Blood and Oak- Wolves Will Eat

by Garrett Bettencourt

  “Koo-yii!” came a warcry. A blunt object smacked Aubert’s face, and he sprawled sidelong off of Dominique. The captain fumbled on hands and knees, dazed from the blow. A hand reached down for her.

  As if stepping out of a dream, Melisande Dufort appeared above her sister, raven-head war club in hand. Dominique took her hand, and Melisande pulled her to her feet.

  Dominique stumbled, then leaned on the table for balance. She pulled up her corset, tears running down her face. She looked over at Aubert, lying unconscious.

  “You okay, Dom?” said Melisande.

  Dominique nodded. As if to disagree with herself, she sputtered with new sobs. She pulled Melisande into a hug. Dominique’s younger sister might have been short, but her arms were strong. At that moment, Dominique knew two things: She’d never been less ‘okay’ in her life—and she’d never been happier to see her little sister.

  “Let’s get out of here,” said Melisande leading Dominique by the hand.

  “You little bitch!” Aubert scrambled to his feet, bleeding from a savage gash above his temple. Before Melisande could swing her war club, the crazed captain barreled at her. He landed a fist square across her jaw, sending her sprawling across the floor.

  “Richard, no!” pleaded Dominique. “Don’t hurt her.”

  Aubert stood over a dazed Melisande, balling his fists. “I’ve always hated you.”

  The blow would have knocked out a lesser woman, but not Melisande. In a punch-drunk slur, she quipped, “I don’t like you much either, bollock chin.”

  Melisande’s foot shot up, landing square in Aubert’s groin. The captain howled with pain, stumbling to one knee. Melisande squirmed out from under him, antler-hilted dagger already raised in a backswing. But Aubert was a competent fighter, and he caught her arm. His strength was enough to hold back the blade. He punched at Melisande’s gut with his free hand. Melisande coiled up and took the blow on her right arm, then struck Aubert’s chest with her knee. She landed several blows, Aubert gasping with lost wind. He used his weight against her and drove her to the ground. With both hands, Aubert seized Melisande’s knife and twisted it toward her chest. Melisande fought back with both hands, but the point inched down.

  Dominique looked around, desperate for a way to help her sister. Her eyes landed on the silver fluted teapot sitting on the table. She seized the handle, charged toward Aubert, and brought the teapot down on his skull. The captain jerked but held on. Dominique swung again, this time across Aubert’s face, and he went tumbling.

  Melisande scrambled across the floor and retrieved her war club. Aubert’s face was beet red and covered in blood, matted strands of blonde hair plastered to his temple. He lunged for Dominique, caught her next attempt to land the teapot, then backhanded her.

  A ringing exploded in Dominique’s ears as she stumbled back. Aubert swung a fist at Melisande. She ducked the blow. The raven beak thudded into Aubert’s thigh, then whipped into his stomach, then smacked his right arm. There was a snap as Aubert’s arm broke, and he fell to his knees with a growl.

  Dominique watched as Melisande crouched for a strike, facing off with the kneeling captain. Anger boiled in Dominique’s veins, and she tightened her grip on the teapot.

  Aubert sneered. “You fucking bit—”

  Dominique smashed the silver pot into Aubert’s face. He landed on hands and knees, dribbling his words. “You bit—”

  Melisande’s war club cracked Aubert’s cheek.

  The captain of the USS Allegheny went down like a sack of flour. He lay still on the floor, eyes open, but motionless. A pool of blood spread out from his head.

  For a moment, Dominique and Melisande stood there panting. Dominique’s tears dried. Melisande slid her weapons into her belt. They looked at each other, then the fallen man.

  “Is he…?” asked Melisande.

  “I don’t know.” Dominique thought to hold a hand up to Aubert’s nose and check for breath, but then she remembered. “Melly! The Djedid!”

  “What about them?”

  “They’re coming!” Dominique ran for the open door. “Follow me. We have to hurry while there’s still time.”

  The two sisters took off down the stairs.

  Chapter 41

  The Lake Fort

  Powder Magazine

  Tuesday, September 13th, 1803

  Day 4, Late Afternoon

  Dominique Aubert shook the door to the powder magazine, but it was no use. The storeroom was locked tight. Around the corner, a whole section of the western corridor had been blocked with stacks of barrels—no doubt to hide the activities of Aubert and the Djedid soldiers he let into the castle.

  “What was the asshole up to?” wondered Melisande, a pistol in hand.

  “Damnit!” cried Dominique as she vainly rammed her shoulder into the door. “We need an ax.”

  “What’s wrong, Dufort?” said a deep voice from the other side of the stacks.

  “Bugger axes—I’ve got something better,” Melisande said. “Hey, Big Paw Kelham! Can you give us a hand?”

  The sailor knocked down several barrels and came crashing through. Alarmed at the stocky mass coming at her, Dominique stepped aside. The giant teen stopped in front of Melisande and said in his slow cadence, “What is it, Dufort?”

  “My sis and I need this door open,” said Melisande.

  “Right,” added Dominique. “It’s locked, but if we can just find a—”

  “Okay,” interrupted Kelham. Without ceremony, he squared himself in front of the single iron-banded slab of wood and kicked. His foot landed like a mule hoof. A second kick and a crack split the timbers. A third and a hinge snapped off. A fourth and the door crashed in.

  “That’s my Nyah-Gwaheh!” cheered Melisande. “Thanks!”

  “I’m glad he’s on our side,” mused Dominique.

  His chore done, Kelham grinned. “You’re welcome, Dufort.”

  Dominique raced into the armory, hoping there would be time to cut any burning fuses. Instead, she stopped in her tracks.

  “What the hell’s this?” said Melisande.

  “Where did it all go?” asked Kelham.

  The armory was empty. Every barrel of powder, every box of shot, every gun and blade—everything was gone. The shelves and racks were bare. “What have you done, Richard?” whispered Dominique.

  “This isn’t good,” said Melisande. “Dom, we’ve got to find the gunpowder.”

  “There’s no time,” said Dominique. “We have to assume the worst and get everyone out of the castle. Melly, you take the barracks and kitchens. I’ll take the great hall.”

  “Right!” said Melisande.

  “Mr. Kelham,” said Dominique, craning her neck upward to meet the sailor’s eyes. “Get word to Lieutenant Ryland: Every man on the walls needs to get away from the keep. Captain’s orders. Go as fast as you can.”

  “Okay, Miss Dufort,” said the giant.

  “Actually, my name is…”

  But Kelham was already bounding off down the hall.

  “Nice to hear your proper name again,” said Melisande. She winked and jogged away.

  Dominique sighed and gathered her skirts. Her expensive imported slippers slowed her down, so she kicked them off. She ran the halls, yelling to every sailor to get out of the castle. None of them questioned the word of the captain’s wife. Dozens of sailors were soon sprinting for the courtyard, passing the word to their fellows as they went. Her route ended in the Great Hall, where she directed men to carry out the wounded.

  “What is the meaning of this?” groused Dr. Murphy, looking up from bandaging an officer’s bleeding arm. He jabbed a finger in the direction of two sailors carrying out an amputee. “You there! That man needs bed rest. Set him down.”

  “Dr. Murphy,” said Dominique. “We have to evacuate the keep right away! Djedid soldiers have gotten inside and rigged explosives.”

  “What? Where is the captain? I want to hear him give this order.”

  “There�
��s no time, Doctor! Now, please, come with me outside.”

  “Young lady,” argued Murphy, “You have upended an entire sick ward. I will not abandon my post on account of your caterwauling.”

  “Mrs. Aubert,” called Gabriel Sawyer. The skinny sailor was having a hard time helping a large able seaman with a splinted leg. “I need help here.”

  “Please, Doctor, we can’t afford to lose you,” Dominique said as she raced to Sawyer’s patient. She threw the injured sailor’s arm over her shoulders.

  The wounded man said, “Thank you, Mrs. Aubert.”

  “You’re welcome,” said Dominique. She tried to plead with the doctor again, but he wouldn’t listen. They carried the man out into the waning light of the afternoon.

  ###

  “Everybody out!” shouted Melisande, clapping her hands and racing between bunks. For the exhausted men trying to steal a few winks during a lull in the action, her alarm was anything but welcome. “Up up, boys! Everyone muster in the courtyard.”

  “I was sleeping, Dufort!” complained the powder monkey, Eric Long.

  “You heard the lad, you layabouts!” Old Man Meadows leaped out of his bunk and set to bellowing. “Every man jack of you—beat to the courtyard. I say, beat to the courtyard.”

  Melisande smiled at Meadows. The old man was a true friend.

  “Get them out, Meadows,” said Melisande. “I’ll look for stragglers.”

  “Aye, but don’t be far behind.”

  Melisande skipped out into the western corridor. The ancient stone halls were deserted, and she turned toward the exit. She stopped when something caught the side of her eye.

  To her left, one of Aubert’s hall barricades had collapsed, revealing the steps down into the dungeon. She peeked down the stairway and saw the door was open a crack. Melisande drew her war club and dagger. She crept down into the deserted prison. Alert for enemies, she stalked along the row of cells where Sully and his father had been held. She peered around the corner. What she saw caused her mouth to drop open. Her war club clattered to the stone.

  Gunpowder casks were clustered around every corner column, stacked in pyramids at the center of the four mythical statues, spilling out of every cell door. A cloud of acrid smoke rose from dozens of burning fuses. Every barrel from the armory had been moved down here, and there had to be fifty or more. Enough to gut the castle foundations.

  Melisande snatched up her war club and ran for her life.

  ###

  “Mrs. Aubert!” Ryland ran across the courtyard. The crowd of Allegheny survivors was massed on the ground where the slave pens once stood. Dozens of them swarmed along the ramparts. “What’s going on? Is the fort breached?”

  “Yes,” said Dominique, feeling her husband’s name on her like a stain. She helped Sawyer hand the injured sailor off to his mates, then turned to face Ryland. “The Djedid sneaked in. They emptied the powder stores in the magazine—it’s likely sabotage.”

  “The powder magazine?” puzzled Ryland. “But the captain was in…” He trailed off.

  Dominique shared a knowing look with the lieutenant. They had both had their suspicions. She could see in Ryland’s eyes he was putting it together—Aubert’s complicity in the sinking of the Minerva, and now his complicity in sabotage.

  “We must assume the castle and courtyard lost.” Ryland cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed, “All hands, fall back to the docks. All hands, fall back to the docks.”

  The orders echoed around the courtyard, and the flow of sailors turned toward the west gatehouse, which led to the fortified wharf.

  “Everyone, get clear!” cried Melisande. She was sprinting out of the fort tunnels thirty yards away. “Move your asses. It’s gonna blow! It’s gonna—”

  The ground shuddered under Dominique’s feet, and she went sprawling backward. A shockwave rippled through the courtyard, followed by a deafening boom. A crack split Naim’s tower like a tree in a bolt of lightning. Plumes of dust erupted like geysers from the Earth. With an earthquake, the entire west half of the keep caved in. The highest floor flattened the one below, throwing a cloud of gravel and debris. The smaller tower toppled away. Naim’s Grand Tower crashed through the roof of the Great Hall and disintegrated. A cloud of dust rolled over the courtyard and turned day into twilight.

  When the last rumbling ceased, Dominique struggled to her feet. She stumbled through the dust cloud, wracked with coughs. A sailor charged out of the fog and bumped into her. They held each other for balance, then moved past one another. The powdered stone coated her nasal passages like chalk. She spat muddy saliva.

  “Melisande,” she called, choking on the polluted air. “Melly. Where are you?” Her panic rising, she yelled louder. “Melly! Melly, where are you?”

  The dust obscured everything beyond a few feet. Corpses of men and piles of rock appeared and vanished like ghosts. A short body resolved a few feet in front of Dominique. She stopped, tears welling in her eyes. The sailor lay stomach down, short black hair and striped shirt glazed with brown powder. A large chunk of stone had landed on the right half of the victim’s trunk, burst innards turning to mud. He was the right size to be…

  “Oh God,” cried Dominique, clapping a hand over her mouth. “Melly? Melly!”

  Those next couple of steps were the most terrible of Dominique’s life. As she approached the dead sailor, she became ever more convinced it was the body of her sister. She didn’t want to look, but she had to…

  “Dom!” Melisande flew out of the fog and took her arm. “We gotta move.”

  “Melly!” Dominique’s voice cracked as she met her sister’s eyes, bright amidst the dirt on her face. “You’re okay!”

  “Course I am, worry-wort. But we gotta move.”

  Melisande led Dominique through the chaos, somehow never stumbling. Dominique’s sister always had a sixth sense when it came to navigation. After a short walk through the maelstrom, they passed under the inner gatehouse, then the outer gatehouse. Daylight burst over them as they emerged into the crowded fortified docks. At least forty sailors were already here, with more streaming in behind them.

  “Get every man inside, then bar the gates,” bellowed Lieutenant Ryland a few feet away. He was touching men on the back to usher them by, his eyes keeping count. “Foretopmen to the west wall, maintopmen to the east wall. Idlers on the gatehouse. Where are my powder monkeys?”

  “Lieutenant Ryland,” coughed Dominique. “Can we salvage the courtyard?”

  “I’m afraid not,” said Ryland. “The tower took out a stretch of wall when it came down. It’s impossible to defend.”

  Dominique scanned the parallel walls of the dockyard, which extended from the shore into the water. She counted only eight cannon. “Then what do we do?”

  “We hold these docks until Sullivan gets here.” Ryland cupped a hand to his mouth. “Marines! Form up at the ramparts.”

  Dominique waved dust away from her face. “And what if the Djedid break through before Sully gets here?”

  Ryland returned an iron stare. “We hold these docks.”

  Chapter 42

  The Penelope

  Chesapeake Bay

  Two Years Ago

  Dominique Dufort peered through the darkness with her spyglass. Night herons quok-quoked from the wetland trees along the shore. A warm wind blew the scent of flowers and pondweed. A distant cluster of lanterns danced on the water of Chesapeake Bay. Half a mile astern of the Penelope, a sloop full of angry smugglers, slave-hunters, and bloodhounds continued to gain. The dogs barked on the enemy decks. Dominique snapped the spyglass closed. She turned away from the taffrail and found John and Melisande lashing the wheel in place. Godfried nosed around the deserted deck, sniffing coils of rope. With all the rigging abandoned, the sails and yardarms whispered like a ghost ship.

  “What if this doesn’t work?” worried Dominique. “What if they realize we’ve abandoned ship and they pursue us up the Rappahannock?”

  “Relax, Dom.�
� Sullivan tightened a knot on a wheel spoke. “The freemen rowed ashore under cover of night. We’ve set the stuns’ls and lit the deck lamps. They’ll think we’re making a run for Baltimore.”

  “What the hell’s a stuns’l?” Melisande said around a wad of tobacco. She was helping Sullivan lash down the ship’s wheel. “And how do they help us pull this off?”

  “Studding sails.” Sullivan pointed toward the sail extensions tacked onto the ends of the yardarms. With so much extra canvas tacked onto the main and mizzen masts, the Penelope was like a puffed up bird. “More sails mean more speed. They’ll make Laffite think we’re trying to outrun him. But really, he’ll be chasing an abandoned ship.”

  “What if the Penelope swerves into a sandbar or something?” Melisande asked.

  “She’ll sail true for at least an hour after we’re gone. That’ll give us enough time to escape with the freemen.”

  “Melly, are you sure Grey Feather is at the village?” said Dominique, pacing.

  “He’ll be there,” groaned Melisande. “And even if he isn’t, we’re family. The People of the Longhouse would never turn away kin in need, exiled or not.”

  “Dom.” Sullivan finished the last knot. The wheel strained against the ropes but held firm. He gave her a wink. “We’ll be fine.”

  “I like this mick.” Melisande hung an arm on Sullivan’s shoulder. “You and I Sully, we’re going to be friends. I can tell.”

  “First, we have to live through this.” John headed toward the gangway. “Let’s go.”

  “What about the jolly boat?” Dominique asked as she followed Sullivan to the gap in the railing. She looked at the waves lapping at the ship’s ladder. It was a dizzying drop. “We haven’t launched it.”

  “No time,” said John. “And with only three of us, we risk our efforts being spotted. We have to swim for land.”