Authors: Kerry Newcomb
The Red Ripper (4 page)
“SHE WALKS IN SHADOWS.”
Two rode together along the Spanish road where it followed a ridge of low hills overlooking the sun-washed city of Veracruz, gleaming like a pearl in the emerald haze of noon. Heat waves rippled from whitewashed haciendas, storefronts, and the red-tiled roofs of walled estates scattered amid a profusion of humbler jacals capped with brown thatch, dried brittle by the warm winds sweeping in from the Gulf.
Mad Jack Flambeau and William Wallace paused before descending to the outskirts of the city below. The wiry old freebooter, flamboyant in his ruffled yellow shirt, nankeen trousers, and dark blue broadcloth, dabbed away the perspiration from his weathered features and glanced longingly over his shoulder at the distant snow-capped summit of Mount Orizaba a hundred miles to the northwest.
“Citlaltapetl,” he softly remarked, squinting. Try as he might, the peak remained a familiar blur in the distance. “The Star Mountain ⦠home of the gods.” It would be cool up there, wreathed in pink clouds, where the air was thin and a man could hear his soul sing in the wind.
Mad Jack adjusted the scarlet scarf protecting his shaved skull from sunburn. Flambeau shifted his weight in the saddle, glanced in William's direction, and tried
to remember when he had agreed to bring the big man along. His memory was a rum-induced haze.
to remember when he had agreed to bring the big man along. His memory was a rum-induced haze.
Wallace tilted his sombrero back on his head and mopped the perspiration from his youthful features with a long white scarf knotted carelessly about his throat. He threw a long shadow. His powerful frame strained against the laces of his coarsely woven cotton shirt, the carefully restitched seams of his embroidered coat, and the earthen-dyed trousers he'd tucked into his oversize boarhide boots. The big man gave silent thanks that Josefina had proved to be a deft seamstress.
Wallace tied back his shoulder-length red hair with a leather string, then, at Flambeau's bidding, grudgingly removed the pistol and dagger from his belt and tucked the weapons away in his saddlebags. He held up his empty hands and grimaced as if to ask, “Satisfied?” Sea breezes carried the pungent fragrance of low tide to the hillside. Gulls rode the blue wind from the shore and traced their shadows in lazy arcs upon the grassy slope.
“Every inch the gentleman,” Mad Jack remarked, examining his younger companion. Old Butch and Bonechucker had already been concealed in a leather pouch dangling from his saddle horn. “And see you remain that way. We are sailing into harm's way,
mon ami
. The good graces of Governor Guadiz are not to be taken lightly.” He started his mount down the well-worn trail that years of travel had cut through the wind-rippled leaves of grass.
mon ami
. The good graces of Governor Guadiz are not to be taken lightly.” He started his mount down the well-worn trail that years of travel had cut through the wind-rippled leaves of grass.
Wallace followed a few paces behind the pirate, a sense of expectation tightening his gut. He was no stranger to Veracruz. They had visited the port several times during the past year. But today was different. Today there was a good chance Juan Diego Guadiz had returned to attend his uncle's anniversary celebration. And that made all the difference in the world.
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A maze of streets fanned outward from the city's crowded central plaza. The
mercado
was ringed with cantinas, hotels, and a stately cathedral whose bells tolled the noon hour, summoning the faithful into the friendly shade of the sanctuary. Wallace and Mad Jack secured lodging for the night at Casa del Gato Negro. The hotel overlooked the busy marketplace and had its own stables off the alley behind the rear kitchen. The owner, a gray-haired spinster with a face like a hatchet, asked no questions and insisted her guests do the same. The two men took a room, stored their few belongings, then continued across town.
mercado
was ringed with cantinas, hotels, and a stately cathedral whose bells tolled the noon hour, summoning the faithful into the friendly shade of the sanctuary. Wallace and Mad Jack secured lodging for the night at Casa del Gato Negro. The hotel overlooked the busy marketplace and had its own stables off the alley behind the rear kitchen. The owner, a gray-haired spinster with a face like a hatchet, asked no questions and insisted her guests do the same. The two men took a room, stored their few belongings, then continued across town.
The massive gray battlements of the Castillo de San Juan de Ulua, bristling with cannonades, guarded a placid aquamarine bay. The busy pier and shipyards were a forest of mainmasts as brigs and sloops, heavily laden barkentines, and stately frigates vied for placement on the piers. A swarm of laborers ferried the cargo from the ships to the warehouses lining the wharf.
The port's sights and sounds quickly assailed their senses as the riders immersed themselves in the heart of the city. Storekeepers and street vendors haggled with their customers in animated contests over prices and trade goods. Children and dogs darted among carts, carriages, and horses, escaping disaster by a hair's breadth. Quarrels and gossip mingled with the harangue of overeager merchants and the music from the cantinas. On one avenue, a peg-legged man with a cage of speckled parrots played a merry jig on his concertina to the delight of several smudge-faced children. Elsewhere, a passionate musician strummed his guitar while a pair of young dandies, strutting like peacocks, danced to impress a senorita who seemed oblivious to their courtship as she dried her long black tresses in the sun.
The excitement over the president's visit and the governor's anniversary had spread through every street and
alleyway, for a holiday had been declared, debts were forgiven, even a handful of prisoners had been freed from the jail.
alleyway, for a holiday had been declared, debts were forgiven, even a handful of prisoners had been freed from the jail.
William was aware of the curious glances they received. He noted when a passerby recognized Captain Flambeau and watched with a mixture of envy and guarded respect as the Butcher of Barbados rode past. Having spent a year beneath the Frenchman's roof, William was hard-pressed to equate the buccaneer's grisly reputation with the man who had saved his life and befriended him.
Mad Jack turned to his companion and pointed toward the governor's palace lording over the city from atop the mounded ruins of Aztec temples plundered and razed by the Spanish who landed on the shore centuries before. Outer walls festooned with bouganvillea and flame vines and patrolled by sentries protected the main haciendaâa spacious two-storied structure built of pink granite and surrounded by a splendid array of gardens, gazebos, and walkways of crushed conch shells.
“President Bustamente's already arrived,” Mad Jack laconically observed as they left the vicinity of the
mercado
. “The dragoons in green coats and flat-crowned hats are his personal guard.” The pirate stroked his chin as he assessed the bivouacked soldiers. “Looks like General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna has come to show off his troops as well.”
mercado
. “The dragoons in green coats and flat-crowned hats are his personal guard.” The pirate stroked his chin as he assessed the bivouacked soldiers. “Looks like General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna has come to show off his troops as well.”
“Why not? Isn't he the governor's man?” William remarked, observing the familiar garrison of soldiers in blue tunics trimmed with scarlet epaulets and blue sashes. Despite the guarded animosity of their commanders, Santanistas and Nationalist troops could be seen casually fraternizing with one another on the outlying parade grounds surrounding the estate.
“This has got to stick in the governor's craw, having to play host to
el presidente
even while backing General
Santa Anna for the same job,” Mad Jack chuckled. “And Bustamente, the crafty old fox, has no doubt shown up to gauge the opposition.”
el presidente
even while backing General
Santa Anna for the same job,” Mad Jack chuckled. “And Bustamente, the crafty old fox, has no doubt shown up to gauge the opposition.”
“Santa Anna ⦠Bustamente ⦠it is of no concern to me,” said Wallace. He steadied the roan stallion and quickly surveyed the gathering of soldiers. He recognized a third cluster of dragoons by the sunlight glinting off their plumed helmets. Juan Diego was not among them. William counted fifteen carriages and three times as many horses lining the circular drive in front of the governor's palace and wondered which, if any, belonged to Juan Diego and his sister.
Suddenly an old fear began to gnaw at William's gut and forced him to question his resolve. A familiar nightmare had plagued him since the murder of his brother. Something in William had snapped that fateful morning, little more than a year ago. With his brother's blood fresh on his hands, William had abandoned the survivors and run for his life. He had fled like a frightened rabbit from Juan Diego and his lancers. How many times had he relived his failure, how many long nights of restless sleep?
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The city's dignitaries were congregated in the front gardens, engaging
el presidente
and his entourage of medal-bedecked generals and civilian guests. As Mad Jack and William Wallace halted their mounts before the wrought-iron gate, the old freebooter pointed out President Bustamente. This robust, stocky individual, resplendent in his medal-laden uniform, was no stranger to the banquet tables and kept up an animated conversation while filling his plate with delicacies from the various buffets. Servants scurried among the landowners and the city's elite, bearing trays of cut crystal wineglasses and bottles of Sangria, platters of tarts and honeycakes, puffed pastries filled with clams, oysters, and
spicy morsels of pork, bowls of tiny orange carrots sweet as sugar, and melons and avocados carved into pink, orange, and luscious green crescents.
el presidente
and his entourage of medal-bedecked generals and civilian guests. As Mad Jack and William Wallace halted their mounts before the wrought-iron gate, the old freebooter pointed out President Bustamente. This robust, stocky individual, resplendent in his medal-laden uniform, was no stranger to the banquet tables and kept up an animated conversation while filling his plate with delicacies from the various buffets. Servants scurried among the landowners and the city's elite, bearing trays of cut crystal wineglasses and bottles of Sangria, platters of tarts and honeycakes, puffed pastries filled with clams, oysters, and
spicy morsels of pork, bowls of tiny orange carrots sweet as sugar, and melons and avocados carved into pink, orange, and luscious green crescents.
Mad Jack rubbed his rumbling gut but eyed the feast with certain misgivings. “I don't know why the governor should have invited me to this soiree. He doesn't like to mix my visits with the landed gentry. His friends are particular about who they sip sherry with.”
“If you're worried, let's heave to and put our sails to the wind,” William replied, dismounting and tethering the roan to the first post they found free. He looked long and hard at his saddlebags and the bulge of his pistols and knife against the flap.
I don't like it.
However, he really had no choice; guests did not go armed past the governor's gate.
I don't like it.
However, he really had no choice; guests did not go armed past the governor's gate.
“We stay. After all, I was personally invited. And Domingo owes his position to me as much as anyone. Best I not stir the waters.” Flambeau quietly appraised the big man at his side. The buccaneer's chest swelled with paternalistic pride.
During the past year, William had never refused a task. He had toiled in the gardens and learned the ways of the wild places from the Tainos themselves. As for his deadlier skills, they had come natural. The blood of Highlanders, that dark, fierce fuel, flowed in his veins. Mad Jack had only polished William's skills.
“What's on your mind, you old cutthroat?” William asked.
“Only this. The governor has ordered me to present myself to him in his study as soon as I arrive. I've got to leave you alone down here. Keep a tight rein on your temper. Steer clear of Juan Diego Guadiz. Start trouble and we'll be dangling by the neck from the governor's gate before sunset. I don't aim to hang just so you can settle a debt of honor. Remember what I taught you.”
“âVengeance is best savored.'” William nodded. “Go
on. I can look after myself.” He stared at the guarded entrance to the palace grounds. Despite the warm Gulf wind scouring the avenue, a chill settled in his soul. Beyond that gate, something wicked waited. “Don't worry,” the big man added. But his words had a hollow ring.
on. I can look after myself.” He stared at the guarded entrance to the palace grounds. Despite the warm Gulf wind scouring the avenue, a chill settled in his soul. Beyond that gate, something wicked waited. “Don't worry,” the big man added. But his words had a hollow ring.
Â
Half an hour later found William still standing just inside the front gate, somewhat taken aback by the scope of the gardens and the press of people ambling among the fall flowers. It appeared all of the city's dignitaries, not to mention the
haciendados
from outlying ranches, had come to pay their respects to the governor and show support for either President Bustamente or his rivals. Although the soldiers and guests might have given way for the likes of Capt. Mad Jack Flambeau, they held the big
norte americano
in much less esteem.
haciendados
from outlying ranches, had come to pay their respects to the governor and show support for either President Bustamente or his rivals. Although the soldiers and guests might have given way for the likes of Capt. Mad Jack Flambeau, they held the big
norte americano
in much less esteem.
Señoritas, all decked out in their finest dresses, gathered in giggling clusters to gossip and peer teasingly past the veils of their elegant mantillas as they argued the eligibility of their latest paramours. Would-be suitors, the sons of wealthy merchants, shipbuilders, and the landed gentry, passed beneath the watchful scrutiny of stern-faced
mamacitas
determined to make the best possible arrangements for their daughters. Husbands and fathers, officers and dandies, marked their future by attending to President Bustamente. Others avoided
el presidente
like the plague and chose to court the favor of the Santanistas.
mamacitas
determined to make the best possible arrangements for their daughters. Husbands and fathers, officers and dandies, marked their future by attending to President Bustamente. Others avoided
el presidente
like the plague and chose to court the favor of the Santanistas.
It already seemed like hours since Flambeau had marched off into the governor's palace. William maneuvered his way along the shaded perimeter of the main courtyard, searching the sea of faces for the one man he had come to find.
Perhaps this was a bad idea after all. Every fiber of his being screamed for him to beat a hasty retreat, yet
Wallace held his ground, steeled himself, and continued to scrutinize the crowd. He had weathered a shipwreck and storm-tossed seas; he could endure this.
Wallace held his ground, steeled himself, and continued to scrutinize the crowd. He had weathered a shipwreck and storm-tossed seas; he could endure this.
And then the unexpected happened. Call it fate, or chance; choose a name.
El destino,
destiny, will do. A chorus of wandering mariachis struck up a sweet sad melody upon their guitars; a chorus of pleasing voices interpreted the lyrics of a lover's lament. The din of laughter and gossip, invention and artifice, bold talk and subterfuge became an indistinguishable blur of noise overpowered by these unseen singers who spun a tale of romance and lost love, of passion and death and the ache of yesterdays.
El destino,
destiny, will do. A chorus of wandering mariachis struck up a sweet sad melody upon their guitars; a chorus of pleasing voices interpreted the lyrics of a lover's lament. The din of laughter and gossip, invention and artifice, bold talk and subterfuge became an indistinguishable blur of noise overpowered by these unseen singers who spun a tale of romance and lost love, of passion and death and the ache of yesterdays.
William's heart stirred for a song, and in that moment, for a brief instant, he forgot his reason for being, the trail of blood and retribution he followed. He was here in a garden of faded blooms, a sentinel spirit in silent observation. For a moment, revenge faded from his mind, unclouded his vision, and allowed him to see the woman who crossed his path.
She moved with catlike grace as if gliding across the stone paving beneath her feet. Hair as glossy black as a raven's wing framed her sensuously oval face framed by a delicately trimmed veil. She glanced demurely in his direction and stopped time, or so it seemed. Her smile was warm as the days of heaven, but a hint of the devil's disciple lurked in those sloe brown eyes. The woman saw him, and for a moment the connection was made. Although she was a stranger, William's spirit soared, lifted on the wings of that immediate joy one feels who has discovered a long-lost friend.
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