Spice Box: Sixteen Steamy Stories

by Raine Miller

  The Bountiful took the oil, the molasses, and whatever gold they found, even the weapons from the sailors, the gunpowder and ship’s stores.

  Emily gave the cabin one last scan, liking the small compass sitting on the table. With a shrug and an acknowledgement of the total disintegration of her morals, she pocketed it before turning to the door. Captain Jezebel stood outside the cabin, hands at her hips, surveying the action. Suddenly, a man leaped to Jezzie’s side, a pistol in his hand.

  Emily froze when he pressed the pistol into the captain’s side and shouted his demands, “Stop or I will spill her guts to the deck! Get off my ship!”

  Crap. What to do? She was the only one with a clear shot of the gunman’s back. She paused, slowly extracting a knife from her sheath, and turned it to throw.

  She peered beyond Jezzie. As Davis stared at her, his chin bobbed, nothing blatant. She’d never killed a man….

  “Not a smart move. You think we come here without our own secret weapon?” Jezzie spoke softly to the man holding her hostage.

  Emily waited, her mouth dry at the thought of taking a man in back. But he threatened Jezzie…. He wasn’t real, right? If she were insane, then she wouldn’t be killing anyone.

  His back presented a good target as he pulled Jezebel tighter to his side, shouting a reply, “You have nothing that will save you! If you order your crew to leave my ship, I will let you go!”

  “March!” Jezzie called out. The rest of the crew stood frozen, hands to weapons. Waiting.

  March? Oh, yeah. Michael March is how Mick introduced himself to her. Seemed like years ago.

  Emily realized she hadn’t seen Mick after the fight. He’d been everywhere during the battle. He was a deadly shot, with pistol and big gun and his was the shot that took down the Petit’s main mast. But once they’d begun loading the cargo, Mick slid away. Not too surprising—hauling was grunt work. Mick didn’t do menial chores.

  From her viewpoint, she couldn’t see Mick arrive, but she heard his voice.

  “Dear Jezzie, you must make sure all weapons are confiscated.”

  He sounded lazy and uninterested for the most part. Emily held her knife, ready to throw.

  “How is he a secret weapon?” the French Captain taunted Jezzie.

  Good question.

  “You know the one man who survived striking Silvestri?” Jezebel asked.

  “That is a fable!” He practically spit in her ear.

  “He survived Silvestri’s curse! Struck him and survived! The curse still waits,” Jezzie shouted.

  The crew of the Petit murmured among themselves, and then shouted at their captain to let the woman go!

  “Shall I come and assist you?” Mick’s voice carried, full of an odd sort of deadly merriment.

  “Non!”

  “Non!”

  Emily heard the shouts of fear and found the anxiety quite confusing. Jezzie’s back stiffened. The man holding the pistol trembled and screamed at the crew to not be so foolish! It was a myth, he said, a trick! His grip on the captain’s arm tightened as he pulled her even closer, the pistol must be bruising Jezebel’s side, buried so hard below her ribcage. Emily tried to decide on a course of action.

  “Do it, Pawes!”

  The knife flew at the sound of Davis bellowing at her. Emily didn’t even think about it. The sharp blade, purchased a week ago while ashore, sank deep into that broad back. Jezzie twisted free when the man screamed and spun. Emily froze at the sharp retort of a pistol. He’d fired at her!

  Lucky for her, his aim was thrown off by Davis tackling him. But she was still hit? She crumpled to the deck, clutching at her side.

  Damn! That hurt! She lifted her hand to her eyes and blinked at the bright blood. She came here to die this way?

  Davis rushed into the room. “Pawes!”

  Emily took a breath. “Am I going to die?”

  He peeled the shirt away from her side and examined her wounds. “No. But I bet it stings. The ball struck that chair, and only splinters hit you. You’ll be fine. Why did you wait?”

  “I’ve never killed a man before, Davis. You sure I won’t die? Get sepsis from the wood?” Her brain spun with the movies she’d seen, the horror stories of life before antibiotics.

  “We’ll get the splinters out, don’t worry.” He lifted her and headed for the Quill.

  “Are all men here so strong?” she muttered, more to herself than to him. She lifted her bloody palm and winced at the bright, red wetness. “Oh. I don’t like that.” She fainted.

  She woke less than an hour later, placed on her side on a table in the ship’s galley. The ship’s cook painstakingly extracted each splinter. The slow tug of a particularly long extraction greeted her as she came to. Davis stood by, wiping away the blood. Emily winced, reaching consciousness. “Ouch.”

  “Sorry, lass. I won’t leave any—I’ve got a poultice ready.” Cookie kept working.

  Emily looked out into the galley, her mind spinning. It hurt like hell, but she distracted herself by trying to figure it out. Mick was a secret weapon? Mick struck Alan and survived? How did that make him a secret weapon? Her head spun again, and bile rose in her throat.

  “Cookie? I don’t want to mess up your table.”

  Davis instantly switched sides of the table and held out a pan, making sure she didn’t splatter vomit about the galley. He mopped at her face. Finally, she finished.

  Cookie patted her hip. “One more and I should be done. You let me know if you feel anything feverish or your skin swells in the next few days. Pay close attention, you hear me?”

  “Anything?” Emily snickered, trying to find humor in the idea.

  “Here, take a sip of this.” Davis held out a cup.

  “Not a good idea to give me anything.” Emily tried to pull away. “I’ll only throw it up.”

  “This will make you better. Mama Lu’s formula. Cookie’s going to use one of her remedies on your side.” Davis explained.

  “Mama Lu, the miracle worker.” Emily sighed, but allowed Davis to help her swallow the drink.

  She tried to take a deep breath, but it made her moan.

  “You’ll sleep now and wake up in a few hours feeling better.” Davis smiled at her and stroked her forehead.

  “What did Jezzie mean? About Mick?” Emily tried to stay focused, but the mental clouds rising from the drink filled her head. Before he could answer, she slipped into sleep.

  ***

  Alan went straight back to Tortuga, to report on the newest dream and see if Mama Lu could give him any fresh answers. Emily’s questions filled his head with dread. He’d refused to consider the issues she’d raised after things turned sour with Mick. That idiot used to ask him, prod him, and they’d talked late into the night about the fallacies of his curse.

  But he’d never told Mick the entire origin of his curse. He’d shared pieces of the story, trying to dissuade the man from seeking out Glacious. Mick could be such an idiot. Only Mama Lu knew everything. He’d gone to her seeking release and found someone with an uncommon gift of empathy. Expecting only magic, he’d found a friend. The wise woman promised to keep searching, and they’d become close. Over time, he’d discovered she held her own grudge against the ice queen. She didn’t go into details; he didn’t pry.

  Mama Lu listened to him explain the new dream. Emily hadn’t admitted to their having the exact same dream, but she’d let enough clues drop that he felt certain they’d suffered the same lust filled nights. He’d smiled when asked why they didn’t dream about the bath also. And with that “also” he’d known the piercing dream was shared.

  Mama Lu stroked her nose with one finger. A corner of her mouth lifted, then the opposite eyebrow and she beamed across the table at him. “This be the answer I been wondering ‘bout!”

  “Answer to what?”

  “Since yer last visit, I been having visions from the albino Kraken. He wants to crack Glacious’ ice palace, take her down into the deep. This ain’t only about paying
you back. You say Pawes shot you? And survived? That’s two. I think that will be enough. Now, you make that dream come true, Alan. You get her to your ship and pierce her nipple. Have her do yours…catch the blood from both and this is what you do….”

  He listened, resigned to follow the spell. She finished and he raised some questions.

  “What if I use the needles?” he asked. “Place them in a glass vial, together. She’s going to shy away from my trying to catch a drop of her blood in a glass.”

  “Fine, that works as well. What about the sexual fluids?” She leered, one eyebrow raised nearly to touch her braided hair.

  “Easy to keep her too distracted to wonder what I’m doing there. I can sneak that easily enough. I have an idea of how to get her on board. Not certain how to get hold of the mirror.” He paused. “Lu, I don’t want to hurt her. Or…or lose her.”

  Mama Lu studied his face. Her dark eyes filled with sympathy, something he’d seen many times in the last ten years. But he took it from her—he always did. He shared much with her. She knew when his heart ached. But it wasn’t pity. He abhorred pity.

  She sighed. “I can’t guarantee anything, Alan. You know how Glacious can be. She’s a jealous bitch, and if you can’t hide how you feel from her, she’ll make it her business to destroy Mrs. Pawes. You can try, with Mick and the mirror. That might be enough to draw the Kraken to her palace. Mick can take care of himself. That woman, she been here long enough to learn some defense, but not enough to stand against Glacious.”

  “I won’t take her into the palace. I can lure Mick; he’ll cotton to what is going on quickly enough. Pawes won’t, and she’ll get hurt. Or dead. I’ll take the chance on the mirror. And Mick.”

  It worked that way. That dear woman couldn’t face the ice cold glare of his ice queen. Emily boiled with heat, with fire and fury. Glacious would do anything to snuff out that fire. Especially if she realized how much it warmed him.

  Mama Lu shook her head. “You do the spell perfect, Alan. And you pray Mick remembers more than the hatred he holds.”

  “Em…Mrs. Pawes said something to me. About how Mick’s anger doesn’t ring authentic to her. I trust her judgment, Lu. Mick is playing a role because it suits him.”

  “You sure the role wasn’t pretending to be your friend?” Lu always asked the difficult questions.

  Alan took a deep breath, held it, let it out slowly. “No. But I trust him. And her. I have to. I need this done!”

  “That’s fine. Now, I know where ta get the ring you can use to pierce her. You give me two weeks and come back. And bring me some of that darkest rum. When you gonna see this dream inta reality? And where?” Mama Lu thrust the cork back into her bottle and set it aside, signaling he’d be leaving soon.

  “She wants something from the dyers on St. Marteen. I’ll make it worth their while. Set that up while you get the ring. What of the ring for her half of the dream? The silver one I will wear?” He rose from the table, anxious to keep the momentum going.

  “I get that, too. And I’ll make sure the ring is where she can find it when she reaches St. Marteen. See it happens soon, Alan.”

  “The tailors of Nassau haven’t heard from the Quill yet. They are bound there next. I’ll make sure the dyers offer to teach Mrs. Pawes, and send message to Nassau with enough promise of sharing dye secrets to lure her off the Quill for four weeks, Lu.” He turned toward the door.

  “You barely have time. Ya turn sixty-five in nine weeks.”

  “I know my own birth date, Lu. I’ll be back in two.” He left her snug house and began walking down the winding path to the harbor. He had some bribes to make.

  ***

  Emily woke with her side aching. She tried to stretch and a moan escaped her.

  “It will feel better soon.”

  She turned her head to see Davis propped on a stool in a corner of her cabin. She peered at him. “You watching me?”

  “Yup. You need to take another dose. One to make you sleep more.”

  She must have made a face, for he chuckled.

  “The captain wants to see you once you’ve eaten,” he said.

  “Oh. I’d like to see her, too.” Emily managed to rise with Davis’s help. She took the cup he offered and swallowed the contents without discussion. Touching the bandage at her side, she grimaced to realize her breeches were gone. And she was wearing a new shirt.

  “Did you undress me?”

  “Yes.”

  She snorted.

  “I don’t take advantage of wounded women.” He sounded offended.

  “Hell, I didn’t think you did! I’m not used to having anyone undress me.” She looked around, not wanting to think about the last man who’d undressed her. Or the one before that.

  “Only certain men, I know.” Leaning on him, she made it from her cabin to the galley. She did not address his comment.

  None of his business.

  Once she’d eaten, her next stop was the Captain’s quarters. She’d been in there before, but this visit was different. Jezebel acted quite formal, nodding when Emily entered, leaning on Davis.

  She refused to be treated like an invalid in front of the captain and shook him off.

  “Captain.” Emily waited.

  “Crewperson Pawes…it has come to my attention that you didn’t follow the direction of Mr. Davis. Why did you delay in striking that bastard?” Jezebel asked. Her eyes betrayed no curiosity, despite the question. Her face gave no clue to what she might be feeling, holding a formal stillness.

  This was not what Emily expected. She started, her spine straightening despite the way the stance pulled on her wounds. “Captain, ma’am, I’m not used to killing people. Sure, I’ve fought on deck and done some damage, but to throw a knife into someone’s back? I’m so sorry if it disturbs you, my lack of bloodthirstiness, but I couldn’t do it easily.”

  “The captain of the Petite held a pistol on me!” Jezz met her eyes straight. “I don’t believe it is unusual for me to expect you to act according to your instructor and do something! Davis is the experienced man and you should have followed his lead.”

  “I did do something. I listened as you tried to talk him out of hurting you. I was ready to throw if the situation continued. I followed your lead.” Emily found herself getting pissed. Maybe she’d expected a bit of gratitude!

  Jezzie threw her arms into the air. “I didn’t know you were there, or my strategy would have been different. Davis! Leave us.”

  Emily swallowed nervously while the captain paced a moment. Three steps to one side, three steps to the other, head bowed, arms clasped at her back. The cabin wasn’t terribly big.

  “Sit.” Jezzie directed her to a chair.

  “Ma’am, if I’m to continue being scolded, I’ll stand, thank you.”

  “Sit!”

  With a nervous swallow, Emily took a chair. It hurt to sit, but she tried not to let that show.

  Jezzie walked behind her, leaned over and set her hands on Emily’s shoulders. “Firstly, thank you for saving my life.”

  “Uh, you’re welcome.” Emily glanced from the corners of her eyes, trying to see the captain. “I truly didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry if the delay cost you something.”

  “Yes, well. Apologize to Mick. He doesn’t want it bandied about the Caribbean that he is the one talked about. Luckily, he’d wrapped a scarf around his lower face. They shouldn’t be able to describe him.” Jezzie squeezed her shoulders and sat down across from her.

  “Okay. I will, but for what? I didn’t understand the strategy you used. Why would they care if he survived Silvestri’s curse?” Emily found she truly wanted to understand this, considering she’d tried to kill the same man, albeit accidentally, and escaped unhurt. “Why did it nearly work?”

  “You couldn’t see Mick or the crew from where you were. Let me see if I can explain.” Jezzie poured a measure of rum and offered some to Emily.

  Being served by the captain was unusual, but Emily accepted
the drink. Not to would be rude and offending the woman who offered her shelter didn’t seem prudent.

  Clearing her throat, the captain continued, “First, this strategy worked with the cloth merchant’s ship because they were French. And the French are more superstitious than other sailors on the Caribbean. You know of Silvestri’s curse?”

  “Yeah. Basically, his good luck is stolen from the good luck of others around him. Even causing them bad luck.” Emily sniffed, desperate to maintain some semblance of not caring,

  “Yes. Ten years ago, Silvestri was able to remain in any one location three months, maximum, before the curse struck. As long as no one came against him, that is. Then his time shrank to three weeks, now it’s down to three days. The shorter the time, the more vicious the bad luck grows. No one escapes. Mick did. Ten years ago. He nearly killed Silvestri. It’s known someone escaped and assumed that the bad luck hovers around that person. I know it doesn’t, but the French have reason to fear Silvestri’s trail of bad luck.”

  “Why did Mick try to kill him? He knew of the curse, knew he couldn’t succeed.” Emily sipped at the rum, fascinated by the story.

  Jezzie laughed. “Mick strike you as always thinking before he acts? He had reason to seek vengeance against Silvestri. Evidently, the good Captain Silvestri left the Caribbean soon after and spent some time in France. In France, the bad luck that followed him proved legendary. He bragged about it and was quite reckless. It’s surprising the government didn’t pay some magical worker to kill him.”

  “Yeah. This magic stuff…honestly?” Emily tilted her head at Jezebel. “I mean, I’ve been here over three months and aside from the insanity of finding modern conveniences scattered here and there. I haven’t seen anything I’d call magic. There is really magic here?”

  “Really. I’ve been here thirty years and I’ve seen enough to believe. Those splinters you took?”