The Maestro's Maker (6 page)

I went down in my knees, cowering. “Don’t…”

“If I have to remove them for you, you will not wear clothes again on board this ship.

Do I make myself clear?”

I nodded and stood, moving as quickly as I could with my trembling fingers. I pulled

down my trousers and tried to use them to cover my right boot as I took it off, but the

blade clattered onto the floor. Time stopped as I watched Gunnar’s eyes narrow, and saw

the recognition there. “What is this?” he asked, then grinned. “It will take much more

than this to kill me.”

I shook my head frantically. “I wasn’t trying to kill you.”

“Oh? Then please explain to me exactly what you were doing with my razor.”

“I was…” I didn’t want to tell him about shaving the prisoners, but in the end saw no

other option.

“I just thought they were too weak to be dangerous,” I finished. “It seemed a harmless

kindness.”

“No kindness is harmless,” Gunnar said, making me stand, then moving around me

like a cat studying its prey, periodically touching a nipple or a strand of hair, stroking a

sensitive area. “Anyone for whom you feel compassion has a power over you, and will

eventually use it.” He moved close to my ear. “Do you know how old I am?”

I shook my head. “No,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “You’ve never told

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me.”

“I am over a thousand years old,” he said. “The exact number of years, of centuries, I

have walked this earth has ceased to be important. I am the last of a dead race. My native

tongue no longer exists. I have been a man without a country, without even an epoch, for

a very long time. I may as well be a god.”

“It sounds very lonely,” I said.

“Ah, loneliness.” He touched my jaw lightly with his fingertips. It made me tremble.

“Loneliness is the product of the lies we tell ourselves. As a priest among my people, I

have had much time to discover what is necessary and what is not.”

“Such wisdom and such cruelty together,” I said. “How can a priest value life so

little?”

He gave me a bitter smile. “The men who fall from great heights are those who sink

the lowest.”

“I will never understand you.”

Gunnar pulled his hand away in a fist, as though catching something and crushing it.

“It is a blessing then, that I don’t crave your understanding. When you are as old as I, you

realize that the society of others, the accolades of your fellow man, the love of a woman,

are as the glistening snow, which disappears as soon as the weather turns. That it is far

better to rely on the firmness of the ground beneath your own feet.”

“But why do you enjoy destroying them?”

“Because I detest them—their weakness, their stupidity. If I find one worthy of my

company, him I will spare.”

“But your cruelty would turn him against you in the beginning.”

“Perhaps,” he said, nodding. “Perhaps I am destined to wander the earth until even

the machinations of death bore me.” For a moment he seemed to be in a reverie. Then,

without warning, he dragged me over to the bed and took me mercilessly, opening my

legs and driving into me painfully, holding my wrists down to the mattress. He watched

my eyes the entire time, with a self-satisfied expression on his face. I looked up into his

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white eyes as he grunted into me, fearful he would read my plans in my eyes.

I tried not to become excited by his thrusting, but his weight on top of me and his

cock finding the depths of my body never failed to make me want him, no matter how I

nursed my hatred.

When it was over, he placed me in the chains he usually reserved for his dinner,

shackling my hands and feet together and leashing me by the ankles to a bedpost so that

I couldn’t stand.

“In this manner,” he said, “my people broke slaves. When a woman was finally given

clothes and allowed to sleep on straw, she was grateful. Very grateful, indeed. I, myself,

broke many slaves.”

“Is that what I am to you?” she asked.

“Of course,” he replied. “What else would you be?”

* * * *

I woke to the sensation of someone tugging on my chains and found one of Gunnar’s

men leering into my face, smelling of rum and feces. I started to break his nose, but

noticed he had a set of keys and was about to unlock me. Outside Gunnar’s cabin, there

was chaos—the sound of cannons, heavy footsteps and shouting. The air smelled heavily

of blood, gunpowder and fear.

“What is happening?” I demanded.

“We’re being attacked,” he said, running his disgusting, greasy gaze over my body.

“The captain wanted me to get you out of these so you can die on your feet.” He held

the keys tightly and grabbed my bare breast. His hand felt rough and wet. The nails were

blackened from years of filth.

“Good,” I said.

There are moments in life when desperation becomes glorious, and this was one of

those. The sound of a marauding vessel and the unyielding defiance I had seen in the

dark eyes of the French captive combined with the pounding of my heart to give me the

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strength to seize this chance. I grabbed the pirate’s wrist, breaking his arm at the elbow.

He was too stunned to cry out, too stunned to do anything except gape at the odd way the

limb now dangled. I broke his neck. Then I grabbed his sword and the keys, and worked

as quickly as I could to unlock the heavy cuffs and chains.

Keeping the sword and keys near my hands, I dressed quickly and crouched beside

the dead pirate to slip his dagger from its sheath and fit it into my boot, careful not to

scratch myself with the dirty, crusty blade. I took such care more out of habit and disgust

than necessity. With a sudden, violent scowl, I spat into his twisted features.

On deck, I looked this way and that for Gunnar, prepared to cut out his heart if I had

to. I wondered if I would be physically able to do such a thing, and had no idea if he could

even be killed. Fortunately, I did not see him. Other men crossed my path, however, but

they were easy to kill. Later, I would be amazed at how easily I killed that night. It felt as

though my body did the work while I watched from some faraway place.

In the confusion no one seemed to notice anything I did, including running a man

through with the dead pirate’s sword and taking his pistols. I put on the holsters and

slipped a second dagger into my boot, then continued, sword ready, down to the ship’s

hold. I hadn’t planned to take the prisoners out so soon, and did not even know if they

were in any condition to make it, but this, I realized, was probably our only chance. If the

invading ship’s crew didn’t kill us, then Gunnar would. And if he didn’t kill me, he would

see to it that there would be no more chances for escape. And my Frenchman would be

gone forever.

“What’s going on?” Jean cried as soon as I opened the door. I shushed him and looked

at Claude-Michel, who watched me like a wild cornered beast. I had never seen a turning.

With his sallow skin, sunken eyes, and limp hair he looked like a corpse glaring from the

shadows.

I could barely tear my eyes away from him to speak to Jean. “If you want you and

your master to make it out of here alive, you will do what I say,” I growled. Jean looked

as though he were about to start crying. His lip quivered. “Understand?” I repeated.

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He nodded. “Yes,
Madame
.”

I slid to my knees and unlocked him, then handed over my sword, instructing him

to support François as I unchained him as well, all the while explaining that we were

under attack and would have to swim for shore with the two men in tow. Claude-Michel

muttered to himself.

“I can’t swim,” Jean said.

“Well,” I answered. “Do your best.”

When I reached for Claude-Michel’s wrist cuffs, he snatched them away. “Get away

from me,” he said, and tried to sit up. Blood dribbled from his mouth as he spoke.

“Your new teeth are coming,” I said as though it would make sense to him.

“I’ll kill you,” he returned, but made no move to prevent me removing his wrist cuffs

a second time. “No one does these things to me.”

“Perhaps you will kill me,” I answered. “Or perhaps when you are stronger, you will

thank me. For this moment, however, you will have to trust me,” I said as his chains fell

away. “Can you swim?”

He did not answer.

“Well,” I said, freeing his ankles and hoisting him to his feet. “We’ll see if you can.

Either way,
Monsieur
, you are now free.” I picked him up over my shoulders and nodded

at François. “Do the best you can with him. We’ll throw them overboard and jump in

behind them. We’ll have to keep their heads above water.”

“What if I drown?” Jean asked.

“Then you’ll probably die,” I said. “But if you stay here, you will definitely die.

Come on.”

Because of his withered condition and my own vampire strength, Claude-Michel felt

as light as a baby. I hoped François was unconscious and would not make things difficult

for Jean. I did not expect all three of them to survive, but I would make sure Claude-

Michel did, I told myself.

Up on deck, smoke hung in black clouds and made it difficult to see, even for me.

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Men shouted and cursed as the attackers boarded. Though I couldn’t see them, I could

hear their voices. They were Italians, perhaps pirates, or navy. I didn’t care what they

were, as long as they served as a decoy for me and my countrymen.

“Stay close!” I shouted at Jean and headed for the deck rail. I bumped a man through

the smoke.

“What the…?” he exclaimed and whirled on me. I saw that it was the greasy Cockney.

He grinned. “Oh, you’re out, are you?” he said.

“
Oui
,” I replied, letting go of Claude-Michel, who slid to the floor. “I apologize,

Monsieur
,” I said as he scooted away. I didn’t move my sword as fast as I should have.

The Cockney sidestepped my aim, and thrust low. I felt pressure and heat in my left

thigh. Even as thick, warm blood stained my trouser leg, I felt something else moving

deep in the muscle, and knew it had already started to heal itself. The Cockney pulled his

sword out of me, but not quickly enough to prevent me from opening his throat with my

dagger.

I left him choking on the deck and got Claude-Michel to his feet. He glared at me but

did not resist. Jean looked at me with something like awe and eyed my wound. “You’ll

bleed to death,” he said.

“No, I won’t,” I told him. “Don’t slip.” We were only a few feet from the rail. Below

us, the water rolled with the movement of the ships. “Swim,” I whispered to Claude-

Michel and helped him overboard. I turned to Jean. There was a splash below. Jean’s eyes

were wide. “That one too,” I said quickly, nodding at François, who was unconscious

again. I was very anxious to follow Claude-Michel, fearing the sharks would get him, or

that he would drown.

Jean shook his head.

“Come on!” I shouted. “Your master is already out there! He needs us!” I pulled

François out of Jean’s grip and maneuvered him over the rail as well, then turned back

to Jean.

“Put away your sword and jump,” I said.

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Again, he shook his head, brandishing his weapon at me. “I can’t…”

“All right. But your master is in the ocean. If you want to be with him, you will have

to follow me.” I turned away, located Claude-Michel’s flailing form, and leapt over the

rail.

I caught him like a wriggling fish in my arms and held his head above the surface.

Water sputtered from his mouth. “Jean…” he said.

“He’s coming,” I answered, but did not really think it was true. “But we have to find

François.” I scanned the surface but didn’t see him. “Hold your breath,” I said to Claude-

Michel, looking at him intently. “Will you, please?” I asked.

Still glaring, he filled his lungs and moved with me under the water. I spotted François,

caught beneath a slab of wood I had not noticed before. I had to leave Claude-Michel to

tread water and go to François, tugging at him furiously and finally dislodging his blouse

from jagged, splintery tears in the wood. His eyes bulged open. I felt sure he was dead. I

placed him on top of the board with his arms dangling off the other side.

Claude-Michel half-swam toward me. Something exploded nearby, sending a tower

of water into the air and causing us both to jump, but I managed to grasp Claude-Michel’s

slippery hands and arms and help him over to the board, where François’ body dangled.

“Hold on to this,” I told Claude-Michel. “Stay with him. He needs you.”

Claude-Michel gazed at François with a stricken look.

“He’ll be all right,” I said.

Something rose to the surface of the water and flailed in a death struggle. Hoping

it was Jean, and that Claude-Michel would be able to hold on to the board, I took in a

painful gulp of air and shot through the water. Limbs like octopus tentacles latched onto

me, dragging me down. Because I knew I had very little chance of drowning, I was not

afraid. I was able to take my time getting around behind Jean where I would be free of his