A Rational Arrangement, page 40
It was light outside, perhaps after noon, when Brogan returned. Nik stopped moving then, stopped doing anything save shiver and sweat in terror. Brogan had a grim cheer about him as he went through the same preparations he’d done the night before; he took coals from the stove and put them in the pot, added the needles and pliers to heat, and set the whole on the table, too close to Nik. “Gotta get ready for our company.” Brogan grinned mirthlessly at Nikola. The captain dropped his gloved palm to rest over Nik’s damaged fingertips then, and ground down while Nik threw his head back and whined in helpless agony. “Just think how little Miss Vasilver will enjoy this visit.” He pressed harder, wriggling his hand, then left the cabin.
Nik screwed his eyes shut against tears of pain, a surge of anger rising against the horror and fear, and alongside it determination. I will not let this happen. After taking a few deep breaths, he renewed his work at loosening the arm of the chair.
For some minutes, Justin endured the most nerve-wracking slow-motion chase. After a couple of blocks of an initial spurt of speed, Anthser slowed to a stroll, uncertain of the exact location of the whistle (he said) and unwilling to rush to it even if he had been. “It was only one, so she doesn’t want us trying to rescue her. We have to trust her.” Then he’d hear another (single) whistle and trot in a different direction for a while before stopping and listening.
After several blocks of this, Justin convinced him to take to the rooftops where they’d have some chance of seeing what Anthser was (supposedly) hearing. “We can hang back on the rooftops. No one’s going to look up for pursuers.” Another several blocks, and Anthser was convinced the occasional whistle was coming from a covered cart. One man was pushing it and a second pulling, while a third walked alongside. They shadowed it for over a mile through the city, staying back on the rooftops. Justin caught glimpses of their target now and again with the spyglass, Anthser listening for the whistles. Whenever they lost sight of it, Justin was infuriated: “Your concern for being spotted is going to get her killed if they take her from that cart while we can’t see her, and she’s no longer able to signal us.”
As they neared the harbor, Justin had a different sickening idea: that the ruffians had taken the whistle from Wisteria when they first got to her, and stashed some complicit street urchin inside the cart while having Wisteria herself taken in a different direction. He had no idea what to do if that proved the case.
He half-expected the men to take the cart into one of the warehouses along the docks, but instead they wheeled it out onto a dock. “What are they going to do, drown her?” Justin hissed, one hand clutching at the scruff of Anthser’s neck.
“Why would they do that?” Navigating by rooftop had become difficult a few blocks earlier and they’d descended to street level, skulking along at a distance. Anthser drew out of sight behind a building for a minute when the men they were following looked around. When he risked another glimpse, the cart was abandoned on the dock and four men were rowing away in a small row boat, Wisteria’s dark-haired form seated among them. Anthser’s ears flicked back. “…crap.”
Justin tightened his grip on Anthser’s fur. “Did she whistle twice?”
“No.” He flicked his ears up again. “Once. I…uh…how do we follow that without being seen?”
Justin brought the spyglass to his eye and read the name on the stern of the small vessel: Little Lassie. If they made a run for it now – well, Anthser could swim. They could get to the boat. Not before the men could threaten Wisteria’s life. Not to mention Nikola’s. I hate this plan. Justin looked around. Like the rest of Gracehaven, or Newlant for that matter, little work was being done here on the day after Ascension, but the docks were not deserted. “We’re hiring a boat.” He pointed to a couple of men on an adjoining dock. “That way.”
Wisteria wondered if she ought to have blown the whistle twice rather than meekly step into this little boat. For that matter, she would have given much to know if anyone had been able to follow her this far. She did not look around, because she did not want her captors to think she expected help.
On the one hand, other than having her hands bound and an uncomfortable ride under a smelly tarp, she was fine. A jolly boat like this one could not navigate open seas, so they must be rowing for some other dock, cave, or boathouse, or a ship anchored out in the harbor. That last would have alarmed her more had the tide not been coming in and a strong wind not blowing from the northeast. No ship could attempt to sail until the tide went out this evening, and even then the harbor would be inescapable until the wind changed. If she had been followed this far, it should be easy enough for them to see where she’d been taken.
And if she wasn’t being followed any more, blowing repeatedly on the whistle would not make a difference anyway.
Moreover, she thought, there’s no sensible reason for them to go to all the trouble to kidnap me specifically if all they want is human cargo to haul to some distant corner of Paradise where slavery is legal. My parents would pay orders of magnitude more for me in ransom than any stranger would for possession.
What bothered her more – and this had not struck her until they reached the wharf – was that Lord Nikola arguably would fetch more money from some unscrupulous foreign power than from his own impoverished family. “May we talk about something?” she asked.
“Yer in no position to be askin’ any questions, sweetheart,” the burly Crit said.
“It doesn’t have to be about all of this, I just find this silence unnerving. Did you feel the Blessing of Newlant last night?” Wisteria said, more or less at random.
“Shut it, sweetheart.”
Wisteria sniffled and dabbed at her eyes, and Red said, “Give the poor girl a break, Crit. ’Course we felt it, miss.”
Wisteria wished she knew how to look grateful. Maybe I should use lavender more often. No one ever takes pity on my distress normally. “It’s my favorite part of Ascension,” she said, looking to Red. “That sense of the Savior’s presence. Lord Nikola was part of it, did you know? He was at the Palace to help with the Blessing. He looked so radiant afterwards.” She wasn’t sure what she hoped to accomplish here: perhaps to make some kind of human connection with the men, to make herself and Lord Nikola people in their eyes and not just inconveniently animate objects.
“Huh. Guess he would be,” Red said. “Being Blessed and all.”
Crit snorted. “Yeah, well, if he’d use that Blessing a li’l more we’d be done with this by now.”
Wisteria turned to him, perplexed. “Whatever do you mean? He uses his Blessing more than any other Blessed I know of. He scarcely does anything else.”
Crit didn’t answer her. The boat was silent for a moment except for the sound of the oars being pulled by the four men. At length, Red said, “What’s that about, Crit?”
“Shut it, Red.”
“Are you taking him to treat someone?” Wisteria asked. “Why not just petition?”
“Hah! I hate to break it to you, girlie, but yer sweetie ain’t as generous an’ all-givin’ as ya think he is.”
Wisteria wondered why he was responding to her and not his own fellow. She chose her next words with care. “You know that no Blessed can cure every ailment, do you not?”
Another snort. “I know that’s what they want you to think.”
“Sir?”
“Le’s jus’ say that everyone knows yer ailment’s a lot more treatable if yer rich and talk fancy and got a ‘Lord’ afore yer name. Code or no Code.”
“I’ve heard that’s the case with some Blessed, but it’s not true of Lord Nikola,” Wisteria said.
“Got ya wrapped around his finger, does he? Jus’ cause he’s a smooth talker don’ make ’im a good man, girlie.”
“No, I mean that I’ve done statistical analysis of his caseload. His treatment rates are not affected by—” Wisteria paused to sneeze, wishing her handkerchief were less sodden at this point and not about to ask her captors for a fresh one, or even to try to exchange it for one of her others. After blowing her nose, she finished with, “the perceived ability of the injured to pay.”
A couple of men paused at their oars to look at her. Red asked, “How’s that?”
Wisteria started to explain. “I’ve had third-party observers take note of his petitioners and compared their demographics to those of the surrounding area. Their socio-economic status does not—”
Crit shifted to grab her face with one thick-fingered hand and squeezed her cheeks between thumb on one side and fingers on the other, palm over her mouth. “Which that’s enough outta ya, girlie. Keep it shut or I’ll gag you. And same for you, Red! Just row.”
The jolly boat did take her to a vessel moored in the harbor: a sloop, to be exact, a two-masted vessel that would be swift in proper trim, and was at present nearly abandoned. Wisteria guessed most of its crew had shore leave for Ascension. She wondered if the sloop’s captain was involved in this plot, or if it was some ploy of the officer left in command. A couple of men were doing maintenance tasks and an officer was on watch, but unless they had at least a score of men hidden below decks, the sloop did not have enough manpower to weigh anchor, never mind sail.
They used a bosun’s chair, a kind of rope sling, to maneuver Wisteria up from the jolly boat and into the sloop, which rankled her. She wanted to tell them that she was perfectly capable of climbing the ladder up the side herself, even if the bay waters were a trifle choppy. Not with her hands tied, granted. She kept quiet; better that they underestimate her.
One man had joined the first three when they’d first gotten into the jolly boat. Two of her escort broke off now that they were on the sloop, leaving only Red and Crit to take her belowdecks. Crit handed her down the hatch like a sack of potatoes; Red was apologetic about receiving her. The smell of the ship was worse than usual belowdecks, not just the stench of unwashed men that she associated with seagoing voyages but almost a charnel or sewage smell. She held her handkerchief to her nose to cover it.
Then Red opened a cabin door and the stench doubled. “Whoof,” Red said, wrinkling his own nose. It was the captain’s dining cabin, furnished with several carved wooden chairs, a matching table, a built-in folding desk, a sea chest, and a heating stove. It reeked of human waste, vomit, smoke, and burned flesh. A single man was in the cabin, legs and feet bare, in an ill-fitting overcoat. He was slumped and bound to a chair facing away from them. Gagged, too, judging by the cord knotted at the back of his head. His hair hung in long bedraggled damp clumps.
Wisteria took an involuntary step towards him, half-hoping and half-afraid. “Lord Nikola?” The figure jerked at the sound of her voice, head turning to look over his shoulder. Even in profile, she could hardly recognize him: the elegant lines of his face spoiled by purpling bruises, streaked by dirt, salt, sweat, corners of his mouth raw from the gag. She ran to him, retaining just enough presence of mind to blow twice on the whistle under her handkerchief. I found him, you can rescue us any moment now. “Saints, what did they do to you?” She raised her bound hands to the back of his head, trying to unknot the gag with hands made clumsier by the need to keep a grip on whistle and handkerchief. Lord Nikola shook his head, jerking to indicate the door, giving her a look she wished desperately she knew how to read. The grunt he made around the gag was unintelligible.
“None of that.” Crit grabbed her by one shoulder and yanked her away from him.
“Why is he gagged? Who are you afraid will hear him in the middle of Gracehaven Harbor?” Wisteria demanded, her eyes scanning over the rest of Lord Nikola. “Why are his feet – Abandoned World, his hands, what have you done to his hands?” She couldn’t process what she was seeing: fingers oozing, red and raw and hideously wrong. “What did you do to him?” She tore her eyes away from Lord Nikola to stare at his abductors.
“Savior,” Red said.
“Nothin’ he didn’t deserve, ’m sure.” Crit yanked her back stumbling a few paces. Lord Nikola gave an incoherent growl around the gag.
“Wha’d he torture ’im for?” Red asked.
“Shut it.”
“You’re monsters.” Wisteria straightened despite her captor’s grip. “You’re not men, you’re beasts wearing human flesh. I thought you were just greedy – greed I can understand – but this isn’t greed, it’s pure evil. What could Lord Nikola possibly have done to deserve this?” Crit interrupted her by grabbing her face, but she was too angry to be frightened any more and finished with, “What could any man?”
“Pride.” A new man was standing in the doorway. “Good work, men. Dismissed, Red. Crit.” He beckoned.
Red acknowledged with a “Cap’n” and hurried out. Crit stared at Wisteria for a moment and then let her go to move to his captain.
“So you’re the monster-in-chief here.” Wisteria gave the new figure a good look: a man of above average height and average build, wide-brimmed hat and a scarf to hide his face. His hair was short, curly, brown. He ought to have horns, or a black aura, or something. Maybe the cruelty is in his expression and I just can’t see it. “What does ‘pride’ have to do with anything? What do you want from us?”
The captain said something low to Crit that Wisteria didn’t catch. Crit glanced at her. “Which I should gag her too? She’s gotten chatty.”
The monster-in-chief regarded her. “No. I want him to hear her scream.” Another snarl from Lord Nikola, a thump as he rocked in the chair he was tied to, and then a muffled whimper. Crit nodded and left the room, closing the door.
I will not be frightened of this bullying beast. “Was torturing a bound man too difficult for you?” Wisteria asked. “Did you ask your men to find you someone smaller and more helpless to abuse? Are you going to graduate to infants next?”
The captain hung his hat and scarf on coat hooks. He had an ordinary face, long with a pointed chin, neither handsome nor ugly. He strode to her side and struck her across the face with the back of his hand. Wisteria should not have been surprised; the monster had made his intentions clear enough. But she was anyway, staggering at the impact. Having her hands tied made it harder to keep her balance, and she stumbled to one knee. Lord Nikola grunted, his chair thumping and creaking as he shifted in it. Wisteria thought she heard something crack. Did he injure himself? Break the chair? The captain glanced to his male prisoner, a smile on his face.
Wisteria realized she had never hated anyone before. Some teachers she’d disliked and one fellow student she could not abide, but no one she had hated, not like she hated this nameless villain, this demon-enfleshed man who could torture a man and smile. I need a weapon so I can kill you. She sniffled, lifting her handkerchief and blowing into it and the whistle again, twice. Then she wiped at her streaming eyes, regretting now that this horrid monster might think she was weeping because of him, and said, “Are you impressed with yourself, sirrah?” He returned his attention to her, frowning now. He seized her arm and tried to pull her up; she went limp, refusing to help. “Such a big strong man. Look at what you can do once someone else captures and ties a woman up for you.” She raised her voice. “Did you make sure my hands were tied first because you feared I might beat you otherwise? Do your men know what you’re doing here?”
“Get up,” he told her.
She remained limp on the floor, her arm stretching uncomfortably and tugging at her bound wrists as he pulled on it, legs sprawling as he dragged her higher with a grunt. Wisteria raised her voice again to say, “Do your men know you intend to kill us? Do they know you have no intention of collecting a ransom or paying them?”
“Don’t be stupid, woman.” He dragged her limp body towards the table.
She sneezed, then took a deep breath and boomed out, “You let us see your face.” It never occurred to Wisteria to shout to make a point, but when she’d been living shipboard she’d learned from her brothers how to project, how to make her voice loud enough to be heard from stem to stern. She was projecting now: she wanted the whole sloop to hear this. “Your men were careful never to let me identify them, but you do not care. You plan to throw a fortune away to sate your petty taste for cruelty.”
“It’s not petty! Do you think I want to do this? This is all his fault!” The captain dropped her limp body in one of the chairs, pointing at Lord Nikola although his attention was on Wisteria. “He could end it any time he wanted! If he’d just cured my mother when I petitioned none of this would have happened!”
Wisteria glanced to Lord Nikola. He was watching them, one arm shifting rhythmically while they were shouting. The joint where the arm of the chair met the frame had been pulled loose, and he was working his wrist forward to get the ropes through the gap. What is he trying to do? Is he in any shape to try anything? She looked back to their captor, and answered as loudly, “You’re insane. If Lord Nikola could cure your mother, he would have. No Blessing can—”
He struck her across the face again. “Don’t talk about my mother!”
Ow. She heard another cracking, creaking noise from Lord Nikola’s direction, and did not look to him. “No Blessing can cure every illness,” she finished anyway. “You know that, don’t you?”
“He can! He’s the best! He just—” A noise by the door stopped the captain, and he broke off to go to it. Wisteria glanced at Lord Nikola. He was looking over his shoulder to watch their captor as he pushed his arm forward to force the rope through the break in the chair between frame and arm, his features contorted with pain. Wisteria had no idea what he might accomplish with one hand free: she felt useless with her hands just tied to each other and both legs free. Wisteria blew her nose and the whistle again, even though by now she was sure no one could hear, no one was coming. I should have brought a knife. Oh, they would have taken it when they searched me anyway. There was an array of tools on the table: no knife, but a small rusty hammer. She turned her profile to the door to take it, then shifted away from chair and table towards the desk, holding the hammer awkwardly at the side away from the captain and the door. She could try to hit him before he turned, but sneaking up on her brothers had not worked when she was a child and she doubted she was much better at it now. Perhaps when he’s more distracted… Her goal at the moment was just to make it harder for him to watch her and Lord Nikola at once.
