by P. N. Elrod
“ ’E’s a soft ’un, I’ll warrant. Ye din’t ’ave to crack ’im so ’ard, Drummond. We coulda tied ’im up wi’ a piece o’ string ’n’ led ’im ’ere like a crippled lamb.”
“Hah!” said Drummond.
“Pasty-faced Tory bastard,” Ash went on. “ ’E’s soft as a slug from ’igh livin’ on ’is pap’s gold, that ’n’ all ’is drinkin’ ’n’ whorin’.”
“Where am I?” I asked, wishing to change the subject. My voice was thin, little more than a whisper. A stranger’s voice. The fear that I’d managed to shove away for a time began to seep back. I tried to pretend it wasn’t there and concentrated on gaining useful knowledge.
“Yer with us, that’s a’ you needs t’ know.”
“Must still be in Nassau County,” I remarked faintly.
“Hah!” said Drummond.
“We’ve got us a right thick Tory bastard, don’t we, boys?” said Ash, enlarging upon Drummond’s short but informative comment. So I was in Suffolk County, miles from home. How many?
“I have to be there,” I insisted. “We couldn’t have traveled that far.”
“Fifteen mile, if it were an inch. Maybe more.” He was proud of the accomplishment and contemptuous of my disbelief.
“Ridiculous.” But I didn’t press further, lest they catch on to what I was doing. “What do you want of me? Why did you bring me here?”
“What we want is fer ye to do what yet told, then Drummond won’t be having to cut yer heart out ’n’ be ’andin’ it to ye.”
“Hah!” said Drummond, this time adding a note of triumph to his comment.
Not too reassuring, but at least they weren’t planning to kill me right off. On the other hand, if I didn’t get away from here before dawn, they wouldn’t have to trouble themselves.
“I like them ridin’ boots,” said a thin fellow, talking through his hatchery nose.
“Be off with ye, Abel, I already claimed ’em ’n’ everyone knows it,” said another man who was homely enough to have been his brother.
“Yer feet is too big fer ’em!”
“Are not! You’ve got ’is cloak, I should git ’is boots!” This declaration was followed by a noisy tussle. Ash watched the combatants with disgust.
“Those two should be Cain and Abel, not Abel and Seth,” he growled to Drummond, who for once did not say “hah!” but did step in and roughly part the two. He lifted each by the collar, shook them soundly, then let them fall. The argument was over for the moment, and I consciously relaxed my tightly curled toes. I had no desire to be hiking home in stocking feet. Providing I could walk again. I felt so dreadfully weak.
The door opened and the other fellow who was almost as big as Drummond came in. I wondered if he was in charge of this lot, as none of them appeared to be impressively gifted with intelligence. He gruffly announced that the horses were bedded, then went to warm his hands by Tully’s fledgling fire.
Six of them. Daunting even with my full and wholly unnatural strength, quite impossible now.
“What’s the time?”
My question amused them. There was no clock in the hovel and probably never had been.
“Gittin’ on to dawn in a couple hours, I should think,” said Ash.
“I’m hungry,” whined Tully.
“Then fix somethin’!”
Tully subsided and poked about in whatever supplies they had.
“Why am I here?”
Ash’s grin, a singularly unpleasant one, returned. “Yer a prisoner o’ war, that’s why.”
“I’m no soldier—”
“Aye, but yer mighty good at killin’, ain’t ye?” he sneered.
There it was, the confirmation of my worst fears, the ones that made me feel so ill in the wagon. My heart sank and they could see it on my face. No need or point in pretense.
Ash leaned close. I could smell his rotten teeth. “Ye murdered two fine men, ye Tory bastard. Cut ’em down cold ’n’ yer goin’ t’ pay fer it.”
I snapped my mouth shut. There was also no need or point in arguing my side of it with them; I’d made that conclusion earlier when I’d guessed who they were. The panic threatened to return, but I couldn’t afford it this time. I had to keep my mind free of it. Free . . . and thinking.
“You want something more, though, don’t you? Or else you wouldn’t have brought me here.”
“Aye, we do. Yer rich pap’s goin’ to pay t’ git you back, ain’t he? We reckon ’e can spare the gold ’f he wants to see ’is brat again, right?”
I reluctantly agreed. For all the house and fine clothes, my father was not a wealthy man; Mother had all the money. I wondered if she would pay a ransom, then decided it didn’t matter. These men were not going to let me live whatever happened. I kept those thoughts to myself and tried to look anxiously cooperative. “Yes. My father will do anything you say. Just name your price and he’ll pay it.”
It was exactly what they wanted to hear.
“Right!” Ash produced a dirty sheet of paper. One side was some kind of obsolete handbill, all patriotism and high emotion, and the other blank. “Put down what we tell ye.”
“If I can.” And I meant that, for I was faint again. The effort to speak was exhausting.
Unconcerned, Drummond picked me up and dragged me to the table like a child’s poppet. I was dropped onto a chair, but he had to hold me up. Dizzy and suddenly shivering, I eased forward and tenderly cushioned my cruelly aching head on my folded arms.
“What’s wrong with ’im?” asked Tully.
“Got no stomach fer man’s work,” said Ash, but he sounded worried.
I ground my teeth together to keep from sobbing from the pain. Very gently, I felt around the side of my skull where it was the worst. Dried blood matted my hair, but there seemed to be no fresh bleeding. There was a soft spot—there . . . bruised and swollen skin, perhaps. I hoped that was all. Pain flared, threatening to blaze up into something truly unbearable if the tentative exploration continued. I moaned and shook involuntarily, hating my show of weakness but unable to stop it.
My hosts were silent except for some hard breathing as they looked on. No one offered to help.
“Drummond hit ’im too hard,” Tully stated mournfully. He was the youngest of the group, not much more than a boy, and an unhappy one at that. “ ’E’s gonna die on us. Did ye see ’is face?”
Ash snorted. “Not afore ’e does us some good. Straighten up, you. Yer gonna write yer pap.”
“Give me a moment,” I pleaded, still gasping though I had no need to breathe.
The fits came in waves, a relatively pain-free period followed by nausea, and I was going through a bad spot of the latter. Drummond’s tossing me about like a rag toy hadn’t helped. I wanted desperately to try vanishing again in the hope of healing, but my last attempt had knocked me out. It would have to be later, when I was stronger and not so hideously ill. As for these louts seeing it, I didn’t care.
Ash snarled more frustrated threats, but did nothing. Someone found a bit of charcoal and pushed it into my slack right hand.
In a few minutes the worst of it passed, and I found I could see once more. Not well. The lantern lights seemed unbearably bright to me. I could hardly open my eyes. Ash impatiently urged me to work. I felt for the sheet of paper. The charcoal slipped from my fingers and I had trouble trying to pick it up.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I can’t. It’s too much.”
“You’ll write it, I say.” Ash again. God, what a miserable, scratching voice the man had.
“I can’t. One of you must do it. I’m too badly hurt.”
There was a slight hesitation as he glanced at the others, then his anger flared toward me. “But not so hurt ye can’t talk? Write, damn ye, or Drummond’ll start ’is cuttin’.”
I groaned and just managed to hold
the charcoal. Despite the discomfort, there was a warm, tight feeling of victory in me. Ash’s insistence that I do the writing meant that none of them could. Not one of them had made the least move to take over in response to my pitiful act.
Not that I was acting.
“What do you want to say?” I asked, barely audible.
“This is to yer pap. Tell ‘im you’ve been captured by soldiers of the Congress.
Easy enough. Dear Father, I’ve been kidnapped by the Montagu house thieves . . . .
I laboriously scraped the charcoal stick over the paper, trying to make clean, legible script and finding it difficult. The paper was cheap and rough; even if I’d had a proper quill and ink it would not have been easy. I took my time, the others staring at my every move as though I were performing some magical rite. Meaningless symbols to them, possible help for me.
“Yes . . . what else?”
“If ’e wants you back alive, ’e’s to give six ’undred pounds in silver or gold to the man giving ’im this note.”
I formed letters. Am about 15 miles from home in Suffolk county . . . I will escape when I can. . . .
Paused.
“Don’t follow the man back or we’ll cut yer throat.”
Hold and question this man. I shall be all right and try to get back by tomorrow evening.
I hoped. I’d have to trust that Father and Lieutenant Nash, once he was alerted, would be able to wring a confession from the messenger and then send soldiers to round up the rest.
As for escape . . . that was rather beyond my strength for the present. The intent of my bravado was to keep everyone home and safe from these villains.
“Sign it.”
Jonathan.
Ash took the paper up and looked it over with smug pleasure. “There it is, lads, a tidy ’undred fer each of us.”
I buried my face in my arms lest I betray myself, though I really hurt too much to smile.
“Aye, but will we get it? What if Knox don’t come back?”
“Y’ sayin’ I’m a thief, Abel?” Knox, the big fellow who’d tended the horses, had an ominous growl.
Abel backed down. “Not ’xactly, jus’ what if somethin’ should ’appen to ye?”
“Nothin’ will. I’ll be back with the money ’n’ don’t ye be thinkin’ otherwise or I’ll fold you in half the wrong way.” His size made him more than capable of carrying out that threat.
“Abel, go saddle a horse for ’im,” said Ash. “A fresh ’un, mind you.” Wrapped snuggly in my cloak, Abel went out.
“ ’Ow long’ll it take ye?” he asked Knox.
“Travelin’, not long. Waitin’ fer the money, I dunno. Ye’ll ’ave to wait ’til I get back. Keep a sharp eye on the road. If you see soldiers, git to the boat ’n’ git out. I’ll catch up with ye later. With the money,” he pointedly added for the benefit of any other doubters.
He left soon after. I kept my head down and rested.
The length of time between bouts slowly increased and the nausea passed off a little faster, but I gave no outward sign of recovery, continuing to show the worst possible side of my suffering. A man in such poor condition was no threat, and I hoped they might get lax in their watch.
Indeed, it already seemed so. Food and drink were traded around and they did a fine job pretending I wasn’t there while seeing to their own best comfort. None was offered to me. In fact, no one bothered to address me at all. That alone would have informed me of my eventual fate, had I not already figured it out. They weren’t about to make friends with someone who was going to die.
An hour crept past, or more. It was hard to tell. I never moved, nor was invited to move to a more comfortable place. Tully took over the bed and began snoring. The others found spots to rest and talk amongst themselves before drowsing off. A natural topic was what they’d do with the money from this endeavor; they then warmed to other jobs, comparing them in terms of profit and effort. They’d stolen all manner of things, beaten and even killed people who attempted to resist them, and one and all considered it work well done since—profit aside—they were doing it in a good cause. Any harm done to one of the King’s loyal subjects was a righteous blow for liberty, and the more harm inflicted the better.
While I hadn’t hidden myself away from the war going on in the broader world beyond my own little piece of it, for the most part it had not been an immediate worry. I had other concerns to keep me occupied, and the conflict was something happening to other people miles in the distance. These men were forcing me to see it as something much closer and consequently much more immediately threatening. Our big house with all its people, shuttered windows and firmly locked doors was no safe fortress against such brutes. If they wanted what we had, they would simply take it. They weren’t smart, but they did have a base, instinctual cunning that chilled me to the soul.
I raised my head, blinking, cautious of pain. It was there, drumming like thunder during a storm, but not as bad as before. I didn’t want to push myself, but with the coming dawn I might not be left with any choice. Vanishing was first and foremost on my mind. If I was strong enough for that, then my greatest obstacle was removed. Then I could just float outside amid their confusion and get myself well away from here.
“Be light soon,” said Ash. He and Drummond shared the table, though neither gave much notice of me once I finished writing the note. Apparently they presumed me to be utterly helpless and not worth the trouble of tying up.
“Aye.” Drummond looked at me, cool and uncaring. I didn’t like the possibilities that that implied, preferring Ash’s raw hatred to this utter lack of regard. “Shouldn’t we wait fer Knox?”
“That’s been talked out. No matter if ’e gits the money ’r not, this ’un’s got to go, we’re agreed to it.”
My belly turned over. Violently.
Drummond sighed. “ ’Tis better to do it now, then, while the others are asleep.”
I’d been expecting such talk, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear.
“They need to git used to it,” countered Ash. “This’s a war on, not a damned tea party for fancy Tory bitches ’n their silks ’n’ velvets.”
Not now, not yet, I cried in my mind. I was still too weak.
I looked back at them, trying to summon enough concentration to influence them. Which one? I couldn’t do both. Too late I picked on Ash, but he was already up and moving. Drummond followed. Too late. . . .
“Up with ye,” said Ash. He held a lantern in one hand.
“Wait—I can pay you more money.”
“Oh, aye?”
“I’ve money of my own, separate from my father’s. You can make twice as much.”
“An’ run twice the risk. No thankee. What we’ll be gittin’ ’ll more ’n do fer us.” He pulled out his pistol and prodded my ribs. “Commun. Up with ye.”
“Maybe the others don’t agree with you. Don’t the rest of you want to double your money?”
Seth and Abel looked sullenly interested, but not enough to challenge Ash’s authority. Tully continued to snore. Drummond had heard, but rejected the offer with a contemptuous snort of disbelief. There would be no sundering of loyalties in this group.
Ash grinned. “Commun, ye cowardly bastard. Move yerself or you’ll get it right ’ere.”
Hardly a statement to inspire encouragement. Inside or out, I was to die. Where might not matter, but when . . . . I wanted more time. They weren’t giving me any. Not one more minute.
“You must help me. I can’t stand. Dizzy.” There was no point trying to plead for my life. They’d only find it amusing, especially Ash. I desperately needed time to heal, to think. I’d survived a rifle ball after my change, but doubted my chances now.
“Commun.”
“I can’t.” It wasn’t all an act; my legs were like water.
Think . . . . B
ut no miraculous idea popped into my head.
Expressing considerable disgust, Ash backed off so Drummond could assist me. With his now familiar lack of gentleness, he bent, hauled one of my arms around his neck and stood, taking me with him. The sudden boost to my feet was bad, but not as dreadful as I’d anticipated. I sagged, though, making him support me. He stank of ancient sweat and I could smell the remains of his last meal in the grease smearing his face. I could also smell something else, something that woke me more thoroughly than his rough handling or Ash’s threats or even my own paralyzing fear.
Blood.
His blood, not mine.
And the scent of it was good. So very, very good.
In his veins ran my salvation, my recovery.
Unaware, he pulled me along, my weight of no concern to him, paying no attention while I stumbled in surprise at this inner realization. He had no mind for anything but to get the job at hand finished. I had no mind for anything but the fact that he was awash with what I needed to live. He carried satiation for my roused hunger, healing for my injury, strength for my escape.
Red life, rushing, pulsing, beneath his coarse skin. Blood.
Dear God. I was hungry. Terribly so.
I stared without seeing as he took me through the door into the needle-sharp cold outside.
* * *
It was almost as though I were back in the wagon again, drifting in and out of consciousness, only now I was drifting between my need for blood and the shock of discovery regarding the true intensity of that craving. Drummond marched us along over an empty field, the ground sloping slightly upward. I barely kept pace even with his help, distracted by trying to break free of the spell of my hunger, and succeeding to some degree. If I was to live, I must not be enthralled to mere animal need; I had to have a clear mind and be in control of it.
