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Despite a long career as a pirate, and before as a sailor in the Navy, Blyss had never before been shot. It was a record he now wished he had managed to keep.
“Easy, now, Captain – it’s not much farther.”
Mipps’ gentle reassurance made him aware that he was moaning aloud and he cut himself off with an effort. Breathing was surprisingly difficult, his chest seeming to seize with every inhale as the wound in his shoulder flared hot.
He had kept quiet for most of the journey – their escape into the secret passages; their stop for a few spare supplies in the coffin shop, where Mipps had shot Collier’s “ferret,” lying in wait to kill them; and even another journey through the secret passages to the spot just outside the village where a pair of horses awaited them. Mipps had done well, everything running like clockwork, as expected with him. Blyss would know something was wrong with his old friend if he failed in any task or did a slipshod job, and would be more concerned than disappointed or angry.
But mounting the horse and riding away had asked too much of Blyss. The jostling of the fresh wound had stolen his breath away and left him clutching at the saddle with his good arm just to remain on the horse. When they came to a halt at the old mill where they would leave the horses in the care of one of their (now former) men, Blyss had slid from the saddle with a choked-off whine that shamed him. Mipps had said nothing about it, but he caught his glance even through his panting for air.
Now they were on the footpath through the woods between the mill and an abandoned farm that stood in the midst of the woods. Collier may search for them there, eventually, but it would take him time to search this far, miles and miles from Dimchurch with men on foot and no tracking hounds, while the pair of them had made a beeline for it through the night on horseback.
Dawn was almost breaking now, the path before them slowly becoming visible as light filtered faintly through the trees. Blyss could just barely see their breath pluming on the cold air.
Mipps had one arm around him, the other holding Blyss’s good arm across his shoulders so he could support him as they walked. It wouldn’t have taken so long if Blyss hadn’t been injured, but as it was, they were slowed by Blyss’s inability to walk properly, his steps stumbling and uncertain. Only Mipps’ grip on him kept him from tripping or losing his balance. Sweat stung his eyes and dripped from the end of his nose, making him squint.
“Almost there,” Mipps reassured him again, and this time, when Blyss chanced taking his gaze off of the ground in front of him, he thought he could see the outline of the farmhouse or one of its three outbuildings through the trees and the mist that was gathering to combat the light.
Birds started taking up the call, announcing the arrival of the dawn with their warm-up twitterings and whistles. A squirrel skittered down a trunk to peer at Blyss and Mipps curiously, apparently appalled that anyone else was up as early as it was. Ordinarily, Blyss would have enjoyed all of this, but currently only felt the strain of the distractions.
The path, such as it was, was actually just a series of tiny areas that weren’t quite as overgrown as the rest, vaguely linked together, so they had struggled to avoid tree roots and undergrowth catching at their feet and clothing, but as they stepped out into the former farmyard, the ground became much flatter and smoother, allowing them to cross the open space much more quickly than they had traversed the woods around it.
Mipps led him around the crumbling house to the equally decrepit barn and eased him to the ground, to sit leaning against the stone wall. Blyss let out an appreciative groan at no longer being jostled, his head tipping back against the stone and his eyes closing instinctively.
He felt a gentle nudge – Mipps’ booted foot against his thigh.
“Not yet, Captain. Let’s get you inside first,” Mipps said, and though he was trying to sound like his usual jovial self, Blyss could hear the worry underneath.
He grunted and forced his head back up, blinking wearily at the house opposite where he sat.
Mipps got the door of the barn open and disappeared inside for several minutes. Blyss could hear things shifting and clanking. It took him a moment to recall that there was a hidden cellar beneath the main area of the barn – a safe hideout they had prepared years before and maintained since then. The barn itself was structurally sound, though they had taken pains to ensure that it didn’t look like it. He distantly wondered if it should worry him how sluggish his thoughts were becoming, that he had forgotten that until he thought about it for a moment. It was his own contingency plan, after all, one of many, intended to allow any or all of his men to escape safely in the event they were found out.
He hoped the others had found their way to the other safe places.
Especially Harry and Imogene. He had given them the best of the best – a house he had purchased years ago, with money hidden in the walls and floors, far enough away that they would not be recognised. As long as they could make it that far without being caught, they would be safe and provided for, but that interim period of flight was his only concern.
“Captain?”
He blinked back to awareness, slowly looking up at Mipps with no comprehension.
Mipps’ friendly face shifted into a look of open worry and he crouched beside Blyss, grabbing his good arm.
“Come on, Captain. On your feet.”
Again?
Blyss tried to protest, but his mouth was no longer cooperating and all that emerged was an incoherent mumble.
“Up,” Mipps insisted, levering him upright until he was technically standing, slumped against Mipps’ side.
Blyss forced his legs to straighten, taking some of his weight.
“That’s it,” Mipps coaxed. “Only one more time, then you can rest.”
His legs shook at the strain, but they held, and he stumbled where Mipps led, into the dank, dusty barn.
Mipps had uncovered the secret entrance in one corner, so it was no work to descend the narrow wooden stairs into the cellar. The secret door into the hideout was open, too, so Blyss didn’t need to wait again, only keep moving forward. Mipps led him straight across to one of the cots.
Blyss didn’t even attempt to stop the moan that seemed to press out of him as his back met the thin straw mattress and his muscles went lax. His eyes slid shut and his head lolled; he was utterly spent. Mipps had to pick up his feet and put them on the cot for him, as he couldn’t even manage that.
“There, Captain. I have to cover our trail, but I’ll be back and then we’ll look at that wound. Try to get some rest,” Mipps said, squeezing his good arm.
Blyss swallowed and tried to say “yes,” but even that came out as nothing more than a faint, vaguely positive sound.
Mipps accepted that, patting his arm once before disappearing. Blyss heard his footsteps receding, and after that he knew no more.
* * *
Blyss woke slowly and unpleasantly. His eyes felt gritty, like someone had ground sand beneath his lids, and his tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth, swollen and dry. His throat rasped when he breathed, equally parched.
Pain radiated through his whole right side, originating at the shoulder, where the bullet had gone in and remained lodged. His right arm felt as though it had a hot poker lodged into it, right down to the tips of his fingers, where he could feel his pulse hammering and little else. His ribcage protested each breath. Even his neck flared with pain when he tried to move his head. He was shivering, despite feeling hot, and he could feel perspiration chilling his skin where it was open to the dank air of the cellar.
He groaned hoarsely without opening his eyes.
“Shh, Captain,” Mipps whispered. “There’s men about up there.”
Blyss stilled, listening, fear dulling all of his pain and discomfort in an instant, bringing him to alertness. His eyes cracked open and he waited.
He could, indeed, hear muffled thumps and voices. He flicked his gaze at the single lantern lit in the hideout. They had blocked up as much as they could to keep sounds and smells and light from escaping the hideout into the upper part of the barn, but….
Mipps followed his gaze, nodded his understanding, and crept across to the lantern. He dimmed it down to the lowest it would go very slowly. He didn’t put it out – any potential smoke or scent from that would attract more attention than the faint light that remained.
After that was done, he crept back across and sat on the floor beside Blyss’s cot, and they both relaxed to wait, their eyes on the ceiling as they listened. Blyss focused on keeping his breathing as quiet as he could when the dryness of his throat made it rattle and rasp. The fingers of his good hand twitched and plucked at the straw mattress beneath him.
They tensed again at the sound of clattering on the wooden stairs – the entrance to the cellar had been found, despite their efforts. Now it was only a question of if they would find the entrance to the actual hideout as well.
The door was covered with a thin layer of stonework that made it visually blend with the rest of the cellar walls, and all of the walls were hollowed out behind them so that there would be no tell-tale change in sound if the walls were tapped on. The cistern served both sides of the wall, but only one side was visible on either end. Since it was assumed this would only be used if they were being hunted, extra care had been taken with covering every possibility they could think of.
Still, Collier had proved to be relentless and intelligent, so no amount of care was a guarantee. They held their breath as the voices filtered through the wall, still muffled but much louder as they explored the cellar space. Mipps reached up without looking back at Blyss and touched his good hand. Blyss clutched at his hand and felt Mipps squeeze back.
Prayer was a newer segment of his life, but still long enough to be instinctive. He could only send up prayers mentally due to the need to be silent, but that made them no less fervent. He hoped Mipps was praying, too.
The tone of the voices outside changed, grew louder for a moment, closer. There were a few experiment taps in one spot, then another, farther down. The taps continued to move away, but still they hardly dared to breathe.
Then someone shouted down the stairs, and the tone of the voices changed again. Feet thumped on the stairs again, this time going up, and gradually all of the sounds grew faint. Blyss heard the heavy thunk that meant the barn door above had shut and the sound of voices cut off entirely.
They breathed out together, though they remained quiet, just in case it was a trick. Mipps released his hand and Blyss grabbed at the mattress again instead – he needed to grip something, as the pain had returned as soon as he let out that breath, throbbing all the more fiercely for being ignored for so long. He did his best to stifle a cough.
Mipps had carefully lifted himself off the floor and was doing something over at the table along one wall, but he glanced over his shoulder at the sound. Blyss watched him tiptoe across the room to a different table, his expression indiscernible in the dim light.
He returned to Blyss’s side and sat, holding something out and reaching for the back of Blyss’s head.
“Here,” he whispered. “I had already prepared water for you.”
Blyss would have bolted upright at that, if he could have. As it was, he shook with the strain even with Mipps’ help, but it was worth it to get the water. He really only managed to tip his head up and his shoulders part of the way; that was enough, at least.
Sitting up even that much dislodged the blanket Mipps had draped over him while he slept, and it was only then that he realised that his coat and shirt had been removed and his shoulder was bandaged. He glanced at Mipps in question, but Mipps only shook his head slightly. Any explanations would have to wait until they were certain no one had been left behind to trick them into revealing themselves.
When that would be was uncertain, to say the least. Blyss focused on the relief of the water wetting his parched mouth and throat instead.
Once the cup was empty, Mipps eased him back down to the mattress. Blyss hoped he saw his grateful nod, but the pain had made it impossible to speak again even if it had been safe to do so. Each exhale had to be carefully controlled, lest he make a noise in agony, but even so his breaths wavered and rasped. He trembled where he lay, his eyes closing again, even though he wanted to be awake to help Mipps suss out if they were safe once more. His body demanded otherwise.
Mipps made a soft tsk of concern and tucked the blanket back around him. “Sleep, Captain,” he whispered near his ear.
Blyss wasn’t used to being the one given orders, rather than giving them, but he obeyed this one without question, slipping immediately and deeply into sleep, where the pain couldn’t touch him.
* * *
The next time he woke was much less unpleasant, for Blyss smelled and heard bacon frying.
His eyes snapped open and his head turned. The hideout was bathed in light from multiple lanterns this time, and the little wood stove in the corner was lit, where Mipps and Johns were crouched, arguing over whether or not the bacon sizzling in the pan was ready.
He struggled to sit up, only to wince and lay his head back down when it made his shoulder flare.
The pain was less intense than last time, though still widespread. The fall from the chandelier had done some of the damage, he expected, because now that the pain didn’t feel like throbbing fire all over, some parts of him simply felt like they had been deeply bruised. Only the bullet wound itself still felt as though he’d been run through with a hot poker. The shivering and sweating had abated, too, and he could flex the hand of his injured shoulder, though it was still too weak to form a fist.
He could taste some kind of grease or oil in his mouth, so he expected Mipps had been putting something down his throat while he was out. Considering that it had to have been multiple days, that was just as well.
Blyss’s thoughts were still somewhat fuzzy, but that was to be expected after long stretches of unconsciousness. He needed to move about and have some water, and perhaps some real food, and then he would feel more alert.
To that end, he tried to sit up again, much slower and more carefully this time. He shifted his good arm first and eased himself up onto his elbow, lifting his head in tandem. He couldn’t help a soft noise at the movement of his injured shoulder.
Mipps looked up immediately, and broke into a smile as he saw him trying to sit up.
“Captain!” he said, quite nearly joyful, and he handed off the pan and fork to Johns, crossing to Blyss to help him sit up all the way. “You must be feeling better!”
Blyss shot him a grateful smile as he swung his legs to the floor. It was easier, once he could lean one elbow on his knee, both feet on the floor. Mipps had put his bad arm in a makeshift cloth sling at some point, which also made things easier, without his arm flopping around uselessly and painfully.
“Are you hungry? Thirsty?” Mipps asked, his smile only growing.
“Both,” Blyss agreed, his voice a raspy croak.
Mipps slapped his knees. “We’ll have something for you in a moment.”
He returned to Johns’ side and brushed him away. Johns, who had been a member of Blyss’s crew for years and remained loyal even after the career change, was used to Mipps and merely let out an amused huff. He moved away to busy himself with filling their cups out of a jug – not the water from the cistern pump, so probably ale.
Blyss rubbed his throat idly, wincing at the ridged, rough scars. He let his hand drop.
“Since you’re here, Johns, I gather the coast is clear?” he rasped.
Johns nodded, bringing over a different cup. Blyss sipped it – water, of course. Given how his throat felt, he was glad of it. He didn’t want anything that burned on the way down.
“Yes, Collier’s men stopped here for half a day, but they’ve moved back towards the coast,” Johns explained. “Collier seems to think you’d have gone back to sea – he only checked the areas around for a few days, for the sake of thoroughness, but they didn’t spend long or look too hard.”
“Johns here says there’s new orders from the Admiralty, too,” Mipps added, nodding towards their companion as he brought a plate over to the small dining table in the centre of the room.
“Seems they don’t much care that you escaped, if they even believe you were still alive to begin with, since the smuggling ring was disbanded, and want Collier onto something else soon. That’s part of why he’s focusing his search on the coast,” Johns confirmed as he took a seat at the table. “He’s got a few more days, but then he and his men will be shipping out.”
“Good,” Blyss sighed, closing his eyes briefly in relief. They opened again and focused sharply on Johns for his next question. “And any news?”
He didn’t elaborate. They both knew what he meant.
Johns’ smile was gentle, which was odd to see on his weathered face. “Aye, sir. They made it. They’re all right.”
Blyss’s exhale was so strong his shoulders curled inward and he nearly dropped the cup, squeezing his eyes shut. “Thank God. Thank God,” he muttered.
Harry and Imogene were safe – that alone lifted a weight from his heart, easing his breathing.
He felt a light touch and jumped – but it was only Mipps, draping his shirt around his shoulders.
“Let’s get some real food in you, Captain,” he said, so very kindly.
Mipps was always kind to him, had always been kind to him. Blyss wasn’t certain he deserved such a friend, but he thanked God for him, too. He nodded in agreement and pushed himself to his feet. Mipps steadied him when dizziness nearly sent him to the floor; he had to shut his eyes for a moment to stop the world spinning. Once it had, the few steps from the cot to the chair seemed like miles, but with Mipps’ help, he settled there, rather than his weak legs sending him crashing to the floor. He was breathing hard once again from the effort. It must have shown on his face how disturbing he found his sudden feebleness.
“You’ve been out for the better part of four days, excepting a few brief wakings,” Mipps said as he took a seat as well and began dishing up the plates for the three of them. “It will take you a few more to regain your strength. At least you seem to be past the worst of it, with no infection that I could tell.”
“Four days?” Blyss repeated in shock, touching the arm resting in its sling.
Mipps sighed with a sorrowful expression. “You lost a lot of strength and blood on the journey.” Then he perked up again, setting a plate full of bacon and potatoes and onions in front of Blyss. “But you’ve pulled through. It was lucky you woke enough to swallow a bit now and then.”
“I don’t remember waking,” Blyss admitted. “Only when Collier’s men were here.”
“You didn’t say anything at all, let alone anything to embarrass yourself,” Mipps said with a wink.
“Where will you head once you’re healed and we’ve confirmed nobody’s out for your head?” Johns asked. “Not that livin’ here isn’t just fine. Everything in reach.”
He waved his fork around to illustrate and then shovelled a chunk of onion in his mouth.
It wasn’t the most appetising of meals, but potatoes and onions and bacon kept well for longer periods than some other foods, especially down here in the cool dark cellar. Once those ran out, there were barrels of hard tack. There was the water from the cistern, as well, which would only become useless in the unlikely event of a drought, so with Blyss’s outside contacts, he could easily hole up here for months at a time, if he wished.
He did not wish.
“I will rejoin Harry and Imogene,” he said with authority.
Both of his companions were nodding, as though this was what they had expected, when he added, much more softly, “If they will have me.”
Mipps and Johns exchanged a glance, both nonplussed, though Mipps looked closer to appalled.
“Of course they’ll have you, Captain!” he blurted, almost as if he couldn’t help himself. “Why wouldn’t they?”
Blyss’s smile felt ill-fitting. “They are newlyweds trying to build a new life for themselves. I am a wanted criminal now known, by those who believe it, to be alive.”
“Harry’s an outlaw, too,” Mipps tried to protest.
“On the minor charge of aiding smugglers, not a long career of piracy,” Blyss pointed out. “He may have left his father, but he also has the benefit of his father’s position, should he ever be discovered and caught. That is unlikely now, as no one will waste resources hunting him down. I cannot say the same. My mere presence will place them in danger.”
Johns’ puzzled frown had not shifted. “Then why go to them at all? If you’re afraid it’ll endanger them?”
Blyss looked down at his plate. His already-small appetite seemed to have vanished.
“I…cannot keep away,” he admitted.
Imogene was his daughter. He wanted her happy and safe more than life itself – even if that meant being separated from her forever. But the thing he wanted second most in the world was to never be separated from her. She was his child, so naturally he wanted to see her happy and safe with his own eyes, for as long as he lived.
And Harry was not his child by blood, but he had taken that boy in hand when he was a young scamp and, he dared to claim, had a greater influence on the man he became than his own father had done. He held him nearly as dear as if he had been his son by birth, and now he was his son by marriage. The fact that Imogene loved him and he made her happy only endeared Harry to Blyss even more.
He wanted to be in both of their lives for as long as he could. He also wanted, more than anything, to keep them safe and happy, well out of danger. He was torn between his desires, and did not know how to reconcile them.
It was probably better for all of them if he simply disappeared, perhaps escaping to the Continent. Then Harry and Imogene would be safe, and while Blyss would be lonely and yearn for them, he could live with that in the knowledge he hadn’t endangered them.
“It’s their decision if they want to risk the danger, not yours,” Mipps said abruptly, tearing him from his thoughts.
Blyss’s gaze snapped to Mipps, his eyes going wide.
Mipps was fingering his chin, but his own gaze was narrowed in thought as he stared back at Blyss. “If you’re thinking of running off to France or Spain and not bothering them again, as I think you are, then I’d advise you to think better of it, Captain,” he said slowly. “Harry looks up to you. He’s a man grown, but in many ways he’s still a boy. He could benefit from your experience in building that new life. He’s a squire’s son – acquainted with the world in some ways, but not in having to make his way from scratch. And Imogene is a girl who never knew her father – now’s a chance for that to change. And for her to perhaps get to know that father, and to learn about her mother.”
Blyss swallowed hard at that, a sting that went straight to his heart. He had never truly recovered from his wife’s death – he had known since that day that he would never marry again, for there was no other he could love the way he had loved her. Imogene, their dear daughter, looked so much like her mother, those shining brown eyes and those soft brown curls. She even had some of her mannerisms despite her mother’s death before she could meet her.
The thought of relating stories of her mother to Imogene – that was a thought he couldn’t resist. He had a feeling Mipps knew that, based on his shrewd look.
“Yes,” he said stiltedly. “Yes, I will go to them, and they can decide.”
Mipps smiled and gave an approving nod. “They’ll have us through the door faster than you can blink. Now eat up, Captain – the food’s getting cold, and you’ve got to get strong again before you can go anywhere.”
Blyss noted Mipps’ “us” – clearly, he would go where Blyss went, and so apparently they would both go to Harry and Imogene. He was glad of it; now he wouldn’t need to ask Mipps to come with him, to remain his companion.
He wondered if Mipps was now going to make a habit of giving him the orders, though. The thought amused him more than anything, and he set back to his meal with a smile curling his mouth.