Sam quivered with delight. He was in great danger, but at the moment that meant nothing. By the Providence that did not exist, events had worked out perfectly. Whatever he had suffered, it was worth it—well, almost worth it. To have his greatest enemy, the only person he had ever really hated, in his power! And in such strange circumstances! Even John, when he awoke, would not be more surprised than he. Truth was stranger than fiction, and he could go on quoting many more cliches.
He pressed the light switch plate with one hand, the pistol held in the other. The ceiling globes shed a flickering light. John groaned, and his eyelids fluttered. Sam tapped him not too lightly on the head again. He did not want to kill him or to damage his brain overly much. John had to have all his senses operating one hundred percent. Otherwise, he wouldn't appreciate to the fullest what had happened to him.
Sam opened the drawers of a chest attached to the bulkhead.
He withdrew some of the thin semitransparent cloths used as brassieres. With these he tied John's hands together behind his back and then bound his feet together. Puffing and grunting, he dragged the unconscious man to a chair bolted to the deck. Managing to get the heavy body onto the chair, he tied John's hands to the rungs of the back. Then he went into the head, drank two cups of water from the faucet, and filled a third cup. As this was done, the faucet rattled, and the flow thinned to a trickle. The water pump had suddenly quit.
Sam returned to the main cabin and threw the water in John's face. John gasped, and his eyelids opened. For a minute, he did not seem to know where he was. Then, recognizing Samuel Clemens, his eyes opened fully, and he drew in his breath with a harsh noise as if he had been struck in the pit of his stomach. Where his skin was not covered with smoke, it became gray-blue.
"Yes, it's me, John."
Sam grinned widely.
"You can't believe it, can you? But you'll get used to the idea in a moment. Though you won't like getting used to it."
John croaked, "Water!"
Sam looked into the red-shot eyes. Despite his hatred, he felt sorry for John. Not sympathy, just pity. After all, he wouldn't let a rabid dog suffer, would he?
He shook his head. "The water is all gone."
"I'm dying of thirst," John said hoarsely.
Sam snarled, "Is that all you can think about after what you've done to me? After all these years?"
John said, "Satisfy my thirst, and I'll satisfy yours."
His skin had recovered its normal color, and his eyes looked steadily into Sam's. Knowing John, Sam could see what strategy the cunning fellow had already formulated. He would talk reasonably to his captor, would talk quietly and logically, would appeal to his humanity, and would, in the end, avoid execution.
The hell of it, Sam realized, was that John would succeed.
The anger was draining out of him now. The thirty-three years of vengeance fantasies were blown away like farts in a high wind.
What was left was a man who was basically Christian, though a howling atheist, to use a phrase applied to him by one of his Terrestrial enemies.
He should have shot John in the head the moment he had turned on the light. He should have known what would happen if he did not. But he could not kill a man who was unconscious. Not even King John, whose blood he had lusted for all these years and who had been tortured so ingeniously and so excruciatingly in his daydreams. Never in his night-time dreams. Then it was John who was about to do something to a paralyzed or hopelessly trapped Sam Clemens. Or, mostly, it was Erik Bloodaxe who was about to be revenged upon him.
Sam grimaced and went back into the head. As he suspected, the shower pipes contained enough water for several cupfuls. He drank one and filled a second. Returning to the cabin, he put the cup to his captive's lips and tilted it as the man drank. John smacked his lips and sighed.
"Another, please?"
"Another! Please?" Sam said loudly. "Are you crazy! I just gave you one so you'll be able to stand up to what I'm going to do to you!"
John smiled briefly. He was as undeceived as his captor.
Knowing that infuriated Sam so much that he almost became capable of doing what he had threatened. The anger ebbed swiftly, leaving him with the pistol upraised to strike.
John's smile faded, but only because he did not wish to push Sam too far.
"Why are you so sure of yourself, of me?" Sam said. "Do you think I wouldn't have blasted you out of the water, sunk you to hell, watched you drown, and shoved you away if you had tried to get aboard?"
"Of course," John said. "But that was in the heat of battle. You won't torture me, much as you'd like to do so. Nor will you shoot me in cold blood."
"But you'd do all that to me, wouldn't you, you heartless bastard?"
John smiled.
Sam started to reply, then closed his mouth. The uproar in the passageway had suddenly stopped. John also started to say something, but at a sign from/'Sam he stopped. Apparently, he knew that if he tried to yell, he would regret it. His enemy was not that soft.
Minutes passed. Sam stood by the door, his ear against it, one eye on John. Now he could hear the faint voices of men. These cabins were soundproofed, so there was no determining how far away the voices were. He went back to John and placed a cloth over his mouth, tying it tightly behind his head.
"Just in case," he said. "But if you do manage to shout for help, I'll be forced to shoot you. Remember that."
And I hope you do cry out, he thought.
He turned off the light, unlocked the door, and pushed it slowly out, holding the pistol in his other hand. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. There were more bodies than there had been before. He looked cautiously around the door and down the corridor. Still more bodies. It looked as if the fight had progressed down it to the other side and on out. The handgun firing had ceased sometime during the struggle. It was replaced by the ring of blade on blade. And the distant din was composed only of voices and metal clash. It seemed that both sides had run out of ammunition.
He did not see how the numerically smaller boarders could hold out for long against his own people. He'd wait a little while to make sure that it was safe to emerge with his prisoner.
But, wasn't he rationalizing? Wasn't it his duty to get out there and lead his people? Yes, it was. But what about his prisoner?
That was easy. He would lock John in the cabin with the key now hanging by the door. Then he'd look for his crew. It wouldn't be difficult to find it. A good part would be where the noise was.
He returned to the cabin, shut the door, and turned on the light. John looked curiously at him.
"It's just about over," Sam said. "Your crew's about cleaned out. I'm going now, but I'll be back soon. And sometime in the future you'll be on trial."
He paused. John's expression did not change. Gurgling sounds came from behind the gag. Evidently, he wanted to speak. But what could he say? Why waste time?
"I don't want it said that I am not fair or that I am too personally involved to be just," Sam said. "So, you'll get a trial. It won't be by your peers. How many kings are running loose out there or within easy call? But it'll have a jury of twelve good men and true. That's only a phrase, since the ladies'll be represented too.
"Anyway, you'll get a fair hearing, and you can pick your own defense lawyer. I'll abide by the verdict, I won't even act as judge. Whatever the jury says, I'll go along with it."
Mangled words came through the gag.
"You can have your say at the proper time," Sam said. "Meantime, you can sit here and meditate on your sins."