by Cory Barclay
And here they were.
Gustav caressed the wooden butt of his brother’s pistol, which he always kept close for such an occasion.
With the delicious laudanum coursing through his veins, plus a healthy dose of adrenaline, his eyes grew wild.
Noticing his crazed expression, Hedda crept up beside him. “Be reasonable,” she said in a low voice, eyeing the child as she spoke.
But Gustav pushed her away, sending her back inside the inn. He kept a hard stare on the two people he’d worked so hard to find, deciding then and there that one way or the other he would not leave without taking what he came for: Either they’d come peacefully or their blood would spill on the street.
Sudden shadows darkened his view. At first he assumed it was Adrian’s men closing around him, or possibly even his drugs intensifying his senses. But when he glanced over, he saw that four of the town’s guards had arrived to investigate the situation. Standing about ten paces back from Gustav’s circle of protectors, they stood several paces apart from each other to cover as wide an area as possible.
Apparently news traveled fast in these parts.
Gustav wasn’t too concerned. His crew vastly outnumbered these four Bedburg defenders.
But one of them in particular stood out to Gustav—the largest one, with a deep scar on his face. Two things about him drew Gustav’s attention: the grisly nature of the scar running down the man’s cheek, visible even from ten paces away, and the enormous arquebus rifle he held at his side. As Gustav looked away, refocusing on the toddler in front of him, the scarred man swung the huge weapon around, clutching it in both hands, though not yet aiming it. As Gustav glanced back up, the man spoke.
“Frau Aellin from the tavern told me some rowdy men were set at the inn, refusing to leave until a certain couple arrived,” he said with authority.
Gustav forced a smile, then said, “Seems you’ve found us.” He motioned toward Sybil and Dieter. “There’s the couple we’re here for. If they agree to come with us, we’ll be on our way, no harm done.”
“To go with you is to go with death,” Dieter said.
Gustav yawned. “I have the paperwork that validates my arresting these two, if you’d like to see it, Herr . . .”
“Ulrich,” the guard replied. “There was a time when I ripped the fingernails off that man’s hands,” he said, nodding toward Dieter. “But they were exonerated for their crimes. Therefore your paperwork must be illegitimate.”
“Not true, Herr Ulrich. The papers are signed by Baron Ludwig von Bergheim—my father, and—”
“We’re not in Bergheim,” Ulrich said firmly. “Your father’s jurisdiction doesn’t extend to Bedburg. I’m going to ask you to hand over your weapons or else quit my city. There are ales and whores aplenty here, but if you start trouble, I’ll be forced to respond in kind.”
Although Ulrich was an imposing figure, Gustav still sneered at the man. Why does he speak so confidently when he knows he’s outnumbered?
“We’ve already had our taste of your whores,” Adrian said from Gustav’s side. “We found them lacking.”
“That’s a shame.” Ulrich tightened his grip on his arquebus, narrowing his eyes.
Dieter quietly moved Sybil behind him. They both fixated on their child, who began waddling their way. Gustav stepped in front of the child, blocking his route. Sybil gasped.
Rowaine had her hand hidden behind her, fingering her pistol.
From his periphery, Gustav felt the presence of two hooded figures creeping in close from the other direction. His eyes darted to them but he didn’t recognize either. Then he realized they were the beggars from the night before—the ones who’d been sitting against the inn’s wall—the ones he’d nearly tripped over.
To the beggars he said, “Leave here, knaves,” and leaned down, trying to look beneath their hoods.
A gurgling sound—then a cough—made Gustav spin around toward Alfred, his soldier to the right. Alfred wore a strange face, eyes askew, the point of a dagger sticking through the front of his neck. Blood trailed down his mouth and chin, as Mia held his forehead firmly from behind, sawing her way through his neck. “For betraying Rowaine’s mutiny,” she whispered in the dying man’s ear.
Sputtering, Gustav lifted his gun at Mia.
Chaos erupted all around him.
From all directions bodies sprang into action. Grunts and shrieks filled the night air—weapons engaging.
Mia, her arms and clothes covered in blood, ran toward Sybil, Dieter, and Rowaine. The pirates nearest to Gustav aimed their weapons at the guardsmen, while others stood dumbfounded, unsure where to direct their wrath.
Utilizing the turmoil, one of the hooded beggars leaned in and swept the toddler off his feet.
“Peter!” Sybil yelled from a distance, seeing her son snatched by the beggar. The beggar’s hood flew from his head as he ran, his homeless friend a pace behind.
As Sybil helplessly watched the unhooded beggar holding her boy scurry toward the inn, she realized it wasn’t an old beggar, but a young man. A young man she knew well.
Martin Achterberg darted inside the inn with Peter safely in his grasp.
But Gustav had no time to think about Martin and the toddler. With a roar he raised his gun at Ulrich. But Ulrich already had his arquebus leveled squarely at Gustav. At the last instant, Gustav ducked behind one of his pirates.
Ulrich’s blast blew a hole through the pirate’s side as the pirate’s gun wildly fired into the air, smoke wafting from the barrel of his weapon.
Rowaine ran to Mia, grateful that her true colors had shone despite their earlier conflicts. Amid the chaos, the two embraced.
The two guards with Ulrich engaged Gustav’s pirates. One of the pirates took a guard with him, both falling on each other’s swords and rolling in the mud.
Just then the inn’s door flew open and the two guards Gustav had left inside, Kevan and Paul, came stumbling out backward as old man Claus chased after them with a fire poker.
Another volley of gunshots exploded—more carnage and screams followed.
One pirate grabbed at his own leg, frantically searching for his foot in the mud while his stump bled out.
Abruptly ending their embrace, Rowaine pushed Mia aside and pulled out her pistol as two pirates headed in their direction, one of them the former first mate, Adrian Coswell.
Dieter stepped in front of Sybil to shield her from the bloodshed. He had no weapon. The two pirates split up—Adrian heading toward Rowaine, while the other pirate approached Dieter and grinned sadistically, exposing three yellow teeth, then pulled a curved dagger from his belt.
Dieter growled and charged the man.
The pirate easily sidestepped Dieter, stabbed into his arm, then dragged his dagger straight across, opening a nasty, gaping wound. Blood spurted in pulses and Dieter crumbled to his knees, wailing in pain.
Sybil covered her mouth and shrieked as the pirate crept behind Dieter for the kill, readying himself to slit the man’s throat.
Sybil charged forward and screamed like a banshee. Confused, the pirate craned his neck just as Sybil barreled into her own husband, which in turn shoved the pirates legs out from under him, sending all three of them sprawling in the mud.
Back near the inn’s front door, Claus—with surprising speed for his age—finally connected with one of his targets, sticking Paul in the neck with his fire poker and bringing him to the ground. The old innkeeper quickly moved on to Kevan, who was so astonished by the old man’s abilities, he momentarily froze, mouth agape in utter shock at his fallen brother. With a mighty swing of his bloody poker worthy of a man half his age, Claus bashed in the left side of Kevan’s skull cleanly from ear to crown.
Rowaine stepped in front of Mia to block an attack from Adrian Coswell, but Adrian already had his pistol drawn. Realizing it was too late to aim her own weapon, she closed her eyes as Adrian’s gun erupted.
But Rowaine felt no pain.
Blinking her eyes o
pen, she saw Mia fall to the ground in front of her, face-first, a thin line of smoke rippling from her back. She had sidestepped Rowaine and taken the bullet intended for her lover.
Looking down at Mia’s contorted face, rage consumed Rowaine. She quickly aimed and fired her pistol at Adrian before he could reload. But her fury caused her hand to tremble, distorting her shot, and Adrian rocked back on his heels as the bullet landed in his shoulder.
Meanwhile, in the mud, the pirate was straddling Sybil and choking the life from her. Dieter managed to crawl toward his wife but his bleeding arm failed him and he fell back down in the mud.
Rowaine’s eyes shifted to the pirate atop Sybil. She only had one bullet left in her gun, and Adrian—despite his shattered shoulder—was nearly done reloading his own.
Sybil’s face was turning purple, gagging and choking against the strength of the pirate’s hands.
Rowaine hesitated, unsure which target to use her final bullet on—the pirate choking Sybil, or Adrian.
She fired.
The back of the pirate’s skull exploded in a pink mist and he fell off Sybil, who coughed and crawled away on her elbows, bits of brain and skull scattered through her hair and torso. Dieter rolled onto his back and clutched his bloody arm, closing his eyes and shaking from the pain.
Rowaine swiveled to face Adrian. Adrian grinned, set his feet in the mud, and aimed his reloaded pistol at her.
A gunshot went off. Rowaine jumped and Adrian’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. He fell backward, a large black hole smoking from his forehead.
Rowaine turned.
Daxton Wallace stood behind her, arm and gun extended. He lowered it. “Something you should have done the first moment you became captain, Row,” he said, nodding his bald head toward Adrian’s still body.
“Dax!” Rowaine screamed.
Daxton said, “I had to tell him where you were going, Row. I’m sorry. He had my family hostage—”
But Rowaine was already on her knees, cradling Mia.
The smoke started to dissipate from the battlefield, but the screaming dragged on.
Ulrich was the only one of the three guards still alive. Covered in blood that wasn’t his own, he was swinging an axe in circles as he backed away from two advancing pirates.
By now, the rest of Daxton’s shipmates had flooded the melee and taken control of the situation. They ran past Ulrich, aiming guns and swords at their former crewmen, until the rest of Gustav’s men dropped their weapons and threw their hands in the air.
Tears rolled down Rowaine’s cheeks as she caressed Mia’s head.
“W-why were you with them, Mia? Why did you come out here?” Rowaine asked through choking sobs.
“I-I wanted to make sure you w-were . . . okay . . . my love.” Blood trickled down the corner of her mouth. She swallowed painfully. “You always wanted . . . me . . . to join you . . . yes?”
Rowaine struggled to smile. “I love you, Mia.” She wiped her eyes with her forearm.
“D-don’t worry, Row. I can’t feel a thing.” Mia shuddered.
Snot and tears poured from Rowaine, her bottom lip trembling. She wanted to say more but Mia had stopped blinking.
“Mia?”
The girl’s murky gray eyes ceased their trembling, then saw nothing.
Rowaine bent down and gently rested her forehead against Mia’s.
The battle around them had ended. In the background Daxton barked orders to his men. “Tie those bastards up!” he screamed. “No, you fool, not that one. Just the ones alive!” He pointed where Dieter lay in the mud. “Jerome, get over there, patch up the priest. See if the captain’s woman is still alive.”
“Yes, s-s-sir.”
Dieter mumbled to himself.
As the smoke cleared, the aftermath of the fierce fight took shape. At least half the pirates lay dead or dying. Kevan, Paul, Alfred, and Adrian were sprawled motionless in puddles of their own blood.
Jerome, the ship’s surgeon, went to check Mia, but Rowaine pushed him away. He scooted to Dieter, who mumbled something again.
“What was that, s-s-son?” Jerome asked, bending in closer.
“S-s-s . . .” He took in a breath. “Son!” he cried out, his eyes still shut. “Where is my son, dammit? And my wife! Where is Sybil?”
A grimy, hooded boy approached.
“Peter is safe, Dieter,” Martin said, holding the young boy’s right hand while Ava, his new friend, held the boy’s left. “Your son is safe,” Martin repeated. He straightened and peered around, surveying the entire field, eyes quickly darting from one wounded man to the next.
“But where’s Sybil?” Martin asked.
“She was right . . . beside me,” Dieter said, huffing, trying to stay conscious.
All Martin saw next to Dieter was a pirate with half his head gone. Then he noticed the imprint of a second body in the mud, along with the telltale skidding marks of a person being dragged.
“How’s he to pay us?” a man in the distance yelled out. His hands were bound behind his back.
Ulrich slapped the man hard across the face as the pirate tried to open his mouth to speak again.
“What’s that?” Ulrich teased.
Another pirate called out. “Where’d that dandy bastard go?”
The bound pirates were being forced to sit next to each other, at the feet of Ulrich and Claus.
Martin kept scanning the field, shaking his head.
That’s when he realized what the pirates were trying to say.
Gustav was gone.
And so was Sybil.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
ROWAINE
Rowaine leaned over, her lips twisting in disgust. The wound on Dieter’s arm bled like a rushing river. It was a jagged cut from under his forearm near his wrist to the fleshy part of his arm near his elbow. He lay on his back on a table in Claus’ inn, ruining the innkeeper’s white tablecloth.
The room was full: Rowaine, Claus, and Daxton stood over the injured priest, while Jerome, the surgeon, sat beside him, prodding and examining the wound. Martin was also there, near the door, shielding Ava’s eyes with his hands and keeping careful watch over Peter, who slept soundly on the ground near Claus’ desk.
“Seems it was done with a rusty knife,” Daxton said aloud, to no one in particular.
Jerome coughed. His spectacles hung precariously near the end of his nose as he poked at the wound to gauge Dieter’s pain threshold.
“I need s-s-s—” Jerome began, then stopped mid-stutter and growled in frustration. Daxton patted him on the back.
“Stitching,” the surgeon said at last. “I need stitching to staunch the bleeding a-and something to keep it from f-festering.” He thought for a moment. “If we can find some bee-ee-ees wax”—his face bobbed up and down as he tried to say the word—“we could mix it with peroxide and make s-some s-sort of s-salve.” He rubbed his forefinger with his thumb to clarify his meaning.
“Don’t imagine we’ll find beeswax nearby, not at this late hour,” Daxton answered.
Claus disappeared into another room, returning with a roll of thread. “I don’t have stitching, but perhaps you can thread this through the wound to close it. At least until we can get him to a proper doctor.”
Jerome leveled his eyes at the old innkeeper. “I am a proper doctor, s-s-sir.”
“Of course, no disrespect intended, Mister Penderwick,” Claus said, bowing his head.
Jerome nudged Daxton. “Hold him down.” He poured a bit of rum onto the wound. Dieter howled. Daxton latched onto the priest’s arms as Dieter shivered and writhed.
Jerome handed the rum bottle to his patient, who snatched it and took a hearty swig. He gritted his teeth, then Jerome pierced his skin with a needle and started to sew the wound.
“I trust you have it from here, Jerome,” Rowaine said, heading for the door.
“Where are you going?” Daxton asked, tightening his grip on Dieter to stop him from another bout of spasms.
/> “To find out where Gustav took Sybil.”
“You’re positive he took her?”
“It’s the only reasonable explanation, Dax. Sybil wouldn’t run off on her own without her husband and son.”
Dieter lifted his head, his eyes glassy. “I’m going with you,” he told Rowaine.
Rowaine hesitated. “Where?”
“To find my wife.” He grimaced as Jerome continued threading his wound.
Rowaine shared a look with Daxton, who shook his head slightly. The doctor turned toward her and did the same.
“That’s not a good idea,” Rowaine said. “But I promise I’ll find her. I brought you two into this. You have my word that I’ll find a solution out.”
“I can help,” Dieter mumbled, sucking his upper lip.
Rowaine respected the man’s resolve and regretted what she had to say next. “You’d only slow me down, Dieter. I can ride faster without you, fight better without having to look over my shoulder to make sure you’re still alive. That wound will only worsen with travel. You know that.”
Dieter opened his mouth to say something, but then just groaned, dropping his head back down. “Bring my wife back alive, woman,” he said firmly.
As Rowaine started to leave, she heard Daxton ask the surgeon, “Still need me?”
A moment later, Daxton was beside Rowaine, outside. “I won’t slow you down,” he said.
Rowaine frowned. “What reason do you have to rescue Sybil? You don’t even know the girl.”
With an icy glare, Daxton said, “That’s not right, Row. You’re correct, I don’t know the girl well. But Gustav Koehler held my wife and daughter hostage. He menaced my home. Only reason they managed to escape was thanks to your poor lady friend over there.” He pointed to where Mia lay with a white sheet over her body.
Rowaine glanced over, fighting back tears. Her eyes looked downward.
“I’m . . . sorry,” Daxton muttered.
Rowaine flicked her red mane from her face. “No, you’re right. You have a claim on Gustav, same as me. But if you want him, you’ll have to wait your turn.”
