Rue Allyn (24 page)

“Aye, bucko. I know people will be hurt tonight,” Father Conroy informed.

Dutch nodded. “Is the mission ready to take the women in?”

“Aye, all is prepared. When do we move?”

“Soon as all your men are in place. How many did you bring?”

“Only ten, but they’re me best.”

“Ten should be enough. The Chinaman is already on board, and he only posted two guards on this ship. I figure he believes fewer guards would draw less attention to his cargo. He brought his four personal bodyguards, making a total of between four and six opponents. The Chinaman’s well-known infirmities will keep him out of any direct fighting.

A young man emerged from the fog and tapped Father Conroy on the shoulder.

The priest listened then turned back to Dutch. “We’re ready, lad.”

“Good enough.”

Dutch pulled his watch from his vest pocket. “Set your watches for five after midnight. We’ll board in five minutes.”

The men adjusted their timepieces.

“Good luck.”

Soundlessly, Marcus and Father Conroy led their men in opposite directions; the fog swallowed them in seconds.

Praying that Edith was alive and unharmed, Dutch stowed his pistol in the inner pocket of his leather waistcoat to keep the weapon dry, checked to be certain the knife at his waist was secure, then dove into the mist.

• • •

In the hold, the Chinaman spoke to his bodyguards. Soon afterward, the regular guards hurried off, but the bodyguards remained.

Edith trembled with cold, disgust, and anticipation.

The Chinaman removed his robe and, naked, seated himself on an armless, silk covered bench brought in by the guards. He was scrawny, with sagging sallow skin, but the appendage hanging between his legs was thick and long, even in its flaccid state. From around his neck he removed the ribbon that held the precious key, giving it to the burliest guard. Then the villain pointed at Edith.

“That one,” the ancient voice rasped like rusted chains. “And those two behind her.”

Edith cast a glance over her shoulder and saw Ella paired with another, very generously endowed woman whose hip-length, dark hair shielded her body a bit.

What did he want with three women? Edith tried to keep her surprise in check. She didn’t need any more attention than she already had.

The guard released her shackles, grabbed her arm, and pulled her toward the Chinaman. The other guard took the key to release her two companions, then returned the key to the Chinaman, who placed it around his neck once more.

Edith had to work hard not to wrinkle her nose in disgust. He stank of herbs used to cover the scent of an unwashed body.

He spread his legs and patted a flabby thigh.

She knew what was expected, but she couldn’t move toward that awful smell.

“Sit!” The command thundered from the scrawny chest. He pointed at the two released women, who stood arm in arm not five feet away. “Or would you like me to hurt them?”

Edith shook her head and sat her bare bottom on the man’s thigh.

Immediately he anchored her there with an arm around her back so that his hand rested on her rib cage, cupping her breast. He lifted a finger and one of those long nails she’d seen in the framer’s shop scraped across a tender nipple. She couldn’t suppress a small cry at the pain. But before the sound left her lips a sharper pain nearly doubled her over. He was pinching her injured nipple. Leaning away from the continuing pain brought her ear close to his mouth.

“Do not react. No master cares to have his pleasure interrupted by the mewlings of the merchandise. Do you understand me?”

She nodded.

The pinching stopped. He licked her ear. “Good. Turn your head to me.”

She complied, bringing her nose to nose with his black eyes.

“Kiss me with your tongue in my mouth.”

She didn’t hesitate. She tried not to think about him, about what she did, about anything.

As she plied her tongue, his hands tested her breasts, flicked his nails over them, pinching, tugging.

She felt the involuntary, but no less demeaning, reactions of her body. Her breasts swelled into his hands. Dampness between her thighs caused her to squirm. The air filled with the scent of her musk, announcing her arousal to the world.

He shoved her back into her original position. She kept her balance by placing her arm around his neck and shoulders. He didn’t seem to mind.

“An excellent beginning.” The Chinaman beamed. “But I wish more stimulating entertainment.”

He nodded toward the guard who held the two women. “Begin.”

The voluptuous woman was forced to lie on her back and spread her legs.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered the woman on the floor.

Edith turned her head, unable to watch. A quick pinch on her nipple forced her head back around.

“You will watch and learn. Understand?”

She nodded.

Cool, dry lips replaced the pinching fingers and the tiniest of flickers told her that he suckled her breast. His hand squeezed the other breast. Edith kept her gaze anchored on the two women.

A pearly liquid matted the nether regions of the woman on the floor.

A breath of air on Edith’s damp nipple caused a shiver.

“Lick up that mess.” The Chinaman instructed Ella with a pointed finger.

Ella knelt between the other woman’s legs, lowered her face to the juncture of the prone woman’s thighs, and delicate as a cat lapped at the liquid. The woman groaned and lifted her hips toward Ella’s mouth.

Beside Edith, the Chinaman chuckled gleefully. “That’s it, suck her. Suck for all you’re worth.”

His gaze as well as the guards’ riveted on the gyrations of Ella and her partner.

A soft touch across Edith’s thigh drew her attention. The Chinaman’s phallus no longer lay flaccid. It rose, moving as if of its own volition, wrist thick and monstrously long. She had to get the key — if she allowed him to put that thing inside her, he’d split her in two.

A glance at the floor showed the two women still tangled in the throes of their forced intimacy.

Inspired, Edith bent her head, taking the Chinaman’s earlobe between her teeth.

“Ahhh.” He sighed his pleasure at the small caress and responded by dipping one of his long fingernails between her legs, parting her nether lips and scraping back and forth across the bud that sheltered there.

The touch wasn’t painful, but Edith didn’t want to feel pleasure. Still she used the natural response of her body to swing her empty arm around his neck from the other side. With both hands behind him, she could easily untie the ribbon that held the key to freedom. Pretending to fondle his neck, she undid the knot until only one twist of the ribbon remained.

However, her movement had brought her breasts close to his mouth, and he took full advantage, clamping down and sucking hard first on one then the other. The finger between her legs slid into her body’s opening. The constant stimulation caused her hips to buck, settling that scraping finger deeper inside. Her hands gripped the ends of the ribbon and pulled them apart.

Afraid that his nail would cut her, she cried out, as if she’d just found her release. She forced her hips to still and collapsed against him. The key dangled from her left fist.

Quickly she leaned back, able to smile at him in truth. He had no idea what was coming next.

He withdrew his finger from her and raised it to his lips, licking at the creamy fluid that covered the digit from nail tip to his last knuckle. “I see you are finally ready for me. Stand up and straddle my hips.”

Edith nodded and smiled. The time had come. She stood between his legs.

“I said stradd — ”

She thrust her knee into his scrotum as hard as she could. He slid from the bench groaning in pain, unable to speak.

Edith whipped around and shouted. “Now.”

The guards rounded on her.

“Kill her,” ground out the Chinaman.

The guards drew their long knives.

The two women leapt from the floor onto the guards’ backs.

Off balance the guards toppled to the deck where the women wrestled them for control of the knives.

Edith ran for the nearest shackled woman and released her, then the next and the next. Each freed woman leapt into the fray with the guards.

She was moving to another group of women when a weight on her back caused her to stumble to the floor. Scrawny, long nailed fingers circled her throat. Leaving the key for some other woman to pick up, she twisted and looked into the implacable face of the Chinaman. Death rode on the glee in his expression.

She pried at the fingers to no avail. One nail, slightly longer than the others, bit into her skin, and she felt blood trickle down her neck. Her vision began to gray. With her last bit of strength she swung her fist, aiming for the Chinaman’s temple.

She never heard his howl of pain or the gunshot that brought all the fighting to a stop.

• • •

A slim figure emerged from the deep shadows at the far end of the warehouse where moments ago Dutch and his compatriots had cast their plans. Guzzling the last of the three bottles of cheap whiskey that he’d scrounged after lying to Dutch, Judge Jeremiah Trahern crossed the wharf and scurried over the gangway onto the ship. Keeping to the shadowed side of the crates and barrels on the deck he made his way to the forward hold. For once in his misbegotten life he’d do the right thing, even though he’d probably die as a result. Trey Trahern would be safe if it was the last thing his father ever did.

He wasted precious minutes confirming his hunch about Trey’s location by listening to the guards. Trey was in the forward hold with two other guards. Silently, Jem moved in that direction. He secured his pistol in his waistband. Then with the empty bottle in one hand and his knife in the other he crept down the steps leading to the forward compartment.

The two men guarding Trey’s inert form were too busy throwing dice to notice they weren’t alone. Jem cracked the bottle over the head of the nearest one and knifed him in the back. As he drew his pistol the second man was on him. They struggled, tripping over Trey’s body and falling to the floor. The stronger and younger guard landed on top and knelt on Jem’s chest. He began bending Jem’s gun hand so the pistol faced the judge. Before he could force Jem to fire the gun, Trey slammed into the man, knocking the pistol away. After kicking Trey off, the guard anchored his hands around Jem’s throat. He was going to die, without saving his son. His one attempt to right a wrong had been for nothing. He looked toward his son and prayed to see forgiveness. Amazement filled him as his body emptied of breath. Trey, who had every reason to hate him, had reached the fallen pistol and fired it at Jem’s killer.

• • •

Dutch cradled Edith against his chest and quaked with fear. She was too pale, too still. Her breathing was too shallow. When he pressed his hand to her heart he felt a wild erratic beat.

Around him, Marcus and the Tsangs were seeing to the women, releasing them, giving them blankets or clothing to cover themselves. One of the Tsangs tended a dark-haired woman who’d been sliced in a fight with one of the now dead guards.

“We’ll have wagons here soon to take you to the mission. The vigilance committee will have clothing and medical help there,” Marcus’s voice soothed and calmed.

Numb to just about everything, those women who hadn’t been injured in the fray nodded and settled to wait.

“Mr. Smiley?” One of the vigilantes approached. “Father Conroy says you and Mr. Trahern need to come to the forward hold real quick.”

Marcus looked at Dutch.

He clutched Edith closer. “I won’t leave her.”

“But … ”

“No. She’s sick. I don’t know what’s wrong. She’s not injured, but her breathing is shallow and her heartbeat’s irregular. I won’t leave her; she needs a doctor, fast.”

“The doctor’s in the forward compartment,” said the vigilante.

“Bring her with us,” said Marcus. “I’ll help you.”

Working together, the three men moved Edith the distance to the doctor. Dutch carried her into the room.

“If you’ve got injured, put ’em on the floor beside this fellow I’m working on,” said the unfamiliar voice. Another man, his face covered, lay dead on the far side of the patient the doc was tending.

Following directions, Dutch settled Edith as gently as possible on the hard planks.

“I’ve done all I can for this fellow.” He drew a sheet up to the man’s chin and turned toward Edith. “What’s wrong with her?”

Dutch didn’t hear. His ears were buzzing, and he felt dizzy.

“Sit down, Dutch, before you fall down. What’s wrong?”

Dutch yielded to Marcus’s hand on his shoulder but pointed at the man the doctor had just seen. “That’s Trey, and I think the dead man’s the judge.”

Dutch sat at Edith’s bedside in Marcus’s home. The doctor had taken one look at her, noting the small scratch on her neck and the lack of other wounds, then asked how she’d been found. Next the doctor insisted on examining the Chinaman, sprawled in death in the mid-ship hold, Dutch’s bullet in his brain.

The doctor returned, lifted Edith’s eyelids, checked her pulse, and announced her poisoned. He showed Dutch a paper containing some crystals he’d scraped from beneath one of the Chinaman’s fingernails.

“I don’t see it often,” said the doctor. “Moreso with the Chinese. The poison reacts like an unexplainable illness in the human body.”

“Do you know the antidote?”

The doc shook his head. “Could be any one of a thousand things. The Chinese are fond of cooking up their own concoctions. Most likely the Chinaman gave the antidote to someone he trusted for safe keeping. I’d start with those bodyguards if I was you. You’ll be looking for a small vial of liquid. Liquid’s easier to administer than powder or smoke. Now if you’ll excuse me, I best get to the mission. Those women are gonna need my help.”

Dutch had thanked the man and did as he suggested, but a search of the guards’ bodies and the Chinaman’s clothing turned up nothing that resembled a liquid or that could quickly be made into a liquid.

He picked up Edith’s hand and held it to his cheek. She’d been comatose for two days, each day slipping further from his reach.