Eliot Pattison - Blood of the Oak

A ghostly figure appeared in the light of the steeple. Bones dangled from the huge, angular, white body beneath a hideous, twisted face. It was an Iroquois spirit, or the closest effigy the rangers could manage in the short time they had to prepare. In the stable, the skull of a horse, found hanging on a peg at the back of the stable, had been adorned with horns of braided straw. Hung from a rope, it appeared to eerily hover over the lantern.

“Is this the night you pay the gods?” the figure by the steeple called out in the Iroquois tongue.

More whispers, some frantic, could be heard from the shadows, then quieted as Tanaqua spoke from behind a tree, only thirty feet from the house. “Brothers, come with us to the north. We will give you venison and warm robes for the winter. There is no honor in dying for these men.”

The tall Seneca who had confronted them at the cellar door appeared in the moonlight. Five others joined him, including one with a musket who had been hiding only ten feet from Tanaqua.

Muskets roared from second-floor windows, aimed at the spirit figures. One ball hit the bell, raising a clear, solitary peal that lingered over the silent town. Angry voices rose from inside the house. A familiar figure leaned out as he saw the Senecas fleeing down the street.

“Damned cowards!” Teague boomed from the window. “I’ll harvest every one of y’er scalps, damned ye to hell!” He fired a musket and one of the Senecas cried out in pain, holding his shoulder. His companions grabbed him and quickly pulled him into an alley.

The men in the house were prepared for a battle, but the rangers and Iroquois did not fight battles, they fought skirmishes with short, stealthy attacks. More second-story windows opened, and more muskets appeared, accompanied by angry curses as marines discovered their flints were missing. A rifle cracked from the stable, another from a tree, each wounding a man in the windows, who were angrily pushed aside as more of Teague’s men returned the fire. Duncan was not worried, for his companions were trained to always move after firing a shot.

One of Teague’s men darted out of the front door and was instantly rendered unconscious by Ononyot, who materialized out of the shadows by the door. Another man made the mistake of leaning out a first-floor window and was instantly pulled out, headfirst, by Hyanka.

Duncan, Murdo, and three rangers entered through the kitchen and warily approached the central hallway, where two of Teague’s ruffians stood with muskets aimed at the front door. A shadow darted past Duncan, and Kuwali slammed a broom onto the back of the nearest man then disappeared into the darkened dining room.

“Goddamned little piece of manure!” the man spat and leapt after the boy. The broom handle shot out, tripping him, and Duncan heard the ring of an iron skillet on his skull. Analie appeared, victoriously waving her weapon from the kitchen. Kuwali and the girl had refused to stay on the sloop. The man remaining by the stairway backed into the pistol held by Trent. “Nice and gently now,” the former overseer said in a whimsical voice as he reached for the musket. “The party’s almost over and it’d be a pity to leave blood on the floor for folks to slip on.”

The man yielded, and was led away to be bound with the other captives. Duncan and Tanaqua cautiously ascended the stairs. The chamber at the top, apparently used as a small ballroom, echoed with the retort of another musket aimed out the window.

Duncan spoke to the man who had just fired. “Sergeant, there are a dozen men out there who would rejoice at the chance of balancing their score with you. Surrender now and you will survive.”

The sergeant spun about and reached into his cartridge box but his hand came out empty. “Fix bayonets!” he screeched.

Duncan’s heart sank as the treacherous blades were dutifully clicked into place, then a hand was on his shoulder. Woolford, in his captain’s uniform, pushed past. He casually set his cap on a chair. “Ensign?” he addressed the young officer who stepped past the sergeant. “It is ensign I believe?”

The officer gave a nervous nod.

“I am a captain in the king’s infantry. You are a naval ensign seconded to the Virginia water militia.” Woolford made a wide gesture toward the windows and the town beyond. “Perhaps you have noticed that you are on dry land. In the colony of Maryland.”

The ensign glanced up the stairs that led to the third-floor bedrooms. He did not take his hand off his sword.

“These men,” Woolford continued, “are irregulars under my command. What you do next is going to be one of the great decisions of your life. You can die. Or you take my order to stand down and walk away.”

Murdo spoke sharply, in Gaelic, and two of the marines lowered their muskets.

“There’s a barn across the street,” Woolford stated. “Take your men there. Leave your firearms here for now. Get some sleep. Don’t come out until I send word.”

The ensign’s hand slowly dropped from the hilt of his sword. He cast another uncertain glance up the stairs, then gave another command in a low, hoarse voice. The sergeant, his temper fueled hotter by the order, leapt forward, his bayonet aimed at Duncan’s belly, and was promptly dropped to the floor by the butt of Woolford’s pistol. His men removed their bayonets, picked up the sergeant, and followed the ensign down the stairs.

Teague was nowhere to be seen, but Duncan had lost interest in the Irishman. He and Woolford both moved toward the stairs to the third floor but Duncan held up a hand. “No. Only me.”

He quickly climbed to the next level and pushed open the only door that showed light. Sarah Ramsey stood by a table in the center of the room. A huge weight seemed to lift from his heart. But then he paused, confused by the fear on her face.

The door was slammed shut behind him and Lieutenant Kincaid stepped out of the shadows, a heavy horse pistol aimed at Duncan.

“What opportunities America provides!” Kincaid exclaimed. He pushed the latch to lock the door then cocked the pistol. “The two things Lord Ramsey wants most in all the world! His insolent daughter off to be broken by some Yorkshire bulldog and the one man he is obsessed with destroying, both right in front of me. Not dead, he told us. McCallum may be broken but not dead, that was the order if we found you. He is a man of vast appetites, your father,” Kincaid said with a glance at Sarah. The gun was fixed on Duncan’s heart. “He reads books about the Crusaders. There was a torture used by the Saracens. The death of a hundred days. The lord has read the passage to us, at more than one of his dinners. So elaborate. It involves starving and hanging by the arms on a special apparatus that will carry the weight so the shoulders don’t break right away.” Kincaid gave a high-pitched, snorting laugh. “Ingenious really. Then slices of skin are removed from the lower body, day by day. There was something about hot wires pressed into the flesh and needles thrust into the privates, under the fingernails, then in the tongue and eyes. I think he has the passage memorized, like it was his personal Gospel.”

“If you have touched her-” Duncan said in a voice savage with anger.

“Look at her!” Kincaid stepped closer, his gun still steady on Duncan as he lifted one of Sarah’s curls. “Exquisite in every detail! How could she not be touched! She’s made to be touched! Did I tell you I am to accompany her across the ocean? Adjoining cabins, though hers will be kept locked to all but me. I am authorized to administer doses to keep her quiet. Imagine that! I shall touch her, McCallum, I promise you. You’ll be strung up in some Jamaican barn, begging to die, and I will be with Miss Ramsey, doing my duty. That impoverished woolmonger, her future husband, would never complain, given the size of the dowry he is getting.”