"That's enough, Ogle," Annabelle commanded in a surprisingly stern voice that lacked its prior ease. When he kept licking, she snapped, "That's enough!"
Ogle pulled away, though it seemed as difficult as prying a magnet from a metal beam. He let out a pained groan as he returned to Annabelle's side, hanging his shiny bald head low, like a dog scolded by his master for following his instincts.
Annabelle reached into the cleft of her robe and produced a rolled parchment. "Appoint a suitable navigator and have him sail to these coordinates."
Ogle took the scroll, unrolled it, and scowled. It wasn't what he expected. "What is this?"
"Our destination."
He studied her skeptically. "And this is where we meet Blackbeard? It's in the middle of nowhere."
"Good a place as any," Annabelle replied haughtily.
Ogle lingered. "And what do we do with the prisoners?"
"What prisoners?"
"The survivors from Hornigold's ship, locked up in the hold. All those men fled with Hornigold when Rogers offered pardon. They can't be trusted."
She shrugged. "Leave them to their cage. I think there's been enough killing for one day. Keep them fed. They may be of use. And don't let any harm come to Captain Dillahunt. He could be a valuable hostage."
Ogle inclined his head, favored Kate's loins with a longing glance, and took his leave. The Maynard lingered. His eyes were shaded beneath his protruding brow, but she knew they were trained on her. She wondered how long she would have to stand here in the nude. She imagined she looked rather silly. Her thigh was cold where Ogle left smears of sweat and saliva.
Annabelle's index finger returned to her chin, tapping slowly as she decided what she wanted to do next. She turned to the Maynard. "Which Maynard are you? Dick or Richard? Forgive me, I get you confused."
"Richard," he rumbled absently.
"Lovely. Richard, escort Mrs. Lindsay to the brig. Put her with Dillahunt and the girl, where she won't be violated."
"How thoughtful," drawled Kate. She bent down to lift her breeches.
"No," Annabelle interjected. "You'll go as you are."
Kate didn't miss a beat. "Fine," she said, and she stepped out of her breeches and kicked them aside.
"Richard," Annabelle went on, "make sure everyone gets a nice view of her as you lead her down, will you?"
"Aye," Richard said, stepping forward. His hand closed around Kate's, and he jerked her into motion. Kate allowed herself a final look at Nathan's lifeless form before she was yanked outside.
Most of the mutineers had gathered on the main deck. The lanterns had been lit again, and there were several bodies littered about, though not as many as Kate had expected. Apparently Blackbeard's influence was stronger than she imagined. They all turned their heads and gawked at her as Maynard dragged her toward the hold.
"I fancy our new captain's methods already," said the other Maynard.
Gabe Jenkins was there, too. To his credit, he looked downright ashamed. He briefly met Kate's gaze and then turned away.
She heard the rest of them jabbering excitedly as Richard took her down the stairs into the large hold. They snaked through the maze of cargo, and several more dead bodies were sprawled about. Three of them had died in their bunks, throats slashed. Four had put up a fight but were clearly outnumbered, with cutlass wounds in front and back. One of the dead was still standing, slumped on a cutlass that had been thrust through his midsection, pinning him against a crate. He had died gaping at the cutlass, with a sliced hand resting atop the blade.
Maynard dragged her past the prisoners from Hornigold's ship. Eight of them lowered their heads respectfully. Avery Dowling wasn't so kind, staring at her with a sinister smirk. Avery refused to acknowledge her as anything more valuable than the juicy meat she had been sneaking them every night, even as he greedily consumed it.
Richard brought her to Dillahunt and Calloway, who both raised their eyebrows and then looked at each other in shock. He unlocked the door and shoved her in, slamming it behind her. "Enjoy your new quarters, missy," he sneered and trotted off.
Kate smiled sheepishly at her two cellmates and crouched, hugging her knees. Calloway stared for a moment, as though she was trying to figure out if this was some kind of a ruse, and then snatched one of Dillahunt's blankets and hurried over. She set the blanket over Kate's shoulders, concealing her, and then returned to her spot next to Dillahunt. "Thank you," Kate said.
Calloway looked away. "These people are monsters."
Dillahunt stared at Kate. He sported fewer bandages than before. The upper half of his face was mostly covered, with his hair spilling out the top, but his broad jaw was completely uncovered. It almost looked like he wore a bandit's mask. There were a few slices on his cheeks, but they weren't terribly deep. His bare chest and right arm were still heavily bound. He had thrown on a pair of black breeches and his characteristic black coat. She had to admit, he looked sort of dashing that way.
He opened his mouth a few times to speak, hesitating, before he finally asked, "Did they . . . do anything to you?"
"Other than strip me naked? No. Annabelle's taken the ship."
Dillahunt's jaw fell open. "A woman has taken my ship?"
Calloway shook her head. "They just started killing people."
"How many dead up top?" Dillahunt asked.
Kate shook her head. "Maybe ten."
"That makes about twenty total," he said. "Did they get Candler?"
She nodded. "And Bellamy."
Calloway gasped.
Dillahunt let the news sink in for a moment. "And Adams?"
Kate lowered her eyes.
"How?" Calloway asked.
"Does it matter?" Kate said. "He's gone."
"He deserved no better," Dillahunt replied with a smug air of vindication.
Kate flinched angrily. "If you hadn't promoted him he'd still be alive. What were you thinking?"
He snorted. "If he hadn't traded Hornigold he'd still be alive. When you spend your life making mistakes, one day you make the mistake that kills you."
A sharp headache was swiftly materializing between Kate's eyes, muddying her vision. Her stomach growled noisily, and she realized it had been too long since her last meal. She would probably have to wait a lot longer until the next one, if it came at all.
"Where are they taking us?" Calloway asked.
Kate hesitated. "To Blackbeard."
The girl's blue eyes went distant and icy. Her head sank between her broad shoulders, and she suddenly looked very young and very lost. "We're all going to die."
"One day," Kate replied. "But not yet."
"How can you be so cavalier?" Calloway demanded. "Nathan was your friend, whether you knew it or not."
"I knew it," Kate said, stunned by Calloway's sudden fervor.
"He wanted to hate you," she went on, "but he couldn't. I don't know what did or didn't happen between you two, but I think he loved you, in a way. He's been dead five minutes and you've forgotten him already. What kind of woman are you?"
"I haven't fucking forgotten Nathan!" Kate exploded, forgetting to hold onto her blanket. She tugged it angrily back in place. "How could I forget? That dreadful cunt of a whore just rubbed my nose in his corpse! And I had to smile and pretend I didn't care, because if I did, she was going to stick a sword in my belly." Kate didn't realize she was crying until she tasted the tears on her lips. She furiously wiped a hand over her face. "And as you can see from my lack of wardrobe, that still wasn't good enough for her."
Calloway withered against the bars, instantly repentant.
Dillahunt's eyes swiveled in the slits of his bandages, from one woman to the next.
Kate composed herself, refusing to allow more tears to flow. "Nathan's gone, and weeping won't magic him back to life. We're alive, and I mean to keep it that way."
She watched as Red Devil and Ogle rolled another barrel toward the stairs, as they had been doing every night since leaving Griffith's Isle. She no longer cared if they saw her watching.
It had been two days since Nathan Adams' death, and with Kate locked up alongside her, there was no one to bring additional food. They got one meal every day, consisting of hardtack and rancid water. Whenever she forgot how hungry she was, her stomach growled loudly enough to remind her. She was tired of leaning against the bars, but there was nothing else to lean against. Her rear ached from the hard planking, but there was nothing else to sit on. Even when she folded a blanket and sat on it, it wasn't thick enough to provide much padding. She squirmed constantly and never got a good night's sleep, so she was always exhausted.
Whenever sleep finally came, usually in the early hours of the morning, just before the ship became a flurry of activity, she would dream of her mother. The dreams always took place in Nassau. They would be walking the beach or perusing the market, conversing normally, and Calloway would not realize until she woke that her mother was long dead.
Upon waking, her eyes were always drawn to Kate's brilliant red hair, matted about her head like a fiery cushion as she slept. Calloway marveled at how soundly the woman slept after all that had happened. She had wanted to despise Kate, though she couldn't explain why. Kate wouldn't have it. She dodged every insult Calloway had hurled at her, no matter how subtle or brash, and remained infuriatingly sympathetic. And when one of those insults finally injured her, after Adams' death, Calloway was ashamed of herself. But she was also relieved that Kate was not too good to be true. Kate had feelings. Kate could be damaged. Kate was not untouchable. Somehow, that made her impossible to hate.
Dillahunt's slumber was even more frenetically uncertain than before his injury. He would often wake rambling about puzzles and patterns and splinters. Sometimes he would feel his face, as if to make sure it was still there. When he realized he was in one piece, he would fall back to sleep.
He was asleep now, breathing heavily. His scarred face was mashed against his arm, which he had folded under his head in place of a cushion. She was hopelessly in love with him. There was no point denying it. She loved the way he looked at her, as though he wanted to protect her from all the evils of the world and was genuinely sad that he could not. He seemed perplexed by his own feelings toward her, and that made her love him more.
If she ever escaped this cage, she would never return to whoring. She had moved out of the whorehouse because she wanted to seek out her own clients. She didn't like men choosing her. She preferred choosing them. And now that she'd found a man she truly loved, she knew she could never go back to that life. Unfortunately, freedom was looking less and less likely every day. One way or the other, it seemed she would spend the rest of her days at Guy Dillahunt's side.
"Dammit!" Ogle hissed while rolling a barrel across the hold.
"What?" Red Devil said, looking around.
"Splinter," Ogle answered, sucking on his finger.
Red Devil sighed. "Shame Bellamy's dead. You might bleed to death without him."
"Bugger off," Ogle spat.
"What's she looking at?
Calloway swung her gaze to Red Devil and was shocked to see him staring directly at her. She looked away immediately. His heavy feet thumped toward her. He pressed himself against the bars. "What are you looking at, little boy, or girl, or whatever you are?"
"I couldn't sleep for all your racket," she shot back without looking at him.
He clutched his crotch. "I've got something that would put you right out."
Dillahunt stirred, but Red Devil kept his voice too low to wake him. Whatever he and Ogle were up to down here, they didn't want anyone above to know about it.
Calloway stood and glared at him, but maintained a healthy distance from the bars. "I don't want your red cock."
Red Devil seized the bars and shook them, his eyes and teeth showing fiercely within that dark crimson face. "Boy or girl, I'm going to fuck your ass bloody."
Calloway stared into those white pools for as long as possible, until she could look no longer. Her eyes flickered away of their own accord, and she muttered a curse under her breath. His hot breath blasted the back of her neck. "I won't forget this, little boy," he snarled. "I can't wait to hear the pitiful little squeaks you make when my red cock splits you from asshole to mouth."
He returned to Ogle, chuckling to himself. The two men rolled a barrel to the opposite end of the hold and carried it up the stairs.
Calloway fell into her blankets and lowered her head in shame, wishing she was as strong as she thought she was when she snuck aboard Dillahunt's ship.
"They like to remind us how weak we are," said a raspy female voice. Calloway refused to look. She didn't want to face Kate right now. "The truth is they fear us, because they need us. So they keep telling us how much stronger they are."
"They
are
stronger," Calloway replied bitterly.
In her peripheral vision, she saw Kate's hair shimmer as she shook her head. "Strength is always within reach, Jacqueline."
"Really?" Calloway said, looking around the cage. "Where is it? I don't see it."
"That's because you haven't looked."
"And what am I supposed to see?" she demanded. "I see bars. I see a bucket of shit." She pointed to the rusty, stinking pail that all three of them had been relieving themselves in.
"Exactly," said Kate. "A man with a face full of shit will quickly forget his lust. And while he's busy wiping it out of his eyes, you bring that bucket down on his head until his skull caves in."
Calloway stared at Kate dubiously. Kate shifted uneasily in her blanket, clutching it to her breast. No one had brought her clothes, so the filthy blanket was all she had to conceal her nakedness. "I don't understand you, Kate."
Kate shrugged. "I can't make myself more plain. When a man tries to rape you, use whatever is within your grasp to prevent it."
Calloway shook her head. "No, I understand that. I don't understand
you
. What are you doing out here? You could be home, safe in London right now. There's no good reason for you to be here."