Betrayal in Tortuga

Chapter 5

 Even if Daumont had been thinking clearly enough to recognize that he had plenty of time to disappear into the crowds of Tortuga, he wouldn't have run away. A metallic scrape and a dull wooden thud followed each other in quick succession as Daumont unsheathed his rapier and buried it into one of the poles holding up Mr. Caïn's tent. He was already moving away, back towards the coast, when Mr. Caïn's aggravated screams rose from the pile of rugs Daumont had left behind. Daumont's stride quickened with every step. His face was hot for reasons other than Haiti's relentless sun. He ran with his rapier held to his side, his mind fixed on a singular goal. Daumont knew who'd given him up the moment he knew he'd been given up. Hubert.

By the time he reached la Miséricorde, Daumont could see the crew that had stayed on the ship being led away in shackles. His muscles relaxed slightly when he saw that Marguerite wasn't among them; she must have escaped somehow. Daumont approached the ship but went no closer than the crowd of onlookers that had gathered near the docks. He saw some people nervously eyeing his rapier and he mentally debated sheathing it until he saw him. Hubert de Bailly was standing a few feet away in the front of the crowd, staring emotionlessly at what was happening before him. Daumont tightened his fist around his weapon and bared his teeth in the direction of Hubert. His passion rekindled, he pushed men aside to reach him.

"Traitor!" Daumont shrieked.

Hubert snapped around to face him, and upon seeing Daumont's rapier was quick to draw his own. Hubert's mouth was opening but Daumont couldn't hear what he was saying, nor could he read Hubert's expression as his vision became clouded.

"You're crazy!" was all Daumont heard before he attempted the first blow. Hubert dodged this easily, and they began to circle each other. Hubert kept his hips low and his rapier pointed out. One foot crossed over the other as he maneuvered around Daumont with the trained grace of a dancer, or somebody who used to be rich. Daumont's style was rough at best and sloppy at worst, but what he lacked in form he made up for in will. The men barely recognized the growing attention they were receiving from those close enough to see, unfortunately including the guards thus far busy with la Miséricorde.

The second blow was also delivered by Daumont. Hubert took the opportunity to duck and make a counter-swing which met its mark, nicking Daumont's left side. The pierce was small but deep, and the pain was sobering to Daumont. Using the momentum it took to right himself, Daumont swung his arm through for a third attempt. Hubert's arm was still extended from his touché on Daumont, he wasn't able to block this fourth and final swing. Daumont's blade was a needle through butter as it slid between Hubert's ribs and left lung, through to the other side and out again. Hubert hit the dry and caked ground of Tortuga at the very same moment Daumont's arms were seized by guards. He screamed and clawed at his captors but found himself outnumbered. It took five men to subdue him before he felt something hit a nerve in his cheek. His cloudy vision went black.