“What’s the matter? She dead?”
“Nay. We was…ah…we had ourselves a little too much t’ drink, an’ we been sleepin’…”
“You a sailor?”
“Aye, sar.”
“What ship?”
“The Meridian. Leavin’ fer America on the morrow. I was jest…jest sayin’ good-bye t’ my…wife…”
The officer let out a howl of laughter, which caused McGrover, down below, to ask what was the matter.
“Nothing, sir. ’Tis a lime-eating jackass an’ a bought wench. She be drunk to stone, an’ he looks ’im a sight with charcoal on ’is arse. Ye wish me t’ bring ’em down?”
“Ask them of the guest down here.”
“Aye. Hey, matey. What do you know of the man on the floor beneath.”
Slyde was up to it.
“What man?”
“Get over here.”
Slyde shuffled naked to the trapdoor and peered down, then feigned terrible shock. “Aiiii-Gott,” he cried, “who’d be he? Oh, sar, sar, I swear, I been drunk an’ screwin’ an’ sleepin’ since midday an’ I nivir lay me eyes on the poor bloke…”
“Doesn’t matter anyway,” McGrover called. “I don’t mind ’im dead, or who did it. Ask him if there was a woman with the bastard.”
Selena’s blood ran cold at his words. But Slyde swore that he knew nothing, saw no one. He even asked where all the customers had gone, which caused the officer to break into another hearty guffaw. He asked McGrover, once again, if he wanted to see the wench.
“Nay, nay,” he growled. “The MacPherson bitch wouldna be caught dead fucking with a sailor. Tell the bloke to get dressed and get the wench out of here. And himself back upon his ship. You get the body out of here. I must see to the waterfront search.”
Brian disappeared from her view, dragged away, his arms outstretched. The sawdust parted as they dragged him, and it was as if he had left a wake. Beside her, Slyde was pulling on his clothes and boots.
“That bastard gone now?” he whispered.
“Yes,” she said. But then, try as she might, she could no longer hold back the tears. Slyde himself appeared profoundly shaken, and the knowledge that it was her brother he had killed came back to him. Clumsily, he put an arm around her bare shoulders. “Lady, I’m so sorry, but ’e would ’ave killed me. ’E would ’ave, an’ that’s a fact. ’E would have, truly, an’ I’ve seen that look in the eyes o’ many a man…”
Selena agreed silently, and sobbed on.
“There. There, now,” Slyde tried. “Come on, now. ’Ere. Put yer clothes on. I mean no ’arm t’ ye. ’Twas just I didna, understand.” He seemed to think of something.
“Say, lady. Yer ladyship, or whatever…”
“Selena,” she told him, before she had a chance to think.
“Selena. Look, Selena. Yer in trouble, ain’tcha?”
What to tell him? She fought her way back to self-possession. Something close to the truth. Slyde was not a bad sort, and she needed him. She had to fight now to stay alive. That came first. She had to make it out to the High-lander somehow, and this burly sailor, trying to soothe her now in his rough but not untender way, might be able to help.
“I was of the nobility,” she told him. Past tense. That one word, was, seemed as difficult a word as she had ever spoken. “My parents are dead. We’ve lost everything…
“An’ ’ow was that?” he interrupted.
“I don’t know,” she temporized. “Politics, or some such.”
Slyde nodded sagely.
“…and that man who was below. He killed my father, and he tried to…to…kill me.”
“Why the mother befoulin’ piece of…” Slyde snarled. “I ought’ve jumped down there, barearse an’ all, an’ wrung ’is neck. Say, what’re ye doin’ ’ere in Liverpool?”
Selena took a deep breath, and told him. She told him about the Highlander, and how they were to meet the ship here, for safe passage.
“Aye,” he said, remembering. “Ye asked me that afore the…afore the fight. Aye.”
“Is it here? The Highlander? In Liverpool?”
Into the momentary pause, Selena read more disaster. And it came.
“Nay, yer lady…ah…Selena. Nay, ’tis not ’ere, an’ won’t be, neither. See, Sir Royce Campbell’s been declared an outlaw by the Crown. ’E set t’ preyin’ on British shippin’ in the West Indies, an’ seems t’ ’ave tied in wi’ them American rebels. ’E’s not t’ be allowed port at no English dock in all the world…”
And that seemed to be the end of it, there in the foul-smelling loft, wrapped in straw, with only an unlettered seaman for a friend. But he was one friend, and, in spite of everything, he was better than none at all. And, too, hovering just beyond the borders of perception, was a phantom of relief. Royce Campbell would not be saving her, true. But, also, she would not have to face Royce Campbell. And then, immediately, she knew how foolish she was being.
“I’ve got to get away,” she said.
“To where?”
“I can’t stay in England. I’ll be dead should they take me. Is there no other ship to America? Your ship is going to America…”
“But…Selena, we’re a freightin’ ship, we can’t…”
“Oh, but I’ll pay, I still have…”
She thought of the last few coins in the fold on the inside of her riding boots. Brian had kept their last pound notes. She could not reach them now.
“But ye couldna do it. Cap’n Randolph, e’s a merchantman, an’ don’t take passengers. Particularly women. ’E ’ates women, as once ’e ’ad a wife what run out on ’im. An’ I wouldna want t’ risk it. ’E’s a mean one. ’E takes a half-dozen extra crew on every sailin’, ’cause some always dies fra’ punishment.”
“But if you talked to him…”
“Nay, I couldna do that.”
But the ship was to leave in the morning, and with McGrover searching the waterfront, Selena had mere hours to find shelter, or to escape.
“There must be some place on a great ship like yours,” she said to Slyde, hardening herself for what she was about to do. His clothes were still loose about him, his body hard and warm, his mind confused and, soon, quite willing.
“Aye, there is a place in the hold,” he said, his breath coming fast. “Near the bow, but in rough weather ’twill be torture. But…”
But there was a place.
The agreement was unspoken, the contract written only in flesh. Now I can do anything, she thought, and believed it was true. Slyde was an elemental man, ruled by basic, simple urges, with a rude kind of honor all his own. He took what was given and accepted the price demanded. When he entered her, Selena felt nothing but a physical rending, permitted herself to feel nothing but that, thinking not of Slyde, not of Royce Campbell, not of Sean or of Brian, nor Father, but rather of Darius McGrover. Slyde was almost gentle, awed, dazed, but she let him work away at her in the loneliness of his mind, his own hungry fantasies. Her vision was of McGrover, and then she was high and cold and untouched on the battlements of Coldstream…
Slyde was moaning into her hair.
…and far out on the morning mist soared the hawk…
Slyde was panting, belly on belly, now.
…and from the cold ice of her mind, the frigid fury of her wounded blood, she fashioned a terrible arrow…
Slyde was keening into her ear, calling for her to move, jerking into the cradle she had given him.
…and the arrow shot far and true into the pale sky…
Slyde was calling.
…and impaled the hawk in midflight, wings outstretched, motionless in wonder and surprise…
Slyde shot hot and trembling inside her, and only that brought her back to life and time.
…and the black hawk fell dead upon the earth of Scotland, where her beating heart fell hard about it with a cry.
On the waterfront, it was dark. On the ships near the docks, sailors on watch could be seen pacing the decks, but
the lights on the ships that lay at anchor out in the harbor seemed to move independently of human cause, like insects of the night, passing to and fro according to some demand of their own nature. The M.S. Meridian was a hundred yards away, no more.
Selena and Slyde stole out of the darkened tavern and onto the street. She saw the tall masts of the ships outlined against the lighter darkness of the sky, thought of the High-lander, and of what the sailor had told her about Royce Campbell joining the American rebels. That was something she did not believe. He may be sailing with them, she thought, with an inner grimace of wisdom, but only for reward, and only for his own perverted pleasure. The Americans would learn in due time, just as she had.
“Are ye ready, now?” Slyde asked.
She nodded, and he unfolded his ship’s bag.
“This ain’t goin’ t’ be very comfortable, Selena, but I’ll do my part lak I promised ye, if ye do yers as well.”
The ship’s bag was large, of heavy cloth, with a binding rope that ran around the top. Selena climbed in and tried to curl into a ball.
“No. Put yer hands on yer ankles and bend forward. There. Duck yer head. That’s it. I’ll sling ye over my shoulder. Don’t move, nor say nothin’, all right?”
She promised, and then he pulled the rope tight and she felt herself swung out into air, before coming to rest against his back. He started down the docks for the Meridian. Only the darkness would make this plan succeed, she thought. Her body in the ship’s bag, curled up though it was, could hardly appear like a sailor’s gear.
Slyde was puffing a little now, and walking fast. He stopped even before she heard the command.
“Halt! By order of the Secret Offices.”
McGrover’s voice.
She was dropped to the ground, hard on her shoulder, and she almost cried out. Then Slyde pushed her up against what must have been a partition or wall of some kind, and leaned against her!
“Aye! Glad ye stopped me, mate,” she heard him say in a slurred, drunken voice. “Could use a little breather. Long walk on these docks.”
McGrover’s voice was suspicious. “On your feet, deck rat. You could do with a little respect, do you know that?”
Abruptly, Slyde’s weight was off her.
“Oh, aye, sar. Aye, sar. Don’t know that, though, but…” the tone changed, half whining, half cajoling “…but it’s just I was frightful tired, and…”
“Shut up. What’s your ship?”
“M.S. Meridian, sar.”
Selena waited for McGrover to make the connection between Slyde here on the dock and Slyde of the Meridian up in the tavern loft with the whore. Me, she thought ruefully, her legs beginning to cramp.
“What’s in that bag, sailor?”
Slyde didn’t miss a beat. “M’ gear, sar. Would ye care t’ see?”
McGrover’s harsh laugh. “I’ve better things to do than stick my nose in your muck. Have you seen a blond wench about this evening? Highborn. Ye couldna miss her.”
Slyde denied it, and offered his help in a search.
McGrover was unimpressed. “You drunken bastard. You’re lucky if you make it up the gangplank of your ship. Get along with you now, or I’ll put in a word for you with Captain Randolph. He’ll improve your manners for you, I daresay.”
Her muscles tightened. Selena bit her lip to keep from crying out.
“Oh, yes, sar. Yes, sar,” Slyde was groveling. “That he will, sar, an’ best o’ the evenin’ t’ ye, sar.”
The footsteps on the dock diminished. Thank God. Again she was hoisted into the air, a little later swaying up the gangplank.
“Who goes?”
“Slyde, comin’ aboard.”
“Where the hell’ve ye been, mate? Ye barely made it. We sail at dawn. Captain Randolph was puttin’ a few more knots in his cat-o’-nine fer ye specific.”
Slyde grunted.
“Want some ’elp wi’ yer gear, there?”
“Nay, nay. I’ll manage.”
Their progress through the ship seemed to take forever, down gangways, ladders, passageways. All Selena knew was that they were going down deep into the ship. She judged their progress only by smell. On deck there was the salt and seaweed odor, pleasant in the cool April night. Then, below decks, sweat and old timber. Tea and some kind of fried meat near the galley. Then the holds, with their oddly stale, sour smell. Slyde told her the odor rose from the bales of textile products being shipped to market in America. And below that, Slyde puffing, cursing occasionally, the smell of wetness on wood, dank air…and something else.
Slyde set her down. Immediately the wetness penetrated his ship’s bag and spread onto her clothes. She jumped up when he pulled open the rope. They were in a small space that was neither room nor compartment and she could tell by the manner in which the beams came together that they were all the way forward in the ship, where keel met bow. And below water level.
“No one e’er comes down ’ere,” he told her. “But I’ll bring ye food whene’er I get the chance…”
Selena remembered what Father had told her. America could be two months away, and if they struck heavy weather, the plunging bow would drive her smashing again and again against these timbers.
He noticed her chagrin.
“I can get ye back onshore, if ye like, but that’ll be all.”
No. There was nothing left for her onshore. The whole, of her world and life had been reduced to this tiny, triangular chamber in the bottom of a ship, but from this must come whatever the future held. You are only defeated if you believe it, she thought recalling her brave naiveté only months ago.
“No. If you leave the bag for me, I can wrap myself in it overnight.”
Slyde brightened, and she saw that he had been afraid. He didn’t want her to leave. “Oh, in the mom, I’ll bring ye blankets, an’ such,” he promised, all protector again. “If I do it right, there might be room e’en for a makeshift hammock fer ye in ’ere, what ye say t’ that?”
She said it would be wonderful, smiling for him, and he stood there thinking it over. The ship was quiet, except for an odd scratching. It was not, at the moment, threatening, except for that strange, unidentifiable odor. He stepped close and took her into his arms in his direct, demanding way.
“An’ there’s room in ’ere fer us, too,” he whispered gruffly, his lips seeking hers.
Oh, God, I can’t face this now.
“You’d better go,” she said.
“Why? We’re safe ’ere, we are.”
He fumbled for her, his hands harsh. He wanted her now, and he was strong. Physically, she had no chance against him.
“Come on,” he pleaded, forcing her back, pushing her legs apart with a huge fist.
“You’ll ruin it,” she pleaded.
He suspended his attack. “What d’ye mean by that?”
Selena seized the slight advantage, and spoke to him softly, as if conspiring with a lover. “You’ve done so well to get me aboard,” she said, her lips close to his ear. “You were so brave in the face of danger. But let’s not spoil our luck. Don’t make anyone suspicious now. Go back to your quarters, right now, before we’re discovered, and we’ll have the whole voyage to ourselves.”
She forced herself to press close to him, promising her body.
“You can have me all the way across the sea,” she said, as Slyde blinked, thinking it over. “All the way. If we’re smart enough not to be discovered now. We must give no sign…”
Possessed of the shrewdness and wisdom she had conferred upon him, Slyde reluctantly agreed.
“Then I’ll be back later,” he grunted. “An’ I’ll bring ye some food if I can.”
He left her, then, but something must have happened to him, or he was being watched closely, for he did not return. The only light came from a hurricane lamp farther down a passageway along the keel, and Selena tried to arrange the ship’s bag in such a way that she could sit comfortably on it without getting wet from the dripping timbers of the ship.
And without being seen, should anyone come down here. It was impossible, that night. She was cold and terrified. Water was running somewhere in a steady, ominous trickle, reminding her of the wall of water all around her, just beyond these boards. She was by turns hopeful, despondent, terrified, and then hysterical. You’ll get through this, she told herself. You’ll get through this, and you’ll come back again, although there was precious little evidence to support such a resolution.
Then she was simply cold and tremendously tired. But since it was impossible to sleep—she was afraid to sleep, anyway—Selena put her mind to work, trying to solve the mystery of the faint, disagreeable odor, the periodic scuffling noise she heard. Something in the hold? Men working at night? Or activity in the galley, getting ready for the morning meal?
None of these.
The answer came to her all by itself. It hung from one of the big beams along the starboard hull, slick and wet and gray, with a thin, malevolent face, predatory teeth, and tiny, red, fearless eyes. The rat’s long, thin tail twitched like a whip.
Selena realized then that Darius McGrover did not necessarily resemble a hawk.
The Dark Below
Trapped in the darkness in the ship, Selena knew the world now only by imagination, and by what Slyde told her on his hasty, surreptitious visits. The burly, solicitous sailor had managed to get her a section of discarded rigging, which, covered with old blankets, served as a hammock, in which she spent most of her days and nights. And he gave her a knife. For the rats. “Don’t ye nivir use it on a sailor, if found down ’ere. It’ll be bad enough fer ye as ’tis, without harmin’ one o’ the crew.”
Slyde did not suggest—and Selena did not ask—if the knife might possibly be for herself, in such circumstance as the discovery of a stowaway. That was no good. She could not do it, just as she had been unable to do it on the night Will Teviot captured her in Cargill.
All days were similar, once they reached the high seas. The dank timbers, along which crawled the watching rats. The cold. The constant roll of the ship, or a plunging rise and fall when the Meridian took the breakers at its bow. The hurricane lamp swinging from its hook far down the passageway. And, now and then, sometimes twice a day—Slyde told her what a day was; she could not measure time—leftover food from the galley. After two weeks at sea, Selena began to fear for her sanity, if not her health.
Flames of Desire Page 18
