Michael Sullivan - The Crown Tower

After entering, he was surprised that Vivian motioned for him to close the door. She worked at the ties of the cloak, her hands shaking. “Thank you for this,” she said when she finally got it free.

He took it from her and she rubbed her arms.

“You can keep it, if you’re still cold. I don’t mind.”

She shook her head. “No, that won’t be necessary. At least I hope not.”

Hadrian wasn’t sure what she meant.

Vivian licked her lips, then said in a whisper, “I know this will sound unusual, but then again this night can hardly be considered a common situation.” She hesitated, the cabin’s lantern casting a halo of light around her thin frame. “I don’t mind telling you, Mr. Blackwater, that I am very frightened. I fear that if I close my eyes tonight, I shall never open them again.”

“I said I’d protect you. I may seem young, but you can trust me. I’ll be right next door. If anything-”

“That’s precisely the problem. What if he blocks your door and you can’t get out? Or what if you fall asleep and don’t hear him breaking in? How long does it take to slit a throat?”

Her hand went to her neck, then lowered slowly, brushing past her breast. She took a breath, closed her eyes, and said, “I would feel much safer if you spent the night in my room.”

Hadrian raised his eyebrows.

“I can’t begin to tell you how I would appreciate it. These last few days have been the worst of my life. I’ve lost everything. My whole life and I’m certain that man is planning to kill me.” She shivered, drawing closer. “Please, it would mean so much. I’ll make certain you stay very warm tonight.” She took his hand in hers.

Hadrian narrowed his eyes. He was young, not stupid. “All right. I’ll … I’ll sit here next to the door-put my back against it, so even if I fall asleep, there’s no way anyone can get in without my knowing. How’s that?” It wasn’t a serious question. He just wanted to see her reaction.

She didn’t keep him waiting.

No stunned surprise, no frustration at his ignorance or her need to spell things out, no clumsy debate. She merely faced him and began to untie the delicate ribbons of her gown. The lantern caused her shadow to sway in a slow rhythm, side to side, keeping time to the musical creaking of the wooden vessel. Loosing her bodice, she continued to tug at the satin, working free the strained material that pulled away and revealed pale skin. Hadrian finally understood why she was always so cold-all she wore was the dress.

Vivian had stopped shivering. Any chill that the cabin originally held had burned away. Her nimble fingers no longer trembled, and her eyes never left his. “I want to thank you for spending the night with me,” she said in a breathy whisper. “I know it’s a terrible hardship. I only hope I can make your sacrifice worthwhile.”

“I don’t want to ruin the moment, but didn’t your husband just die? Murdered you said.”

“What’s your point?” Her hands were back at work, this time on his sword belt.

“I’m guessing you weren’t the faithful type.”

“The man is dead. I’m alive, and I’d like to stay that way.” She arched her back, rose on her toes, and closed her eyes.

“Then I’d get your hands off my belt.”

Her eyes opened. “What?”

“You want to tell me what’s really going on?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I-that’s the problem. Your husband wasn’t killed, was he?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean I don’t need a protector.”

“From what?”

That’s when the screams began.

Hadrian reached the deck with sword in hand, but found no one.

The cries had stopped long before he opened Vivian’s door. He had told her to lock it behind him, then raced to the deck. He listened for the scuffle of a fight, but the cries had ended decisively. There should have been the sound of boots on decking, the killer running away, but all Hadrian heard was the lap of water.

He waited.

Silence.

No, not silence-the river still spoke. For days the voice of the river breaking against the bow had been a constant frothy rush. Now the tone was different. The lapping against the hull was a lower pitch, quieter. It didn’t feel right. And that wasn’t the only change. The barge was no longer moving.

He scanned the open planking.

Nothing moved.

Hadrian walked slowly to the stern and found Samuel not far from the tiller. He was facedown in a spreading pool of blood.

Where are Sebastian and Eugene?

Hadrian had seen plenty of death. He’d killed more men than he wanted to remember but had convinced himself that each one was necessary. This was a lie-one he never actually believed, no matter how much he wanted it to be true. Still, all his fights had been on battlefields or in arenas. This was different-unprovoked butchery.

The night, which had been so tranquil, wore a new expression. Quaint swinging lanterns offered poor light and the moon showed less than half a face, giving life to a thousand silhouettes. Hadrian wasn’t afraid for himself; what had happened was over. As far as he could tell, the deck was secure, leaving only the hold and the cabins. Taking a lantern, he crept to the bow where he found the other two merchants. Both dead. Throats cut. Lying in their own blood.

A few feet from their bodies was the trapdoor leading to the hold, the padlock gone, hatch open. Hadrian peered in. Crates, sacks, bags, and boxes were tightly packed. No one waited in the shadows. Again he listened, again silence. His short sword ready, Hadrian moved through the narrow pathways that ran half the length of the barge. He found the huge trunks belonging to the merchants. They, too, were unlocked. Inside were more robes, silver plates, silverware, gold goblets, necklaces, candelabras, bowls, and crystal stemware. He also found a small chest and a strongbox. Both were open, two padlocks lying nearby. Inside, he found nothing.

Leaving everything as he found it, Hadrian climbed back onto the deck.

Everything was still quiet … and dead.

At that moment, Hadrian remembered Andrew and the fact that the barge wasn’t moving. In the dim moonlight, all he saw was the outline of the horse team illuminated by Andrew’s lantern.

Hadrian returned to the cabins.

He found the hallway as he had left it, Vivian’s door intact. He knew she would be terrified, and this time for good reason. At least he could report they were safe. The hooded man was gone.

“Unlock the door, Miss Vivian,” he said, knocking. “It’-s-”

The door creaked inward. The shock of its movement halted his breathing and set his heart pounding. Pushing it revealed the little cabin still illuminated by the lantern. The door stopped short with a dull gut-wrenching thump. All he saw beyond its edge was a hand-her hand, fingers slightly curled. Vivian lay on her stomach in a lake of blood that spilled out across the floor, soaking into the dry wood.

What if I never reach Colnora? What if he kills me right here on this barge?

Hadrian felt sick. He shook his head as he backed out, knocking it against the lantern and setting the shadows dancing around the walls.

He had promised to protect her. He had assured her she was safe.

Walking backward out of the cabin, he noticed the crimson stains he was tracking on the corridor floor.

What is it with me and death? Hundreds of miles and I’m still leaving bloody footprints.

Hadrian returned to his cabin and gathered his belongings. His one bag, comprising the accumulated wealth of his life. Hoisting it made him think of Pickles. That officer on the dock might just have saved the boy’s life. Hadrian’s great sword still hung on the wall peg. He slipped the baldric over his shoulder, centered the spadone on his back, and climbed to the deck.