The Devil's Fire (16 page)

She chewed her lip penitently. "I know."
Stupid boy,
she thought.
You really do mean it.

"Would you go along if I invited you?"

She shook her head. "No." It was the most honest answer she had ever given him. For all the coin he had emptied into her, she figured she owed him that much in the end.

"Not even if it was fair to take a woman aboard?"

She rolled her eyes. "A woman stuck on a stinking ship full of sweaty pirates? It's nice of you to offer, but I think I'll save my tortures for the fires of Hell, thank you."

"I'm not going."

Livingston furrowed his brow. He was beginning to wonder if young Nathan Adams was more trouble than he was worth. "That's just like your sort," he growled. "You fall on your ass for the first whore what gives your spar a lick."

"I'll not be swayed," Nathan shot back with infuriating conviction and a high-held chin that reminded Livingston of all the dead men who had refused to cooperate with him.

"Plainly you wish me to convince you otherwise, or you wouldn't have put me to task."

"I wanted to tell you myself. Figured I owed you that much." Nathan’s tone implied that nothing else was owed. He turned away and set his hands on the rail, facing the colony.

"Good of you to ask," Livingston shrugged. "The answer's still no."

Nathan spun on him, his cheeks flushing red. "I'm not asking permission!"

"Nor were I permissing!" Livingston shot back, swiping a hand through the air, past Nathan’s face. Mistaking the gesture as intent to strike, Nathan flinched away and primed a retaliatory fist. Livingston shook his head in disbelief. "Simmer down, boy. I weren’t about to hit you." Though, in truth, he would have if he’d thought it would make any difference.

Nathan’s shoulders sagged and he nodded somberly. "I’m sorry," he sighed. "Of course you weren’t."

"Gods!" Livingston cried, reaching for the sky. "What could this woman have done as put such a murderous fury in you? Swallow your milk, did she? A rare find that be, and sure to put a craze in any man's head, even one with a skull so thick as yours."

"She's a fine woman," Nathan insisted.

"And a fine pirate. She's plundered your senses."

"I gave them willingly."

Livingston clenched a fist and mashed it into his palm, before it could fly of its own accord. Fire swelled in his breast, but he sucked it in and proceeded calmly. "I reckon her dresses got fancier the longer she stayed at your side. She couldn't have run you cheap."

A flickering uncertainty registered in Nathan's eyes. The quartermaster had found his niche, and he felt his anger cooling. He moved closer. "Ah," he grinned, "not a cheaply lass, were she?"

Nathan clenched his jaw.

"But certainly worth your wages, eh?" Livingston added with a wink.

"Every piece."

It was clear that the boy had developed a potent affection for his strumpet, and while Livingston didn't quite understand it, it was worth exploiting if it meant preventing a promising young man from throwing away his career. "Let's say you remain at your whore’s side. You don't want her putting to bed with swabs while you're sweeping a tavern floor for bits and pieces, do ya? Not a pleasing notion of romance by any man's eyes, least of all a young pirate with fortune calling."

Livingston set a hand on the boy's shoulder and tossed a conspiratorial glance about the deck, as though what he was about to say was of the utmost importance. "Now, have you told your girlie your feelings on the matter 'fore I talked sense into you?"

Nathan hesitated. "I didn't want to get her hopes up."

"Ahhh," Livingston grinned, "No wonder you came to me! You needed persuasion against irrational thoughts."

Nathan withered before him.

"Don't be shamed, boy, for it only proves you have sense in you. More so than I was like to grant you a few minutes ago, but we'll put that sad affair behind us where it rightly belongs. It's well she thinks you're going to sea, because that's exactly what you'll do, and you'll return a richer man and buy your bonnie a home. She'll love you for the rest of your days, and you'll love her back, if she's lucky. And maybe you'll love other whores too, as your reformed whore will surely understand the wants of a loving husband extend well beyond a single strumpet. The beauty about whores, I should think, is they aren't a picky lot. Not anything like the sort in the Captain's cabin, with her nose in the clouds. Stay away from that sort, if you wish to keep coin in pocket."

"I'd share myself with no other," Nathan proclaimed, regaining his conviction.

Livingston curled his lips into a scowl of disgust. If he had eaten recently, he might have wretched all over the deck right then and there. "That's the daftliest thing I ever heard, boy. Talk like that again and I might be less inclined to sway your foolish notions."

Nathan smirked lopsidedly.

Livingston nodded to Nassau Port. "You know what waits for you here, boy." He turned and pointed to the space between Providence and Paradise Island that would lead
Harbinger
out to the open sea. "Out there, you've yet to discover!"

"Which one is Annabelle?" Livingston said, looking over the whores lounging about the Strapped Bodice.

The leathery skin of Charles Martel’s cheeks bulged as his tongue worked from one side to the other. He looked like a creature born of the sea that had sprouted legs and ventured on land. He had small, black eyes seemingly devoid of irises in the low light, and he was mostly bald on top, with scattered strings of curly black hair that shimmered like seaweed running from one ear to the other. His overly sunburnt skin resembled a dry lakebed, with flaky cracks running along his arms and legs. Livingston wondered if he had some sort of skin affliction.

"Who be asking?" Martel spat through teeth stained black.

Livingston seized the little man by his scrawny neck and drew him near. "I be asking."

Martel’s tongue slithered out to moisten his cracked lips, like an eel emerging from a crevice. "I mean no offense. She’s a popular girl, is all. Sees a lot of men with heavy coin."

"One in particular, and hardly a man. Only a boy, this one. You know the lad?"

"Aye," said Martel. "Pays well, he does."

"I have coin," Livingston growled, not missing Martel’s meaning.

"Then she’s yours for the night, she is."

"I won’t need so long." Livingston released the repulsive man and gave him a shove. A skinny whore sprung from her circle of candles before Martel collapsed onto them. He brushed at his clothes to make sure he hadn’t caught fire.

"How much?" Livingston growled.

"Payment won’t be necessary till you’re through," Martel said, lips twitching into what might have been a smile, though there was nothing but fear behind it. Sweat trickled down his brow, flickering in the dim candlelight.

"Where is she?"

"Upstairs, she be."

Livingston started toward the stairs, then stopped, spun on his heels, and aimed a steady finger at Martel, who had been in the process of rising from the floor. He halted in place, legs bent and wobbling. "Do not disturb me, little man," Livingston warned.

Martel gave a fervent shake of his head. "I’ll leave you to her, I will."

Livingston ascended the stairs and checked each room until he found her. She was lying in bed with a book and a candle, the sheets pulled over her breasts. Her eyes rose above the page, and she smiled welcomingly. Livingston had no trouble seeing what Nathan saw in her. She was beautiful. A little too beautiful.

"I’m enjoying a break, handsome," she said.

"My purse says otherwise," Livingston replied.

"Your purse talks, does it?"

Livingston grinned. "It sings. Would you like to hear a jingle?"

She regarded him narrowly for a moment, and then closed the book and set it on the small bedside table, next to the candle. She stretched, one hand rising above her head while the other slid the sheet away from her body. She was completely naked. Her thick black hair spilled over her shoulders to touch her nipples. Despite her curves, she was a tad skinny for Livingston’s tastes. Nevertheless, he was instantly aroused.

"Should I bother to get up?" she asked, smirking.

"No," Livingston said.

"Prefer to be on top?" She giggled wickedly and opened her legs, giving him full view of everything in-between. Livingston wondered if she affected so naughty a persona with Nathan Adams. He doubted it.

"Never give a woman the high ground," he said.

"You’re a smarter man."

"Not really," he sighed. "Just smarter than a woman."

"Doesn’t take much," she grinned. She was telling him exactly what he wanted to hear. She was far more intelligent than most of her ilk, he had to give her that. She even knew how to read, which was uncommon. "Then again," she admitted, "I don’t keep the smartest of company."

He sat on the edge of the bed and set a hand on one of her feet. She flinched ever-so-slightly. "Sorry," she laughed, her voice rattling. "Your hands are cold."

"No they’re not," he replied flatly. Nothing was cold on this island, least of all his hands, which were presently damp with sweat. This woman was afraid of him, and rightfully so. He squeezed her foot and yanked her a few inches closer. Her eyes betrayed an unmistakable flash of fear. She composed herself instantly and retrieved a smile. She lifted her other foot and set it in his lap, massaging his crotch. He stared between her legs.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Should I?"

"Just curious if young Nathan spoke of me," he answered.

Her foot stopped massaging him for less than a second. "Nathan? You’re one of his crew?"

"He be one of
my
crew," he drawled. "Has he named hisself ‘captain’ already?"

"Hardly," she said, maintaining her false smile. "He rarely speaks of his crew."

"It’s likely he didn’t want to frighten you," Livingston grinned.

She waved a dismissive hand. "Pirates hold no surprises for me."

He took hold of both her ankles and yanked her toward him. She let out a pitiful yelp as he twisted her onto her belly and crawled on top of her. He grasped a handful of her hair and jerked her head back. She gasped. He licked her cheek and then thrust her face into a pillow, holding her in place. She squirmed in vain beneath him, hands slapping at his thighs.

"You’re undeserving of the lad," he whispered into her ear.

With his free hand, he fumbled to open his trousers. She lifted her head just long enough to release a truncated scream, before he shoved her faced back down into the pillow.

He returned to
Harbinger
late that night, glimpsing two figures atop the quarterdeck, near the helm. He knew it was Griffith, thinking on the journey ahead.

As he ascended the slim stairway to join his friend, Livingston was unable to suppress a sly smile. Griffith glanced at the quartermaster, looked away, and then swung his head back for a second look. "What affords you so much glee?"

Livingston immediately traded his smile for a less jovial scowl, as was far more common to him. "The passing memory of a strumpet’s moistened cunt," he answered. "Already difficult to recall her face."

"There’s blood on your shirt," Griffith said, nodding indicatively.

Livingston searched his shirt until he found a few small spots on the left breast. He licked his finger and scrubbed at it, but succeeded only in smudging the stain. "Could be anyone’s," he said with a shrug.

"Looks fresh," Griffith replied in a nonchalant tone.

"Is it a problem?" Livingston said, perhaps too defensively. He didn’t like being questioned, no matter how casual the interrogation.

Griffith raised his hands harmlessly. "Meant no offense."

"How I spend my money is my own business," Livingston growled.

"It's of no consequence to me what men do with their wages. Better that they lose their riches before they return, thus their wants never cease."

"Aye," Livingston agreed, and they spoke no more of it.

Harbinger
's hold had been lightened of its precious cargo in exchange for far less than the total worth, but far more than the crew could spend in a night; they had vacationed in Nassau Port for a month before exhausting their fortunes. The hold was now packed with provisions, supplies, and livestock. The winter season was just beginning, and they would have to patrol the waters of the West Indies for fresh plunder.

"The Windward Passage," Griffith said. "It feels lucky. I'm confident the crew will agree."

Livingston nodded his assurance. "They will. Warm waters is always welcome."

The kitten was good company, but Katherine's boredom was insatiable. As the months progressed, she came to realize that she would rather die than spend another day in the cabin. And so, on the morn of an early February day, she swung open the door and stepped onto the deck.

It was not as it had been in Nassau. Pirates were everywhere, and all of them tilted their heads to stare at her as she emerged from her den. She leveled her chin and continued on her way, pretending she was oblivious to their ogling. It was as if they had forgotten her since her time at the mainmast and suddenly discovered that she still lived. After a while they returned to their duties and seemed to forget her all over again.

She ran her fingers along the bulwark and admired the crystal waters. The rippled sand was visible through the shallow waters, yet there wasn’t a single spot of green on the horizon to mark land.

She remained at the bulwark for the better part of an hour, until Griffith and Livingston passed by. She received a tentative glance from Griffith and an irrefutably evil eye from Livingston. Both men then started whispering conspiratorially to one another.

That night, Griffith said nothing of the day's events. He merely collapsed into his chair and fell asleep.

Katherine stayed awake for a while, playing with the kitten. As she rapped her fingers along the floor and the kitten lunged to nip at them, she considered venturing outdoors again on the morrow.