"To heff carnal knowledche ohf yourself," Kolodzcy translated, shaking his head at Mlavic s utter greed and stupidity. "To go to de Devil… for you to heff carnal knowledche ohf your mother…" "Oh, thankee for that," Lewrie muttered to Kolodzcy. He got to his feet, putting his sternest, iciest "captain's face" on as he waited for Mlavic to run out of expletives. "You know this is the end of our arrangement, Captain Mlavic. You gave your word, swore to us that neutral ships were strictly out-of-bounds, that any prisoners were to be treated decent," he accused. "Now you've broken your vow six ways from Sunday. Took a Venetian ship, most-like you killed her crew, too, didn't you… to spare yourself the trouble of keeping them here? Py-lades hasn't had time to get to the straits, here and back, to take the French prisoners off your hands, either. Did you murder them, too, 'cause you got tired of guarding them?"
Mlavic stood before him, a trifle hangdog, arms crossed over his chest, and glaring at Lewrie s shirtfront, like a defaulter come before "Captain's Mast" for peeing on deck.
"We thought we were dealing with trustworthy men, sir," Lewrie scoffed. "But it will be my unfortunate duty to inform Captain Charlton that you can't be trusted… that no matter Serbian bravery and skill, you can't be trusted out of sight."
Piss down his back a mite, Lewrie thought; maybe I can shame us back to Jester alive!
"No more help, sir. No more alliance. You're on your own, and whatever it is that Petracic does… even if he begins the liberation of all of Serbia… my country's king and government will never award you recognition, or aid, or… You're on your own, from this moment on."
"Serbs on own, ever!" Mlavic grunted, lifting his eyes at last. "Enemies everywhere… help, none. Pooh!" He spat on the ground. "I tell you, Serbs no need English help."
"Then how'd you get your damn' brig… sir?" Lewrie smugly reminded him.
"I would have take… you get in way!" Mlavic shot back.
"Now you can keep that ship… and God help you," Lewrie said, sensing he might have overplayed it, and not liking the truculence he saw returning to Mlavic's face. "All her valuables, too. But those Venetian prisoners, those women and children, come with me, sir. I'll take them aboard Jester and see 'em safe to Venice. Shilling per head, same as before. 'Cause I can't trust you to keep them. You'd violate your word again… end up murdering them. Like your Frenchmen, hmm?"
Mlavic put his fists on his hips, glared at the ground between them and made idle scuffing motions with his brand-spanking-new boots for a moment or two.
"Da. Kill French," he confessed. "Be too much trouble, watch… feed. Die quick, and feed to sharks," he admitted, waving a hand out toward the west and the open sea. "See Dragan take Venetian ship, speak new prisoner… news is getting out, da? I keep ship. I keep all cargo."
"Then if you'll bring the prisoners down, I'll send to my ship for boats, and…" Lewrie nodded in agreement, feeling a sudden rush of almost blissful relief. He could hear Howse and Kolodzcy sighing.
"No," Mlavic said, almost pouting. "Keep prisoner, too. Not all Venetian. In ship are Muslims, go Ragusa, Cattaro, Durazzo. In ship are Montenegran, Albanian… Bosnian!" he spat, as if being a Slavic coastal Muslim were the ultimate scum, as bad as Hindoo "untouchables." He glared at Lewrie, a gay smile beginning to lift his mouth, a crafty crinkle round his beady, close-set pig-eyes. "Enemies. Have still to play… games." Dragan Mlavic tittered.
"Sir, I must protest!" Lewrie barked. "How could innocent women and children be your enemies? How dare you insinuate you'd-"
"Child grow up… kill and torture Serbs. Woman have enemy child, grow up… murder Serbs. Enemy men have murder Serbs. Serbs see father, mother… whole family, torture and kill. Make good Serb Orthodox, Catholic… Muslim! Then kill. In ship are Macedonian, in ship are Greeks! Same as Turk, same as Byzantium who let Turk armies in Serbia. No… I keep. We play games."
"Jesus bloody Christ.. ." Lewrie gasped, his mouth agape, never so appalled, so laid ail-aback, his entire life! His innards and his spine went icy as he realised that Mlavic meant to torture, rape, then slay his prisoners. Even icier, he felt-nigh to shivering in fear-as he realised that Mlavie had murdered the French prisoners so they'd not be able to pass the word that he'd taken a Venetian ship; nor tell one word about the massacre he'd planned, soon as he'd captured her!
And he, Mr. Howse, and Leutnant Kolodzcy were now witnesses, too!
He plan t'murder us, too? Alan reeled, searching for a way out. Those prisoners ain't no friends o' mine, so would he let us go, 'fore his goddamn games begin? No, damme, I can't just…!
"Captain Mlavic…" Lewrie said, firm as he could, after thinking quickly, gazing into those agate-hard eyes, that upper-handed leer. "Again I protest! No civilised man would do such a thing, even dream of doing such a thing. Give me the women and children, at least. You cant hurt women and children, man… it just ain't done! Let me have them, and we'll go. Then you can hold whatever sort o' bloody games you wish. And be damned to you, you ugly, black-hearted bastard!"
"You stay," Mlavic pronounced, beginning to beam quite gladly.
"Be damned if I will, sir!"
"You stay," Mlavic insisted. "You watch. I say you stay… I say you go. Dragan Mlavic captain here. I say you stay, now."
"Going to make us, are you? With a sloop o' war not one cable off the beach?" Lewrie sneered. "Eat shit, an' die!"
Mlavic did the very worst thing then-he began to chuckle, then to laugh out loud, chilling them all to their bones. He put two fingers in his mouth and gave a shrill whistle. Instantly there were six of his pirates on them, coming from round the rear of the hut, to pinion their arms, strip them of swords and pat them down for knives or pocket-pistols.
"You damn fool!" Lewrie raged, thrashing against the grasp of two strong men. "Lay hands on a British officer, sir? Don't you know my First Lieutenant will get to wond'rin' what's keeping me? Hears or sees what you're doing… why, he'll blow your filthy arse to Hell!"
Mlavic laughed out loud again, then gave a second whistle.
"Come wrong time, British," he said with a sneer, putting his face within inches of Lewrie's as he was wrestled to his knees before Mlavic. Have go safe, but you come camp, ask too much question You go sate? Die, tonight? Dragan Mlavic say, hah! You stay, watch games Ratko plan holy thing, now I do holy thing… get men hot to war on enemy. What your ship do, I hold you, doctor, girlie-man, long as want? Him, too."
Three sailors came lumbering into the firelight, dragging their burden, which kicked, yelped and twisted-Midshipman Spendlove!
'Sorry, sir… barely got into the water 'fore…!"
Oh shit, we're in the quag now! Alan shuddered, feeling those few bites of food or sips of wine, turn to scalding acid, threatening to come up and sear his throat. He really means Ј'scrag us!
CHAPTER 4
The first victim was bound to a log. A burning log.
He was an older man, blond-haired and blond-bearded, a Slav who cried out and protested as he was forced to eat pork, stripped so he could be smeared on his face and chest-then chained atop a log as long as he was, that had been rolled away from a cook-fire. What agony he suffered they could barely hear above the jeers and taunts of Mlavic s pirates. He was a Muslim Slav, though, one who'd surely killed Serbs when young and fit, so… he had to die, slowly.