Zoe Read online

  Jean-Claude sat in another boat several yards behind, also rowing. He had convinced one of the shipmates to let him to stow away. The man liked the boy, and had given him a pistol, a bandanna to cover his blond hair, and clothes to change into so he wouldn’t stand out any more than he already did. The dark night gave him cover from La Roque and Ferdinand. Neither knew he was joining them. He would show them that he could handle himself, and he would help rescue Zoé. Eager for adventure, Jean-Claude rowed faster.

  Minutes later, the large outer hull of the ship loomed over them. Ferdinand had them stop rowing as they drifted closer. They shipped their oars and looked for signs that those on board had seen their approach. La Roque examined the sky and saw that a great storm was brewing. Ferdinand made seagull calls, signaling the men on the other two boats to split and take the sides. The Aventine was drifting with its sails down. That would make it easier to board her and both Ferdinand and La Roque couldn’t be more pleased.

  Ferdinand had given La Roque a pistol to carry along with his sword, and a knife to stick in his boot. La Roque hadn’t taken a man’s life since the war. Driven by his desire to rescue Zoé, he wasn’t the least bit repulsed by the thought of killing his former close friend Sheridan with his bare hands. Anyone standing between him and Zoé would die before the night ended.

  On board the Aventine, Mathieu slept in the crow’s nest. He’d tried earlier to watch the blue-black sea for signs of pirates, but with the clouds so dark and the smell of a storm approaching, he concluded nothing would happen tonight. Snoring lightly, he felt the first drops of rain. He slept on as those drops turned into a steady drizzle. He’d slept in rainstorms before; at least in the crow’s nest he didn’t have to share his bed.

  Belowdecks, Sheridan rose from his bed. The twenty minutes he had given Zoé were well past. She defied him by failing to return. In a rage, he stormed down the passageway looking for the galley, determined to drag her back and teach her a lesson for disobeying him. Seeing a group of men laughing and heading to the side stairs, he stopped them.

  “Hey! I need a word!”

  One of them, a short, muscular man with a shaggy beard and pockmarked face, turned and frowned. The other men glanced at one another and glared at Sheridan.

  Sheridan drew himself up. He considered them barbarians, beneath him. “I’m looking for the galley.”

  The man gave him a smile of blackened stumps for teeth. “Yes, sir. Why the galley is just this way.” He pointed to the stairwell down the corridor to their left.

  Sheridan nodded and turned in the direction they pointed. A feeling of unease made him glance over his shoulder. The men were staring at him malevolently. They were dangerous, very dangerous, he thought. He would make sure that Zoé was at his side from now on. He should never have allowed her to go out with such animals around.

  Downstairs, Sheba and Zoé had armed each woman with a weapon: for the most part they held boards and bricks, but two of the women actually had knives, smuggled from the shelves during their work with Douglas.

  “This is insane,” Sheba told Zoé. “There are too many of them and they are like rabid dogs. You should let us surround you and protect you. That way, you have more of a chance.”

  “Absolutely not. Your life and the lives of these girls are worth just as much as mine. We fight together and we fight to our last breath. Understand? ”

  Sheba nodded, indicating that she understood. Slowly, each captive gave a nod. Some understood; others were just ready to fight back.

  Without warning, the bolt on the door lifted. The women exchanged glances. It was time.

  Outside, the rain clouds exploded and large droplets fell across the faces of Ferdinand’s men, making it hard for them to keep their eyes open. Men on each side of the vessel tossed weighted ropes over the railing that edged the upper deck. Once Ferdinand had secured his rope, he put his long blade between his teeth and started his ascent. La Roque stuck his pistol into his tucked-in blouse, and followed.

  Jean-Claude stood in the boat on the opposite end, ready to climb his rope. The rain had soaked his clothes, but he felt energized by what was about to unfold. He viewed it all as an adventure.

  Below deck, Sheridan walked in to see Douglas bent over a large pot. Douglas straightened up at the sound of Sheridan’s entrance and frowned.

  “Yes?”

  “Where is she? ” demanded Sheridan.

  Douglas wiped his fat hands across his apron and looked Sheridan up and down, confused.

  “Who? ”

  “Zoé, dammit! What did you do with her? ”

  The cook’s frown turned into a scowl. “I have no idea what—” His eyes widened, struck by a horrific thought.

  EF Zoé had been warned. Sheba, having grown up on this ship, knew every detail of the demons that tortured her and the others. She’d told Zoé that Alfred Serafu was Satan himself.

  Zoé, in their brief conversation, couldn’t understand the horrors that Sheba described but when she looked into her captor’s eyes it became clear. He reveled in the pain of others, especially women.

  Zoé practiced her swing, gauging the weight of the wood. Her eyes cut over to the women.

  “How did you manage to survive? ” she looked around at the chamber of horrors. “Survive this? ”

  “Serafu satisfies his thirst for pain through our suffering. The more you suffer, the crueler he can be. Suffering through it is the only way to stay alive.”

  Zoé decided that Serafu would be hers. Men like him, who worked on slave ships because it gave them access to vulnerable and defenseless girls, should be made to pay. According to Sheba, Serafu had already killed two slave women, incurring the wrath of the Captain for having done so. Each death represented a financial loss to the captain. Delaflote had warned Serafu that his wages would be docked, but that had not curbed the man’s sadistic lust.

  She looked up just as Serafu and his crew surged inside. He was at the forefront when they stopped in their tracks, stunned to see the women lined up, armed and baring their teeth. And he knew immediately who was responsible.

  “What the hell is this? ” he yelled at Zoé.

  “Your death, monsieur, because I will see you dead before I let you touch me!” She held a plank of wood like a bat.

  “How dare you threaten me! Who do you think you are, strutting like you some lady or sumthin. I’m going to take my time with you, and when you break, I’m going to start all over again.” He licked his lips and advanced upon her.

  “Lower the plank,” he said. “Lower it and perhaps I won’t use it on you before I snap your neck.”

  The men behind him laughed.

  Zoé gripped her plank tighter, she saw his arrogant smugness, and knew he took her silence for fear. She cut a glance at the other women and saw their open terror. It made her aware that these women had apparently tried to fight back, too, but had learned brutal lessons. For a moment, her hand shook, and when she looked back at him she knew he meant every word of his threat. She had nothing left to lose. So she tightened and adjusted her hold on the wood.

  “It’s time you and I get to know each other,” he said, undoing his pants and walking toward her. She raised the plank higher.

  She was prepared to swing.

  EF “What the hell is going on? ” Sheridan asked as Douglas grabbed a butcher knife.

  “When did you last see her? ” Douglas asked.

  “She was coming here, but that was over half an hour ago.”

  “Then the men have her! God help her!”

  Douglas raced out. In a flash, Sheridan remembered the men he’d encountered, heard their snickers and saw their animosity. Horrified, he ran out after Douglas. Those men could be destroying his Zoé now! The thought sickened him. He had to find her!

  EF Ferdinand threw his leg over the topside rail, still clutching his knife between his teeth. The sound of the pelting rain masked his grunting. He saw three men less than fifty metres away, rushing around on deck as they
battened down the ship. Taking the knife from his mouth, he ducked to the left to avoid being spotted as La Roque climbed over the railing.

  On the other side of the ship, Ferdinand’s men were making the same maneuver, coming on board unseen, moving with deadly stealth. La Roque wiped at his face, trying to see through the rain, as he watched Ferdinand run toward the Captain’s quarters. Before he could follow, he heard a yell to his right. He turned just in time to see a man charging at him with sword drawn.

  He’d been spotted.

  Drawing his sword, he engaged the man, defending himself from the deadly blow he was about to receive. They began their dance, their swords connecting in the rain and clanking loudly. La Roque swung with fierce determination as lightning streaked the sky.

  La Roque’s long steel blade drove his attacker back. The rain pasted the count’s hair to his face, making it hard for him to see, but he was such a skilled swordsman that the parries and thrusts were almost instinctive. La Roque knew he couldn’t afford to spend much time on this fight. He had to end it quickly. With a quick twist of his wrist, La Roque ripped the sword from his attacker’s hand to send it flying across the deck, and then plunged the blade into his opponent’s chest.

  Jean-Claude came up alongside the ship as the men were being alerted to the invasion. Mathieu was blowing his whistle from the crow’s nest, a little too late, but all the Aventine’s hands were running about armed and ready.

  The rain disoriented Jean-Claude a little, so he didn’t see the man advancing on him. His attacker struck from the left, knocking the boy off his feet. Landing on his back, he opened his eyes to see the attacker bearing down on him with blade drawn. Quickly, Jean-Claude rolled to the right while aiming his pistol to fire. The man swung his sword to deliver a death blow, but miscalculated within the downpour. His error was a fatal one, because Jean-Claude fired directly into his face.

  Ferdinand’s men slit the throats of the twelve men on the upper deck and spread out ready for any who ventured into their battle. Ferdinand, however, had another plan.

  Armed with a brutal-looking machete, he made his way toward the Captain’s quarters. He turned a corner and saw Philippe. Delaflote’s Lieutenant fumbled for the sword on his hip, and then drew it out with trembling hands. Ferdinand smiled as Philippe swung at his head. This was child’s play for the African pirate. Ducking to the left, he easily avoided the blow, and then brought the machete around in a curved move that slashed Philippe’s side.

  Philippe blinked twice, his face showing surprise, then made to collapse, but Ferdinand forced him to stand, until every drop of his life bled out. Once done he cleaned his blade on the dead man’s shirt, dropped him, then kicked the body out of the way and went in search of the next challenge. He had lived for this taste of revenge.

  La Roque drove his sword into another opponent, and then tossed the lifeless body overboard. Lightning continued to flash around him, setting a backdrop clouded with violence. A man jumped on his back, bringing him down to the ground. His sword flew out of his hand. Rolling with the attacker, La Roque felt the blows raining across his body. His opponent pulled out a knife and aimed for La Roque’s throat, but the count blocked him with his left arm. The knife slashed his forearm, cutting deeply. His pistol fell free of his shirt. He saw it beyond his reach. He scrambled for it as the other punched him in the face. He almost lost consciousness from the brutal blow and his hand was unable to reach his pistol.

  He prepared to fend off another strike, but then saw dark hands grab the man’s forehead from behind and yank his head back. There was a guttural cry and then a gush of warm blood as one of Ferdinand’s men nearly decapitated La Roque’s attacker. Lightning flashed overhead, showing the African standing victorious in the rain.

  Before La Roque could smile in thanks, a sword pierced the man’s chest. La Roque grabbed his pistol as he watched his rescuer slip into death. As the African fell in a dead heap on top of La Roque, the count swung his gun around the body and fired upward into the chest of his assailant, blowing him backwards.

  La Roque pushed the body off him and scrambled to his feet. Despite the rain streaming down his face, he spotted his sword and picked it up. The fighting was all around him and the deck was now strewn with bodies. Ferdinand’s men were doing well but could use a hand. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to spare.

  into the fray, her gown a hindrance, but not enough to keep her from swinging her plank.

  The men outnumbered the women, but the men were unarmed. Not expecting to do battle, they had brought neither pistol nor sword, and had only their hands. But they were strong, experienced brawlers and much better fed than their undernourished captives. It was only the women’s determination– their bitter, desperate determination–that kept them from being quickly overpowered.

  Douglas and Sheridan came in to see the chaos and stopped at the door, gasping in surprise. It was Douglas who reacted first. He saw a woman being beaten across the face and ran to her rescue, stabbing the attacker in the back and killing him.

  It was time to find his love.

  EF Zoé swung her wood plank with enough force to crush Serafu’s skull, which it did. Blood splattered on her face and dress. Everyone in the room was stunned as the meanest, vilest rapist on the ship blinked once in shock, then fell over to his side. The women recovered first. Energized by this first victory, they charged their tormentors with their weapons raised. Zoé jumped

  As Sheridan watched, Zoé brought her plank down on the back of a man’s head, splintering the wood. Another man grabbed her from behind, shocking her into dropping the wood. He gripped her throat to choke her, but Sheba ran over and drove her knife into him.

  “Zoé!” shouted Sheridan. Zoé looked back at him, stunned from the pain of her recent blow. He stepped toward her and another woman swung her stick at him, delivering a painful blow to his left arm. Sheridan stepped back in shock. He looked pleadingly at Zoé, but she ran over to help another woman who was being beaten. She jumped on the assailant’s back and dug her nails into his eyes. He howled and stopped his attack on the first woman in order to claw at Zoé. Finally, he toppled her and threw her to the floor. Straddling her, he drew back to punch her. She grabbed up a large brick and slammed it against his head. His blood exploded over her.

  In one corner, Douglas dispatched the man who was choking the twelve-year-old girl. Meanwhile, Sheridan edged along the wall, seeking a way to advance on Zoé and pull her from the chaos. He was afraid to enter the fray without a weapon. The women were now overtaking the men and he heard them scream as they lost control.

  Zoé climbed off the man she and the others had beaten to death, and backed away, realizing–really realizing–that she had human blood on her hands. She looked around her, dazed. Some of the women were crying; others were grinning and hugging each other. Still others were busy with the grim business of finishing off the men who were wounded but not yet dead. Before Zoé could make sense of it all, Sheridan grabbed her arm and pulled her up the ladder, unnoticed by the girls amidst the carnage.

  EF La Roque came down onto the lower deck and saw a man coming toward him. Raising the gun, he fired instinctively and watched the man drop in a dead heap. La Roque tossed the now empty gun and ran down the passageway, holding his left arm, blood from the wound staining his sleeve.

  “Zoé! Zoé!” he cried.

  Then came a familiar voice.

  “Are you mad? We will be forced to walk the plank after

  what you did!”

  Seconds later, Sheridan turned the corner, dragging

  Zoé, who struggled against him. La Roque came to a halt, his

  heart beating heavily. For the first time that night, he felt fear. She wore the lavender dress he’d last seen her in.

  Beautiful then, it was now covered in blood. Blood, it seemed,

  was everywhere: on her face, in her hair. Her hands dripped with

  it. She looked dazed and confused. Her hair hung wildly in her


  face.

  What had Sheridan done to her?

  Sheridan froze at the sight of him. He quickly let go

  of Zoé and stepped back as La Roque raced toward him in a

  murderous rage. The American turned and fled; Zoé dropped

  to her knees, hanging her head in exhaustion. La Roque reached

  for his gun to fire on Sheridan, but then remembered that it was empty and discarded. Reaching Zoé, he knelt down, cupped her

  chin and lifted her face to his.

  “Zoé,” he pleaded, fearful of what she might have

  experienced. “It’s me. Tell me, are you hurt?. Are you all

  right?”

  Zoé stared at him without any sign of recognition. At

  the sight of her paralyzed expression, his heart exploded in his

  chest. Moving the wild strands of hair from the front of her face,

  he tried to kiss her.

  That revived her, but not in the way he expected. She pushed him away, shook her head and let out a bloodcurdling scream. She screamed so loud and long that La Roque

  feared for her sanity. Not knowing what else to do, he grabbed

  her and held her to his chest. She pounded his flesh, but no matter

  how much she fought him, he held on. Rocking her gently, he

  tried to ease her pain, and felt helpless that he couldn’t.

  EF Up on deck, the battle raged. Jean-Claude saw the man he’d befriended struck down by a ruthless scoundrel. Rain pouring down his face, the boy held and fired on him. The pistol exploded and the man who’d butchered his friend was hit in the neck. Jean-Claude dropped the gun and ran to his fallen friend’s side to see him coughing up blood. Tears joined the raindrops wetting the boy’s face. He cried. Before that night, he’d never seen someone die. Now he’d not only seen it, but had taken several lives himself. Lightning flashed above his head, illuminating the dying man’s face and Jean-Claude closed his eyes and wept. He didn’t think he could take much more of this.

  “Up, boy!” Turning around, Jean-Claude saw a man holding a sword to him. The man looked to be someone other than the shipmates they’d been fighting. He wore the garments of a gentleman. For a moment, the boy felt a flicker of hope.