Ransom (22 page)
“I enjoyed the sunsets,” Marshall agreed.
“Sunrise, Will. The heading is now east-northeast.”
“Out along the Channel, then back?” Marshall speculated. “The moon’s position would fit that course.”
“Do you think he might be returning to rendezvous with whoever picked up the ransom?”
“That seems likely. I don’t think he would risk traveling far offshore unless he had to; the closer to home he stays, the safer he is from the French.”
Archer nodded. “Well, what next? Do you think you can get on deck and down to the Captain?”
Even though the moon was directly above the window, giving them a bit of light, he could not see William’s face. “It will be more difficult than I first thought,” Marshall admitted. “That was why I wondered about the guards, above. It may be possible, if it’s very dark, or I might be able to go all the way up the shrouds and down the other side. But I could not get the Captain out through the port.”
“You could give him that tool, though, and he could work on it himself.”
“No, I mean I’m not sure—he would fit—” Marshall made a strange sputtering noise, then lost his composure. It was just as well that Smith’s cell was not too nearby, Archer reflected; the sight or sound of two junior officers smothering laughter, with himself as its object, would hardly win his approval.
“So what is the plan?” Archer asked, once they got over the idea of Captain Smith stuck halfway through the porthole. “Go back to waiting?”
“No.” No humor in that terse syllable. “No, Davy, but it must be your decision. I’ve an idea, but it would mean you taking most of the risk.”
“Fine. What is it?”
“Remember I asked if you thought you could kill Adrian, or knock him unconscious?”
“Yes, and—unarmed—I don’t believe I could. I’m sorry.”
“While you were gone I remembered a trick Barrow showed me. He picked it up from Bannerjee, that little Lascar. Did you know Bannerjee once put O’Reilly to sleep in 15 seconds?”
“No, did he?” Bannerjee probably weighed 85 pounds, soaking wet. O’Reilly was about twice that. “How?”
“O’Reilly was trying to bring him back from shore leave and he was not ready to go. He got an arm round O’Reilly’s neck and squeezed, and O’Reilly went down in less than a minute. It’s some kind of foreign wrestling, and if done carefully it does no harm. Barrow isn’t all that big; he thought it would be a useful thing to know, so he did a bit of trading.”
A useful thing to know. Yes. Most of the fighting they saw was done with weapons, but a pistol had only one shot, and a sword or axe could be dropped. “And he taught it to you?”
“Yes. I traded him my spirit ration for a couple of days, and he showed me how it’s done. I’ve never had to use it, though; I can’t be certain it will work. But if it does, size and brute strength won’t matter. If you could catch him unaware, if you were close enough—” He stopped awkwardly.
Archer felt himself flush. “Yes. Well, the... proximity shouldn’t be difficult. And there’s not much doubt he would be completely surprised, I—I haven’t exactly been battling for my virtue—” Shame closed his throat.
“You have been battling for my life,” Marshall said quietly. “And the Captain’s. It must be far more difficult, Davy, don’t you think I understand that? Please don’t let him diminish you.”
I had better not, I might vanish altogether.
No, he had no time for self-pity. Archer almost wished Marshall had not discovered his secret. He could block out Adrian, for the most part, but there was no way to defend against William’s sympathy; he was afraid if he let his guard down too far there’d be a repeat of that embarrassing display of the night before last... and he didn’t dare let himself think about that, or he would drown in his own longing. He needed distraction. “Tell me, then, Professor, how does this trick work?”
“I think it must cut off the blood and vital humours to the brain. I’ll show you, without using any pressure. You’d have to get behind him for a moment—” Marshall shifted, getting to his knees. “Are you ready?”
Archer nodded, shoving the past day’s memories into a dark cupboard and closing the door tight. This was Will behind him, not Adrian. The love of his life. The one man in the world he was certain he could trust. It was all right. He couldn’t be safer.
His body didn’t quite believe him; he could only just keep from shivering. And then Archer felt something dreadful happen as Marshall leaned closer. He was suffused with a wave of desire.
“You must move very fast. The right arm goes round like this—” Warmth and safety enveloped him.
Oh, God—
He touched Marshall’s sleeve, fighting the impulse to turn and bury his face against his friend’s chest. “Just a moment, Will. This is—difficult.”
This is impossible. I cannot be this close to him.
Marshall sat back. “Davy, are you all right?”
“Yes. Yes, sorry.” He tightened his body as though bracing against a blow. “Go on.”
“This is harder than I thought it would be,” Marshall said, then laughed harshly. His hand brushed the back of Archer’s collar. “Poor choice of words. Perhaps—perhaps I should be the one to go visit that bastard. I seem to have acquired some of his—characteristics—oh, God. I’m sorry, Davy.”
Archer turned. William had lost weight, these past weeks. His face, always lean, was now all angles and planes. And Archer saw a hunger on that face that resonated in his own heart. “You, too?”
“We can’t.” Marshall said, his eyes shadowed. “Davy, we
can’t.
It could be fatal. I won’t risk getting us both disgraced and hanged for a few moments’ pleasure.”
Put that way, there was no arguing. “I wish I hadn’t been half-asleep before,” Archer said wistfully. “If that was all we can have. It went too fast.”
“There’d be no point.” Will didn’t sound convinced. “We couldn’t continue once we’re back on the
Calypso.
”
“So this would be our last chance. Perhaps our only chance.”
“We’d regret it.”
Archer wanted to take the too-thin face between his hands and kiss William until he stopped arguing. “And if we don’t? We’ll never have this chance again, Will. If we were to do... everything we want to, everything we can think of, then we’d at least have memories. I’d like some good ones to balance out the bad, but not if you don’t want to—”
“It’s not that, Davy. I do.” The faint light in the cell faded as he spoke, clouds closing over the sliver of moon. “I—I want you so much it frightens me. What if we couldn’t stop?”
Archer put his fingers over the warm lips. “Can you see either of us swooning about like a spurned maiden when we’re back aboard the
Calypso
? I can’t.”
Marshall closed his eyes, the struggle clear on his face. But he didn’t seem to want this quite as much as he feared it. And fear would poison any other feeling.
Archer hastily pulled his hand away. “Oh, God, Will. I’m sorry. It wouldn’t be any good if you weren’t sure.”
He swallowed hard and sat down again, facing away, feeling as if his whole being were dissolving into tears.
Discipline. Don’t let it show. It really is too dangerous, haven’t you caused him trouble enough?
What in God’s name was he thinking, anyway? Trying to turn his friend into— “I’m sorry. You’re right, of course. I’m sorry. Where were we? Come, Will, show me this maneuver. Arm around the throat, then
...?” If he strangles me by accident, this will all be over.
The thought had a certain appeal.
He sat for a long time, waiting, unable to say anything more or even to think above the turmoil within. At last he felt Marshall’s arm encircle him, but around the shoulders, not the throat. Then the other arm. Then William’s head bent over his, surrounding him in that warm arc of protection. It was wonderful. He sighed and relaxed into the embrace. If this was all he could have, he would take it and be grateful.
“I’ll go, Davy,” Marshall mumbled into his hair. “The next time that bastard sends someone down for you, we’ll tell him you’re sick, and I’ll go instead, pretend I’m... curious. I’m sure he would be interested.”
No. Oh, no.
“Of course he would, but he would also be suspicious. You would have no chance, Will. He’s afraid of you. He would take you, certainly, but he would have the guards tie you first.”
The arms around him tightened, and William’s voice was rough with emotion. “The thought of him—
using—
you...”
Archer put his hands over his friend’s. “Will, I have come to a point where I put him out of my mind the moment I leave that cabin.” That was not quite true, but what they had shared the other night had given him a perspective that made Adrian’s imposition less significant. He would always have the comfort of that memory; it couldn’t be undone. “It doesn’t matter.
He
doesn’t matter. Letting him hurt you in my stead would be much worse than putting up with him one more time.”
“I should be able to do something—”
“I don’t think you can, Will. Not this time. The best way to take him by surprise will be to keep everything just as he expects it.” Regretfully, he eased away. “Come. Show me how to fight that bastard.”
This was how it had to be. Control. Discipline. It wasn’t just the Navy; there was no place in England, no place in the world, where they could even hold one another like this, unless one of them were dying. The feelings had to be mastered, subdued, silenced. Like not flinching when the cannon fired, or sleeping in a hammock instead of a real bed; eventually it would be easy.
No. It would never be easy. But it could be done. Had to be done.
Marshall groaned, then took a long, deep breath. “All right, Davy. You bring your arm around and jerk the elbow up under the chin, bringing the head back.” This with a movement so careful it felt like a caress. “Catch your right arm with the left, then lean close so he can’t move his neck back, close your arm so it presses the big vessels in the throat—” He did all that very slowly, very gently, and Archer suddenly wanted to scream. “Then squeeze as hard as you can and hold fast, no matter what.” The lightest hint of pressure touched the sides of Archer’s throat. His mind went blank.
The next thing he knew, he had William pinned against the bulkhead, hands at his throat, and Marshall was gripping his wrists tightly, just barely holding him off. They were both shaking with strain. “Davy—” Marshall whispered hoarsely.
He let go immediately, horrified. “Oh, my God—did I go mad?”
“No,” Marshall croaked, holding his throat. “You—you just—exploded.”
Archer hovered, rubbing his friend’s back, feeling like a murderer. “Holy Jesus, Will, I’m sorry.”
Marshall coughed, then laughed. “I’m not,” he said, in a more normal voice. “If I had any doubts as to whether you were fast enough—wherever that came from, I hope you’ve got more.”
“I don’t know...” But he did; the sickening memory sprang back full-blown. “It—it was Correy—he’d choke me, sometimes. Once I almost... did not wake up.” He wiped cold sweat from his face. “Christ, I’d not thought of that in years. Will, I could have killed you!”
“Perhaps you’d better practice on me this time,” Marshall suggested.
“I had better not. What if I—”
“You must be sure you can do this, Davy. You’ll only get one chance, and we don’t know from one day to the next if we’ll be together to practice.” His grin flashed in the darkness. “And I really don’t want to try it on you again. You’re dangerous.”
Even if he was just saying that as encouragement, it made Archer feel less a victim. “All right. How long—?”
“Barrow said three minutes can kill, once a man’s unconscious. Half a minute should be safe enough. I’d rather you keep it less than that.”
“Twenty seconds, then. And you’d better try to get away, Will. Really fight me. I’m sure he would.”
“No doubt. See if you can tell how long I stay out; that will be important. You won’t have to worry about too long a hold with him, though, there’ll be no tears shed if you break his damned neck.” Marshall sat cross-legged on the straw. “All right, Davy. Fire as you bear.”
It took four tries; the first time, Will brought his chin down, blocking the choke; the second, Archer didn’t get his hands locked properly, and the third he did, but was afraid to follow through; they wrestled around ineffectually for a bit. But the fourth time he was just frustrated enough at his failures to stop being too careful: placement, lock, and pressure were all exactly right, and Marshall’s struggles ceased with terrifying suddenness.
“Oh, my God. Will?”
He let go, and the limp body slid bonelessly from his grasp. Marshall wasn’t pretending. Archer sat back on his heels, gathering his friend into his arms, turning his face up. “Will, please—” Thank God, he was still breathing.
He’d forgotten to maintain the hold for 20 seconds. To hell with that. But he started counting the seconds to recovery; that was practically second nature, from timing his men during firing practice. Archer smoothed the hair back from William’s forehead. His lips, relaxed and slightly parted, were so close, only inches away—
—And he was unconscious, and helpless, and how much difference was there, really, between taking the first slight liberty and outright rape? Archer damned himself for the impulse and shifted so their faces weren’t so close. “Wake up, Will, this is not funny. Will,
please—”
He was senseless for nearly three minutes after Archer remembered to count the seconds, then he drew a quick, deep breath and blinked. His eyes were blank and unfocused in the thin moonlight.
“Will—?”
“I’m all right,” he said unconvincingly. “Dizzy. Head hurts.” He blinked again, and looked more himself. “Hello, Davy.” Another blink, and a smile. “Davy, you did it!”
Archer counted to 35 before Marshall even tried to move. But he seemed ridiculously pleased for someone who’d just been choked unconscious by a friend. “This will be perfect, Davy. You can just hit him with something if he starts to come round—”
Still shocked at what he had done, Archer gave him a shake. “Are you all right? Can you move?”
