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"Mr. Walker. Is everything all right?"
Walker turned at the hail from the quarterdeck. Well, there goes any chance of quietly scuttling the Eagle, he thought savagely. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Aloud: "Everything's okay, just dropped a box," he said.
Hendriksson turned to go. It was at that moment that Sandy Rapczewicz crawled into a pool of light and collapsed again, her blood-slick face ghastly in the yellow light of the lamps. Walker responded instantly, pulling out his Beretta and firing. Bullets thunked into teak decking and spanged off steel with vicious red sparks. The lieutenant threw herself flat. Walker whirled and raced down the gangway, half-throwing the two men and their burden ahead of him into the boat and leaping after. The rowboat swayed wildly and shipped water over one side; it was perilously heavy-laden, even for a calm night.
"Out oars and stroke!" he roared.
They responded, clumsily at first, then bending their backs to it. He turned and knelt, holding the pistol in a two-handed range grip, squeezing off the rest of the magazine at the side of Eagle's quarterdeck, shooting at movement and lights. The boat gathered way, heading for the riding lights of the Yare where she stood out from Nantucket Town's breakwaters. Voices and shouts were rising on the Eagle… but he'd put the XO in the hospital for a while, at least, and Hendriksson was a by-the-book type. She'd send for orders; besides, there probably wasn't anything but a handgun or two left aboard the ship. If that. Damn, I've got all the guns in the world!
The boat came alongside the Yare. Lines came overside, and men made them fast to guns and crates. More hands hauled them up; Walker went up a line himself, hand over hand. Isketerol stood by the wheel, hands on hips, cloak flapping a little in the night breeze. He was gri
"We did it!" he said. A bit premature, but they had done it.
"Arucurtag of the Sea was with us," the Tartessian whooped.
Two women huddled behind him; Alice Hong, and what's-her-name, Rosita. Martins and his girlfriend were securely handcuffed below, and…
The last boxes came aboard and went below, secured with padlock and chain.
"A taste of things to come," he said to the Iberian. "The guns weren't half as hard to steal as that bastard of a quarterhorse." As if to punctuate his words an indignant neigh came from the hold, and the drumbeat sound of hooves on wood.
Turning to his crew: "Start engines!"
The diesel coughed to life under his feet. That took longer and made more noise than he liked, but there was no point in trying to sail her off in the face of an onshore breeze, not with this scratch crew. They'd be clumsy at it despite the economical nature of the schooner's rig, much easier to set than a square-rigger of the same size. You'll all be sailors by the time we reach our destination, he promised himself. A vast wild exhilaration was building in him, and he struggled to keep it under control. Another boat was rocking not far away; smaller than the Yare, but more heavily crewed. Walker walked to the port rail and called across, cupping his hands:
"Thanks for the help, and good luck!" he called. Thanks for all the fish, he was tempted to say, but he doubted she'd catch the reference. "Also goodbye!"
Panic-stricken cries rose; the other boat's engines were turning over as well. That had been the plan, to run the engines dry building up a lead. The plan had been to do it together, though. He laughed, a barking sound.
"Where are you going?" Pamela Lisketter cried, springing up to the rail and clutching at a line. "We need you!"
"But I don't need you," he chuckled again, and shouted: "And wherever I'm going, it isn't fucking Mexico, you dumb bitch. Give my regards to the proto-taco-benders and Formative Period bean-eaters!"
He roared laughter again; it had been the hardest work of his life, putting on a convincing imitation of a would-be tofu muncher and humanitarian weepy for this collection of… pathetic geeks and tree-hugging wimps, he decided. That had a fair, objective sound to it.
Give her credit, though, he thought, still chuckling. Lisketter didn't waste any more time-didn't even stop for several of her crew, who went overside and began swimming back to Nantucket. She simply put the helm about and headed west… Isketerol already had the Yare moving east; he'd had a thorough grounding in how to use the wheel.
Walker went to stand beside the Tartessian. "I see you brought Rosita," he said to the adventurer… other adventurer, he thought. Freedom was like wings, like striding over the earth, omnipotent.
"But of course," Isketerol said, looking down at where she huddled against the rail. "I promised her that I would take her as a wife. And so I will. Third wife, to be sure- but when we are finished, my third wife will be more than Pharaoh's great queen." He jerked his chin without looking around. "Your Alice, as well."
Hong got to her feet. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Will? This tame goon of yours comes along and strong-arms us-"
He swung around, still gri
Restoring order and setting watches took a few minutes. It left him still full of energy, bouncing on his toes, sleep out of the question, like a hit of cocaine-something he'd tried once or twice, on confiscated material that went missing. No more than that-William Walker wasn't going to wreck himself to make a bunch of Colombian greaseballs rich-but the sensation was pretty much the same. Except that this high was free, and high as the gleaming moon above him. The thudding diesel drove the schooner's sharp prow eastward at a steady ten knots, water curling back from it in opalescent wings. He grabbed Alice Hong by one arm and pushed her ahead of him down the stairs before the wheel, then sternward and into the captain's cabin. There were two big bunks on either side of a table, with a semicircle of padded seats under the fantail windows. Out of them he could see the Yare's wake disappearing behind him.
The woman rounded on him. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, you son of a bitch?" she began.
Crack. His hand took her across the face, just hard enough to leave a red imprint. She staggered back a step and caught herself against the edge of the table.
"Hey, Will-" Her voice was tremulous. "No need to get rough."
"But you like it rough, don't you, Alice?" he said, sliding off his belt.
A combination of fear and queasy excitement brightened her eyes and made her moisten her lips. She did; he'd discovered Alice Hong had more kinks than a corkscrew, which made her more interesting… and more useful, in some respects. Leather whistled in his hand.
"Please, Will… what are you doing?"
"Whatever I want, from now on," he said. "I told you about it, remember?"
"I thought you were just bullshitting me, fantasies to get me hot!"
"No, Alice. I'm going to be a king… and those who follow me are going to have wealth and power beyond their dreams. As long as they obey me. Turn around."
She obeyed. He gripped the back of her nightgown and ripped it off with a single yank that brought a gasp from her. A hand between the shoulder blades bent her over the table.
Smack. The leather raised a welt across her buttocks. "Isn't that right, Alice? Anything I want." Smack.
"Yes, God, yes!"