The Return of Nightfall (18 page)

Responding over the noise would have proved impossible. The closing of the circle, the readied weapons, the screaming drove Nightfall to stiffen his crouch. His heart rate quickened to a dangerous pace, and sweat spangled his palms and rolled down the back of his shirt. Terror prodded the edges of his facade, and he needed something to bring the brigands under control, to shock them to silence. If he waited much longer, even the captain would not have the authority to control them. Nightfall thrust his hand into a pocket, dug out a generous handful of coins, and flung them to the deck.

It was exactly the wrong thing to do.

The ring and clink of the money was lost beneath the hubbub, and Nightfall’s low position kept the coins from scattering much. The chanting broke to a mad scramble, and the organized noise became a chaotic snarl of shouting. Once they realized he carried money, the pirates sprang for Nightfall en masse. Bile bubbled into his throat. Every sinew tensed, prepared for whatever evasive action the situation required. But, this time, even his skill failed him. The pirates sprang upon him from every side, sheer numbers slamming him against the deck. Piled under too many men to escape, he found himself dragged and tugged in every direction simultaneously. His clothing tore under the assault, jewels, gems, and money spilling onto the deck, grimy hands tossing everything onto a single pile. Bits of silk flew through the air like feathers. The stink of a crush of men filled his nostrils until he wanted to vomit; and filthy, callused fingers mauled his clothing like vultures starved for carrion. Soon, every pocket lay in ruin on the deck; but the pirates still searched, tearing and cutting the hems and linings in a rabid search for some goodie he might still have hidden.

Never helpless.
Nightfall relied on a mental chant of his own.
Never, never helpless.
If the pirates did not find more soon, they might cut him to ribbons along with his clothing. Though pressed beneath them, Nightfall’s hands started working. He robbed pockets with the silent ease of experience, slipped rings from groping fingers and chains from sweaty necks. The pirates clearly did not notice their own ill-gotten gains mingled freely with the ones their captive had brought aboard, did not realize in their frenzy that he was denuding them of valuables with far more skill and talent than their savage money-lust did him. Swiftly, the pile on the deck grew to the height of Nightfall’s knees, far more than any man could possibly have carried on his person. As an increasing number of pirates became more interested in the spoils than their captive, they calmed to the point where the captain finally gained their attention with a well-timed order.

The pirates dropped back, panting, bits of silk clinging to their flushed and lathered necks. Nightfall lay, fully exposed, on the deck beside the ruins of his clothing and a glittering mound of treasure. His fear dissipated in increments as each man retreated, only to be replaced by a vicious and hollow anger. Nightfall sprang to his feet, eyes blazing, making no attempt to hide his nakedness. He had lost all shame in childhood and knew little of modesty. Aside from the scars, he had nothing to hide; and those only because they might serve as identifying marks between abandoned personae.

The pirates looked at the treasure, the ship, their own feet, anything except the captain or their prisoner.

The captain seized the nearest shoulder. “You! Get Chancellor Sudian some clothes.”

“Yes, sir.”

The captain added forcefully, “The
best
. From
my
quarters.”

The man paused a moment, withering beneath his captain’s touch and glare. “
Your
quarters, sir?” Then, apparently more worried about getting caught questioning orders, he finished with, “Yes, sir.” Head lowered, he stalked forward.

The captain confronted his men, his features displaying a rage so raw even Nightfall had to constrict his leg muscles to avoid taking an involuntary backward step. Many of the pirates were unable to display the same control, shuffling their feet, picking at their clothing, looking more like errant boys than the brutal killers who had seemed more than willing to maul an innocent man to death moments earlier for the trinkets he carried.

“When did the Father replace my crew with wild animals?”

No one answered.

Nor did the captain appear to expect anyone to do so. “If we kill the hostage, what do we have to barter?” He stared directly at a short brunet, stouter than the rest and missing half his left ear, who then seemed obliged to reply.

The pirate spoke with a thick Xaxonese accent, “But, Cap’n, we dint ’ave to barter. ’e brought the loot with ’im.”

A taller blond added, “And we didn’t kill him.” He gestured at Nightfall. “See, nothing worse than scratches.”

Nightfall wiped his nose on the back of his wrist, leaving a trail of bloody snot. He wanted to leap upon the man and inflict one very deep and very fatal “scratch,” but he remained staunchly in place. He had nothing but his hands, and those had never served him well as weapons. Casually, he eyed the riggings, the layout of the ship, the valuables gracelessly stacked on the deck. Eventually, the pirates would realize they no longer wore their prized possessions, and he would need a way to defend himself. He tried to discern the outline of a knife from the hoard of precious stones and semi-precious metals. With the pirates’ attention fully on their captain, he could make a quick break for the pile or the riggings if the need arose. He wondered if the longboat still floated or if they had hoisted it on deck. Arturo and Paskhon shuffled among the others.

The captain took a menacing step forward; the two speakers melted back into the crowd. Several of the pirates retreated to maintain the distance between themselves and their disgruntled leader. “If we don’t barter in good faith, who will barter with us next time?”

No answer.

“Well?”

The pirates murmured several divergent answers that mingled into an unrecognizable hum.

It seemed to satisfy the captain, however. “If you turn the hostage barter into a way to rob and execute the highest ranking individual on any ship, every ship that comes upon us will attack first and question later. The priority not just of Alyndar’s navy, but of every country with a navy, will be hunting us down for destruction. The private shippers, too.”

The murmurs cut off, but the shuffling persisted, more prominent than before.

“Had the chancellor not been smarter and more skilled than the lot of you combined, you would have killed him.”

Nightfall fought down a smile. The captain, at least, had not overlooked his antics, and that earned him Nightfall’s admiration. One among the mob had kept his head.

The man who had gone to the captain’s cabin returned with an armload of silken wear. With a tip of his head, the captain made a grand gesture at Nightfall.

Hesitantly, the pirate approached and offered the clothing to Nightfall.

Having disccerned some decent blades among the treasure, Nightfall made a show of accepting clothing from the pirate, using legitimate movement as a means to work his way closer to the booty. As he donned the clothing, he slipped two well forged knives from the pile.

Cued by the captain’s words, the pirates began patting pockets and stroking their necks, seeking favorite pieces of jewelry. Many turned their attention to the loot, visually seeking the items they had lost, though none dared to touch any of their ill-gotten plunder without the captain’s consent.

The captain ran a callused hand through his hair. “Under the circumstances, we have no choice but to return the chancellor alive and as well as possible.” He gave Sudian a short bow, which restarted the grumbles and murmurs. “My lord, I hope you can forgive my men their shortcomings.”

Nightfall feigned an inordinate interest in his new clothing. It felt soft and warm, a one-piece outfit of charcoal black, its lining quilted. Though constructed for a far larger man, it fit comfortably with the cuffs rolled and a wide amber sash to pull the extra folds snug.

“Because,” the captain continued, “I’d rather have a man like you as an acquaintance than an enemy.”

Nightfall knew the captain could never know how true a statement he spoke. He did notice the captain had not suggested the possibility of friendship and believed that came of the captain not wanting to sound presumptuous rather than any unwillingness to join in such a partnership. Seeing an opening, Nightfall took it. “Captain, give me the name of the man who ratted out
The Sharius
, and all’s forgiven.” He adjusted the sash and, secretly, the knives. “Find out who snatched King Edward and get that information to me, and I’ll see you’re rewarded. Alliance or payment, whichever you prefer.”

The captain’s heavy brows shot upward. This time, he gave a real bow, even adding an admirable flourish. “Lord Chancellor Sudian of Alyndar, we will accept that deal.”

Chapter 6

—Dyfrin of Keevain, the demon’s friend

 

N
IGHTFALL AWAKENED as he nearly always did, without stiffening or changing his position, instinctively matching the deep in-and-out cycle of sleep breathing. His senses placed him in an instant: the warm scratchi ness of a woolen blanket, the toss and rock of a ship on the ocean, the quiet enwrapping him interrupted by the occasional and distant shouts of sailors. He heard nothing to concern him in their tones, just the regular announcements and banter that kept a ship safely and properly directed upon the sea. He lay in his cabin aboard
The Sharius,
alone; and he believed he had slept for quite a long time. He also knew a closer noise had awakened him.

Nightfall opened his eyes to near-total darkness broken only by the leak of light through incompletely constructed walls. Gentle footsteps crossed the lower deck, coming toward his door. They sounded too delicate for Ragan or any of the Schizian guardsmen.

Still dressed in the black silk pirate garb, the king’s ring tucked safely into its folds, Nightfall sat up and rubbed the hard seeds from the corners of his eyes. He had indeed rested for many hours.

A timid knock sounded on Nightfall’s door.

Nightfall slid from the bed and readjusted the blankets. Stretching his muscles fully awake, he crossed the room and threw open the door.

The cabin boy, Danyal, stood on the lintel. Dressed in a faded windbreaker that fell nearly to his ankles, he carried a tattered and dirty rag draped over his left shoulder. His yellow hair lay in dusty disarray.

Nightfall gestured the child inside, wondering why he had come.

Danyal accepted the invitation, silently entering and waiting for Nightfall to close the door behind him. Once he did, Danyal tossed himself into the chair.

“Busy morning?” Nightfall guessed.

Danyal nodded wearily, stripping the rag from his shoulders, wiping his hands, then dropping it into his lap. “But I didn’t come for a break. I came because I was worried about you, my lord.”

“Really.” Nightfall found that hard to believe.

“Did they . . . did they . . . hurt you?”

Ordinarily, Nightfall would have denied any form of weakness; but he played along with what appeared to be a game. Rolling up one overlong, quilted sleeve, he displayed the nicks, gouges, and bruises left in the wake of the pirates’ assault. Though superficial, the wounds made a remarkable picture.

“My lord!” Danyal stared in clear horror. “They did hurt you.”

Nightfall restored his sleeve to its natural cuff. “Never get between a starving dog and food, nor between a pirate and gold.” He added casually, “So, Danyal, how much do they pay you?”

“Pay, my lord?” Danyal shrugged. “I get to eat, some clothes. A place to sleep on the deck or at an inn, sometimes, when we’re on shore. A toy or a coin now and then when—”

Nightfall interrupted. “That’s not what I meant.”

Danyal met Nightfall’s eyes, then paled. “You mean—”

“Yes, I mean. I mean the pirates. I mean the men who assaulted me.”

Withering under the scrutiny, Danyal drew into himself, pinching the rag between his thighs. Moisture filled his eyes. “They give me coppers, food, drinks. Just for telling them what we’re hauling. It’s never hurt anything—”

“It hurt me.” Nightfall did not add the encounter had cost Alyndar a fortune. Money came and went too fast and easy for him to concern himself with it in a long-term way. “It nearly killed me.”

Tears dribbled from Danyal’s eyes; but, to Nightfall’s surprise, the boy did not beg for his life. Had any adult wronged Nightfall so severely, he would not have bothered with discussion. The offender would already have filled the bellies of lobsters and sharks. Now, raw sorrow colored Danyal’s features. The cabin boy truly did not worry for his own lot, only for the pain he had inflicted on someone who had been kind to him. “I’m so sorry. I’m so very very sorry, my lord,” he sobbed, burying his face in his hands.

Nightfall stared, speechless. Was it possible the boy had not realized the consequences of selling information to strangers in some backwater tavern? Could a child who had only known him a few days feel such true remorse? The answer came to Nightfall in a single word: Edward. The naive king had been known to dutifully supply facts to dangerous men for no payment at all, and he had ferociously protected Nightfall from abuse, even against other nobility, even when propriety demanded severe punishment. Risking the king’s own life was not reason enough for Edward to inflict physical punishment on a servant.

Nightfall had never had a similar compunction. Killing, maiming, torture occasionally remained parts of his repertoire, but he found himself incapable of harming this boy. Despite the deception, he still liked Danyal. Though he might never trust the boy again, he had no interest in hurting him either.

“Please, my lord. Do what you will with me. But please don’t tell the captain. Please, my lord.”