The Iron Palace (21 page)

The pirates prowled the north bank until they spotted a fishing boat. It was similar to the one that Froan had boarded—a long, two-man rowboat. Its two rowing benches were toward the bow, while the stern portion of the craft provided deck space to store and handle a net. A large, rectangular bin for holding the catch lay amidships. Four pirates were sent out to the fishing boat, double the usual number. To Froan’s surprise, they slew the two fishermen and threw them overboard. Afterward, two of the pirates rowed the fishing boat to the pirate craft and secured it for towing. When that was done, Bloodbeard ordered a return to the hideaway. Froan was puzzled by the captain’s actions, and he was further puzzled when the fishermen’s catch was left in the bin.

At the evening meal, Bloodbeard was in a good mood, showing none of his former animosity toward Froan. When the drinking began, the captain spoke to him in a voice loud enough for all to hear. “Shadow, this morn ye spoke of makin’ amends. Are ye still prepared to do that?”

“I am, Captain.”

“Good man, fer it takes a man to own up to a mistake and an even better one to fix it. Ah’ve just the job fer one who’s bold and darin’. Ye’ll need men to help ye. Name six ye trust.”

Froan sensed that Bloodbeard was setting a trap for him, but he saw no other option than to proceed. “Bog Rat, Chopper, Toad, Serpent, Gouger, and Eel.”

Bloodbeard grinned. “Good choices, all true men.”

“And what are we to do?” asked Froan.

“Why, ye’re so fond of settin’ fires, Ah thought ye’d torch the war boat.”

“How?”

“Ah’ll explain all in the morn. Tonight, let’s drink.”

Froan suspected that the captain had a reason for keeping him ignorant and it was futile to ask more about his mission. Instead, he strove to appear unfazed by its perils and grateful for the chance to redeem himself. In doing so, he hoped to prevent his men from becoming alarmed while convincing Bloodbeard that he was falling for his ploy, what ever it was. He was more successful in the latter than the former. Telk appeared worried, as did some of the others. Unconcerned by their apprehensions, Froan turned his attention to finding a way to speak with Moli.

Although she had helped the other women serve, she hung back in the shadows whenever possible. Her face was barely recognizable, and she seemed so forlorn and frightened that the sight of her tore at Froan. Aware that he was being watched, all he could do was wait until the captain and his men were in their cups. Then Froan skirted the light and approached Moli from the dark.

When she saw him coming, she tried to flee, and Froan was forced to grab her arm. When he did, she tensed and began shaking. “Moli, Moli,” he whispered tenderly, “everything I told the captain was a lie. I said it only to protect you. No matter what he says, you’ll always be my woman.”

Moli said nothing, but tears flowed from the slits that were her eyes.

“Was it Bloodbeard who beat you?”

Moli nodded. Then she added in a barely audible whisper, “Others, too.”

“Others?”

“Aye. When he was done, he gave me ta his men. ’Tweren’t natural, what they done. ’Tweren’t at all.”

“They’ll pay, Moli. All of them,” said Froan in a cold, hard voice. “And they’ll pay soon.” Then he retreated into the dark.

*  *  *

It wasn’t until the following morning that Bloodbeard revealed his plan. After dawnmeal, he took Froan aside and showed him two items that he had brought from storage. One was a large earthenware jug sealed with a stopper. “This is lamp oil,” he said. He held up a rectangular metal box about two hand lengths high and one wide. There was a handle at the top, and both its top and bottom panels were perforated with tiny holes. “This is a dark lantern.” He opened a door in its side to reveal its double-walled construction. The inner chamber had holes only in its side panels. “A flame in here sheds no light unless this door’s open.”

“So I spill the oil on the war boat and light it using the dark lantern.”

“Aye, simple as that.”

“And how do I get on the war boat?”

“That’s what the fishin’ boat’s fer. Today, ye and yer men hide ’neath the catch in the fish bin while Mud and Snapper row up to the war boat. They’ll have a friendly chat with them aboard to get a close look afore rowing upriver. The moon won’t rise till near morn, so ’twill be a dark night. Past midnight, Mud and Snapper will guide the boat so it drifts up to the war boat. Then they’ll wait while ye and yer men do the job. Leave yer boots behind and mayhap ye won’t be heard. If ye are, yer men can hold back the watch while ye set the fire. Be quick, and ye’ll be off afore the soldiers wake.”

Froan was impressed with the captain’s plan. While risky, it seemed to have a chance of success. “Can you tell me more about the war boat?” he asked.

“Why? Ye’re not havin’ second thoughts?”

It was impossible to miss the menace in Bloodbeard’s tone. “Not at all,” replied Froan. “I’d just like to know what I face.”

“Ah’ve been on a war boat,” said Bloodbeard. “Was forced to row a dozen moons fer stealin’ a chicken. All the oarsmen are convicted men and chained three abreast to the
benches. The soldiers are hirelings. They sleep in hammocks belowdecks.”

“And their leaders?” asked Froan.

“The officers have fancy quarters on the stern.”

“And there’ll be a watch?”

“Should be one or two men, most like. The trick is to be quick. Fire the ship, then row off to watch it burn. And when ye return, all’s forgiven.”

Froan flashed a grateful smile. “Thank you, Captain.”

Facing a long row against the current, the men left early. Snapper and Mud manned the oars, thus Froan and his men had it easy at first. There was no need to hide in the fish bin until they were farther upriver. Froan was glad for that, because hiding would be torture. The bin was little more than half the width of the deck and barely a man’s length. For seven men to fit into the cramped space, they would have to form two layers. The day-old catch that would cover and hide them was already beginning to ripen. Fortunately, the bin had sides constructed of slats with spaces between them, allowing some fresh air to enter. With luck, they wouldn’t suffocate.

Mud and Sapper rowed steadily, and by afternoon the fishing boat approached the stretch of river where the war boat had been anchored. Neither of the captain’s men had spoken during the trip, but Froan had gazed into each man’s eyes and saw betrayal in them. He was convinced that neither he nor his men were meant to survive the assault.
It seems Bloodbeard hopes to destroy two foes at once
, thought Froan.
The war boat and me
.

The rage that had simmered within Froan grew more intense, and he could feel his shadow stirring. Froan knew its power, which both assured and disturbed him. The two men rowing the boat had no idea what they would face if Froan unleashed his malevolent and savage side. But to do that, Froan would have to surrender to his darkest impulses,
and he had seen the consequences.
How many will be slaughtered this time?
Froan had no idea, but already the shadowed part of him hungered for death and mayhem. It seemed to hint that bloodlust might consume him.

Once again, Froan felt that if he wished to survive, he had no choice other than to follow his malign side. Without his dark powers, he was helpless. Nevertheless, he shrank from embracing them, for he sensed that he was nearing a threshold beyond which there was no return.
Must I become a monster in order to live?

His shadow answered, but not in a way Froan expected. No words or impulses welled up, just an image of Moli’s battered face. Then love and hate combined, and Froan let go of all restraint. He felt a chill surge through his body as his being filled with malice. With it came a sense of power.

With a firm grip on his every feature, Froan gave himself the passive look of a beaten dog. He gazed at his feet when he spoke to Mud and Snapper in the fawning tone of an inferior. “So, how was Moli last night?”

Snapper answered first. “Like any slut, only bony.”

“So-so,” added Mud. “No better.”

“Did she put up a fuss?” asked Froan.

“Not fer long,” said Mud. “A few good blows and she did what ever Ah wanted.”

Mud’s words doomed him. He had spoken them with the easy confidence of a powerful man, but that was before Froan looked up at him. As soon as Mud met Froan’s eyes he was overwhelmed by their withering intensity. The blood drained from his scarred face, and he stopped rowing to freeze like a hare seized by a wolf. Mud was helpless, though no jaws gripped him, only a pair of eyes. But those eyes weren’t wholly human.

When Froan swung the fishing gaff, Mud was too terrorized even to flinch. With a meaty thump, the iron hook bit deep into the side of his neck. Then Froan yanked the handle, ripping out Mud’s throat in a shower of blood. The
huge man crashed onto the deck, and convulsed briefly before growing still.

Afterward, Froan advanced through a spreading crimson pool toward Snapper, who regarded him with abject horror. Mud’s murder had invigorated the dark entity within Froan. When he spoke, he could hear new power in his voice, which sounded both cold and compelling. “What were the captain’s plans? Were we really supposed to board the war boat?”

“Aye,” said Snapper meekly, unable to look away.

“Then what?”

“Mud and me were to row off,” replied Snapper. “Either ye’d burn with the ship or be cut to pieces.”

Froan smiled coldly. “The captain must believe we’re valiant men. Didn’t he fear we’d surrender and talk?”

“Aye, he worried over it. So he planned to move to another hideaway, soon as ye were out o’ sight.”

“Where’s this place?”

“Downriver a bit from the old hideaway. ’Tis a big island near seven others.”

“And where will he set up the camp?”

“In a hollow on the south o’ the only hill. ’Twill be by a pond.”

Froan tossed the gaff down. “Thank you, Snapper.”

“I can help ye, Shadow. Anythin’ ye need, Ah’m yer man. And Ah only tupped Moli. Ah didn’t hit her.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Snapper. And there’s one more thing you can do for me.”

“Sure, anythin’ ye want.”

Froan spun and plunged his dagger into Snapper’s chest with such force that it was buried to the hilt. “You can die,” he said. Froan felt a second energizing surge as he withdrew his blade—a feat that required both hands. Then he kicked his dead victim, toppling him into the river.

As Snapper’s corpse sank from view, Froan turned to face
his men. Toward them, he radiated a different sort of power, one that inspired a fearless form of madness, not terror. Froan saw their eyes light up with excitement, just as they had before the massacre on the cattle boat. The men’s expressions lacked the frenzy of the earlier occasion because it wasn’t required yet. Nevertheless, Froan saw how he dominated and inflamed their spirits. He had no doubt they would obey him even if it meant dying.

“There’s much to like about the captain’s plan,” Froan said, “and we’ll partly follow it. Prepare for your destiny. After tonight, nothing will ever be the same.”

I
T WAS
late afternoon when Froan and Chopper rowed up to the war boat. The pool of blood had been washed from the deck of their boat, and what traces remained blended with the bloodstains of countless fish. Telk, Eel, Serpent, Toad, and Gouger lay in the fish bin covered by the slain fishermen’s catch. Froan called up to the war boat in what he hoped was a convincing accent, “Halloo, good sirs. Do ye fancy a fish dinner?”

A soldier poked his head over the rail. “Do I see a sturgeon there?”

Froan whispered to Chopper, “Which one’s that?”

“The big one,” Chopper whispered back.

“Aye,” said Froan. “Fer two coppers ’tis yours.”

“Is it fresh?”

“Caught yesterday.”

“A day old? Pah! Yer price is too dear.”

“Afore ye say that, know there’s pirates ’bout. ’Tis risky work ta haul a net.”

“No more,” said the soldier. “We’ve trapped them in the bog. They’re as good as dangling from a pole.”

“Then bless ye, sir, fer those fair tidings. And take the sturgeon with my compliments.” Froan grabbed the fish from the bin and, balancing on his rowing bench, handed it up to the soldier.

Throughout the exchange, Froan took in every detail of the war boat he could observe, especially those that would affect his plans. The craft was essentially a floating wooden fortress. It had two stout masts, but neither supported spars and sails. Instead, they were capped by wooden-walled platforms for archers and the watch. Froan noted four men on each.

The war boat had low sides, despite having two decks, and Froan judged that boarding it would be fairly easy. Both the bow and stern were built-up, boxing in the main deck. The bow possessed one extra deck and the stern had two. The stern was of particular interest to Froan, for that’s where the ship’s officers would be quartered. The lower cabin had a door that opened onto the main deck. Froan assumed that the topmost cabin was the captain’s and the small deck in front of its entrance was where he stood to issue commands.

Froan counted thirteen oar ports on the ship’s side, which meant there could be as many as seventy-eight oarsmen aboard. Since they were chained to their benches, they’d be of no concern during his assault. It was more difficult to judge how many soldiers he would face. Though he could see little of the upper deck, and nothing of the lower one, he observed over a dozen fighting men, and he assumed that there were at least several times that number aboard.

After handing the soldier the sturgeon, Froan sat down
and took up his oars. “I’ll fish easy knowing yer news. When ye catch the bastards, where will ye pole them?”

“Midgeport.”

“ ’Twould be worth a trip to see them dangling,” said Froan. Then he began to row upriver. Froan and Chopper continued rowing until the war boat was out of view. Then they entered a channel in the bog. When they were hidden among the reeds, Froan said, “You can come out now.”

Five men emerged from the fish bin. They were covered in slime and fish scales and looked worse for their ordeal, but none complained or even seemed glad that it was over. A part of Froan was disturbed by their behavior, for it seemed unnatural. He was particularly distressed to see Telk with a vacant expression on his filthy face. But Froan’s shadowed part was unconcerned. It understood that the men had been reduced to tools. It was likely that some or all of them would die during the upcoming night, and a lack of emotions enhanced their utility.