Accidental Warrior: The Unlikely Tale of Bloody Hal

by Colin Alexander

  “He’s a good scout,” Anderson said. “He’ll get to someone without getting killed. Now we wait, and hope he gets back before that idiot at the gate decides to organize his charge.”

  It took about a half hour before the man came back into view along the path leading down to the river. A man in leathers walked alongside him. Another one in leathers, armed with a musket, walked a few yards behind. That one stopped twenty-five yards down the path while the other two walked up to Hal and Anderson. Even in the moonlight, the leather-clad man looked familiar to Hal.

  “Yeah, I’m Brennan, Will Brennan,” he said to Hal. “I know you from Nieuwmarkt. Can’t say that I’m glad to see you, but maybe some good will come of it.”

  Hal ignored both the comment and Anderson’s open-mouthed stare. There was no time for any of that. Instead, he pointed to the door behind them and explained where the passage led. “I don’t understand why you didn’t come this way in the first place,” he finished. “Bel knows about this entrance.”

  “Haven’t seen her,” Brennan said. “Even if I had, she’s not one to spend time in conversation with. Temper’s too quick, holds life too cheap. Fact is, yours is the only life I’ve seen her spare when there was a choice. I’d have thought she’d slit your throat, and I can’t say I wouldn’t have been glad to see it.”

  By this time, Anderson looked as though he was strangling. Hal ignored it and asked Brennan if the rebels would come to the door.

  “We’ll send men this way, yes, while we make a demonstration at the gate. You see that this way stays open.” Then Brennan and his companion were off down the path.

  “Jesus Christ Our Savior in Heaven!” Anderson exploded as soon as the two were out of sight. “Whose agent are you? If you’ve betrayed Gustavus—”

  “I’ve not betrayed Gustavus,” Hal said quickly. “I’m following his orders.” Well, he thought, in a general sense that’s true. With that, he pushed past Anderson and went back through the postern gate into the corridor in the wall.

  The fighting was at a crucial point, but Bel was not here at the gate. Brennan had not seen her, did not know where she was. That meant there was only one place she could be.

  • • •

  It was a testament to the confusion in the area of the gate as the rebels unleashed their feint that Hal was able to run out into the city without being noticed. He ran until he was well out of sight, then stopped to catch his breath. His heart was pounding, and not just from the run. Brennan had wanted him dead before; Anderson probably thought he was someone’s spy now. Well, it did not matter, really. The Swedes would be out of the fight. What he had screwed up in the beginning was fixed. There was one more thing he had to do, though. He just needed to orient himself in the dark, the light of the moon still obscured by smoke.

  It took longer than he expected. Armed men of both sides prowled the streets. Looters were out too, possibly as dangerous as the fighters. Each party he came on necessitated a detour so that, even though he had been to the house numerous times, he lost his way more than once and had to double back.

  The Wycliff house was dark when he arrived. Two dead Provi soldiers lay near the open doorway. Oh, God, he thought.

  Heedless of lurking soldiers or rebels he yelled out, “Bel!” There was no answer.

  The house to the south was burning, flames and glowing embers leaping high. “Bel!”

  Something moved in the house, a shadow, a scrape against a wall. A figure appeared in the doorway where Martin Wycliff had met Johanna. Bel. By the light of the burning building, Hal could see darkness on her hands, a dark stain on one sleeve. Red. Blood. Her face was a mask.

  “Oh, God.” That was all he could say.

  “Yes, I did what I said I would do.” Her voice was soft, distant. “I killed them. Henry, he didn’t even recognize me, not even when I told him my name. I didn’t matter to him, not even tonight. Martin squealed like a piglet, and like a pig, he died. The boy grabbed a sword. At least he tried to fight. I spared the housekeeper. She was once kind to a whipped orphan.” It was as though she was explaining a mundane day’s events to friends.

  “Oh, God.” Hal searched for words. How could you ask if killing people made you feel better? “So it’s all over now?”

  “No!” The word tore into him. “It’s not over; it’s never over. I used to daydream that when I killed them, it would bring back my parents, bring back my sister. We would all be together again. A silly daydream. I knew it wouldn’t happen, but I thought I would be satisfied, fulfilled. I just feel hollow. Nothing inside.” She was speaking to a point beyond him.

  “But, it is over, Bel.” God, he thought, now I’m justifying it. “Why isn’t it over?”

  “Because I lied!” The scream erupted from deep inside her. Her eyes fastened now on Hal. “I lied! I lied to you! I lied to everyone! I lied about that night!” Her voice was shaking, as was her body. “I said I stopped them and I didn’t. They raped me! They raped me! Over and over and over until they couldn’t do it anymore. And then Wycliff held me down and cut up my face.” She had her hand up to the smooth side of her face. It shook. “All I could do was press this side to the floor so he only cut the one side. And then he said I better enjoy what I had had because no man would ever look at me again. It was only after that, only after the two of them were in a drunken stupor, only then, that I took the dagger and slit their throats. Some defense of my honor!” Her wide eyes fixed on a point past Hal’s shoulder, a place occupied only by smoke and darkness.

  “What? Bel, my God, you were only eleven years old!”

  “It doesn’t matter!” she screamed. “It doesn’t matter! I didn’t do anything. I let it happen! I didn’t even die.”

  She was trembling all over. Hal put his hands out to her shoulders.

  “Don’t touch me!” She rushed past him and ran into the night. Smoke from the fire hid her before Hal could even think to follow.

  27

  Dentistry and Diplomacy

  NOW WHAT? WITH Bel gone, Hal realized how tired he was. He wanted to sleep in his bed in the fort, never mind that there were killers loose there. He wanted to sleep anywhere. But part of his mind could not stop thinking about Bel. Why should I care? he asked himself. But then he saw her eyes again, focused not here, focused in the past. “Shit.”

  He had to find Bel.

  There was one person who might know where she’d gone. And if Fons ten Eyck had survived this night, there was only one logical place for him to be.

  Hal set his weary body in motion back toward the fort. The streets seemed quiet now. He saw no fighters, no patrols. He wasn’t really looking for them anymore, he was too tired, but no one bothered him. The gate at the wall before the fort was open and unguarded. Bodies lay unmoving on the ground there and past the gate. The gate into the fort itself was guarded by two armed men. The white stripes on their orange coats were covered with black cloth. One leveled his musket at Hal, the other held a drawn sword.

  “Halt!”

  Hal walked up to them, too tired to care about their weapons, too tired to care if the Provi on the dock was correct that the fort had fallen. “I need to see Fons ten Eyck.”

  Possibly, it was the Nya Sverige uniform that did it. Possibly, the guards were as tired as Hal and could not think of what else to do. They passed him through.

  Hal climbed the steps with boots that felt like they were ringed with lead weights. There was only one logical place in the whole great fort for Fons to be. Blood puddled on the floor outside Harmsworth’s office, smeared and tracked through by boots. Bloody boot prints led into the office and down the hallway outside. The body the blood had come from was not in evidence. Hal ignored the blood and walked in. Ten Eyck stood at Harmsworth’s office desk, just where Percy Harmsworth had stood not many days ago. He was talking to two men in orange coats whose white stripes were covered with black cloth.

  “Fons,” That was all Hal could get out.

  At the word, the two in orange
drew swords, but ten Eyck gestured for them to stop. The weapons did not go down, but they did not attack.

  “Hal,” ten Eyck said, “I have heard what you did for us at the city wall and I will thank you for it later, but right now you may have noticed we are in the middle of a battle.”

  “It’s about Bel.”

  Ten Eyck’s mouth tightened. He waved the other two away from the table. “Come with me.”

  He led Hal into an interior room off the office. It held a table with wood inlays set with silver utensils, upon it a rude board with a loaf of bread and some cheese. Upholstered chairs and a bench with pastoral scenes done in needlework on the cushions had been pushed, helter-skelter, around the room.

  “What happened?” ten Eyck said. “Is she dead?”

  “No.” Hal told himself not to be surprised at the question. As ten Eyck had said, they were in the middle of a battle. “She killed the Wycliffs. All of them.” With those words, his mental dam broke and the whole of Bel’s story tumbled out in the space of a breath.

  Ten Eyck sighed. He looked tired as well, tired and old. “So, she told you.”

  “You know?”

  Ten Eyck nodded. “It was my band she stumbled upon all those years ago, but none of the others are still alive, so I am probably the only other one who knows. She changed her tale almost immediately and none of us had the heart to ever say otherwise.”

  “Where would she go? I need to find her.”

  “That is not for you to do.” Ten Eyck shook his head. “In any case, she will come here, sooner or later. Depend on it. Now, as I said, we have a battle to finish. Have some food, and if there is a use for you, I will tell you.”

  Ten Eyck tore off a chunk of the bread and handed it to Hal. Hal bit into it, felt a crack, and pain lanced through his lower jaw. The bread dropped to the floor; he went to his knees. Throbbing pain filled his jaw and ran up to his ear, where it pierced him like a hot needle. His hand went to rub the spot but that did no good. He was aware that he was moaning. Ten Eyck bent over, pried his mouth open and looked.

  “Must be a tooth,” he said. “Nothing to do about it now. You sit here for the moment.” Ten Eyck pointed to one of the chairs.

  For all that the chairs had lavishly decorated upholstery, they were uncomfortable. It did not matter. Even the pain in his mouth was not enough to keep Hal awake once he sat down. His eyelids closed; the talk in the adjoining room faded to white noise.

  “Hal!” Ten Eyck’s voice shouting his name brought him back to the world. He found that he had fallen asleep with his head tipped to one side. The cramp in his neck muscles as he straightened up made him gasp. He tried to stifle that by clamping his jaws. That put pressure on his teeth, and pain erupted once more. It was all he could do not to scream.

  “This will never do,” said the officer in an orange coat with black over the Provi stripes, standing next to ten Eyck. “You cannot entrust the task to someone in this state.”

  “I have already sent for someone,” ten Eyck growled. “We do not have much choice in this situation.” He turned to face Hal. His eyes were bloodshot, his face haggard. It was clear that he had not slept.

  “We have received a message from your merchant, Gustavus, from where he sits floating in the harbor,” ten Eyck continued, addressing Hal. “He sent a letter that says he represents the government of Nya Sverige.”

  Hal nodded. He tried to speak without letting his jaws close. “He had a letter like that for Harmsworth also.” It felt like so long ago, a year or more, since Gustavus had shown the letter to Harmsworth. It had only been a couple of weeks.

  Ten Eyck was still speaking. “Yes, well, our merchant who is not just a merchant invites us to send him an emissary. Commands, might be a more accurate word. He wants us to send an emissary and he expects the emissary to be named Hal Christianson. You will need to have your wits about you, so we must fix your tooth first.”

  “Fons.” Hal’s word stopped him as he turned to go. “I’m sorry, so sorry about your brother.”

  Ten Eyck turned back, all expression gone from his face. For an instant, Hal feared that ten Eyck would kill him right there. “That is not for you to be sorry about, and not for you to talk about. Not now, not ever.” Ten Eyck turned and left.

  For the next hour, Hal tried to think about anything but the pain in his mouth. Nothing worked. It throbbed; it pulsated. It felt as though a giant spike was being driven through the side of his head. He paid no attention to any of the people who streamed through the outer office to speak with ten Eyck. The entire battle plan for the revolution could have been laid out in that office and he would have remembered none of it.

  Finally, with the sun near the zenith, Bel came through the outer door trailed by a portly and disheveled man whose body odor only partly covered the alcohol on his breath. He carried a small black bag in one hand. The other clutched the sides of his coat together.

  “This is the best I could do,” Bel said. “Most have run, and most of what’s left want nothing to do with us.”

  Hal stared at Bel. For the moment, he was able to ignore the pain. She looked as she always did, except for the dark stain on her right sleeve. Maybe it was only in his imagination that everyone else in the room left clear space around her.

  “You’ve done well enough,” the man with her said with a slight wheeze. “My name is Hastings, thank you very much young lady, and I’m the best doctor on this half of the island. I just was not expecting such an early morning call.”

  “Hmm.” Ten Eyck pushed a hand through his beard. “I would think after the fighting last night, there would be plenty of early calls. Anyway, we need a dentist.”

  “I’m that too.” Hastings straightened his coat.

  “Really?” ten Eyck asked.

  “Fons, I can’t find anyone else,” Bel said.

  “All right.” Ten Eyck turned to Hastings. “The lad has a bad tooth. There’s a job he needs to do and this needs to get fixed. Let’s see what you can do.”

  Hastings walked over to Hal and took his face in his hands. “What your name, boy?”

  “Hal.” The pressure of Hasting’s grip on his face turned the word into a moan.

  “Fine, Hal.” Hastings put a hand into his bag and came out with a long metal probe. “Open your mouth, Hal.”

  Hastings tapped the probe against each of Hal’s teeth. When he reached one of the back molars on the right side, Hal screamed and tried to rise off the chair. Hastings pushed him back down.

  “I think we’ve found the problem. Now, let me look.” He peered into Hal’s mouth for a minute. “Cracked, I think. Doesn’t matter how you did it, not really. It’s got to come out.”

  “Out?” Hal asked. “How?”

  “I’m going to pull it out, of course.” Hastings turned back to his bag again and pulled out a large bottle of amber liquid. “Take a drink,” he said, holding out the bottle.

  Hal raised the bottle to his lips, gagging on the bitter whiskey as it filled his mouth.

  “Drink more.”

  Hal took another swig. The liquor burned where it settled in his stomach.

  “Good,” Hastings said. “I’ll have this finished in no time.” From his bag, he withdrew a pair of long metal tongs. He gripped them in his right hand and advanced on Hal. “Open your mouth again.”

  Hastings stuck the tongs into Hal’s mouth, gripped the tooth and yanked.

  Hal’s scream echoed around the room. The tongs slipped off the tooth, which had not budged.

  “It’s pretty firm in its socket,” Hastings said. “Drink some more.” He handed the bottle back to Hal.

  “All right,” Hastings said. “Let’s see.”

  Again, he went in with the tongs and grabbed the tooth. Again, Hal screamed, but, this time, Hastings did not lose his grip. He tugged, got no result, tugged again and a third time, each try giving rise to a new scream.

  “Stubborn.” Hastings got a two-handed grip on the tongs and pulled. Hal came up o
ut of the chair, pulled by the tooth.

  “This will never do, Hal,” Hastings said. “You must stay seated. You, sir,” he waved to ten Eyck, “would you please hold our young fellow down?”

  Ten Eyck walked behind the chair, put his hands on Hal’s shoulders and leaned forward, pressing Hal down into the chair. With ten Eyck pinning Hal in place, Hastings tried again with the tongs. Ignoring Hal’s screams, he gripped the tooth with the tongs held in both hands, braced his feet against the floor, and pulled for all he was worth. Ten Eyck was able to keep Hal in the chair, but still the tooth did not yield. Hastings tried to adjust his grip but, when he did, the tongs slipped off and Hastings wound up sitting on the floor.

  “Are you sure you know how to do this?” ten Eyck asked.

  “Of course I’m sure,” Hastings snapped. “That tooth just has a very deep socket and it’s hard to get a good grip on a molar. It is coming out, though, and it is coming out now.” Hastings picked up the bottle. “Drink again.”

  Hal swallowed. He was sick and dizzy, though whether from the liquor or the pain was impossible to tell.

  “Push the chair back against that wall,” Hastings ordered.

  While ten Eyck moved Hal and the chair where Hastings indicated, Hastings took the bottle and swallowed what remained. Then he picked up the tongs from the floor, hefted them in one hand and shortened his grip. When he reached Hal, Hastings kneeled across Hal’s lap, using all his weight to keep Hal in the chair. He thrust the tongs into Hal’s mouth, not just the tongs, in fact, but most of his fist. He yanked on the tooth again and again and again. Still, it did not come out. Hastings’ fist blocked Hal’s yells; indeed, it nearly blocked his ability to breathe. Hastings gritted his own teeth and yanked again. Again, nothing happened. Now, he kneeled across Hal’s lap with just one leg. The other foot he planted against the wall past Hal’s ear. He gave one more mighty tug, pulling with his arms and pushing off from the wall with his foot. There was a loud pop as all that force overcame the socket’s ability to hold the tooth. Hastings flew backward and landed on his back on the floor. In one upraised hand he held the tongs that still gripped the bloody molar. He gave a shout and pointed triumphantly with his other hand. Hal’s scream was staunched by the rush of blood that flowed out of his mouth, over his chin, and added to the needlework blood shed by the Romans of the upholstered cushion. Then he slid off the chair to the floor.