Chapter Thirty-Three
Over the din, Sophia heard the command to cast off. She stood on the dock at Palermo and waved to Uncle Jonas as the stevedores pushed the ship away with their long poles.
It would have been so easy to return to England and slip into the life she had before – the near invisible companion to the wealthy and desirable heiress. She even found herself considering Samuel’s crass suggestion to become his mistress, in secret of course, while he led a public life with a public marriage. Her pride would be stripped but she would have a roof over her head.
This way, she had her pride – and little else. Thank God, Morwena and Jonathan had graciously invited her to stay with them. Just for a little while, she assured them. Just until she knew what she was going to do.
She loved Kit with everything she had, but she couldn’t live with him and his self-destructive thirst for revenge. She knew he didn’t mean to hurt her. She knew that, although it didn’t lessen the pain of her broken heart. He needed peace for his soul and she couldn’t give it to him. She was destined to be a widow before they ever truly had a life together.
Sophia turned away and started walking towards the markets. No, it was better this way. She could grieve for him now, instead of live in hope for his safety and his sanity, only to have it cruelly taken away from her in the suicidal battle with Kaddouri.
She was mindful of being an imposition on others. She had enough income, if she was careful, to support her in Palermo for another two months. It would give her time to think and make a decision about her future. She had enjoyed teaching the children on Catallus, and she knew of convents whose special calling was teaching. Perhaps, she could join one of those.
Beyond the harbor, the verdant green of Monte Pellegrino called to her. The walk would be strenuous and seem even longer without Laura’s animated conversation, but solitude would help provide solace.
*
“We did it!” Elias shouted.
Kit was on his feet, knife in hand, even before he opened his eyes, his heart racing. His crew usually knew better than to disturb him at times like this, but the venomous rebuke on his lips died at the excitement in Elias’ voice.
His first officer ignored the knife and continued, “We did it! We made Greek fire, and it works.
“The men have installed the furnace and are putting in the pipework now. We’ll be ready to trial it at sea tomorrow.”
“Not a moment too soon. Good work.”
He followed Elias out of the cottage and was momentarily blinded by the bright sunlight.
“How long?” he asked.
“Three days.”
Strange, it seemed longer. He had dug deep into himself, fought every permutation of battle in his head, considered the worst case scenario, and examined tactics.
Not one lost… Not one lost.
Every time he ran through the battle in his mind, he knew keeping this vow was impossible this time. Casualties were inevitable; fatalities even probable. The only thing he could do was make sure he bore the most risk.
Three days… There was a blue moon in just another ten days’ time and still no word from Ahmed Sharrouf.
The unknown concerned him the most.
He knew his men and his ship were ready. Kaddouri he knew almost as well. The man was clever, a master in his art of plunder and piracy, but he was just a man. Just a man, Kit reminded himself as he felt his breath shorten. And like any other man, he had his weaknesses; he was mortal.
Kit inhaled deep to pull himself back to the present and followed Elias down to the Calliope.
The crew cheered as their captain boarded. He acknowledged them with a grin.
“Let’s examine this beast.”
He headed to the bow of the ship where the head of the Greek fire tube was fixed in a frame just off the port side of the bow, pointing off to the side. Bronze pipework glowed in the midday sun and slithered across the deck like a fat, satisfied snake before disappearing into the belly of the ship.
He took the fore steps down two at a time. The pipe ran over his head and he followed it to the galley where a furnace had been installed alongside the cooker.
“We can rapidly heat the Greek fire by diverting heat from the stove,” Giorgio explained.
Pride swelled in Kit’s chest. Not for himself – in the scheme of thing he was nothing – his pride was in his men and their aptitude. The fact they trusted him with their lives was humbling.
He slapped Giorgio on the back and grinned, and received one in return.
“Captain!”
Marco beckoned him through the center of the ship to show off his work. The passenger quarters had been converted to an additional armory. Hung neatly, ready for rapid deployment were grapples, ropes and chains. Fuses were stored in painted boxes according to the color of the wax denoting their length and therefore the length of time it would take to burn.
Pistols, long arms, and sabers lined the inside wall. The weapons were fit for a small army, and that’s exactly what they were.
“The turn of the tide is at six tonight,” said Elias. Kit climbed the aft stairs and consulted the weather readings. He added them to the ship’s log.
“Let’s go burn a boat.”
Elias grinned like a schoolboy and called out across the deck for the crew to be ready to weigh anchor.
Anticipation flowed, giving him a high only two things matched – his opiates and the very first time he made love to Sophia. He remembered her departure and his elation vanished.
“Bring her about, fifteen degrees to port!” Elias commanded. The crew scrambled to do his bidding.
They responded to him as they did to their captain and Kit was glad for it. The Calliope would need a good man to lead her after he was gone.
He raised a telescope to his eye. The small anchored vessel was four hundred yards away, an unmasted, unseaworthy hulk of a small gunboat he’d obtained just for this occasion.
“Bring her in closer, it’s time.”
He didn’t need to say more. Elias issued the command and the men scrambled to their posts. Elias gave him a worried glance and Kit had to admit to his own nerves. This was the test, whether Greek fire, this ancient weapon of war, could live up to the legendary tales.
So much needed to go right – the angle of the ship, the “sticky fire” formulation, the connections between the brass pipes, the right pressure in the furnace below. If anything went wrong, they could just as easily destroy the Calliope.
“Ready!”
A crewmember wearing blacksmith’s aprons over his clothes and leather gauntlets on his hands stepped up to the frame and lit a lamp below the lip of the nozzle. It burned smokily.
“Fire!”
The operator opened the nozzle and the hot mixture spewed out, igniting in the lamp flame. Liquid fire gushed short of the ship by a hundred feet and burned on the water for a minute before its fuel expended.
“Fall off! We need to get closer.”
The sails were adjusted to Kit’s command. Elias brought the Calliope in again, this time to the stern of their target.
This time, the Greek fire reached it. By the time the Calliope swung about and stood at a safe distance, the cheers from the crew had become a roar. Their practice target was fully aflame.
“Drop anchor!” said Kit. “Break open the rum. A toast! To the Calliope, her men, and to Greek fire!”
As he drank, an unexpected thought pierced him through: Sophia should have been here. The rum he swallowed soured his stomach, and he slipped quietly down the aft steps and into his cabin.
She was gone, and he had goaded her into it. He drained his glass and set it on the table. Something in the bookcase caught his eye. He unlocked the door and pulled out a set of ebony rosary beads. Sophia had left them behind. A quick look around the cabin told him it was the only thing of hers which remained.
Even the lingering smell of her lavender perfume was gone, thanks to the acrid smell of burning Greek fire.
He stared at the silver figure of Christ nailed to the cross and rubbed his thumb over the cold metal. Although it was miniature, he could see the agony etched on the figure’s face. He slipped the rosary around his neck and felt the crucifix settle on his chest.
He sat on his bunk and, through the stern windows, watched the target ship burn to the waterline.
He had to send Sophia away for her safety, but it had to be her own decision to go. The surest way to do it was to show her his true self, that ugly, damaged and scarred beast living inside him. He rubbed his face, conscious of the thickening bristles.
She left…
He slammed a fist against a wall and relished the agony of it. Of course she left! Any sane person would. The only problem was she also took every bit of goodness he possessed with her.