The Devil's Fire (6 page)

Nathan swallowed his revulsion and ducked beside her to say, "Hello miss. Are you alive?"

She blinked.

He reached out to slide a strand of hair away from her face. Her eyes teemed with ferocity and her lips peeled back from her teeth. He jerked his hand away before she could catch his finger in her teeth. Her jaw snapped closed with a jarring clack. Curled fingers grasped for his face, her hands flanking his head, suspended by the ropes that bound each wrist. And then, as though released by an invisible puppeteer, her arms fell limp and she collapsed to the deck. Her eyes rolled back in their sockets, and slowly the lids closed.

He sat there for a moment in shock. Though the bandage wrapped around the captain’s head clearly concealed a grisly wound, Nathan had never believed the rumor that the girl had bitten his ear clean off. Now, after glimpsing the animal ferocity in her eyes, he was thoroughly convinced.

"Almost got at you, didn't she?" came a condescending voice from behind him. Nathan turned to find Livingston approaching with an uncharacteristically broad grin on his face. "Now you know why the others steer clear."

It was true. The pirates had given the girl a wide berth. Whenever they climbed the mainmast, they started from the opposite side. Nathan wondered why she hadn't been placed at a less integral location.

"She's a biter, that one," Livingston said. His grin vanished as he knelt beside the girl. He grabbed a handful of her hair and twisted her head back. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes were thin slits. He felt her neck for a pulse. "I’ll wager her cunnie’s dried up worse than a rotted prune." Livingston released her hair and Nathan winced at the sickening sound her head made as it smacked the deck.

"It's smart she's made herself a reputation," Livingston said as he stood. "We'll see what three more days makes of her."

That night, while the pirates were playing cards and drinking heavily on the forecastle deck, Nathan sat on the gunwale with a spare sail in his lap and an untouched bottle of rum at his feet. He set the end of his sewing needle against the leather palm that protected his hand and pressed the needle's tip through the hemp of the sail. With thumb and forefinger he plucked the needle and pulled the waxed cotton thread through to the other side.

As he idly patched the sail, his gaze fell on the lone figure at the mainmast. She hadn't moved in the last hour, and he was beginning to wonder if she was even breathing. He hadn't seen anyone make deliveries of food or water to her in the past few days. Were they just going to let her die there? A man was one thing, but this was a woman.

He had witnessed his share of creatively grotesque tortures in the past months. Such methods were generally implemented only when someone was foolish enough to withhold crucial information. It was always effective.

What was the point of inflicting such pains on a woman who had nothing to offer? Her husband had been murdered and she had been stolen from her ship. Nathan thought it completely understandable that she would fight back. It was a natural instinct and he saw no reason to punish her for it.

He admired Captain Griffith. The man had never failed to lead them to victory. As far as Nathan was concerned, Griffith's nautical strategies were masterful. However, he wondered how so meticulous a man could allow himself to be temporarily overwhelmed by something as simple as a girl, much less lose an ear to her.

Of course, he did not share these musings with his shipmates. Even though they might have been pondering the same issues, they would never admit it. They would either laugh at him or think him dangerous for sympathizing with a woman. As far as they were concerned, the girl was a hazard. They would be relieved when she perished.

As Nathan studied the girl for movement, a howl of laughter rose from the deck. For the first time in sixth months, they disgusted him. He sprung from his seat and let the heavy sail slide down his legs. He snatched up the bottle of rum and hopped down to the main deck. He uncorked the bottle and knelt beside the girl. "Hello," he said.

Her eyes blinked open. She wrinkled her brow. She looked at him for a moment before turning away.

"Are you thirsty?"

She spun on him like a waking lion. He fell on his ass and fumbled to keep from spilling the rum all over himself. He glanced about to make sure no one had witnessed his clumsiness. Thankfully, no one had.

The girl’s eyes rapidly brimmed with desperation. "Water?" she rasped.

"The water’s all gone bad," he said. "Rum is better. Keeps you warm."

He offered her the bottle of rum, which she eagerly accepted. She took a hefty swig, arching her long neck, and rum trickled down each side of her mouth. It was a while before she let the bottle part with her lips. She dropped it carelessly and muttered, "Thank you."

"It's fine," he said. "Are you hungry?"

She shook her head.

"You're sure? I might be able to scrounge some—"

She cut him off. "No!"

He winced. She rescinded instantly, attempting a grateful smile. The result was pathetically endearing. "I’m sorry," she said.

"What's your name?" he asked.

She didn’t answer. Her gaze was fixed past him, eyes widening. She turned away. Nathan glanced over his shoulder. Captain Griffith was strolling his way. Nathan stood and managed a rigid smile. "Captain."

Griffith laughed. "You're not in the King’s Navy, boy. No need to go stiff. This ship is as much yours as it is mine. You should know that by now."

Nathan's shoulders sagged. He smiled sheepishly.

"You're welcome to make friends with whomever you wish. But be warned. Some choices are wiser than others."

"She was thirsty is all," Nathan explained.

"Of course," Griffith said. He gave Nathan's shoulder a pat and continued on his way.

"I brought you some cackle-fruit and hardtack," Nathan said, offering her a pewter plate with eggs and a biscuit.

The girl warily regarded the eggs. "How'd you manage those?" she asked hoarsely.

"We keep birds below. Hordes of 'em. Horrible stench. Most are dead and dying, but I picked out one of the healthier ones just for you."

She took the plate and nibbled at the eggs. He watched her, pleased that she had accepted the gift. It had been twenty-four hours since he'd last approached her. "Might I ask your name?" he hazarded.

"Katherine," she said between bites, gradually shoving larger portions in her mouth.

"Nathan," he said, extending his hand. Her eyes flashed from the plate to his hand and he instinctively jerked away.

"I won't bite you," she said. By now she was stuffing the eggs down her throat. She finished them and went next for the biscuit. She took one bite and frowned in revulsion. She dropped the biscuit and handed the plate back to him. He offered her another bottle of rum and she swallowed a fair share.

"You're looking better," Nathan offered.

She glared at him. In her sorry state it made her look positively hideous.

"Didn't mean offense."

"Save your food next time, Nathan," she said, turning away from him.

"I'll be back tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that."

"I don't want there to be a day after that," she said.

He was thankful he couldn't see her face, because he knew from her quivering tone that she was about to cry.

"Now now," he said, setting his hand on her shoulder. He didn't even see her turn. One moment she had her back to him, and the next her face was in his. Tears streamed from her narrow, red eyes, her nostrils flared, and her mouth was twisted in a vicious snarl. She could have bitten his nose off if she wanted to.

"What do you want from me, Nathan?" She growled his name like it was a curse, her croaky voice amplifying the effect. "You figure I’ll spread my legs for you because you did what's expected of a common human being?"

He was dimly aware of laughter behind him.

"If you were truly a man, you'd cut these ropes." She shook the ropes for emphasis.

The laughter grew.

It seemed an eternity before he was able to find his voice again. "I can't do that, Katherine."

"Then you’re nothing more than another bloody pirate. Do not bring me food again." And then, as if the statement had taken with it all the energy she had, she diminished, her scowl fading as swiftly as her temper. She turned away.

As he stood, Nathan felt heavy, as though his shoulders carried the weight of an anchor. Turning his body was like twisting a spoon in molasses. He faced the laughing crowd. Many were clutching their bellies for lack of air, faces beet red.

Nathan retreated to the cramped confines of the decks below, fighting a bombardment of contrasting emotions. He was crushed and infuriated at the same time. His pity for the girl had potentially damaged his standing with the crew. In front of everyone, she had spit his sympathy right back in his face.

He hurled the pewter plate across the room, followed closely by the bottle of rum. Two hens scrambled to avoid being clobbered. The plate landed harmlessly and the bottle shattered noisily. "To Hell with her!" he screamed at a hen. The animal curiously cocked its head at him.

He set his forehead against a wall and closed his eyes. He took a few deep breaths, emptying his mind, and then filled it with the happiest images he could conjure. He imagined the Caribbean in all its glory. He imagined a whorehouse packed to the brim with beautiful strumpets. He imagined himself in the arms of a large-breasted whore, in the privacy of her room. That was the only manner of woman a pirate need associate himself with.

Anything more was complicated.

Blood streamed in thick rivulets from the raw abrasions that encircled her wrists. She had spent five days at the mast and she was certain she would not live to see the sixth. She had endured both sun and rain, each offering an array of vile anguishes.

Her face was so red from sunlight that she worried her cheeks might crack like a dry lakebed if she parted her lips beyond a thin line. Her esophagus felt like the inside of a hornet's nest. Every muscle in her body was on fire. The slightest stir of movement pulsed excruciating pain throughout her body.

The laceration in her skull ached, and she felt the unmistakable bumps of stitches when she ran her fingers over the wound. What little she recollected of the violent events in the cabin came to her in brief flashes. She remembered the coppery taste of blood oozing from a fleshy pulp that rolled in her mouth. For a while she couldn’t recall what exactly she had bitten off of the captain's head, until one day she saw him walking the main deck with a bandage covering his ear.

Her once exquisite mantua was unsalvageable. The fabric was spotted with dark bloodstains and the short train and petticoat ended in shreds. One of the loops of the skirt had come undone and now hung gracelessly over her right hip. The dress looked as much a mess as she did.

Apart from Nathan Adams, the pirates had generally avoided her. She guessed that biting off the captain's ear had established her as dangerous. However, the fear that they would surrender to their desires was always a threat in the back of her mind. She wouldn't have the energy to fend them off if they tried.

She was particularly wary of the seven black men who kept in a group. She knew when they were talking about her because they would indicatively jut their massive chins in her direction from time to time. The tall one eyed her in a strange, skeptical fashion, while the others would discuss her in their native tongue and chuckle. They laughed with their shoulders; their facial muscles seemed incapable of conjuring a smile.

She hadn’t suffered the slightest guilt over her treatment of young Nathan. She had no doubt that he wanted only one thing from her. She was convinced that there was not a single well-intentioned man among the entire crew.

An hour after consumption, she threw up the food he had given her, and continued to retch long after there was nothing left to purge. Either she was sick from heatstroke or the young pirate had given her spoiled food as a prank.

Sleep came infrequently and never lasted longer than intervals of an hour. She was slumped in an awkward position that rendered comfort impossible. She was constantly stirred into consciousness by the cyclical claps of the sails and the snoring pirates, who slept wherever there was room on the deck. On rare occasions when she gave to exhaustion she had unusual dreams that incorporated the strange ambience of the ship.

In one dream she was a bird, and the flapping of the sails became the sound of her wings as she soared high above the ship until she was awash in the cool currents above. The moon was full, and she decided it was as good a destination as any. With several thrusts of her great wings she propelled herself into the heavens, but the moon grew no larger. When she looked down she saw that she hadn’t ascended as far as she’d thought. The ship was close, the tip of the mainmast nearly grazing her heel. She glimpsed her human form at the foot of the mast. The entire ship was on fire and the blaze was sweeping in on her. She woke before she was able to determine her fate.

Another night, when the pirates were especially rowdy, their howling resounded into her dreams. She found herself in the midst of the crew. They were naked and salivating and their cocks stood erect as they fell in on her. She was swathed in the stench of their sweat-drenched bodies and the suffocating heat of foul breath as their fingers grasped at her clothes. Her mind was unable to comprehend what would happen next, and she was thrust into consciousness.

The dawn of the fifth day brought with it skies so blue that, for a fleeting moment, all of her troubles seemed wholly insignificant. For that wonderful instant all the pain and traumatic retentions of the past several days vanished and gave to the beauty of a cerulean world above that was tangible only to creatures gifted with feathers. Her mind lifted from her body and ascended into the azure canopy. She was unaware that her eyes had rolled back in their sockets and that her muscles had loosened of tension. She was oblivious to the hustle and bustle of the pirate crew that moved about her as fervently as the ocean. There was nothing but blue sky. She rose further than even her fanciful dreams had allowed, and the sky dimmed, as though day was fading swiftly into night. Tiny shimmers of light appeared. The stars were brighter and greater in occurrence than any she had seen from the ground.