Zoe Page 23

  But all hope died when the stranger smiled. There was a cold intelligence in it, a smugness that told Jean-Claude that this man, despite his outer appearance, was just as barbaric and heartless as any of the other killers on this ship.

  The stranger put the tip of his sword under Jean-Claude’s chin. He spoke only two words, “Get up,” but it was enough. The boy caught the stranger’s accent.

  This must be Sheridan, the man who had taken Zoé. Jean-Claude wished he had not dropped his pistol. EF Ferdinand turned the handle of the door to the Captain’s cabin, and jumped aside just as a bullet from inside blew a hole in the door. A less resolute man would have retreated, but not him. He’d suffered too long, dreamed too hard, and killed too many simply give up.

  Adrenaline pumping, he kicked the door in and dove inside, gunfire exploding over his head. He rolled to one side, taking a shot in his shoulder, the pain searing him like fire, but not slowing him down. Crouching to avoid being a target, he saw Delaflote by his desk, struggling to load more gunpowder into his pistol. Graceful and strong as a leopard, Ferdinand bounded over the desk. Delaflote was so startled that he dropped the weapon.

  Ferdinand grinned and placed the tip of his machete at Delaflote’s throat. “Do you remember me, Captain? ”

  Delaflote’s eyes were filled with terror. Still, he tried to sound brave. “Bastard, how dare you charge my ship!”

  “Answer me, Captain. Do ye remember me? ”

  Delaflote squinted at Ferdinand with his one good eye, looking him up and down. “Sure… sure, I remember you.”

  “Y’are in me dreams. Dis day, dis moment… I’ve waited a long time,” drawled Ferdinand.

  Slowly, he drew the tip of his blade along one side of the Captain’s throat, leaving a thin line of blood.

  “If–if it’s mo–money you want,” Delaflote stammered. “I want only one ting from you–your life.”

  Delaflote’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He reeked of fear. Ferdinand could smell it. He could feel it, as palpable as his own hot anger.

  “I–I will pay you!” Delaflote squeezed out.

  Ferdinand burst out laughing. “You most certainly will. And it will be a payment made in blood.” He leaned into Delaflote’s face. “But I will be kind to you. Before I kill ye, I will tell ye why I am your executioner.” Ferdinand searched Delaflote’s eyes for any sign of recognition and saw none. “Dere was once a boy…” he began.

  Ferdinand recounted the horrific tale of his brother’s death shortly after being plucked from the West African coastline. But even after hearing the story, it was clear to him that Delaflote remembered nothing. It threatened to rob him of this moment he savored.

  It seemed to Ferdinand that he misery he and his brother suffered on board Delaflote’s ship, the tragedy of his brother’s death, were simply mere incidents to the Captain. It was, to him, simply what arose in the routine of running a slave ship and keeping everyone under control.

  “Don’t you understand? ” Delaflote said. “I didn’t mean it, not personally. It was just business. I was just doing my job.”

  “And now,” Ferdinand said, “I must do mine.”

  Raising his machete, Ferdinand went to work, taking his time and savoring every moment.

  EF “It’s all right, ma petite. It will be all right.” La Roque whispered in Zoé’s hair, still holding her. Her screams had subsided, but now she was trembling from head to toe. He tried to get her to stand, but she had drawn up into a fetal position and wouldn’t uncurl.

  A portly man wearing an apron and a ragged African woman came up the stairs and saw him. The woman raised her weapon to charge them, but the man grabbed her.

  “I think he’s all right,” he said.

  “Who are you? ” shouted Sheba.

  La Roque was unsure how to answer. Who were

  these people? And why were they, like his beloved, covered in blood? He was stunned to see their effect on Zoé. She lifted her head and looked at the woman. Zoé’s next words chilled him.

  “Are they dead, Sheba? ” she asked. Before Sheba could answer, a group of bloodied women, obviously slaves, emerged from the stairs. Sheba crouched next to Zoé and kissed her hand.

  “They are all dead, and it’s because of you that we are alive. Thank you so much.”

  Zoé pulled away from La Roque and hugged Sheba, who hugged her back. La Roque was relieved to see Zoé revived, but remained puzzled. The man in the apron, apparently a cook, La Roque thought, now joined them.

  “And who are you, sir? ” the man asked La Roque.

  “I… well, I came to get Zoé. I—”

  Sheba glared at him. “She doesn’t belong to you and we will fight you too, if we have to.”

  Zoé shook her head “No, it’s all right. I know him.”

  “Are you sure? ” Sheba asked.

  Zoé started to reassure Sheba, but then paused as a blood-curdling scream rent the air. Everyone stilled and glanced around, everyone but La Roque, who could guess the cause of those screams and cries for mercy: Ferdinand at play. The African had found his man and was now exacting his gory revenge.

  The thought reminded him of Sheridan. He had to get to him.

  “Zoé, can you and the others go up on deck? It’s raining, but we will be leaving this boat soon.”

  His heart nearly broke at the look she gave him. She no longer trusted him. He had to admit that she had every reason not to. He could only pray that she would let him lead her and her friends out of this place. After that, he had no right to expect anything.

  “All right,” she agreed. “But where are you going? ”

  “To teach someone a well-deserved lesson.”

  EF La Roque stepped through the cabin door onto the upper deck. The rain was coming down with such force that visibility was difficult, if not impossible. He staggered from side to side, trying to gain his balance on the slippery deck of the wave-tossed ship. Before him, the dead and the dying lay everywhere. There was no sign of Sheridan among them.

  He headed out into the rain unsure where else to look. He headed for the bow, but came to a halt, shocked at the sight before him: Ferdinand had appeared from the captain’s deck, holding Delaflote’s decapitated head. The dead man’s mouth sagged open, dripping blood.

  Ferdinand smiled at La Roque and walked past him. Lightning streaked through the sky, illuminating the entire deck with a flash of white light. Ferdinand appeared unearthly under it.

  “We have taken the ship!” he shouted in triumph and raised the head in the air. “We have to get back to your ship,” La Roque said, trying hard not to look at the head, whose one green eye stared back up at him, unblinking.

  “Aye. Let me gather me boys.” For the first time, Ferdinand seemed to take note of the dead men around them and that several of his men were among them. His face was stoic, but his eyes showed shock and pain.

  La Roque looked around in the rain, wiping his face and trying to determine where Sheridan had gone. He had to find that son-of-a-bitch and make him pay for having taken his beloved Zoé.

  Douglas emerged on deck, still carrying his knife, and stopped short at the sight of so many of his shipmates dead under the torrential downpour, and of the tall African that held Delaflote’s head.

  Ferdinand saw the cook and raised his machete. La Roque saw his intent and put his hand to Ferdinand’s chest.

  “No, he’s not a threat. He saved Zoé’s life, I think,” he shouted over the thunder clapping above them.

  Ferdinand nodded. “If ye say so.” The decapitated head swayed in his hand under the stormy and turbulent rocking of the ship.

  “There are several slave women who you will need to help back to your ship. I need to find someone. Get him to help you.”

  La Roque pointed at Douglas, who approached with caution, stepping over dead bodies.

  Reaching them, Douglas shouted in the rain. “What is going on? Who are you? ”

  Ferdinand gave
him a grim smile. “We are Justice.”

  Douglas glanced at Delaflote’s head and shook his head. “I’m too old for this shite.”

  “What’s your name? ” asked La Roque.

  “Douglas, sir.”

  “Well, Douglas, I need you to get Zoé and the women to our boats. We must get them back to our ship. This storm isn’t going to break anytime soon,” he yelled and lightning flashed, illuminating them all. Douglas steadied himself as the ship rolled against the crushing blows of the sea.

  “Maybe we can steer this ship toward yours. Make it easier on the women. How far off is it? ”

  “That’s the idea,” agreed Ferdinand. “The storm is too dangerous now. I suggest we get closer to me ship before leaving.”

  La Roque nodded. “Get the women in a central location and don’t let them out of your sight. I don’t know how many men are left on this ship.”

  Douglas nodded and ran through the rain back onto the lower deck. Ferdinand raced to the bow, still carrying his gruesome trophy. A couple of his men came along and were instructed to hoist the sails.

  La Roque braced himself against the deck railing as the boat swayed from side to side. He didn’t know which way to go. Sheridan still had to be on the boat. He couldn’t have—

  He heard shouting. He dropped to a crouch, peered around the wall and felt his breath catch. It was Sheridan and he was holding a sword on Jean-Claude. It was their shouting he’d heard. It looked as though Sheridan wanted Jean-Claude to go overboard. But why was Jean-Claude here? Why wasn’t he back on the other ship?

  La Roque drew his sword and crept toward them on silent feet, coming up behind his former friend. Sheridan didn’t hear La Roque, but he saw Jean-Claude look up. Sheridan spun around, shocked, and his weapon lowered to his side. Jean-Claude charged him. La Roque yelled at the boy and rushed forward to stop him, but was too late.

  In one smooth, instinctive motion, Sheridan turned, plunged his sword deep into the young man’s chest and then drew it out. Jean-Claude gasped and clutched his wound, falling. Sheridan looked down at the boy with an expression of surprise as La Roque raced at him.

  The two men’s swords clashed as thunder clapped overhead. The duel moved to the rear deck of the ship, La Roque driving Sheridan back.

  “Wait!” Sheridan cried. “Please, wait!”

  La Roque’s arm was still bleeding, but he felt nothing. All he wanted was to see Sheridan dead and nothing would deter him from his goal. The ship pitched and yawed on the stormy seas, and the deck was slippery with rain, but La Roque pressed forward with his mission of vengeance and retribution.

  Sheridan slipped and lost hold of his sword. La Roque put his foot on Sheridan’s chest, pinning him to the deck, and placed the tip of the long blade to his throat. He looked down into Sheridan’s terrified face and felt a cold rage.

  “I trusted you, brother,” accused La Roque.

  “I can explain. I—”

  “Did you touch her? ”

  Sheridan blinked at him, gagging on the rain as it poured into his nostrils. “What? ”

  “Did you touch her?”

  Sheridan shook his head. “No, I-I was sick. No, we didn’t. I swear to you. No harm came to her by my hand!”

  Breathing hard, La Roque moved the sword from Sheridan’s neck and tossed it aside. He dropped down on to Sheridan’s chest, straddling him, and clamped his hands around the man’s throat.

  “You’re a liar!” La Roque screamed. “You hurt her and now you’ll pay for it with your life.”

  EF Zoé had the girls all dressed. She’d removed her bloody clothes and washed the blood from her face and body. As she dressed, she smiled at how alive the girls looked despite of the horrors they had endured. She told them all to grab pieces of her luggage so they could head up to the upper deck. Just as they were about to leave, Douglas burst in to the room, startling them.

  “What is it? ” Zoé asked, her heart in her throat. “I need you girls to wait here,” Douglas said. “We’re going to sail closer and then help you off when the waters calm.”

  “Where is Comte La Roque? ” Zoé asked.

  She started past Douglas and he raised a hand to stop her.

  “Your Frenchman wanted you here.”

  “But where is he? ” she shouted, fearful that something had happened to him. She had no idea how he’d gotten on board, but that wound on his arm and his bloody sleeve meant that something was going on upstairs. He had come to rescue her, but the danger was not over. He could very well lose his life. A cold sense of dread settled in her stomach and chilled her to the bone.

  “He’s well,” Douglas said.

  With a strength borne of desperation, Zoé shoved him out of the way. She grabbed up her long skirt and ran toward the upper deck, ignoring Douglas and the girls as they called after her.

  EF La Roque watched Sheridan’s eyes bulge as his mouth gaped open, gasping for air. He couldn’t bring himself to take his friend’s life, no matter how much he’d believed he wanted to. He stopped himself suddenly and rose to his feet.

  Sheridan scooted away and leapt to his feet. He kept stepping back with his hand to his throat, a small smile of satisfaction curled his lips. “You cowar –”

  Before he could finish a sword pierced his chest. The silver blade appeared through a growing red circle in the center of his shirt.

  Sheridan’s face dropped down in horror. Jean-Claude stumbled back and fell to his knees before his victim did, enacting his final revenge. Sheridan heaved a rasping death sigh and fell over on his face.

  As the storm raged over their heads, LaRoque was shaken with the gravity of what he’d done in one night and the many lives he’d taken. That’s when Jean-Claude’s heroism came back into focus. He dashed back to where the lad had fallen.

  He was alive, but barely.

  La Roque grabbed Jean-Claude and cradled his head in his lap. Jean-Claude was spitting up blood. His lips were covered in it. He looked up at La Roque and smiled. “We did it, didn’t we? My Zoé, she is safe, mon seigneur? ”

  La Roque felt the bitter touch of grief. “Why didn’t you stay on the ship? ”

  Jean-Claude reached up and touched La Roque’s arm. “It was my destiny, mon seigneur.” He exhaled and closed his eyes.

  La Roque held him and wept. Jean-Claude was just a young boy. He shouldn’t have died like this! This was no man’s destiny.

  A woman screamed behind him.

  La Roque looked up to see Zoé running toward them. She fell to her knees, pushed La Roque out of the way, and grabbed Jean-Claude in her arms. She fell across his chest, wailing in grief. La Roque thought of all she’d suffered on board this horrific ship and made a silent, but solemn promise to dedicate the rest of his life to protecting her. He touched her back and Zoé wrenched away. Her cries could be heard over the thunder. Gently but firmly, he pulled her off the boy’s body.

  Zoé fought him and La Roque held onto her. “Please, no,” she wept.

  Eventually, she gave up and let him hold her. They remained by Jean-Claude, holding each other in the rain and sobbing.

  EF Several hours later, La Roque lay naked on the bunk in his cabin on board the Veuve Noire, covered only by his blanket. Zoé stitched his wound in silence. She’d barely spoken to him since they’d rescued her and the others. She was in her nightgown now and her hair was pulled away from her face, woven into one long wet braid down her back. Her eyes were heavy with regret, sadness and loss.

  “Zoé…” She ignored him, focusing on stitching and dressing his wound.

  “I love you,” he said.

  At those words, she looked up, her eyes skeptical. “Then why did you give that creature the money to purchase me? ”

  She yanked on the thread, intentionally hurting him. She was so disillusioned over his betrayal. It was his money and indifference that had sent her on that voyage of death and terror.

  “But I didn’t,” he said. “I gave him money to leave; I had no idea that h
e would use it to take you.”

  She wasn’t sure if she believed him. “Why was JeanClaude here? He was a baby. How could you have brought him with you!”

  Tears welled in her eyes as she wrapped a bandage around his arm. She chewed on her lip, remembering Jean-Claude’s lifeless body in her arms. Ferdinand and his men had put him on their boat so he could be properly buried at home. How would she tell Marianne and Marguerite that he was dead? They all loved him so much.

  “My love, I didn’t mean for this to happen. He came for me with word that Sheridan was taking you away. We tried to reach the ship, but were too late. He insisted on helping and…”

  He reached out to touch her face. She turned away just out of his reach. Ignoring his outstretched hand, she picked up the bowl of bloody water, went to the porthole and tossed it out.

  “Come to me,” he said.

  She set the bowl down on the table and avoided his eyes. “You didn’t want me.”

  “I did.”

  “No, you wanted—”

  “Zoé, please… come here.”

  She looked up and saw him reaching for her with his good arm. Jean-Claude was dead, and she had actually killed several men herself. The shock of it all made her want to be in his arms, but she was so afraid.

  “I want to tell you things,” he said. “Things that will explain my love for you and our future. Don’t make me say it like this. Let me hold you when I open my heart to you.”

  Our future. It was those two words that did it. She went to him, her heart thudding. He moved over to make room for her and she stretched out next to him. She turned her back, afraid to look into his eyes. She felt him kiss her shoulder.

  “You’re trembling,” he said as he lifted the blanket and covered her with it. “I love you, Zoé. I pushed you away because of fear. You were right.”

  “I was? ”

  “Yes, but you were also wrong. My fear had nothing to do with the color of your skin. I was afraid of the power of your love and getting lost in it. I thought I would go insane like my father if I gave in to it.”