The Painted Room Read online

Chapter 11

  The Royal Fortune

  How long the sounds continued above them, May couldn't tell. Her head throbbed and she felt sick to her stomach. She rested her chin on her knees.

  She didn't think anything could be worse than the sounds had been, but for a while now there had only been an eerie silence with an occasional murmuring from above. She strained her ears, but could make out nothing over the constant groan of the galleon's wooden planks and creaking ropes.

  Next came the sound of heavy boots on the stairs, and she heard Fowler's blowhard voice say something that she couldn't make out.

  She and Sheila huddled together in the darkness and waited. She heard the harsh rasp of the bolt draw back then the door opened and Fowler entered with the pock-marked man. Without a word, Fowler grabbed Sheila by the arm and yanked her to her feet. She cried out as he pulled her along behind him up the stairs.

  The pock-marked man came at May. She put her hands up and said, "Don't. I'll go. Just … don't touch me." He made a grab for her, but she was too quick. She sidestepped him and shot up the stairs before he could put his nasty hands on her.

  On deck, she took a place beside Sheila at the guardrail, then looked around for Carlisle and found him between two hulking pirates. He no longer had his hands tied but he was blindfolded, and the men on both sides of him each had one of his arms—whether to restrain him or to keep him upright there was no way to tell. He swayed a little with the rocking of the ship. His face was ashen except for an ugly purplish welt blossoming on his jaw, and his lower lip was split.

  Fowler smiled a crocodile smile at Sheila, who was gazing at the floorboards of the deck and rubbing her wrist. "Tut, tut. There's no need to be sad, dearie. I've got somethin' that'll get that pretty little pink mouth laughin' again. We've arranged some amusement for ye both. Ye see, we've decided to make your dear ol' dad here walk the plank, and we didn't want ye to miss the fun." He pursed his lips and wrinkled his bulbous nose. "Just to let ye know, he wasn't real warm to the idea at first, but I think we've convinced him. I don't want to burst yer bubble, but yer daddy here's a bit of a coward."

  From behind him, May heard Carlisle's voice echo her own thoughts when he said, "You're a coward, Fowler."

  Fowler stopped smiling and said, "And apparently he's stupider than I thought, too. I thought I already taught him to keep his stinkin' mouth shut, but I guess I was wrong."

  The pirates to the sides of Carlisle backed away, and May watched him take in a deep breath and hold it as though bracing himself.

  Fowler spun around and gave his blindfolded captive such a vicious blow to the jaw that Carlisle was knocked off his feet and slammed the rail behind him. He slid to the floorboards with his legs straight out in front of him.

  For a long moment Carlisle didn't move and May thought he must be out cold. She hoped so anyway. He really couldn't keep his mouth shut. He was either a masochist or hell-bent on getting them all killed. But then his shaking hand reached up and pulled off the grubby blindfold.

  Even Fowler looked surprised.

  In a raspy voice, Carlisle said, "Two young girls and an unarmed man; that makes you a coward. Give me a weapon and let me fight." And then, with pure hatred in his eyes, he licked blood from the corner of his mouth and spat it out on Fowler's boots.

  Several of the pirates laughed loudly.

  Fowler's bloated face was red and blotchy with anger as he stood staring down at the rust colored spittle glistening on the black leather of his boots.

  A reedy voice shouted out, "Go on, Fowler. He's got a point. Maybe he's not a coward, maybe you are." The rest of the crew joined in. Most of the men were itching for a show on this dull afternoon. If Fowler was willing to take the risk ...

  The crew began coaxing and howling for a duel.

  Fowler was thinking murderous thoughts by the look of him as the men urged, cajoled, insulted him into action.

  Carlisle's jaw was starting to swell. He looked around at the shouting men with a glint in his eyes, feeding off the energy around him.

  He's actually enjoying this, thought May in disbelief.

  Carlisle's eyes came to rest on Fowler, "How 'bout it? Just you and me. You're pretty handy with that revolver. Is that what you want? That's fine with me. How 'bout giving me one this time, too? Or maybe you just like your opponents unarmed?"

  The men all hushed one another to better hear Fowler's response.

  "I'd just be wasting shot on ye. Blades, I think. Something more than a butter knife this time. Get this imbecile a sword and get me mine."

  The crew cheered. A disorderly group effort broke out among the men to find a spare sword.

  Fowler walked to an old crate and picked up a tankard of rum. He tipped the mug up to his lips and drank greedily with his back turned. His sword was presented to him, and he took it in his free hand without a pause from his cup.

  His head still woozy from the blow to his jaw, Carlisle stumbled to his feet, aided unkindly by the two pirates at his sides. As he shook his head to clear it, another pirate offered him a cup. He took it, kicked back a swig, then drained it and gave it back to the pirate. A sword was thrust into his hand. He looked it over and felt the weight of it as his eyes scanned the floorboards of the deck.

  Among the crew, there was a final furtive exchange of money and then the mob of pirates drew back, tripping over each other's boots. May and Sheila pressed themselves thin as pieces of paper against the guardrail.

  Fowler took a last swallow from his tankard and put it down with a dull thud. He turned around, stepped to the center of the deck, and put his weapon up.

  Carlisle took a place in front of the fat pirate and lifted his sword, swaying on his feet a little. He clasped and unclasped the handle several times, rubbed his wet forehead against the crook of his elbow, then nodded that he was ready.

  Murdoch gave out a sharp whistle.

  Fowler lunged forward immediately. Carlisle jumped back and sidestepped out of the way. When the pirate lunged again, he swatted the blade away with a clumsy swipe downward as though he were chopping wood with an ax.

  The two men circled one another once, then Fowler sprang forward again. May heard the sharp clang of metal as Carlisle knocked the sword to the side. The duel continued in this way for several more minutes, with Fowler on the attack and Carlisle just defending himself like a lumberjack. More money was exchanged among the crewmen.

  Carlisle finally made a desperate lunge at the pirate, but the pirate parried him off easily, and the crew moaned in disappointment.

  May felt she couldn't watch, but she found she couldn't turn away either. Bad enough the man was going to get himself killed trying to be a hero, but then what would happen to her and Sheila? Should they make a jump for it over the side? She peered over the guardrail behind her. She could see the waves cresting against the ship's hull far, far below and shuddered. No, she didn't want to think about that.

  May looked over at Sheila, expecting her to be flinching, hiding her eyes, but instead, she was watching the sword fight eagerly as though she were confident that her champion would win. May heard the scrape and clash of metal and turned back to the swordfight. She had to admit that for such a poor swordsman, after more than a dozen exchanges, Carlisle still didn't have a mark on him.

  Unexpectedly, Fowler lunged high.

  Caught off guard, Carlisle dipped swiftly to the ground and brought his sword up underneath his opponent's in one smooth, even elegant, motion.

  Nearby, May heard several of the crewmen murmur.

  Murdoch whistled and both of the men backed off one another.

  Perhaps Carlisle wasn't as incompetent as he pretended. What was he waiting for then? Why didn't he just attack and get it over with?

  Fowler's breathing was ragged and labored as he went to his tankard of rum.

  Was that it? wondered May. Was he letting Fowler wear himself out and all the while studying how he fought? How he tipped off his intentions of when he was goin
g to strike, when not?

  "The coward won't even fight me," the pirate sniggered between gulps and breaths. "It's like chasing a mouse around deck."

  "Come on, Fowler, are ye done yet or what?" griped Murdoch.

  "Oh, why don't ye stow it," yelled Fowler, before tossing back one last swallow. He belched loudly then slammed down his mug. He walked to Carlisle who was already waiting by Murdoch in the center of the deck, lifted his sword and said, "Better get ye sword at the ready. This is the last time ye'll be using it."

  Carlisle faced off against the pirate, but something was different this time. The two men stood toe-to-toe. Fowler's face darkened. He lowered his sword. "So that's how it is?" he said thickly. Then he backed up a step, hitched up his pant leg, and got into position again.

  "What's going on?" whispered Sheila.

  After a second of her own confusion, May answered, "He's left handed."

  Murdoch signaled for the duel to begin.

  Carlisle shifted his weight briefly onto his back foot then sprang forward in an attack. Fowler was thrown off balance both by the unexpected quickness of his opponent and the unusual angle of the blade coming at him.

  Accelerating with each thrust like a predatory cat, Carlisle lunged at the pirate again and again, while the pirate retreated repeatedly, unable to counter either the length of the lunges or the longer reach of his attacker. When he finally ran out of room, Fowler found his back pressed against the mast with the tip of Carlisle's sword on his neck.

  Carlisle had the faintest trace of a smile on his lips. May cringed and peeked out of one eye.

  Next to her, Sheila put her hands over her face. She peered out between her fingers.

  The sword flashed as it angled in the sunlight, poised to deliver the final death blow. But Carlisle just drew his sword away suddenly. May was surprised by her own disappointment until she saw the flowing red gash at the pirate's neck. Fowler himself looked confused, not realizing he'd been cut at first. But then he daubed at his throat, brought his hand away and just stared at the blood dripping off his fingers.

  The once unruly pirate ship was now quiet as a chapel as Carlisle walked back to the center of the deck and put up his sword again.

  Sheila uncovered her face and gasped, "Why doesn't he stop? He's won, hasn't he?"

  "Yes," replied May. "But he's going to kill him. He just wants Fowler to know it, too."

  "He can't!"

  Fowler's chest was heaving. Blood trickled down his filthy vest front.

  "Go on," said Murdoch.

  The pirate looked around at his fellow crewmates. They stood silent as jewel eyed statues, except for the urging, small nods of their heads.

  No way out, thought May. Fowler had no choice but to walk forward and accept his fate.

  "I can't watch," said Sheila, hiding her eyes completely this time.

  As soon as Fowler got into position, Murdoch gave the signal, and Carlisle dashed forward immediately, lunging and attacking, the tip of his blade coming within inches of Fowler's chest.

  The pirate backed up again and again, beating off his attacker's blade with the guard of his sword. His elbow crooked at an impossible angle, he was driven further and further backward until finally his spine met the rail at the side of the ship.

  Now with nowhere left to go, his sword locked with Carlisle's, Fowler arched his back over the rail behind him.

  Abruptly, the mob of pirates parted. A tall man with sandy hair walked out of the midst of them in a scarlet coat, scarlet breeches and a large hat with a red feather. He wore an enormous gold chain and jeweled cross around his neck.

  "What in the blazes is all this racket? Not a single one of ye to meet me. What's going on?" bellowed the captain. Then he spotted the two men with their swords and eyes entwined, and shouted, "There's no fighting on my ship. I'll not allow it. It's to be settled on shore." He marched towards them. "You there, back off," he ordered.

  Carlisle glanced at him, but didn't move.

  "Seaman, I ordered ye to back off," the captain commanded again.

  "You're not my captain," said Carlisle.

  The scarlet captain turned the same shade as his clothes in righteous indignation. "But this is my ship!"

  Carlisle considered the captain's argument for a moment, then frowning, disengaged his blade from Fowler's with a shove, almost knocking the fat pirate overboard. As he turned to face the captain, a brief gust of wind ruffled his once clean white shirt, now stained with dirty hand prints and speckled with Fowler's blood.

  The captain snarled, "I don't usually repeat myself, sailor. Yer lucky I don't run ye through." Then he barked out, "Murdoch!"

  "Aye captain?"

  "Who is this man?"

  "He's a prisoner that was found in a rowboat at sea. He looks a bit pasty, but he's plenty brave and fast. He'd make a first rate pirate."

  Carlisle spoke up. "Let the lasses go and I'll join you."

  "Lasses?" The captain sputtered.

  A man with an eyepatch clamped down on Sheila's wrist. "Here," he yelled. "It's Fowler's doing." Sheila sunk her teeth into his filthy mitt and the pirate howled. When he reached for her with his other hand, she ran across the deck and stood behind Carlisle.

  "Females?" the captain spat out. "Aboard the Royal Fortune? Where's Fowler? I'll kill him."

  But Fowler wasn't anywhere.

  "Don't worry. I'll find him," said Murdoch, pushing his way through the men.

  "Ship ahoy," called the lookout in the crow's nest. A seaman handed the captain a spyglass and said, "She's French."

  "Nay," said the solemn voice of another. "It's a trick. That's The Swallow, I'd recognize her anywhere. She's British. I served on her and hoped never to see the likes o' her again."

  "British? Is it so, lad? Are ye sure?" asked the captain, alarmed.

  "Aye, sir. That I am."

  The captain looked on the crew with disgust. "None o' ye are fit to fight; half o' ye are drunk or hung over. Ye're a pitiful lot." In a tone of resignation he said, "We shall make for the coast straight away." He fingered the gold cross at his neck and stared sullenly at the approaching ship. "A coward's way; I would rather fight."

  "You won't win," said May.

  A man beside her hissed, "Shut up, you little wench."

  "Nay, nay," said the captain. "Let her speak. The lass says we should run." He turned to his crew, "What do ye think? Should we run like women? What say ye?"

  The mob of men howled their dissent.

  "Just so," said the captain. "Methinks she has made our decision for us then. We will stay and fight like men."

  The crew cheered.

  The captain pointed at Carlisle. "You there. Get yer females off my ship. I don't want 'em aboard when I go into battle, nor have their blood on me hands, neither. Nothing but bad luck from it. Besides, it looks to me like ye've earned it." Then to the pirates, the captain yelled, "Release the prisoners and let them take the craft they came in. We must prepare ourselves for battle."

  The captain began barking out orders, and the crew sprang to life. A dozen men drew up the enormous anchor by a rope as thick around as a man's waist. Others set about hoisting the sails. The argumentative rag tag collection of pirates under the direction of the scarlet captain was suddenly one organism.

  As soon as their captors' attention was put to the more important task of readying the ship for battle, May and Sheila ran to the ladder and assumed Carlisle would do the same.

  Sheila was already halfway down the ladder, and May had just begun her descent when she looked up and noticed that he hadn't followed them. Luckily he was tall enough to spot among the scurrying seamen. The sword still gripped tightly in his hand, he scanned the faces of the sailors running to their tasks. Just what was he doing? she wondered hotly.

  Then her stomach sank. He was hunting for Fowler.

  She got back on deck, ran to him and yelled, "Mr. Carlisle, let him go."

  His eyes still searched. He wasn't hearing h
er.

  She grabbed his shirt sleeve and yanked on it. "Mr. Carlisle," she demanded and got his attention finally.

  His eyes were jet black and glassy, the pupils dilated by some mysterious mix of natural chemicals in his bloodstream.

  She said firmly and deliberately, "We don't have time for this! We need to get far away from here fast. The Swallow is going to blow this ship out of the water."

  "Go wait for me in the boat," he ordered.

  "The hell I will," she said. "We'll never get far enough away if you don't come now."

  "Five minutes, May."

  "We don't have five minutes. We need to leave now. It's better this way. Let the captain take care of Fowler."

  He calculated her face a moment. "Then you'll just have to go without me," he said.

  "But—but you—" She winced as unsaid words died on her lips. She let go his sleeve as though she were touching something unclean. "Fine, then, we will, without any help from you."

  She went to the ladder. She was vaguely aware of his eyes on her, but she didn't look at him as she began picking her way down the rungs.

  When she stepped into the rowboat, Sheila was frantic. "What took you so long? Where is he?"

  May sat down at one of the oars. "He's not coming." She brushed hair away from her face and took up one of the oar handles. "I'm going to need your help, Sheila." She nodded to the empty seat on the bench.

  "He's not coming?" Sheila said in a dismal tone, sitting down next to her.

  "I told you he was a loser. Let's just go," May said as they started rowing.