“The soldiers will not allow anyone in the house,” Father Pierre said. “There was gunfire when they arrived. I tried to go and see what had occurred.”
This upset my Horse and angered my Wolf. My Man was relieved we would be killing soldiers—dogs paid by wolves to act like wolves—instead of buccaneers.
“Where are the rest of the priests?” I asked.
“Father Mark is with the lieutenant, and the others are on the front step gossiping with the crowd,” he said with a sigh.
Gaston’s Horse spoke what my Wolf was already thinking. “Let us kill soldiers, sneak in and take our people, and sneak out again. We will deal with the other ship when we get there.”
“Aye,” Pete said, even though no one had translated Gaston’s words.
I was not the only one who frowned at this. Cudro and Striker also noted it.
“What about a diversion?” Striker asked. “The whole town is out there. If anything goes wrong they’ll all be inside the house and who knows what will happen in the confusion. You remember the day we rescued Gaston from Doucette? I say we send someone to start fires around the harbor and draw the town down there.”
I shook my head. “Aye, I do remember the day Gaston was rescued. We walked out in that confusion. This mob is confused now. It makes it dangerous, but it also makes it an unruly tide that can sweep away true opposition. I agree with Gaston. Let us try stealth alone. Let us pray we only fight the soldiers.”
“And I will not agree to burn this place if they’re not all against us,” Cudro said. “Some of us will want to come back here someday. They aren’t Spaniards.”
“Aye, aye,” Striker sighed.
Father Pierre had been regarding us with concern and censure as we spoke; now he turned to Gaston and laid a hand upon his arm. “My son, you know this is wrong. You must not kill your own people.” He flinched and took a step back with horror when his touch only succeeded in gaining him the attention of Gaston’s Horse.
I interceded before Gaston’s Horse explained that He was not the one attending mass and giving confession these last two months. “Do you have a better solution to rescue our people?” I asked as I stepped between them.
“You must place your faith in God,” Father Pierre said earnestly. “If your path requires the death of others, then you must reconsider in the name of your immortal soul. In that way you insure that you will meet your friends in Heaven no matter what might occur.”
“Non,” I said. “Perhaps our friends have put their faith in God, and we are the instrument God has chosen to send as their deliverance; and, if the soldiers have been good men and are truly in the wrong place at the wrong time, then their souls will go to Heaven and we shall have liberated them from the tribulations of this mortal coil.”
“Amen,” Cudro intoned and handed me a length of rope. Pete and Ash were already binding the other priests.
Father Pierre crossed himself and whispered a prayer as I began to bind him. When he finished that, he looked past me to Gaston. “Is this his madness,” he whispered. “You should not allow him to act in madness. You should be his shepherd.”
I sighed. “Non, this is his anger given form. The Church has betrayed him in the name of politics, and now innocent men we do not know will have to pay so that our loved ones do not. You make peace with that however you must.”
He looked away and said no more and we deposited the three of them in the rectory storeroom, bound and gagged.
Then we were peering cautiously from the back door and windows. There were only four soldiers in the alley between the church and our house. They were still at their posts; though, they were quite distracted and straining to see what was going on out in the street. After a moment’s consultation as to our respective targets, Cudro, Pete, Gaston, and I crept into the yard with knives in our hands. Mere moments later, we were dragging bodies into the hospital, with Striker, Ash, Dickey and Chris scurrying in our wake.
We found the ward empty save for the two remaining patients. Neither of them seemed aware of our presence. Gaston checked one cot and I the other to assure ourselves their occupants were truly sleeping or unconscious—and not dead. I was closest to Schoen. The old, amputee buccaneer woke at my approach. Alarm filled his eyes as he took in my bloody knife and stance.
“This need not trouble you,” I assured him.
His gaze darted past me to the soldiers on the floor. “What the Devil?” he sputtered. “The King’s men? I must leave.” He began to swing his stump off the cot.
I stayed him. “They are not here for you.”
“I’ll not be consoling them when they can’t have you,” he snapped.
I chuckled. “Then good luck to you. Stay away from the street.” I pressed the note and coin we had left him on the bedside table into his hands and handed him his crutch.
“Good fortune to you,” he huffed and hobbled away.
I joined the others near the door to the atrium. Ash and Pete were peering in with their backs flat against the wall on either side of the doorway. The rest of us crouched in the deep shadows of the ward.
“These men are not buccaneers?” Ash pulled back from the door to whisper to Cudro.
“Non,” Cudro said with a concerned frown at his matelot. “They are the dregs of the King’s army brought here from France because the Brethren can’t be owned.”
Ash nodded tightly.
Pete glared at him until Ash returned to the door. Then he pointed past himself, to the side of the atrium he could not see from his side of the door. Ash shook his head and shrugged. Pete nodded and motioned to us and held up six fingers. Then he stepped away from the door and sketched the shape of the atrium and our position on the wall. He marked the position of the soldiers, and pointed at Gaston, Striker, Cudro, Ash, himself, and me, and assigned a target. He had given himself the man farthest from the door. Then he pointed at Chris and Dickey and made it clear they were to remain in the ward. They crouched even lower with evident relief.
Then Ash waved a hand and indicated something in the direction he could see. “Door,” he mouthed. As he could see the front of the house, he was indicating that the main house door—the one leading to the mob in the street—had been opened. He frowned and indicated one person.
Pete made a door motion with his hand and asked if the door was now open or closed. Ash peered again and shook his head with consternation. Pete frowned, looked at us, and pointed to me. Then he pointed at Dickey and indicated he should take my former target.
Ash was shaking his head with consternation. He mouthed something and Pete regarded him without comprehension. He crossed himself and pointed toward the door. At my grin of understanding, he sighed and shrugged.
Pete looked us over to assess our readiness. I looked to Gaston and found him looking at me. He smiled grimly, a frightful thing with his Horse about him, but I saw his love. I grinned in return. Then he darted to join Pete, since their targets were the farthest across the atrium. Pete was out the door and moving with the rest of us flowing after him.
I ran into the light; aware, yet unconcerned, about the mayhem behind me. It was as I had hoped: Father Mark stood before me, looking toward the door to the street—which was open. I knew why Pete had sent me here. I sadly had to make a choice; if I was to be seen by people on the street, it would be best if I was not seen stabbing a priest. I punched him instead, knocking him away from the doorway and stunning him.
I thanked the Gods the day was bright and the alcove containing the door was shadowed from nearly every angle. It was a dark pit the crowd could not easily see in to. I hugged the wall and slid to the doors. One was closed, the other widely ajar. I could see the back of the lieutenant’s bright coat—close enough to touch. The angry faces of the crowd were turned in multiple directions: looking at him, the soldier I could see next to him, and more importantly, one another as they argued loudly. Some fat merchant was complaining that this was a concern for the Church and Crown and not them. He was bei
ng shouted down as I reached for the door.
I felt an eye upon me as I began to push the door closed. I swept the crowd again and found the startled gaze of a one-eyed buccaneer fixed upon me. I knew him: Gaston had treated him for malaria. I put my finger to my lips and hoped he could see the gesture clearly and I was not merely a shape in the shadows. He grinned as the door closed. I stood breathless with my hands upon the wood waiting for an outcry. It did not come.
I darted back inside and found Father Mark. He was fingering his bloody lip and looking across the atrium with a stunned expression. I glanced at my companions and found everyone looking at me. I knew the men standing: the strangers in uniform were lying in pools of blood or at least prone and inert. Our captured family members appeared well at my cursory glance.
I turned back to Father Mark and pounced upon him, driving the breath from his lungs in a useless wheeze before he could make a coherent sound – not that it was likely to be heard by the roaring crowd anyway. Fear and horror bloomed in his eyes and it was raw meat before my Wolf.
“Go to Hell,” I snarled, and stabbed him. It felt good, and so I did not stop until the life left his eyes and my anger was sated somewhat.
I was rife with surfeit emotion in the aftermath, and my hand shook as I wiped my blade on his robe. I stood and turned to the others and found enough wide eyes to make my heart cringe. I looked to Gaston and found reassurance: his Horse approved heartily of what I had done. Thus fortified, I looked to the others again. Those who had killed before were going about the business of collecting people and things, those that had not were stunned by the violence—and not just mine. Chris stumbled from the door to the ward and bent to heave on a potted plant. Hannah and Dickey appeared grimly resigned to all they saw about them. Yvette was shaken, but she smiled as she accepted Cudro’s proffered arm.
I was concerned when I saw Theodore’s eyes were more lambent than Yvette’s. I went to him. “Are you well? Was anyone hurt?”
He shook his head sadly. “They were cruel and disrespectful to Madame Doucette, but they did not molest her—or Hannah, who they planned to claim and sell. They were more interested in robbing us, and quite angry the money was already aboard the ship. They felt their comrades would get it first.” He sighed. “Damn it, Will, I keep telling myself I will be glad to return to civilization, but it is no different there when one is involved in things such as we are, is it?”
“Nay,” I said.
“Then I suppose I want to return to the innocence of my youth: but that is not to be.”
I wished I had lived his childhood and not my own. I could barely remember a time I could call myself innocent of the evils of life: before Shane, before I understood the ways of wolves. But even in my nursery I had seen petty and vicious things and known them for what they were.
We could not hope to sneak about with everything Liam and the others had packed and wished to bring. He pointed to a few important bags, and Hannah and Gaston claimed others, and we spread them among us and slipped quietly unnoticed out the hospital doors and down the alley. We breathed easier when we reached the safety of the forest. We stopped to rest.
“They claim they sent a ship to attack the Magdalene,” Liam said as we huddled in the brush.
“We heard,” Striker said. “They were supposed to blockade her, though, not attack.”
“I’m sure they were ta watch the house, too,” Liam said. He had a black eye and his oft-abused nose looked to have taken another blow.
“Well, we will not know until we get there,” Cudro said.
We would need to run there—very quietly, down the path we had come from the cove. I was not concerned about the buccaneers among us, but the women worried me—and Theodore.
I looked to Chris and found her still appearing dazed and frightened. She squared her jaw and made much of trying to appear brave when she found my gaze upon her. I ignored that, and assessed her attire and gear. She was wearing boots, but she could not be accustomed to carrying her heavy bag and the musket and pistols. I had seen her breathing hard when we walked toward town, before we had started running about.
I went to her side. “I do not mean to offend you, but will you be well running back the way we have come with all your gear? Because I would rather offend you than have you collapse and have to be carried.”
She snorted. “I’ll be fine.”
I spoke gently. “Be kind to yourself, Chris. You have received quite a start this day.”
She frowned and took a ragged breath. Her initial words were defiant, but that faded quickly. “I have seen death before. But not… like this.”
“You will either become inured to the violence, or you will retain an innocent soul and… choose another path for your life,” I said.
“Are you saying men must kill?” she asked with an affectation of incredulity that thinly masked fear and consternation.
“If they are wolves; and if they are to stand up to wolves, aye. Sheep do not kill, they get eaten.”
She sighed and frowned thoughtfully and seemed disinclined to meet my gaze. I left her and began to head for Gaston and Yvette, but then I saw Hannah sitting quietly with her eyes closed. I knew her well enough now to know she prayed. I touched her arm with a fingertip. Her eyes opened slowly and she smiled.
“Are you well?” she asked.
“I am fine.”
She nodded. “Only a holy man can kill a holy man without bad juju.”
We had discussed her calling me a holy man several times. I had attempted to explain that I had found my Horse and the light of truth. I had read her Plato’s allegory of the cave. She had explained that such understandings were the domain of holy men. I had surrendered the field to think on the matter, and decided I simply disliked the term because it held the connotation of priest in my heart, and I did not feel I stood as an intermediary between the Gods and anyone.
“The only bad juju I have felt this day is the censure of… well, myself; in that even though I knew he must die, I am surprised in the aftermath by my vehemence. I have always been taught that killing an unarmed man is a thing of shame.”
She shook her head with a disdainful snort. “He was a holy man, he was not unarmed; and he caused our house far more harm than those soldiers. You were the shadow of all the anger he has caused with his… what is your word, righteousness.”
I smiled. “Thank you for your absolution—for putting it in the proper light.”
She grinned, only to sober. “I have dreamed you will go on your perilous journey soon.”
I nodded: I had told her I must kill my father. Her people believed in spiritual dreams that spoke of truth. I did not doubt her.
She frowned. “Do not lose faith. You must go all the way through the cave to the other side. There you will find your truth again.”
“Thank you,” I said solemnly. I hoped in time I would understand her meaning.
Gaston was speaking quietly with Yvette, and I moved to join them.
Yvette smiled at me. “I am well,” she whispered in an apparent repetition of what she had been telling him.
“Theodore said they were abusive,” I said.
She snorted. “They pretended my scars were why they did not rape me.”
Gaston growled.
“I am sorry we were not there sooner,” I said.
She shrugged and smiled weakly. “They are dead now.”
“I am very glad you are unharmed. You have become very important to me.”
She appeared surprised. “Thank you. I am sorry we lied about the children.”
I shook my head. “I am sorry I reacted so poorly. It was quite a surprise, and there was a great deal on my mind. I am honored you have chosen to bear my child.”
“Truly?” she asked with new tears in her eyes.
“Truly: I do not feel I could have asked for two better mothers than I have received. If my blood must mingle in order to produce offspring, I am pleased it was mingled with the blood of two women I
adore and respect.”
She threw her arms around me and I held her tightly for a time. I looked to Gaston over her shoulder and found him smiling happily at us like a proud parent. I supposed he should, as he was the father of our unorthodox union and the child she carried.
This peace and happiness was short-lived, however. We were soon on our way. We hurried across the road and into the brush on the other side, darting in and out as we needed to clear the thick tangles without slowing down to hack our way through. We thankfully saw no one on the road, and we were soon on the trail that ran close to the shore across the Leveque plantation. Pete and Gaston slipped ahead to scout as we trotted along as fast as the women and Theodore could manage. Cudro and Ash brought up the rear.
“How many soldiers did they have at the garrison?” I hissed to Striker as we crossed onto what had been his land and neared the cove.
“Not many,” he said. “It’s a token force kept here by the Governor to remind everyone this is a French colony under the Crown.”
“I suppose we should be thankful,” I said.
He snorted. “I am. Let us hope they haven’t gotten here ahead of us and taken the ship.”
“I am hoping the Bard will not have had to sail.”
“Not likely; we have Dickey,” he said with a grin.
“Ah, of course.” I laughed. My matelot being ashore would keep me from sailing, but there was a small voice in my heart that hoped the Bard would save the children and the rest of those aboard if he had to, and meet up with us later.
When we crept up to the cove, we found we were indeed needed. The Magdalene had not sailed: she could not; blockaded as she was by a sloop with four cannon and a deck filled with soldiers. The Magdalene had the smaller vessel outgunned; however, the Bard did not possess the wind, maneuvering room, or men to get under sail and away while firing even one cannon or a handful of muskets. Yet he did have enough of a perceived advantage in arms that the sloop’s master had decided to drop anchor just beyond cannon range and not close.
Pete and Gaston swept out around the forest line and returned with Julio and Davey and the news there were no soldiers ashore, yet. Our friends were happy to see us. We quickly told them what had occurred in town.
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