Noel stepped back numbly, aghast at what he’d done. Around him the pirates were congratulating him and slapping him on the back. The Medusa came alongside with grappling hooks and snared the Plentitude. While the boarding party swarmed over, Noel wrenched himself free and staggered to the side. He thought he would throw up, but he didn’t. Again and again, that scene played through his mind. He felt clammy and diminished. He felt a fool.
“And where is this big hero?” said a voice that Noel knew better than any other. “Where is this captain killer? I want to shake his hand for giving us this fine prize on a platter. Noel? Noel Kedran, come forth!”
Noel closed his eyes, not wanting to believe it yet aware that he’d been expecting nothing less all along. Slowly, still feeling sick, he wiped Miller’s blood from his face and hands before turning around.
Leon stood in the center of the deck with a sword in his hand and a plumed hat on his head, his boots planted wide apart as though he owned the world. He was laughing, more alive and confident than Noel had ever seen him; he glowed as though the bloodshed had energized him. For a moment Noel was disoriented. It was like standing in a haze, looking at himself, then the feeling of oneness vanished. They were separate entities again, physical and moral opposites in every way.
Unable to meet those gray eyes that were shaped like his, yet paler, more silver, Noel looked down. He saw his hand, bloodstained and covered still with bits of flesh. His hand clenched jerkily, and he brushed his sleeve frantically, slapping it, feeling as though he would never be clean again.
“I don’t mind a little blood, brother,” Leon said mockingly. “You needn’t try to clean up just for me. Come and stand over here. Watch while my men round up the plunder. I’ll even see that you get a share for your help today.”
Noel glared at him and refused to come any closer. If he’d been able, he would have attacked his duplicate at that moment. His hatred was black in him, growing blacker as though Leon’s evil nature was taking root in him.
“Your men?” Noel managed to say, his voice raw. “Since when? How, in the course of two days, have you acquired a ship and crew of your own?”
“Oh, they’re not exactly his,” said a deep booming voice.
The crew parted, and a man strode forward. Dressed all in black from the kerchief tied over his head to his unlaced shirt straining across a massive chest to a pair of leather breeches, he was taller than any other man aboard. A thick black beard covered his face nearly to his eyes. He wore a bandolier with three braces of pistols thrust through it, and was armed with two daggers and a cutlass besides.
“I am Black Lonigan, captain of the Medusa.”
Those of the Plentitude’s crew still alive shrank among themselves. Several made furtive signs of the Cross.
Lonigan threw back his head and laughed in a rumbling basso. “That’s right,” he said. “Fear me. Fear my control over your puny lives. I am master of these waters again, and all who sail here belong to me.”
Noel managed to regather his wits. The look of admiration on Leon’s face was nauseating enough for Noel to speak even more sharply than he intended. “I hope you’ll remember that we surrendered this ship to you. You should show mercy now to the crew and passengers.”
“Hold your tongue!” Leon said furiously. “You give no orders here.”
“Neither do you!” retorted Noel. “You may have joined these brigands, but you’re still—”
“Silence!” Lonigan roared, making Noel’s head ring.
Lonigan dropped his enormous hand on Leon’s shoulder, and Leon stiffened with pride like a dog that’s petted. “This man is my quartermaster, so elected by this band. His authority is second only to mine. You will respect that—and him—if you wish to keep your miserable life.”
Lonigan stepped away to shout orders at his crew. Noel figured Leon had tampered with Lonigan’s mind to become a favorite so quickly.
Leon laughed at Noel. “Not bad, eh, brother? I’ve finally landed where I really belong.” He leaned forward and spat into Noel’s face. “In charge of your miserable hide, with the power to let you live or to make you die.”
Revulsion quivered inside Noel. He kept his face expressionless, however, and wiped Leon’s spittle from his cheek. “If I die,” he said softly, “so do you. Don’t forget that.”
Fear, like a furtive rat, passed through Leon’s eyes. Then he sneered. “Before I’m through with you, you’ll beg for the mercy of death. You’ll beg me!”
“Don’t count on it.”
Leon stiffened. “Hand it over.”
Now it was Noel’s turn to feel fear. “Never.”
Leon stuck out his hand. “Give it to me, or I swear I’ll cut off your hand.”
“You can’t use the LOC.” Noel glanced around for a way out, but there wasn’t one. “You know that. You’ve tried it before.”
“Neither will you,” Leon said.
Only then did Noel understand what he intended. “You can’t throw it away! Leon, for God’s sake—”
“We are staying here. We are never going through time again,” Leon said. He clutched Noel’s shirtfront and twisted the cloth until Noel felt the pressure against the base of his throat. “Now hand it over.”
“Go to hell.”
Leon shoved Noel hard enough to send him sprawling on his back. Before Noel could get up, Leon planted his boot in the center of Noel’s chest and aimed a pistol at his hand.
“Remove it, or I’ll shoot off your fingers one by one. You can’t die from the loss of your fingers, dear brother, but you’ll miss them for the rest of your miserable crippled life.”
“Leon, please.”
“Remove it!” Leon shouted. He fired the pistol, and the ball hit the deck next to Noel’s thumb.
Noel flinched and jerked up his hand. His heart was thudding violently. His mouth felt so dry it took him several seconds to unstick his tongue.
“You’re not that good a shot,” he said.
“Tie his hand to the deck!” Leon ordered. “Next time I won’t miss.”
Noel hesitated, furious at his own cowardice, furious at Leon’s irrational demands. More than one of the pirates standing around him had stumps strapped to wooden legs. Some were missing eyes, others hands or arms. This was a world of mutilation and barbarism. He didn’t want to join the ranks of cripples.
Besides, the LOC didn’t work properly. It couldn’t get him home. All it did was jerk him randomly from place to place. Maybe Leon was right. Maybe it was time he accepted his fate and settled somewhere. Keeping the thing wasn’t worth this price.
“You’re a fool,” Leon said, reading refusal into his silence. Leon raised another pistol.
“Wait!” Noel was sweating. He struggled with himself, fighting the rising barrier within him. “For God’s sake, I—I have the implant. You know I can’t just give it to you. I’m trying.”
Leon eased the hammer down on the pistol. “The implant,” he said stupidly. His eyes grew vague as though he was sorting through his own imperfect memory, a memory copied from Noel’s. Then he blinked. “Of course. I’d forgotten.”
Wordlessly, fighting the conditioning implanted by the Time Institute to prevent travelers from going rogue and electing to stay in the past, thereby possibly changing the future, Noel held up his left arm. His tattered sleeve fell back to reveal the leather band.
At a command from Leon, one of the pirates cut off the band. Noel choked back an involuntary cry of protest.
“It’s not even silver,” the pirate said in obvious puzzlement. “Why is it worth this struggle?”
Leon looked at the leather strap with revulsion. “Throw it overboard.”
Scratching his head, the man complied. Noel closed his eyes a moment, struggling to overcome the sense of disaster that gripped him. Now he was indeed trapped in this time. He could never get back.
Never.
Chapter Three
Locked inside the captain’s cabin with the two women pass
engers and the child, Noel paced restlessly back and forth across the cramped space. Outside, the pirates had broken into the stores of French brandy and were dancing in celebration while Lonigan and Leon debated over what plunder to take. Because the cabin was located in the poop, a porthole faced the rest of the deck. Each time he glanced outside, Noel could see Black Lonigan lolling at his ease on stacks of coiled rope while the captured crewmen were brought before him one by one. He would hand each man a quill pen. If the man signed the articles, he became a pirate. If he refused, he was shoved aside. All the Plentitude’s officers had refused and now stood as prisoners. The first mate was speaking to his companions; presumably he offered them encouragement, but all the men looked afraid.
“What will become of us?” asked Lady Pamela. Her shining brown hair waved softly back from her brow and hung in clusters of ringlets to her shoulders. She sat on the captain’s sea chest, having given the one available chair to her cousin, Lady Mountleigh. Pamela kept her cloak wrapped tightly about her person as though she felt cold, but her chin was high and her green eyes flashed angrily at Noel as though she blamed him for what had happened.
“Will you not answer me, sirrah? What will become of us?”
Noel frowned. “I don’t know.”
“You should know. These are your companions—”
“Pamela,” the older woman rebuked her, speaking in a low voice. Plump and pale, she kept touching her bare throat. The pirates had taken her pearls. “Pray hush. These accusations do not advance our cause.”
“I shall speak the truth as I see it,” Lady Pamela said briskly. She glared at Noel. “I blame you directly for the misfortunes that have befallen us at the hands of these ruffians. You are a murderer and a scoundrel. Not only have you killed my brother, but now poor Captain Miller as well.”
Noel’s teeth set on edge. “I did not kill your brother! I am not one of these pirates. Why do you suppose I am locked in here?”
“That is a point to your favor,” said Lady Mountleigh with a faint smile for Noel. “I am certain my husband will not overlook it when he examines this day’s events.”
“Rubbish, Caro,” Lady Pamela said. “The fellow is a knave. He led the prisoners to revolt and caused our capture. Now he is no doubt placed among us to question and frighten us further.” She sniffed. “Well, I am not in the least afraid of you, whoever you are.”
“My name is Noel Kedran.”
She ignored his introduction as though he had not spoken. “If you expect us to cower and beg for mercy, you will find yourself sorely disappointed.”
The little boy stiffened proudly at her defiant words. He darted at Noel and struck him with a fist. “Take that, you scoundrel!” he said and ran back to his horrified mother.
“Neddie, how wicked of you,” Lady Mountleigh scolded, hugging him close while he glared at Noel. “You mustn’t anger the man, my dear.”
“I’ll protect you, Mama,” Neddie said. “I’m not afraid of these pirates—”
The roar of a cannon made him break off with a squeak. He buried his face in his mother’s skirts, and the two women clung to each other.
“What in the name of God is happening now?” asked Lady Mountleigh in a shaking voice. She had turned deathly pale, and her eyes looked enormous with strain.
Noel gazed out the porthole and saw the pirates leaping about the nine-pounder on deck, taking turns loading it and lighting the fuse. The small cannon roared again, belching smoke. Cheers broke out from the pirates, and the musicians from the brigantine resumed playing for the next bout of dancing.
“Don’t worry,” Noel said. “They’re just getting drunk and acting the fool.”
“I pray they shan’t seek their amusement next at our expense,” Lady Mountleigh whispered.
A man screamed, making the women flinch. Noel saw a wriggling seaman hauled aloft by a rope. Some of the pirates stood beneath him and jabbed him with harpoons. Each time he screamed, they roared with laughter.
“What are they doing?” Lady Pamela asked.
She came up behind Noel so quietly he did not hear the rustle of her skirts. Now the sound of her voice made him jump. He turned quickly and put his back to the porthole.
“Stand aside,” she said impatiently. “I wish to look out.”
At close range, he could see how long and thick her eyelashes were, and how golden flecks danced in her green eyes. Her skin was as delicate and as smooth as porcelain. A small mole at the corner of her mouth fascinated him. She was petite, but shapely, and she carried herself like the queen of the earth. Again he smelled the fragrance of ambergris. Standing there in her satin gown, lace foaming at her bosom and her shape enhanced by corsets, she was the most feminine woman he had ever met.
Her expression, however, was more mulish than sweet. Her eyes, slightly slanted at the outer tips beneath the delicate flare of her brows, fairly snapped at him with annoyance.
“Must you defy me at every turn? Stand aside, I say!”
Noel’s urge to protect her from the torture going on outside had been an instinctive one. But her imperious tone drove all gallantry from him. With a glare of his own, he stepped aside and let her look.
The pirates had bound the first mate’s arms and feet with rope. They stuck a wad of pitch-coated oakum into the poor wretch’s mouth and set fire to it. Within seconds, the man’s hair and clothing were also afire. Encased in flames, he jerked and writhed helplessly until Leon took a grappling hook and shoved him overboard.
Inside the cabin there fell a strained silence, broken only by Lady Mountleigh saying, “What happened? Pamela, for God’s sake, what are they doing?”
Lady Pamela remained frozen at the porthole, although she no longer gazed out of it. Her eyes were wide, her lips slightly parted. She swallowed convulsively, clenching her fists at her sides. Beside her, Noel wished bitterly that he could have recalled his decision to let her look. He had never imagined they would go that far.
“That man,” Lady Pamela said. Her voice was low, shaken. “Your brother is a monster. He…”
She did not go on. Noel silently cursed Leon, cursed the circumstances that had created his duplicate, cursed the saboteurs who had tampered with the time stream. Leon was not his brother, would never be his brother. And yet, it was impossible to explain otherwise.
“Yes,” Noel said resentfully. “Leon.”
“He’s laughing. How can any of them laugh? How can they do such—”
She broke off and buried her face in her hands. Hesitantly Noel touched her arm. She flinched and jerked up her head, turning to him with her face white and set. Her mouth was trembling, but her eyes flashed defiance.
“God sees what you do,” she said. “God will surely put you in Hell for what you do.”
Noel dropped his gaze from hers. It would do no good to repeat he was not in league with the pirates. He could not convince her.
The door was unbolted from the outside and flung open. Neddie gasped aloud, and the women clasped hands to give each other courage.
“I pray to God that someone will deliver us,” Lady Mountleigh said through trembling lips.
However, Natty Gumbel gave them only a clumsy nod and turned his attention to Noel. “Yer wanted,” he said and jerked his thumb over his shoulder.
Noel stepped outside. As soon as Natty bolted the door again, Noel said, “What will happen to the women?”
Natty blinked. “Why, nothin’, I expect. We got nothin’ against women and little babes. It be only their fine pearls and pretty baubles we want.”
Following him through the dancing, carousing pirates, Noel let out a sigh of relief. He had not expected men like this to be respectful of women. It seemed inconsistent, but then so far he had found pirates to be completely unpredictable.
“Noel!”
Leon came up to him through the men whirling and dancing hornpipes with such enthusiasm their bare feet thundered on the deck. Grinning hugely, Leon waved a bottle of brandy that looked as thoug
h it had been hacked open with a sword instead of being uncorked.
A crash of glass from the stern of the ship and the resultant groan from a knot of waiting men showed Noel that was exactly how they were opening the brandy. A litter of smashed bottles on the deck indicated the number of failures. It was wasteful, but no one seemed to mind.
The men cheered as one danced away with a jagged bottle held aloft. He poured most of the amber contents over his head, then opened his mouth and guzzled greedily without touching the glass to his lips.
“Noel! Brother Noel!” shouted Leon. He threw his arm around Noel and whirled them a couple of times before Noel broke away. “Have some brandy. Join the fun.”
As he spoke he shoved his bottle at Noel, who smelled the rich aroma of fine cognac. No one made fine wines and brandies in the twenty-sixth century. That art had been lost—or rather, thrown away—in favor of synthetic wine. The growing of sun-kissed grapes on sloping hills, the careful measuring of rainfall to determine the sugar content in the slowly ripening clusters, the harvest at exactly the right moment, the wine press, the huge stainless-steel vats and aging casks of oak, the bottling, the tasting, the medals…all gone. No one fastened bottles over nascent buds that would form pears, coaxing the fruit to grow and mature inside the container. No one fermented apples now, concocting fire in a glass.
Instead, men and women drank artificial concoctions that contained no actual alcoholic quotient, and they depended on their pleasure chips to make them believe they were having a good time. The chips could be programmed with timers; when time was up, the sensation of being drunk vanished. Sober and healthy, the party-goer went home without risk to himself or to others.
Noel was hardly an advocate of drunkenness. But he despaired of the need in his own century for safety above all other factors. No risks; therefore, no need to practice moderation. Substitute reality for fantasy, give up flavor and texture and life for bland banality, and what was gained? Was the quality of life enhanced? He didn’t think so.
“Drink, Noel!” Leon insisted. “Drink, so I can enjoy the taste. Drink, so I can feel what they feel.”
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