The Raider (2 page)

Somehow, he managed to follow Nick's perfectly straight back out of the building and into the fading daylight. A magnificent carriage and equally magnificent horses awaited them. One of Nick's servants helped Alex into the carriage.

Alex was hardly seated when Nick began raging at him.

“Did you know that they planned to hang you in the morning?” he growled. “I only heard about you by chance. Some old sailor saw you get off my ship and then get knocked around by those soldiers. He saw you kick the table over on one of them. Did you know you broke his leg? He may lose it. And you burned one of them and a third one
still
hasn't waked up after you bashed him. Alex, a person in your station in life can't do that sort of thing.”

Alex raised an eyebrow at that statement. No doubt Nick, in his station in life, would have every right to do what he pleased.

Alex leaned back against the seat and looked out the window while Nick continued to tell him that he couldn't do what he'd done. While Nick was talking, Alex saw an English soldier grab a young girl's arm and pull her behind a building.

“Stop here,” Alex said.

Nick, who had seen what Alex had, refused to have the driver stop the carriage and when Alex tried to get out anyway, Nick pushed him forcefully against the seat. Alex grabbed his head in pain.

“They're only peasants,” Nick said, his voice full of disbelief.

“But they are
my
peasants,” Alex whispered.

“Ah, yes, now I begin to understand. But there are always more peasants. They breed rapidly.”

Alex didn't bother to answer Nick's absurdities. His head was hurting as much from what he'd seen as from the blow he'd received. He'd heard rumors of horrors that were going on in America, but he hadn't really believed them. In England there was talk of the ungrateful Colonists, how they were like delinquent children who needed a firm hand to rule them. He'd even seen American ships being unloaded and inspected before they could return to America. But, somehow, he hadn't really believed what he'd heard.

He lay quietly against the padded seat and didn't bother to look out the window again.

They arrived at a large house on the outskirts of town and Nick jumped out, leaving Alex to find his own way. He was obviously very angry with his friend and had no intention of helping him further.

Alex climbed out and followed Nick's valet into a room where a bathtub full of hot water was waiting.

Alex stripped and washed, the hot water helping his sore head. But with the clearing away of pain, he began to wonder about his sister's letter. He'd dismissed it as the emotional reaction of a woman, but now he wondered if what was going on here was what she meant when she had said that Warbrooke needed help. Elias had said that Josiah's ship had been taken because he was suspected of selling contraband. If the soldiers felt so superior that they could attack a harmless seaman on the street and molest a young girl without fear of punishment, what were the officers, the men in power, capable of?

“I see you're still thinking of what happened today,” Nick said as he entered the room. “What do you expect when you walk about the wharf dressed as you are?”

“A man has a right to dress how he wants and he should be safe.”

“That is the doctrine of all peasants,” Nick said with a sigh. He motioned to a servant to begin unpacking his many bags and trunks. “Tonight you may wear my cousin's clothes and tomorrow we will see that you are dressed properly. Then you may travel to your father's home without fear.”

As usual, Nick made it a command rather than a suggestion. He had been giving orders all his life and they had been obeyed.

After Nick left, Alex dismissed the servant who held one of Nick's monogrammed bath towels ready, took the towel and wrapped it about the lower half of his body. It was dark outside now, but the lamplighter had lit the lamps and Alex could see the soldiers roaming about the streets. They were quartered with the citizens and came and went at their leisure. Not far away he heard raucous laughter and the sound of glass breaking.

These men were afraid of nothing. They had the protection of the King of England on their side. If someone fought them, as Alex had today, they had every right to hang him. They were English and the Americans were English, too—but the Americans were considered to be a savage, ignorant lot that had to be disciplined.

Turning away from the window in disgust, Alex glanced at the half-open trunk of Nick's. There was a black shirt lying across the top.

What if someone gave them some of their own terror back? he thought. What if a man, dressed in black, came out of the night and let these arrogant soldiers know that they couldn't hurt the Colonists without fear of punishment?

He rummaged in Nick's trunk until he found a pair of black breeches.

“May I ask what you are doing?” Nick asked from the doorway. “If it is jewels you are looking for, I can assure you they are safely hidden.”

“Be quiet, Nick, and help me find a black handkerchief.”

Nick walked across the room and put his hand on Alex's arm. “I want to know what you are doing.”

“I just thought that I might give those Englishmen something to worry about. A black ghost coming out of the night perhaps.”

“Ah, yes, I am beginning to see.” Nick's eyes began to shine. This was an idea that appealed to his Russian blood. He opened a second trunk. “Did I ever tell you about my cousin who rode his horse down the steps of our country house? The horse broke both its front legs of course, but it was a magnificent moment.”

Alex looked up from the shirt he was holding. “What happened to your cousin?”

“He died. All the good ones die young. Another time he was drunk and decided to ride his horse out of a second story window. Both he and the horse died. He was a good man.”

Alex kept his comments about Nick's cousin to himself as he pulled on the tight black breeches. Nick was shorter and heavier than he was, but Alex's legs were thick from years of fighting for balance on board ships so the breeches, made to be snug, were like skin on Alex. The shirt, cut full in the arms and gathered across the bodice, flowed above the breeches.

“And these,” Nick said, holding up tall, knee-high boots. “And here is a handkerchief.” He opened the door. “Bring me a black plume!” he bellowed down the hallway.

“You don't have to spread the word to everyone,” Alex said as he pulled on the boots.

Nick shrugged. “There is no one here but my cousin and his wife.”

“And a hundred or so servants.”

“What do they matter?” He looked up from the trunk to a servant who held out a large, black-dyed ostrich plume.

“The countess sends her regards,” the servant said before leaving the room.

Within minutes Nick had Alex dressed in black. He cut holes in the handkerchief and tied it about the lower half of his friend's face, then set a large tricorn hat on his head. The plume curled about the brim, a few tendrils hanging over Alex's forehead.

“Yes,” Nick said, standing back and admiring his work. “Now, what do you plan? To ride about the streets and frighten the men and kiss the girls?”

“Something of the sort.” Now that he was dressed, Alex wasn't sure what he'd originally planned.

“There is a horse in the stables, a beautiful black. It's in the end stall. When you return, we will drink to…the Raider. Yes, we will drink to the Raider. Now go and have your fun and return soon. I am hungry.”

Alex smiled and then followed Nick's directions down to the stables. Under the cover of darkness, he faded into nothing in the black clothing, and as he moved about, he began to have a sense of purpose. He thought of the soldiers pulling the girl into the alley and he thought of Josiah losing his ship. Josiah had taught the three Montgomery boys to tie their first knots.

The horse Nick recommended was an angry devil that had no desire for any man to ride it. Alex pulled it around, then mounted, fought for—and won—control of the beast. They shot out of the stables and headed toward the streets.

Alex moved the horse quietly along the outskirts of the main street and watched for a place where he might be useful. It didn't take him long to find it. Outside a tavern, a pretty young woman, her arms full of small kegs of beer, was being surrounded by seven drunken soldiers.

“Give us a kiss,” one man said. “Just one little kiss.”

Alex didn't waste time before spurring his mount from the shadows and into the group. The horse, its feet flying, was nervous enough to make the men stop and take notice, but the man clad in black on top, his head silhouetted by the lamplight made them step back in fear.

Alex hadn't considered how he would disguise his voice, but when he spoke, he spoke with the accent of an upperclass Englishman, not with the flat voweled English that had developed in America over the last hundred years.

“Try someone your own size,” Alex said and drew his sword as he advanced on two of the men who were stepping backward, away from the apparition and the angry black horse.

Deftly, Alex removed the buttons off the uniform of first one man, then the other. The buttons clattered on the cobblestone street and the horse crushed one under its iron-clad hoof.

Alex backed the horse away, already moving into the shadows. He knew that he had surprise on his side and that as soon as these men recovered their senses, they'd attack or call for help.

He swung his sword through the air with a loud whoosh and brought it to rest under the chin of another soldier. “Think before you harass an American again or the Raider may find you.” He pulled his sword tip down the man's uniform, carefully laying it open to his skin, but not so much as scratching the man.

With that, Alex laughed, a laugh of pure pleasure, a feeling of triumph surging through him that he had the upper hand with these overbearing louts who traveled only in packs. Still smiling beneath his mask, he turned his horse and headed down the street at a breakneck pace.

But no matter how fast he was going, he couldn't outrun the bullet that was fired at his back. He felt something hot tearing through his shoulder. His head flew backward and the horse reared, but he managed to hang on.

He turned back to the woman and soldiers still standing there, one of the men holding a smoking pistol in his hand. “You'll never catch the Raider,” he said with triumph in his voice. “He'll haunt you day and night. You'll never be free of him.”

He was wise enough not to press his luck any longer but turned the horse and tore down the street. Shutters on the houses were beginning to open and people were looking out just in time to see a man in black fly past their windows. Behind him, Alex could hear a woman, probably the barmaid he'd rescued, shouting something, but he was too concerned about his bleeding shoulder to hear what she was saying.

He rode the horse to the edge of town and knew that he had to get rid of the animal. As he was, he was too conspicuous atop the black devil. Near the docks, in the shelter of the confusion of the ships and ropes, he dismounted, slapped the horse on the rump and watched it head back toward its stables.

Alex couldn't see his shoulder, but he could feel that he was losing a great deal of blood and he knew that he was losing strength rapidly. The nearest point of safety was Nick's ship, docked not far away and guarded by Nick's crew.

Weaving between the ships and keeping himself hidden, he listened to the increasing pitch of the people in the streets. It seemed that the entire town was coming out of their houses and joining in the search. When he reached Nick's lugger, he prayed that the Russian crew would allow him on board. The Russians could be as fierce as they were loving.

But Alex need not have feared, for one of the crewmen saw him and swung down to the dock to help him aboard. Maybe they were used to their master's friends arriving in the middle of the night wearing blood soaked shirts. Alex didn't remember much after the sailors helped him aboard the ship and half carried him into the hold.

*   *   *

Alex opened his eyes to see the familiar swing of a lamp as it swayed to the rhythm of the sea.

“Well, it looks like you may live after all.”

Alex moved his head just a bit to see Nick sitting beside him, his coat off, his shirt dirty with blood on the front. “What time is it?” Alex asked as he started to sit up but was dizzy with the effort so he lay back down.

“It's almost dawn,” Nick said, getting up to move to a basin of water and wash his hands. “You almost died last night. It took a while to get the bullet out.”

Alex closed his eyes for a moment and thought about his foolish stunt of being the Raider. “I hope you don't mind my imposing on your hospitality a while longer, but I think it will be a day or so before I can travel to Warbrooke.”

Nick dried his hands on a towel. “I don't think either of us had any idea of the consequences of what you did last night. It seems that this town was looking for a hero and you've been elected. You can't step onto the street without hearing about the exploits of the Raider. It seems that he's responsible for every deed that's been perpetrated against the English in the last ten years.”