Page 55 of A Fierce Wind

Reluctantly, Freddie shook her uncle’s hand.

“Meet Gaspar,” said her uncle.

The former carpenter nodded his head.

Unable to hold back one minute more, Zoé flung herself into Freddie’s arms. “Oh, Freddie. I don’t care what you look like, what you smell like. God has answered my prayers. You are alive!”

“I am, aren’t I?” he said. “Though not quite hale and hearty this time.”

“Come,” urged her uncle, “We must go. Our presence here was gained on a pretext and I cannot be sure how long it will hold.”

They turned toward the stairs but Freddie stopped. “I’ll not go without Pax.”

All eyes turned to the boy still clinging to Freddie’s coat.

Her uncle considered the small lad. “Pax, is it?”

The boy nodded, his eyes full of fear. He must have believed he would be left behind.

“Very well,” said her uncle with a smile for the boy, “you shall come, too. Somehow we will explain you are necessary.”

“We were both to be executed tomorrow,” said Freddie as they headed to the stairs, one hand holding the boy’s and one hand holding hers. He looked back at the other prisoners. “I wish we could take them all. Some have become my friends.”

“Alas, we cannot,” said M’sieur Bequel, heaving a sigh. “Ye are enough trouble, Mr. West. Come now. Ye, too, Pax.”

In the entrance hall, M’sieur Bequel paused, muttering an oath.

Zoé realized something was terribly wrong. François de Dordogne no longer waited at the door and the jailor suddenly rose from his stool to hold out his palm. “Not so fast, citoyen. The man who brought ye left with another. When I asked, he failed to vouch for yer departure. ’Sides,” he added with a disapproving glance at Pax, “there was no mention of a boy.”

Zoé’s uncle flicked his cloak over one shoulder and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. “That is most unfortunate, citoyen, for it means we shall have to persuade you.” Her uncle withdrew another sword from his cloak and tossed it to Freddie. “I trust you remember how to use it, West.”

“Indeed I do,” he said, giving Pax’s hand to Zoé. “Guard the boy, Pigeon.”

Suddenly a half-dozen soldiers emerged from the wings of the cavernous entrance hall, with drawn swords and shouts of Arrêtez!

M’sieur Bequel whipped his cloak behind him and yanked his sword from its sheath, bracing his legs. “Our four to their seven, Capitaine, assuming the drunken jailor can even fight. Hardly seems a worthy challenge.”

“Then take two!” shouted her uncle with a grin. “That’s my intention.”

M’sieur Bequel chuckled. “Like old times, Capitaine.”

The entrance chamber with its arched ceiling echoed with the sound of crashing steel and men engaging each other’s swords. She pulled Pax away from the fight exploding around them just as Gaspar stepped sideways to deflect the blade of the soldier he was matched with.

Frustrated, the arrogant soldier threw taunts at Gaspar, disparaging his origins.

The former ship’s carpenter merely smiled. “We shall see, mon ami. It is not where you begin that is important, but where you end.”

She had seen her uncle and M’sieur Bequel fight before as merchants defending their cargo and she knew they had once been pirates, so she was not surprised by their prowess with a blade. From the smiles on their faces as they confronted the stiff republican soldiers, they appeared to be enjoying themselves.

Dressed all in black, her uncle untied his cloak and let it fall to the ground. Like a menacing storm, he advanced on his prey, teasing them with his shimmering blade. Outnumbered, her uncle and M’sieur Bequel fought side by side, slicing their blades across their opponents’ swords, causing them to retreat.

Zoé placed herself in front of Pax, guarding the boy with her knife, but the men were too consumed with their fighting to notice her or the lad.

To her amazement, Freddie handled his sword adeptly, confident in his moves as if he’d fought many times before. He swiftly parried the soldier’s thrusts. Much like her uncle, his movements were precise, his style fluid, almost graceful. Twice he turned so rapidly his blade made a rushing sound as it whipped through the air, astounding his opponent.

Where did he learn to fight like that?

A soldier managed to cut the cuff of her uncle’s sleeve. He paused to glance down at the frayed cloth. “Alas, ’twas one of my favorites.” Turning back to the two soldiers who had stopped to gloat, her uncle said, “Enough of this banter! We have no time to teach you braggarts how to fight.” He pulled a pistol from his waist and shot one soldier dead, then quickly dispatched the other with a thrust of his blade.