Across a Moonlit Sea (39 page)

It was Drake who interrupted the revelry by reminding them all of a third hero present. He hailed Spence forward and insisted he take up the story of the rescue and the attack on the
San Pedro.
He listened and cheered as enthusiastically as the others, so that one would think he was hearing the tale for the first time. But Sir Francis was nothing if not a master at manipulation, and by the time the paintings of the three Spanish harbors were produced, the men were crowding around the table, absorbing his every word, agreeing—nay,
insisting
—their first strike be against Cadiz.

Through it all Dante and Bloodstone stood in opposite
corners of the cabin. If anyone noticed that the- two did not seem overly anxious to seek out each other’s company again, it went unremarked. If anyone noticed the frequent looks that passed across the room, laden with promises, threats, and cutting derision, they preferred to keep their heads bowed and their own gazes safe from accidental interception.

The storm rolled over the huddled fleet like a great wet blanket, smothering lights and sounds, pounding like angry fists on the decks and hulls, driving all but the most stalwart under cover. There was no one to watch, no one to hear his screams, no one to see the rivers of blood that poured from Dante’s knife as he stabbed Victor Bloodstone. He used the traitor’s own jeweled dagger and plunged it into the bastard’s soft underbelly, just above the pubic bone, jerking upward on the blade until he had ripped through the groin, stomach, chest, and eventually the heart. All the while he was dying, Bloodstone screamed for mercy, begged for it, but Dante only murmured the names of the men who had died much more horrible deaths on board the
Virago
, men who had died because of a common thief’s greed and treachery. Then he gouged the knife deeper, giving it an added twist or taking a small but effective detour to carve out the bowels, spleen, and liver.

Dante smiled and looked down into the celebratory cup of brandy he had poured himself. He took a satisfied swallow, letting the most excellent liquor roll to the back of his tongue and down his throat, warming him all the way to his toes.

When he looked across the cabin, Victor Bloodstone was still standing there, talking in muted tones to his second, Horace Lamprey, and Dante had the pleasure of killing him all over again.

“Simon?”

It was Drake, with Carleill beside him, and Dante gave them his grudging attention.

“Watching the storm, were you? Hellish thing. Black as a maw out there.”

Dante had only been vaguely aware of the weather and he looked now, seeing the thick white splatters hitting the gallery windows beside him.

“I thought I ought to ask formally if you would honor us with your presence at Cadiz,” Drake said. “Given the nature of the hunt and your penchant for always striving to be in the hottest part of hell at any given time, I may have overstepped myself by presuming you would want to accompany us. I am reminded, however, you have just come from a particularly exhausting adventure and may feel the strain would be too much.”

Dante smiled. “I think I can bear up, but I thank you for your concerns over my health. In truth”—he glanced over at Bloodstone—“I am feeling quite invigorated.”

Drake followed his gaze. “I thought you might.”

Dante took a sip of brandy and pushed his shoulder away from the wall. “You might have had a
thought
to warn me, Francis. You know how I dislike surprises.”

“Yet you handled yourself admirably well. Victor, on the other hand, seemed a little uncomfortable.”

“It
is
rather close in here,” Dante mused. “So much rhetoric, so much damned zeal.”

“And not one word of dissent.”

“So far.”

“So far,” Drake agreed. “Borough will probably give me the headache with his infernal discourses on naval warfare, but the rest … they seem an eager lot.”

“They usually are at the mention of the word
profit”

“Do you deny the possibility that
vast
profits exist? If
nothing else, Cadiz is the warehouse for supplies that come from the Mediterranean and Baltic. Cannon from Italy, cordage, spars, sailcloth … even the priests who hold their court in Seville will disembark for Lisbon through Cadiz. And if we should stumble across another treasure ship or two…?”

“You did seem to make that a highly likely possibility,” Dante noted dryly.

“I merely suggested the
San Pedro de Marcos
would not have been sailing across the Atlantic alone.”

“I also thought you skimmed rather lightly over the possibility of the King’s ships fighting back. And the fact the bay can become a trap if the wind should fail.”

“I saw no soft spines here tonight. They are all aware of the risks.” Drake pursed his lips and took a seemingly casual step in front of Simon Dante, placing himself directly in the line of vision between the privateer and Victor Bloodstone. “He said his mainmast was damaged and his rudder too unsteady to keep the enemy engaged.”

“So I heard.”

Drake’s eyes turned as cold and hard as two chips of broken glass. “Is that what you saw?”

“I was rather preoccupied at the time.”

“I need to know I can count on every man who sails in my wake. I need to know, if an enemy is closing on my back, there will be guns there to defend me.”

Dante’s eyes lifted above Drake’s head and fastened on Bloodstone as he took another measured sip of his brandy. “I would be inclined, in that case, to keep the
Talon
in front of you.”

“Are you saying—?”

“I am saying … you should have a ship at your back you can depend upon to stay in the battle and not run
away when his holds are full and the smoke becomes thick enough to claim convenient damages.”

Drake’s tongue took another stroll around his mouth, removing the sudden bad taste he had acquired. “I see. You have shown remarkable restraint, cousin.”

“Haven’t I, though. It must be the exalted company.”

“If you care to lay a charge …”

“I prefer to lay a broadside, but in my own time, Francis. In my own time.”

“To that end … have you given thought to Captain Spence’s offer?”

Dante looked over to where Jonas sat surrounded by a dozen privateers quaffing ale and brandy, retelling the taking of the
San Pedro
for what was surely the tenth time. He had offered to throw his guns in with Drake’s fleet, to follow them to Cadiz that he might serve God and Her Most Gracious Majesty the Queen in whatever capacity his humble talents might allow.

“I would suggest he has all the profit and glory he can handle at the moment,” Dante said evenly. “He is a good man and has a stout ship under him, but I see no benefit to having him put at risk what he has already gained.”

Drake pursed his lips. “He seems a proud man.”

“His pride will recover the moment he sails into Plymouth Sound.”

“And your most charming Black Swan? Will she recover as quickly?”

Dante blew a soft breath between his lips. “She will have no choice. She goes where the Egret goes.”

“Nevertheless, perhaps we can soften the blow somewhat. One of our pinnaces is leaking like a sieve. We were going to send her home, but the captain would not hear of it. Now she can be given the ‘task’ of acting as escort to the Egret, and vise versa. It would be a shame,
after all, to lose either ship to those barbarous French scoundrels who lurk out of Biscay. I shall put it to Captain Spence directly,” he added, “couching it in terms of a personal favor to me.”

“You put me in your debt,” Dante said with a small bow.

“I know. And I plan to collect upon it with interest. You have knowledge of the harbor at Cadiz, you have knowledge of the defenses. With Carleill’s generous permission you will also have a ship to show us the way.”

The lieutenant, who had taken in the entire conversation and said nothing until now, stood a little straighter, and flushed a little darker.

“My ship, sir, is the
Scout
She is small, but sturdy, and is currently being navigated by my brother, Edward. I have discussed the matter with him and we would consider it an honor and a privilege to relinquish command to you that you might regard her as your own until this venture is concluded. She … lays a spirited broadside, sir, and would be the match for any ship that might cross your path.”

Dante studied the young man’s tense features and wondered how much of it was an honor and how much was a direct request by Sir Francis Drake.

Carleill misinterpreted his hesitation and his coloring wavered again. “She isn’t the
Virago
, I know, but—”

“No. No, Lieutenant, that isn’t why I find my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. I am just…” Dante stopped, realizing Carleill had been put into a position where he might be more insulted if the offer was refused. He shook his head and smiled, extending his hand. “I am the one who is honored, Christopher, and I accept your gracious offer, with thanks.”

Carleill seemed startled at the friendly use of his name, but it had the desired effect. Some of the starch came out
of his face and he shook Dante’s hand with something akin to comradeship.

“I have some
Virago
men on board the
Egret
who may be interested in joining me.”

“Arrangements can be made for as many as choose to follow you, sir. Have you your own pilot?”

Dante’s breath caught a moment. “No. No, he went down with my ship, rest his soul.”

“I can promise you my brother is most capable at the helm. If it is agreeable to you, he would be … beside himself with the honor.”

“It would be most agreeable. I thank you again.”

“Well, then.” Drake clapped Dante on the shoulder. “If all seems to be settled to everyone’s satisfaction, I shall wend my way to Captain Spence and see if I cannot persuade him to do me this momentous favor. If you will excuse me…?”

Drake strolled over to where Jonas was holding court. Carleill lingered long enough to discuss the
Scout
with Dante, but when a summons to go topside interrupted them, he excused himself, leaving Dante with a promise to introduce him properly to the ship and crew at his earliest convenience.

Dante leaned his shoulder on the wall and briefly watched the solid tattoo of rain on the gallery windows. His charming little black swan would not be thrilled at all with the notion of being summarily dismissed, regardless whether it was couched in friendly terms or not. An image of Beau standing on the afterdeck of the
Egret
, her eyes streaming from the clouds of smoke that rose from the guns, her hands raw and bleeding, her face pale with fear, came to his mind and he knew he would have to find his own way of softening the blow to her pride. He meant what he had said. He wanted her safe in England.

He wanted someone to go home to.

The thought surprised him and he narrowed his eyes against the glare of the lights reflected off the panes of glass. It had been so long since he had even thought of anywhere being home, other than the sea. His gray-cloaked accountants kept reminding him he had several in both England and France, but they had just been cold, gloomy castles in his mind’s eye, full of pomp and ceremony, gilded in the rents his tenants could not afford to pay …

… Echoing with the scornful laughter of his wife throwing the proof of her infidelity in his face. Strange, but he could barely hear it now. And not at all when Beau was with him, whether she was cursing him, fighting with him, or warming his ear with the soft, rushing breaths of ecstasy.

What would Isabeau Spence make of a four-hundred-room French chateau?

The question, and its answer, brought a smile to his lips even as he tried to see past the smear of rain on the windows and find the Egret.

“The cocky bastard,” Victor Bloodstone muttered. “He’s actually grinning at me.”

Horace Lamprey followed his captain’s burning gaze and saw De Tourville standing by the gallery windows, staring into the reflections duplicated in the many panes.

“Blast his miserable soul to hell, why could he not have gone down with his ship?”

“Or before,” Lamprey mused. “I almost had him in Veracruz,
would
have had him, if that damned Cimaroon wasn’t always in his shadow.”

Bloodstone looked around quickly to see if anyone was within earshot, but those who weren’t discussing Cadiz were hanging off Jonas Spence’s every word.

“And now he knows about the gold. He knows we
landed somewhere first and off-loaded most of the bullion before the Queen’s excisemen got their sticky fingers onto it.”

“Maybe that’s what he’s after,” Lamprey suggested. “His share.”

“Dante de Tourville? He’s but a copper groat poorer than God Himself! What does he need with more gold? No, it’s blood he’s after.
My
blood. And he’ll wait, like a vulture, circling and grinning until he thinks the time is right to strike.”

“Happens, then, we should strike first,” Lamprey said with a sly grin. “’Tis a hellish dark night outside: Sir Francis is even encouraging the captains to have a care as they leave. A man could easily lose his footing, kosh himself on the head, and be over the side before he knew it. Wouldn’t even hear the scream.”

Bloodstone looked into the flat brown eyes of his second and, after a moment of thoughtful contemplation, nodded his compliments.

“I was thinking of leaving, myself, in a few minutes.”

“Aye, sir. It would be best if Sir Francis and the others see you go.”

“And best if they don’t see you at all.”

“Like I said, sir. It’s hellish dark outside. I don’t imagine a man could be seen unless he wanted to be.”