A Brother's Price (30 page)

He swung about. They had a revolver tight to Cira’s spine. ‘‘Don’t you dare hurt her!’’

‘‘Or what, little boy?’’ Bert sneered. ‘‘Ya cry?’’

‘‘I’ll tell your bosses that you raped me. Oh, it was awful! You dirty, infected crib sleaze took me again and again. They’re paying for clean and untouched. I’ll be sure to convince them you’re pulling a double cross. Selling used goods!’’

‘‘Shut ya mouth!’’ Bert jerked her gun back, swinging the butt around to strike him with it.

‘‘Bert!’’ Fen snapped, catching her hand. ‘‘Don’t you dare, shithead! Unharmed and untouched, they said!’’

‘‘So what do we do?’’ Bert asked.

‘‘Give them both to the bosses. Let them work it out,’’

Fen said.

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Jerin glanced around them. The other women on the landing looked on but made no move to interfere. Guns were already in the mix. From their faces, he realized that they still saw him as a whore having trouble with river trash. If he appealed to them as a man, once they rescued him, would they try to keep him?

‘‘Come quietly,’’ Fen said. ‘‘Or we
will
pop Miss Highand-mighty here and now.’’

He let himself be dragged to an alley where horses waited. Since none of his counteroffers had worked, he tried a new ploy. The Porters had left no witnesses behind them—surely they wouldn’t allow Fen and her women to live, knowing their darkest secrets.

‘‘The Hats are a noble family planning to marry me to claim the throne,’’ he told them. ‘‘You’ll know as soon as the marriage is announced which noble family is the Hats. You’re the only ones that can testify they’re one and the same. They’ve—’’

Fen cocked her hand in warning. ‘‘Hush your mouth, or I’ll knock you silly enough you can’t talk, and blame it on Miss High-and-mighty.’’

He wanted to stay conscious, so he kept his suspicions to himself.

The side-wheeler
Destiny
sat waiting for them, tied off to massive oaks on a secluded bend in the river, its stage lowered to the desolate shore.

Kij and her sisters came down to greet them in the woods, six-guns holstered on their hips. Kij smiled at Jerin, then noticed Cira and frowned. ‘‘So, you make an appearance, finally.’’

‘‘Gods, your soul must be black,’’ Cira growled. Kij waved the insult away. ‘‘Faith is for the well-todo. My grandmothers left us too destitute for that nonsense.’’

‘‘But Keifer, and your Eldest, and your mothers?’’

Cira asked.

‘‘Our family doesn’t age well,’’ Kij said lightly, as if
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she were talking about spilling cheap wine and not her family’s blood. ‘‘Our mothers had long slipped into senility, and babbled family secrets right and left. They made a useful sacrifice—one last service to the family. Keifer, dearly as I loved him, was an idiot. He was to get himself to the first-floor bathroom. We picked that theater primarily for a place he could survive the blast. The walls reinforced by the plumbing would have protected him. He never showed. Eldest went to fetch him, but then—

they weren’t supposed to be killed.’’

‘‘Ahhh, too bad. So now a husband raid?’’ Cira asked.

‘‘Oh,
we
didn’t raid for a husband,’’ Kij cried, pressing her left hand to her chest, looking wounded. ‘‘The royal guard can testify without influence from us that not a single Porter sister took Jerin from the palace.’’

Kij’s right hand flashed downward, drawing her pistol. Jerin had been watching for the move; he stepped in front of Cira, shielding her. ‘‘Kij, no!’’

The Porters’ revolvers fired in thunderous rounds. Fen, Bert, little Dossy, and the others went down in a hail of bullets, the Porter sisters emptying their six-guns into the hapless river trash.

Birds startled up out of the trees and winged away as the echoes returned from the far shore. Gun smoke wreathed them. The smell of blood grew as the river trash’s lives poured out into the dirt around them.

‘‘There’s an interesting law that applies here,’’ Kij calmly explained as she reloaded her pistol. ‘‘It’s similar to war plunder. It says that if an unmarried man is kidnapped by party A and rescued by party B, then he belongs to party B. Losers weepers, finders keepers.’’

She spun the chamber on her pistol. ‘‘Step out of the way, Jerin.’’

‘‘No.’’ Jerin was pleased that he sounded more firm than he felt.

‘‘Sisters, please, get our new husband out of harm’s way.’’

‘‘If I were you,’’ Cira called out to Kij from behind
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him, ‘‘I’d think long and hard before you walk down that road.’’

‘‘It’s a road we’ve walked before.’’ Kij raised her revolver. ‘‘A few more miles, and Queensland is ours.’’

‘‘Kill her and I will never be your husband!’’ Jerin growled. ‘‘You’ll have to keep me chained to a wall, because I’ll escape you every chance I get. I’ll tell anyone I see of the crimes you committed. You’ll have to rape me for my seed! You’ll have to raise our children alone.’’

‘‘Jerin, hush.’’ Cira caught his shoulders and started to push him aside. ‘‘Don’t give them cause to hurt you.’’

Jerin dug in his heels, refusing to move out of the way. ‘‘Let her live, and I marry you willingly. I’ll stay by your side. I’ll pleasure you in bed, and I’ll take joy in our children. My word of honor.’’

‘‘She knows too much,’’ Kij explained to him gently, then made a shooing motion with her gun. ‘‘Move aside, Jerin.’’

‘‘Kij!’’ Kij’s sister Meza hissed. ‘‘Not in front of him. Frankly, I want a husband with a tongue.’’

‘‘Let’s keep our options open,’’ their sister Alissa added.

Kij stared at him and then lowered her pistol. ‘‘You win for now, beloved.’’ She turned away. ‘‘I don’t want him haring off over the countryside again. Search them both, Alissa, and handcuff them in my cabin. We’ll do a rotating guard on them.’’

‘‘Search them both?’’ Alissa quirked up an eyebrow. Kij holstered her pistol. ‘‘He may be gently born, but his family were knights of valor. Unless I miss my guess, they’ll arm anything that can hold a gun.’’

They found his derringer and knife, which made them search up under his robe, teasing and touching him rudely. He covered his face, and hid his fierce attention to which pocket Alissa dropped his stuff into. When Meza found his stash pouch, Cira winced. Obviously she had hoped he would free himself a second time.
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‘‘I can’t believe you’re turning against the Queens,’’

Jerin said to cover his turning, watching Meza as she frowned at the jumble of items in his pouch and then slipped it into her own pocket.

‘‘You can’t?’’ Kij took his hand, pleading understanding with her eyes. ‘‘Did you think we gave a fuck which princess was Eldest? Either one would have been the same to us! So an idiotic war we cared nothing about was waged, and our entire livelihood was blown away!’’

‘‘That doesn’t give you the right to murder the royal family!’’ Jerin cried.

‘‘They destroyed our family!’’

Cira gave a bitter laugh. ‘‘How do you figure that?

No Porter was killed in the war, and you received reparations for the damage to the locks!’’

‘‘We received chicken feed! We could only rebuild half the system on what we received, and half is worthless! We had to mortgage everything to scrape up the money, and still it wasn’t enough! So we started smuggling and stealing and murdering to make ends meet. We lost our honor. We lost mothers and sisters overseeing the dangerous construction and smuggling ring. I had to shoot my own sister in the face so she couldn’t be identified! The indignities we’ve suffered—all because the royal family couldn’t settle who would be Eldest. Well, never again. We’re taking the thrones.’’

Jerin exaggerated his limp, and as he came off the stage, stumbled against Alissa. She caught him out of reflex, and as she righted him, he dipped his hand down into her coat pocket. His fingers closed on the cold, welcome grip of his derringer. Lightly, he lifted the small pistol out, his heart hammering fit to break, and slipped it into his robe pocket. There was no outcry from her sisters and Alissa smiled as she took the opportunity to grope him. Even Cira, who was watching him with concern, seemed unaware. He limped forward, faked another stumble into Meza Porter, and retrieved his stash
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pouch. He didn’t even want to try for his knife—it was so awkward a shape he was sure to be caught. Instead he meekly allowed himself to be led to Kij’s cabin. Kij’s cabin was on the second deck, in the corner farthest from the great churning paddle wheel. Jerin balked at the door, for here was surely a den of seduction. A huge bed dominated the room, covered with a thick feather mattress, sheets of silk, and drapes of brocades and dark green velvets. Cherry paneling and stained glass on the portholes darkened the room. Alissa, entering before him, took a match to the oil lamps, and the warm glow of their flames reflected on gold leaf and brass.

Alissa looked at the bed and then at him, nostrils flaring. ‘‘On the bed, love.’’

Conscious of the four armed Porter sisters behind him, Jerin limped to the bed and sat on the very edge.

‘‘Chain her to the foot like a dog,’’ Alissa said, eyes locked on him. ‘‘She can watch while I tumble him.’’

With a great deal of laughing, they handcuffed Cira to the foot of the bed. Jerin braced himself. Against the five of them, there was nothing he could do except act as if he would honor his vow. Thankfully Alissa made no attempt to undress him. She merely pushed him back onto the bed. He twisted his robe as he fell so his pistol and stash were under him as Alissa sprawled on top of him. She writhed against him as she raped his mouth.

‘‘Really, Alissa,’’ Cira said in a tone near boredom.

‘‘Taking Diva from me hurt me more than anything you can do with him.’’

Alissa laughed, tossing her head to flip her gold hair out of her eyes, and slunk up, catlike, until she sat astride Jerin.

‘‘She was a delightful little bitch. You had her trained well. Tell me,’’ she said as she ran her finger over Jerin’s painted lips, ‘‘is he as talented with his mouth?’’

‘‘Why would you think I would know?’’ Cira drawled.

‘‘You know my tastes. You’ve eaten my leftovers.’’

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Alissa glared at Cira, eyes narrowing, Jerin all but forgotten below her. ‘‘If you are so disinterested, why are you riding herd on him?’’

‘‘What better bait for wolves than the sacrificial lamb?’’

Alissa made a sound of disgust and climbed off of Jerin. ‘‘Leave you to take the fun out of it. Meza, gag the bitch.’’ She handcuffed Jerin firmly to the headboard. ‘‘You’ll have first watch, Meza.’’

Meza gagged Cira tightly, settled at the paper-strewn desk, and reached for a pen. ‘‘Good, I can get caught up with these invoices.’’

I made the right decision. I made the right decision.
Ren clung to the mantra, though as the sun moved across the sky, she sank into utter misery. Runners bringing her updates from her sisters did nothing to shake the soundness of her decision, or give hope that Jerin would be restored to them. The ever-so-polite raid on the
Herald
ferreted out the Porter mole and a wealth of information. Recent deliveries of cooking goods to the barracks turned up enough poison to lay waste to the Fifth Battalion. Incensed by their close call, the troops marched the street, arresting all loiterers, turning up scores of heavily armed river trash.

The
Red Dog
steamed into port, low and sleek as a hunter, the late afternoon sun glinting off the crimsonpainted wood shields enclosing her decks. As women and supplies were loaded at frantic speed, Raven reported that orders had been sent downriver as far as the mouth for the
Red Dog
’s sister ships to join in the hunt.
Wait,
was Raven’s unvoiced appeal. Ren shook her head. All afternoon, the image of raped, mutilated, and murdered Egan Wainwright seared through her memory. Gods have mercy, her sweet beautiful Jerin was in the hands of women that had done that to a man! If the Porters meant to marry Jerin for his royal bloodline, then he would be spared that fate. But
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what if she had been wrong about the Porters? What if they had taken Jerin as disposable bait?

She wouldn’t delay any longer. She signaled that they were to steam out immediately. ‘‘What armaments do we have?’’

The corner of Raven’s mouth dipped in worried disapproval. ‘‘The
Red Dog
is only lightly armed. Two eightinch guns, one forward, the other aft, behind iron shutters. True, their twenty-pound balls will put a hole in just about anything, but you’ve got to be pointed in the right direction first. The bow is reinforced as a ram. And we’ve got the marines—a hundred rifles is nothing to sneer at.’’

‘‘Hopefully more than what Kij has.’’

‘‘One hopes.’’

Jerin never considered he’d fall asleep, not with the stress and fear of his situation. If he had thought it possible, he would have guarded against it. The day’s rigors, however, combined with the warm, soft bed, put him fully asleep before he realized the danger. He woke to Kij’s voice, coming from across the room, asking softly, ‘‘Is he still sleeping?’’

‘‘Like a babe,’’ Meza whispered in reply. There was a rustle of paper. ‘‘Sign here, and here.’’

‘‘We’re through the last lock. We’re going ashore here. See that he gets well cared for—something to eat, a chance to relieve himself. You’ll reach home within a few hours. Install him in the husband quarters—quietly. No one but family is to see him. We’ll have to handle this carefully for it to work.’’

‘‘And if it doesn’t?’’ Meza asked.

‘‘The last fifty years have proved us cleverer than all. We’ll weasel out and land on our feet. Have we not time and time again?’’

‘‘We’ve never pushed our luck this close before.’’

‘‘This will work. It goes faster than I planned, but a nudge here, a nudge there, and everything will fall right. Trust me, Meza.’’

There was a slight, tired sound from Meza. ‘‘I do. Please, be careful. I’d rather not have Alissa as Eldest.’’

With a laugh, Kij said her good-bye and went out the
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door. Jerin lay with his eyes closed and forced his breathing to stay deep.

The duchy of Avonar lay upriver of Hera’s Step. Kij said they were through the last lock, so they were now above the great waterfall. He recalled the small town that supplied boats with coal, food, and entertainment while they waited their turn to move through the locks. The town was crowded with ship crews and passengers, people he could hide among and perhaps find aid from. While there were towns north of the falls, he would be a lone stranger in a place loyal to the Porters. Now was the ideal time to escape. If he was to free himself, though, he needed to get rid of Meza. Considering Kij’s orders, asking for food and water might force Meza to fetch it herself. If not, she’d at least undo his hands so he could eat.

He stirred then, making a show of waking and stretching, blinking with sleep befuddlement. Did Meza believe his act? She glanced up from her paperwork, fingers inkstained, looking more an accountant than a murderous smuggler. Cira, on the other hand, glancing over the rim of the footboard, had murder in her eyes. Was that look of anger for him, for falling asleep, or just anger at the situation?

Trying to ignore the hate on Cira’s face, he whined,

‘‘I’m hungry, and thirsty, and I have to wee-wee.’’

‘‘I’m not surprised,’’ Meza said, methodically cleaning her pens and putting the desk aright before standing.

‘‘You’ve been asleep for hours.’’

He felt a flare of guilt at her words. He should have tried to escape hours ago, gotten free and back to his wives. Every minute he spent away from them, the less likely he could ever return to them.

Meza came and unshackled his wrists. Holding firmly to his elbow, she steered him to the corner where there was a chamber pot built into a dresser to make an indoor privy. She kept hold of him while he relieved himself,
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though she averted her eyes. He chanced much, moving his stash pouch from his pocket to his loosely gathered sleeve.

Afterward, Meza led him back and handcuffed him to the bed again. ‘‘I’ll go get you something to eat.’’

Even as she shut the door behind her, he slipped the pouch out, fingered through it, and pulled the lockpick free. From the foot of the bed, Cira’s eyes went large. Minutes later, when he undid her gag, she whispered fiercely, ‘‘You have to be the slipperiest prince consort in history! I saw them take that from you. How did you get it back?’’

‘‘I picked Meza’s pocket,’’ he whispered, tempted to gag her again. ‘‘I wanted to be free of them before they decided that they wanted to be serviced.’’

‘‘What about your word of honor?’’

‘‘I lied.’’ Jerin struggled with her handcuff. ‘‘You meet people at their level, or the liars and murderers of this world will drag you under.’’

Cira smothered a laugh. ‘‘I can’t believe you! Did Queen Mother Elder really agree for you to marry her daughters?’’

‘‘I don’t see how being raped would be preferable to lying.’’

The cuffs came undone and she rose, rubbing her wrists.

‘‘What should we do now?’’ he started to ask, but she caught him and kissed him. Her mouth was warm and sweet, and he realized that he was half in love with her.

‘‘Why did you do that?’’ To his shame, he wanted to do it again.

‘‘You’re teaching me never to give up.’’

He wasn’t sure if this was a good thing. He pulled himself free, needing to put distance between them before he gave in to kissing her again. ‘‘So what do we do?’’

‘‘Get in the bed,’’ she said with a grin.
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His heart leaped and a flame of arousal went through him. ‘‘What?’’

‘‘Pretend like you’re still handcuffed. I will too.’’ She glanced about, then picked up a heavy stone paperweight, and gave him an evil grin. He sat down, put his hands back above his head, and tried to be calm. Cira settled at the foot of the bed, her eyes glittering with contained excitement. Minutes stretched out until they seemed unbearable. Then finally Meza stepped through the door.

She carried a glass of lemonade and a bowl of biscuits covered with sausage gravy. Jerin’s stomach growled at the smell. In tense silence, he and Cira watched as Meza came across the room, unaware of the danger to her, intent on not spilling the nearly full bowl. As she set the food on the table beside the bed, Cira rose, drawing back the paperweight.

Meza must have caught the motion in the corner of her eye. She started to turn, and Jerin lunged out, grabbing hold of her hands. Her eyes went wide in shock, and then Cira struck her. It was a hollow noise. Meza’s eyes rolled back, showing their whites before they closed, and her knees folded.

Jerin jerked his hands away from her as she crumpled, and covered his mouth to hold in the dismayed cry that was trying to escape. Cira bent over Meza, quickly and ruthlessly binding the woman. When Jerin trusted himself, he took his hands from his mouth and whispered,

‘‘Is she dead?’’

Cira glanced up and her eyes saddened. ‘‘No! No. I’m sorry, honey, I would do anything to spare you this.’’

Cira undid Meza’s gun belt and strapped the six-gun to her waist, tying it down low for a fast draw, and then checked the pistol. ‘‘Let’s get out of here.’’

The
Destiny
was steaming directly up the center of the massive Bright River, making it nearly a quarter mile
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on either side to the shore. The sun was in the final throes of setting, and the river reflected all its vivid blood reds and fire yellows.

Holding Jerin’s hand tight, Cira guided him through a maze of cotton bales and crates stacked on the
Destiny
’s decks to the railing. There they crouched in the growing shadows.

‘‘Can you swim?’’ Cira asked him.

Jerin looked uneasily out over the quickly moving water. ‘‘Some. I—I don’t think I could get to the shore. It’s too far and the current’s too strong.’’

Cira nodded as if this was a fair assessment. ‘‘Truthfully, I don’t think I could either. We’ll have to get up to the pilothouse and take control of the ship there. I wish I knew how many women Kij left on board.’’

‘‘Why do you think Kij got off?’’

‘‘I’m afraid to guess, honey.’’ Cira patted his hand absently.

Waved ashore by the Queens Justice late the morning after she left Mayfair, Ren heard her first news of Jerin. A whore matching Jerin’s description and a scarred woman had been taken from the docks at gunpoint earlier that day. Investigating gunshots, the Queens Justice had found the kidnappers freshly murdered. There were signs at the murder site that a paddle wheel had tied off there, and the
Destiny
had been one of four ships spotted that morning. Seven women dead, river trash, used and disposed of.

Raven asked questions of her own, but Ren stood numb, barely hearing the replies. She knew everything that mattered. Jerin wasn’t one of the dead, the Porters had recaptured him, and the
Destiny
had several hours’

lead on them.

‘‘She was riding high and fast, full steam,’’ the region captain of the Queens Justice shouted as the
Red Dog
made to cast off. ‘‘You can burst your boiler and still not catch her.’’

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‘‘This just gets worse and worse,’’ Raven growled beside her. ‘‘I pray to the gods that Kij does not murder Halley out of hand.’’

Ren swung around to face Raven. ‘‘What? When did Halley enter into this?’’

Raven lifted an eyebrow. ‘‘Jerin was with a scarred woman.’’ Raven ran a finger down her face. ‘‘Pearlhandled six-guns, riding a big roan.’’

Ren gasped. ‘‘Halley! How in the gods did she free Jerin?’’

Raven lifted her shoulders. ‘‘If she’s been tracking your sisters’ killers, then she might have infiltrated part of Kij’s networks. She wasn’t one of the dead. Kij must have both of them.’’

Ren cursed quietly. Marines packed the gunboat, allowing her no room to vent anger or fear. ‘‘The
Des-
tiny
is the safest place for Kij to commit this treason. It’s a floating island, easy to defend. I doubt she’ll be taking them off until they reach Avonar. We’re hours behind them, but they’ll have to stop for the locks.’’

‘‘Kij most likely has things set so the
Destiny
won’t have to wait for the queue.’’

‘‘Even Kij has to wait for the locks to fill with water. It takes several hours to work through the locks. On horseback, we could reach the end of the locks before the
Destiny
steams out.’’

‘‘Your Highness.’’ Raven used her title like a whip.

‘‘Kij knows that’s when she’s most vulnerable and where you’re most likely to catch up with her. She’ll have the trap there.’’

‘‘She has Halley and Jerin!’’

‘‘If you get yourself killed, Your Highness, no one will be able to rescue them. You’ve got the gunboat. Put it to best use!’’

Ren let out her breath in a long sigh. ‘‘You’re right. You’re always right. We’ll keep to the gunboat.’’
Halley!

Jerin! Sweets gods above, protect them!

*

*

*

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Wen Spencer

The pilothouse sat on the topmost deck of the
Destiny,
a shack perched at the center of the vast flat space. A lone Porter sister stood at the wheel, gazing out over the bow of the ship as Jerin and Cira crept from the stern. As planned, Jerin crouched outside, hidden behind the half wall. Cira drew her pistol, quietly worked the door latch, and then stepped inside.

Instantly things went wrong. There were multiple startled cries, a crash and splintering of wood, and a gun went off, the bullet whining into the night. Jerin risked a glance over the wall.

There had been a second, unseen Porter in the room, apparently lying on the back bench. She had rushed Cira, knocking the pistol from her hand. The two now grappled in the tiny room, smashing back and forth. The pilot gripped a hand to her arm, blood seeping between her fingers.

As Cira and the other crashed through the door, the pilot lifted a flap on a wall-mounted tube. ‘‘Koura!

Mitzy! Get up here! We’ve got trouble!’’

From the tube, a tiny startled voice queried urgently. The engine crew shoveling coal had been alerted!

The pilot awkwardly drew her pistol and hurried out after Cira and her sister.

‘‘Cira, watch out!’’ Jerin shouted, standing up. The pilot turned, bringing up the pistol, then recognized him and froze. Cira twisted suddenly, the Porter sister’s pistol in hand, and fired. In the gathering dark, the muzzle flare bloomed bright again and again. The report echoed, bank to bank, repeating up the river hollow.

He and Cira faced each other, gun smoke swept off by the stiff wind. A moment of silence passed between them, and then Jerin said, ‘‘The engine crew is coming.’’

‘‘Everyone on the ship is coming.’’ Cira snapped into motion. Holstering the pistol, she muscled the younger Porter sister up and over the railing edge. There was a distant splash. ‘‘We have to steer the ship to shore.’’

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But the wheel was broken, smashed in the fight. Cira swore. The great paddle wheel was slowing down, the untended engines were dying, and the thud of heavy boots thundered up the many flights of stairs toward them.

‘‘We’re going to have to swim anyhow.’’ Cira caught his hand and they headed for the stairs, hoping to beat the oncoming crowd. Two coal-blackened women appeared at the top of the stairs. Cira wheeled in front of them, racing back toward the pilothouse, cursing softly. Like black wolves the women came, splitting up to run them down. One snatched up Jerin, lifting him from the ground, while the second tackled Cira to the floor. Jerin struggled in his capturer’s grasp, reaching over his head to try to gouge out her eyes. She jerked her head back from his questing fingers, and shifted him into a choke hold. As grayness rushed in, he heard a splash, and then Cira was there, pistol in hand. If the woman had thought, she could have kept him as a shield. She threw him, instead, at Cira. Cira caught him with her left arm, firing as soon as she was sure he was clear of the gun. His ears rang from the retort, and he clung to Cira, trembling. Cira panted, nose running with blood. She swiped the back of her hand across her mouth, clearing the blood, wincing at the pain.

‘‘Are you all right?’’ she asked.

Jerin nodded.

‘‘I’m out of bullets with this gun.’’ Cira tossed the pistol aside. ‘‘Let’s get Meza’s pistol—I dropped it in the pilothouse—and get out of here.’’

Jerin nodded.

Cira led him back to the small structure and hunted through the wreckage to find the pistol. Jerin saw a flicker of shadows and called out a warning too late. Alissa Porter struck Cira with a short pole. Cira fell, unmoving.