“Begin,” Mortimer commanded. Both the scribe and Jamyang moved to the book for their assigned task. “Bring them.” He cast a glance at one of the Brotherhood guards. “Except him.” He pointed to Silas. “He stays to listen.”
With that, he whirled around and headed out the door. The prisoners were brought, shuffling, into the hall. He regarded the two women. “Sequester them.” His lip curled in a menacing smile as he looked to Danton. “This one has penance to pay.”
Two guards dragged a struggling Danton down the hallway, disappearing moments later around a corner. Mortimer, in two giant steps, brought himself within millimeters of Rachel’s face and leaned in to her ear. She couldn’t help visibly shuddering. His breath was hot and smelled slightly of onions.
“As for you, my dear Captain,” he said with that strange, sarcastic slant again. It grated on her nerves. “We have something extra special planned for you.”
“Does that mean I should look forward to more quality time in your captivating presence?” Rachel met his eyes with a cold stare of her own.
With a whoosh of air, he struck her hard across the face with the back of his hand. Her ears rung from the blow, and a slight trickle of blood oozed from the corner of her mouth, but she would not let him see her flinch. She licked at the blood and smiled again. “Careful. I might start to like that.”
He hissed something unintelligible and hit her again. Her knees buckled, but the guards held her firm. “Enough, Rachel!” Iris whispered hoarsely. “Do not provoke him further. Please.” Rachel looked at her friend and was surprised to see tears there. “For me.”
“You should listen to your friend,” he sneered. Rachel kept silent, but held eye contact. When he determined that was all he would get from them, he waved the guards away, dragging the two women behind them.
Chapter Nineteen
The Attack
It was dusk when the screaming started. Jiao nearly knocked over the pitcher of water as she jumped up from her pallet. Instinctively, she snatched at the small dagger strapped to her calf and crouched on the floor facing the door. The sound of feet running through the hall put her further on edge. She weighed her options. There was only one door leading in and out of her room, but that wasn’t a viable exit. She spared a look over her shoulder.
A small window, barely large enough to squeeze through, let in the light from the dying day. If she put her large trunk on top of the bedside table, it would be tall enough to get her to the opening. She listened another moment. The footsteps were gone. After replacing the dagger, she opened the smaller of her trunks, rummaging through it until she found the canvas sack of survival essentials. Jiao secured it to her waist before removing the water pitcher and basin from the table, replacing them with her large trunk.
Ever full of grace, the young girl moved from the floor to the top of the chest, and shimmied out the opening. After her arms were clear, she grabbed the edge of the roof and pulled herself up onto the tiles, staying low and out of the wind as she crept along. Over the raised ridge of the roof’s spine, Jiao scanned the ground for signs of intruders. Gathered in the main courtyard were ten men in the black suits and bowler hats that marked them as Brotherhood. She had seen their envoys on the occasions they tried to enlist her father into their ranks. Those who tried did not live long, or left missing pieces of themselves.
Given the number of men stationed outside, she reasoned there were many more scattered throughout the temple. Her blood boiled at the thought of these putrescent fools polluting the purity of this place. It took her years of study and dedication to earn an invitation to Zhuqing.
The screaming started again, howls of pain. Yong Wu was known to employ particular methods to get information he wanted, and these were the same type of screams. It bothered her that this could be a crewman from the Antigone’s Wrath, but her heart raced with another thought: would they torture a monk, or even the Rinpoche himself? These were her brethren, her kindred. Did they dare go so far?
Rage blossomed in the pit of her stomach. Utilizing anapanasati, she let the cold, mountain air clear her mind. Her hot fury sharpened with each breath, shaping her thoughts into one icy intent: kill them all.
From a very young age, Jiao studied Buddhist teachings, but, as the daughter of one of the most powerful men in the South Seas, she knew prayer and meditation would only go so far in preserving her life. The masters of martial arts that instructed her father also instructed her. Her body was a finely honed and very deadly weapon.
She slipped across the last two hundred feet of tile and reached the center tower. Pressing herself against the wall, Jiao crept over the ridge and towards the edge of the roof. Below her, a single guard looked out across the courtyard; none of the others even glanced in her direction. Silently, she untied the slipknot holding the canvas bag around her waist, and opened it. She withdrew a short, sheathed sword and a small belt holding a series of metal throwing stars. The bag rested at her feet, the sword clamped under her chin, as she fastened the belt around her hips. Crouching a few feet back, she let the bag slide down the tiles and off the edge. She smiled a strange, devious smile, and the bag landed with a soft thud at the man’s feet.
Surprised by the sudden appearance of the item, the guard didn’t even notice Jiao until her legs were wrapped around his neck. With a quick jerk of her thighs, his spine snapped with a sickening crack. She flipped away as he fell, sword unsheathed. Three fell to her blade with slashes across the neck, stomach and back before the others knew she was there. The alarm went up, and still she continued her attack. She spun and whirled, diving into a roll only to emerge and stab at another opponent. They died one after the other. The telltale click of a gun hammer gave her ample time to locate the source. Two on the steps leading up to the main entrance aimed their weapons and opened fire.
Bullets slammed into the dirt at her feet as she took cover behind one of the stone monoliths lining the walkway. The sound of metal striking rock told her she cut it a little too close. She couldn’t stay here long. The gunfire would inevitably draw more men, and she did not want to be pinned down. Reaching up, she pulled her hair ornament free. Disassembling it with practiced precision, the large piece broke apart into several small, deadly instruments. She held a specialized throwing star to her lips briefly before tossing it circularly out into the open air. It whipped down the path, away from the temple, only to curve back around and lodge itself between the eyes of one of the gunmen. The other man’s shock at seeing his companion inexplicably felled gave her the break she needed to step clear and fling a second star from her belt, into his throat. He sank to his knees, hands vainly attempting to stop the blood pouring from the wound.
The path clear, Jiao sprinted the remaining distance and up the temple steps, through the open doors. Angry voices echoed from everywhere. The screams came from one of the floors above.
The stairs were through a wooden door across from the main entrance. Without further hesitation, she threw it open as the sound of footsteps and shouted orders wound down to her. A small closet under the first flight caught her eye, and she ducked inside it as Brotherhood guards thundered down the steps. She left the door open a crack to spy on her pursuers.
“They’re all dead, Brother!” a man outside her line of sight reported.
“All? How? Who’s responsible for this?” A lanky man with a handlebar mustache flew into a rage.
“W-we don’t know,” he stammered. “It looks like a surprise attack.”
The mustachioed man fumed. “I thought you said the grounds were secured. Were you mistaken, or are you completely incompetent?”
“We must have missed a defensive detail somewhere, sir.”
“Oh, you think so?” He was nearly shaking from fury. “Find them. Now.”
Jiao silently rolled her eyes. A detail indeed. This Brotherhood couldn’t fathom a single woman causing that much damage? She would show them. She sheathed her sword and slipped it up her sleeve.
After i
ssuing orders to search the entire floor and the building perimeter, the man in charge spun and stomped back up the stairs. Listening intently, Jiao heard him ascend to the third floor. She crept out of the closet and flew up the stairs behind him, not making a sound. When she arrived, she cautiously looked into the hallway. The man turned at the farthest end of the left passage. Not seeing anyone else, she hurried after him. As she reached the corridor, she pressed herself to the wall and glanced around the corner. The man was addressing a pair of guards outside a door. Whatever he said to them, they parted and allowed him to enter the room. Moments later, another scream ripped through the quiet. Jiao shuddered. There was no way of knowing how many men were in that room, but she reasoned it was no more than five, including the prisoner and the one who had just entered. Given the size of the rooms here, any more would make it hard to move, much less torture a prisoner. So, plus the two guards outside, there were probably no more than six enemies.
Before she could formulate a plan of attack, the door opened again and the mustachioed man exited. Moving as quickly as she could, Jiao retreated and ducked into the first room she was sure was empty. Listening intently, she heard him pass, cursing under his breath. Shortly after, there were more footsteps and the sound of something dragging against the floor. The noise faded, and she cracked the door. She emerged in time to see a single leg disappearing back into the stairwell.
“You there!” a voice called from behind her. She palmed another throwing star before raising her hands meekly above her head. “Turn around, slowly.”
Plastering the most innocent look she could muster on her face, she did as instructed. “Please sir,” she pleaded. “I am only a student here. What is going on?”
Not one, but two men stood before her, lowering their guns. “How did you get up here?”
“I… I…” she stammered, “I have been here since afternoon meditation began. I was so deeply engrossed in my exercises, I only now heard the commotion in the hall.”
The guards gave each other sidelong glances that made her skin crawl as they holstered their weapons. Jiao knew exactly what sort of thing they had in mind for her. Another round of rage built inside her, but she maintained her demure façade.
“Come here, girl.” The same guard grinned and beckoned her with a finger. She shook her head, widened her eyes, and took a step backwards. He produced a knife and walked towards her. “I said—”
As soon as the first blocked her from view of the second man, Jiao’s countenance turned icy. Within seconds her sword was free and slicing through his belly. As he fell away, she whipped the throwing star at the second guard. It severed his jugular before he had time to scream. A satisfying gurgling noise trailed her as she headed back to the stairs and up to the fourth floor.
For hours, Iris and Rachel sat in the darkness, bound to separate chairs. Gags prevented them from speaking, but their concern for Danton did not need to be expressed. When the screams began, Rachel watched her friend’s eyes widen in fear and then well up with tears. She fought against her bonds. The thought of the knife in the toe of her boot burned in her brain. The way she was tied rendered it useless. If she couldn’t kick, it was no good. Keeping it a secret was her best bet for now. In an effort to distract herself from the sounds of torture, Rachel tried to imagine all the ways she could kill Mr. Mustache. After what seemed like years, there was a break from the noise, but it didn’t last long. Perhaps Danton fell unconscious, then woke to further infliction of pain. Agonizing minutes passed, then, another sound, this time gunfire. Rachel assumed her crew was either dead or prisoners of the Brotherhood, but perhaps some of the men freed themselves and were taking back the ship and temple. It stopped as quickly as it started, and her hopes evaporated. Beyond the door, feet pounded against the floor. Something had happened, most definitely, but not the siege she would’ve liked.
A short burst of screams broke the silence that followed, and then faded completely. Someone approached. Voices murmured in angry tones, then the door was thrown open. She blinked painfully in the sudden brightness, even though it was dim lantern light. When she could see again, a figure stood, silhouetted in the doorway. It wasn’t hard to figure out who it was.
“Your little attempt at freedom isn’t going to work Captain Sterling.” Mortimer Cross said. “Your men will be caught and dealt with accordingly. I do hope you weren’t too set on a rescue.”
Rachel remained silent. She refused to let him think she had no idea of what he referred to.
“I expect we’ll be departing fairly soon. We have something very special planned for you, but I won’t spoil the surprise.” His words had a slimy, sweet quality. Rachel was sure he was grinning. “I’ve brought you a present.”
She heard him snap his fingers as he stepped back into the hallway. Two men dragging a third approached, and tossed the limp figure onto the floor in front of her. As she studied him, she realized, to her horror, that the bloody, beaten mass of a man was Danton. She frantically searched for signs of life, but it was too dark to see much. Glancing up at Iris, tears poured down the woman’s cheeks.
“He isn’t dead,” Brother Cross assured them. “I daresay he will be soon enough, though. I thought you might like to be with him as he expires. Consider it a… gift.”
With a snort, he slammed the door shut again, plunging them back into blackness. After the footsteps receded, they were left with nothing but the slow, labored sounds of Danton’s breathing. Rachel’s mind raced. Danton was going to die and there wasn’t a damned thing she could do to save him.
More noises in the hall distracted her. Something slid down the wall. Then, the door unlocked and opened slowly.
“Tashi dele?” A familiar, feminine voice ventured in a whisper.
Rachel’s heart pounded as she let out a muffled exclamation.
“Captain Sterling?” She sounded surprised. “Where are you? I cannot see a thing. Please wait.”
Rachel was on the verge of tears as Jiao Wu’s form retreated back into the hallway. A moment later, she returned, this time bearing a torch, which she mounted in a bracket on the wall. When she saw Danton, she muttered something in Chinese. She stepped over him, towards Rachel, who shook her head fiercely and nodded to Danton. Jiao gave her a skeptical look, then knelt next to him. “He’s hurt very badly. I’m not sure there’s anything I can do for him.”
Iris, now animated, wriggled fiercely and attempted to speak through her gag. Jiao looked to Rachel for approval before freeing the first mate. The girl removed the gag first, then started on the ropes.
“Hurry,” Iris whispered. “I may still be able to save him.”
The instant she was free, Iris fell to her knees and gingerly turned Danton onto his back. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and pressed her hands to the sides of his face. At first, nothing happened, but by the time Jiao untied Rachel, there was a distinct green glow emanating from Iris’s palms. Danton groaned in pain. Iris released him and looked to the other women. “He’s stable, but needs more care than I can give him here.”
“We must go quickly. When they discover the bodies…” Jiao cast a nervous glance to the door.
“Bodies?” Rachel asked, startled. “You mean, you—”
“There’s time for that later,” Iris interrupted. “There’s a hidden passage down the hall. Help me lift him.”
Jiao and Iris lifted Danton’s shoulders, and Rachel hefted his feet. They backed towards the door, where Rachel poked her head out. When she saw the two guards with their throats slit, lying motionless in pools of their own blood, she cringed. A girl of sixteen took down two hardened killers? She refocused. Minding the fluid to keep from slipping or creating tracks, Rachel backed into the hall. “Which way?”
“To your left,” Iris said.
They shuffled along as quickly as they could manage, the Frenchman’s arms flopping to and fro. Before the first turn, Iris stopped the forward progress. She transferred Danton’s weight to Jiao and ran her fingers
along the wall. “If I remember correctly, it’s right around…” she trailed off as she searched. There was an audible click. “Here.”
Rachel cringed at the soft grinding noise the wall made as some of the stones scraped against one another. She was surprised to discover the rock was very thin with a wood backing: paneling, rather than solid wall. One section pushed back and slipped inside the hollow righthand side. It gave her a whole new round of ideas for the ship, but she dismissed them as they entered the secret corridor.
When they were all inside, Rachel set Danton’s feet on the dusty stones.
“What are you doing?” Jiao said. “We can’t stay here.”
“And I can’t proceed unarmed,” Rachel answered. “Those guards must have had weapons. As they aren’t using them anymore, I thought I’d take advantage of that.”
“But you shouldn’t—” Iris began.
She didn’t listen. “Close the door when I leave. When I come back, I’ll knock. If something happens, I’ll find another way out.”
Before another word was said, Rachel left and slid the wall back into place, the door closing with a ka-chunk of finality.
Silas tried to make himself invisible as he stretched his aching leg muscles. He was stuck in the same cross-legged position for hours. They never told him to remain completely still, but his fear kept him stationary. He was really quite disgusted with himself. He never thought himself to be much of a hero, but to be so paralyzed by fear, especially when Rachel was in serious trouble, was unforgivable. Still, what else could he do?
And then there was Eddie. The boy opted to stay behind when Silas went in search of a translator. What happened to him? The Brotherhood caught Silas completely by surprise as they swarmed into the hallways. Faced with ten men, ten pistols pointed at him, he saw no alternative but surrender. Any small amount of defensive skill he possessed was incomparable to the ruthless, violent tendencies of the Brotherhood.
Master of Myth (The Antigone's Wrath Series Book 1) Page 20
