“And you found him worthy of it?”
Querry took a moment to remember his faerie patron fondly. “Yeah, he was. Say, do you have anything sharp or pointed about you?” He looked at Starling in the low light with almost perfectly restored vision. His gaze fell on the long pin with the pearl and sapphire tip through the aristocrat’s wide, paisley tie. “I’ll just have this,” he said, sliding it out of the silk.
“Be careful with it, lad. It’s a family heirloom.”
Querry laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Then he reached through the rusty, iron bars and set to work on the outdated mechanism standing between them and their freedom. He almost had it open when something exploded outside. Another explosion followed seconds later, shaking the ground, and the ensuing fires scented the night air with thick smoke.
Starling got to his feet, looking at least fairly steady and lucid. “Now is no time to slow down, Querry.”
“Right.” Querry eased the tiepin back into the lock. “Can you use magic yet? You have my back, or what?”
“I certainly do,” Starling said. “These peons have made a grave error in underestimating us. Let’s go.”
Querry sprung the lock, slid Starling’s jeweled pin through his own cravat, and pushed the door open. The thief and the baron hurried out of their cell, and men shouting and gunfire sounded beyond the walls of the filthy little prison.
Chapter 18
OVER AN hour passed with no word from Querry or Lord Starling. Reg grew restless, thinking the worst. Finally Jean-Andre announced they were safe to deliver the weapons. They fired up the carts and proceeded down the trail. After about three miles or so, they abandoned the well-trod paths and descended into the jungle. The carts bounced down the hills until they stood outside a ring of firelight. Half a dozen armed men hurried forward. Reg and the others held up their hands, and Jean-Andre spoke with their leader.
The men in the camp seemed to relax. They hurried toward the carts to unload the guns and explosives, hooting at the sight of them. While Reg was glad to help these people win their freedom, his real concern was for Querry. He didn’t trust Lord Starling to look out for his friend’s best interests. Obviously, the baron cared about little beyond his own goals. Reg wished for a second he’d accepted Jean-Andre’s offer. If anything happened to Querry, he’d personally see Starling paid dearly for it.
A light touch on his elbow made Reg turn around. Frolic fondled the metal feather he wore around his neck and chewed his lower lip. “It’s been an awfully long time since Querry left, Reggie. I think we should go look for him.”
“I agree, but where will we even begin?”
All around them, the former slaves yelled to each other and passed out guns. They clearly didn’t plan to wait for morning to free the rest of their people. A group of around fifty men gathered, and Jean-Andre stepped onto a wooden crate to address them.
“Here is what we must do, my friends. We must get weapons into the hands of the people on that plantation before we announce our presence. We must bolster our numbers before we face our enemies. This will require a great deal of finesse, as they may be expecting us. I will take two or three others, alert the slaves to our plan, arm them, and give the rest of you a signal to cover our escape. We should expect heavy resistance. They will not show us mercy.”
Jean-Andre motioned Jack Owens over. “You’re a soldier, non? You have led men in combat before?”
“Yes, sir, I have.”
“I would ask you to lead these men, if you would, while I sneak the guns to the other slaves.”
“Sure thing, mate.”
Cornelia stepped forward. “I’m with you, Jack. I want to fight too.”
The mercenary looked skeptical for only a moment before nodding. Then he, the brothers, Corny, and most of the other men moved a little deeper into the camp to plan their strategy.
“Reginald,” Jean-Andre called. “I’d like you to come with me.”
Reg and Frolic walked over to him. “Why me?” Reg asked.
Jean-Andre smiled, and it wasn’t lost on Reg that he was a very nice-looking man. “I remember what a crack shot you are from back in Halcyon. Can I count on your help?”
“I suppose, but what I really need is to find Querry,” Reg said. “He should have been back by now.”
“I’ll see to rescuing your friend and Lord Starling,” Tom said, appearing suddenly after hours of absence.
“What do you mean ‘rescuing’?” Reg asked, more alarmed by the word than the fey’s unexpected presence.
“They were captured by the men sent looking for you. They’re being held at the plantation. I can only assume the baron is injured, or he would have escaped by now. Something must be stopping him from using his magic.”
“Well, I’m coming with you.” Reg quickly checked his guns and the armor Frolic had crafted. The leather made him sweat in the jungle heat, but he trusted it to protect him. He didn’t understand how any building on a simple farm could hold his master thief lover. He knew about the emergency picks Querry kept in his boot. If he hadn’t used them to free himself, he likely couldn’t for some reason. “What are we waiting for? Let’s get going!”
The fey held up his graceful hand. “It is essential to my patron’s goals that the guns make it into the hands of the humans on the plantation. Therefore, you must accompany Jean-Andre and see they do. This is in the best interests of my patron, so I must insist. I’ll take Frolic with me, and we’ll have no trouble, I promise you.”
Reg wanted to protest. He didn’t trust the faerie any more than Jean-Andre. Likely both of them had some ulterior motive, and with both his partners in danger, Reg had no time for it. “I’m going to get Querry, and Frolic’s coming with me. I don’t care what the rest of you do.” He caught Frolic’s hand as he turned to leave.
Tom blocked his way, a hard edge on his pretty, surreal features. He pressed his palm against Reg’s chest, the warning clear in his jewel-like eyes. “If you do that, Reginald, this is what will happen. Most of these men will be captured or killed, and those remaining here in the camp won’t give us our supplies as part of the bargain. It might take us weeks or months to get what we need before continuing. Lord Starling will not be dissuaded. He will continue on with this mission, no matter what he has to do. Do you really want to stay here longer than we have to? Do you really want to see these men die if they don’t have to?”
Reg really couldn’t argue with him. If accompanying Jean-Andre would really save as many innocent lives as Tom suggested, how could he refuse? “I just don’t like splitting us up. Querry, Frolic, and I work best together.”
“It’s necessary. Your friends are capable men. Have some faith in them,” Tom said. “Now, go quickly.” He seized Frolic by the elbow and whisked him out of the camp, not even giving Reg a chance to embrace him or tell him to be careful. He could do nothing but trust in Frolic’s ample skills. He just couldn’t feel as confident with Frolic’s ability to make decisions, especially lately. Sometimes Frolic didn’t seem to value his own safety. He’d grown reckless, at times worse than Querry. Reg wondered if it was due to Tom Teezle’s influence.
Jean-Andre didn’t give Reg long to worry. He thrust two heavy, canvas sacks full of rifles into Reg’s arms. Reg put the straps across his chest, surprised at how heavy and noisy the contents seemed. Then he followed Jean-Andre and two other men, all of whom carried similar loads, into the jungle. They picked their way slowly through the thick undergrowth, trying their best to stay quiet. Reg perspired until his clothing clung to him and his cheeks burned. By the time they reached the vast fields of sugar cane, he walked bent nearly in half beneath the weight of the guns.
Reg paused to mop his forehead with his sleeve, looking out over the miles and miles of tall stalks swaying in the light breeze. Beyond them, an exorbitant, neoclassical mansion with rows of white columns stood on a hill overlooking it all. Reg thought he saw some barns and storage sheds beyond it, but Jean-Andre led them in the
opposite direction, toward a collection of tiny hovels and cabins. No light came from within any of the small buildings, and the small settlement stood as quiet as a cemetery.
Jean-Andre held up a hand to indicate they should wait. He leaned into Reg’s hair and whispered: “Get your pistols out, mon ami. Patrols will be coming up the road. Watch for them, and do what you must.”
Though he didn’t look forward to it, Reg nodded his understanding and set his burden down. Feeling much lighter, he crept back to the road and crouched behind a clump of trees. Behind him, Jean-Andre knocked softly on one of the cabin doors and spoke in hushed tones with the man who opened it. Before long, guns were distributed, and people began gathering in the shadows between the shoddy buildings. Reg glanced over his shoulder, and his heart dropped into his boots when he saw not only strong men, but children and even women holding infants. None of them bothered with any possessions. Still, Jean-Andre appeared confident of his plan and quickly guided the women and children to the center of the armed men.
All of them moved quickly back onto the dirt path bisecting the field. Reg followed, staying at the back of the group and watching the road over his shoulder. Before they’d made it even half the distance back to the forest trails, he noticed a pair of men on horseback about a quarter mile from their position, riding down the hill from the manor house.
“We’ve got company,” he said.
“Everyone off the road,” Jean-Andre ordered, pointing into the cane field.
For such a large group, they quietly and efficiently hid among the stalks. The men knelt down, guns braced against their shoulders, while the women and children waited behind them. Jean-Andre, an intricately engraved, gold-tone pistol with an especially long barrel and an ivory handle in his hand, crouched down next to Reg.
“They will shoot on sight,” he told Reg.
“What are you saying?”
“Best if they don’t see us.” Jean-Andre pulled back the hammer on his gun, and the click echoed in the silence.
Reg swallowed the bitter acid rising in his throat. He supposed these slavers deserved it, but it didn’t sit well with him. As the men rode into range, turning their heads to scan the fields, he decided he’d worry about his conscience later. There were children cowering behind him, and they didn’t have a Querry to protect them like he had. Reg remembered being young, helpless, and afraid as he got one of the men in his sights and squeezed the trigger. He hit his target in the center of the forehead, and the man flew out of his saddle and backward over his horse’s haunches. The frightened animal reared, whinnied, and ran off. It was time for Reg to be the protector.
The guard’s companion swore loudly and looked back and forth, clearly trying to determine what direction the shot had come from. Just as he opened his mouth to call for help or alert more men, Jean-Andre’s pistol discharged only a few feet from Reg’s ear. His bullet tore through the guard’s throat with a spectacular fount of blood. He turned and winked at Reg, much more comfortable than Reg with taking life. “I suppose we’re tied for now,” he said with a grin. “I bet I’ll beat your score before the night is over, though. What do you say the loser buys a bottle of wine?”
“And where are we going to get a bottle of wine out here?” Reg snapped, irritated by the Belvaisian’s flippancy.
Then, from somewhere near the manor house, a bell began ringing. Jean-Andre got to his feet and called out, “There’s no sense in hiding anymore. They know we’re here. We must get back into the forest.”
They stood and ran, weapons at the ready, keeping the women and children protected at the center of the group. Reg estimated only about half a mile stood between them and the blessed cover of the jungle trees. The guards might pursue them into the forest, but they’d be able to split up and confuse them. At least they’d have something to hide behind, and hopefully they’d find reinforcements waiting.
Jean-Andre shouted encouragements, pushing them hard. Reg’s heart pounded with fear and exertion, and sweat flew from his hair. They’d almost made it when men and horses poured in from an intersecting path, blocking their way. Not long after, another group of guards appeared at their flank, boxing them in. Without a word of warning, one of the guards fired into the group. A man off to Reg’s left collapsed in the dirt less than five feet away. Reg looked down at his face. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen years old.
Without wasting a second to consider the moral implications, Reg shot the guard in the chest. Then he bent, retrieved his fallen comrade’s rifle, and cast about for someone to wield it. A dark, young woman stood with her hand out. “Can you use this?” he asked. Her black eyes went wide with fright, but she nodded confidently. He thrust the weapon into her arms, and she raised it to her shoulder.
“Get down!” Reg yelled as the guards returned fire from both directions. The former slaves dropped and covered their heads, but at least a few wouldn’t be getting back up. Time seemed to slow down as Reg dove sideways into the sugar cane. The guards on the horses and the thugs on the ground seemed sluggish, and he picked them off one by one, ducking their bullets easily. His party and the runaways scattered among the stalks, but the guards chased them down and slaughtered them. Over the sounds of men screaming and women crying, Reg heard the sound of more horses approaching.
A bullet severed a cane stalk only inches above Reg’s head, and he dropped to his knees and shielded his face with his forearms as leaves rained down on him. On his hands and knees, he crawled away from the onslaught. When he emerged from the field again, he took the opportunity to shoot a guard who stood with his back to him. Something exploded somewhere in the distance, and the fields caught fire. As the guards rode by, they threw glass lamps full of oil into the stalks. Reg realized with horror that they’d destroy their crops to flush the runaways out. He got to his feet and looked for a mark, but he could barely distinguish his allies from his enemies amidst the thick smoke, flames, and running, screaming people.
Reg felt pressure against his back, and it comforted him a little. He’d seen Querry and Frolic assume such a stance so no one could sneak up on them. Jean-Andre chuckled and said, “Perhaps I think too highly of myself. You’re at least six ahead of me now. So, what do you drink?”
A laugh of mixed relief and exasperation escaped Reg. “In that case, I do quite enjoy a Chateau La Belle Reve, and 1857 was a very good year.”
Jean-Andre groaned. “I had no idea you were so refined. I’d better pick up my pace. Or start saving my gold.”
“Just what’s our plan here?” Reg asked, the moment of levity over.
Jean-Andre also grew serious as he looked out over the burning fields. “We have to fight our way to the tree line. Our people know to make for the jungle. If any of them are to survive, we have to help them get there.”
“Let’s go,” Reg said in agreement. Still back to back, their pistols stretched out in front of them, they stepped sideways onto the path. Ahead of them, only a few hundred yards from the forest, a large group of former slaves fought hard against the guards. Now and then, a few of them managed to escape into the trees, but many others fell, injured or worse. The smoke, movement, and the way the group mingled and packed together made it impossible for Reg to take a shot.
“Damn it! I wish we could get higher. Above the smoke!” he yelled. Looking around, he didn’t see any vantage point they could reach. With reinforcements coming from the manor house, he didn’t see how they could prevail unless they did something drastic.
A loud crash came from the jungle, behind the guards. Reg didn’t think he’d ever seen anything more beautiful than Jack Owens’s blood-streaked face as he barreled out of the forest followed by nearly fifty armed men.
“Get your asses into the jungle!” he shouted, even as he plunged his combat knife into the base of a guard’s skull. The former slaves hurried to obey him, trampling their enemies as Owens and the other mercenaries and fighters cut the guards down.
“What kept you?” Reg s
houted.
“Met some opposition,” Owens said, licking his bloody lips.
“I could kiss you,” Reg said as the fresh fighters quickly turned the tide, and more and more of their people escaped. “Truly.”
“Don’t recommend you try it, lad,” Owens said, slashing out with his blade.
“Fair enough,” Reg called, lifting his pistol again to help cover their retreat.
FROLIC BARELY knew what was happening as Tom Teezle held his hand and pulled him through the burning fields toward the huge white house on the hill. Men screamed, ran, fought, and died around them, and Tom simply strolled through it like he walked in a park on a spring day. A quartet of soldiers with rifles jogged toward them, and Frolic caught Tom’s elbow and tried to drag him into the field.
Tom jerked his arm out of Frolic’s grasp and shot him a cross look. “What do you think you’re doing, Frolic?”
“Trying to hide us, so we don’t get shot?”
“Ridiculous. Keep hold of my hand.”
Though baffled, Frolic did as the fey said. He liked the feeling of Tom’s magic coursing down his arm and into his body, making his inner parts hum and wiggle, so he kept Tom’s fingers, almost as small and slender as his own, clutched tight in his palm.
Tom walked boldly up to an especially nasty-looking man in nothing but his undershirt and a pair of torn trousers. Frolic flinched at the blood dripping from the man’s machete, but the faerie seemed unfazed. Tom stopped in front of the man and stood with the tip of his pointed nose only inches from the man’s stained shirt.
He gave Frolic a full-toothed grin that made him look slightly deranged and anything but human. “What’s wrong you big, stinking donkey?” Tom taunted. “As blind as the rest of your kind, aren’t you?”
The man completely ignored him, and Frolic began to understand.
Tom wasn’t through toying with the thug. He reached up and ran his long finger along the edge of the man’s ear. The man swatted at it as if an insect troubled him, and Tom giggled. Tom tickled the man’s neck on the opposite side, and he scratched at it, looking back and forth suspiciously. Tom howled as though he’d never had so much fun before.
A Grimoire for the Baron Page 23
