Waterwitch

[Keeper]

Edgar King suddenly rushed out of the darkness into the relatively bright brig with a guttural roar and his machete raised high. Clough was the nearest man. He had been talking to Laurance with his back to the passageway. The roar made him jump, his body tensing up and he ducked away from the approaching sound.
Laurance reacted slowly too and before he could get his pistol out of his belt King was almost on top of him.
Instinctively Laurance backed away his hands raising in surrender.

Burrows and Shmitty were both quicker off the mark, getting their rifles to aim roughly in King's direction. King reached out with one meaty paw and dragged Clough in front of him like a shield, but his men were already rushing past him, their own rifles aimed, with yells for Wade's men to drop their weapons. Laurance reacted by thrusting his hands higher and Burrows backed into the bars of the cell holding his Lee-Enfield out to one side. Shmitty gripped his weapon like it was a life line, his eyes seeking out each man for an opening.
"Go on Shmitty," King said in his deep booming voice. "Give me one damned ex..."
His words were cut off by the thunderous, deafening retort of a rifle and King staggered forward, the wicked machete wavering.
After a few paces the black man dropped to his knees, the blade clattering noisily to the ground, then he fell forward, managing to get one arm forward to support him momentarily before he finally lay on the cold steel deck.
"Drop the guns," Jim Muldridge's voice said from the far end of the passage, his own rifle pointed at King's stunned companions.

They surrendered their weapons.

[Keeper]

Suddenly there was another figure in the doorway, he was suited like a toff and carried a very un-toff-like knife in one hand.
Brewer reacted quickly, his rifle changing position to aim at the already moving man. He was quick but this other man was quicker.

Lord Reynolds rushed into his brother’s cabin, his free hand knocking the barrel of Brewer’s Lee Enfield to one side and the knife describing an arc through the air with the aim of slashing across the nasty little man’s face. He needed to incapacitated Brewer so that he could deal with the other man in here. Brewer was either very quick in his reactions or blessed by some remote god of weasely little people, Reynolds thought, as his blade passed several inches short of its target.

Brown had been stunned by the sudden events, especially as a fountain of blood from Lipton’s lacerated throat had sprayed up his front and over his face. But now he saw the glint of the knife in their attackers hand and his own self-preservation instinct kicked in.
Raising his rifle he meant to shoot the man but a dull thunk on the stock of his weapon which was followed instantly by something that felt like someone had hit it with a hammer. His shot was forced well wide of the mark.

Reynolds grabbed the barrel of Brewer’s rifle and yanked hard at the same time he brought his knee up into the man’s groin. It had a satisfying meaty feel and Brewer instantly crumpled.
Looking down at his opponent, Reynolds was mildly surprised it had worked buthis attention was quickly drawn to the other man.
Brown had recovered from the mysterious blow to his weapon and was looking wide-eyed out of the doorway.

Reynolds seized the moment and crossed the room rapidly. The movement caught Brown’s eye and he reacted by bringing his rifle up to block the attack.
This was not Davie Brown’s first fight and it showed. He deftly parried the rifle aside, Reynolds had hold of the barrel and was now using it like a club, and Brown countered, wielding his own rifle like a quarterstaff.
Any normal man would have had his teeth knocked out as the butt of Brown’s Lee Enfield smashed into their face, but Reynolds was quick on his feet and he leaned backwards just in time to avoid the blow.
Brown considered himself lucky as the miss had left his right side exposed but the Baron’s deft dodge had put him off balance and unable to cash in on the advantage. That was when the blow came, hammering into his kidney and threatening to buckle his legs.
Something Davie Brown could not have known was that Lord Sebastian Reynolds was never off-balance.

Brown staggered away from Reynolds, experienced enough to know to keep his guard up.
Reynolds used the space to spin his rifle around and point the business end at Brown.

A shrill voice called out, “Uncle Seb, look out!”
Reynolds turned to look in the voice’s direction and from the corner of his eye saw movement behind him, down low.
He dodged forward, annoyed that he had forgotten about Brewer, but he was not quick enough to avoid the bite of the blade he had thrust at him. It cut deep into his thigh.

Reynolds grunted in pain and staggered, pulling away and glaring at Brewer. He could feel blood soaking his trouser leg.

[Keeper]

Jim Mudridge cautiously approached the inert form of Edgar King and prodded him with the barrel of his rifle soliciting a groan from the big black man.
Muldridge gave an appreciative huff upon seeing that the engineer was still alive. He didn’t dislike the man, in fact he knew how good an engineer he was and how valuable such a man would be to a ship like this. He thought it a pity that he might die.
Ordering the other ‘bilge-rats’ to drag King into the cell – carefully – he closed and re-locked the door.

Gecko stepped up, his nose pressed against the bars almost. “I’ll see you swing for this James, that’s a promise,” he snarled.
Muldridge shrugged. “Guess I’ll have to make sure you’re a gonner before you get out of that cell then, hey, Mister Gecko,” he smiled falsely at the vessel’s executive officer.

[Keeper]

Reynolds avoided the temptation to examine his wound and instead concentrated on his opponents.
Jabbing backwards with his purloined rifle he slammed the butt down at Brewer who managed to lean away and take the blow to his thigh rather than his head as Reynolds had intended. He still yelped like a girl.

Brown took the opportunity to rush Reynolds but once more the Peer dodged away, this time hobbling slightly.
He shoved brown sideways sending the man sprawling over the back of the settee.

“Enough of this!” came a shrill order from the doorway. Paige Holt was there, in the doorway, her hands steadily holding the evil looking pistol that Reynolds had given her. The weapon was pointed at Brown and then at Brewer and back to Brown again.
“Don’t bother picking that rifle up,! She told Brown.

Davie Brown sneered but refrained from reaching for his weapon. Instead he raised his hands in surrender.

The captain’s daughter regarded Reynolds briefly. “You ok?” she asked.

“I’ll live,” Reynolds replied with a slight shrug of his shoulders. He glanced down at the man who had stood in the open doorway and was glad the lighting was so dim. He wouldn’t want the children to see what Uncle Seb had done.

[Keeper]

Blood pounded through Jonah Brewer’s ears, deafening him to all other sounds. His heart hammered in his chest.
Face to face, punching, slashing, mauling combat was not something Brewer liked to get involved with, not unless he was guaranteed to win.
But he had just witnessed a man’s throat opened, right in front of him and had then fought with the assailant. He felt that he had handled the situation well… he was still alive, and was pleased with himself. He’d even managed to stick the toff and he grinned inanely at the darkening stain upon the peers suit trousers.
The blood, the rush, meant that Brewer didn’t hear Reynolds telling him to help Brown drag the body out of the cabin.

Paige Holt smacked him across the head, the grip of the pistol connecting with a loud thud on Brewer’s skull.
Brewer stooped forward and shot his gaze up towards his assailant, absolute hatred and contempt pouring from every pore.

“I said,” Paige snarled, “help get this body out of here, NOW!” she yelled the last word and Brewer flinched and shuffled along to stand beside Brown who held one of the dead man’s legs.
Sneering at Paige, Brewer grabbed the corpse’s other leg and shuffled backwards out through the doorway escorted by the ever watchful barrel of that wicked looking gun.
Never one to miss an opportunity to save his own skin at someone else’s expense, Brewer waited for Brown to step over the body and back into the cabin before he stepped in behind him and shoved hard. Brown staggered forward into the captain’s daughter.
Instantly Brewer sprinted off towards the end of the passageway.

Paige let out a little scream as Brown stumbled into her.
Wade’s man at first tried to back away but then he saw an advantage and made a grab for Paige’s weapon.
She resisted, catching in the ear with her elbow as he arms flailed about.
Snarling and angry, Brown lashed out, striking Piage a thunderous blow to her cheek.
She crumbled.
Brown plucked the gun from her hand as she fell. “Bitch!” he cursed.
“Hey!” said a calm voice off to his side.
Brown turned to see the side of a rifle butt swinging in at his head.
Reynolds had swung the thing like a baseball bat, all his might powering the wooden stocked weapon in a lethal arc.
Brown was plucked off his feet as the blow hit home.
The wooden butt splintered with the force of the impact and was the last thing Davie Brown ever saw.

Ignoring the twitching body, Reynolds knelt and took Paige Holt’s head in his hands so that he could look into her eyes.
“Are you hurt badly?” he asked softly.
After a moment her eyes focussed on him and he felt her shake her head, no.
“Sorry, Lord Reynolds” she apologised, “I let Brewer get away.
“Don’t worry, Mr Brewer cannot go very far. None of them can,” Reynolds said with a fire in his eyes that made Paige shiver.

“Oh and…,” he added as he stood and tucked the deadly pistol into his belt, “…call me Jimmy.”

[Keeper]

A deep groan of pain from Edgar King drew everyone’s attention, both inside and outside the cell.
First Officer Grecko’s jaw clenched in anger and he turned his gaze immediately upon Jim Muldridge.
Muldridge caught the glare but wasn’t quick enough to prevent the man seeing the guilty expression upon his own face.
“What?” Muldridge hissed defensively.
“What indeed?” Captain Holt said, an edge to his voice but his anger held in check.
Muldridge frowned questioningly at Holt.
“What are you going to do Mr Muldridge? Are you going to let Mr King bleed a slow agonising death, right here in front of our eyes?”
Muldridge locked eyes with Holt for a while before finally turning his gaze towards Shmitty. “Go get the doc.”
“Vot?” the German asked astonished.
“Now Hartfield’s dead he’s the best engineer on board,” Muldridge replied.
It wasn’t enough for Shmitty but a glare from Muldridge made the German huff and stomp petulantly down the darkened corridor.
“Thank you Mr Muldridge,” Holt said.
This time Muldridge couldn’t look the captain in the eye.

[Keeper]

Jonah Brewer sprinted through the passageways of the Waterwitch as though the devil himself were snapping at his heels. And having witnessed Reynolds in action, Brewer wasn’t so sure he was that wrong in the description.
He reached the ladder up to the bridge deck and took it in such a rush that he lost his footing and scraped his shin heavily on one of the rungs.
Cursing loudly he moved on, then yelped as he came face to face with the muzzle of a rifle.
“Bloody hell, Brewer, you prick!” Bill Guthry cursed as he lowered his weapon. “Announce yersel’ next time or I might shoot first an’ ask later! Anyhow, what are you doin’ here?”
Brewer was shaking with adrenaline, his breaths coming in great heaving gasps. He tried to speak but couldn’t get the words out.
“Come on Brewer, you gimp! Spit it out man!” Guthry impatiently gruffed, his face showing a more than a hint of disgust and annoyance.
Eventually brewer managed to get his breathing under some sort of control. “I have to tell… Mr Wade… what’s happened,” he gasped.
Guthry shrugged. “Tell me,” he offered.
“No, I need to speak to Mr Wade.” Brewer made to pass Guthry but the man barred his way with the rifle so Brewer stopped. “Let me by, Willaim,” he said injecting as much authority into his voice as he could muster.
“Ooo,” cooed Guthry. “Listen to you getting’ all demandin’,” he added in a mocking tone.
Then Guthry leaned in closer to Brewer and in a low, dangerous voice said, “Don’t you be givin’ me orders, Jonah!”
Brewer heard all kinds of threats in just those few words. Swallowing hard he called out, “Mr Wade?” Loud enough for anyone on the bridge to hear.

[Keeper]

Nestor Wade appeared at the doorway looking to Brewer as though he had aged a decade. His eyes, although maintaining their usual malevolence, were ringed with dark shadows.
“You’d better have a damn good reason for being here, Brewer. When I give you an order to be somewhere, you damn-well be there! I’m not going to run this boat soft like Holt did, I expect complete obedience from my crew, you got it?”
Wade had barked the words at Brewer, the weasel y little man flinching with every one. His mind went blank and his mouth dry, his tongue sticking to the top of his mouth. “Sorry, Mr Wade,” he croaked.
“Sorry?” Wade fumed. “We’re trying to take this boat, Brewer! We can’t rightly do that with you wandering around and not being where you’re meant to be, now can we?”
His accusing eyes bore into Brewer’s soul and the younger man knew that Wade was looking to lash out at someone, probably anyone.
“But…” Brewer said.
“Bloody hell, Jonah! Don’t ‘but’ me! I want you lookin’ after the toff’s family and if you see that bastard Reynolds, you sit tight and send Davie along to fetch me.”
“I can’t!” Brewer almost wailed the words like they pained him to say.
Rage threatened to consume Wade and he closed the gap between them I almost a single bound. He grabbed Brewer by the collars of his grubby white shirt and slammed him into the bulkhead.
“Don’t you go tellin’ me you can’t do as I ask, Brewer. We got men out there who are fighting for us. They might even be dyin’ for us, so by god you’ll do as I say.”
Jonah’s chin and bottom lip started quivering and wade was about to give the man a whack for being so pitiful but a sudden change in Brewer’s expression, one of abject defiance, stayed his hand.
Uncharacteristically Brewer shoved hard at Wade’s chest, pushing the man backwards.
“Davie’s dead, Nestor. He’s dead!”
Wade blinked in surprise and stood in silence for a moment, running his fingers through his hair nervously.
He took a deep breath to calm himself.
“ alright, Jonah,” he said, his voice calm but still carrying a hidden threat to never do that again.
“Come in here and tell me what happened.”
Wade led Brewer onto a very dark bridge.
Brewer noticed that none of the equipment was powered up, not even the orange-red bulbs that showed there to be power available were lit.
He assumed correctly that the engine room had cut the circuit. There were a few ether-gas lanterns dotted around illuminating the bridge just enough to navigate, and were casting deep shadows acoss most of the compartment.
“Speak,” Wade ordered once he had settled into Holt’s old chair.
“Well,” Brewer started nervously, “It was him!” he added, blurting out the words in a shriek.
Wade didn’t need to ask who. He could see the fear on Brewers face, could see that Brewer was looking to him for protection, could tell by the way Brewer almost hissed the word ‘him’ tht he meant ‘your nemesis’. He knew it had been Reynolds. Not the prisoner, the younger brother, but His Haughtyness himself, Lord Toffee-Nosed Bastard.
“Tell me what happened,” Wade said and cold and deadly edge to his voice.
So Brewer explained. He told Wade about Lipton’s arrival, about the blood, the ferocious attack by Reynolds. How he murdered Gerald Lipton, took down Brown, how Paige Holt was with him. He told Wade how he had sliced Reynolds’ leg with his knife and grinned like a schoolboy because Wade liked that bit.
Wade sat perched on the edge of the captain’s chair. Even after Brewer had finished talking he remained there, his face one of brooding anger, but the silence made Brewer self-conscious.
The younger man ran his fingers through dark, lank hair, nervously waiting for some sort of reaction from Wade.

Wade knew that Brewer was hanging onto his every movement and let him stew for a few minutes longer. He was angry, not at Brewer any more, he knew just what sort of man Brewer was, just how weak he could be both physically, and mentally. And he knew that Brewer could never hope to stand up against him, or someone like Reynolds either.
He wasn’t even angry at Reynolds for killing Lipton and Brown because that would have meant that he would have needed to care about them in the first place. Even though they were very usefl allies and tools, he just simply didn’t care enough about them to get angry about their deaths.
No, he was angry because he was afraid. He had assumed that Reynolds the toff was nothing more than a title, someone who used his privileged position to his own advantage better than most of his sort. He had even thought that Brewer’s description of Reynolds’ actions back in Canada had been greatly exaggerated. But now Reynolds had reappeared and wrought havoc already.

Wade noticed that Guthrey and a few others had also been listening to Brewers tale and they were watching him intently to see how he reacted.
He was stuck, there was no way out for Wade other than open confrontation with Reynolds. Wade had to prove himself the better man in the eyes of his crewmen.
Wade wasn’t afraid of a good punch-up, but only when he knew he had an advantage.
It was now the unknown. Reynolds’ other, darker side that worried him. Wade considered the one-on-one option and thought better of it.
“Bill,” he called, summoning Guthrey.
“Yes, Nestor?” Guthrey said as he arrived beside the self-proclaimed captain, staring challengingly at Brewer.
The young man frowned at what he considered an over-familiarity but said nothing.
“Bill, you heard what Brewer said, right?”
“Yep.”
“We need to put a stop to him.”
“Aye,” Guthrey affirmed with a curt nod.
“There’s too many of us to take on all on his own, wouldn’t you say?” Wade prompted.
“Aye, reckon so,” Guthrey answered cautiously.
“The toff will surely go for help, especially as Brewer claims to have winged him,” Wade surmised.
“Makes sense,” Guthrey agreed nodding again.
“Where will he go?”
Guthry shrugged. “Well, he woulda heared you say you got the old captain prisoner, and Paige is with ‘im so she’ll probably talk about her father. Reynolds is no dullard so he’ll work out you sent Holt to the brig. His other choice will be the engine room. He’ll see the power’s off and figure the engine room boys are against you… so either o’ them two.”
Wade paced back and forth, his head bowed in thought, hands clasped behind his back, his heels clunking on the steel deck. His head snapped up as he came to a decision.
“He’ll go for the brig. Toff’ sense of justice and authority figures and stuff,” Wade announced turning to face Guthrey.
“Bill I’m leaving you here, I’m going to the brig myself.”
“But that’s dangerous, Mr Wade,” Brewer piped up.
Wade frowned at him. “Yes, thank you, Jonah, I’m aware of the situation.”
He closed on Brewer, his face furious, grabbing the scrawny man by the lapels and shoving him hard against the bulkhead. “You mean it’s dangerous ‘cos of HIM? Because of Reynolds? You think I’m nothing? You think he’s more dangerous than ME?” he almost screamed the last word.
“No, no, Mr Wade,” Brewer whimpered like a frightened child.
Wade grinned at him, an evil, sadistic twist to his mouth, lacking any joy or mirth. “You damn well better believe it, Jonah.”
He released Brewer from his grasp and turned on his heel. “C’mon Shils,” he said summoning one of the two other men on the bridge to follow him as he stalked out of the room.

Bill Guthrey shot Brewer a withering, disgusted look, like someone would give a pile of og’s mess they’d just found in the middle of the neatly trimmed garden.
Then he ignored him as he gave orders to the remaining crewman to guard the stairs.

Brewer could not hide the hatred he felt for Guthrey and was physically shaking from Wade’s sudden attack. He dithered for few moments before creeping away to hide in the little day room at the back of the bridge. He closed the door and found himself in complete darkness. Feeling his way around the desk to the chair he slumped into it and began to quietly cry.

[Keeper]

Dr Baird was a tall man, lean, his face gaunt looking, although he had looked that way for most of his life, healthy or otherwise. His hair was greying and thinning and receding but he didn’t mind. At sixty four he was glad that that was his only real complaint. Well, that and not being some filthy rich Harley Street consultant. Even then, he wasn’t sure he could put up with all the simpering toffs, moaning about minor or even fictitious ailments.
No, upon reflection the Doc was happy here amongst this bunch of misfits. Although he wasn’t overly happy with them at this point in time.
It was bad enough that poor Lilly had managed to get herself in trouble, he had very little equipment here to help him deal with someone in a comatose state.
But now Wade had gone and started this lunacy!

Every now and then the deep rumbles of gunfire would reach him and he wondered if the result would and up here, or a deck below in the morgue, to join Hartfield in eternal rest?

A faint moan stopped the doctor as he stacked bandages and dressing packs on the table beside his treatment bed.
He glanced over his shoulder and saw Lilly May Buxley moving. Not quite awake yet, but very nearly.

It took several minutes for Lilly to properly regain consciousness, during which time the doctor sat patiently in the gloomy light cast by a single oil lamp perched on the table alongside the old steel sink where he washed his equipment.
He was amazed that no one had come to get him yet, not one soul. There had to be injuries, serious ones too. Gunfire had echoed and boomed through the boat for nearly a half hour now.

Lilly groaned, sighed, rubbed at her eyes and eventually sat up.
“Welcome back,” the doctor grinned.
Both jumped when the door was abruptly shoved open.

[Keeper]

“I want to come with you,” Paige whispered in Reynolds’ ear.
The baron shook his head slowly. “No, Paige, it’s too risky. Lock yourself in here until I come back.”
Paige pouted but Reynolds insisted she stay put. He moved closer to her so that only she could hear him. “Paige, please do this for me?”
The young woman fidgeted, her breath hot on his cheek as she sighed heavily and nodded her obedience.
Reynolds hefted a rifle and tried it out for size. He decided against it – he’d never been one for shooting the things – pheasants with a double-barrelled twelve-gauge, no problem, but rifles he’d never given much time to.
As he checked his own weapons were where he wanted them to be he moved towards the door. Paige reached out with both hands grabbing his wrist and stopping him.
Reynolds glanced in his sister-in-law’s direction, conscious of this open show of affection. She wasn’t watching.
“Sebastian,” she said breathlessly.
He liked the way his name sounded coming from her.
“Be careful,” she said in response to his inquiring look.
His grin came easily.
“I mean it,” she implored, “these people are dangerous. Wade is… insane.”
“I can handle it, Paige, I promise you. I’ll be back.”
He made to move away but she held on to his arm tightly.
Smiling he stepped closer, his free hand slipping behind her back drawing her closer still.
He pressed his lips to hers in a passionate embrace until she had to pull away giddily.
The flush of her cheeks made Reynolds chuckle.
Then he left, but not before catching the amused but not disapproving glint in his sister-in-law’s eyes.

Closing the door behind himself he waited to hear the lock being clicked into place. The smile immediately faded.

Nestor Wade had someone new and far more dangerous to contend with now, for it was not Sebastian Reynolds, but Jimmy Ambrose who walked away into the dark passageway.