...Previous
The bright and sunny today was replaced by a grey and dreary tomorrow. The sky had clouded over by the time they reached Port Nichols, and after the moon had risen, it had begun to pour steady rain. After the moon had set, Mr. Tiller hefted his rucksacks onto his back, gathered the boy into his arms, and left his cabin for the last time. He crossed the deck under cover of night, casting cautious looks around but never back.
He knocked three times on Vesco’s door, propping Damian in the crook of his arm. The boy was tugging an overlarge sealskin hat over his ears to keep dry.
“That’s a good lad,” said Tiller quietly, adjusting the boy’s similarly outsized coat. “Keep warm. We’ll be back with Mummy in just a minute.”
The door opened, dousing them in lantern light. Tiller took a hurried step forward, followed immediately by a hurried step back, squeezing Damian to his chest.
The sight of Captain Weatherdecker was not what had him worried. It would have been easy to make up an excuse for this late-night visit. What had him worried was the line of steel crossing the threshold. The sword that the captain held jutted out into the rain, only a few inches shy of Tiller’s belt.
“Uh…” said the boatswain. “S’just me, cap’n. No need for a fightin’ stance!” Damian was staring at the captain with laser intensity.
“No, there’s need, Jeremy. I figured you’d argue, so I wanted to cut it short. Put down the boy and back away - then, I can either drag you to the hold or you can walk and save me some work. What’ll it be?”
Tiller did back away, though he didn’t loosen his grip on Damian. Weatherdecker matched his steps.
“What’d you do to Vesco?” demanded Tiller.
“He’s in the brig, with his little lady. What, you think I hurt ‘em?” he asked, of Tiller’s suspicious glare. “I’m not that crazy, Jeremy. I’m just gonna keep ‘em there ’til I get a chance to debark ‘em. You’ll be joinin’em, don’t you worry. Now, drop the kid.”
“W-what lady’s’is?” asked Tiller hurriedly. “W-why would you put me off ship, Cap’n? Vesco only asked me to meet him here, I don’t know what’s-“
He staggered backwards as Weatherdecker rushed the sword forward. It was only a warning, but an impatient, unforgiving one all the same. Tiller slipped on the wet deck, hitting it hard on his back. He carefully braced Damian against the fall, which ended up making his own bruises much worse.
The point of the sword was immediately in his face.
“Don’t you dare treat me stupid, Jeremy. You been part o’this since the start. Now, let go o’ the kid. If I have to ask again, I’ll ask with steel.”
Tiller looked to the boy in his arms, staring up at the Captain with tearful awe. The boatswain reached up and set his hand on the crown of the water-slick hat, pulling the boy’s head to his chest, hiding his face.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “You’re safe. We’ll get you back to Mummy, okay?”
With a grunt of frustration, Weatherdecker pulled the sword back, ready for a stab. Tiller winced and closed his eyes, ready for the worst. He did not let go; he only held tighter.
In that single dark second, he heard a pair of hard, fast bootsteps, then a sharp, squeaking clang, followed immediately by a dull wooden thump. Then, quiet. And rain. And the creak of the ship. Was this death? He felt no pain. Not so much as a scratch. He risked a peek.
A second figure was silhouetted next to Weatherdecker in the pouring lamplit rain. Even without his bicorne, there was no mistaking the stature of the first mate.
Airedale had driven the point of Weatherdecker’s sword into the deck beside Tiller’s leg. His own sword was crossed overtop, weighing it down. It would have been easy enough for the captain to pull it out and have another go, but he was staring, eyes locked with the first mate’s.
“Drop your weapon,” said Airedale. Weatherdecker only glared at him some more. His hand stayed firmly wrapped around the sword’s hilt.
“I told you to drop your weapon. I did not ask.”
“I don’t take orders from you,” snapped Weatherdecker. “Get outta here. This ain’t your business.”
Carefully, still keeping his lock on Weatherdecker’s sword, Airedale took one long step sideways, settling himself between Tiller and the captain.
“If it happens,” he said, pressing down on the sword, “aboard my ship…” He suddenly let go, arcing his own sword through the air to reestablish a good grip. “…it is my business. If you want to kill an innocent man on my deck, you’ll have to get through me. Pull that sword up and face me, Richard, if you’re eager to kill. Show me you aren’t a coward.”
Weatherdecker hauled on his sword, dislodging the point from the deck. With a growl, he raised it to Airedale’s own.
“I’se killed men bigger’n you with my bare hands,” said the captain lowly.
“Before, or after they were hogtied?”
Weatherdecker thrust his sword forward with a savage growl; Airedale caught it with his, and held it.
“C’mon, you fuckin’ poof,” snapped the Captain. Both their locked arms were starting to tremble. “We gonna talk, or am I gonna cut you open?”
He slid his sword along Airedale’s, making them sing. He pulled back, and tried another, lower cut. The first mate got his weapon under it and threw it aside before it could hit. Thus separated, he said:
“Mr. Tiller.” It was a command, catching the boatswain’s attention. Mr. Airedale reached into his jacket and withdrew a ring of keys, which he tossed in Tiller’s direction. They landed with a jangle on the deck beside him. He could have caught them, if not for the baby in his arms. The first mate had not diverted his eyes from the captain for a single second.
“Get to the brig,” said Airedale. “Release Mr. Vesco and Ms. Carruthers. Get off the ship. Mr. Cartleblat’s vessel is docked not far from here, to our stern.”
Tiller had grabbed the keys and scrambled to his feet, still clutching the boy to his chest, though he did not leave.
“But, Tim…what are you…?”
“Either I will meet you shortly, or you will have gotten a sufficient head start. Go, now. Do not argue.”
Mr. Tiller took a few hesitant steps away. Mr. Airedale still had not looked in his direction once.
“Thank you,” he whispered. The steps turned into a run, towards the hold. Mr. Airedale stared his captain down, sword at the ready.
“I would rather not do this with weapons, Richard. If I admit that I am, in fact, a poof, are you willing to have a reasoned discussion?”
The captain’s face darkened, his eyes bright with hatred. He bared his teeth. With a sudden gargling yell, he raised his sword high in both hands, bringing it down as hard as he could. Mr. Airedale met it in a cross over his head, and threw it off once more.
“Shut your mouth!” bellowed the captain. “Shut your fuckin’ mouth, you fag! Quit tossin’ your fancy words around an’ fight me like a man!”
Quick as a wink, Mr. Airedale swept the point of his sword a few inches from Weatherdecker’s belly. Had he been trying to, he would have opened his captain hip to hip. Weatherdecker staggered back a few steps, startled, wide-eyed. He looked like a child who had just discovered the claws on his pet cat.
“I do not hope to fight you, Richard. I hope to make you see sense. I am distressed and disappointed that we had to come to swords over this. Do you really wish to add assault to the list of charges against you?”
For once in his life, Richard Weatherdecker listened. He stayed silent.
“Miss Carruthers has gotten away with her child. It is over, Richard. There are plenty of witnesses willing to put this to court against you, myself included. If you kill me, there are others. You aren’t going to get out of this. If you put your sword down, and come with me, it will be better for you.”
The wind whistled in their ears; it whistled through Weatherdecker’s nose as he breathed, hard and fast, his brain whirring.
He swiped again, suddenly, but Airedale had seen it coming a mile away. He deflected deftly, locking their weapons once more.
“You can take me to fuckin’ court,” growled the captain, “when you drag in my dead fuckin’ body.”
“I will do no such thing, Richard. If I have to drag you, I will drag you alive.” He pressed harder. “I want you to see their faces. See the pain you caused. You do not get to escape that easily.”
Weatherdecker shoved him back, bracing the flat of his sword against Airedale’s, but the first mate knew he had already won. The look in his captain’s eyes was all he needed.
“Fuck you, fag,” spat Weatherdecker. “Always knew you for a traitor. Never shoulda let the lady pick my first!”
Mr. Airedale’s cut came down on him so hard, so quickly, he barely had time to lift his sword over his head to block it. It rattled his teeth and the bones in his fingers. Sharp ringing sounded in his ears from the slash of metal on metal so close to his head. His arms started to tremble as Mr. Airedale forced the sword down, harder.
“I always knew you as an oaf, as an ape, as a dangerous man and a terrible captain. I never should have let Miss Bankshead make me your first. I deserved a proper captain and you deserved a drowning in a sack in a river, you cur!”
Weatherdecker was so fixed on the sword from above, he missed the boot from below until it had already kicked him in the liver. He doubled over, breathless, stumbling backwards out of Airedale’s reach; but only barely out of the reach of Airedale’s weapon. The captain looked up, groggily, to see a point of steel aimed right for his face.
“Put it down, Richard,” said Airedale, with finality. A pause passed between them, filled only by the patter of heavy rain on the deck. The captain stood a little straighter.
With a huge grunt of effort, he swept his sword up and out. It clanged against Mr. Airedale’s, knocking the first mate’s arm aside as the steel in his hand vibrated angrily. He recovered in an instant, ready to parry his captain’s next strike, but it never came. Weatherdecker had not been attacking. He had been distracting, throwing his first mate off balance just long enough to turn tail and disappear into the dark.
Mr. Airedale leapt after him, after a brief pause to sort through his confusion. He had been expecting a poor fight from his captain, certainly, but not outright cowardice.
His long, steady strides caught him up to Weatherdecker in no time at all. At least, they would have, had Weatherdecker stayed on deck. Mr. Airedale slowed to a halt in a few awkward steps, before he ran into the wall of the foredeck. He looked around, looked behind, weapon at the ready. Impossible. Where could he…?
A lightning flash illuminated the rain, freezing it in tiny slivers of glass. The rigging of the ship burst in silhouette like a spider’s web in black. On the ladder of the mainmast, partway up to the flat platform that served as a fighting top, was the spider himself. Airedale’s eyes locked on as if drawn there by magnets.
He sheathed his sword, keeping his captain clear in his sights. From the sheath on his other hip, he drew a long, sharp dagger. Then he moved, slinking along the dark deck. Had the thunder not rolled, had the wind not roared, he still would have been silent as a shadow.
The captain had left a pair of kerosene lanterns for them, his one small gesture of goodwill. They hung on the wall opposite their cell doors. He had made plenty more small gestures of bad will, however; locking them in, taking the keys, manacling Mr. Vesco by the hands after threading the chain around a cell bar. Mr. Vesco was an able lockpick, and Weatherdecker knew this, having employed his skill on several occasions.
His throwing knives had been cut from his wrists. He couldn’t reach the bigger ones at his ankles. He was having trouble remembering how he got here, much less how to rifle around in a lock. The bruise that the captain had flowered at the base of his skull was pulsing in time with his heartbeat. He leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and sighed.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. It was quiet in the brig, and Susan heard him well enough. She looked up from her knees, hugging them tightly in the corner made by cell bars and wooden wall. From that flat angle, she could only see his hands hanging from the bars, and the edge of the cuffs around them.
“He was asleep,” continued Vesco. “I swear to gods he was asleep when I looked in.”
“Don’t be sorry,” said Susan. She sounded calm, though whether this was actual serenity or simply shock even she couldn’t say. “You couldn’t have known. It’s the easiest thing in the world to fake.”
“Couldn’t’ve known,” he said. “Should’ve thought.”
He sighed again, letting his forehead rest between two of the cold cell bars. Susan watched his hands for a while, dangling uselessly from their manacles.
She turned suddenly as the hatch in the ceiling cracked open. Beyond it was only darkness. As it was overturned, a few raindrops snuck through, spotting the floor of the brig in a square. The rope ladder kept at the top dropped through with a rattle and hiss, like a snake from a branch.
She didn’t immediately recognize the feet that hooked themselves into the rungs, but she knew they were not the captain’s. She stood as Mr. Tiller dropped to the floor, one hand letting go of the ladder, the other arm holding tight to her baby. Relief swept her away like a sudden riptide.
“Tiller!” she cried. Mr. Vesco’s chain rattled against the cell bars. She could see his hands tighten around them.
“Jeremy, thank gods! You alright?”
“Fine. Just fine!” Tiller pulled a ring of keys from his trouser pocket and started to flip through them. Damian tried to help, unhelpfully. “I’ll have you outta there in a sec, just hold on…”
He unlocked Susan’s cell first. She pulled Tiller into a strangling hug, then took Damian from his arms and hugged him even tighter. The boy chirped and showed off his new hat as Tiller freed Vesco, from both cell and cuff.
“Did he catch you?” demanded the quartermaster.
“We got away,” said Tiller. “We have to hurry, Vesco. I dunno how much time we have. We have to get to—“
“How much time before what?”
“Mr. Airedale’s keepin’ him busy. He told me to get you and head for—“
Mr. Vesco’s hand dropped absentmindedly to the scabbard at his hip. The one that Weatherdecker had so helpfully emptied for him before locking him away. That sword was not just for ceremony, not tonight. Vesco had been careful to sharpen it.
“Fuck,” he breathed. He looked up at Susan. “Get off the ship, all of you. Go on without me. I’ll catch you up.” He grabbed a lantern off the wall as he ran past. He nipped the handle in his teeth and leapt onto the ladder like a monkey, climbing as fast as he could.
“Where you goin’?” called Tiller. “Vesco, he said to—!”
