The Following Sea (The Pirate Wolf series) (12 page)

The grin that spread across his ugly face made the blood turn to ice in her veins. "Might fuck ye first. Then shoot ye. He didn’t say I couldn’t do both.”

Eva shrank back against the mantle, her knees trembling, her heart about to explode through her chest. "Please. I don't know why you are doing this, but if you leave now, I'll not say anything to Mr. Ross."

His thumb caressed the brass serpentine lock on the gun and his grin widened to show the thick gums above his teeth. "Who do ye think sent me, ye silly bitch?"

Eva shook her head, shocked beyond any capability to think. Her hands were behind her, groping the mantel to keep from stumbling against it. Her fingers struck something cold and metallic and curled around the heavy iron poker. Reacting purely on instinct, she clenched her teeth, swung the poker up and hurled it across the room. The hulking brute presented such a large target, she could not have missed striking something, and it was his shoulder she hit. The poker bounced harmlessly off the iron-hard muscle, but when he flinched to avoid it, his finger jerked on the trigger. Eva saw the hammer spring down onto the pan, saw the powder in the pan spark and ignite in a puff of smoke to send the lead ball exploding out the barrel.

Something punched her in the ribcage and she spun around, slamming up hard against the stone mantel. She looked down and saw nothing at first, just a neat hole in the side of her stomacher. Beneath it though, she could feel something hot and wet beginning to spreading across her skin. There was pain too, delayed for the split second it took her to realize she had been shot, but then it flared into white-hot agony and sent her sagging down onto her knees.

Augustus George leaned over and snatched the letters out of her hand. The little box had opened when she dropped it and the contents had spilled out across the floor: dozens of tiny wax disks in red and blue and yellow... and three tarnished silver escudos.

With a grunt, George scooped up the coins then crushed the rest of the disks under his boot as he stepped over her crumpled body and smashed the glass chimney off an oil lamp. He sprinkled the oil over the piles of torn bedding then took a candle off the table and tossed it onto the heap. The flame seemed to flicker out for half a second but then it caught on the oil and burst back to life.

~~

"Everything after that is a blur," Eva said quietly. "I remember feeling the heat and seeing the flames follow the oil from pillow to blanket to cushion and I knew I couldn't just lay there. I got up somehow and made it to the door, then down the staircase and outside. It was dark. There was no one on the street and I couldn't seem to find enough breath to scream or shout, so I just kept walking... stumbling, really, holding onto a fence, then a tree. I don't know what happened after that. I do remember falling and something licking my face... a dog, I think. The next thing I was aware of was waking up in a strange bed and being asked my name." She paused to moisten her dry lips with the wine and looked at Gabriel as she shook her head. "I honestly could not remember anything. I tried, but it was all a big black emptiness. It was horrid and frightening.

"The doctor said I must have hit my head when I fell and not to worry, that it was just a temporary loss. And he was right. After a while I started remembering things—who I was, where I lived. The kind people who had found me sent for Mr. Bernard, who was shocked to learn I was still alive. He told me the house had burned to the ground and they assumed I had been burned with it. There had been a funeral and three days later, the
Cormorant
had sailed with Lawrence Ross and Augustus George on board."

Dante toyed with the coin while he listened to her story. "So now you've come after them hoping to find your father before they do?"

"You might think me foolish and the task impossible, Captain Dante, but I couldn't simply stay in Portsmouth and do nothing."

He cocked his head. “Nonetheless, it might have been a better way to spend your time. I can't even begin to tell you how many men, how many ships of all nations have gone in search of the
Victorio
. None of the rumors or whispers of her whereabouts have ever yielded anything to prove she has been found."

Eva bit her lip. “You said the escudo looked real. Is it possible someone stole some of the coins before the ship left Havana?"

Gabriel shook his head. "If ten coins were minted, ten were counted and notched, ten were listed on the manifest, and ten were then placed in the hold and sealed. Unmarked bars of bullion have often strayed into the deep pockets of the greedy governors and administrators along the route, but coins minted for the king’s personal use? No. They are made in specific and exclusive quantities and bear the stamps and seals that mean instant death to anyone found possessing them. Believe me, Mistress Chandler—"

"Evangeline," she said, interrupting. "Or Eva. Please."

"Believe me... Eva... the Spaniards are as fanatically meticulous about their ship's manifests as they are about their religion. They itemize everything in their cargo holds down to the last punch of nails. Each barrel and crate is packed and affixed with a thick seal that is not to be broken before reaching Seville. Four copies of each manifest are made at the time the galleon is loaded. One copy remains with the ship's
capitan
, two are sent out on sister ships in the fleet in case of loss or separation—and to keep the
capitan
honest, I suspect—while the fourth remains in the governor's hands in Havana.

"In the case of the
Nuestro Santisimo Victorio
, one of those sister ships was captured and taken in prize by a Dutch raider. Listed on the copy of the
Victorio’s
manifest were sixty crates of gold bullion in bars, one hundred and twenty of silver, numerous casks of emeralds and pearls and exotic spices."

"You seem quite specific in your knowledge of what the manifest contained, Captain."

"Even if the ship and her contents were not legend in these islands," he said, allowing a small grin. "I have seen the documents. I've read them and studied them just as I have studied the logs and charts with boyhood visions of being the one to find La Fantasma's watery grave. To be honest, I put those boyhood visions away a long time ago."

"But you may be holding real proof that someone has indeed found her," she insisted. "And if you help me find my father, you might also find the
Nuestro Santisimo Victorio!"

He laughed and fit the escudo back into the locket, snapping it shut. "As enticing as that sounds, I have nothing more important on my mind than reaching Pigeon Cay without seeing another sail on the horizon. It is a wish that may or may not be fulfilled, since the battle we have just emerged from by the skin of our ballocks, involved a few score of Spanish warships. Once they regain their sense of indignation, they will be scouring the islands with blood in their eyes and double-shotted cannons. At the best of times it would not be advisable for us to sail into a Spanish port and start asking questions about the wreckage of a missing treasure ship."

"But... what shall I do? How shall I go about finding my father? How would you go about finding
your
father if he was lost in the jungles of London and you did not know your way around?"

"There are cannibals in London?"

"Some would say yes," she answered pertly.

He smiled at her sarcasm, but in the end only shook his head. "I am afraid I don't have an easy answer. You are familiar with the expression... searching for a blade of grass in a stack of hay? This is more like a drop of water in a rain barrel. You don't even have a clear idea where he was the last time he sent word home."

Her jaw set stubbornly and she stared at her empty goblet for a moment before reaching for the bottle and refilling it herself. Gabriel noted the tremor in her hands and the huge effort it was taking not to burst into tears of anger and frustration—which was just as well, for he would sooner be confronted with a coiled, poisonous viper than a woman leaking water down her cheeks.

"The captain of the
Eliza Jane
was willing to help me," she muttered into her wine.

"You showed him the coin as well?"

"And the letter from the baker's son. Captain Fitch was one of my father's dearest friends and he believed me. He was convinced my father was still alive."

"From the sound of it, so was your fiancé."

"
Former
... fiancé," she reiterated savagely.

"Enough so that he was inspired to rob you, shoot you, and leave you to die in a burning house. As for the captain of the
Eliza Jane
, he not only saw the coin, he landed on Fox Island and probably asked the wrong questions of the wrong people. There is no telling whose interest he piqued and who may have had information about your father's whereabouts that he chose to keep to himself. Can you see how the situation becomes less and less appealing?"

"You mean... there could be others looking for Father now?"

“One drop of blood in the water can attract a hundred sharks for a feeding frenzy. If someone thought your father knew the location of the wreck, and they knew where he was, I would say yes, there could well be a good many others looking for him now."

She lost the battle with her tears and Gabriel found himself staring into two deep pools of silvery water. Growling inwardly, he set his goblet aside and fingered through some of the thick rolls of sea charts until he found the one he sought. He spread the chart open, using his dagger and an inkwell as weights to keep the edges from rolling in on themselves.

His mother was a chartmaker and had spent the past thirty years or so making extremely detailed maps of the islands. This particular chart showed the Baha Mas chain of islands, the Strait of Florida, the location of the treacherous shallow reefs, and the eastern coast of Hispaniola from Havana to Baracoa.

"When the hurricane struck," he murmured, "the flota was somewhere in this vicinity." He circled the chart at a point midway between the lower tip of Florida and the Berry Islands. "The winds blew like
aliento del diablo
, the devil's own breath. Some of the galleons ended up as far east as Lucaya, others were blown south and sought shelter in the smaller islets. If your baker's letter is genuine, and if your father was last seen on New Providence, it would suggest an area within a two, three day sail if he was there getting supplies."

"The letter said they had to hide when the Spanish came to the well for water. So... somewhere with a well?"

Gabriel closed his eyes briefly to contain the urge to either laugh or slash the absurdity of that statement with sarcasm When he opened them again, he saw that she was watching him with one of those breathless, hopeful expressions that was even worse than tears. Her lashes were spiked with wetness, her lips parted, her hands were clutching the goblet like it was a lifeline.

He scowled and drew a larger circle on the chart with his finger. "A three day sail entails an awfully wide area Mistress Chandler."

"Eva."

He stared at her for a long moment, recalling why he preferred women who talked less and knew how to put their mouths to better use.

"If memory serves, the general opinion of those in the convoy put the galleon as far east as Abaco, where most of the searches have been conducted.”

"You sound dubious."

"Not dubious. But from my own experiences with the currents and winds, two ships sailing side by side can end up a hundred leagues apart after a simple squall. And what that means is—" he saw a fleeting spark of hope flickering in her eyes and smothered it instantly. "What that means is, my skull is still too bruised to think clearly. Perhaps when we reach Pigeon Cay, fresher eyes and fresher minds will be able to make something of all this. For now, I don't mind saying I could use about twenty hours of sleep. Would you care to join me?"

"Well, if we are speaking of needs, I have several of my own and they come before charts and wells and phantom treasure ships. And they don’t include listening to someone pace back and forth across the floor."

“I promise, I will not pace.”

“Indeed, you won’t.” Before she could react, he was on his feet and had scooped her into his arms. By the time she found the wits to protest, he had deposited her onto the mattress, where he remained looming above her like an enormous dark shadow, his hair fallen forward over his face.

"You will lie here quiet as a churchmouse. You will not move, you will not speak, you will not even blink loudly or I might think you want company. Do we understand one another?”

He stretched out on the blanket and folded his arm beneath his head to use as a pillow. “One more word, Mistress Chandler and you’ll be taking something else of mine.”

She opened her mouth to protest, thought better of it, and laid back down as quietly as she could. Having so many memories of the shooting, the fire, the painful discovery of Lawrence Ross’s betrayal stirred, she doubted she would even be able to close her eyes, but she did. And the next time she opened them daylight was streaming through the gallery windows.

CHAPTER NINE

A fist pounded on the door loudly enough to make Gabriel jump out of his skin and scramble to find a sabre that was not at his side. "Eight bells," Stubs announced. "Crew wants to know if ye're foamin' at the mouth an' squirtin' yer bowels all over the floor."