Authors: Kerry Newcomb
The Red Ripper (2 page)
“WELCOME TO VERACRUZ.”
On the gray morning after the sea tried to kill him, William Wallace staggered up from the water's edge, bruised, battered, but alive and determined to stay that way. The storm had taken its best shot at his hide and failed. He glanced over his shoulder at the incoming tide. The gulf was tranquil now, sated from its feast of ships and men.
Wallace raised his fist to the waves and in a hoarse voice croaked defiance: “Still here!” The effort nearly drained him. He cautiously appraised his condition, attempted to brush the sand from his naked chest and shoulders, then doubled over and retched the seawater from his gut.
His head hurt. Reaching up, he gingerly prodded a lump on his forehead. The pain stirred a vague memory. A section of mast or perhaps the bow of the lifeboat or a sea trunk looming out of the darkness had crashed against his skull as he fought to keep the current from pulling him under.
The world reeled for a second, the dull blue sea blurred with the gunmetal gray sky, a dark brown smear of coastline, and the lush green foliage of the palm forest sweeping back into emerald hills. He fell to his knees, propped himself upright, and willed the world into place. A lazy spiral of gulls circled overhead, as if studying
the wreckage for something of value. The sandy shore was littered with debris from the ship: sodden sea chests, shattered timber, and sections of shattered spar were all that remained of the
Patience
.
the wreckage for something of value. The sandy shore was littered with debris from the ship: sodden sea chests, shattered timber, and sections of shattered spar were all that remained of the
Patience
.
William struggled to his feet, heard a groan, and for the first time realized he wasn't alone upon the shore. Other survivors were scattered along the beach, surprised to find themselves alive and too overjoyed for the moment to share grief for the dead. Wallace recognized some of the seamen he had rescued. He counted four traders, a Creole cattle buyer, and a wealthy silk merchant and his wife, all of them passengers aboard the ill-fated vessel. The johnnyboat that had carried them to safety lay on its side a few yards up from the water's edge. The longboat had provided a makeshift shelter from the elements. William remembered fighting for breath and sinking beneath the waves. All but unconscious, he had fought the clutches of the undertow. How had he kept from drowning? Only an instinct to survive, deep-rooted in the Wallace clan, had brought him through.
Samuel!
Even as William thought the name, a familiar face lifted from the mud and flotsam. Samuel Wallace rolled over on his back and stared at the white smear of sunlight hidden beneath a veil of ashen streamers. William ran to his side and helped him to stand.
“We made it, little brother,” Samuel said in a rasping voice as he clapped the larger man on the arm.
“I never doubted,” William gruffly replied, pulling his brother upright.
“You look like you've been keelhauled,” Samuel muttered.
William dismissed his lacerated shoulder and bruised head with a wave of the hand. “Just a scratch.” He dismissed his brother's appearance with an offhanded observation
about how Samuel more resembled a derelict than a distinguished barrister. Along the shore, some of the other survivors had already begun to browse among the wreckage the waves had deposited on the shore. The merchant's wife began to weep from shock. Her husband, a wealthy exporter, was relieved to find an oilskin packet of valuable papers and a coin chest still aboard the johnnyboat. Sailors and tradesmen hurried to drag an assortment of chests up from the sea and claim their salvage rights. Trade goods were searched for and inspected.
about how Samuel more resembled a derelict than a distinguished barrister. Along the shore, some of the other survivors had already begun to browse among the wreckage the waves had deposited on the shore. The merchant's wife began to weep from shock. Her husband, a wealthy exporter, was relieved to find an oilskin packet of valuable papers and a coin chest still aboard the johnnyboat. Sailors and tradesmen hurried to drag an assortment of chests up from the sea and claim their salvage rights. Trade goods were searched for and inspected.
“I don't think anything of ours made it to shore,” William remarked, surveying what he could of the shoreline. “Perhaps further up the coast, beyond that point ⦔ Wallace pointed toward a spit of land that stretched out into the bay. He looked at his brother for confirmation and found Samuel staring past him at the line of palm trees. William turned as a man and a woman astride a pair of skittish bay geldings emerged from the shadow of the palm trees. The couple were soon flanked by eight dragoons, Mexican light cavalry, looking somewhat stern and quietly officious in their blue tunics, white breeches, and horsehair-plumed helmets. Judging from their appearance, the soldiers had found shelter from the recent storm.
Samuel started toward the horsemen. William fell in step a few paces back. His boots dragged in the moist sand, slowing his progress. In the aftermath of the gale, the whole setting seemed quite unreal.
The couple, both in their early twenties, bore a close resemblance to each other. Indeed, they looked to be brother and sister. They were simply attired in loose-fitting cotton shirts and matching white breeches, black boots, and wide leather belts. The woman wore a yellow bandanna that covered her head and kept her long black hair from blowing in her face. Her brother sat straight
as a ramrod, his hands crossed on his saddle's high pommel, a man of station, sure of himself.
as a ramrod, his hands crossed on his saddle's high pommel, a man of station, sure of himself.
They were a handsome pair, disdainful, impassive, with a disturbing way of peering at and through the two men approaching them. William had the disturbing feeling that the couple might have been watching a pair of curs lumber up from the beach for all the warmth they projected toward the
norte americanos.
Closer now, William noted how the dragoons surveyed the stretch of sand and the salvage that had washed ashore.
norte americanos.
Closer now, William noted how the dragoons surveyed the stretch of sand and the salvage that had washed ashore.
“Buenos dias,
my friends!” Samuel called out. “The sea has claimed our ship, the
Patience.
But God in his mercy spared us and brought us safely through the storm.” He indicated the others with a wave of his hand.
my friends!” Samuel called out. “The sea has claimed our ship, the
Patience.
But God in his mercy spared us and brought us safely through the storm.” He indicated the others with a wave of his hand.
“I am Juan Diego Guadiz!” the aristocrat called out. His eyes were dark and revealed little of the inner man. “And this is my sister, Señorita Paloma Turcios Guadiz.” The woman's expression remained unchanged, eyes like chips of black glass, her mouth a tight pink slash above a pointed chin. “Welcome to Veracruz.” Guadiz pulled a flintlock from his saddle holster and shot Samuel Wallace dead.
William froze as Samuel's body shuddered on impact, lifted, flew backward like a broken doll into his arms. As in a dream where all the players move with leaden grace, William lost his footing and fell like a toppled oak as the line of horsemen opened up with their rifled muskets and charged the water's edge. William shielded his brother from the flashing hooves and flame-stabbed powder smoke. He caught a glimpse of yellow bandanna as Paloma Guadiz rode him down and emptied her flintlock at the big man beneath her charging steed. The pistol ball missed by inches, searing William's cheek with its trajectory, then thudding into the moist sand.
The dragoons galloped past, drawn sabers gleaming through the powder smoke, intent on cutting down the
survivors as they fled down the shore. Seamen, merchants, the trader and his wife, it mattered little whether they ran for their lives or remained to plead for mercy. Death had come to claim them on the storm-swept shore.
survivors as they fled down the shore. Seamen, merchants, the trader and his wife, it mattered little whether they ran for their lives or remained to plead for mercy. Death had come to claim them on the storm-swept shore.
William lifted himself from the sand and grabbed his brother by the shoulder and rolled him over and nearly gagged. A fist-sized chunk of Samuel's skull had been shot away. His once kind and gentle features were hidden beneath a mask of blood and brains, disfigured beyond recognition.
William retreated in horror and scrambled toward the palm trees. He plunged through the foliage, stumbling blindly, as green fronds slapped his face and torso. Parrots, regal in their plumage of scarlet and vermilion, exploded into the air, causing him to trip over a tangle of vines. William kicked free and ran from the cries of the dying, from the gunfire, from the murderous wrath of Guadiz and his sister, from the dreadful image of his brother, forever seared in his memory. He glanced off one tree, regained his balance, swerved to avoid a lightning-shattered palm, and stepped over the side of an embankment. Wallace cried out and tumbled head over heels down into a wheel-rutted path that cut through the forest.
He lay there, minutes dragging past while he struggled for breath.
Samuel
! Palm branches intersected overhead, shading the road, fracturing the sunlight where it peeped between the clouds. A shaft of golden illumination heightened the colors, intensified the different shades of green, the flash of scarlet in the trees, the deep brown soil upon which he lay.
Samuel
! Palm branches intersected overhead, shading the road, fracturing the sunlight where it peeped between the clouds. A shaft of golden illumination heightened the colors, intensified the different shades of green, the flash of scarlet in the trees, the deep brown soil upon which he lay.
Samuel
!
!
Shame assailed him, stormed the fortress of his resolve, and put his pride to flight. He had abandoned Samuel and fled for his life, run like a whipped pup while Guadiz killed his brother. William lowered his
head. The Wallaces did not forsake their own. No matter his ordeal of the night before. Bruised and battered flesh was no excuse. He had dishonored the family name.
head. The Wallaces did not forsake their own. No matter his ordeal of the night before. Bruised and battered flesh was no excuse. He had dishonored the family name.
William closed his eyes, his mind replaying Samuel's death. A tear squeezed between his eyelids.
No! No!
He allowed the anger to fuel him, felt it course the length and breadth of him, reviving his spent strength.
Damn them! And damn you, William Wallace. Get up!
No! No!
He allowed the anger to fuel him, felt it course the length and breadth of him, reviving his spent strength.
Damn them! And damn you, William Wallace. Get up!
William heard a rustling in the underbrush and forced himself to stand as two of the dragoons, dismounted now, broke from cover and scrambled down the bank to confront their prey. The men grinned and brandished their sabers. Slowly, as if relishing the moment, the soldiers advanced on William, who stood unarmed with fists clenched, summoning the last of his resolve, knowing he didn't have a chance in hell but determined not to leave this earth without taking one of his attackers with him.
“Here I am, you bastards.
Tengo prisa!
I haven't got all day.” William slowly retreated, playing for distance, biding his time, determining which man would strike first, gauging his own fading strength and the reach of those steel blades.
Tengo prisa!
I haven't got all day.” William slowly retreated, playing for distance, biding his time, determining which man would strike first, gauging his own fading strength and the reach of those steel blades.
Suddenly the two soldiers halted in their tracks. William sensed movement behind him, panicked, and turned to protect himself against some new threat. A man of slender build and wind-seamed features dismounted from a mouse gray mare and advanced down the path. He was older by three decades than any of the other men standing in the path. His bald bullet head, hawkish nose, and sharp-eyed stare beaming beneath thick brows made for a remarkable appearance. The man was attired all in black, from his loose-fitting ruffled shirt to his breeches and boots. A gold ring dangled from what was left of a gnarled, chewed-upon right earlobe.
Farther up the path, the mare whinnied, then chose to
ignore the confrontation and begin to crop the grasses sprouting beneath the ferns. William took note of the animal. He was going to have need of that horse. Then he returned his attention to her owner.
ignore the confrontation and begin to crop the grasses sprouting beneath the ferns. William took note of the animal. He was going to have need of that horse. Then he returned his attention to her owner.
To William's surprise, the newcomer calmly passed him by, ignoring the larger man's show of defiance, and continued on toward the dragoons blocking his path. “Black Shirt” called out in a gravelly voice, “Enough blood has been shed. Return to your master!”
“Strange talk, coming from a man like you,” replied one of the soldiers. “Juan Diego ordered us to bring back the gringo's head. Do not interfere, old man.”
Wallace felt his legs grow weak, willed himself upright and cast a wary glance in the direction of the mare, then focused on the confrontation. The man in black dropped his hands to his belt and drew a pair of knives. Even in his beleaguered state, William could appreciate the weapons: one was a twelve-inch double-edged short sword, the width of four fingers at the hilt, fluted for bloodletting, tapering to a finely honed point. Its companion, a dirk, had a blade shorter by a few inches, slender and wicked-looking, like a tempered steel razor-sharp stinger. No hunting knives these, both weapons were made for war.
“Old man? We'll see,” purred the knife fighter. With his fingertips he flicked a silk scarf from his belt. The cloth draped across the blade's keen edge and parted. “Old Butch punishes,” said the man in black as the two swaths of silk fluttered to earth. Then, with a swipe of his right hand, the short sword sliced through a nearby sapling the thickness of a man's wrist. “Bonechucker destroys.” He hooked a finger in the short sword's curved hilt and spun the weapon. With a repeated flick of his wrist he kept the heavy blade twirling until the staghorn grip slapped the palm of his hand with a loud smack. At the same instant he tossed the dirk into the
air, timed his catch, and snared it again without severing his fingers.
air, timed his catch, and snared it again without severing his fingers.
The dragoons exchanged nervous glances. One of them audibly gulped. But they were too proud or stubborn to retreat, each man unwilling to be the first to flee, so they grudgingly held their ground. The soldiers were full of fight, vain and eager to prove themselves to Juan Diego Guadiz. They recognized the man in black but discounted his reputation.
The knife fighter shrugged and waved them forward. He had given the two a chance to walk away intact. “Come and take it,” he purred.
With sabers raised, the soldiers attacked in unison, intending to hack the older man to death and proceed on to
El norte.
William dizzily searched for a branch or rock with which to defend himself. He was determined to fight alongside his benefactor.
El norte.
William dizzily searched for a branch or rock with which to defend himself. He was determined to fight alongside his benefactor.
The man in black was a blur of motion. He parried the slashing swords, whirled and stabbed, darted back, parried again, attacking and defending at the same instant. One soldier collapsed, clawing at his severed jugular. The second soldier garbled a scream as Old Butch stung his rib cage. Riding a rush of fear and pain, the soldier lunged for the old knife fighter. The saber he held was no match for Toledo-forged steel. Bonechucker batted the saber aside, shattering the soldier's blade. The man in black followed up with a left-hand thrust, plunging the dirk into the soldier's chest. The dragoon dropped against the embankment and slid to a sitting position, the light dying in his eyes.
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