The Following Sea (The Pirate Wolf series) (33 page)

It had happened so fast it was barely comprehendible.

“What the hell is happening? What the bloody hell is happening?” Lawrence Ross was beside Muertraigo, his pristine doublet spattered with mud and water and blood. He had lost his plumed hat in the confusion and while he clutched a sword in one gloved hand, he could only use it to swipe at Muertraigo’s own men who were threatening to trample them in their panic to reach the longboats.

“What the hell is happening?” he screamed again. “Tell them to turn around! Tell them to fight!”

Several men came running toward them from the base of the slope, their faces terror-stricken. Ross cursed and shouted at them, but they knocked him aside and scrambled into the boats. He caught a glimpse of the figures made of sand and felt his own belly clutch with fear as he saw the creatures stoop to pick up the weapons his men had dropped.

Something hot sliced through his cheek, stinging him back to his senses. He kicked at the crewmen and soldiers, he hacked at them with his sword but he could do nothing to stop the retreat. He looked for Muertraigo but the Spaniard had already been swept along in the crush and thrown into one of the boats, his helmet knocked into the surf, his gloriously ornate armor pitted by stones and lead shot.

Out in the bay, one of the gun captains saw the chaos and slaughter and took it upon himself to order a broadside. The heavy culverins, already run out and loaded, had been sighted to fire upon the beach and in the confusion, the elevations were not changed. The massive guns fired a volley and the shots plowed into the shoreline, cutting a crimson swath through their own men, striking at least one longboat and sending the occupants exploding upward in bloody pieces.

Muertraigo’s boat narrowly escaped the same fate. Gouting water and human debris fell all around him and, stunned by the concussion, he looked up to the top of the bluff where he had last seen Diego Castellano waving the all-clear. The solitary figure was still there, silhouetted against the brilliant blue of the sky. As Muertraigo and the rest of the stunned, bleeding survivors watched, the figure fastened something to the barrel of the arquebus and raised it over his head, waving it slowly back and forth.

It was a pennon, a fifty foot long slender streamer of silk. As the wind snatched the end and unfurled it the retreating pirates gaped and crossed themselves repeatedly babbling to their God to save them.

~~

“Nice touch, that,” William Chandler said, chuckling. “Hoisting the flag we salvaged off the
Nuestro Santisimo Victorio
should spook whatever is left in their spines to spook. Good thing you told your own men about it last night or their hair would be standing on end as well.”

Dante turned as Rowly joined them. “Have all our men withdrawn from the beach?”

“Aye. Last of the “sand people” are comin’ up now.”

“Good. Have everyone pull back to camp. As soon as the bastard is back on his ship and collects his wits, he’ll be blasting this ridge to kingdom come. How many wounded do we have?”

Rowly grinned through the flaking mud on his face. “None. Not a single blessed one so far as I know. Not unless you count No-Nose who got his arm gored by a tusk when he was trying to keep them boars penned in the cave.”

Gabriel plucked at the leather buckles on the breastplate, discarding the slain Spaniard’s blood-smeared armor and helmet as he walked. As ambuscades went, this one had been a total, undeniable success, but in his fury, Muertraigo would bombard the beach and bluffs until his cannon glowed red hot. He would likely not attempt another landing today, but come morning, if he could convince his men that sand creatures did not know how to load and fire weapons, they would be back. There would be more of them and they would be better armed, better organized, better prepared. Dante had a few surprises left, but his men were still badly outnumbered.

Their camp, a mile into the dense woods, was safe enough for the time being. Chandler had shown him caves and entire abandoned villages hidden deeper inland where they could move if need be.

As he walked along the line of men slapping one another on the back and cheering their victory, he caught sight of Eva standing near one of the catapults helping to gather up the unspent coconut bombs. The blood of victory was coursing too strongly through his veins to be angry at seeing her there, but not quite strongly enough to return the grime-streaked smile she wore when she saw him stride past.

He quickened his pace, following the curve of the bay around to the far western tip of the crescent where he bellied up flat to a vantage point to watch the activity out in the harbor.

As predicted, Muertraigo sent broadside after broadside thundering from his guns. He blasted the beach and the shoreline, he blew apart stands of rock and obliterated half the slope, causing the caves to collapse under piles of rubble. Shot after shot from the two galleons levelled trees and left huge smoking craters in the sand. The scores of bodies strewn on the beach were turned into red mush with no regard for the wounded who attempted in vain to crawl to safety.

“As soon as it’s dark enough and they’ve grown weary of shooting at the beach,” Dante murmured, “have the men mud up again as we discussed.”

~~

The bombardment continued until dusk, until the cannon barrels became too hot to handle and there was danger of them cracking or blowing apart. The Spanish crews slumped into exhausted heaps on the decks, their ears bleeding from the implosions, their hands scorched and raw. Through it all, Muertraigo stalked from one side of the quarterdeck to the other, his rage so great that few of his officers dared approach.

“Dante. It has to be the bastard, Dante.”

“But how could he have arrived here before us?” Ross asked. “We saw his ship leave the island. We watch it destroy the
Asuncion
and sail south.”

“I don’t know how!” Muertraigo screamed, the veins pulsing like blue snakes in his temples and neck. “But it is Dante. I feel it in my blood and in my bones. There can be no other explanation.”

“The pennon—“

“The pennon was his way of mocking us and informing us that he has found the
Nuestro Santisimo Victorio
.”

“But your men believe—“

“My men are
fools
! They are addled half-wits if they believe sand and rocks can come to life and fire guns. Come first light we will land a greater force, we will take the beach and we will find Dante, Chandler, and the whore-bitch.” With foam and spittle flying from his lips, Muertraigo stalked to the rail and gripped it hard enough to gouge his nails into the wood. “They will take us to the treasure and then I will take the greatest pleasure in peeling the flesh from their bones one strip at a time!”

A wail rose from the maindeck. Darkness had descended, cloaking the ghastly slaughter on the beach, but here and there, stepping out from behind rocks or seeming to rise from the surf itself, glowing shapes of the dead were coming to life. They were not whole men this time, but skeletons. Some were stationary and to everyone’s horror, appeared to be headless and holding their own skulls in their boney hands. Others moved along the top of the ridge, and across the beach, their bones gleaming blue-white against the night sky.

“Fire,” Muertraigo commanded, but his voice was reduced to a hoarse whisper and none of the gun captains heard him. Even if they did, there was not one man willing to open fire on a crew of ghosts.

~~

The smaller galleon,
El Gato
, was the first to winch the anchor on board and set her sails. Her captain ignored the hails and threats from the quarterdeck of the
San Mateo
, and when Muertraigo gave the order to turn their guns on her, his officers refused to obey.

“Cowards! Fools! Get back to your posts or I’ll have the skin flayed from your backs!”

But no one was listening and no one obeyed. And a moment later, Estevan Muertraigo found himself staring down the barrel of a loaded pistol.

~~

From their vantage point on the bluff, Dante and Rowly watched with amazed interest as a scuffle took place on board the
San Mateo
. They heard a multitude of soft popping sounds as pistols were discharged on deck and minutes later, men—or bodies—were being flung over the side of the ship into the water.

“What the f—?”

“Poke my arse an’ call it love,” Rowly muttered. “They’re fixin’ to tuck tail an’ run.”

Dante knuckled his eyes to clear his vision and peered through the spyglass again. The deck of the galleon was well lit and there was no mistaking the livid features of the pirate captain as he was hustled by force to the gangway and pushed through. He fell into the water, his arms windmilling and legs kicking, sending up a soundless splash.

“Be double damned. That was Muertraigo his-self, weren’t it?”

Dante was watching, too fascinated to reply. Some of the ejected men who were, Gabriel supposed, loyal to Muertraigo had climbed into one of the longboats and were now pulling their captain out of the water and helping him on board. The
San Mateo
was already under way, gliding into the middle of the bight following in the wake of her sister ship,
El Gato
which was under full sail, the curve of her canvas sheets lit from beneath by the blaze of lights on deck.

The longboat was rowed toward the
Cormorant
, followed by a dozen or so strong swimmers who did not care to make for the beach and its ghostly inhabitants.

William Chandler strode to the top of the bluff, standing bare-skinned in full view. He had stripes of luminous mud painted down the front of his chest and down his arms and legs to resemble the big bones of a skeleton. One hand was holding a glowing skull, the other was planted on his hip as he shook his head and snorted.

“What do you make of that, my fine friends?”

“In all honesty, I’m not quite sure,” Dante murmured. “There was obviously a differing opinion on board as to how to proceed next, and by the look of it, Muertraigo lost the debate.”

“He’ll not find a warmer welcome aboard the
Cormorant
,” Chandler guessed, more hope than confidence behind his words.

“I can’t say I am entirely happy to see them put on sail,” Gabriel said grimly. “I would have liked another chance to get my hands around the bastard’s throat.”

“Rest assured, lad, you’ve done more damage to him today than you realize. His crews have mutinied, he has lost his ships. And when word spreads that he was defeated in a battle against some ghosts flinging coconuts… well…” Chandler paused to guffaw, “he will be the laughingstock of the Indies.”

Dante pushed himself upright. The last of the swimmers had climbed aboard the
Cormorant
and she was starting to glide further out into the bight. Dante’s eyes were cold and hard, and he stared as if he could see the Spaniard where he stood on deck.

“Next time.” He murmured the promise. “I’ll get you next time.”

“I’d give half my pecker,” Chandler declared, “to be on board right now, privy to the conversation between Muertraigo and Ross. Come to think on it,” he paused and frowned. “Did you happen to see the tall skinny bastard on the beach? Yellowish hair, a nose like an arrowhead long enough he can wipe it with his tongue?”

“I didn’t notice,” Dante said, his eyes still trained on the
Cormorant
as he turned his head slightly to address Rowly. “Send a couple of the men after them along the coast to follow and make sure they stay headed out to sea.”

“Aye,” Rowly said, nodding. “I’ll send Dunn an’ Betts. You’d best go back to camp an’ let Doc Podd have a look at where all that blood is comin’ from.”

Dante shook his head. “It’s not mine… for once.”

Chandler clapped him on the shoulder. “Nonetheless, you can’t do anything more here and I warrant I know someone else who is anxious to see that you’ve come through it without any new leaks or holes.”

~~

Eva was not sure what to think about the cool reaction Dante had given her earlier. She had wanted to run out and throw her arms around him but the glance he had cast in her direction had been so cold, she hadn’t dared. When he walked past, he had done exactly that: he had walked past without sparing her even the most miserly of smiles or nods.

She was under no illusions and had no expectations that he would declare undying love or even admit to any manner of affection. But he had cheered the men and stopped to praise their efforts. He had ruffled Eduardo’s hair and gripped Billy Crab’s arm in passing. Was a special smile or a nod too much to have hoped for?

She sighed and stirred the huge kettle of boar stew that sat bubbling over the fire. As the men returned from the beach, she filled their cups with rum and handed them wide banana leaves filled with the meaty concoction. Some retreated to the shadows to eat, then to sleep, and those who still wore fresh mud on their skin glowed eerily, making it resemble a camp populated by ghouls.

Eventually, after most of the stragglers had wandered in, she heard her father’s booming laugh and glanced over, watching the glow approach through the woods. Because he was dressed in his usual black shirt and black breeches, Dante was practically invisible by William’s side until they entered the ring of firelight.

The two men headed directly for the cask of rum, the contents of which Podd was doling out liberally. Gabriel hesitated a moment as if debating what was more appealing, rum or the scent of food. He saw Eva standing by the fire but no sooner did he catch her eye than she looked away.

William nudged his arm and thrust a panniken of rum into his hand. “A toast! To the cleverest damn captain on the Ocean-Sea and the bravest damn men I’ve ever had the honor to fight alongside!”

The men gave a rousing cheer and used the excuse to crowd around the barrel and fill their cups again. Dante hung back, his gaze flicking over to Eva, who seemed determined not to notice. She even went so far as to turn her back in favor of sharing a word and a smile with one of the crewmen.

He sipped his rum and watched for a while as she continued to lavish the stew and the men with all of her attention. Her hair had come loose from the long braid and strands of it drifted around her shoulders, catching the firelight; her shirt was belted tight at her waist defining the shape of her breasts and hips in a way that was making some of the casual glances from the men become not so casual.