Page 56 of The Withering Dawn
“Has Kristoff returned?” I asked.
Cathal shook his head and with a scowl, I headed toward the cliffs between that beach and Dornwich. My flintlock was loaded. My cutlass was tucked in my belt. My dagger was on my hip. One of them would hit its mark and if it didn’t finish the job, Cathal or Aleksi would.
“Nikolas alright with missing the fun?” Cathal asked.
“You know he’s not one for violence. And he doesn’t remember enough about the bastard to care.”
When we reached the cliffs, the roaring sound of waves hitting the rocks below shook the ground. Clouds had devoured the sunlight and in turn, the warmth seemed to get sucked out of the air. There was a thick log just off the path and immediately, Cathal sat down, perching an elbow on his knee and pulling out his thick knife to start carving ata stray piece of wood. But his motions were sloppy and aggressive. He wasn’t trying to make a shape. He was just trying to occupy his hands.
Aleksi started to pace, staring off toward Dornwich. Of the three of us, I felt the least transparent. Inside, I was a raging storm of anticipation. On the outside, I was a shroud over the chaos of my mind. I leaned up against a slanted palm tree and crossed my arms, staring out at the sea in an attempt to distract myself from my doubts.
What if Kristoff could not find Antonio? What if Antonio did not take the bait? What if he was not in town at all and our excitement was for nothing?
Dornwich was a dreary place, always plagued by dark skies. It was nearly impossible to tell the time of day, but I felt as if we had been waiting there for hours. Finally, I started to get restless.
“Cap’n,” Aleksi said, his voice barely audible.
He was staring intently down the beach so I followed his fixed gaze and saw three men rounding the corner of the vague path around a tuft of trees. I could make out Kristoff. He was walking with his shoulders hunched like someone had beat him over the head. The man next to him was dressed far too fancily for a hike in dirt and sand which left no doubt in my mind. His gold and yellow attire and white tights and ruffled sleeves brought back a flurry of ugly memories.
Although Antonio had aged, he was still the same devil I knew. His hair had thinned and the face that used to be round and well fed was now sunken and almost sickly like his abuse of drink was catching up to him. My nose twitched like a dog wanting to bite and I pushed off the tree to center myself on the path as the men approached. The third figure was dressed in a drab suit and the overly serious look on his face told me he was a guard of some kind. No matter. I could kill them both if it came down to it.
The moment Antonio looked up, he scanned the three of us, a look of disgust on his face like the sheer color of our clothing upset him.
The fancy prick.
“Well? Where is it?” he asked, his voice just as rotten and raspy as I remembered.
He looked over Aleksi, whose jaw was pulsing with tension. Then he looked at Cathal, who was pretending to ignore him, but his carving of the wood only grew more violent.
Then, he found me and for a moment in time, I almost believed my hateful thoughts would kill him before my knife could. He was slightly out of breath from hiking in the sand and as he dabbed his sweat-dampened forehead with a pristine, white handkerchief. I stared right into his colorless eyes, waiting. Willing him to see me. Willing him to understand. I waited for that sense of horrified recognition. For that moment when he knew I was that small boy he’d beaten and raped, grown up, strong, and voracious.
But the terror never reached his eyes. Instead, his chapped lips started to curl upward and a low, wheezing chuckle rose up from his throat. Kristoff glanced up at me, slouching further. Suddenly, I was the one feeling like I’d walked into a trap when Antonio waved his hand at his companion and was given a leather pouch of coins. He tossed it at Kristoff and within a few seconds, the traitor was scurrying away with his new riches, doubling the pouch of gems I’d already given him.
Cathal finally stood from the log, tossing the wood aside and flipping the knife in his hand just to reiterate that he had it.
“So, it’s true,” Antonio said, tucking his sweaty handkerchief in the breast pocket of his coat. “My boys have returned.”
A sick, sour taste infected my throat and I spit on the sand at Antonio’s feat.
“We’re here to collect something,” I said, my voice a low growl.
“Oh, I heard from your friend. You keep loyal companions, it seems. Now, do you have my treasure or not?”
“Oh, we have it,” Cathal said. “And we’ll be keepin’ it after we castrate ye and feed your guts to the sharks.”
I wanted that statement to affect Antonio so badly, but instead, he smiled again.
“Very creative. But I am not here to let you castrate me. Kristoff has informed me that you’re in possession of a very beautiful little siren.” My fingers curled into fists at my sides, my nails biting into my palms until I was sure I’d drawn blood. “I’ll be taking her and the treasure you found,” Antonio exhaled as if it was all just a simple nuisance.
“No,” I said outright, staring into his eyes until I could see his rotten soul trembling under his flesh.
Antonio raised his brows and as if on cue, a dozen other men started marching up the beach from around the bend. They were all thugs. All street rats and all armed. A low growl rumbled in my throat at the sight.
“Did you think I would be so dumb? Kristoff is very fond of coin, but he didn’t seem fond of sailing with a siren and I don’t blame him. They’re vile creatures, don’t you know? I’ll have a very good time piecing her out to the highest bidders.”
“The fuck ye will,” Cathal spit, pulling his pistol from his belt.
The guard beside Antonio pulled out his pistol in retaliation and two shots were instantly fired. The street thugs started to charge and like the coward he was, Antonio dropped to the ground to avoid a stray bullet or swinging blade.
