David McAfee - After, Taras and Theron - Beyond Jerusalem

A satisfying crack sounded under his hand, and a thin jet of seawater shot into the hold. It turned to steam before it hit the floor, but it was a start. Theron punched the wall again, and another crack sounded through the hold. By now his fists were little more than bloody masses of pulp, and the pain of the fire at his feet made him dizzy.

His next blow went through the wood and into the water beyond, cooling the torn skin of his left hand and sending a large stream of water into his chest. The force of the water staggered him backward into the flames, but the fire sizzled and went out as the water poured over it. Theron forced his way back to the hull and punched it again, widening the hole and letting in more water. He did this several more times until the hole in the ship’s belly was big enough to accommodate his form. It would be his escape when the water pressure inside the hull evened out, but for now the cool fluid rolled through too fast for him to escape.

Theron relaxed and allowed the water to soothe his blistered skin. As the hold flooded, the fires went out, and a heavy cloud of steam replaced the smoke. He took advantage of the respite to heal his skin, which used up a great deal of his stored blood. He would need to feed again tonight to replace it, which might be a bit of a problem.

He didn’t believe for a second that the fire was an accident. He’d missed something the night before when he stopped and checked his surroundings. Someone had been watching him, and he had led that someone right to his hiding place. It couldn’t have been Ramah. The Blood Letter would never resort to fire. Though deadly even to his kind, fire was notoriously unreliable as a means of assassination. Who did that leave? Taras, perhaps? The tall Roman legionary he’d inadvertently turned in Jerusalem? Theron rejected the idea almost as soon as he thought it. Taras was an experienced assassin in his own right. He would have tried something a little less dicey.

Whoever it was, they obviously knew he was here. Which meant they were one step ahead of him. Theron would have to catch up, and soon.

He broke the surface of the water about an hour later. It had taken that long for the hull to flood enough to bring the ship down. Once the hull filled, he was able to swim through the hole he created. The water in front of him sparkled with bright orange points of light. Theron turned around and watched as the ship continued to burn even as it sank. The flames had reached the main mast and enveloped the deck from stem to stern, reaching up toward the sky and spewing sparks in every direction.

On the docks, men yelled as they ran back and forth. Several of them pointed at the burning wreckage and moaned about their lost cargo while others, mostly women, wailed about their husbands or family that were still on board. A few thought to fight the fire with buckets, but the ship was too far out and too engulfed for such a tactic to be effective. There was nothing anyone could do. The ship was lost. Two men cut the ropes securing the ship so it would not set the docks alight and the ship drifted out into the harbor, sliding lower into the water as it went. As the water reached the flames, it hissed and sent up clouds of steam, which mingled with the smoke and the sparks. Then the ship was gone, and only the tip of the mast could be seen, burning like a candle on the sea.

A few other men swam in the water around him, and he recognized the faces of some of the crewmen. He did not see the captain, which meant he had either not been aboard when the fire started or he had died on the ship. It also meant he would not have to pay him, not that he could. All his belongings, including most of the gold he brought with him from Jerusalem, now lay at the bottom of the harbor.

The money did not worry him. He still had enough in his purse to meet his needs, and he could replace what he lost easily enough with a few choice victims. In any case he had little need to purchase anything. Blood was free, and he could scrounge clothing from those upon whom he fed. He had lived quite well in Athens by using such methods nine hundred years ago, and he could do it again.

More troublesome was the fact that whoever had set the fire was most certainly watching the ship and the water around it, probably checking to see if he survived. Had they spotted him already? He hoped not. Just in case, he sank under the surface and began to swim for shore. He was able to stay hidden the entire way because he did not need to come up for air, so he chose a long route that would bring him up a few hundred yards away from the docks. If his adversary was watching, he or she would not see him leave the water.

He hoped.

He pulled himself up on the shore thirty minutes after leaving the boat. He could have surfaced sooner, but he didn’t want to be seen. Now, as he dripped seawater onto the wooden docks, he stared down the coast at the place where his ship, and his temporary sanctuary, had been. All that could be seen of the boat was the charred tip of the main mast, barely visible in the night’s gloom as it poked a few feet out of the water.

Captain Helos, if he still lived, would not be pleased.

He turned away from the sunken boat and walked into the city. No help for it now, he would have to find a meal and fortify a new sanctuary to wait out the day. Fortunately, there was no shortage of suitable victims in Athens. Theron looked back at the mast one more time. Whoever set the fire was probably watching the wreckage even now, waiting for him to surface. He should go back, try to see if he could figure out who was trying to kill him. But what if they weren’t there? Or what if they saw him first? With no safe place in the city to hide he would be exposed and vulnerable to their attack. Better to set up his sanctuary as soon as possible. He’d already lost an hour and a half of dark, so he would need to get to work. It would be a busy night. Once he had his sanctuary fortified and ready he would hunt down his pursuers and make them pay for his injuries.

The fire had cost him a great deal of blood. He’d used much of it to break free, and still more to heal his burns. He would have to find more before he could work his protective psalms over his new tunnel home. With that in mind, he took a longer route through the tavern district, looking for a drunkard or a prostitute. There were plenty of both in Athens.

Theron passed by a modest three-story structure. The front sported a wide veranda covered by a triangular roof. The veranda was built to emulate the big Parthenon building on Acropolis, with six wide fluted pillars supporting the roof. Beneath the roof was an open area with chairs, tables, and of course, women. A dozen of them sat languidly in the evening air, fanning themselves or simply removing layers of clothing to keep cool.

Several called to him as he walked by, but he paid them no attention. A brothel whore was the exception to the general ease of feeding on prostitutes. When a brothel woman disappeared, they were almost always missed. An angry madam could be a tenacious pest. The best kind of prostitute to feed upon was the unattached sort, one with no ties to anything or anyone, or even a regular clientele.

Those sorts could usually be found closer to the taverns, walking the streets looking for drunken men who needed a release. By and large, they were less attractive and dirtier than the brothel ladies, but they were cheaper. Besides, Theron didn’t choose them for how they looked or smelled, he just wanted their blood. Any of them would do.

He found a likely woman walking alone on the street near a loud and bawdy tavern. The noise of the men and women drinking inside masked the sound of her hard sandals clicking on the paved street, but there was no hiding the woman’s garish attire. Her black hair was tied back with a bright yellow scarf which hung past her shoulders, occasionally fluttering in the light breeze. A thin red blouse did little to hide her small but perky breasts. Her skirt, which matched her scarf, was cut on the side all the way to her crotch, allowing him a glimpse of her shapely buttocks every time she took a step.