Read Online Raised By Wolves 3 - Treasure by W A Hoffman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: W A Hoffman
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triumphantly when he released me.
“I am loved,” I said with a matching grin.
“More than I can ever express,” my matelot said happily, and then he left, walking swiftly through the crowd without looking toward his former gaoler.
I did turn to look at Vittese. The man was glowering at Gaston’s back.
The courtier had his kerchief over his mouth and amusement all about his eyes. I thought he might be blushing. He reminded me very much of Dickey when first we met.
Vittese moved to follow Gaston, the courtier at his heel.
I stepped into their path. “Vittese!”
The man’s hand darted to his sword hilt. I grinned, and dropped one leg back in preparation of drawing. I awarded him a raised eyebrow. He let his hand drop away.
“I am the Viscount of Marsdale,” I said in French.
Both the courtier’s and his eyes widened, but Vittese’s narrowed quickly, whilst the other man’s mouth dropped open.
I let my grin widen. “Tell your master that we have done him a great favor by removing several imbeciles from his employ, and that we will be delighted to continue to perform this service for him.”
Vittese did not reply, but Gaston was correct, I had succeeded in making him very angry.
“And,” I continued, “tell him he will meet with me, alone, and I will judge whether or not he shall be granted audience with his son, at a place and time of our choosing.”
“That will not be acceptable,” Vittese rasped.
“Then your master has sailed very far for nothing.”
With that, I left them and went to follow my matelot to the gaol. We would see who the Gods followed this day.
II: Port Royal
Wherein We Return to Homes We Have Not Known
The gaol was a house one of Jamaica’ s worthy citizens, a Sir Thomas Lynch, had donated to the town. It had been built within the first years of the colony, and sat on the wharfs, and by all rights was prime warehouse property. The place was in the grips of chaos when I arrived, and I had to shoulder my way through the throng of curious onlookers to reach a member of the militia, then argue with him before I was granted entry. I hoped someone had been available to lead Gaston through it. Someone apparently had, as my matelot was inside and working on the man whose leg I had shot. I soon had a great deal of the poor fellow’s blood upon me, as Gaston required my aid in performing the amputation. Thankfully, he had drugged the man with sufficient laudanum to keep him not only quiet but unconscious. From the state of intense concentration my matelot was in, I thought it possible I would be drugging him to calm him so that he might sleep before the day was out.
Once the amputation was complete and cauterized, we moved on to the others. The assailant Striker had shot died. One of the men Pete struck had a broken jaw – which I heartily sympathized with. Gaston cleaned and sewed the blade wounds Pete and Striker left in two of the others. Then we turned to the man Bella and Taro had mauled. He would be severely scarred for life. Dogs with heads the size of a man’s, and jaws that can break marrow bones, will do that to a man. Both bones in the arm he had thrown up to defend himself were broken and all of the tendons torn. Gaston gave the man laudanum and had a calm discussion with him about whether he wished to keep the hand – which would be little more than a club – or have it removed, which was going to be a likely result of the matter anyway if any sort of putrefaction set in on the wound.
During this discussion, Theodore came to ask if I could join him in the doorway. I looked where he indicated and saw several well-dressed notables there, including our Governor Modyford and Sir Thomas Lynch. With a sigh, I wiped the blood from my hands, whispered to Gaston that I needed to play diplomat, and followed Theodore.
Modyford looked me over with some degree of confusion until at last he recognized me and smiled. “Lord Marsdale? It is you.” He bowed.
“Well, you do
“I am loved,” I said with a matching grin.
“More than I can ever express,” my matelot said happily, and then he left, walking swiftly through the crowd without looking toward his former gaoler.
I did turn to look at Vittese. The man was glowering at Gaston’s back.
The courtier had his kerchief over his mouth and amusement all about his eyes. I thought he might be blushing. He reminded me very much of Dickey when first we met.
Vittese moved to follow Gaston, the courtier at his heel.
I stepped into their path. “Vittese!”
The man’s hand darted to his sword hilt. I grinned, and dropped one leg back in preparation of drawing. I awarded him a raised eyebrow. He let his hand drop away.
“I am the Viscount of Marsdale,” I said in French.
Both the courtier’s and his eyes widened, but Vittese’s narrowed quickly, whilst the other man’s mouth dropped open.
I let my grin widen. “Tell your master that we have done him a great favor by removing several imbeciles from his employ, and that we will be delighted to continue to perform this service for him.”
Vittese did not reply, but Gaston was correct, I had succeeded in making him very angry.
“And,” I continued, “tell him he will meet with me, alone, and I will judge whether or not he shall be granted audience with his son, at a place and time of our choosing.”
“That will not be acceptable,” Vittese rasped.
“Then your master has sailed very far for nothing.”
With that, I left them and went to follow my matelot to the gaol. We would see who the Gods followed this day.
II: Port Royal
Wherein We Return to Homes We Have Not Known
The gaol was a house one of Jamaica’ s worthy citizens, a Sir Thomas Lynch, had donated to the town. It had been built within the first years of the colony, and sat on the wharfs, and by all rights was prime warehouse property. The place was in the grips of chaos when I arrived, and I had to shoulder my way through the throng of curious onlookers to reach a member of the militia, then argue with him before I was granted entry. I hoped someone had been available to lead Gaston through it. Someone apparently had, as my matelot was inside and working on the man whose leg I had shot. I soon had a great deal of the poor fellow’s blood upon me, as Gaston required my aid in performing the amputation. Thankfully, he had drugged the man with sufficient laudanum to keep him not only quiet but unconscious. From the state of intense concentration my matelot was in, I thought it possible I would be drugging him to calm him so that he might sleep before the day was out.
Once the amputation was complete and cauterized, we moved on to the others. The assailant Striker had shot died. One of the men Pete struck had a broken jaw – which I heartily sympathized with. Gaston cleaned and sewed the blade wounds Pete and Striker left in two of the others. Then we turned to the man Bella and Taro had mauled. He would be severely scarred for life. Dogs with heads the size of a man’s, and jaws that can break marrow bones, will do that to a man. Both bones in the arm he had thrown up to defend himself were broken and all of the tendons torn. Gaston gave the man laudanum and had a calm discussion with him about whether he wished to keep the hand – which would be little more than a club – or have it removed, which was going to be a likely result of the matter anyway if any sort of putrefaction set in on the wound.
During this discussion, Theodore came to ask if I could join him in the doorway. I looked where he indicated and saw several well-dressed notables there, including our Governor Modyford and Sir Thomas Lynch. With a sigh, I wiped the blood from my hands, whispered to Gaston that I needed to play diplomat, and followed Theodore.
Modyford looked me over with some degree of confusion until at last he recognized me and smiled. “Lord Marsdale? It is you.” He bowed.
“Well, you do
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