now. Seamen aren’t apt to keep treasures such as that overlong.”
Weariness settled over Archer, pulling at his eyes until he felt as though he must close them. “Give me a name.”
Tucker’s smile warped, blurring at the edges, and as he leaned forward, the light hit the faded tattoo upon his forearm—a black wolf with DEI DONO SUM QUOD SUM inscribed around it. Rye saw the direction of Archer’s gaze and grinned. “Figuring it out, are you?”
From deep within the stores of Archer’s mind, information rose up. DEI DONO SUM QUOD SUM—By the grace of God I am what I am. “Clan Ranulf…”
“Aye, mate. Lord Alasdair Ranulf, Earl of Rossberry.”
Dover’s laughter wheezed out as Archer’s hands curled into fists. “Didn’t know Ellis was in his pocket the whole time, did you?” He laughed again, his wrinkled face leering through the smoke. “Ellis hasn’t the brains, nor balls, for piracy. We was under orders to hunt your ship down from the first.”
Archer sat back with a thud. “I’ll…”
Tucker shook his head, knowing the direction of Archer’s weak threat. “Won’t do you any good, mate.”
Archer pulled in a breath, the sound of the singing growing muffled. “Oh?”
A twinkle of malice lit the man’s eye. “We ’eard you might be coming for us. Said we was to take real good care of you, should you show.”
Too late, Archer realized the feeling coming over him. By then, the sound of a footfall was behind him. He surged forward, sending his empty tankard flying and the bench beneath him clattering. Too late. The sack was over his head, the men falling on him before he could turn. His chin cracked against the table. Down he went, the drug turning his legs to water, his mind a fog, and the men tied him up tight. A sharp kick to his left side took his breath, and as darkness seeped in he heard old Dover, his words muffled through the heavy cloth now wrenched tight around Archer’s head.
“Make sure no piece of him’s found.”
Archer came to with a gasp as though suddenly doused with ice water. He hadn’t been out long. Men were carrying him. Four of them, by the feel of hands upon his body.
“Lord, he’s heavier than a cannon, he is!”
“Just as solid too,” said the one holding his legs.
Archer hung limp as they bumped along with him. His head was heavy, his mind a fog. Whatever it was they gave him would have killed an ordinary man. As it was, however, he only needed a moment or two. A breath of fresh air would have helped, but the shroud over his head was too tight.
“Shut it, both of you. We’re nearly there.”
And then he smelled it. Burning. The acrid scent of burned goods, wood, rubber, metal; everything and anything. The distant clang of buoys and the mournful wail of a foghorn told him they were still at the docks. There was only one place near the docks that smelled pervasively of smoke—the Queen’s Pipe, a massive kiln set up to destroy condemned goods. They meant to burn him. Terror skidded through him, an altogether unfamiliar and unpleasant sensation. He moved then, thrusting his arms and legs wide. The thick bonds that held him snapped as he fell.
“Christ! He’s alive!”
He landed hard on the ground and in an instant was up, tearing the cloth from his head.
“Get him!”
Archer caught a glimpse of a dark alleyway and wet dock boards, and then they were upon him. Archer grinned wide as he went down under a heap of arms, fists, feet, and legs. The blows landed on him like rain. He let them tire, and then he used his fist, the right one. The time for mercy had past. He swung hard and felt the satisfying crunch of bone as a man’s jaw connected with his fist. His foot went into yet another’s gut, sending the thug flying back into a heap of rubbish. Still two came at him, both holding knives.
He whirled, catching one by the arm, snapping the man’s wrist, slamming his forehead into a tender nose. Snap. Crunch. Something took over. A white mist of fury that made his blood sing, his heart pump. Light. Strength. It surged through him.
It took a moment to realize that the blows upon him had stopped, and the only sound was that of gurgling, like water eking down a clogged drain. Archer blinked, his vision clearing, and he found himself holding onto a neck, his fingers still in the