The Iron Palace

by Morgan Howell

  Toward dusk, Bloodbeard sent the swimmer out again. The man returned to report that the war boat remained anchored in the same spot. Then the order was passed down to start bailing. They would attempt to slip away in the night.

  The boat was afloat again by dusk, but Bloodbeard didn’t order the men to start poling until almost no light remained in the sky. The gloom hindered finding the way out. Even worse, without a guide on a mast to provide an overview, one channel looked like any other. The men poled their craft into one dead end after another. Froan could sense their growing frustration and anger. In one reed-hemmed channel they spotted Mutton’s pale corpse floating like a ghost in the dark water. “That’s all our fates, like enough,” muttered Snapper.

  Froan had no idea how long it took to find the river, but he was exhausted when the boat cleared the reeds at last. The moon had yet to rise, and the Turgen was a dark-gray expanse beneath a black sky. As the river’s current seized the boat and the crew quietly drew in the oars as it had been instructed, each man was aware that the slightest sound might rouse the enemy. The tillerman guided the slowly drifting boat so it hugged the dark mass of reeds. Hopefully, that would prevent the craft’s silhouette from showing against the river.

  The war boat was invisible, but everyone knew it was close. That made the slow pace of the drifting boat especially agonizing. Froan craved to abandon stealth and find release in action, but he obeyed the captain’s orders as dutifully as the rest of the crew. All the while, he kept his ears cocked for any sound that signaled they had been spotted. Once, he heard a distant voice drift over the dark river, but it wasn’t followed by the splash of oars.

  The boat continued to drift. When a faint glow in the sky announced the approach of moonrise, the whispered command was given to extend oars. Then, spurred by fear, Froan rowed with all the strength that remained in him. The idea of the unseen foe united the crew, and they rowed in unison without the captain beating the strokes.

  Like the other men, Froan had peeled off his wet clothes and boots to let his wrinkled skin dry. In the moonlight, his flesh appeared as white as a fish’s belly, and it felt as clammy until exertion warmed it. Despite their weariness, the oarsmen kept up a harried pace and arrived at their island hideout before dawn. Upon reaching it, the captain had them not only beach the boat but also drag it into the trees and out of view. Then they returned to camp and woke the women to have them reheat a cold dinner.

  As Froan entered camp, Moli dashed up to him. Before he could say anything, she threw her arms around him to kiss his mouth long and hard. “Oh, Shadow, Shadow, Ah’ve been so worried ’bout ye!” Moli kissed him again. “Yer clothes are all wet! What happened?”

  “A war boat chased us. We had to hide in the fens.”

  “But ye’ve come back ta me.”

  Froan saw tears flowing down Moli’s smudged cheeks and tenderly wiped them away. “Yes,” he said. “I’ll always come back to you.”

  “Drink!” bellowed Bloodbeard. “Wenches, bring out ale. Ye too, Moli. Move yer slutty arse and serve the men Ah saved, no thanks to Shadow.”

  Moli cast Froan an anxious look before hurrying off. When she reached the ale cask, the captain gripped her arm. “Ah’ve been parched overlong, so see my mug don’t run dry. Others can see to Shadow.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  Bloodbeard squeezed Moli’s arm so tight she winced. “And kiss the man who saved the crew.” When Moli pecked his lips, Bloodbeard grabbed her face, digging his fingers and thumb into her cheeks. “A real kiss, ye whore. One that shows ye mean it!” Then he cupped the back of her head with one hand and pulled her toward him until their lips mashed together. As Moli squirmed in the captain’s grip, she seemed to be choking on his tongue.

  Watching this infuriated Froan, but he also saw through the captain’s game. He’s goading me, hoping I’ll do something rash. Despite that awareness, Froan’s thoughts turned murderous. He envisioned gutting Bloodbeard, as he had Sturgeon, or strangling him, as he had Pike. Then his cold inner voice reminded him that both those attacks had been surprises. Froan glanced around and saw that all Bloodbeard’s men were watching him with weapons handy. This is no time for a fight. Froan forced on a nonchalant face, grabbed a bowl, and sauntered over to a stew pot. The fire beneath it had just been lit, and its contents were cold. Nevertheless, Froan dipped his bowl in the pot to fill it with stew. Then he retreated toward the woods, keeping a wary eye on his enemies.

  As Froan reached the trees, he heard Bloodbeard’s voice. It was especially loud, doubtlessly for his benefit. “Tonight, ye’ll bed with me, Moli, and be tupped by a real man.”

  Upon hearing those words and imagining what lay in store for Moli, Froan almost charged back into camp, his sword swinging in reckless fury. To be cut down before Moli’s eyes, he thought. Then Froan struggled to control his rage. He didn’t seek to quell it, only channel it toward a more practical revenge. Born heir to that talent, he succeeded. Hot anger transformed into icy malice. As Froan slipped into the dark woods, his mind was awhirl.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  FEARING THAT the captain might send men to slay him while he slept, Froan bedded in a dense and distant thicket. Exhaustion caused him to sleep much later than usual, and it was midmorning when he returned to camp. Even so, Froan found no one up. He was helping himself to cold stew when Bloodbeard emerged from a shelter. The captain was fully dressed and armed, as were the two men who accompanied him, Snapper and Mud. Mud, another member of Bloodbeard’s inner circle, was a huge man. His scarred face was surrounded by long blond locks and a voluminous beard. Both were tangled into thick, greasy ropes of hair. When he spied Froan, he cast him a derisive glance. “Look who’s here, Cap.”

  “Well, well,” said Bloodbeard, “our Shadow’s crept out with the sun.”

  “Aye, there’s no Shadow at night,” said Mud, chuckling at his wit. “Just ask Moli.”

  “Where’s that wench?” asked Bloodbeard. “Moli! Moli, drag yer whore’s arse out here and serve me and my men.”

  Two more of the captain’s men, also dressed and armed, emerged from the shelter. Behind them hobbled Moli. She seemed shattered, moving like an old woman who is pained by every step. She had been beaten so savagely that her eyes were only slits surrounded by swollen, discolored flesh. Her ragged blouse had been torn, forcing her to clutch it closed in order to cover her breasts.

  Froan felt shamed by his failure to protect her. He was also outraged to the point of fury. Nonetheless, he fought to hide both emotions from Bloodbeard, who was watching him closely. The captain grinned. “Somethin’ troublin’ ye, Shadow?”

  “Yes, Captain,” replied Froan. “I never should’ve fired that ship. I stepped out of my place, and we all paid for it.”

  “Aye, we have,” said Bloodbeard. He glanced pointedly at Moli. “All o’ us. But mayhap ye can make amends.”

  While Bloodbeard was speaking, Moli went over to the pile of dirty dishes, picked up a bowl, and wiped it clean with the tail of her blouse. Then she filled it with cold stew and brought it over to the captain. Froan noted that her hands couldn’t stop trembling and she seemed barely able to see. What did he do to her? he wondered as he struggled to appear calm.

  Bloodbeard raised a hand, causing Moli to cringe. “Stupid sow! Where’s a spoon?”

  “Sorry, Captain, sorry,” said Moli in a tiny voice as she hobbled to the pile of dishes as quickly as she could. There she found a spoon and rushed back to Bloodbeard, polishing it with her blouse as she went.

  Bloodbeard took the spoon and smiled at Froan. “Now that she’s broke in proper, Ah think Ah fancy her. Ye’ll get more rest if ye sleep alone. A young lad needs his rest.”

  “Yes,” said Froan. “And one grows bored of tupping the same wench every night.”

  “That’s why Ah have three,” said Bloodbeard. “Three, countin’ Moli.”

  Froan kept his face neutral and shrugged. “Captain, you said I might make amends. I’d like to do that.” />
  “Would ye? Well, good. Ah have an idea, and ye’re just the one to make it work. But Ah’ll need to get somethin’ first.” Bloodbeard began shoveling food into his mouth, and Froan didn’t press him for details.

  Bloodbeard didn’t rouse his crew, but let them sleep in. He even allowed Moli to return to the shelter after she had ladled out cold stew to his men. It was mid afternoon when he ordered the boat launched. The captain didn’t head upriver, but set a course for the Turgen’s northern bank. Froan assumed that the change was made to avoid the war boat.

  The pirates prowled the north bank until they spotted a fishing boat. It was similar to the one that Froan had boarded—a long, two-man rowboat. Its two rowing benches were toward the bow, while the stern portion of the craft provided deck space to store and handle a net. A large, rectangular bin for holding the catch lay amidships. Four pirates were sent out to the fishing boat, double the usual number. To Froan’s surprise, they slew the two fishermen and threw them overboard. Afterward, two of the pirates rowed the fishing boat to the pirate craft and secured it for towing. When that was done, Bloodbeard ordered a return to the hideaway. Froan was puzzled by the captain’s actions, and he was further puzzled when the fishermen’s catch was left in the bin.

  At the evening meal, Bloodbeard was in a good mood, showing none of his former animosity toward Froan. When the drinking began, the captain spoke to him in a voice loud enough for all to hear. “Shadow, this morn ye spoke of makin’ amends. Are ye still prepared to do that?”

  “I am, Captain.”

  “Good man, fer it takes a man to own up to a mistake and an even better one to fix it. Ah’ve just the job fer one who’s bold and darin’. Ye’ll need men to help ye. Name six ye trust.”

  Froan sensed that Bloodbeard was setting a trap for him, but he saw no other option than to proceed. “Bog Rat, Chopper, Toad, Serpent, Gouger, and Eel.”

  Bloodbeard grinned. “Good choices, all true men.”

  “And what are we to do?” asked Froan.

  “Why, ye’re so fond of settin’ fires, Ah thought ye’d torch the war boat.”

  “How?”

  “Ah’ll explain all in the morn. Tonight, let’s drink.”

  Froan suspected that the captain had a reason for keeping him ignorant and it was futile to ask more about his mission. Instead, he strove to appear unfazed by its perils and grateful for the chance to redeem himself. In doing so, he hoped to prevent his men from becoming alarmed while convincing Bloodbeard that he was falling for his ploy, what ever it was. He was more successful in the latter than the former. Telk appeared worried, as did some of the others. Unconcerned by their apprehensions, Froan turned his attention to finding a way to speak with Moli.

  Although she had helped the other women serve, she hung back in the shadows whenever possible. Her face was barely recognizable, and she seemed so forlorn and frightened that the sight of her tore at Froan. Aware that he was being watched, all he could do was wait until the captain and his men were in their cups. Then Froan skirted the light and approached Moli from the dark.

  When she saw him coming, she tried to flee, and Froan was forced to grab her arm. When he did, she tensed and began shaking. “Moli, Moli,” he whispered tenderly, “everything I told the captain was a lie. I said it only to protect you. No matter what he says, you’ll always be my woman.”

  Moli said nothing, but tears flowed from the slits that were her eyes.

  “Was it Bloodbeard who beat you?”

  Moli nodded. Then she added in a barely audible whisper, “Others, too.”

  “Others?”

  “Aye. When he was done, he gave me ta his men. ’Tweren’t natural, what they done. ’Tweren’t at all.”

  “They’ll pay, Moli. All of them,” said Froan in a cold, hard voice. “And they’ll pay soon.” Then he retreated into the dark.

  * * *

  It wasn’t until the following morning that Bloodbeard revealed his plan. After dawnmeal, he took Froan aside and showed him two items that he had brought from storage. One was a large earthenware jug sealed with a stopper. “This is lamp oil,” he said. He held up a rectangular metal box about two hand lengths high and one wide. There was a handle at the top, and both its top and bottom panels were perforated with tiny holes. “This is a dark lantern.” He opened a door in its side to reveal its double-walled construction. The inner chamber had holes only in its side panels. “A flame in here sheds no light unless this door’s open.”

  “So I spill the oil on the war boat and light it using the dark lantern.”

  “Aye, simple as that.”

  “And how do I get on the war boat?”

  “That’s what the fishin’ boat’s fer. Today, ye and yer men hide ’neath the catch in the fish bin while Mud and Snapper row up to the war boat. They’ll have a friendly chat with them aboard to get a close look afore rowing upriver. The moon won’t rise till near morn, so ’twill be a dark night. Past midnight, Mud and Snapper will guide the boat so it drifts up to the war boat. Then they’ll wait while ye and yer men do the job. Leave yer boots behind and mayhap ye won’t be heard. If ye are, yer men can hold back the watch while ye set the fire. Be quick, and ye’ll be off afore the soldiers wake.”

  Froan was impressed with the captain’s plan. While risky, it seemed to have a chance of success. “Can you tell me more about the war boat?” he asked.

  “Why? Ye’re not havin’ second thoughts?”

  It was impossible to miss the menace in Bloodbeard’s tone. “Not at all,” replied Froan. “I’d just like to know what I face.”

  “Ah’ve been on a war boat,” said Bloodbeard. “Was forced to row a dozen moons fer stealin’ a chicken. All the oarsmen are convicted men and chained three abreast to the benches. The soldiers are hirelings. They sleep in hammocks belowdecks.”

  “And their leaders?” asked Froan.

  “The officers have fancy quarters on the stern.”

  “And there’ll be a watch?”

  “Should be one or two men, most like. The trick is to be quick. Fire the ship, then row off to watch it burn. And when ye return, all’s forgiven.”

  Froan flashed a grateful smile. “Thank you, Captain.”

  Facing a long row against the current, the men left early. Snapper and Mud manned the oars, thus Froan and his men had it easy at first. There was no need to hide in the fish bin until they were farther upriver. Froan was glad for that, because hiding would be torture. The bin was little more than half the width of the deck and barely a man’s length. For seven men to fit into the cramped space, they would have to form two layers. The day-old catch that would cover and hide them was already beginning to ripen. Fortunately, the bin had sides constructed of slats with spaces between them, allowing some fresh air to enter. With luck, they wouldn’t suffocate.

  Mud and Sapper rowed steadily, and by afternoon the fishing boat approached the stretch of river where the war boat had been anchored. Neither of the captain’s men had spoken during the trip, but Froan had gazed into each man’s eyes and saw betrayal in them. He was convinced that neither he nor his men were meant to survive the assault. It seems Bloodbeard hopes to destroy two foes at once, thought Froan. The war boat and me.

  The rage that had simmered within Froan grew more intense, and he could feel his shadow stirring. Froan knew its power, which both assured and disturbed him. The two men rowing the boat had no idea what they would face if Froan unleashed his malevolent and savage side. But to do that, Froan would have to surrender to his darkest impulses, and he had seen the consequences. How many will be slaughtered this time? Froan had no idea, but already the shadowed part of him hungered for death and mayhem. It seemed to hint that bloodlust might consume him.

  Once again, Froan felt that if he wished to survive, he had no choice other than to follow his malign side. Without his dark powers, he was helpless. Nevertheless, he shrank from embracing them, for he sensed that he was nearing a threshold beyond which there was no return. Must
I become a monster in order to live?

  His shadow answered, but not in a way Froan expected. No words or impulses welled up, just an image of Moli’s battered face. Then love and hate combined, and Froan let go of all restraint. He felt a chill surge through his body as his being filled with malice. With it came a sense of power.

  With a firm grip on his every feature, Froan gave himself the passive look of a beaten dog. He gazed at his feet when he spoke to Mud and Snapper in the fawning tone of an inferior. “So, how was Moli last night?”

  Snapper answered first. “Like any slut, only bony.”

  “So-so,” added Mud. “No better.”

  “Did she put up a fuss?” asked Froan.

  “Not fer long,” said Mud. “A few good blows and she did what ever Ah wanted.”

  Mud’s words doomed him. He had spoken them with the easy confidence of a powerful man, but that was before Froan looked up at him. As soon as Mud met Froan’s eyes he was overwhelmed by their withering intensity. The blood drained from his scarred face, and he stopped rowing to freeze like a hare seized by a wolf. Mud was helpless, though no jaws gripped him, only a pair of eyes. But those eyes weren’t wholly human.

  When Froan swung the fishing gaff, Mud was too terrorized even to flinch. With a meaty thump, the iron hook bit deep into the side of his neck. Then Froan yanked the handle, ripping out Mud’s throat in a shower of blood. The huge man crashed onto the deck, and convulsed briefly before growing still.

  Afterward, Froan advanced through a spreading crimson pool toward Snapper, who regarded him with abject horror. Mud’s murder had invigorated the dark entity within Froan. When he spoke, he could hear new power in his voice, which sounded both cold and compelling. “What were the captain’s plans? Were we really supposed to board the war boat?”