The Black Swan

by Day Taylor

  "Ah, Josiah, you wound me. How could you think me so heartless? I intend to bring definitive information of the missing Captain Tremain to his widow. I shall ascertain when and how her stalwart husband died. I shall also make certain his widow happily recovers from her sorrows."

  "E'mun', what you gonna do? Why don't you let tha' pore li'l lady alone?" Josiah whined. "You don* know nothin' 'bout her husband. I^et her be."

  "You're mistaken, Josiah. I know her husband quite well. If my information is correct, Captain Tremain should be in Smithville any day now.".

  Adam docked at Wilmington and left the discharge of cargo in Rosebud's capable hands. By early morning he was in bed in Zoe's house. It had been a sleepless, harrowing run. The blockade around the Cape Fear was formidable, with the Yankees increasingly eager to capture the invaluable supplies being carried by the blockade runners. Without Colonel Lamb's tireless vigilance at Fort Fisher, the odds against the unarmed blockade runners would have been insurmountable.

  There was no longer any such thing as an easy run. The main mast and bunkers of the Black Swan had received heavy damage, yet Adam considered himself lucky. The carpenter had cut away the spar and made temporary repairs, but before he could leave port, major repairs would have to be made.

  Adam yawned, his body aching. Disquiet remained with him. The edginess was becoming a constant part of his

  life. Except in Nassau, he never felt safe. The nagging feeling of something amiss dogged him—something overlooked, some danger ignored, something lurking just around the next turn, the next mile of open ocean, the next run. Something was there, just waiting for him to make a mistake.

  He tossed in bed, punching at his pillow. "You're beginning to jump at shadows," he muttered into the gloomy dawn light. He sank back to stare at the ceiling, relentlessly retracing each mile of the last voyage, until, exhausted, he fell into a fitful sleep.

  He was groggy when he awakened. He went searching for food and Zoe.

  "I have to take advantage of every moment Mammy and Claudine aren't around, or I'd not be allowed in my own kitchen." She laughed. "Sit down like you used to at the kitchen table, and I'll fix something."

  "Where is everyone? Ma, did you tell Angela?"

  "I gave you my word, dear. But don't take her to the swamp today. We'll have this evening at home. I've baked pies, and there'll be an extra for Tom."

  "Ma, I told you I was taking her first thing. There's no use in putting it off."

  "Adam, I'm not weakening. Honestly. Angela needed some things, and I sent her shopping with Mammy and Claudine. Anyway, Tom won't be at his cabin until tomorrow. Someone has been attacking the saltworks of the swamp people, and Tom has gone to help."

  "Who'd attack the swamp salt camps? Yankees wouldn't bother. The swamp folks don't have works big enough to be worth their while."

  "Tom says whoever it is has a grudge against you. The work has been attributed to the Black Swan."

  Adam shook his head. "Probably some local who sees a good little salt camp and wants it for himself."

  "Well, it's a good thing it was Seth's and Johnnie Mae's people, or they might have believed those rumors. They're saying the Black Swan has turned traitor and is being paid to disrupt salt production. Oh, Adam, I wish you'd be more cautious. Why can't you—why does everybody have to know about you, dear? Couldn't you be more secretive about your—your work?"

  "Nobody'll believe those stories, Ma. I wasn't even here

  when the attacks happened. My comings and goings are easily noted."

  "All of them?" Zoe asked, eyebrows raised.

  "Enough of them," Adam said sheepishly.

  "That is exactly what I meant! Why can't you be more cautious? O, fie! I don't know why I waste my breath. You'll do as you please anyway, but we are having supper together tonight. In that I'll have my way."

  "So Angela gets a reprieve. But a short one."

  Angela was sullen as she sat on the wagon waiting for Adam and Zoe to stop arguing over how many supplies would go with Angela into the swamp. Three times Clau-dine had patiently taken off and put on packages as the argument shifted first one way then another.

  "I'm taking her to Tom's cabin, Ma! She won't need all this stuff."

  "Humor me, dear. A woman doesn't stop being a woman just because she's not in a town. I wouldn't feel right sending Angela off without—"

  Adam threw his hands into the air. Claudine giggled and drew his frustration on her. "Shut up!"

  "Adam!" Zoe gasped.

  "Not you. Ma. Christ! Deliver me from women," he muttered. "I'm sorry. Ma. Put your packages on." He kissed her, helped Claudine onto the back of the wagon, then took his own seat next to Angela.

  "I won't stay with Tom," Angela said savagely. "I'll run away."

  "You can do anything you damned well please, but sit still and shut up!"

  "You don't care about anyone! You're mean and rotten, Adam Tremain!"

  They traveled by wagon as long as the log roads through the swamp were passable. The scent of open fires was heavy as they passed several small saltworks. Rough-looking men, armed and wary, guarded the perimeters of the salt camps, eyeing Adam and the two women suspiciously.

  A few miles from Tom's cabin the roads were mere rutted, spongy paths. Adam reined in the horses and leaped down to search in the thick brush near one of the swamp water channels. The last miles would be traveled by flat-boat.

  Settled in the boat, Angela gazed up at him with eyes that implored him not to shut her away from everything she knew and liked, and Claudine's dark eyes accused him of forcing her to go somewhere she didn't want to go, to serve someone she didn't want to serve. He hadn't a moment's peace of mind.

  When they arrived at the cabin, they found it empty. Tom and Seth's men had not returned from searching for the men who had disrupted the saltworks. Gruffly Adam ordered Claudine to fix them something to eat and Angela to help unload her things from the boat

  "It's awful here," Angela pouted.

  "It's your home."

  "It's not my home! It's Tom's."

  "Look, I'm tired of arguing with you."

  Angela dropped the small bag she carried and ran to him. "Adam, I'll be good. I'll do whatever Aunt Zoe wants. Please! I promise."

  He patted her awkwardly. "You're better off here. Give yourself a chance, Angela. You'll like the swamp."

  "Never!" she moaned.

  "You've just forgotten. Remember the house on the bayou? the flowers? Your mama was always worried you'd pick up a snake because you loved the pretty colors."

  "You're not angry with me anymore, are you?" Teary eyes gazed hopefully into his.

  "I can never stay angry with you. You're still my first girl."

  "I wish you meant that."

  "I do, but—"

  She sighed gustily. "I know. Your sister."

  Claudine produced a good fish muddle for supper. "When Mastah Tom gwine get heah?" Her eyes darted to the window where close-growing vines and branches rubbed, made eerie rustlings. "How long we got to stay heah?"

  "I have to stay here forever," Angela said dramatically.

  "Well, Ah doan."

  "Go on to bed, Claudine. If Tom were coming tonight, he'd have been here already. He's probably holed up at Seth's or Winnabow's place."

  "Wheah Ah'm gwine sleep? Ah ain't gwine out to dat big ol' cabin by mahseff." Claudine shivered, glancing at the fugitives barracks.

  "You and Angela sleep here in the house. I'll sleep out there."

  "You gwine leave us alone in here!'*

  "Nothing's going to get you, Claudine.'*

  "But dey's things out dere. Ah kin heah 'em tippy-toein' 'roun' an' scratchin' at de winders."

  "Just branches."

  Adam waited until there was quiet in Angela's room, silence from the loft where Claudine slept. Then he went across the yard to the slave building, weary from his sleepless nights and the long journey. He stripped off his shirt and boots and fell into the first bunk. With
in minutes he was sound asleep.

  He dreamed. Disturbing dreams, making him shift on the bed, restless and trapped. His arms, thrust over his head, began to prickle. He grew still, his eyes opening slowly to bright sunlight and complete awareness.

  "Don't struggle. Captain Tremain. You will find Chad has done an excellent job of securing your hands and feet to the bed. For a man accustomed to attack you have a remarkable faculty for deep sleep."

  Adam tested the rope on his wrists. It was secure. He strained, raising his head. A disheveled, sorrowful man slouched in the door. Another, muscular well-dressed blond man stood at the window, his back to Adam. And Edmund Revanche sat, relaxed and urbane, chatting with him.

  "What do you want. Revanche?"

  "Oh, now, Captain! Surely, you can surmise what I want. Once you challenged me. Remember? Yes, I thought you might. Perhaps, then, you will also recall another meeting. At Gray Oaks. I see you do. That is commendable. There was also an earlier occasion. Three times you interfered in my life. Captain Tremain, and three times you disrupted it badly. You deprived me of my livelihood as well. I cared a great deal for Gray Oaks. I spent years making it a showplace any man would envy. Don't you agree I owe you something? It is only fair that I should have my way with you. Once. Just once."

  Adam remained silent. He wouldn't give Edmund the satisfaction of hearing him ask what he intended. Let the man enjoy his moment. Let him talk in his quiet, cold, sophisticated manner. Tom and Seth and the others would return. Time was on his side, and Edmund did enjoy talking. He liked seeing the effect of his power.

  Edmund smiled as he watched Adam's face. "No one will come." He played with a piece of rope, methodically twisting the splayed end. "Men will do nearly anything for money—gold. Captain. I have hired five ruffians to go from one salt camp to another creating havoc in your name. It is an odd thing—people love a hero, but they love better to find he has feet of clay. Given sufficient evidence, they are eager to believe the vilest of rumors. At the moment your friends think they're chasing the Black Swan. Quite a hero until he turned bad for the sake of filthy lucre. I hear the Yankees got to him. They say he's being paid fabulous sums for each saltworks he closes. Some even claim he's been promised a political post in Lincoln's government."

  "No one will believe that. Certainly not the swamp people."

  "No? You think my men are not adept enough to make it believable? Perhaps not. But it won't matter to you, Captain." Edmund smiled again. His fingers formed a steeple against his lips. He looked up at Chad. 'The Captain and I have chatted long enough. Take him outside, Chad, and be careful. Captain Tremain has a reputation as a brawler. Do whatever you must, short of killing him."

  Chad, his eyes cold blue and expressionless in his florid, broad-planed face, examined Adam impersonally. He flexed his heavy shoulders, straining beneath his frock coat, as he carefully fitted his kid gloves to his hands. From his pocket he drew a knife, snapping the blade open. He sliced through the rope at the top of the bed.

  Adam clenched and relaxed his numb fingers to get the blood circulating. Chad cut the rope at his feet. Adam's feet were still hobbled, and his hands bound together, but he was free of the bed.

  "Get up. Captain. Move slowly, please. I should not like to mess my beautiful coat by having to punish you for foolhardy disobedience."

  Adam eyed him warily, then glanced at the pale, sweating man by the door. Adam drew his legs up, kicking at Chad's stomach. The man reeled back against the other bunks. He crashed to the floor.

  Adam was on his feet, hopping and staggering against the hobble on his ankles. As he had guessed, the other man made no move to stop him. He pressed against the wall, giving Adam room to get out the door.

  Edmund watched, amused as Adam awkwardly leaped and hopped toward the swamp. "The man has the instincts of a moth near flame." Edmund put out his hand to prevent Chad from racing after him. "Barefoot, he couldn't survive an hour. Perhaps we should let the snakes perform our task for us. But no. We'd not have the pleasure of watching. Give him a few moments to enjoy his freedom, Chad."

  "W-why we gonna do this, E'mun'? C-can't we jes' let *im go?" Josiah stammered.

  "Bring him back now, Chad.'*

  Chad, his anger turned cold and hard, sauntered to the horses and took from his mount the bullwhip Edmund insisted they carry wherever they went. He glanced at the soft earth, noting the direction Adam had taken. He felt no need to hurry.

  Adam .didn't dare stop to untie himself. He thought only of putting distance between himself and Revanche. He didn't see or hear Chad step quietly onto the path behind him. With the first curl of the bullwhip, Chad wrapped the eighteen-foot black coil around Adam's waist, jerking back, bringing Adam down hard and flat on his back.

  "You disappoint me. Captain. You were hardly any sport at all. Edmund led me to expect far more pleasure from you."

  Adam groaned, shaking his head groggily as he struggled to regain his breath. Above him loomed Chad's broad, unfeeling face. Deftly he released the whip from Adam's midriff and began delicately flicking the tip down his naked torso, each painful bite drawing blood. "Get up, Captain. This time perhaps you'll be wise enough to obey me."

  Adam didn't move. "Carry me if you want me."

  "Stubbornness is foolish. It can gain you nothing." Chad took several paces backward, uncoiling the whip to its full length. The black coil sliced through the air, whistling before it bit into Adam's neck and chest. Before he could catch his breath, the whip clawed down again, slicing the trousers from his leg. Adam cried out as the whip bit again. He rolled to his stomach. The whip flayed across his back and buttocks. Chad kept the rhythm mercilessly regular and quick.

  Adam's bound hands clawed the earth. "Stop! For the love of God—"

  "Crawl, Captain! Crawl!"

  Adam writhed on the ground as Chad worked up a sweat and rage that lent greater power to his arm. Agonized cries ripped from Adam's throat as he obeyed. Inch by painful writhing inch, he dragged himself along the spongy earth, away from the whip, back into the clearing and Edmund Revanche.

  "Enough, Chad! Leave something for our beauties." Edmund looked around the area. "Tie him to that sapling. Josiah, bring the beehive."

  Claudine and Angela knelt on the bed, peering out the window. Claudine wild with fright, stared at Adam's bloodied body.

  "Who are they? What do they want?" Angela clung to Claudine.

  Claudine began to tremble, her eyes showing white, her teeth clamped together. She pulled away.

  "Claudine! What are you doing?" Angela wrapped her arms around the small black girl. "No! No, you can't go out there! I won't let you. They'll see us! They'll know we're here!"

  "Leggo o' me! Ah's gwine he'p him!"

  "Let him take care of himself! You know what theyTl do to us! Listen to me, Claudine. Listen! Adam was going to leave us alone. He ran away, into the swamp. He didn't care about us—"

  "Lemme go! Ah doan care what he done. Dey's hurtin* him!"

  Josiah placed a large box hive and a package of clothing near Edmund, Sweat poured down his face and body, staining his olive green frock coat black under the arms. "We don' have—have to do this. We done enough, E'mun'. please, please, for God's sake, please!"

  Edmund donned the beekeeper's suit over his black clothing. On his head he placed a hood with a black tulle veil.

  Adam watched in horror as the three men rapidly became unrecognizable. He struggled uselessly against his bonds, but fear was now coursing through him, and common sense gone. Nearly paralyzed, he watched Edmund Revanche calmly don a mask as he had done years before in preparation for committing murder.

  Adam choked, gagging as he strained against the leather strap Chad had affixed around his neck and the sapling.

  Around his waist was another strap. His legs were bound with rope. His arms were free, but his hands were tied together in front of him.

  Of the three, only Josiah had not yet donned the long, heavy drill canvas bee gloves. Reluctant
ly, his eyes darting nervously from Adam to Revanche, Josiah picked up a small pail and paintbrush and began to daub sugarcane liquor on Adam's body. The sticky sweet substance mingled and coagulated with the blood that oozed from the lacerations of the whip.

  "I'm sorry . . . sorry. Don't want . . ." Tears streamed down Josiah's face under the black tulle, the back of his hand frequently sliding under the mask to smear across his nose. He blubbered excuses as he continued to coat Adam with the liquor that would attract the bees. "God forgive. I didn't want to. So sorry . . . sorry."

  Josiah dropped the empty pail and scurried back to Edmund, still sobbing. He pulled on the heavy gloves and stood by Chad waiting for Edmund to loose the bees.

  Edmund's face was all but obscured by the heavy veiling. "Put your hands out in front of you, Captain Tremain."

  Adam looked at him, his jaw clenched tight in a futile attempt to still his fear.

  "Come now, Captain. I'm only going to free your hands.** Edmund pulled Adam's hands forward, then sliced through the rope. Immediately Adam grasped the leather thongs tied around his neck, trying to free himself.

  Edmund shrugged. "I dislike taking undue advantage of you, so I shall give you some valuable advice. Bees do not like motion. Don't swat at them or try to fend them off. Test your mettle, Captain Tremain. Stay calm and motionless. Allow them to crawl over you. They will sting only in defense of their hive or themselves. One sting and they die, so they sting only when necessary." Edmund bowed mockingly.

  Sweating, his fingers numb and trembling, Adam picked at his thongs.

  The beehive had been sealed for the two days that Edmund had been traveling. That alone was enough to excite the bees. Leisurely, Edmund poked about the clearing until he spotted Tom's ax. He moved the hive to within fifteen feet of Adam. He picked up the ax, delicately testing its balance. Lightly he struck the hive. A humming arose, fearsome, belligerent, menacing.

  Edmund waited, veiled head turned to the other masked figures, one standing in expectant stillness, the other fidgeting uneasily. "I shouldn't try to run, Josiah," he warned. "After all you might be our next victim.*'