by B A Simmons
“We sat at this table,” Paul said to Edwin after eating little of his Solomon’s Salmon dish. He had, however, consumed more than his share of the wine. “You, Rob, your sister Anna, and Pamela. We sat here and talked about history.”
“I remember. I wasn’t the best company that night.”
“You weren’t, were you. Upset that Rob and I controlled the conversation or that Rob had eyes for your sister?”
Edwin frowned. “A bit of both perhaps. It seems a long time ago.”
“A lot has changed in a year,” Eugene said. He rubbed a finger down the scar on his face.
“You are the best of company today, Edwin Johnson. You and your crew. I thought my Pamela would die in that ship. A prisoner, without ever tasting free air again. I thought I would die with her. We were in there for over three months. I…”
Paul choked up.
“You’re a strong man,” Duncan said, unable to keep the tears from dripping down his cheeks. His own brother’s death aboard the Anna Louisa coming back to his mind.
“She never liked sailing,” Paul said. “Even though her father was a merchant with a fleet of vessels. I told Rob that. What a bright young man he is. When you see him again, Edwin, you tell him that. Pamela and I always recognized his intelligence.”
“You can tell him when you see him again. He should pass this way any day now.”
“Yes. Of course…”
Edwin motioned to Eugene and James to help. Together they directed the inebriated jeweler up to a room above them. Edwin paid Hampton, though the innkeeper feigned indignance at the idea of accepting the money. Edwin then wrote a message for Rob and Tom which Hampton accepted the responsibility to deliver.
Talk of the town informed Edwin and his crew that while the Falcon influence on the island had been dealt a harsh blow with Marcel’s sudden leaving, they fully expected another ambassador to take his place. Many suspected the replacement to be worse than Marcel. Edwin saw the need for someone else to exert more favorable influence. Paul, with the sympathy of the entire island on his side, could be that man. If only Rob were here to help him realize that.
As the Anna Louisa set sail again from Port Edward, Edwin and his crew looked at each other with renewed respect. Each of them, even Edwin, looked at Ches with a little more apprehension.
Malcolm
“D raw!” Malcolm hollered.
Twenty fresh-faced farmers and fishermen drew back their bowstrings.
“Shoot!” he shouted.
Twenty arrows hissed through the air, but only eight thudded into the thatch dummies standing fifty paces away. Their owners broke into wide grins. Of the other twelve, five fell short of the targets while the rest flew past them. A couple sailed well over the targets. None of the arrows, not even those that struck the targets, hit near the vital areas indicated with red paint on the dummies’ necks, faces and groins.
Malcolm sighed, “If your target is wearing armor on his chest, as any Falcon soldier will, those arrows will bounce off!”
“Yeah, well let’s see you do it then,” a voice grumbled.
Malcolm scanned their faces for whoever spoke, but they all looked equally guilty. Rolling his eyes in frustration he snatched a bow from the nearest man and plucked a shaft from the basket used to carry the practice arrows. He took quick note of the breeze as he nocked the shaft onto the bowstring. He glanced once more at the men on either side of him, took aim and fired. The shot pierced the dummy’s neck. He took another arrow and loosed it, before it impaled the target between the legs, he had a third loaded. Malcolm sent this last arrow into the middle of the dummy’s face. A few of the recruits cheered and laughed as if they’d supported him all along.
The smiles disappeared from their faces as Malcolm gave the order to retrieve the arrows. The disappointment at such little efficacy after the constant training was taking its toll on him. These youth (most had fewer than twenty years) were far from soldier material. Malcolm shuddered at the idea of taking them hunting, much less into battle. Yet, all those with fighting experience were either unwilling to volunteer or already employed. In the months since Mark posted Malcolm on Isle de James, the fear of the Falcon Empire had grown steadily among their population. Every mercenary or former soldier had been hired by either the Consortium or by one of the island’s many merchants for protection. Even some of the baronial guard had resigned in favor of more profitable work guarding cargoes of rice and wood.
Henry Reese, the baron’s nephew and Malcolm’s father-in-law had but fifty well-trained baronial guards ready to invade Alimia and drive the Falcon Empire from that island. For this reason, he set the former hunter and mercenary to work training new recruits. Over two hundred had volunteered and Malcolm had but Captain Siever to help him. Training them in groups of twenty was slow going, but what else was he to do?
“A good archer can loose three aimed-shots in thirty seconds,” Malcolm told his class. “but a great archer can loose twice that many at moving targets and hit every time.”
A few snickers sounded from the class. Then a voice called out, “Aside from you, who else could do that?”
Malcolm approached the speaker, a fresh-faced youth with a hood over his head. “I’ve known a couple others.”
“Like Mark Engleman?”
Malcolm’s eyes narrowed and he scrutinized the face beneath the hood. The youth removed the hood to give him a better look, causing Malcolm to step back in surprise. It was Anna. Her hair was cut short, as short as Trina’s when they all first met at Fallen Dome. She was dressed in a man’s tunic and pants with a leather jacket. Malcolm recognized the bow she held as that of her late husband.
Without thinking, he gripped her arm and led her away from the rest of the class, leaving them to wonder and gawk. She did not resist but jerked her arm out of his fingers when he had taken her out of earshot. Standing proud, she looked at him with a wry smile.
“Anna, what are you doing here?”
“I’m one of your students, Malcolm. I’m learning archery.”
“You know what I mean!” He spoke harshly while attempting to subdue his voice. “Why aren’t you on Engle Isle with your child?”
Anna sighed; her eyes dropped for a moment before meeting his again. “He’s fine. He’s back home with John and Lisette.”
“Why aren’t you there?”
“I’m just not and that’s all there is to it. Now teach me to shoot.”
With reluctance, Malcolm returned with Anna to the firing line where murmurs and whispers met them from the other recruits. He ignored them and gave instructions for the next hour before dismissing the class. As the recruits filed out of the palace parade grounds, Malcolm again took hold of Anna’s arm.
“Return here this evening before sunset. We still need to talk.”
She smiled at him again and nodded.
The day continued as planned for Malcolm, teaching recruits, meeting with Captain Siever to discuss their classes and compare notes on specific recruits, and at the end, he returned to his quarters for a much-needed rest before changing for dinner.
He sneaked past the dining hall, knowing only servants would be there until dinner was complete, and took the servants’ doors into the courtyard and parade grounds. At the gate he found Anna under guard and waiting with the same smug smile she’d left with.
“She’s alright,” Malcolm told the guards, who bowed and let Anna pass through. “You’re not dressed for dinner.”
“You said for me to be here, not that we’re having dinner. Besides, I haven’t anything else to wear, unless you require me in my armor.”
Malcolm turned and began walking back toward the palace. Anna took the hint and caught up to him. His longer legs made for a quicker pace which she struggled to keep up with. His mind was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice her awkward gait until they were at the servants’ entrance again.
“I realized that you are a dignitary and should be treated as one,” He began. “I’ve b
een working here on Isle de James so long that I forget I’m supposed to be the liaison between the Consortium and the barony. Honestly, since my wedding I’ve felt more a part of the royal Humphry family than the Consortium. Anyway, Mark left me here to do a job and when you showed up like you did… it just… it took me by surprise.”
Anna was no longer smiling. “I’m not looking for any special treatment. I’m fine eating the camp food.”
“You’re Mark Engleman’s wife. You’re one of the original crew of the Entdecker, and without you there would be no alliance between this island and Engle Isle. Henry would be livid if he knew you were down in that camp, living as a recruit.”
“I just want to fight the Falcons, Malcolm. No one on Engle Isle would let me do that, so I left.”
Malcolm paused before the doors of the dining hall. The smells of roast capon with rice wafted into their nostrils. Malcolm knew Anna’s mouth would water with such smells and he hoped it would be enough for her to give up her protest.
He added, “Besides, dressed or not, Laura would kill me if I didn’t bring you.”
He extended his arm toward her and waited. After a moment, Anna joined her elbow to his and her smile returned.
Inside the dining hall Henry Reese sat at a large copper wood table with his son, Leonard, on his right and his daughter Laura on his left. To Leonard’s right, at the end of the table was the ever charming Siever, Captain of the Royal Guard. Various servants and attendants waited upon this group, but no other guests were present.
Laura noted her husband’s entrance and spoke up. “Malcolm, there you are? I was beginning to wonder… who is this with you.”
Before Malcolm could speak, Siever said with astonishment in his voice, “Anna Engleman?!”
Anna blushed at the recognition. Henry sat dumfounded at the young woman and the transformation from the last time he had seen her. Leonard smiled sheepishly, not seeming to understand what was happening.
“Yes, this is Anna Engleman, wife of the late Mark Engleman of the Hellhound Consortium,” Malcolm said.
“By Ayday, what has…?” Henry stopped himself.
“She came to join us,” Malcolm said, attempting to explain her being on the island. However, his wife looked to make herself the lady of the house.
“She is certainly welcome. Please, Anna, sit here next to me.”
An awkward silence followed as Malcolm escorted Anna to the table. A servant brought food and after the rest began eating, Anna tore into the steaming bird. It appeared to be the first actual meal she’d eaten for some time.
The conversation was light and sporadic until all had their fill. As their dishes were cleared away, Henry asked, “What has brought you back to our island, Anna?”
She forced a smile, “I have the same purpose, Lord Henry, as I had when I first came. The Falcon Empire still holds Alimia and threatens our own islands. I am here to join in the fight against them.”
Henry looked disappointed. “What of your responsibilities on Engle Isle?”
“I have no other responsibilities.”
Malcolm shot a warning glance at his father-in-law as the older man’s fatherly instincts were about to override his judgement. He knew that Henry treasured his own children, especially as their mother, his late wife Katherine, had died bringing Leonard into the world. His paternal instincts were keen and often brought to bear on those he saw as needing fatherly counsel or protection.
“I’m thinking Anna might be able to help us in our own war efforts.” Malcolm said. His eyes scanned the group, looking for signs of interest. “As one of the original members of the Hellhound Consortium,” he looked at Anna, “and widow of the Consortium’s first leader, she could be our ensign.”
“Our what?” Laura asked.
“Someone’s been reading in the library again,” Siever grinned.
Malcolm couldn’t help but share in his friend’s musing. “In ancient times, our ancestors would select someone in their army to bear their banner into battle. The ensign would have to be someone with courage and dedication to the cause because wherever they took the banner, the army would follow. If the banner moved forward, so would the soldiers; if it retreated, so would they. If a soldier got lost on the battlefield, they would look for the banner to know where to rally. The ensign became a symbol to follow.”
“You want me to be a symbol?” Anna said, not hiding her doubt.
“You could draw hundreds to the fight against the Falcons. You could show them this is a fight worth their attention and effort.”
“I agree with Malcolm,” Siever said. “There’s much to be gained with Anna in our ranks. The mercenaries they brought here—the Punishers—their captain told me it was Anna’s rescue of Mark at Southport that inspired him to join with the Consortium.”
“Edward said that?” Anna said.
Siever’s deep blue eyes looked into hers as he nodded. She allowed herself to share the moment with him before looking away.
“You are all speaking of this as if I have no choice in the matter,” She said.
Malcolm said. “Not intentionally, Anna. We’re just used to getting Lord Henry’s approval before moving forward with an idea. We certainly want you to say yes, but you do have the choice.”
“I approve of the idea, as long as Anna feels that it’s worth her time and effort,” Henry said.
Anna searched their faces. With the exception of Leonard who seemed somewhat disinterested in the discussion, each of them looked at her with anticipation. Anna’s own face was not of the stoic nature her husband had disciplined so well in his life. Rather it seemed conflicted, torn between her own desires and the expectations of others. Then it brightened, as though touched by the divine.
“I agree… under one condition.”
“Absolutely,” Henry said. “If it is within our power to provide it, we will.”
“When the time comes to drive the Falcons off Alimia, no one is to stop me from joining in the combat.”
Malcolm drew a breath. He thought of Mark and guessed at what he would do. With resignation, but also happy relief, he nodded.
“Of course.”
A Hope for Survival
H is throat ached with thirst. His eyes struggled to focus. His body felt weak and his shoulder screamed in agony as he attempted to sit up.
Tom awoke to his third day in hell and managed to bring himself upright against the inside hull under the quarterdeck of the Entdecker. The ship sat on her starboard side while perched on the reef surrounding Hellhound Isle, wrecked there during the car-dun attack. The stout little ship remained intact save for the bowsprit and mast, both of which had been snapped. The sail and steering oar were nowhere to be seen and ropes and debris were strewn all over the reef. However, most of the cargo remained lashed fast in the hold.
Each night, the tide pounded the hull, but as she had turned herself with the keel facing the open sea, the waves did little more than rock her against the sharp rocky coral. Tom knew that with time, these same waves would wear out the hull and the Entdecker would founder on the reef. However, he also knew he could not save her in his current condition. Without food and water, he would expire long before the ship. Of the two food boxes still inside the wreck, one had lost its contents to the sea. The other contained nothing but a sodden bag of oats of which Tom ate but a handful. While the oats reduced the salty flavor from the water, he had none of the freshwater storage with which to quench his ever-growing thirst.
To make matters worse, an octopus had taken interest in the wreck. It had already devoured the corpse of one of the rowers Piers had placed aboard. Now it fumbled around with its clawed tentacles, looking for Tom. Twice already Tom had used his dagger to defend himself, yet this seemed only to encourage the beast. Long before he’d ever set sail on the Entdecker, Tom had sworn that when he died it would not be in the clutches of anything with tentacles. Despite his love of the sea and sailing, octopus and krakens had remained a specter of concern in his
mind; a fear he reasoned out with cautious and expert seamanship.
It now looked as if his worst nightmare might happen. The emboldened octopus was relentless and Tom knew it was a matter of time before he would be too weak to fend it off. Yet for the moment, it seemed to have sunk back to the bottom of the lagoon.
Tom took another handful of the oats and placed them in his mouth. Though his surroundings were anything but dry, his mouth was a desert. After a struggle to swallow the oats, he sat gasping and trying to choke down those bits that stuck to his throat and gagged him. That small effort to survive exhausted him and he again dozed.
A noise awoke him. His head jerked forward and his eyes squinted to find the source. A tentacle writhed like a serpent over the cargo, making its way aft—toward Tom. Reaching for his dagger, Tom’s hand found something else instead. It was the silver whistle he’d found in the Ka tree grove; the one belonging to the Ferlie he’d seen there. He gripped the whistle in his other hand while he continued searching for the dagger with his good arm. The tentacle seemed to home in on him the more he searched. His fingers grasped the weapon at the same time the tentacle took hold of his hurt arm.
The pain was excruciating. Worse than the burst of light that had burned a hole in his shoulder. He dropped the dagger and tried holding on to the Entdecker. The burn wound felt as though it was being torn open. Claws dug into the flesh of his arm and pulled him from his hiding place. Tom closed his eyes. He did not wish to see his doom. He knew the tentacle would pull him into the lagoon and it would be a toss-up to see if he drowned before the octopus sliced him apart enough to bleed out.
The tentacle pulled; it yanked at him. He felt his grip on the Entdecker fail him and his body splashed into the lagoon. Yet just as soon as his body submerged in the water, he was pulled free again. Lifted into the air, he was curious enough to open his eyes. He saw the tentacles still gripping his arm, and the rest of the octopus— above him.
