In short, she tried too hard.

  Her life. Her troubles. He had troubles of his own. One of those was that every fiber of his body ached for a drink.

  Never again, he told his longing. Never, never again.

  His room was a six block walk from the laundry, a bit much for an out-of-shape man carrying a duffle filled with wet clothes. By the time he reached the inn, he breathed hard. After receiving permission from the clerk, he hung his laundry on the lines set up behind the inn.

  Chore finished, Aaron approached the same clerk and asked for directions to the nearest bank. He had to walk twelve blocks to get there. His sovereigns were worthless outside Jutland. He needed to convert them to something he could spend.

  The bank accepted the notes, but then demanded a fifteen percent exchange fee. When Aaron walked away, he had sixty gold and two silver in his pockets, a considerable amount by most standards. By his, a paltry sum. He had not possessed so little since coming to this world.

  Back in his room, he took a nap for a couple hours, rose, shaved, and went to the main desk to enquire as to the best place to eat. The clerk assured him there was only one place where visitors must go. Three blocks west and one north was the dining experience all tourists went to see.