“Where is he?” I yelled, desperately scanning the wreckage of the ship.
Bas shouted, pointing to the water.
Corbin’s body was almost invisible against the dark water, but the shimmer of water on his flesh caught my eye. He was facedown on a chunk of deck, partially draped over a bit of railing. As I watched, the wood started to sink, taking an unconscious—or possibly dead—Corbin with it.
I didn’t debate the question of what would happen should one of our virtual selves die while our brains were still hooked up to the game, or whether we even could die in the game. All I wanted to do was save Corbin. Without thinking of the wisdom of my actions, I ripped off my boots, snatched up a length of rope, and tossed an end of it to Bas. “Tie it to the railing. If I go down, sail home. Don’t try to rescue me.”
Bas’s eyes were huge, but he nodded, quickly securing one end of the rope. I scrambled up on the railing, took a deep breath, and flung myself into the water.
The shallower waters of the harbor might have been warm, but out in the open sea, the water was cold enough to stun me for a few moments. A floating piece of debris slammed into my head, reminding me that I had a man to save. I trod water trying to see any sign of Corbin, but he had gone down. Without considering the likelihood of my own death, I dived, thanking my stars for the relatively clear water that let me see the sinking body ahead of me. My lungs started to burn as I kicked madly toward Corbin, grabbing him by the shirt to keep him from sinking down to the depths. As I struggled to drag him upward, I wrapped a couple of lengths of rope around him, giving it several sharp tugs that I prayed my crew would interpret as my need for assistance.
Black spots started to dance before my eyes. I looked upward, where I could see the hull of the ship, but it seemed an inordinately long way away. The water didn’t seem to be so cold now. In fact, it was rather pleasant, as if it was welcoming me. I drifted toward a deep abyss in the middle of it, clutching Corbin, figuring that if we were together, it might not be so bad. . . .
With a painful jerk, I was slammed up against the side of the ship, my lungs convulsively gasping in both air and water as we broke the surface. Pain blossomed to horrible life all over my body as I collided three more times with the ship while the men hauled us on board.
“We thought we’d lost ye,” Prudence said with repulsive good cheer as Corbin and I landed like dead flounders on the deck.
I vomited up a couple of gallons of water, got to my knees, and crawled over to where Corbin lay motionless.
“Anyone know CPR?” I asked, feeling for a pulse.
The men stared at me. I pushed my dripping hair back from my face, pinched Corbin’s nose, and blew two breaths into his mouth, watching from the corner of my eye to make sure his chest rose. The men gawked openly as I put my hands over his chest and started pumping quickly, counting to fifteen before I repeated the two breaths.
Around us, the air was filled with the sounds and smells of cannon fire, screams of men as they were injured, and the terrible sound of ships being blown apart, but none of that registered with me. I blew breaths into Corbin’s mouth and pumped his chest, my whole world having narrowed down to just one person.
I was aware of blood seeping through his shirt, and dripping off my head, but none of that mattered. The pain that wracked my entire body didn’t matter. The fact that my ship was damaged possibly to the point where we might not make it to shore didn’t matter. Not even the fact that someone I trusted had turned on me mattered. My whole being, my every breath, every beat of my heart, was focused on willing Corbin to live.
Minutes seemed to turn to hours, and just as I thought my own heart was going to burst, Corbin’s body jerked beneath me, his chest rising as he took a horrible long, rasping breath.
He coughed and choked, vomiting up seawater as I turned him on his side, tears of joy blurring my vision so I couldn’t see.
“Am . . .” The word cracked as he coughed up more water. He took a long, shuddering breath and tried again, his voice so hoarse it was painful to hear. “Amy?”
“I’m here, my darling,” I panted, a painful lump in my throat making it hard for me to speak. “I have you. You’re safe now.”
“Famous last words,” he said, then passed out.
Chapter 17
Revenge is sweet,
And flavours all our dealings!
—Ibid, Act I
“Eh . . . be that Black Corbin?”
“Yes. Will someone get me the ship’s first-aid kit? There’s blood. I think he’s been hurt.”
“Oy, Imp, the captain has caught us Black Corbin,” Prudence told his brother excitedly.
“What be a first-aid kit?” Impulsive asked me.
I checked to make sure Corbin was still breathing. To be honest, I was a bit relieved he was unconscious—I had other immediate problems to take care of . . . such as the battle raging around us, and the blood seeping through his wet shirt.
“It’s a medical kit for emergencies. Please go fetch ours.”
The four pairs of legs standing around where I knelt next to Corbin’s inert body didn’t move.
“Is he dead?” Bas asked, peering with critical interest at Corbin’s face.
“No, not yet, but he will be if someone doesn’t hop to it and get me the damned first-aid kit!”
“We’re not be havin’ anythin’ like that on board, I’m thinkin’,” Pru said slowly. “Captain Bart’ll be mighty pleased to know ye’ve caught Black Corbin.”
“Captain Bart isn’t going to know anything about this,” I said grimly. “I need something to stop this bleeding. Gauze or clean linen or . . . oh, my God.” I unlaced Corbin’s shirt, ripping the bottom half to peel it back and expose his torso. There were a half dozen small abrasions due no doubt to the flying debris after Pangloss’s ship had blasted him, but what had me staring in helpless horror was a large, fist-sized piece of wood that jutted out of Corbin’s belly. “This can’t be happening. This isn’t real. You can’t be hurt—none of this is real. Corbin, wake up and tell me you’re not really hurt. Corbin? Corbin!”
“Er . . . lass, I’ve no love for Black Corbin, but I’m thinkin’ shaking his head like that when his belly’s been torn open isn’t likely to make him wake up,” Tar suggested. “ ’Tis more likely to be scramblin’ his brains.”
“Captain Bart will have him dancin’ on the jib in no time,” Prudence pointed out. “ ’Twon’t make much difference if he’s all right in his head or not.”
“No one is hanging Corbin, and his brains are just fine because none of this is real,” I told them all, releasing Corbin’s wet hair to stare at my bloodstained hands. “You don’t understand; this is all in our minds.”
“It looks like it’s in his belly,” Bas said, turning his attention to the largest of the wounds. “I knew a man what died after a horse kicked him in the belly. Do ye think a chunk of wood is the same thing as the kick of a horse?”
I pointed my finger at Bas. “Right. That’s it. No more comments about Corbin being dead or dying. Got it?” A blast shook the ship. I threw myself against Corbin to protect him from any more flying debris, yelling as I did so, “Tar, get us out of here!”
“Aye, aye, captain,” he said, kicking aside a bit of the railing as he limped toward the nearest line. “Where be ye wantin’ to go?”
“Anywhere out of the blockade. Go back to the island,” I said, biting my lip. Why wasn’t Corbin opening his eyes and telling me that this was going to be all right, that it was simply a matter of his mind believing he’d been hurt, but he hadn’t really. Why wasn’t he yelling at me for being in the blockade, dammit?
“If we go back, they’ll likely shoot us again,” Tar pointed out.
“Then take us somewhere we can go ashore and get help for Corbin.”
“Aye, let’s get him to shore. It’s been weeks since I’ve seen a really good hangin’,” Prudence said, getting to his feet in order to comply with Tar’s order to tack windward.
r /> I glared at the teen. “You are so close to walking the plank, I can’t even begin to tell you.”
“Me?” Prudence squeaked, his eyes opening wide.
“Yes, you. Oh, I don’t have time to explain. Bas, you help Tar and Prudence-the-soon-to-be-planked as best you can. Imp, help me get Corbin belowdecks.”
The hellish nightmare of the half hour that followed is thankfully a blur in my mind. Around us, while my beautiful—and now partially blown-to-shreds—ship limped a 180-degree circle to head to the far side of the island, the battle for Turtle’s Back raged. I had no time to wonder at Pangloss’s attack, nor his deceit in including me on the enemy list. Instead I performed what first aid I could to stop the bleeding and keep Corbin from slipping away from me again.
“It’s not real; it’s not real” was the mantra that I kept whispering as I picked out bits of wood and metal from his stomach and chest, leaving the biggest chunk for an expert. I had a nasty feeling that if I pulled it out, I wouldn’t be able to stop the bleeding.
Tar managed to find a tiny sheltered cove to run us gently aground.
“Where are we?” I asked him as I came on deck.
“About half a mile beyond the town,” Tar told me, pointing to the north. “ ’Tis the closest I could get us without killin’ us on the rocks.”
“Good job,” I said, snapping out orders to the twins. “We need to make a stretcher to carry Corbin into town. A blanket is going to have to do. One of you take the head, the other the foot. Bas, you run into town as quickly as you can and wake up Renata. Tell her we’re bringing . . . er . . . tell her we’re bringing a friend who’s been gravely wounded, and we’ll need a doctor.”
Bas cast a longing glance toward the hatch that led belowdecks, but hopped over the side of the ship into the shallow waters quick enough. I watched until he disappeared into the dense growth that surrounded the town, then got my makeshift ambulance team organized.
The trip to Renata’s house was slow and awkward. The boys had to stop frequently, and even with Tar and me helping, it seemed to take forever before we stumbled into town. I thought we’d have to snake our way around the back in order to avoid being seen by the townsfolk, but the deep rumble of guns in the distance reminded me that the battle would have everyone’s attention. The square was empty of life except for a pair of mangy dogs fighting over the remains of a roast chicken.
Renata was waiting at the door, looking not at all like a woman who’d just been dragged out of bed.
“I’m sorry to wake you up, but I have a friend who needs help,” I said, holding the door open as the panting twins hauled Corbin inside.
“I wasn’t asleep. The lads in the harbor have seen to that,” she told me, bending over the blanket. She sucked in her breath as she saw who lay there, giving me a long, unreadable glance. I returned it with one that I hoped made it clear that I would brook no betrayal. “Ye’ve Black Corbin here unless I am mistaken.”
“My bedroom is this way,” I directed, holding the doors for the boys as they carried Corbin in and laid him down on my bed. I made sure he was comfortable, then turned to where Renata stood in the doorway, Bas trying to see around her. “Yes, it’s Corbin. Do you have a problem with that? Because I’m telling you right here and now that if you’re not who you appear to be, and you try to do something to harm him, you will know my wrath. I can be very, very mean when something matters to me, and this man matters more than you can possibly imagine.”
Renata’s lips pursed as she considered me. “I’ve no problem with Corbin bein’ here, although ye should know that Bart’s placed the black spot upon him. If ye don’t want him dancin’ with Jack Ketch, ye’d best be gettin’ him out of here right quick.”
“Not until he’s seen a doctor, and not then if the doctor says he shouldn’t be moved,” I answered, prepared to fight for my man, ignoring the tiny niggle in the back of my mind that asked just when it was that Corbin had become mine.
“Ah, lass, there be no doctor here. He was killed when that man lyin’ yonder murdered Bart’s crew.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to forestall both the headache I could feel wanting to blossom to life and the urge to lose my temper. Screaming that Corbin didn’t actually kill anyone would do him little good. “Is there someone here who has medical training?”
Renata just looked at me.
“A . . . what do they call them . . . healer?”
“Aye, Sly Jez is by way of bein’ a healer,” Renata allowed.
“Great.” I knelt next to the bed and started to remove Corbin’s wet clothing, carefully avoiding the wood jutting out of his stomach. “I’ll help however best I can. Tar, you and the boys go take a look at my ship and see how badly she’s damaged. I need to know whether or not I can sail her to Mongoose. Oh, and Tar?” I glanced back over my shoulder at where my crew stood huddled together in the corner of the room, clearly uncomfortable at being in such close confines with the infamous Black Corbin. I gave them all a look to let them see the steely resolve that flowed through me. “I will give each of you ten reales for your help in moving Corbin, but if any of you mention this to a single living soul outside of this room, I will hang your guts from the yardarm. With great pleasure, using nothing but a spoon and a dull butter knife. Do you all understand?”
Prudence swallowed hard and nodded. Impulsive just looked scared. Tar had a blank look on his face, but his eyes avoided meeting mine. The three of them left quickly, but doubts about Tar lingered in my mind.
Jez turned out to be a better resource than I’d imagined—she bustled into the room in nothing but an (evidently hastily donned) chemise, a basket on her arm, looking quite proficient until she stopped with a shocked look on her face. “Oh, mercy! That’s . . . that’s . . .”
“Yes, it’s Corbin. He’s my hus—er . . . boyfr—uh . . . he’s a friend, all right? I’ll pay you to take care of this horrible wound he has and keep quiet, but for the love of God, please don’t ask questions, and just help him. He’s been unconscious for way too long. He might be suffering irreparable brain damage or something.”
Jez didn’t say anything further, although she did give me an odd look. My confidence in her abilities rose when she quickly examined Corbin, dismissing the lesser wounds to focus on the big one.
“Amy?” Kneeling next to Jez, I spun around so fast I fell back on my butt.
“Corbin? My sweet Corbin. You’re awake.”
“Yes,” he said, a spasm of pain crossing his face as he tried to move. I crawled over to him and put a restraining hand on the upper part of his chest. “Christ, I feel horrible. What happened?”
“You were hit with shrapnel. Don’t move. We’re taking care of you.”
“We?” he asked weakly, lifting his head to look down his body, his eyes widening as he saw the blood and gore. “Christ almighty and all the saints!”
“I’m going to take it out now,” Jez said to me softly, laying a couple of clean white cloths next to Corbin’s hip, along with a stoppered bottle of what looked to be brandy.
“What did she say?”
I put a hand on Corbin’s forehead and gently pushed it back into the pillow, leaning over him so all he could see was my eyes. “Sweetie, I want you to remember something, something very important.”
“What’s that?” he asked, trying to see around me.
I positioned myself so he couldn’t possibly see Jez as she prepared to yank the wood out of his stomach. “This is all in your mind, Corbin. You’re not really hurt. Nothing has really harmed you. Your brain just thinks you’ve been hurt, so it’s manifesting pain and all sorts of other things. All you have to do is be firm with yourself, and make your brain understand that you are just fine and dandy, physically.”
“It seems bloody real to me,” he growled. “What’s that woman doing down there? She’s not going to do what I think she’s going to do?”
“She’s going to remove the wood, but remember—the wood is just a figment
of your imagination as well. Just tell yourself there will be no pain because there is no injury, and you won’t be the least bit uncomfortable.”
Jez wrapped both hands around the piece of wood and yanked it out with a quick move.
“Amy?” Corbin said, his entire body having stiffened up.
I kissed his nose. “My brave little cowpoke. You see, I knew you could get a handle on this mind-over-matter stuff.”
Tears collected on the outer corners of his eyes.
“Aaaaaaaaaargh!” he screamed, his back arching off the bed. I grabbed him by the arms and tried to hold him down as Jez muttered an apology before pouring a liberal amount of brandy on the open wound.
“Mind over matter, mind over matter,” I yelled at Corbin as he thrashed around on the bed, one long scream of pain ripping from his throat. Jez worked quickly to clean the wound out with alcohol, picking out tiny splinters of wood as I threw myself across Corbin to keep him (relatively) immobile. “You’re not really in pain! This doesn’t really hurt!”
He took a deep, shuddering breath and bellowed, “Like hell it doesn’t hurt! Tell that sadist to stop tearing me open!”
“She’s helping you, my sweet darling. She has to get all the bits out of the wound, or it’ll get infected.”
Corbin opened his mouth to scream again, but an odd look crossed his face instead. “What did you say?” he finally asked.
“I said that Jez has to pick out all the slivers of wood in the wound. She’s not trying to hurt you, Corbin; she’s helping. She’s a healer.”
“No, not about that.” He frowned, his beautiful silvery eyes dark with pain. “What you said before that.”
“Mind over matter?”
“In between. You called me darling. Your sweet darling.”
“Oh,” I said, for once at a loss for words. I wasn’t ready to look at the warm emotions that seemed to be growing inside me for Corbin. I had too many other things to take care of, too much work to be finished. “Did I?”