Ideas of Sin

by Cooper, R.

  Ben stopped, and James looked up, startled to see them standing in front of a tavern, or perhaps an inn from the look of it. Probably it served mostly sailors, being so close to the water, with drink and food downstairs and beds upstairs for sleep and company. One man stood in front, leaning sloppily against the wall by the door, and it was only his pikestaff that named him as a guard, though it was impossible to tell by sight who or what he guarded, or why. James felt his stomach tighten, the remains of his breakfast rising in his throat.

  “Why would Villon be here?” He would not ask how the child knew, knowing enough of Ben’s curious nature to know that if he had heard the rumours, that he would have found out all he could; he had always been interested in Villon, since the first moments onthe Queen of Sheba, with Carter bound to the mast between them.

  “Don’t know what to do with the bastard,” the guard answered him without looking up from the ground and James in turn looked past him, trying to peer through the closed door, still unable to imagine René locked up as a prisoner, even in this place. The door gave him no answers, and he looked back to the guard, who yawned widely.

  “Why do you keep him?” His feet moved forward as he demanded it, and the other man sprang up as if surprised, holding out the staff warily so that James had to stop. But it was not the first time he had had a blade aimed at his middle, and perhaps that was why it did not frighten him now. He could hear the crunch of Ben’s footsteps behind him, pausing at his back. They waited, and the other man jerked the staff with force as he explained.

  “Body might be worth something to somebody.” The pointed tip of the metal nearly tore through James’ coat as the man swung it to and fro with lazy arms, and James pulled the cloth tight to his body, fighting the urge to step back.

  “He might be…” There James had to agree, knowing full well that René would have scores of enemies, and scores more of enemies who posed as his friends if his ship were any indication. If he were truly alive, and under guard in this place, it was only a matter of time before those enemies reached him or the Jamaican government decided to execute another pirate to appease the merchants. It was, he supposed faintly, a miracle that he had not been killed, if mutiny it truly had been. In fact, it was quite puzzling that he was still alive, and for that James frowned at the guard, lifting his chin to regard him seriously. “…If he is in there as you say.” Inhaling, he finished his words, keeping his voice clear. “And alive.”

  To his surprise the other man stepped back at his words, letting the pikestaff dip toward the ground. He seemed to have forgotten it, or mayhap it grew heavy, James did not care which, stepping forward again, until he could have struck out at the man if he had wished to.

  “We just found him, m’brother and I.” No longer yawning, the man was nodding his head almost eagerly. “Brother owns the inn. Found ‘im, in the back, just as he is now. Heard the stories later.”

  And from those he had determined René’s identity. If his words were truth, though it was hard to credit, René escaping from the hands of greedy crewmen only to come here. It made little sense, even if he had been desperate or injured, bleeding from a multitude of wounds.

  “You come to buy him?” The guard was smiling now, tilting up his head to study him. James did not smile back, though he understood his meaning.

  “That’s how I knew.” Ben interrupted as he stepped out from behind him. “Heard a man telling the story in a tavern sayin’ how he was going to find out about a price on his head.”

  “Greedy bugger,” the man mumbled with obvious rancor, glancing away in what James assumed was his brother’s direction. “If not that then mayhap he would make a good field worker,” James suggested quietly, knowing the tales of how men fell to sleep as freemen and woke up bonded slaves to the fields. His shoulders hitched and he rolled them to ease the tension, wanting to glance around him to see if armed men or Sir Marvell were close but not yet daring. The sweat dripped down his neck as he looked at the door instead, wondering how much time there would be before the others did find out what Ben had been lucky enough to overhear from this man’s brother; he had no doubt that that was who had been boasting of it drunkenly. How many would come seeking to find out the truth as James had?

  He coughed, and the man’s eyes were ready enough on his face, in fact they had never left it, and James could only wonder distantly why they were so white and round. Keeping his words short did not seem to relax the man any, but James was beyond feeling concern for now.

  “How much just to see him?” Once in his pocket his fingers trembled, smoothing slickly over the heaviness of the gold coin, feeling the familiar ridges of the stamping. Then he bit down hard on his tongue and slipped the gold free, holding high in the air for the man to study. The late morning sun upon it likely made a pretty shine, judging from the answering light in the guard’s expression.

  Spending Villon’s coin to view his body now. Somehow James knew he ought to be amused, but lines of his face felt too stiff for laughing. When the other man licked his lips without actually answering, James tossed the gold at him, surprised to feel the sudden lightness of his hand as it left him. Villonhad transformed him, for just as thecorsaire had in Tortuga, James walked on without looking to see whether or not the man followed, pausing only to grab Ben by the back of his shirt and keep him at his side.

  It was empty inside, too early in the day for drinking men, or maybe they had simply been ordered out by their hosts when they had found the man they claimed was René Villon. There were many filthy tables arranged on the stained floor, and the air was thick with smoke and various stenches since some person had closed the windows. The heat was cruel, and James swung around to glare at the man as he entered behind them and shut the door, a sudden lack of patience making him bite out his question.

  “Where?” Still looking over the coin, the man just waved a hand toward the stairs, so James did not waste more time talking, and headed down the stairs, taking several at a time. A narrow, dark hallway met him, and the door to the first room was opened part of the way, just enough for him to see the bared feet of a man on the floor. One slight push with his hand and the door swung inward, showing him a small, slight figure of a man curved to face the opposite wall.

  His back was as bare as his feet, pale like milk, especially so with the darkness of the long, matted hair that fell over him like a ragged cloak. Bumps of the man’s spine were visible, so tightly was he curled about himself, and James swallowed dryly, his palms itching as he recalled the feel of them through Villon’s shirt only the night before. He had never been permitted to see this much of René’s flesh, and now his eyes made him sick with it, noting the rich black of bruises, wide about the bones of his hips, knowing it likely that he had put them there.

  He watched the chest rise and fall before moving his gaze to the dirty fabric of the loose pantaloons, untied by any belt or sash, with no sign of any weapon tucked away. It was that which made James kneel carefully beside his body, holding his breath as he reached out to touch a naked shoulder.

  René’s skin was cold, despite the heat of the place, but James’ touch did not elicit any reaction from him, other than a small, whispering push of breath.

  Uncertain, James twisted his head to look about him and saw Ben, standing and studying the scene with curious eyes and a set face. Turning back quickly without chastising the child for following him up here, James tightened his hold on René and rolled him onto his back, nearly falling to the floor himself to see black eyes opened and focused on him.

  “René?” His throat closed, but that he could manage, letting go of the other man in order to steady himself. The black eyes did not even blink, and James realized that they were not, as he had thought, on him at all.

  “ Non. Non!” René murmured in a low, raw voice, and closed his eyes, squeezing his eyes shut when his body shook weakly on a cough. How in the Lord’s name had he come to this, James asked himself, and then shook the thought aside.

&nbs
p; “ René,” he said with more urgency, looking back just as Ben did the same, to the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. He reached out again, placing one hand to the flatness of his chest, and felt the uneven, rapid beat of René’s heart. But those eyes opened once more, and this time James saw the fire of them, a fury that only banked itself after a long, hard moment that left them both trembling.

  “James?” René seemed thirsty, the slow way he uttered his name so horribly needful that James glanced around the room quickly once more, but he had nothing to give René, did not know what he needed. It did not matter now in any case, not with others coming and Villon in this state. He was scowling, but it did not soothe James to see the familiar frown, not with his body so slight and unsteady, and his voice so weak, almost like a child’s.

  “Is it him?” The guard had returned to them to ask, and René’s dark eyes followed the sound, his face darkening as he seemed to see his captor though the man was no longer armed, and the room he was in, for the first time, flitting about and seeming to see a thousand attackers in the dust of the air. James pushed back his questions about what had happened, letting out a heavy breath.

  “Are you well? Can you rise?” Ignoring the foul man for now, James slid a hand under René’s body to assist him. The muscles above him tensed on the instant and René jerked away, breathing shallowly as he shifted and glared wildly at the three of them gathered in the small room.

  “ Vous ne me toucherez pas!” he barked furiously, and brought his hands to the ground to push himself up, grunting as his legs bent awkwardly before him. Sweat covered him at the small movement, but James leaned back, feeling his belly tighten.

  “Then get up on your own,” he told René in as smooth a voice as he could manage, pulling his useless hands away and getting to his feet, rubbing his chest once as he did. He did not look at René as the other man yelled out at him in his own tongue and fought to stand, using furniture to raise himself up on his unsteady legs.

  He had been a fool to come here; James cursed himself in his mind louder even than René could in his harsh voice. Villon did not welcome his interference, never had, and more than deserved whatever punishment he had been spared the night before from his crew. What punishment he was about to receive now from the island’s citizens. Hanging after torture, if he were fortunate, or had friends he could bribe. But of course he had no money to bribe now either, just a bag of jewels that he had tossed at James as the price of a few fucks.

  “My ship?” The breathless cursing halted suddenly, and there was the sound of the Frenchman falling back against the wall when his feet would not entirely support him, and it was that more than the English words that made James turn his gaze back on Villon. He winced when he did, unable to stop himself.

  Back to the wall, Villon had one hand wrapped tightly around the loose waist of his pantaloons to keep them at his hips, and the other at his side, where a sword ought to have been. Stark and aching, the bruises covered his shoulders as well; the same shade as the lines under his eyes, near to the same colour as those eyes themselves. And now that he faced them, James could see the thin line of what looked to be dried blood falling from behind one ear to his bent, jutting shoulder.

  “Gone,” Ben answered him when James was silent, but he felt it when those hard eyes swung from him to the child, steady even as René’s legs were not. His skin seemed to grow paler, at Ben’s answer, James thought, though when he also looked to Ben, the boy seemed pale as well, his high colour of earlier disappearing.

  “Curiosity has never gone unpunished,” René murmured to him, stumbling even in his own tongue. “It is better not to question.” “You have little time left until others come for you,” James interrupted him, his heart beating faster at the quiet little flinch of Villon’s white shoulders, the only sign that he had heard James’ warning at all, still staring at Ben.

  “So ‘tis him after all.” The growling question was nearly in James’ ear, and he jerked his head up, having forgotten the innkeeper’s brother. But then he nodded, keeping his gaze on René, wondering if even a man like Villon would pray before the noose. He could not imagine it anymore than he could imagine him begging for his life from a traitorous crew. He would die never knowing that grace either.

  “James?” He thought it was Ben’s quiet voice; it must have been, for no other in that room would have entreated him so hopefully, would have even had any hope. It was madness. “Aye,” James murmured without moving his lips, as though Ben had not spoken. “How much for him?”

  Blinking rapidly, René turned back to him, licking his lips without seeming to be aware of the action. It made him look almost frightened, something that made James look away though he knew it was impossible. He cleared his throat as he turned, and breathed carefully so he would not stammer his next words. “I have a treasure of precious stones that I am eager to part with.” If his suit gave the man doubt of that, there was only his association with a cutthroat to consider.

  There was silence, not even the frantic swearing and blaspheming that had followed René’s rise from the floor. But the guard did not seem to sense it; clutching his fingers around the single piece of gold he had already been given. “I work for Sir Marvell, if you doubt my word. Surely you have heard of him.” There were few on Jamaica who had not. “Your stones are at his house, kept in my rooms.”

  “My brother…” the man tried to protest, but it was weak, and James nearly shook his head but his frozen muscles would not allow it. But he did not need complete agreement, he just needed silence. It would not be long before they were all caught and hanged together for this lunacy. He did not even know where his words had come from, or what he would do when they were beyond the door, and back out in the street, and he could feel the sick laughter bubbling in his belly. But he had come so far already.

  “If not, then perhaps René can teach you to use your pikestaff.” He did laugh, a short, mad chuckle that made the guard step back and reach slowly for the weapon he had left in the main room.

  “James!” Ben was crying out in the next moment as though alarmed and James sighed at the pain in his hand as the lazy guard fell to floor, looking startled at the blow James had dealt him before closing his eyes in sleep.

  “We must hurry,” James told the other two quietly, wanting to close his eyes. But when he did there was only René’s slender body, and the unknown awaiting them outside. They had nowhere to go, and he was damning the boy along with them.

  “I will go alone.” As if knowing his thoughts, Villon spoke, and James looked to him with disbelief. René had always seemed to know his mind, but to make such a claim, when he could not move from the wall was nearly enough to sicken him anew. He swallowed once, then again when René pushed defiantly away from the wall and took one awkward, odd step forward.

  Even his lips seemed to lose colour at the tiny move and James felt the panic take hold of him. He crossed to him in two steps. “It seems we will die together, René” James spoke the truth he had long suspected as he reached out to gather him close, and jumped back when the other man’s face twisted into a snarl, and René struck out against his chest with a strength that looked to kill him from the way he dropped his shoulders afterward. His next shove had no force at all. “No!” René told him with a fierceness that belied his ill state, but James slid his arms around his unresisting form and lifted him from the floor. The full weight of another man, even such a small man, was something he had not really had to bear the night before, and he grunted slightly now, though he did not let go his grip, and steadied the arm curved around René’s narrow back.

  René was careful against him, breathing faintly in and out, and, just as faintly, trembling with exhaustion and perhaps pain. But he did not fight again, and James shut his eyes, wishing his hands did not press on cold, bruised flesh. One of many things to wish and pray for now, and he listed them silently as he turned and found Ben quivering with excitement in the doorway.

  “Hurry,” James
told him, with no need, as Ben hopped ahead of them, darting up the stairs with nary a sound. With a last look at the sleeping man, James followed, stepping carefully as he could not see over René’s quiet form.

  “You struck him.” He almost did not catch the words despite René’s closeness and the silence of the empty inn. James glanced down as best he could, and saw only the back of Villon’s head, noticing suddenly how swollen it seemed, and the matted, sticky strands of hair. He had been struck as well, from behind, and had bled quite profusely.

  “Aye,” Knowing that Villon likely thought him a liar to act from wrath when he had preached peace, James acknowledged the thing he had done, but his mind was elsewhere, and he allowed the quiet to remain as he carried René Villon from the inn. His body was heavy, and James’ arms felt the strain of his tightened hold, but there were no more protestations from the smaller man until the sunlight was full upon them both.

  The brightness made James turn his head from it for one moment, and he froze at the sudden warmth of breath on his neck as Villon hid his head against him, the light no doubt like stabbing pains to his tired eyes. James shifted his arms, trying to stretch to block the light with one hand, and René jerked his head up to glare at him, his lips tightening in pain or displeasure, or both no doubt. He never had been long pleased with James’ foolishness.

  “Release me,” he commanded without a moment’s pause, and kicked out one foot. It was a weak gesture, as James did not think Villon would be able to stand, and yet he had to obey. A silly, obvious picture they made, with him carrying the man in the street. As it was, he could not carry him much farther, not without falling over himself, or drawing attention to themselves. And still he had no notion of where to take him, of what to do once Sir Marvell discovered his treasonous actions. There was nowhere for either of them to go as yet, and the street only meant that soon someone would see them.