“You’re not dying.” Noel checked Leon’s back to see if the dagger had gone all the way through. It hadn’t. Noel swallowed, knowing that he had to draw the weapon out. And doing so might finish killing Leon.
Noel’s hands were shaking. He paused a moment, trying to pull himself under control. It was like seeing himself injured, like watching himself die. Yet there was more to it than that. He realized he had begun to accept Leon’s existence, no matter how much he resented it. To watch that existence ending was more than he had courage for.
Lady Pamela came up to them in a rustle of silk and petticoats. She touched Noel’s shoulder, and he jumped violently, his heart thudding.
“I did not mean to startle you,” she said.
Noel didn’t answer. He propped Leon against a sea chest and stripped a blanket off the bunk. Dipping into the water pail, he gave Leon a drink, then dropped the dipper into the bucket with a splash.
“This is our chance to escape these wicked creatures,” Lady Pamela said. “I pray you, sir, let us go now, while there is rain and darkness to cover our escape.”
Noel glanced at her. For a moment she seemed a stranger to him. Then her features came into focus, and he met her green eyes. For the first time she looked genuinely frightened. Neddie clung to her skirts like a limpet.
“I must help him,” Noel said.
She frowned. “In God’s name, why? Brother or not, he is surely a blackguard and a murderer. He would have slaughtered this child had you not intervened. He is a willing participant in all the evil that has been done here.”
“He saved my life.”
As he spoke, Noel realized he was acting as though Leon had somehow redeemed himself. He should know better. Leon had been acting in his own self-interests, since without Noel he couldn’t exist. Yet Noel had never seen Leon risk his own neck before.
Unsure, he glanced down and saw Leon’s eyes slitted open, watching him. They glittered, dark with pain and unreadable.
Noel gripped Leon’s hand. “Do you feel pain, real pain?”
Lady Pamela gasped before Leon could answer. “What kind of daft question is that?” she asked. “I fear you have lost your reason. Brother or not, he is not worth this—”
“Quiet!” Noel said roughly. “Leon, answer me. Do you feel pain?”
A strange, thoughtful expression appeared on Leon’s face. Almost dreamily he said, “I have felt your pain. I can feel your grief. Odd…hatred so hot it burns me, yet…sorrow? Why?”
“Never mind about me,” Noel said. “I’ve got to know how much you can feel by yourself before I pull out the dagger.”
Leon’s eyes widened. “Don’t kill me! Leave it in place or I’ll bleed out.”
He started coughing again, a violent spasm that left him exhausted and barely conscious. Worriedly, Noel lifted him onto the captain’s bunk and spread a blanket across his legs. It might be wise to carry Leon out of here, but Noel couldn’t think of a better place on board to tend him. As for the tremendous blood loss when the dagger was removed, it had to be risked. Noel couldn’t bear to leave the weapon projecting from Leon’s chest.
Setting his hand upon the hilt, Noel bit his lip, then drew out the knife as smoothly and steadily as he could. Leon’s back arched with it. His lips drew back from his teeth, but he did not scream.
The blade emerged, glistening red, and Noel threw it down. Leon collapsed, blood everywhere. Noel hastily made a pad and bandaged it in place. It soaked through and he applied another, sweating and feeling so light-headed he wasn’t sure if he could hold himself together.
It’s not me who’s dying, he thought. But he wasn’t quite sure. He’d never been sure.
He shared none of Leon’s pain, and the weakness he’d felt earlier had dissipated. Yet he hovered there, not knowing what else he could do. For the first time, he wished that Leon had a LOC of his own. The mechanisms were equipped with emergency medical assistance. Noel had long since used his up. But he could use his LOC for other things.
He glanced at Lady Pamela, hesitating only briefly. She had already seen the computer work.
“LOC, activate.”
His wristband came to life, growing warm against his flesh. “Working.”
“Scan Leon,” Noel said. “Run diagnostic checks on him. Make recommendations for treatment commensurate with technology of this century.”
The LOC’s steady pulse of light flickered. Noel watched it worriedly. Either the parameters he’d set were too strict, or something was interfering with it again. It flickered once more, and its light grew dim. His heart sank.
“LOC,” he said sharply. “Are you experiencing power loss?”
“Negative.”
He almost managed to drag in a full breath. However, he didn’t feel reassured. The last time the LOC acted like this, Mondoun had used it for a transmitter.
“Hurry,” Noel said. “What can I do for Leon?”
“Blood pressure is—”
“Stop!” Noel cried. “I don’t want medical stats. Just tell me what to do for him.”
“Is it a spirit you speak to?” asked Lady Pamela fearfully. “Does this familiar riding your wrist appear only in the form of light?”
Glancing at her frightened face, Noel snorted. “Oh, for God’s sake. It’s only a—” He stopped, his training reasserting itself. He must not tamper with events; he must not attempt to educate or advance people in considering ideas ahead of their time.
“Witchcraft,” he said thinly. “That’s exactly right. You’ve seen enough of it tonight, surely?”
She drew back, her face so pale it looked bloodless.
He turned away, hoping she would stop interrupting, yet he regretted pandering to the ridiculous superstitions of this era.
“LOC! Dammit, answer me.”
The LOC flashed brightly. It was now much hotter than usual on his wrist. “Anomaly warning.”
Noel froze, his fingers digging into Leon’s wrist instead of taking his pulse. “Specify.”
“Anomaly warning.”
“Specify! Is safety-chain programming operating? Are we about to end this time course? Dammit, LOC, answer me!”
“Anomaly warning,” said the LOC, flashing rapidly. It was so hot now on Noel’s wrist he jerked in pain. Leon flinched too, yet did not awaken.
“Anomaly warn…ing. Re…ceiv…ing…trans…mis…sion attempts.”
The LOC’s toneless voice had been slowing progressively. Now without warning it speeded up to almost a staccato: “Limiter malfunction. Limiter malfunction. Warning retrograde one, zero, zero, zero—”
“Stop!” Noel commanded, smelling something burning, afraid it was shorting out. “Deactivate immediately!”
The LOC shut off, and its normally clear sides looked smoky as though some of its optic fibers had indeed burned up. Noel’s wrist hurt with increasing urgency. He unstrapped the LOC gingerly and peeled it off. A crimson burn mark encircled his wrist. Already the flesh was swelling. Wincing, he put the LOC on his right wrist.
“Dance with the devil, and you will prosper at first,” Lady Pamela said righteously, “but eventually he turns on all his servants.”
“Oh, thank you.” Noel couldn’t hold back his exasperation. “That’s really very helpful, Lady Pamela.”
He rose to his feet, and she backed away from him with her hand protectively on Neddie’s shoulder. Before Noel could speak, a shudder ran through the ship. She lurched violently, and Noel lost his footing. He went rolling, the chairs tumbling over him along with Captain Miller’s small collection of books and a brass sextant that thumped his skull hard enough to make his head ring.
Slamming into the far wall, Noel heard the ship moan. She struggled to rise, her timbers creaking with the strain, and came upright slowly. Noel made it to his feet, and the ship lurched again, hurling him in the opposite direction. He heard a crashing rip as though the bottom was being chewed from the ship, and they were flung down again.
She pitched violen
tly, and water sloshed over the deckhouse heavily enough to run into the cabin beneath the door.
“What is happening?” cried Lady Pamela.
Noel struggled along the canted floor toward Leon, who’d been thrown beneath an overturned table. The lanterns were swinging wildly from the ceiling beams. The coals in the brazier had spilled out and caught fire.
Noel changed directions and scrambled for the water pail, only to find it overturned and empty. The ship tilted even farther, groaning like a dying beast. Water boomed outside as though the waves were trying to cave in the hull. Noel seized the bucket of sand that had supported the brazier and threw it over the flames, smothering them.
Only then did he meet Lady Pamela’s frantic eyes. “I think we’ve run aground,” he said.
Neddie broke from her hold. “Mama!” he shouted. He ran for the door and wrenched it open just as another wave hurled itself over the ship. Water gushed over Neddie, knocking him back into the cabin. Noel grabbed the sputtering child by one ankle and dragged him to safety.
Rain and wind lashed into the cabin, blowing out the lanterns, and plunging them into darkness. The ship settled lower. She was no longer pitching with the waves. Keeled sharply over on her right side, she groaned and broke inside. Noel heard screaming in the distance.
“We’re aground, all right,” he said grimly, thinking of the LOC’s earlier announcement that the Plentitude was destined to go down. “And I think we’re sinking.”
Chapter Eight
Sinking or not, this was not the time to stand around dithering. Noel groped his way across the slope of the floor until he found Leon. He slung his duplicate across his shoulder in a fireman’s lift, trying to be gentle although there was no time.
Lady Pamela fought Neddie, who was struggling to break free from her and screaming for his mother. Noel joined them and gripped the boy’s shoulder.
“Your mother will be all right,” he said, shouting over the crash of the waves outside. More water gushed in, nearly knocking them off their feet. “You stick close to us. Can you swim?”
Neddie twisted away and ran for the door. “I’ve got to find her.”
“Neddie, no!” cried Lady Pamela, trying to run after him, but Noel grabbed her wrist.
“Stay with me,” he said. “Can you swim?”
“No, of course not,” she said frantically. Outside, a bolt of lightning struck close. She flinched and crossed herself. “Dear God in heaven, have pity on us!”
Noel shook her hard. “Pull yourself together,” he said sharply. “You’re an intelligent woman. I think you have considerable courage. Now’s the time to use it. If you panic, you’ll drown for sure out there. Hang on to my hand, and do as I tell you. All right?”
She made no answer. He was close enough to sense her shaking. He shook her again. “Pamela, dammit, do you understand what I’ve said to you?”
“I—I cannot trust you.”
“You must!” he shouted. “Now, come on!”
Grasping her icy hand, he led her out into the fury of the storm. The wind’s force nearly knocked him off his feet, and Lady Pamela staggered into him with a cry. Her hair streamed out from her head. Her long skirts billowed and snapped against her.
That unwieldy dress, Noel realized, would get her killed. She couldn’t swim in such a garment. Right now, hampered by petticoats and a farthingale, she could barely walk in it.
He pushed her to the lee side of the poop, where they found a slight respite from the wind, and drew his dagger. Before she realized what he was about, he slashed at her skirts, cutting them off her.
She slapped him hard. “What are you doing? Have you gone mad?”
Ignoring her, he slashed through the lacings that held the whalebone framework supporting her petticoats. It fell to her feet and she stood shivering in long linen pantalets and stockings, the ragged ends of her dress bodice fluttering at her waist.
“Take off your shoes!” he shouted at her.
She glared at him without moving, her face a pale blur in the lash of wind and rain.
“Pamela, take off your shoes!”
She kicked them off, then pulled out a hard, flat, triangular-shaped object from inside her bodice and hurled it at his head. Noel ducked barely in time.
“Have my stomacher as well, you scurvy-ridden knave! Have my ear bobs. Have my—”
He gripped her arm and held her pinned against the side of the cabin. “Shut up, damn you! Hysterics won’t—”
“Hysterics?” She laughed wildly. “The ship is sinking, and even as I face my death you seek to strip me naked for all to see. Will you ravish me in public as well? Do you have time before the ship slides beneath the waves forever?”
Her accusations were irrational, the product of fear rather than malice, but they angered him just the same. Not trusting himself to argue with her, he tightened his hold on Leon and yanked the girl away from their scant shelter.
“Come on!”
She stumbled after him, trying to pull free of his grip. “Let me go. I must find Lady Mountleigh and the child. We must say our prayers before we die.”
Noel was finding it hard to keep his balance on the canted deck, and Leon’s weight plus Lady Pamela’s struggles did not help. A wave crashed over the gunwales, curling like a great, slobbering monster. It slammed Noel to his knees and swept Leon from his hold. Choking and spluttering, Noel released Lady Pamela and scrambled after his duplicate.
He managed to grab Leon’s sleeve just before his unconscious twin was swept overboard. Panting, Noel pulled Leon back to safety and looked around for Lady Pamela. All the lanterns had long since been extinguished. The only illumination came from the lightning bolts, and they were too irregular and too brief to be useful.
“Pamela!” he shouted with all his might. Squinting against the pounding rain, he called her name again.
From far away below deck he could hear faint screams of despair, and he knew the slaves were drowning. The poor wretches were chained down there, helpless against the water pouring in through the hole in the ship’s hull. He doubted any of the pirates would bother to unchain them.
Noel swore to himself, then acted. He knew that he could not ignore those cries for help and live with himself.
Swiftly he knelt by his duplicate and shook his uninjured shoulder. “Leon! Leon, wake up! Leon!”
Leon did not stir. His skin was cold and wet to the touch. Only a faintly beating pulse in his throat told Noel that he was still alive.
Noel cut a short length of line from the rigging and used it to tie Leon to the base of one of the masts. At least now his duplicate was in no danger of being swept overboard. It seemed that fate must have surely befallen Lady Pamela, for she had not reappeared.
If she could have set aside her fear and trusted him, she’d still be alive. Her drowning was so senseless, so unnecessary. Noel was swept by fatigue and a sense of defeat, but he shook them off and made his way below. There, he found himself in a hellish situation.
All was chaos. Water gushed knee-deep, rising rapidly. Filth and bilge swirled in it. The stench nearly choked him. Rats twittered and squeaked from every available cranny and beam; others swam desperately. A handful of pirates splashed about in the gloom, some holding candles aloft, others blundering blindly. They broke open floating crates and smashed barrels, seeking what bits of loot they could stuff in their pockets before abandoning ship. The naked greed in their faces, the indifference to the plight of the shrieking slaves who were waist-deep in water at that end of the hold, infuriated Noel.
He grabbed the first pirate he encountered and yanked the man bodily away from the contents of a crate. “Where are the keys to the shackles?” he asked.
The man twisted like an eel in his hands. It was Natty Gumbel, scrawny and drenched, with his white, sightless eye staring at nothing. His other glared at Noel without recognition. Desperation and avarice filled his face.
“Let me go, ye pox-ridden devil!” he shouted. “This loot
be mine.”
Noel glanced at the contents of the crate and saw that it held cups and saucers packed in straw: Lady Mountleigh’s china service for her new home.
Noel shook Gumbel until the man’s teeth chattered. “You’re risking your life for teacups?” he shouted incredulously. “Are you crazy? Get a grip on yourself and look at what you’re doing.”
Natty Gumbel squirmed harder and tried to kick Noel’s shins. “Let me go. Let me go! There be plenty fer ye. Take it, then.”
Noel shook him again. “Forget your damned looting! Where are the keys for the prisoners?”
Gumbel blinked and finally seemed to recognize him. “Dunno. Dunno!”
There wasn’t time to argue with him. Noel gave him a shove that toppled him over. Gumbel splashed around, knocking away the rats that tried to clamber from the water onto his shoulders. Righting himself, the pirate scurried away.
Noel approached another man filling a sack with swag. Without a word, this one swung a dangerous fist. Noel ducked, and the man splashed away.
The imprisoned officers of the Plentitude were chained down here as well. One of them yelled, “God rot your cowardly souls, all of you!”
Noel splashed by them, refusing to meet their looks of contempt and fear. Squeezing himself into the stern, he climbed up to the gunnery platform. Several cannon had broken free of their moorings and had smashed through the hull when the ship ran aground. Water poured in around them. A lit lantern still swung from a ceiling beam, casting a feeble glow of illumination over the area. Noel didn’t know what it was doing there since it was folly to leave fire of any kind near the powder kegs. However, in these conditions, with powder kegs floating in all directions like flotsam, there seemed little danger of an explosion.
He unhooked the lantern and held it aloft, squinting as it reflected off the filthy water that was still rising. There wasn’t much time left before the entire hold flooded.
On the wall, he found at last what he was looking for. The long poles used for ramming wad into the various cannon hung on their brackets. Beneath them was a hatchet.
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