Duke by Day, Rogue by Night (5 page)

Frink pivoted on his heel and pointed his cutlass at Percy's neck. “You'll rue the day your mother spawned you, Sexton. I should have had you pickled for your insolence the first day I laid eyes on you. This isn't the first time you've tried to steal me wench, nor the last, I wager,” he added. Scratching his wiry-haired chin, Frink stared at Constance pensively, then leaned forward and lowered his voice. “You're a good man in a fight, but you've got a bleeding heart. I was looking forward to having the wench watch me conclude me business with Captain Collins.”

Spinning around, Frink moved quickly past Collins. One look proved the
Octavia
's captain was seated and helpless, a revolting sight to the most stalwart stomach.

“What do you say, Collins?” Frink bellowed. “That fair piece you carried aboard might miss our little fun, but that doesn't mean we can't conclude our business, does it, men?”

A grand “hoorah” ignited the crowd.

Captain Collins harrumphed. “You're despicable!”

A pirate smacked Collins over the head, opening a new wound. Frink shouted, encouraging his men, waving his arms about like a thrashing squid. Riotous laughter echoed about them. Percy scanned the crowd of misbegotten souls, finding two, four, ten men waiting for his signal. He shook his head.
Patience.
Timing was everything.

Frink slashed his cutlass through the air as he paced in front of Collins's unconscious form. Then, changing tactic, he whirred the blade past Percy's head.

Percy didn't flinch. Thanks to training he'd received within Nelson's Tea, his reflexes were on continuous alert. He knew the minute Constance began to regain consciousness. When she stirred, he sheltered her face in the crook of his arm so she wouldn't be exposed to Collins's humiliating treatment.

“Be still,” he whispered, “if you want to live.”

Catching the movement, Frink shouted. “Bring the girl!”

Percy took a hesitant step forward. Every second Constance came to being fully awake increased her odds of getting killed.

“Set her down. If she wakes up, I want her to see what happens to those who oppose me,” Frink ordered.

Percy laid Constance on the ground. “Do not move,” he warned her.

Her eyes flickered open. Those startling green eyes locked with his. Smoke blanketed their feet from the residue of battle. Dangerous minutes ticked by, until Collins squirmed, drawing the captain's attention. Captain Collins's eyes narrowed upon Frink and then slowly shifted to Percy. It was obvious the man was in immeasurable pain. His fixed stare willed Percy not to break Nelson's code, though Percy had already scanned the crowd, looking for ways to save the merchantman's life.

When my time comes, make sure I go out like a man.
He could never forget Collins's last request, even if he tried.

Collins's face contorted. “Kill me and be done with it!” he yelled.

Frink could not know Collins was directing this last request to Percy.

“You'll make a pretty death of it, yet, Collins!” Frink exclaimed, grabbing Constance by the arm.

Now wide awake, Constance squealed and shrank away.

“You see,” Frink said, pulling her to her feet. “We make hell worth living.” Giving his captive a shake, he added, “And if this be hell, I want to enjoy every last minute of it!”

Frink jerked Constance forward and planted a forceful kiss upon her lips. She gagged beneath his assault. When he released her, she screamed. Enraged, the captain smacked her face and twitched his nose. Bowing, he offered his men a salute.

“The lady and I bid you adieu. Perhaps my crew can be persuaded to put you out of your misery, Collins.”

Percy clenched his fists. His worst fears confirmed, he watched Frink out of the corner of his eye, as the man dragged Constance over to the hatch of the cargo hold. There, the wretch tore at her wrap, struggled with her thrashing limbs, and fumbled with his pants. Percy's gaze scanned the crowd, and then settled upon Guffald, a member of Nelson's Tea, lying unconscious, face up a short distance away. If he hadn't been hard-pressed to check out the bowels of the
Octavia
and, hadn't been detained by saving Danbury's niece, he might have been able to help the man. Instantly alert, he watched two pirates pour oil over Guffald's body in preparation to set him aflame. Not another moment could be wasted. His gaze flicked over his crew. All he had to do was give the signal.

Celeste's silhouette flashed before him, but her image was dissected by Constance's terrified scream. The time had come. Percy pulled out his blunderbuss and aimed the pistol at the man about to torch Guffald. He pulled the trigger. Smoke filled the air as the powerful slug hit the man and sent him reeling backward, until the torch disappeared as the man vanished over the
Octavia
's railing.

He shouted to Ollie. “Tend Guffald. Jacko,” he said, turning toward his first mate, “follow me.”

“Make ready!” he yelled to his men.

One by one, his men raced into action, drawing dirks, cutlasses, marlinspikes, and axes against Frink's crew. Mutiny swept man to man. What was left of Collins's crew jumped into the fray. Percy rushed up to Collins.

“Save her,” Collins panted. “Don't let any harm come to Lady Constance!”

Percy nodded. He ordered Jacko to aid Collins, and then hastened toward the cargo hatch. Dodging debris, he stepped out of the way just in time to avoid a collapsing mast. Up ahead, Frink loitered just beyond his reach.

“Hold,” Percy shouted, stepping in to confront his nemesis.

Frink's head snapped up. His sudden mistake cost him as Constance shoved her knee into his half-exposed crotch. Bowing down with pain, the captain cursed. Percy rushed forward to grab Constance's arm and pull her to his side, but Frink miraculously regained his balance and jerked Constance back.

“Not so fast,” he bellowed. Squaring his eyes at Percy, he spat, “I'll be blown, you turncoat! I should've known you'd turn your back on me!”

“Hand over the girl!”

Percy held his cutlass high, aiming the broad tip at Frink's heart, allowing his gaze but a second or two to linger on Constance to ensure that she was unharmed. Shaken but uninjured, she appeared to be going into shock. He watched in horror as she stumbled closer to the edge of the hatch to escape the silver blade upheld in Frink's fist.

“Take her from me, if you can,” Frink challenged.

Constance whimpered. Percy had no other choice. He'd have to go through Frink to reach her. With fencing prowess unmatched, he had no doubt as to his odds. But a cutlass was a hacking blade. Should he wield the final blow, all connection to Frink and his benefactor would be destroyed, ending his quest to bring Celeste's killer to justice.

Rumbling as if Poseidon tore at the
Octavia
's hull, the merchantman's wooden shell began to crack. Glass shattered. The deck heaved. Time was running out.

“Look out!” Percy cried as the deck collapsed, plunging Constance through the hatch.

Frink's eyes took on demonic light and he grinned wickedly. “Looks like you're too late to save the wench,” he baited. “But if you dare to try, you'll have to go through me first.”

Forward thrusting with vicious tenacity, the captain engaged Percy in a duel of clashing steel.

“You've preyed upon the innocent for the last time,” Percy said.

“Give it your best, boy!”

Percy sidestepped Frink's lunging thrusts, challenging him jab for jab. Step by step, their sword play sapped his strength as they parried closer to the hatch and the collapsing deck along the bow. Eight long months of anger and humiliation fueled the duel. As the combat continued — lunge, parry, lunge — the ship, gutted for everything it was worth, listed. The
Octavia
had little time left before it slipped beneath the surface. For Constance's sake, Percy needed to end this quickly, so he could give her what he'd never been able to give his own sister. Freedom.

Debris cascaded down upon them, hampering the fight. Frink baited him with riotous vigor, the strains of his insanity tightening Percy's corded nerves. An explosion below rocked their feet, sending them reeling sideways. Percy moved in for the kill as the
Octavia
dipped, growing miserably defiant.

“She's goin' down, Sexton!”

Frink propelled his blade forward, nearly burying it into Percy's side. Warmth seeped down Percy's hip. Ocean spray moistened his face. He couldn't back down. He had to put an end to Frink's tyranny even if it cost him his last breath.

The ship rolled backward, pitching them both forward. Unable to catch his footing, Frink stumbled headfirst into the hold. Percy ran toward the hatch and peered into the darkness, searching for any sign that Constance was still alive. Groaning in agony, the
Octavia
measured her fate by inches. If he was going to get Constance off the ship alive, Percy knew he was going to have to jump in after her.

Without hesitation, he leapt into the hold. Landing unsteadily on his feet, he took a moment to get his bearings, but was immediately pummeled from behind. Scrambling to protect himself, he sighted Frink out of the corner of his eye as the man attempted to slam another piece of wood onto his back. The blow struck him across the shoulder. He reared backward, then lunged forward and caught the wooden beam, jerking it out of Frink's hands. He then slammed the jagged wood into the captain's side. Frink fell to the bottom of the hull, cursed, and rolled onto his feet, producing a knife. Dodging a few well-placed thrusts that caught him along the sleeve, Percy pivoted around Frink, jerked the knife free, and locked the captain into a choke-hold.

Fury unlike any he'd ever known seethed within him and a satisfied smile curved the corners of his mouth as he strangled the man unconscious. If he couldn't find the man who'd financed Frink's endeavors, at least he could gain satisfaction from killing the one who did his bidding, a man responsible for the demise of innocents.

Light flickered above, illuminating wreckage floating about his feet. He scanned the frothy surface, his eyes searching hull to hull for any signs of Constance Danbury.

“Constance!” he yelled.

His ears alerted to every sound, he let Frink go and watched the man slip underwater. The burden of an empty future was a weightless concern compared to the life of the woman he had yet to find. He called her name again. Not long after, he heard a groaning plea rise above shifting timber, swelling water, and the bedlam above.

“Constance?”

“Help!” He heard the faint request and sped into action.

Searching the darkness, he spied fabric floating atop the foamy surface. He saw a hand claw the air and a head rise out of the freezing wash. Wood wept. Beams burst at the seams, spewing salt water about them in flowing rivulets. Shouts to abandon ship rang out above deck as the ship reeled at an awkward angle. The vessel moaned like thousands of murdered souls pleading release.

Percy waded through the quickening wash and lifted Constance into his arms. Her head sagged. She appeared lifeless. He slapped her cheek. When she still didn't respond, he dunked her into the water quickly rising up to his hip. The woman came up gasping, sucking in life-giving air.

She screamed. The ship pitched again.

Percy gave her a rough shake. “Do you know how to swim, woman?”

“Swim?” She couldn't swim.

“If you don't,” he said, “we're as good as dead.” He reached for her arm. “Take my hand. We've got to reach the top of the hold or we'll go under with the ship.”

“I'll never make it!”

“Trust me,” he pleaded.

Constance sobbed. “I can't,” she said. This time, she wasn't talking about trust.

Water swirled about her waist, inching higher and higher, the icy lather nearly reaching her breasts. He did not, could not know the demons he asked her to face.

“You must,” he said.

“I can't!” she exclaimed, her body and mind shutting down.

“You can and you will.”

He spoke as though surviving shipwrecks had been a daily affair. His eye commanded her obedience. Every ounce of her being wanted to comply, to believe this devil meant to help her, but horrors of the past, pirates, her mother descending beneath the foamy spray, took an unrelenting hold upon her mind.

He grabbed her waist. She yelped.

“Do you want my death on your conscience?”

“Nothing would please me more!” she cried. She didn't want to die. Her eyes searched the dwindling space in the hold. She began to doubt getting off the
Octavia
was even possible.

“Do you want to live?”

“Y-yes … ” she finally stammered.

He pulled her toward the hatch opening, and then released her momentarily to get a grip on the ledge. Almost immediately, a blunt object scraped her leg, knocking her out of his reach. She cried out and snatched for his hand. He grasped her hair, yanking her back toward him as the sea roiled like a living being beneath them.

“Leave me,” she gulped, gasping for air. “I'll only get you killed!”

“Grab hold of my neck and don't let go. We'll climb up to the hatch and make for the
Striker
.”

“I'm … a-afraid,” she cried, teeth chattering.

“Concentrate. I'll get you out of here if it's the last thing I do. I swear it upon my sister's grave. Trust me,” he implored. His entreaty robbed her of all thought. She nodded. “That's it. Hang on! Let me do the work.”

He swam them to a beam in the hull, dodging wood fragments flooding past. With the strength of what seemed like ten men, he reached up for the edge of the hatch, pulled himself up, and then dangled his body above her.

“Keep a firm grip on the rail,” he shouted.