by Adam Carter
“So you’re saying you agree with me now?”
Hawthorn did not seem to know what he was saying.
“Whatever we do,” Arowana said, “they’re going to leave Wraith hanging on his crucifix.”
“Then if we want to rescue him, we’re going to have to do it ourselves. Physically.”
It was the one thing Arowana had been hoping to avoid, yet she knew it was the only way they were going to win.
“In that case, we need a solid plan of attack,” she said. “One which doesn’t incur Themistonian casualties. I’ve never killed anyone, Gordon, and I’m not about to start with priests.”
“You could hand me over to them,” Hart said, her voice small.
“You?” Arowana asked. “What precisely would that achieve?”
“I’m a pirate. I may not be much of one, but I’m a killer and a thief. I’m just as much a part of Danton’s crew as Sturgeon is.”
It was depressing to hear such harsh words come from the girl’s lips, but she was right. “This could work for us,” Arowana said.
“What?” Hawthorn asked. “Iris, no. We’re not handing Beth over.”
“Beth?”
“Yes, surprise, she has a forename. And we’re not handing her over.”
Arowana knew full well she had a forename, but was annoyed that Hawthorn was using it. “She’s different to Sturgeon,” Arowana said. “She means she’s going to work with us.”
“No,” Hart said, “I meant you could trade me.”
“Trade you? We’re not going to trade you. You didn’t mean we could use you as bait and then pick you up along with Wraith when we bust out?”
“No. I meant you could trade me for him so God could judge me on the crucifix.”
“You’re religious, then?”
“I used to be. A long time ago. Before God gave up on me. Now I’m nothing, and I don’t deserve to be noticed. But maybe this would be the best thing for me. Maybe being crucified would give my life purpose. My life ended so long ago, Miss Arowana, perhaps in death God might take notice of me again.”
Arowana had no idea what to say to that. She looked at Hawthorn, hoping he had some wise words of encouragement, but he looked about as blank as she felt. To tell the girl she was being silly would be to insult her religious beliefs, and Arowana would never do that to anyone. “Being willing to die for your religion is one thing,” Arowana said. “Wanting to die for it is … It’s against the idea of religion. Religion offers hope, unity, a place where anyone can belong, regardless of ethnicity, sex, age or orientation. Religion is life, Beth Hart, and to want to die for that religion – to actually want to – is blasphemy.”
Hart said nothing. It did not look as though she much agreed with Arowana, but perhaps her speech would sink in over time.
Until then, they still had a rescue to plan.
“I’ll do it,” Hart said. “I’ll be your bait.”
Arowana should have been happy, for Hart had agreed to precisely what she had asked of her; but the girl spoke in such a despondent way, with her eyes always so downcast, that she was clearly still thinking more about sacrifice than anything else.
“I don’t like this,” Hawthorn said.
“I’m not comfortable with it, either,” Arowana said. “Beth, are you sure about this? We’re not abandoning you, that just isn’t an option. We’ll drop you off in order to get us back down to the surface, work our way through to where they’re keeping Wraith, break him out and swing back for you. That’s the plan, Beth, and if you’re thinking anything else at all we’re not taking you down there.”
“I’m a pirate, and I deserve to be treated like a pirate. But I also owe you for thinking you’ve tried to help me. If helping to save your friend goes some way to repaying my debt to you, that’s what I’ll do.”
“Then what? You’re going back to the Buccaneer, aren’t you?”
“The cross or the Buccaneer,” Hart laughed, but there was no humour to the sound. “Thank you for trying, both of you. But I don’t need saving.”
If not for Wraith, Arowana would have taken Hart away there and then. She would save her whether she wanted saving or not, but to do so would condemn Wraith. She did not have to ask Hawthorn to know he felt the same way, but there was nothing either of them could do to save her. Perhaps once this was over they would have an opportunity, but at that moment they had to risk the life Hart cared nothing about.
“Then we hammer out the finer points,” Arowana said, “and, no matter what happens, we stick to the plan.”
Even before they discussed the details, Arowana knew without doubt that the plan would fall apart and they would all end up being hurt.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The cell was dank, but then he was trapped in a castle and they were supposed to be dank. Wraith had never before been in a cell and he could not say he was all that fond of the experience. The cell was small, practically identical to the one where the gypsy was being kept, and there was precious little to do aside from sit on the bench and stare through the bars of the tiny window. Why they thought it necessary to place bars on the window was beyond him, for he would barely be able to get his arm through anyway. The window on the door was larger than the one on the wall, which at least meant he could hold a conversation with Harman whenever he wanted to.
Harman, however, was less inclined to talk. He preferred to play his flute, sending the delicate notes flowing through the prison area. He was not a bad flute player, and Wraith could imagine many a maiden’s heart fluttering under the false belief that his music was for her and her alone. However, the music was not only incredibly sad, it was also a constant reminder as to why Wraith was even in a cell in the first place.
“Seriously, Harman,” Wraith said through the bars on the door wicket. “Why dob me in like that? I was only trying to help you.”
“Help me? I’ve been condemned by God, Mr Wraith. What help could you possibly give me?”
At least when he was talking, Harman wasn’t playing the flute.
“You’ve been condemned by these weirdoes. There’s a difference.”
Harman laughed and Wraith saw him appear at his own wicket. “Weirdoes. That’s wonderful. Someone has a different religious belief to you and you dismiss them as weirdoes.”
“It’s more that they want to execute anyone they don’t like that does that for me.”
“They’re not bad people. They just don’t have the good relations with the rest of the Jupiter system that most folk do. They lack people skills, that’s all.”
“So why give me up? You could have just said no, you didn’t want rescuing, thank you very much.”
“I have never seen a more religious people, Mr Wraith. They firmly believe God watches over them, and who am I to argue? Do you know, part of their belief system is the theory that God finally gave up on Earth after everyone began to leave? The human race populated the rest of the solar system, so God thought, screw them all, I’m going to start again.”
“I did know that much about them, yes. Fancy answering my question any time soon?”
“Question? Oh, why I gave you up to them.”
“Yes, that. I said if you told them you knew all about pirates they’d agree to make you our guide. Then we could all have left and we wouldn’t be having this ridiculous conversation.”
“I did think about it, Mr Wraith. Honestly, I did. Then I decided it wouldn’t be right.”
“Right?”
“Look at this from the point of view of the Themistonians. You automatically assume they’re wrong just because they dress in heavy robes and their men are a little … odd. But what if they’re right? What if everything they believe is right? What if God has chosen the Church of Themisto as another attempt to build a worldwide religion? I mean, look at their success. Christianity is worldwide here. There are no religious wars, no opposing points of view. Everyone lives in peace. From what I’ve seen of things, all the people here are devout, God-fearing folk an
d there are very few executions. Can you see the gibbets from your cell?”
“Thankfully not.”
“Well, I can see them from mine. There aren’t many, and all the skeletons on them are naked. That means they’re not Themistonians.”
“So murdering all outsiders is a good basis for a religion?”
“Well, it’s taking Christianity back to the way Richard the Lionheart liked to worship it, but that wasn’t my point. This world, Mr Wraith, is paradise. Paradise, one might even say, with a capital P. For all its quirks and faults, this world is pretty much the idea of Heaven people hundreds, even thousands of years ago would have striven for.”
Wraith tried to get his head around that, but could not believe Themisto could be considered anyone’s idea of paradise, capital P or otherwise. What he could understand, however, was Harman’s reason for having given him up.
“Nothing personal,” Harman said. “I just didn’t want to go up against God. Bad for the soul, you know.”
“Fair enough.”
“You mean that?”
Wraith thought a moment. “You know, I think I do. Faith is important. Carpoans worship weapons – whoever had the biggest weapons got to survive longer. We don’t have much of a concept of higher beings, but I’ve always been intrigued by them.”
“Well, that’s being a good sport.”
“We’re going to die right next to each other, baking in the sun as we dehydrate. It’s going to be a nightmare if we can’t get along.”
“I’m glad you’re such a reasonable fellow, Mr Wraith.”
Just then, Wraith heard a noise. Someone was moving down the corridor, trundling a wheeled table ahead of her. Wraith strained to see, but all the robed figures looked alike to him.
“Good morning,” the happy young woman said. Wraith caught the scent of a hardy cooked breakfast and could not fault the service.
“Sister Cassiel, right?” Wraith asked, placing the voice at least.
“That’s right, sir.” She removed a tray from the wheeled table and placed it on the floor. “Step back, please.”
Wraith did so and Cassiel slipped the tray through a flap on the bottom of the door. Wraith had not even noticed the door had a flap and wondered whether he might be able to squeeze his way out. He noticed Harman was already rubbing his hands together.
“Morning, Cass,” Harman said. “You’re looking mighty fine today.”
“Oh hush, Mr Harman. Talk like that doesn’t help your situation any.”
“My situation? They’re going to execute me, Cass. It’s not like it could get any worse.”
“Now that’s a fatalistic attitude.”
“So’s pronouncing the sentence of death, but who’s counting chickens?”
Cassiel laughed. “Silly.”
Wraith could not believe how genial the two were being. He did not know how long Harman had spent in that cell, but they spoke as though they were old friends. “Excuse me,” Wraith said, “but this is consorting with the enemy.”
“Oh hush you, as well,” Cassiel said. “Actually, there is something you could talk to me about.”
“Would it be anything to do with the appeals court?”
“Gordon Hawthorn.”
“He’s here?” Wraith asked excitedly.
Cassiel sighed. “No, but I wish he was.”
Wraith blinked, opened his mouth, closed it again, opened it, closed it and said, “Aren’t you a nun?”
“I’m a woman, Wraith. Underneath all these multiple layers of cloth, I’m every bit a woman as Iris Arowana. What does he see in her, Wraith?”
“Maybe it’s because she doesn’t sentence his friends to death.”
“Do you think he could ever look at me the way he looks at her?”
“I don’t know. Set me loose and I’ll put in a good word for you.”
Cassiel sighed again, giving no indication she had even heard him. “Now that’s a real man, Wraith. No wonder the order of Themisto decrees that we have to cover ourselves up completely. With men like Gordy walking about the place all the while I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on my duties. Or my vows. Especially my vows.”
“Gordy?”
“Well, if you do get the chance, remember to put that word in for me. Maybe when he comes to see you at your cross?”
“When he comes to … You honestly want me to play matchmaker while I’m nailed to a piece of wood, baking to death in the sun?”
“If you wouldn’t mind. Anyway, enjoy your meals. Remember, you’re going to be crucified in an hour or so. Won’t that be fun?”
Wraith could not speak as she left. Even if he could have thought of something to say to that, he would not have been able to say it.
“Unbelievable,” he said at last.
“I know, right?” Harman said. “They forgot my extra sausage.”
“Never you mind your sausage, we’re going to die.”
“We’re all going to die, Mr Wraith. So, breakfast, then back to the flute?”
Sagging in resignation, Wraith said, “Sure, why not? Oh, I do have one request, though.”
“Name it.”
“Play something more upbeat. I feel down enough as it is without your flute driving me to suicide.”
Harman laughed and disappeared from the window. The tune which drifted through the cells thereafter was a jolly ditty, yet as Wraith looked back to the outside world he found his spirits were not lifted at all.
CHAPTER TWELVE
They were good people and Hart did not want to let them down. Hawthorn and Arowana had risked a lot to help her without any thought of personal gain. It was good of them, although she could have told them not to bother. She could not see it would have stopped them, however, for they were good people and they deserved one another. That good people could find happiness in life was amazing, for it meant the worlds turned the way they should, that everything was right and that good things did happen to good people.
Hart recalled a time when she would have placed herself in that category. She understood the position Hawthorn and Arowana were taking, that everything that had happened to her was not her fault. She understood how people looking in upon her life could think such a thing, but she would never accept it. As she stood with her hands tied before her at the wrists, waiting for the exit doors of the sword-ship to open, she wondered whether this would not be a fitting end for her, whether she could refuse to flee when they all escaped Themisto. Perhaps being crucified would purify her, allow her into the Heaven she had clearly destroyed any chance of attaining. She did not know, but she was only twenty-one. She was only twenty-one but felt as though she had already lived a lifetime.
By the end of the day, perhaps she would prove that she had.
“Once that door opens,” Hawthorn said, “there’s no going back.”
“I understand,” Hart said. “And I’m still going to help you get your friend back.”
Hawthorn hit the door control and a grinding sound filled the room. They had landed Jupiter’s Glory and it seemed the only way off the ship was via a large ramp which lowered in an extremely slow fashion. They waited in what was probably a hangar or garage area, although there were presently only a few vehicles that Hart could see. She imagined Hawthorn tinkered with them whenever he needed to think and wished she would have the opportunity to join him.
Light streamed into the sword-ship and Hart’s attention returned to the door. With a dull thunk it struck the ground and she could see several heavily-clothed figures waiting for them. The architecture of Themisto was stony, with high-rising towers and what appeared to be castles. The people were dressed as though they feared coming down with the plague or something.
“Mr Hawthorn, Miss Arowana,” one of the robed figures – a woman – said. “We’re glad to see you back. And you have a prisoner?”
“This is Bethany Hart,” Arowana said, stepping out first. Hawthorn gave Hart a little shove and she followed, with Hawthorn bringing up the rear. “Sh
e’s one of the pirates who have been plaguing you.”
Mutters shot through the gathered religious figures, but if they were using intelligible words they were entirely lost by the heaped clothing.
“Another naked temptress,” came a voice she could certainly hear well enough.
“She’s not a naked temptress, Father Dumah,” Hawthorn said.
“Another?” Arowana asked with an angry frown. “What does he mean by another?”
“Father Dumah is very excited,” the robed woman said. “Miss Hart, my name is Sister Ariel, and I shall be conducting your confession this morning.”
“Confession?” Arowana asked.
“Of course. Each prisoner must make confession. Confession is good for the soul, don’t you know.”
“Did Wraith make confession?”
“Indeed. Father Dumah handled his confession personally. We always find it best for male clergy to handle male confession and female clergy to handle female confession; although I must admit we sometimes make mistakes since the point of all these robes is so we can’t tell each other apart.”
“I thought we might take her down to the dungeons,” Hawthorn said. “You know, make sure she gets there without running off.”
“There will be plenty of time for dungeons later, Mr Hawthorn. And then the fun of execution. Have you ever been crucified, Miss Hart? It’s very cleansing.”
Hart was beginning to have second thoughts about this plan, but it was too late to back out now.
“What about Wraith?” Arowana asked. “Has he been staked out yet?”
“No, no, we were waiting to see what you came up with.”
“Very little,” Dumah snorted. “We ask for dead pirates and they bring us live Hell-bait.”
Hart blinked. She did not believe she had ever before been referred to as Hell-bait. “I’m not here to corrupt anyone, sir,” she said. “I’m a prisoner.”