Author's Note: Yes, it has been an unforgivably long time, but now this chapter is finished. And it's upwards of 3000 words this time, so I hope it'll be worth it. (Lots more action than the last one.) It does end kind of strangely, but the next update will not take nearly as long. I promise it won't – like a week at most. But this is the pivotal chapter in my story, so hopefully it will be more worthwhile than the last one. Happy New Year everyone!
Chapter 15: The Opportune Moment
"A witch?" asked Elizabeth incredulously, "Where on earth did he get that idea?"
The three of us were seated at a small table in the back of the tavern, where we could speak freely without being overheard.
"I'm not sure," I said, "I wonder if he really believes it, or if he's just using that threat to make the lawmen hunt for me?"
"That's a fair question," said Will thoughtfully, "Perhaps it's all just a ruse – I doubt he would really think that, knowing you as well as he does."
"He doesn't know me well at all," I protested.
But of course that was beside the point. I was now being hunted by more than just Covington: lawmen were after me, men whose faces I didn't know, and worse I was on an island I'd never been to before where I wouldn't know where to go to avoid them. That very evening I snuck aboard the ship again, this time in search of Eric. I found him curled up sleeping next to one of the massive coils of line just inside the hull. I knelt down next to him and prodded him gingerly. He started, his wide eyes popping open in shock, but when he saw my face he relaxed again, if only a little.
"Is something wrong, Miss Abigail?" he asked warily.
"Nothing apart from what you told me this morning," I answered, "But I need you to tell me where Covington has gone. You need not worry about your position – your superiors will never know I was here. Now tell me where I might find him."
Eric protested, insisting that I ought to leave the island and escape Covington's grasp while I still could. But in one or two slips he made reference to a place where he was most adamant that I not go, and so I knew that it was there that I could find my accuser. I thanked him for his time, and left the ship once more.
On my way to the place Eric had implied, I found myself musing on the idea of my being a witch. A witch! Who would have guessed it? Covington would have more luck sending out a search for a pirate, certainly. But then I recalled the last time I had seen him, the night he had threatened me. The look of shocked cowardice came back to me, and I saw his face before me, frightened and frozen, as if he was caught in a spell. And then I understood: he did believe. Elizabeth was right; he had thought up another story to believe, and it had nothing to do with the real truth of the matter. Of course I was a witch; there was no way he could allow himself or others to believe that he had been cowed into submission by a woman, and so there was no other explanation than that I had bewitched him. It was so ludicrous, and yet so simple. In fact, the more I thought about it the more I saw the plainness in this twisted logic. I must have bewitched him into letting me get away; how else could he have let such a thing happen? It made perfect sense. And then I began to panic.
But there was no time for that now – I had reached the building, an inn. It was built like a large tavern, but it had a slightly more aristocratic air about it. Perhaps it was the shape of the iron grates that held the candles lining the doorway in front, or perhaps it was the gilded frames around the windows, but it definitely set itself apart as an important building. I looked up; there, at the edge of one of the windows, but a small ledge that probably wouldn't hold the weight of a grown man, but perhaps a young girl such as myself. It would be risky to try it, but I had to get inside the building somehow, and something told me barging straight through the front door was not the best way to go about it. Just beside the window was a drainpipe that I could use for leverage, and the logs that held the building together were roughly-cut enough for me to climb. But there was that ledge to think about; what if I was wrong about the weight? I gazed up at it for several moments, my heart pounding at the imagined sensation of falling from such a height. I glanced to my left and then my right, just to ensure that no one was watching and then resolutely tossed my knapsack up onto the window ledge. There; now I had no choice but to follow it.
I latched onto the sturdy woodwork and began climbing. I hadn't far to go, but I reminded myself not to look down; instead I fixed my gaze on my destination, only parting with it to find my next hold. The wood was a little slick from a recent shower, and gave under my weight just a bit, but I held on. I had to keep moving – that was the only way to ensure that I wouldn't fall. When I reached the window I grabbed onto the drainpipe to push myself onto the narrow ledge, only praying it was sturdy enough to hold me. The wood creaked as I crept on top of it; I reached up to grab the edge of the surrounding frame, willing the ledge to support me for just a little while longer. I picked up the knapsack again with my other hand and slung it over my head. The window was cracked open; I fitted my fingers under the crack and grasped the bottom frame. Before opening it I bent my head close to the crack, listening to see if I could determine what was happening inside. I heard low, rushed voices, mostly that I didn't recognize, but Covington's pretentious drawl was among them. I leaned in closer to the window, trying to make out what was being said.
"But sir," said one, "You've no idea who you're dealing with – how will you persuade Sparrow to bargain with you when you've nothing to offer him?"
"I don't care," that was Covington, "She is on that ship, and I will find it. Where is it docked?"
"Last seen out at Tortuga, sir," said another voice, "But we can't go there – it'll be useless to even try."
"And why is that, my good man?"
"The place is teeming with pirates – they'll never give up the—"
"Pirates are naught but thieves and scoundrels. If my offering is sufficient, I'm sure they will give up anything I ask."
Suddenly my foot slipped off the ledge. I gasped, grabbing onto the frame of the window with both hands. I tried to heave myself back up with my other leg, but the wood was creaking and beginning to give. I bit my lower lip hard to keep from crying out in frustration; this was no time to give in to panic. I had to think quickly, and not lose my head.
Come on Abby, I instructed myself firmly, Just think: how can you get yourself in that window?
I held very still to keep the ledge from breaking off entirely, digging into the window frame with my fingernails. Slowly I let go with one hand and reached up to the top of the frame, pulling myself up by my arm. Gradually I reached up my other hand and pulled myself further up, then I stuck my foot – the one that had slipped – under the crack at the bottom. Clinging tightly to the window frame, I slid the window open with my foot and quietly swung myself inside.
I hit the floor the minute I was inside and pulled the window back down. I crouched close the floor, trying to get a handle on my surroundings: I was on a little balcony that was evidently part of a storage room on the left. I moved behind an overturned table and peeked around the side, to the ground floor some distance below me. Three men were grouped around a table in the very middle of the room, evidently still carrying on the discussion I'd heard snatches of outside. I was anxious to hear more, only because I was quite sure the topic of conversation was me, but suddenly the man with his back to me stood up and yelled at the others to start moving. Startled, the two men rose and headed for the door with somewhat blank expressions. The first man stood with his head low, breathing rapidly from his outburst, both hands clutching the side of the table.
Now this was interesting. I knew well who the man was – who else could it be? And I was anxious to exact me revenge on him. Could it be that he was now alone, or so seeming, in an inn with hardly any windows, having just sent away his only allies? I felt a drop on my shoulder and looked up; the roof was leaking in the spot just over me. And then a faint clap of thunder.
A storm, I mused, It would be difficult to hear very well from outside. . .
That decided me. I spotted a coil of old rope a little way to my right. If I could tie it to the banister of the balcony, I might be able to swing down and land just behind him. What a face he would make, seeing his long-lost fiancé mere inches away from him if he just happened to turn his head! I laughed inwardly, and crept over to the coil. I glanced down to the ground, quickly estimating how much rope I would need, and unwound the appropriate length, cutting off what I didn't need with my ivory knife. I looped one end around the banister, tying it tightly, and, watching Covington to make sure he hadn't moved, stepped over the banister and prepared to swing. I gripped the rope in my hands, took a deep breath, and hopped off the balcony. The rope swung me out for half a second, but then a heard a sickening snapping sound and it broke it two. I gasped sharply, bracing myself for the fall, and hit the ground with a dull thunk.
I scrambled back to my feet, my heart pounding both from the impact of the fall and a keen sense of embarrassment. Covington was still glancing around like a frightened rabbit; he hadn't yet figured out which direction the sound had come from. His distraction gave me just enough time to catch my breath, straighten my hair and skirt, and finally restore my dignity. And then he turned. His wild, pallid gaze came to rest on me. I was not frightened in the least. I couldn't stop the grin that came over my face; his anxiety was so deeply satisfying. I came forward slowly.
"Hello again, Germaine," I said icily, "Did you miss me as much the second time?"
"Come no closer," he panted, gripping the edge of the table behind him, "I'm warning you—"
"What? Will you call for help? There's no one here but you and I, darling."
His gaze sharpened; he didn't like these sorts of games. I was taunting him, and he was backed up against the table acting quite the terrified victim. He'd done this sort of thing often, but with the roles reversed; having the tables turned on him was a cruel blow indeed. He straightened himself angrily. I stopped.
"You will not speak to me in such a way, girl," he said coldly, "Witch or no, I will be shown the respect I deserve."
I glared at him.
"I'm not a witch," I said evenly, "You just made that story up so you wouldn't have to admit I outwitted you."
Now he began moving forward.
"If you're referring to your last brilliant escape," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "I realized the truth about you long before then. My suspicions first arose when you rejected suitor after suitor – no well-bred girl remains unmarried for four long years after her sixteenth birthday. I began to realize that you must have plans in your head in which no man could take part – dark plans of treachery and betrayal, I was certain. My suspicions were confirmed when you boarded that brigand's ship – I knew you would make your way here, to the West, where you could practice your dark arts under the protection of a lawless country."
"Then why did you come after me?"
"I had a mind to save you, to right whatever wrongs you had committed – and of course, I acted as though I was ignorant of you secret, because I knew you would only plot to escape again – or worse, murder me in my sleep – if you knew that I knew."
Perhaps I should have, I thought angrily. He was very close now, and I was trembling with fury. He glanced down, at my gold ring.
"Of course," he said matter-of-factly, "I suppose I should have realized the truth much earlier on. Roland told me how badly you wanted to go to that dinner party – this was what, thirteen years ago now?"
I felt the blood drain from my cheeks.
"Yes," said Covington, clearly satisfied, "That sounds about right. Of course I don't know whether you truly meant to kill them – you were only a child, after all – but that fire was so mysterious, so unbelievable that—"
He stopped short just in time to block me as I brought my sword down over his head. I couldn't hold myself back any longer; threatening me was one thing, but there was no way I was going to let him use my parents' memory against me. Our swords were locked above our heads, and Covington's manic stare met mine with a keen, unsettling satisfaction.
"So," he said quietly, "It appears the little witch has a weakness after all. Tell me, how exactly did you manage it? Did you send a spy inside the mansion, with some enchantment of your own making?"
I let out a cry of frustration and anguish, thrusting out my blade and forcing him to stagger backward. This time I didn't wait for him to taunt me again. I brought the sword up and swung it wildly, striking at any part of him that seemed unprotected. But he was too quick; he blocked me easily and knocked the sword from my hand. I fell backward and found myself flat on the ground. Covington's sword gleamed above me, the point fixed at my throat just under the chin. He smiled.
"Not so mighty now, are we?" he taunted callously, "But I will not have you die in this way. Oh no – it's the gallows for you, witch. Nothing else would suit you."
I stared at him, amazed.
"On your feet," he said calmly.
"I will not take orders from you," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.
He laughed.
"Oh, is that so?" he asked, "Then, who did you intend to take orders from in my stead? As you yourself pointed out so cleverly, there is no one here but you and I. Get up. This fight is over, and the victory is mine."
But then a look of nervous confusion shadowed his gaunt face; a strangely familiar blade had positioned itself at Covington's white throat.
"I wouldn't make assumptions so quickly if I were you," said an easy drawl.
"Jack!" I breathed.
He nodded down at me, grinning triumphantly.
"You didn't honestly think I was going to sit this one out, did you?"
I laughed weakly, but I was vaguely annoyed with him for coming to my rescue.
"No," I answered, "But this is still my fight, Jack. Not yours."
"My apologies, darling -- it appeared to me that you were on the verge of losing. My mistake. Shall I leave you to it then?"
He backed away quite suddenly, removing his sword from Covington's neck. I knocked Covington's sword away with my bare hands, and sprang back to my feet. Covington's momentary shock at Jack's appearance allowed my just enough to retrieve my own sword, but he came at me more forcefully than ever when he recovered. I blocked him blow for blow, this time with Jack shouting instructions at me from some distance.
"His forward thrust, is weak, Abby," he told me, "Don't waste your time parrying."
I obeyed, and blocked Covington with such force that his blade cracked; there was a large dent in the sword where I had met it. But he was listening too. He soon discovered that my greatest weakness was blocking from the left. He swung at me from that direction, almost the instant I put up my sword he knocked it away from me again. This time, however, I remembered my dagger. Not a second passed before I drew it out and brought it forward.
At first I didn't understand what had happened. Why wouldn't my arm move? I had just pulled the knife out, and now it was stuck fast. I looked down at my hand; the arm was still bent, poised just as it had been when I had raised it. The ivory handle was still tightly clutched inside my hand, but it felt strange. There was something hot and sticky seeping into it, discoloring the cracks in the carved ivory. Just beyond the handle was something soft – a piece of white fabric. A shirt, maybe. The dull clang of metal hitting the wood floor broke through the heavy quiet and Covington staggered away from me. I drew the knife out again. The silvery blade was dripping. I couldn't take my eyes off the knife. I turned it over in my hand, watching the deep red trickle down the handle. Then I realized the blood was on my hands. I inhaled sharply and the knife clattered to the ground. I looked up. Covington had fallen against the wall, both hands covering the red spot on his chest that grew slowly larger every moment. His hate-filled eyes met mine only once more.
"You will pay for this, witch," he gasped, and then he slumped to the floor.
I felt sick. I held both hands outward, away from the rest of me; I couldn't let the blood touch me. I found myself trying to back away from it, even though my hands followed me. I began choking on my own breath; the smell of it invaded my senses no matter where I turned. I heard Jack's voice calling to me from some distance, but I couldn't answer him. Suddenly the floor rushed up towards me, and then there was nothing.