Falconer's Quest (31 page)

They trooped through the gathering heat. The light exposed just how weak Falconer’s charges had been made by the nighttime march. The whalers limped and struggled, their faces set with the grim determination of men focused upon either freedom or the grave. Byron leaned heavily upon Nebo. Bernard hung back with Wadi, who scouted the road and walked backward.

The sea remained stubbornly cloaked.

When he caught the first fragrance of salt and drying seaweed, Falconer felt a sudden rush of relief. He set Kitty down upon the point where dried salt marked the high tide. He said to the others, “Hunt the shore. Gather everything you can manage to carry. Sticks, seaweed, anything. We must build a barrier between us and the road.”

The mound took shape slowly as they gathered everything they could find. Falconer walked back to where Wadi knelt. He checked the empty road, then turned and studied what the others were building. Sands and his brother dragged a white log. Nebo and Soap bore armfuls of dried seaweed. Falconer hoped aloud, “It just might work.”

Wadi did not need to glance back. “Just as likely, it draw attention of a hunter who passes.”

Falconer sighed his agreement. Close to the shoreline, the sea was as calm and flat as pounded pewter. The mist was an enemy, devouring the ocean. Falconer said in resignation, “We will give it another hour, then retreat to caves and wait for the morning.”

Wadi said softly, “They search all caves on this side.”

“The weak among us cannot climb back over the top to the hills on the other side,” Falconer replied, though he knew Wadi had spoken the truth. “We will hide the best we can.”

Wadi shifted his grip upon the musket. “We split into two. Warriors down, to draw fire. Others higher up.”

Falconer mulled it over briefly. “If they find one group, they will very quickly find the others. We stay together.”

Wadi did not insist. Instead, he rose slowly to his feet.

“What is it?”

Wadi handed Falconer his musket without turning from the road. He shielded his eyes with both hands.

Falconer felt the sun gather and press hard upon his shoulders. “Soldiers?”

“Someone.”

He saw nothing but the heat dancing upon the yellow road. But he did not doubt his friend’s ability to pierce the distance. “Should we run for the caves?”

“Too late.” Wadi spun about and grabbed his musket and started for the shore. “Gather all.”

Wadi in one direction, Falconer in the other, both men running in a half crouch. The whalers saw him coming and froze. “To the shelter,” Falconer called. “Hurry!”

Everyone now was limping. It made the moment worse, for there was so little reserve for any escape. That is, if they managed to remain unseen.

The barrier was shaped like a crescent moon, built from seaweed and driftwood and sand. They had to crouch and tuck in tight to fit behind it. Falconer shielded Kitty with his body. He felt her slight form tremble and wanted to offer her assurances, but he could not bring himself to lie.

He risked a final glance. They were indeed warriors. Too many to count. “Down,” he breathed. “Still as stones.”

Yet despite their best efforts, a great shout rose from the road. And gunfire.

Then the gunfire was answered—from the sea.

Falconer flipped onto his back and lifted his head slightly.

A longboat appeared from the mist. Ten men pulled strongly upon the oars. Lieutenant Bivens gripped the tiller. He pointed ahead, to where they crouched, and shouted words lost to the rising clamor of the approaching danger.

“To the sea!” Falconer roared. He lifted Kitty bodily and handed her to Nebo. “Hurry!”

Chapter 36

The desert silence was blasted away as horses galloped and whinnied, men shouted, and muskets coughed. The hills to the south collected all the sounds and echoed with a dull rumble that sounded like thunder. Or battle.

“Row like your lives depended upon it!” Bivens’ roar carried over the other noises.
“Row!”

Falconer crouched low and alone behind the makeshift barrier while the others were pushing ever further into the water toward the longboat. The placid sea was too shallow to offer quick protection, however. Thirty paces from shore, the water was scarcely knee deep.

Turning back to look over the barrier, Falconer realized his first concern were the two outriders galloping well ahead of the main company. The riders were crouched low to their mounts, urging them on with snarled oaths. One raced along the shoreline. The other had crossed from the road’s opposite side and was aiming straight for the barrier. Whether either had seen him, Falconer did not know.

Another swift glance over his shoulder was enough to guarantee that Falconer’s worst fear was at hand. No matter how hard Bivens pushed his men, they would not arrive in time.

Falconer turned back to the attackers. The warriors were now split in two companies. Twenty or so galloped on desert horses. Behind them rode as many again on camels. The hump-backed animals loped at desert-eating pace, yet the horses drew steadily ahead. The two outriders would sweep in and harass the little band until the full company attacked. There was only one chance to save his group.

Falconer turned seaward once more and roared a single word.
“Nebo!”

The big African glanced back and instantly understood. He did not hand Wadi the girl so much as toss her across the sea. Then he separated himself from the others, racing back now to confront the outrider approaching on the side.

Wadi in turn handed the girl to Soap and leapt after his friend.

Falconer faced the second outrider. The element of surprise had been lost by his shout. The horseman’s scimitar glittered in the hard light as the man aimed his horse straight at the barrier.

Below the top edge of the barrier, Falconer hefted a driftwood branch, about as thick as his arm and half again as long. At the last moment, he stood, his sturdy club at the ready. As hoped, the horseman made a critical mistake, going for Falconer’s weapon and not the man. The warrior swung his blade in a glittering arc. The scimitar chopped off nearly half of Falconer’s branch. But the horse was then forced to jump the barrier. Landing his horse safely meant the desert warrior could not make a backhand jab for Falconer.

While the horse was in midair, Falconer gripped the warrior’s stirrup and flipped him, saddle and all. The saddle strap snapped like a gunshot and the rider fell with a cry.

The horse was thrown off balance as well, and landed upon the man, who shrieked in pain. Falconer leaned back as the horse stumbled to its feet, and then he reached in and cuffed the warrior unconscious. He kicked the musket well out of reach before grabbing the man’s sword.

He stepped over the barrier. Directly in front of the oncoming soldiers.

“Falconer!”

The voice which called his name was so shrill he could not tell which man had shouted, or if perhaps it was even the young girl. He took a two-handed grip upon the sword’s haft and lifted it to the level of his chest. A warrior ready to parry and give battle.

He would not intentionally take another man’s life. But he would defend his charges even to the death.

“Falconer!”

The band of horsemen were a hundred paces away and closing fast. Falconer could see the lather flecking their muzzles, see the warriors’ snarling rage, see the killing lust in their eyes.

Into your hands, Lord,
he prayed, staring straight at the oncoming doom. Into your hands.

He took what he supposed was his last steady breath and found three faces before his mind’s eye.

Ada, dear sweet Ada.

Matt, with his shining face and wisdom beyond his years.

And then, to his utter astonishment, he saw Amelia Henning.

As though in response to his shock, the air overhead was ripped apart.

The sound was of a giant swath of fabric being torn in two. Then the earth exploded.

Falconer was showered in dirt and pebbles and noise.

Another cannonball arched overhead and blasted the earth between him and the road. Through the swirling smoke, Falconer saw the horsemen thrown into complete disarray. A half dozen horses milled about riderless. The others were turning tail and racing for safety.

Falconer did exactly the same.

There before him, rising out of the thinning mist, lay the merchant vessel. Two other longboats were lashed to its bow. Men strained upon the oars, pulling it closer to shore. The ship’s cannon portholes were open and smoking. As Falconer splashed into the sea, the ship’s guns blasted another barrage of smoke and fire.

Arms reached over the longboat’s side, urging him on. A dozen and more faces stretched taut as they shouted words his ringing ears could not hear. Nor did he need to. Falconer pushed hard until the water rose to his waist and the boat was finally in reach, and hands were there to grip and pull him over the side. He lay there upon the gunnels, gasping for breath, as the longboat swiftly turned and began pushing hard for the vessel.

And safety.

Falconer was in the process of seeing Matt off to bed when the soft knock came upon their cabin door. “Enter.”

Amelia Henning appeared in the doorway. “Forgive the intrusion, sir.”

“You are always welcome, ma’am,” Falconer replied, and meant it. “Is it Kitty?”

“She calls for you.”

“May I come too, Father?” Matt asked.

Falconer did not have the heart to tell the lad to remain abed. Since their safe return, Matt had clung to Falconer almost as much as the little girl had. “Slip into your trousers and boots, then.”

The boy wore his nightdress as a shirt, the long tail bunching up inside his trousers. He kept hold of Falconer’s hand as they followed Amelia back down the upper-deck hallway. As they passed the third passenger cabin, the door opened. Byron’s face emerged into the candlelight. Falconer asked kindly, “Can you not sleep either?”

The young man’s haunted expression said it all.

Falconer glanced a query at Amelia Henning, who nodded her agreement. He said to Byron, “We were going to go sit with Kitty for a time. Would you care to join us?”

From inside the cabin, Bernard called out, “May I come as well?”

Amelia Henning responded before Falconer could object. “Of course.”

The five of them seemed to reduce the small cabin’s air. The little girl was seated in her bunk with her back against pillows, the pillows piled against the wall. Falconer settled Matt at the foot of Kitty’s bed, opened the porthole slightly, then sat down between the two children. He did not need to ask how the girl was. One glance was enough to know the shadows were still deeply embedded. He reached for the little girl’s hand, but instead the child climbed into his lap and nestled upon his chest. “What a dear sweet lass you are,” he murmured, stroking her hair and looking at her mother.

Amelia’s small nod as she settled into the chair next to the bed was permission enough. Now she reached over and patted the girl’s trembling back. She lifted her gaze to Falconer, silently imploring his help once again.

Their first dinner back on board had been a quietly contented affair. Though they had returned safely, the imprint of all they had endured remained close. The sea had stayed calm and the day windless, so the longboats had rowed the merchants well away from land. Harkness had ordered their dinner be served upon the quarterdeck to take advantage of the cool sea air and to keep watch over the night. The three whalers had been invited to join them, and Byron was seated next to his father. Captain Clovis was there as well, his vessel lying a cable’s length northward. Nebo and Wadi had joined them also, but only because both captains had ordered them to be seated with the officers.

Amelia Henning came with her daughter and introduced them all to the beautiful little child, now bathed and brushed with hair almost the same shade as Matt’s. The two had not seated themselves at the table, however, for Kitty wished to remain nestled against her mother, and Amelia did not consider that fitting behavior for the captain’s table. Though Harkness had implored Mrs. Henning to join the others, she had preferred to sit apart with her daughter, who had stared out over the open waters with weary wonderment.

Falconer was not surprised to find the girl was now unable to sleep.

He noticed that Matt was snuggling close as well, and Falconer shifted the girl over slightly, then extended one arm to envelop his son.

He felt the week’s exertions to the very depth of his being. He thought a moment of the hairsbreadth between this earth and his passage to the great beyond, and his arm tightened around Matt.

“Before my son and I set off on this journey,” Falconer said softly to his small audience, “we made ourselves a pact. We would treat this journey as a quest. We already had a mission. We were to aid Reginald Langston in freeing his son. But one morning there upon the road, Matt said something that suggested we needed to identify a quest for ourselves as well.”

Falconer glanced at his son. “Do you wish to tell these friends what that quest was?”

Matt’s voice too was soft, but crystal clear. “We were going to find a new future for ourselves. A future with hope and happiness.”