battered shoes.
He seemed to regard Bickerstaff with some curiosity, then looked at the five men, dead or dying, at Bickerstaff’s feet.
“You done this?” he asked, gesturing toward the dead men with his sword. He seemed not in the least concerned about the fate of his shipmates, bleeding out their lives on the deck.
“I did. I did not see as I had a choice.”
“Some hand with a sword, are you?”
“Fencing is a gentlemanly pursuit.”
At that the pirate smiled and looked Bickerstaff square in the eye, his intelligent, bemused brown eyes locking with Bickerstaff’s pale blue. “And you reckon yourself a gentleman?”
“I instruct gentlemen.”
“And what the fuck do you mean by that?”
“I am a teacher. I was taking passage to the colonies to act as instructor to the children of the gentleman who sails with his family aboard this vessel.”
“Sailed,” the pirate corrected. “He’s dead. Run through while he was cowering like the pile of shit he was. Like all them gentlemen. Cowardly bastards. You’re the only one that fought worth being called fighting. We lost eight of our men, and you done for five of them.”
“You do not seem very distraught over the death of your comrades,” Bickerstaff said. It was unreal, like a nightmare, standing there, surrounded by death, death waiting for him, having this conversation with a murdering brigand.
The man shrugged. “A short life, but a merry one. Now come, teacher, cross swords with me.” He gestured with the point of his sword for Bickerstaff to retrieve his weapon from the deck. “I’ll know who’s the better man.”
Bickerstaff bent over and picked up his sword, his eyes fixed on the pirate. Then the pirate gestured for Bickerstaff to
move to a clear part of the deck.
“You wish to fence with me?”
“No, I wants to fight with you, and fight I will.”
“You are the captain of this villainous bunch?”
“No, I’m the quartermaster. Now, come along.”
“I’ll fight you, on condition that the children aboard this ship are not hurt.”
At that the man laughed out loud. “You’ll make no demands, teacher. If you fight and lose, you’ll get a better death than them others.”
“And if I win?”
“You’re no worse off than you are now, and you gets the pleasure of taking another of us to hell with you.” At that he raised his sword and slashed down at Bickerstaff, so fast that Bickerstaff just had time to turn the sword away. He lunged, and the quartermaster leapt back, keeping just inches from Bickerstaff’s blade, smiling.
They faced off, Bickerstaff holding his sword in the prescribed manner of a gentleman fighting a duel, the pirate gripping his great sword with two hands, like a savage Celt. The pirate attacked, slashing right then left, driving Bickerstaff back with the ferocity of the onslaught, and Bickerstaff worked sword and dagger together to keep him off.
He had no form, no style, but he was incredibly strong, and that gave him speed, and his reflexes were unfailing. Bickerstaff had never before seen such a natural swordsman. He would never have believed that any man as ill-trained as this one could both beat off his attack and put up a formidable attack of his own.
It was pure native ability that saved the pirate’s life, saved him from Bickerstaff’s accurate, well-trained attacks as the offense and defense shifted back and forth, the two men moving up and down the sticky deck.
At length the pirate stepped back, his sword at his side. Bicker-staff made to lunge, but saw that the man was not defending himself, so he paused as well.
“You should have killed me, teacher,” the man said with a grin. “You are one goddamned good swordsman, with all yer fancy moves, but you don’t know about real killing.”
“I know about honor.”
“I reckon you do,” the man said, “I reckon you do.” He swept off his hat and bowed deep, a mocking gesture. “My name is Malachias Barrett, and I just might have need of you. Come with me.”
Barrett led Bickerstaff across the merchantman’s deck and onto the pirate ship. None of Barrett’s shipmates said anything, none of them even noticed, for they had begun to tear the merchantman apart and have their fun with her people. They were the Vandals sacking Rome, and they had no thought for anything but their own vicious pleasure. Bickerstaff followed-still in that dream state-and he did not even ask where they were going.
Barrett led him down below to the pirate’s ’tween deck and then down into the hold. The conditions aboard the merchantman had seemed disgusting to Bickerstaff, but that ship was a palace compared to the dark, wet, reeking confines of the pirate ship. There was gear and personal belongings, empty bottles and half-eaten food flung in every corner, and rats moved boldly across the deck, not even bothering to keep to the shadows.
“Lovely, ain’t she? Like the fucking Royal yacht,” Barrett said. “I’ve a mind to leave her.”
He opened the door to a small, dark room, then looked down at the sword and dagger that Bickerstaff still clutched in his hands. “I reckon I better take them,” he said.
Francis nodded dumbly. The blood had dried on the grips, and he had to peel the weapons from his hands before handing them over. Barrett gently pushed him into the dark room and shut the door. He heard a lock clicking in place, and then there was nothing but darkness and distant, muffled screams.
Bickerstaff opened his eyes. The stars were still there, blinking as the
“He saved my life, you see, locking me in that bread room,” he explained to Elizabeth. “The pirates killed them all. Killed them in a most horrible manner. All but me and the children, whom Marlowe managed to hide as well.”
“Why you? Why the children?”
“As to the children, I do not know. They were of no use to him. Perhaps he decided to honor my condition for fighting him. I like to think it was some spark of humanity that the pirates had not stamped out of him.
“As to why he saved me, well, there was a good reason for that. He had a mind to leave that life on the account, you see. Had been thinking on it for some time.
“These Brethren of the Coast, as they call themselves, sometimes they make quite a bit of money, but generally they gamble it away or drink it away or lose it in some manner. But Marlowe, or I should say Barrett, was smarter than that. He had been hoarding it for some time, years I should think.
“It was his intent to set up in some estate as Lord of the Manor. I can tell you, life aboard one of those pirate ships is no better than a prison in the matter of the food, the conditions. Disease. Marlowe was sensible enough to know he could do better than that.”
Elizabeth spoke at last. “But how had he come to be with these men?”
“That is his story, not mine, but I will tell you what I know. He was a sailor, it seems, on a merchant ship. They were taken by this pirate, this Jean-Pierre LeRois, some years before, and Marlowe was pressed into service with them. It is not at all uncommon for those on the account to make others come with them, especially if they have some certain skill or other. I believe Marlowe just took to the life eventually. Embraced it as his own.
“In any event, he had a mind to leave LeRois and so did a number of the others. This LeRois was a madman, it seems, and they had had their fill of him. So after they had plundered the ship I was on, and had their bloody fun, Marlowe an
nounced to this LeRois that he was taking our ship as his own, and taking a good part of the crew with him.
“LeRois, as you can imagine, was quite put out by this. They argued, swore, cursed one another. It seems LeRois had taken Marlowe under his wing, as it were, made him quartermaster, which is a high rank among those people. At last they took to their swords. LeRois was quite a swordsman, I can assure you, and I have told you already how very good Marlowe is. They fought for some time, the whole tribe looking on. Fought ’til each was cut to ribbons and nearly exhausted.
“In the end Marlowe bested LeRois, in large part because LeRois stumbled on a ringbolt in the deck and gave
