Savage. Part 8

"He would've murdered a woman on the streets. I saved her from his blade."

"And led him to our boat."

"I know. And I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry for what he did to your father, too. But he's Jack the Ripper! Jack the Ripper! You've no idea what a monster he is. I saw what he did to one poor woman. He must be put a stop to, or he'll do the same to you." You've no idea what a monster he is. I saw what he did to one poor woman. He must be put a stop to, or he'll do the same to you."

"He needs me."

"He'll butcher you."

"Don't be silly. He doesn't dare kill me, not if he wants safe pa.s.sage to America. But he'll certainly punish us for getting free of the ropes, so quit your arguing and tie me up."

I let go the hatch handle and took the rope from her. She pressed her arms against her sides, ready to have herself trussed.

"Lie down," I said.

"You've got to tie me first."

"No."

"Trevor!"

"All right, then!" Though I wasn't keen on being naked again, I needed both hands so I tossed my blanket to the other bed. Trudy turned her head away. Not before giving me a look, however.

On my knees again, I tucked one end of the rope under her arm, then wrapped her around the middle.

"Tighter," she said. "He can't know the difference."

I gave the rope rather a rough tug. She winced. She deserved a little hurt for being obnoxious, but right away I felt bad about it and apologized.

"Shut up and tie the knot."

"I'd much rather not. Let me leave it undone. I'll cover you up, and you lie down and pretend to be asleep. I'll do the same. We'll wait for just the proper moment, then jump Whittle and throttle him."

"There'll be no jumping of Whittle."

I sighed.

I didn't put up any more fuss. I knotted the rope, then scurried down and bound her ankles. When they were secure, I covered Trudy with the bedclothes.

I hurried over to my own berth and gathered the ropes Whittle had used on me. Feeling a bit down on Trudy, I said, "Now, of course, I'm supposed to tie myself."

"Do your feet first. That shouldn't present any great difficulty."

I swung my legs onto the bed, spread them apart, and dropped one of the ropes between them. Then I drew the covers up over my lap.

"What do you think you're doing?" Trudy asked, her tone snappish.

"I may be a silly child and a fool, thank you, but I'm not a coward."

"Tie yourself this minute!"

"I have a better use for Whittle's rope."

The one in my hands wasn't nearly so long as the coil I could feel under the backs of my legs. After dragging the covers to my shoulders, I stretched it across my chest and wound its ends around my hands.

"What are you planning?"

"To have a go at playing Thuggee."

"What are you talking about?"

"The Thuggee. A cult of fanatical murderers in India who employ the garrote to strangle..."

I went mum at the sound of a clacking latch. The door swung open. Whittle came in. He carried a bottle and a steaming pot that had a spoon in it. Clamping the bottle under one arm, he turned around to lock the door.

Secured from this side, it wasn't meant to keep us in but rather to keep Michael out. I supposed he must be keeping all the doors and hatches locked so he wouldn't need to worry about the fellow sneaking below for a try at rescuing Trudy.

He might as well have spared himself the bother. As I found out later, Michael didn't have the grit for such a venture.

After fastening the door, Whittle started to turn around. I shut my eyes before he got a look at me.

"Sit up, deary," he said in that stuffed voice of his thanks to losing his nose. "We shouldn't like to have you withering away, now, should we?"

I looked. He was on his knees, facing Trudy. He held the pot near her face. With his other hand, he spooned food into her mouth.

"Quite tasty, I daresay. I don't fancy myself a master of the culinary arts, but this stew is really quite exceptional."

The odor was delightful. It set my parched mouth to watering again, my hollow belly to grumbling.

He kept shoveling, giving Trudy a few moments to chew and swallow between each spoonful. I wondered if he aimed to save any for me.

It wouldn't come to that, though.

I slipped out from under the covers, swung myself around and lowered my feet to the floor. Trudy, chewing, shook her head at me. Whittle started to look over his shoulder. I sprang. Whipped the rope down past his face. Jerked it across his throat as I rammed against his back. The blow flung a spoonful of stew into Trudy's face. Then he knocked her flat and fell across her chest.

Riding his back, I pulled at the rope for all I was worth. He made choking, gaggy noises. He twisted and bucked under me. He stabbed at my shoulder with the spoon. His other hand dumped the pot down my back. The grub was hot enough to sting, but it didn't hurt enough to make me ease off. I kept on strangling him.

If Trudy'd lent a hand, I might've killed the Ripper then and there and saved the world a heap of grief.

But she was nicely tied because she'd insisted and I'd given in to her.

So she just lay there helpless, leaving the job to me.

Whittle bashed the side of my head with the pot. The world flashed bright, but I held on and kept tugging at the rope. Then he lit into me again and again. I lost count after the fifth bong. But I didn't lose my wits entirely.

Before long, I was sprawled on the floor and Whittle was sitting on me, wheezing for air, clobbering my face with the bottom of the pot. When he got tired of that, he roped my hands in front of me. He sat quiet for a spell, just staring at me and trying to get his wind back.

"What shall shall I do with you, Trevor?" he finally asked. I do with you, Trevor?" he finally asked.

I was too dazed to give an answer, but I reckon he wouldn't have heeded my advice, anyhow.

He pulled out his knife.

He tapped the end of my nose with its blade.

"Shall I nip it off?" he asked. His other hand reached around behind him and fingered my private parts. "Perhaps I ought to make a girl out of you. Which would you prefer, young man?"

"Cut my throat and...go b.u.g.g.e.r yourself."

That got the swine laughing. "You're too much fun to ruin," he said. "But you simply must be punished. Ah! I know just the thing!"

He put his knife away, climbed off, and lifted me onto my bed. As he worked on tying my feet, he said, "This will be just the perfect torture for a stout-hearted lad such as yourself. It ought to give you second thoughts, even third and fourth, should you ever take it into your head to tangle with me again."

He covered me to the shoulders with the bedclothes.

Then he crossed over to Trudy's berth and slapped her across the face.

"Leave her be!" I yelled.

He struck her again.

"I didn't do do anything," she cried out. "It was anything," she cried out. "It was him. him. It was all It was all his his idea!" idea!"

He gave her a backhanded smack that knocked her head sideways. She didn't say much after that. She didn't fight him, either. She just acted like a big, limp doll while Whittle threw off her covers, sat her up and untied her feet. When he told her to stand up, she obeyed.

He made a loop at one end of the rope, and dropped it over her head. He tightened the loop around her neck.

"Strangulation is most unpleasant," he said. He glanced at me. "I know that from recent experience at the hands of young Trevor."

He pa.s.sed the other end of the rope through the handle of the hatch above Trudy's head, pulled the slack out of it, then ducked down, hoisting her.

Trudy's arms were lashed fast against her sides, just as I'd left them. Her legs thrashed. Her body, wrapped in the white nightgown, twisted and swung. She let out the most awful retching sounds.

"No!" I cried out. I sat up so fast my head seemed to whirl inside.

"Stay or you'll make it worse for her!" Whittle yelled.

With that, he lowered Trudy until her feet met the floor. She stood there, weaving and choking, dancing about some in order to keep her balance as the boat rocked and bounced.

"That's enough," I said. "I'll be good. I promise. Please. Let her be."

"A promise quickly forgotten once the heat of sympathy has cooled."

"No! I promise! As G.o.d is my witness!"

"Witness this, my friend." He let the rope fall from his hand. While Trudy staggered about, trying to stay on her feet, he stepped around to the front of her and removed the rope that bound her arms to her sides. He slipped the nightgown off her shoulders, pulled it down her body until it lay in a heap at her feet.

She just stood there, letting him.

I just sat on my bed, watching. He'd said he would make it worse for her if I interfered, and I believed him.

After stripping her naked, he tied Trudy's hands.

Then he grabbed the rope that was dangling from the hatch above her head. He slipped it between her legs, reached behind her to find it, brought it around to the front, gave it a pull that made her yelp and jump, then tied it around the top of her thigh.

"How's that, deary?" he asked her.

She answered with a whimper.

He patted her face. "Steady as she goes," he said. "Should you lose your sea legs, I fear you may hang yourself. And such a pity that would be."

He squeezed past her. He smiled over at me. "See what you've done to Trudy?"

Well, it was just too much for me and I started to weep. "Please," I blubbered. "Please, let her down."

"By and by. Perhaps."

He withdrew the leather belt from his trousers, doubled it, and whipped Trudy's back. She flinched and squealed. She pranced to keep from falling.

I thought of Barnes whipping Mother with his his belt. And I wished I had finished him off with the fireplace poker, and I wished I had killed Whittle and I prayed for the Lord to strike him dead and I vowed to kill him myself if G.o.d let him get away with this. belt. And I wished I had finished him off with the fireplace poker, and I wished I had killed Whittle and I prayed for the Lord to strike him dead and I vowed to kill him myself if G.o.d let him get away with this.

I cried and pleaded and cursed.

It was all just a blur through my tears. It seemed to go on for hours. I wished it was me instead of her. She looked so beautiful and helpless it just twisted my heart to see the way Whittle lashed her. Each time he struck, she jumped and twitched and cried out. Even in the dim glow from the lamp, I could see red stripes all over her back and rump. A few times, she lost her footing and strangled for a moment before she got the floor under her again.

When Whittle finally lowered his arm, I thought he was done with her. But what he did was turn Trudy around. He commenced to whip her front, laying the belt across her face and arms and b.r.e.a.s.t.s and belly.

At last, he put his belt back on.

Trudy hung there, limp and whimpering, shaking all over, shuffling her feet so she wouldn't fall again.

When his belt was buckled, he grinned at me. He winked. "Now for my favorite part."

He went up close to Trudy, held on to her hips, and took to licking her.

"Nothing like the taste of blood," he said.

He spent a long time licking her. He licked her all over, front and back. Then he fell into Trudy's bed, pulled the covers over him, and said, "Sleep well, my friends."

CHAPTER NINE.

A Rough, Long Night I couldn't hardly believe Whittle was just going to leave leave Trudy dangling. I figured he'd get up again, pretty soon, and let her down. But he didn't. He no sooner covered himself up with her blankets than he got to snoring. Trudy dangling. I figured he'd get up again, pretty soon, and let her down. But he didn't. He no sooner covered himself up with her blankets than he got to snoring.