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"No. I'm her friend, Hill. She said to tell you not to worry. Come up and
she'll tell you herself."
"Liar!" Ryan heard the haunted tone of someone who knew the words were lies,
but desperately wanted to think that they weren't.
"Double-truth."
"No."
Time was passing. Ryan could hear it, with the beating of the pulse in his own
skull. "I'm telling you the truth. On my brother's life." Such as it had been.
"Trust me, Hill. What do you have to lose? What? Nothing."
"I'll slit thy throat if thou liest to me, outlander. I swear I will."
"I got no blade." He held his arms spread out sideways, fingers wide.
Ryan's eyes were accustomed to the poor light, and he walked across the
forecastle, reaching out with his right hand in a gesture that was
transparently
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friendly. He stooped toward the crouched figure of Kenny Hill.
"Thou wilt not betray me, outlander? Not to that woman?"
"My word on it. Come on."
The sailor held a narrow-bladed dagger in his right hand, and he reached out
trustingly with his other hand to grasp Ryan's fingers.
Immediately Ryan pulled him up, with a great burst of convulsive strength.
Fending off the knife with his other hand, he dropped his face and butted Hill
across the bridge of the nose.
There was the satisfyingly soft, rotten-apple sound of bone breaking. As Hill
cried out, Ryan jerked his knee hard into the man's groin.
The knife tinkled to the floor and the sailor slumped after it, retching and
barely conscious. He started to weep.
"Get up, you cowardly little bastard," Ryan snarled, heaving him to his feet,
lifting him across his own shoulders. He carried him up the swaying ladder,
ignoring the crack as Hill's head struck the ceiling. Blood was gushing from
the broken nose, puddling on the steps. As he emerged onto the deck, Pyra
Quadde was near the hatch.
"Thou hast a minute left and& Oh!" she shouted. The warning died in her throat
as Ryan appeared with Hill slung over his back.
There was a smattering of talk from the crew, and Ryan thought he even heard
someone start to clap. But it might have been mad Jehu.
"Dump the offal there and get in line, Outlander Cawdor," she Ordered. Ryan
genuinely couldn't tell whether the woman was pleased to see him alive or not.
He joined Donfil and Johnny. The Apache looked quizzically at him. "Got no
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choice," Ryan whispered.
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Quadde had the semiconscious man stripped by a couple of the other hands, and
bound to the foot of the mainmast. Ryan noticed that there was a couple of
iron ringbolts set into the decking, in just the right positions to shackle a
man's ankles, forcing his legs spread wide. Hill's arms were tied behind him,
then a length of rope was wound clear around the mast and knotted. Another
cord was pulled tight around his neck, keeping him upright, preventing him
from wriggling free.
Captain Quadde stood near the sailors who were tying Hill, but she didn't seem
to give them any other orders. It was as though they knew how to tie the
prisoner, because they'd done it often enough before. A cold thought.
The light was fading fast now, even though the skies had cleared. The
Salvation
was butting her way into the Lantic wastes, a white bone of foam under her
stem.
The captain leaned over the helpless man, who was now recovering
consciousness. She stood between his spread feet, swaying to the motion of the
ship. The metal tip of her cane was behind her, mere inches from Hill's
genitals.
"This puking pus-dog has been caught for deserting his post in poor weather!"
she shouted. "His punishment is to be kept here, tied and bare, for all of the
night and all of the next day. He is to have no food and only one pan of water
at noon tomorrow. Any man speaks to him or goes near him shares his
punishment. Hear that well."
"Doesn't seem that fireblasted harsh," Ryan whispered to Johnny.
"What thou hearest and what happens ain't always the same, matey," the sailor
replied. Ryan crooked an eyebrow at him, but he wouldn't explain further.
"Don't let her do it, friends!" Hill shouted, shaking his head to clear his
mouth of his own blood. "You know what she'll do."
"Gag him," Quadde ordered, not even looking at the man behind her.
"You know!" Hill screamed, voice ragged with stark terror. "Don't let her do "
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His words disappeared under a hank of cotton waste that was rammed into his
mouth and knotted in place.
"Now, to your quarters. Watch on deck only. Eat well. Tot of rum to every
hand, Mr. Ogg. Carry on, men."
She didn't move from where she stood, ignoring the mumbling prisoner at her
heels. The men filed dutifully away, down the companionway into the shelter of
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