≈
Camilla knelt before the chest, worked the key in the lock, and flipped back the heavy lid with a mental apology to Cynthia. This was the only card she had to play, the only card she could think of that might keep her and her hidden friends alive.
“Holy mother of…” Parek and his men gaped at the gold and jewelry that filled the chest, the incredible hoard that Bloodwind had amassed over his decades of piracy. Cynthia had never bothered to organize it. She had only dumped it out to have it appraised, then put it right back in the same chest, keeping back only the softer gems that might be damaged by the weight of the gold. She spent some when she had to, but that was rarely, since her merchant fleet was doing so well. Most of Bloodwind’s ill-gotten loot was still there.
“It’s quite a haul, I’ll admit,” Camilla said, running her fingers through the heavy gold coins, jewelry and gems. Atop the hoard lay a golden-hilted cutlass in an ornate scabbard, Bloodwind’s own. Cynthia had kept it as a trophy, had never displayed it, but kept it locked in the chest. Camilla lifted it out and handed it hilt first to Parek. “You may recognize this, too; it belonged to Captain Bloodwind. It’s yours, if you want it. The chest is too heavy to lift. You’ll have to bag it up to get it out of here.”
“By the Nine Hells, men,” Parek breathed, taking the sword and examining the golden hilt with wide eyes, “we’re bloody stinkin’
rich
! Every one of us!”
Camilla heard their excited whispers and saw several hands reach toward the chest. Abruptly, she closed the cover, leaning on it in the barely veiled pretence of using its support to get to her feet. The pirates grumbled in protest, but she looked directly at Parek and said, “I’m sure that Captain Parek would like to inventory his treasure before it gets scattered on the four winds. That way, he can ensure that
everyone
gets their fair share.”
Parek cocked an eyebrow at her, then smiled slyly. “There’s plenty to go around, lads, and I’ll see that you get what you deserve, so keep it out of your pockets for now. Go find smaller chests, boxes, bags, whatever you can to carry it in! And do it quiet! We gotta get this aboard
Cutthroat
before those cannibals get their hands on it.”
The men dashed into Cynthia’s study, and Camilla heard the clatter of upturned furniture. Two returned with the small coffers in which Cynthia had stored mer scrolls—Camilla cringed to think of the priceless documents being shredded under the pirates’ careless feet—and began shoveling treasure into them from the larger chest. The others dashed from the room in search of more containers.
“And you, Miss Camilla,” Parek said as he tore his eyes away from the treasure and looked to her, then back to the treasure. “What do you want in return for this?”
“As Bloodwind’s wife, I expect a share of the treasure, and I would appreciate a lift away from this bloody island.” She waved a hand at the balcony and the vista beyond, trying to ignore the stench of smoke and carnage that wafted past the curtains. “This place has been a prison to me for two years, and I want off it. Drop me in any port you come to; I don’t care.”
“A king’s ransom and a lift.” He eyed her again and sheathed his cutlass. “Seems like a bit much for showing us something we’d have found on our own.”
“It’s what I’m due, Captain,” she said, steeling her nerve. “As Bloodwind’s wife, I—”
“You keep saying that, but I don’t remember any ceremony.” He stepped up to her, fingering the laces of her bodice. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re not even his widow, just his slave whore. What makes you think you de—”
Her open palm cracked against his cheek, hard enough to leave a red imprint in its wake. “I was once his slave, but never his whore, Captain Parek. He intended to wed me, and everyone knew it.”
He glared at her dangerously, then grinned. “Fair enough,” he said, rubbing his cheek. The other pirates returned with more bags and small chests. He glanced over, watching the men pile treasure into the bags, laughing as they did so. “I’ll grant you a share of that. A
mate’s
share. But as for a lift, well…” He raised a hand and ran his fingers through the crimson cascade of her hair. “I think we might just have to negotiate that.”
“I’m always open to…negotiation, Captain,” Camilla said, forcing a sultry smile though her stomach roiled. In her years with Bloodwind, she had learned well the art of disguising her real emotions. “What did you have in mind?”
He grinned like a wolf, took her by the wrist and pulled her toward the bedroom. “See to the treasure, boys, and don’t stop with the chest. Search the entire place, take anything we can carry, and burn the rest. I’ve got some negotiating to do!”
The door slammed behind them, and Camilla could hear the chorus of cheers from behind it over her hammering heart. Parek flung her at the bed, and she caught one of the elaborately carved bedposts. Curving herself around it and running her hand over the wood, she smiled back at Parek. A fleeting image of Emil Norris penetrated her shield of hate, her armor of loathing, but she thrust it out of her mind; such thoughts would be her undoing. Besides, it was better not to sully her memories of their lovemaking with the act she would perform with Parek. She watched as the pirate unclipped his baldric and let it fall to the floor, then advanced on her. She swung around the post and draped herself across the bed, gazing at him with sultry eyes.
“So, Miss Camilla,” he said, first pulling his shirt over his head, then unbuckling his trousers, “where shall we begin our negotiations?”
≈
“Smoke o’er the island, sir!” the lookout called from the foremast top. Captain Pendergast looked through his glass toward Plume Isle, some four miles to windward, but could only tell that the isle’s characteristic white pillar of smoke was tinged gray at its lower reaches. The
Iron Drake
was running under reefed mainsail, forecourse and forestaysail only. Her topsails were doused to lower her profile and make her harder to detect from afar, but if they ventured any closer, they would surely be spotted.
Captain Pendergast lowered his glass and swore under his breath. “Mister Jundis, please take my glass to the foretop and bring me a report. I can’t tell from here whether it’s smoke from a fire, or the natural plume of that smoldering mountain.”
“Aye, Captain!” The mate took the captain’s glass, a far finer instrument than that of the foremast lookout, and climbed the rigging. Ten minutes later, the lieutenant stood once again on the deck next to his captain.
“It is smoke, sir.” He handed the glass back with a salute. “No doubt of it. It’s lower and darker than the plume, and it’s coming from the cove. I can’t see any masts, but they could be inside the inner bay that Captain Veralyn told us about.”
“Your assessment, Lieutenant?” Pendergast scowled windward again.
“I’d say the whole place is afire, sir. I’ve seen towns burn. The seamage may have left, burning what she couldn’t take with her. Or perhaps whatever magic burnt
Clairissa
got loose and set on the seamage’s holdings. No way to tell without closer inspection. Should we send the gig in?”
“Too risky.” Pendergast’s tone brooked no argument. “Whatever’s burning, it can’t be good for the seamage. I’ll not put men at risk to learn more.” He snapped the viewing glass back into its case at his belt and nodded, his resolve firm. “Wear ship, Lieutenant. Shake the reefs out of the main and forecourse, and raise tops’ls and skys’ls when we’re well away. Set course for Rockport. The admiral will find this very interesting indeed!”
Chapter 10
Deceptions
Norris paced back and forth in the dim light of the cave, his hands clenched tightly together behind his back.
Why did I let Tim go out there
? he chastised himself silently.
He’s just a boy! If I lose him now…
Everyone who hadn’t volunteered to fight had hidden in the cave—mostly women with young children, or the elderly—tucked in and quiet, praying that they wouldn’t be discovered. After hours of sitting and worrying, Tim had volunteered to reconnoiter. He had been restless, sitting with nothing to do. “Besides,” he had told his father, “I’ve explored every inch of this island. I’m the one who led us here to the cave, remember? I’ll be quiet, and I’ll be back soon.” All sound reasoning, and Paska had agreed that they could use some information. But that had been several hours ago, and it seemed a lifetime to Norris.
The vines draped over the mouth of the cave shifted, and Tim scooted through. Norris sheathed the sword he had half-drawn and rushed to his son.
“Are you all right? Did you see anything?” He could tell from the haunted look in Tim’s eyes, and the tears streaking his dirty face, that his son had seen too much. “What’s happened?”
“I’m fine, Father. They’ve killed or taken everyone we left behind, and they’re burning everything,” Tim’s teeth were clenched, the knuckles of his hand white on the hilt of his dagger.
The anger that shook Tim’s voice caught Norris off guard. He had expected fear, sorrow, confusion perhaps—but not this cold, steely tone.
But then
, he thought,
this is not the boy I knew
. He did not know all Tim had endured at the hands of Bloodwind and his pirates, but it was clear that the boy was older than his years. He opened his mouth to speak, but the tightly packed crowd of natives surged forward with questions, a few voices rising in tone and volume. One sharp word from Paska silenced them.
“Everyone?” She asked, stepping to Norris’ side. “Dura? Miss Cammy?”
“I didn’t see Miss Cammy, but the cannibals hauled Dura aboard their ship. Maybe two dozen were taken. The rest are dead. And the things they did to the bodies…” He hawked and spat, and Norris could see that the boy had been sick. “They’re playing with the corpses like they’re toys! Kicking heads around like balls, and cutting them up. They’ve built big fires from the huts and furniture from the keep, and they’re…they’re cooking them, roasting the bodies on spits!”
“Good gods!” Norris felt bile rising in his throat, and swallowed.
“Anyone comin’ up de trails?” Paska asked, a more pragmatic question than the one that was forming in Norris’ mind. There was no chance of getting aboard the ship to rescue any of their friends. Not without risking everyone’s lives.
“Not that I could see. One pirate went to the hilltop, but he’s only keeping watch out to sea. There aren’t many real pirates, maybe a dozen or so, and they’re in the keep and on their ship. The cannibals,” he spat again, this time in disgust, “are just burning and destroying things. They’re not interested in taking anything but people. Oh, and Father,” Tim’s voice softened and for the first time, Norris thought the boy look frightened, “I saw Sam.”
“Samantha? She’s here?” A faint hope rose in his soul, a hope that somehow, some way, he could talk to her, convince her that he still loved her, still wanted her to be his daughter.
“She’s here, Father. She was giving orders to the cannibals like she was in charge or something. And…and she seemed to be looking for someone.” Tim swallowed and his eyes flicked from Norris to Paska and back. “Maybe us.”
≈
Sam raced up the stairs two at a time, fuming more with every step. Toffin, one of the
Cutthroat’s
crew, had told her that Parek was questioning a captive up in Bloodwind’s old quarters, but only after he had coerced Sam into helping him haul boxes full of porcelain, crystal, and silver out to the ship. The other pirates were similarly occupied, emptying drawers and cabinets in search of valuables; a true and proper pillage. Sam’s own search—not for baubles; she’d get her share of those when they split the treasure from this raid—had been much less fruitful, and she was frustrated.
Well
, she thought,
if Parek’s got a captive, maybe he can provide a little information
. She strode into Bloodwind’s quarters, but saw no one. Then she heard Parek’s rough laugh from behind a closed door and smiled. She crossed the room, slammed open the door, and stopped, staring.
“What the hells is this?” Sam demanded. “We’re busting our arses pillaging every silver spoon and plate from this place, and you’re up here waxing your willy with the seamage’s schoolteacher?”
Parek lurched out of the bed and snatched a cutlass from the floor where it lay with his clothes. The schoolteacher lay on the bed, her crimson hair tousled on the pillow and her wrists bound to the headboard with a silken cord. The woman’s voluptuous curves lay stretched out on the rumpled sheets. Sam felt a stab of jealousy, considering for a moment her own scarred, skinny physique, and—now—her filed teeth. It hadn’t bothered her that Parek hadn’t propositioned her since her return…until now. But she realized that she didn’t care, and the disturbing emotion passed quickly. She and Parek had used each other—he for pleasure, she for power—but she didn’t need him anymore. She had her eye on real power, and this woman might be the means to finding it. Besides, the woman didn’t look like she was having an easy time of it. There was blood on the bonds around her wrists. Several bruises and marks, conspicuous on her fair skin, testified to Parek’s none-too-gentle attentions.
“You need to learn to knock, Sam!” Parek snapped. He rounded the bed, brandishing a golden-hilted cutlass.
She stared at the blade and her heart skipped a beat; not out of fear, but out of recognition. She knew that sword, would have known it anywhere. It had been Bloodwind’s. What in all Nine Hells was Parek doing with it?
“I gave orders not to be disturbed by
anyone
, and that includes you!”
His comment snapped her out of her reverie, and she realized that, like the woman, the sword was plunder. It was his by right of first claim; if she wanted to take it, she’d have to fight him for it, and she had seen Parek fight. She was not fool enough to think she could beat him.
“My
pardon
, Captain,” she said, grinning and raising an eyebrow at the bed. “And my apologies. Toffin didn’t say anything about not disturbing you, and I can see what kept you…occupied. Did you get any information about the sea witch, or were you too busy to ask?”
“Cut me loose, Parek. We’ve already been interrupted; we may as well use this time to discuss things and take some refreshment.”
Sam was surprised by the woman’s commanding tone, doubly so when Parek bent and cut the bonds on her wrists. The woman stood and wrapped the sheet around herself as Parek retrieved his trousers and sword belt.
What the hells…
she thought, still speechless.