“You’re going to kill him,” Harp yelled. “He’s just a little boy.”
He stopped struggling and looked around the room, which had grown eerily still except for the tin lanterns that swung back and forth with the rolling of the ship. Almost the entire crew was there, and some of the older sailors looked uncomfortable, although none had raised a finger to help Kitto. Liel’s cell was in the far corner, but the elf was obscured by shadows. He could see her silhouette, but he couldn’t tell if she were injured. Kitto lay on the floor in a heap at Predeau’s feet.
“You’re killing him,” Harp repeated quietly, shrugging off the hands of the men holding him back.
“I’m a fair man,” Predeau said. “He’s got more lashes coming to him. You can, of course, be his proxy.”
“I’ll take them.”
Predeau grinned. “Fine. Up on deck.”
“Let someone see to Kitto.”
“That wasn’t part of the offer,” he said, stepping over Kitto’s bruised body on the way up to the deck.
That night, the blood soaked through Harp’s shirt, ran down his trouser legs, and stained the inside of his boots. He couldn’t lie down, and he could barely stand up. When he joined the boys in their quarters, Mallie held a flask of whiskey to his lips and told Harp that the captain had locked Kitto up in the cell with Liel, that there were murmurs among the sailors that Predeau had gone too far this time.
Through teeth gritted in pain, Harp whispered his plan to the boys. As he told them what he wanted them to do-if they were willing-his mind was on the key in the captain’s quarters. He would take it from that bastard. Then he would get Liel and whatever was left of Kitto off that floating tomb forever.
“I’m not going to lie to you,” he said in a hushed voice, looking down at the five grubby faces assembled in front of him. “What I’m asking isn’t an easy thing. But he won’t stop at Kitto. One day it could be one of you under that lash.”
He looked carefully for fear on their features. But he didn’t find any. What he saw gave him a sense of hope.
“Shaun, you’re on the armory door,” he said, and the boys nodded. “Mallie, you’ll rouse the men. You know which ones will follow. Bristol, you ready two boats. If nothing else, just get away.
“When you see the light in the captain’s window, then you’ll know what to do.”
Standing behind Predeau, Harp pressed his dagger against the big man’s throat. Grabbing a handful of the captain’s long hair, Harp yanked Predeau’s head back till he could see the thick blue vein pulsing on the side of the man’s neck. Despite the precariousness of his position, Predeau didn’t seem concerned, and was still issuing orders to Harp as if he were in control of everything that was happening.
“If you touch that lantern, boy, I’ll see to it that your skin is flayed off your back and hung on the mast to dry.”
Harp’s face was swollen and cut, and he felt like he was bleeding from both eyes. He could barely stay on his feet, much less keep the blunt dagger in his hands from shaking. Harp had been on the short end of several beatings in his younger years, and the shame of being hit was something no man talked about-how taking that first punch makes you feel like an idiot. Harp had taken his first punch at age seven, from some of the older kids in the village. Horrified at the tears that had filled his eyes, he had launched himself at his attacker, only to be smacked down. The second punch had knocked him to his knees, but had brought out a rage that had him on his feet again, charging head first into the older boy, who was twice his age.
He’d put his attacker down that day, earning a reputation among his fellows. Quick on his feet, with a fist that could knock a man unconscious in one blow, Harp had rarely lost a fight since. But Predeau outweighed him and wore metal rings on his fingers that had split the skin on Harp’s face wide open.
“I had high hopes for you, Harp,” Predeau said. “You might pretend to be noble. But inside you’re just like me.”
After months of watching the captain inflict pain on the weak purely for pleasure, Harp had grown to despise Predeau. But that night, with Kitto bleeding out in the darkness of the hold, Harp felt a hatred for the captain like nothing he’d ever experienced. It felt like a burning poison flowing through his body, and killing was the only antidote. Being compared to the vile captain was worse than an insult. It was a terrifying reminder that Harp was just a few sins away from having a rotted, irreplaceable soul.
“I’m nothing like you,” Harp said, pressing the blade harder against Predeau’s neck. The big man didn’t even flinch. Maybe Predeau was toying with Harp, the way he toyed with all his victims before he stomped the life out of them. Harp’s eyes darted from the lantern on the desk beside him to the high windowsill, trying to gauge how he was going to keep Predeau at bay long enough to lift the light to the window.
Suddenly the captain began to chuckle, a maniacal sound that made the hairs on Harp’s arm bristle.
“I know what’s keeping you, boy. You can kill me and get out alone. Or you can go for the lantern, and hope your fellows are waiting below for your signal to rise up and take my ship. But you have doubts, don’t you? They might be tucked up like little bedbugs, not caring one bit about you, the lantern, or your whore.”
Harp cursed the captain under his breath. Predeau was speaking the truth. Harp had no idea if the sailors would find the courage to step out in the brewing storm and take up arms. Predeau ruled them with an iron fist, but at least they knew what to expect every day. Once they unsheathed their swords against their master, all that lay before them was the unknown.
Who was Harp to make them choose? Shouldn’t he let them be idle in their familiar lives, as meek as fawns? Normally, he would have bowed to the slow momentum of change and done nothing. But his decision had a leyline that was guiding Harp toward the rising sun. It was Kitto who was waiting for him, like a son trusting that his father wouldn’t let him down. And, more than anything, Harp wanted Kitto to have a life.
“You’re always alone,” Predeau said in his booming voice. “There’s no one out there in the rain and wind. And if you let me go, I’ll slaughter you like a pig. Take the kill and be done with it.”
But Harp wasn’t sure he could get a kill with the blunt dagger. For all he knew, Predeau veins were made of metal, and the bastard was just baiting him. And whether the others rose up was out of his hands now. He’d given them the choice, and if they wanted to live like chattel for the rest of their lives, he couldn’t make them fight. Harp had the key to free Kitto and Liel in his pocket. He would get out, or he would die trying.
As Harp shoved Predeau’s head toward the table, he sliced the knife back against the captain’s throat. Predeau’s face slammed into the edge of the wooden tabletop, and he crashed to the floor. Harp dropped the dagger, grabbed the lantern, and hoisted it to the high window. He just had time to shove it on the ledge and leap toward the closed door before Predeau was back on his feet. With a sadistic grin, Predeau grabbed a heavy wooden chair and hurled it at Harp with no more effort than if he were throwing a bread roll to a dinner mate. Harp dodged the chair, rolling out of the way as it splintered against the wall. The impact knocked the lantern off the ledge where it smashed onto the floor into glass shards, oil, and flame.
Though the lantern was gone from the window, it should have been enough. If the sailors were in the darkness waiting, they would have seen the light and recognized Harp’s signal. Both Harp and Predeau froze, even though the fire was spreading across the floor as the lamp oil seeped into the wooden planks. All they heard was the hiss of the flames, the sails cracking in the wind, and the rain hammering against the deck.
Predeau loomed over him. “You made the wrong choice.” He raised his foot and stomped on Harp’s hand. Harp cried out at the impact. He heard a cracking noise; it felt like every one of his fingers had been broken under Predeau’s steel-toed boots. Then Harp felt a pounding vibration through the deck of the ship. The rhythmic pounding increased in volume as he heard voices shouting Predeau’s name. In two strides, Predeau crossed the cabin and threw open the door. Outside, the men stood defiantly on deck as the ship tossed in the rough waves and the rain pounded the boards. It wasn’t just Harp’s boys either, but many of the older men as well. Swords in hand, they were about to take their freedom.