The Butcher and The Beast

by Sean Michael

"Elizabeth, please. I'm not going to Hades to fight the devil himself, I'm taking my constitutional. Simply wait tea until I return." Stephen shook his head at his sister and her swollen eyes.

Ever since the damnable rumors about pirates attacking their fair isle, the woman had been an unbearable worrywart. The entire scenario was pointless, ridiculous. Bloody childish. Admiral Lipincott was the finest in her Majesty's fleet, keeping them all safe and supplied. There wasn't a pirate alive foolhardy enough to attack Santa Maria.

"Brother. Stephen. Please. Mary Ann said..."

"Mary Ann is a twit and a gossip and a child trapped in a woman's body." He stood, glaring down at her. "Now, honestly. Calm yourself and I shall be home before you know it." He loved her dearly, he did, but damned if she didn't drive him batty.

He stormed out of the drawing room, nodding to George as he passed. "Tea will be late."

"Yes, Doctor Grey. Have a good walk." Yes, good man. This was why he kept the old man on the payroll. He knew when to agree.

Stephen wandered down the cobblestones, nodding to the random people he met, heading to the long stretch of planks by the docks. His boots thumped against the wood. The sound of the water against the dock was quite relaxing.

There was a soft splash and then two men appeared before him, in the shadows. "You're the doctor, eh?"

"I am." Hells bells. He started backing away, gripping his cane firmly.

"Good." They each grabbed one of his arms and went over the side of the pier, landing in the water with a splash.

"Unhand me! Help! Constable!" He struggled, trousers and shirtwaist soaked through and heavy immediately, the water cool and slick.

Oh, Elizabeth was never going to let him forget this nonsense.

One of his captors turned to glide through the water on his back, tugging him along, hand over his mouth. In moments he was being pulled up into a rowboat.

He still had his cane and as soon as he could find his balance and pull away from the fiends, he swung, hoping to make contact. "What wickedness is this?"

There was a yelp from in front of him and a laugh from behind him and the cane was yanked from his hand and unceremoniously tossed overboard.

"We're taking you to a patient, Doctor. This how you treat all of 'em?"

"I beg your pardon? The governor sent you?" Did they think him a fool?

They laughed. Not the polite titters he was used to either, but full out belly laughs.

He looked around, judging the distance to the shore, the weight of his clothing. He was not the strongest swimmer on the isle, but he could survive. Stephen tensed, diving for the edge of the rowboat. His hopes were dashed as one meaty hand wrapped around his arm, holding fast.

"Now, now, sawbones, don't be thinking of going anywhere before you see the Cap'n."

"Captain? Captain of what? Captain who? I know everyone on the isle." His mind could not imagine it, could not come to terms with this insanity.

"Not taking you to anywhere on the isle, now are we?"

"Shut it, Dawson."

"You shut it!"

"Both of you shut it," came a third voice as they drew up next to a large ship.

"I am here under duress! I insist upon being taken back to shore!" Oh, he despised ships, the rocking and rolling.

That brought another loud round of laughing and he was unceremoniously hauled on board.

"Cap'n's bellow."

"Below? Below where? What is wrong with him? Why did you come fetch me? What on earth is that stench?"

"That'd be me, 'ya butcher." A foul-breathed giant of a man pushed into his face, laughing before grabbing his arm and pulling him along.

"I say! Unhand me! What on Earth do you expect of me, without my bag, my tools?" Fiends. Foul, beastly fiends.

"We expect you to fix up the Captain, sawbones. He dies -- you die."

They started going down. Oh, my. The stench was... Unbearable. People honestly lived this way? Apurpose? Utterly ridiculous!

"Stop hovering Havers and get me the thrice damned whiskey!" The angry growl came from the direction they were going in and a sailor pushed passed them like the very devil was on his tail.

Oh, facing the bear in his den. Goodness. What tales he'd have to tell tomorrow over breakfast.
 

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