There is nothing worse for a pirate than dying on dry land. Except, maybe, swinging two feet above it.
When their captain is imprisoned, facing the gallows, the men and women of the Lady Lesya's crew will try everything to break him out--even if it...
Don Juan woke up, but he kept his eyes shut. His soldier-sense* was ringing like an inner bugle call, but he didn't move a muscle. To keep as much element of surprise as he could, he didn't alter his breathing either-taking note that sticking butter up his nostrils wasn't helping with his snoring. He strained his ears to get passed the noise of his vibrating palate, and mentally scanned the room.
Someone else was here.
Someone was very close.
Someone cleared his throat.
Don Juan relaxed and sighed. "Dios mio, Basile, how many times should I tell you not to sneak up on me like that. One day, I'll kill you by reflex."
"Oui, Monsieur."
Don Juan bit his tongue, restraining the urge to snap at his butler. Oui, Monsieur. Oui, Monsieur. It was Basile's only answer and the butler could modulate those two words to express any variety of feelings from "I don't care one bit about anything you say" to "I'll do what you ask but only because it's my job. Know however that I despise being at your service". And today-tonight? What time was it?-it sounded exactly like "I'd like to see that, I'm sure it would be a lot of fun".
Yet, arguing with Basile was a lost cause. After months of yelling, threatening, bargaining, and, on some occasions, hitting the man, Don Juan had realized nothing would leave a dent on such a rock of annoying honesty and unstoppable efficiency.** Something an old officer, revered, ennobled, and usually surrounded by sycophants, could appreciate. Even at the cost of extra self-restraint.
Don Juan swallowed anger back, sat up in bed, and got rid of his nightcap after the bobble flopped right into his left eye. He rubbed the tears and crust out, realised how childish it must look, and, not knowing what to do with his hands, ended up twisting his whiskers. The butler stood perfectly still, in his stick-up-the-fondament position, hands behind his back. He was looking straight ahead, his face stuck in his usual half-haughty, half-bored expression.
Knowing he wouldn't get anything from Basile unless he asked, Don Juan caved. "Fine! I'm up now. So? What's the reason for this sudden wake up call at such... Early... What time is it anyway?"
"It's six-thirty seven, Monsieur. Approximately."
Don Juan had barely slept four hours. Today would be a long day.
"I guess you have an excellent reason to risk your position at my service... Once again."
"Oui, Monsieur."
"Well?"
Basil cleared his throat once again. "Seventeen minutes ago, or close upon, one of the soldiers of the City Watch presented himself at the front gate and threatened to wake the whole district with his poor manners and loud babble. I noted his name to make sure you chastise this man suitably. When he refused to go away despite my polite, but firm, remonstrance, I let him give me the message he carried, hoping he would then vacate the premises. Which he did."
The butler fell silent, but his nostrils flared and his chest stuck out even further. Don Juan waited for an exhale that never came. Nor did any more words.
Resisting the urge to bite his own fist, Don Juan clenched his teeth and muttered, "Would you be so kind as to give me the content of the said message, Basile?"
"Oui, monsieur. The message was as follows." Basile's tone changed, becoming more husky. "You'll tell the old man to move his flabby ass to the corner of San Pedro an' San Sebastian. Sharpish. You know, where there the goddamn stairs is at? There's been a goddamn massacre there. Bodies an' blood an' bits everywhere, severed head, that kind of stuff. Looks like a slaughterhouse. And you'll also tell the cranky Don that night's watch also arrested a goddamn pirate at the Fat Maid's inn. Bastard was a goddamn fury, poor William near lost an eye, but they knocked him out an' threw him in a goddamn cellar. You'll tell him, you goddamn stuck-up footman? Good! Going back now. Not everyday you can see the inside of a goddamn corpse."
Basile paused. His impression of Donaghue was stunning. Old man? Flabby ass? Chastisement was indeed in order after all.
"That's all of it?" asked Don Juan, having more and more difficulty remaining calm.
"Oui, Monsieur. Approximately."
Don Juan closed his eyes, and frowned. A migraine was already building up behind his left eye. He massaged his temples, exhaled slowly, then threw his legs out of bed. "Get me my uniform and get my horse saddled."
"Oui, Monsieur. Your uniform has been prepared on the chair next to your bed and your horse is waiting in the yard. If Monsieur needs me, I'll be in the pantry."
Basile clicked his heels, turned around as on a pivot, and strode out of the room, every step slamming the creaking wooden floor. The man knew how to be indispensable in the most annoying way.
Don Juan lighted a candle and started to get dressed.
Breakfast would have to wait.
____________________
* Some kind of sixth sense Don Juan believed every soldier had, allowing them to feel an enemy or danger in advance. Every surviving soldier that is.
** Maybe a bruise or two, though.
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