Bounty Hunter

by Michelle E Lowe

  “It came from the city of Paititi,” the German explained. “The City of Gold.”

  “The ol’ El Dorado legend, eh?” Pierce said while taking it off the shelf.

  It appeared to be more like a jewelry box than a chest, made completely out of solid gold. He opened it and found nothing inside. Yet, he understood why Volker wanted it. The thing was worth far more than the chess pieces Pierce was after.

  “Give it here, Landcross.”

  Before he did, Pierce closed the box and asked one critical question, “I’m not supposed to come out of this alive, am I?”

  “Smart boy,” he praised, “Nein. I needed a good thief, as well as a fall man to blame the crime on. I intend on breaking your neck and making it appear as though you have fallen off the bed. You will be found with items around you. My dagger in your hand.”

  Pierce had no intention of dying like this. He wasn’t about to allow this maniac murderer to blame these crimes on him. If Pierce was going to die, he was going down fighting.

  The gun was aimed at him, so he had no time to turn and throw the gold box at Volker before he shot Pierce. Instead, he made it seem he was going to give it over when he kicked Volker in the chest. The flintlock fired its shot as the knobhead fell backwards, crashing into the dresser behind him.

  “Help!” Pierce bellowed for the entire house to hear. “We need help in here!”

  As Volker recovered, Pierce threw the artifact at him. He missed and so grabbed another item off the shelf: a statue of a woman in a crouching pose.

  He threw it as hard as he could. The German ducked, and the statue crashed into the wall right over the dresser. A flash of light briefly lit the entire room. When the intense glow went out, spots littered Pierce’s sight. He blinked them away and saw a naked lass in a crouched position.

  Volker saw her, too. The shocked expression on his face made him seem almost human. The woman took in a very deep breath that expanded her chest like a hot air balloon. She rose to her full height and rotated her head. She had a narrow face, twisted hair that stood up like twigs, and slanted black eyes. Pierce had already guessed that she wasn’t human.

  When those dark peepers locked on Pierce, she snarled. “It’s you!”

  “Eh?” he said, confused.

  “I do not believe it,” she grumbled, looking very upset.

  Pierce couldn’t discern who she was or how she knew him. He wondered if it was a case of mistaken identity.

  The shouts of the men came from outside the bedroom. The strange woman grunted and declared with bile, “I will find a way to kill you, Landcross, you little shit! I’ll ruin that bitch’s plans yet!”

  With that, she crashed through the window and vanished.

  “Is she an old lover of yours?” Volker quipped.

  The footmen barged in with pistols drawn. Pierce raised his hands and hoped they’d see Volker with the gun and shoot the wanker. Instead, he surrendered, and both were taken into custody.

  * * *

  The footmen brought them to the authorities and they were incarcerated inside Dartmoor Prison while they awaited their trial. Even in chains, Volker was unsettling to be around.

  “In light of the evidence, we the court find you, Pierce Landcross, not guilty of the murders of Mr. Abbott Brice and his wife, Silva Brice,” announced the magistrate, sitting behind his tall bench.

  Pierce was very much relieved.

  “However,” the magistrate continued, “you have proven yourself to be a nuisance to this country for quite some time. Thereby, I sentence you and Mr. Jäger to Norfolk Island, where you shall spend the remainder of your days in a hard labor camp.”

  And just like that, Pierce was booted out of England.

  * * *

  At the end of the following week, Pierce and Volker were loaded onto a prison ship dubbed the HMS Discovery and put out to sea with many other convicted criminals.

  Captain Trevor Barnaby quickly displayed his low tolerance for misbehaving prisoners. A young thief named David Anderson, who was four years younger than Pierce, and who also had shared a cell with him in prison, spoke out of turn with the captain. It earned the lad fifty lashes that nearly killed him. It certainly kept Pierce from making a peep.

  A few days into the voyage, Pierce got over his seasickness and he and a handful of other convicts were brought up in leg irons to wash the deck. As Pierce scrubbed on his hands and knees, he overheard the lookout above in the crow’s nest calling out, “Ship ahoy!”

  The crewman guarding the recidivists rushed over to the railing. While the guard’s back was turned, Pierce took the opportunity to stand and have a look for himself. He leaned over the railing and saw past the guard’s shoulder a ship quickly advancing from the stern. This oncoming vessel was heavily armed, which became apparent when they fired rotary cannons set on the bow. The stern of the prison hulk blew open, pieces crashing through the door leading into the captain’s quarters. The impact caused Pierce and the guard to crouch. Another blast broke through the air, smashing right through the mizzenmast. Captain Barnaby was at the helm when it collapsed and smashed into the railing next to the wheel, nearly crushing the bloke.

  Moments later, the charging ship sailed up alongside them. She was a Spanish galleon, bearing a flag depicting three wavy lines with two crossed arrows. Her crew were composed of dark-skinned foreigners.

  Sea Warriors? Pierce reckoned. Wonder what they want?

  Pierce found it strange that Sea Warriors were attacking this ship. He always thought they only went after slave vessels leaving from or going to Africa. Whatever the reason, it was his best chance at freedom—if he could make allies with them.

  The HMS Discovery was once a warship, and as such, was heavily armed. She carried at least 127 guns. The captain had recovered from his brush with death and had taken his place at the wheel while shouting the order to fire. Pierce acted quickly. As the guard stood up, Pierce snatched the man’s pistol from the holster. He pushed the guard over the railing and into the water below. The other convicts spied an opportunity and charged the other crewmen. Pierce rushed for the stairs leading up the helm as Sea Warriors fired bulky rifles, sending grappling hooks up to the ship’s shrouds and then launching themselves up and over to the deck.

  It was difficult to climb the steps in leg irons, but Pierce managed to reach the helm without being spotted by the captain, whose focus was on the skirmish on his deck as Sea Warriors dropped from the shrouds and began attacking the crew.

  “Fire the cannons!” the captain shouted.

  Pierce knew it wouldn’t take many tick tocks before the gunners below had the long guns loaded. He approached the wheel while the captain yelled out more orders from the railing. The captain soon spotted the prisoner. Recovering quickly from the surprise, the captain raised his rifle, but Pierce was faster and shot him in the chest. As the captain fell, Pierce grabbed the wheel and turned it sharply.

  * * *

  When Volker heard the first cannon blast, he knew the ship was under attack. He couldn’t go anywhere, for he was locked in the brig with the other detainees. The loud rumble above and the sound of something crashing down almost as if a tree was falling, startled a guard standing beside the bars, causing him to crouch. When he rose to his full height, a racing knife tumbled out of his pocket. He never noticed as he hurried off. If Volker could snare it, he might be able to grab a guard and kill him for the keys to the cell door.

  Volker stretched his arm out, trying to reach the knife through the bars. Just as he touched the wooden handle, the ship suddenly shifted violently. A heavy crate stacked atop other crates next to the cage toppled over and landed right on his arm. Every bone shattered instantaneously. He cried out so loudly, it caught the attention of a few guards, who noticed what had happened and lifted the crate off. Once Volker was able to pull his arm out, he couldn’t recognize it. The limb had been completely crushed under the weight of the crate. Broken bone poked out through several places of the skin like gla
ss shards through rubber. His fingers were twisted and misshapen. Blood was everywhere, and the pain nearly made him pass out.

  * * *

  When the HMS Discovery shifted suddenly, it threw everyone off his feet. Cannons below deck had rolled about, firing within the gun deck. Only a few actually hit the Sea Warriors’ galleon. Pierce steadied the ship. He had saved the Sea Warriors’ vessel. Now for these blasted chains. He knew the captain would have the keys. The wanker had made a point during induction to explain that he and he alone carried them. He searched the late captain’s pockets and as he pulled them out, two Sea Warriors appeared.

  “Shite!” Pierce shouted, shooting to his feet and dropping the keys.

  The Indians were fierce in appearance. One man was tall and well built. He wore an old French sea captain’s coat, white britches, and a blue vest. He, like his companion beside him, had several feathers tied in his long hair and on the rifles he carried. The shorter man had sharp dark eyes that targeted Pierce.

  Pierce moved steadily away, a shaky hand out, until his back hit the mizzenmast, which was lying clear across the helm. As they approached, the Sea Warriors looked at the captain’s body and then shifted their sights to Pierce’s leg irons. They seemed perplexed.

  They spoke to each other in their native language before the taller of the two asked Pierce, “Parlez-vous français?”

  “Oui,” Pierce answered.

  “What sort of ship is this?” he asked in French.

  “It’s a transport ship. It ferries convicted criminals to penal colonies in Australia and New Zealand.”

  Pierce started piecing it together. The Sea Warriors had mistaken the vessel for a slave ship bound for Africa, aiming to disable and plunder her supplies before sinking her, as they were known to do.

  Again, the Sea Warriors spoke amongst themselves. Pierce could not distinguish what nation they were from, for several Indian tribes sailed the seas.

  The shorter man fled downstairs while the other reached for the keys Pierce had dropped. He tossed them to him.

  “I saw what you did. You saved our ship,” he said. “What is your name?”

  “Pierce Landcross.”

  “Pierce Landcross, I thank you. I am Chief Sea Wind, leader of the Apache Sea Warriors. My companion is my first mate, Wind in the Sails. For your act, I am offering you the chance to take up arms alongside us.”

  Pierce had no quarrel with that.

  He unlocked his shackles, snatched up the late captain’s rifle, and left to fight while the chief stayed at the helm and took control of the vessel. On the deck, the prisoners who had attacked the crew were all but dead and lying beside the guards they had killed. As more Sea Warriors came abroad, Pierce felt it wise to join Wind in the Sails, for he was the safest gent to be around in the event any Sea Warriors tried to attack him. Wind in the Sails didn’t seem to mind, and just before they headed down to the lower deck, a prisoner, posing as one of the deceased, slowly rose to his feet with a dagger. He snuck up behind an Apache who was distracted and searching the pockets of the dead guards. Pierce aimed his rifle at the cocker and as he pulled on the trigger, an Apache woman charged the prisoner with her own knife. Wind in the Sails quickly pushed the muzzle down, but the gun went off anyway. The woman arched and fell to the floor. The prisoner turned and spotted her. The Indian who had been the man’s intended target, threw a hatchet, striking the man in the back.

  “Oh, bugger me,” Pierce muttered fearfully. “I’ve done it now.”

  He and Wind in the Sails rushed over to the wounded Sea Warrior. She was sitting up, gripping herself above her wound.

  “Bloody hell,” Pierce said when he saw. “Did I shoot you in the arse?”

  She snapped her sights to him with the deadliest look he’d ever seen.

  The Sea Warriors won the skirmish and took control of the ship. Most of the crew and some of the prisoners had been killed. Wind in the Sails explained that the woman whom Pierce had shot was the chief’s wife, Waves of Strength. Pierce honestly believed he was about to be murdered when someone else, a young Indian lass named Sees Beyond, claimed that her spirits had led them to this ship for a reason, and that Pierce was that reason. His life was spared on that account—as well as because the shooting was an accident. He was even allowed to retrieve his mate, David, from the brig below. When he got there, he discovered what had happened to Volker.

  “Go on, Landcross,” he grunted from inside his cage. “Kill me.”

  There were no shots left in his rifle with which to put the mad dog down, and even if he did, Pierce saw no reason to. Death was what Volker wanted.

  “No,” Pierce told him. “You stay onboard and suffer, you cunt. And by the by, it was me who steered the ship that caused the crate to fall on your arm. Consider it repayment for your kind hospitality. Ta.”

  Pierce collected David, whose wounds from the flogging had become badly infected. Pierce left the rest of the murderers and rapists behind. It was their reward for bragging about their misdeeds during the night.

  The HMS Discovery rudder was disabled, and few supplies left for the crew to survive on. Pierce suspected they wouldn’t last long, stranded in the middle of the ocean.

  On the first night onboard the Sea Warrior’s ship, the Ekta, Pierce stood alone at the bow, thinking about the strange being that had appeared from the statue inside the Collector’s home. Who was she to him, and why did she want him dead? Had he wronged her in the past?

  “I will find a way to kill you, Landcross, you little shit! I’ll ruin that bitch’s plans yet!”

  What exactly was she? And ruin whose plans?

  Unable to wrap his mind around it, he redirected his thoughts to his good fortune and breathed in the salty sea air of freedom.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Let the Hunt Begin!

  After Pierce was sworn in and given a few pairs of handcuffs, he was ready to get started. Jaxton, on the other hand . . .

  “I can’t bloody believe this,” Jaxton moaned while pinning his badge to his vest. “Could things get any worse?”

  Pierce hated that Sheriff Flores was making him come along on the hunt. Clearly, the snake-oil salesman had no experience in this sort of thing.

  “It’ll be all right, lad,” Pierce consoled him. “Just stay low when I tell you. I’ll take care of the heavy lifting, eh?”

  Jaxton tilted his chin up to him. “You mean it?”

  “Aye.”

  As Pierce headed out the door, the sheriff grasped his shoulder. “You and your so-called posse best find them, Señor Landcross, or everything that I have promised will come true.”

  For some reason, the sheriff felt the need to grab hold of him in order to make his point. Pierce wanted nothing more than to knock his arse to the floor and make his point not to touch him again.

  “And one more thing,” the sheriff added. “I want them all alive. If any outlaw is brought in dead, I will reprimand any of you who did the killing.”

  Pierce shook off the knobhead’s hold on him and left with Jaxton.

  “Where should we start?” Jaxton asked, trying to keep up with Pierce’s steady stride.

  “I’ve already thought of that. We’ll go to the Guaymas City Bank. But, first, I need a saddle.”

  “I have an extra one in my wagon,” Jaxton offered. “It’s old, but it should hold up. The wagon is stored back in the hotel stables.”

  “Cheers, lad.”

  They retrieved the saddle, and after Jaxton had a brief chat with his secret lover inside his hotel room, everyone rode out and located the bank on the other side of the city. They spoke to the manager. Pierce was appointed question asker. He was always good at that. Emma acted as translator.

  “He says we’re an odd band of lawmen,” Emma informed Pierce.

  Pierce had no doubt they were. Two gringos, a woman, and an Apache. A very unlikely team, indeed.

  “Ask him to describe the bank thieves.”

  She did so. The manager spo
ke quickly, but lengthily. “There were four of them. A tall man in black clothing—he may have been Mexican—and a fashionably dressed woman.”

  Pierce reckoned she must be the lass Grandmother Fey had warned him about.

  “Who else?”

  “A white man,” Emma continued. “Around your height, Jaxton. And a child.”

  “A child?”

  “There was a very short person with them standing no more than three feet tall.”

  “Is he sure it was a youngster?” Pierce questioned.

  She spoke to the manager and then listened to his answer. “He’s not sure. They were all wearing masks.”

  “Brilliant,” Pierce grumbled.

  Itza-chu said something to the bank manager, and they listened a moment as the manager spoke in return. Emma gasped.

  “Bloody Christ,” Jaxton said, aghast.

  “What did he say?” Pierce demanded.

  He hated being the only bloke who couldn’t speak Spanish.

  “He says the robbers were violent,” Itza-chu explained. “The woman shot a bank teller in the stomach for not putting the money in the bag fast enough.”

  “Did anyone see what direction they headed?”

  Itza-chu relayed the question and then listened. “East.”

  “Right.”

  As they mounted their horses, Emma asked, “What are we looking for?”

  “These sods haven’t just strolled into the middle of Guaymas to rob this place. Itza-chu, is there anything close to the city? A cave or some other town?”

  “No caves, and not much else around.”

  Pierce considered that.

  “Guaymas is pretty big. I highly doubt they rode out of the city altogether. After the heist, they most likely fled to some sort of hideout.”

  “Do you think they went to a hotel somewhere?” Itza-chu asked.

  “Aye. Probably have been holed up in one.”

  “Huh,” Emma spoke up.

  Pierce noted her curious expression. “What?”