by Jo Sparkes
How could she possibly confess to being chicken-hearted now?
Forcing a grin, she nodded. “Let’s at least check out the damage you guys have wrought.”
Wall followed Jill into the compressor room.
He almost bumped into her back, she’d stopped so abruptly. Her hand yanked away from the reel on the peg wall. It took him a second to spot the gecko that had startled her.
“Jill, listen to me. Don’t let Melanie talk you into this.”
She stood staring at the lizard, hands clenched. He tried to step around to chase her dragon away, but the space was too narrow.
“I’m not afraid,” she said rather pitifully.
“That bout of nyctophobia you felt in the cave is nothing compared to what you’ll feel inside a shipwreck. Even if it starts out okay, it can silt up out of nowhere. The water adds to that feeling of being cut-off and alone.”
“I don’t have any fear,” she said between her teeth. “I’m not afraid of the dark.”
“Jill…don’t be foolish. No one will think less of you for simply being sensible.”
“If Melanie can do it, I can do it.” The brunette shifted in her stance, eyeing the gecko warily. “At the very least I want to look inside. Shine a flashlight and see. Maybe it’s filled with gold.”
“And if Jon beckons you deeper? Are you going to tell him no?”
“Melanie’s right on one thing…you do over-think.” Snatching a towel off a hook, she waved it at the lizard. The gecko darted away.
Flashing a triumphant grin, she lifted the reel off the wall. “Dad always says you can’t outrun your fears. You gotta face them head on.”
She squeezed past him and trotted away.
Melanie couldn’t wait.
Squatting on the dive platform, gear assembled, she snatched a hose from Jill when the brunette couldn’t seem to click it in properly. She attached it in one fluid move - and laughed aloud at the girl’s expression.
So much for being the queen of dive class, you little half-breed. This was the ocean, not an indoor pool. And Melanie was feeling more at home here every day.
The others, though slow as well, were more eager. Anticipation leaked into their actions, making them clumsy. Torn between desire for riches and fear of what else they might find. Well, they should be nervous.
Far more lurked beneath the Sadicor than rotting old timber.
The little black man finally stood. One by one the others rose, still buckling B.C.s and securing masks. Exchanging nervous glances, excited glances. Even the brunette had found a little gumption.
“Mike, you’re Jill’s dive buddy. Wall…”
“Mike’s mine,” Melanie informed them.
Jon’s eyes swept from one to the other. Startled, Mike shoved his regulator between his teeth, probably to keep from commenting. The Brit looked at Jill. “You with me?”
The brunette, playing with her reel of line, nodded.
The stage, Melanie smiled, was set.
Jon lifted his thumb in the air, asking if everyone was ready. One by one, the others signaled ‘Okay’.
For her answer Melanie threw herself backwards, flipping heels over head, and shot down into the ocean.
The divers descended.
Bright sunlight filtered down with them, sparkling off her cousin’s silver tank. Jill watched it flicker, and thought how very much like the other dives this looked. Same people in the same gear, tropical daylight haloing them all. Same muffled sounds, same exchanged glances. Yet the nervous excitement she’d always felt had changed.
I’m scared.
Looking down past her fins, she saw the ragged blast hole in the gap area. Sand and coral had been blown clean away, revealing the ship’s wood deck. For an instant she could almost see masts rising from cabin housing and sails fluttering in the currents.
How had they ever thought this anything but a shipwreck?
The galleon loomed up to meet them, her crater-wound an accusation. Hovering inches above the shattered deck, Jon and Mike exchanged nervous looks.
Or perhaps she imagined the nervous part.
Jon inverted, thrusting his head into the black void. Melanie floated a foot above the gap, green eyes dancing in her mask. Perfectly buoyant, Jill realized with a pang. She herself was still over-weighted, still swimming hard instead of gliding like the experienced divers.
Watching Melanie’s pink-clad form busily pulling her line, Jill hastily reached for her own reel. She wasn’t sure where to tie to off, and swept another glance at the blonde.
The woman had found an old black - dear God, it looked like a ship’s cleat. It must be something else.
Jill tugged the rope from her reel, paddling toward a thick splinter of wood around the blast hole.
Wall stopped her. For an instant, she thought he’d refuse her entry, but instead he guided her to a solid piece of coral still clinging to the deck cabin. Together they attached their lines, testing them.
The others waited at the hole. Exchanging gestures, Wall peered into her mask. She gave him her bravest smile - or as much as she could manage with a regulator clenched between her teeth.
More signals, more gestures. Then Jon touched his B.C. and sank into the void.
The others followed.
Wall glanced up.
The blast crater, so huge from outside, seemed to shrink rapidly as they spiraled downward. The dark seemed to swallow them whole.
Beside him, Jill remained calm. At least she returned an annoyed look when he leaned in too close.
His impression was a second level, a layer of deck punctuated with rotting holes and vertical beams. They passed through it quickly, falling into a vacuous cavern.
So much for not being in an overhead environment. Too late to do anything about it now.
Flashlights burst forth, narrow beams stabbing feebly at the black. The only thing clearly revealed was the faces of the other divers, eyes mirroring swirling emotions. One part excitement, two parts fear, Wall thought ruefully. Even muscle man Mike looked less assured.
They were well and truly in the belly of the beast.
Silt puffed in clouds around Jill’s legs, her over-weighted condition forcing her to stand instead of hover. Checking her face, he saw her annoyance and impulsively set his fins down beside her. Her eyes widened - she nodded and looked away.
Wall swept his torch along the floor beneath him, then farther away. Silt blanketed everything, thick and heavy, like gray snow rising up to his knees.
Jon chose a direction and floated away, his beam sweeping side to side just ahead of him. Mike and Melanie chose a path at right angles, imitating his search technique.
A blast of bubbles prickled in the water, over Jill’s head. Swiftly he checked her eyes, and she nodded. Naturally the girl felt nervous, but not panicked. She even pointed in the direction away from others, perfectly sensible. He nodded.
Ghostly clouds rose about them, stirred by their awkward steps. There were reasons divers swam.
Bumps sprouted out of the landscape. Swollen debris masses, like a mogul field on a ski slope. Navigating through, he noted the uniform gaps between. Too uniform, he realized.
The side of the ship stopped them.
Jill reached out to touch a lump. Hesitated.
He shone the light upon it, then slid the beam on to the next…and the next. Against the vessel’s side the bumps were both taller and more uniform, creating a line in both directions, seemingly infinite, disappearing in the void. A chill tickled his spine.
Jill’s fingers brushed the bump. Dropping to her knees, she started digging.
Maybe barrels, he thought. Possibly deteriorating faster away from the ship’s side, thus the smaller piles. Would a cargo of sugar be in sacks or barrels?
Drawn to a prominent mound before him, Wall started clearing silt with his gloves.
At first there was only more silt. And then, almost teasingly, he found something hard and unyielding. Metal - heavy and thick. Black
forged rings.
Chains.
Jill ceased, arms dropping to her sides. A voice in his head urged him to do the same, but his fingers didn’t get the message. He watched his hands busily clear the gray powder, clasp a black chain. Pull.
His peripheral vision caught a distant flashlight falling. It struck the floor, bounced in a slow motion arc. Through its wildly careening beam a diver shot skyward.
It must be bad. He needed to get Jill out of here.
But his hands refused to stop.
Silt fell away slowly, reluctant to reveal its secrets. More chain appeared, and something pale entwined in the black. Long, thin lines of white. The back of his neck prickled, his body understanding before his brain. And then a large pale globe popped free, rotating in his hand. Grinning at him.
A skull. A human skull, atop a pile of bones and chains.
Wall rose up and away, adjusting his buoyancy without conscious intention. To the right, to the left, behind. They were surrounded. Macabre remains of iron and…
The sudden keening flayed his ear. Jill. Grabbing her, he forced her mask around to face him.
She knew, he saw it in her eyes. Horrified, but she met his gaze. Not quite in a blind panic. Hugging her felt ridiculous with the insulating neoprene and interfering gear - he wasn’t even sure how his arms got around her.
Funny how training kicks in when the mind goes numb. Attaching a line to her jacket; he pointed up and squeezed his air valve. Their reel lines drifted around them half way up - Wall could only hope they didn’t catch on something.
Near the blast hole, he thought to check below. All he could see was one abandoned flashlight lying still, its melancholy beam barely penetrating the silt. No divers remained.
At least none with their lights on.
Somehow they broke the surface inches from the dive platform.
Jill breathed in deep gasps, her body racked with shudders. But when he plucked the mask from her head, the look she gave him was rational.
“My God,” she whispered.
Jon hunched on the platform, strings of spittle dangling from his lips. Mike towered above him, as if ready to battle any who would harm him. Though whom he thought…
“Melanie,” Wall said. “Where’s Melanie?”
Mike glanced about as if expecting to see her. “You left her down there?”
“She was your bloody…” Wall’s fist curled of its own accord, but he forced it to relax again. And checked his gauges. To his surprise he still had a quarter of a tank, and plenty of bottom time. Pushing Jill toward the platform, he donned his mask.
“You can’t…” Jill spluttered.
Blonde hair surfaced precisely at the ladder, as if she’d climbed it all the way from the cargo hold. Slipping her faceplate up on her forehead, Melanie burst out laughing.
“Oh, that’s some valuable cargo you found.”
“Cargo?!” Mike glared. Jill’s face was also blank.
Wall knew, of course. But couldn’t bring himself to voice it.
“Human cargo,” Jon whispered hoarsely, and cleared his throat. “Damn thing’s a slaver.”
Man Down
Being alone on a thirty-eight foot sailboat isn’t easy. Not when four other people live there.
So Jill had swam to the tiny island. And then ran along the lagoon beach, until the sheer weight of her heart dragged her down to the sand. Now she sat with her back to a palm tree, hugging her knees tight against her chest.
The threatening clouds that had blown in while they were underwater suddenly burst. Rain struck her skin in prickling needles - and she didn’t care. At least it was one physical sensation among a dozen raging emotions.
Why were they still here?
Jon should have weighed anchor as soon as the gear was stowed. As soon as everyone had calmed down. Instead he and Mike sat planning their afternoon dive.
You can’t dive on a graveyard.
That’s what she’d tried to them - though why anyone needed to be told that was beyond her. Don’t disturb the dead.
Especially these dead.
And Mike had actually laughed, albeit with a trace of sympathy in his eyes. “That’s what shipwrecks are, mermaid.”
She’d waited for the others to correct him, to bring him to his senses. Okay - perhaps not Melanie. But surely Wall understood the difference between sailors going down on their vessel - and this. All those people chained to their doom - rocking in the bowels of a galleon they hated, probably not even knowing what was happening. Left to die as the sailors jumped overboard, swimming to shore.
Abandoning the slaves to their fate. For some reason she couldn’t get it out of her head.
The sand around her puckered as the heavy drops struck. Marring the smooth surface, fading the pale sheen. The air chilled her, startling after the tropical noon heat. But she couldn’t be bothered to find shelter.
She couldn’t be bothered to move at all.
“Jill!”
At the British clip in the voice she held still, keeping the tree between them. Trust him to bother her now, when any idiot could figure out she wanted to be alone.
He strode straight up to her - following her footsteps in the sand, she realized. So much for hiding behind the palm.
“Jill. You’re soaked.”
She had a snide answer, but when her throat opened to utter it only a sob escaped. Gulping the next sob back, she shook her head.
He towered over her, crowding her. She didn’t dare look up. Because, she suddenly realized, if she saw empathy in his face now she’d completely break down. Why the hell didn’t he have enough empathy to let her alone?
Wall squatted low beside her, trying to make eye contact. Stubbornly Jill refused to lift her eyes.
Without thought he clasped her hand, lifting her palm to his cheek. He needed to see her eyes, see exactly what thoughts were hiding there. See those warm brown orbs with the golden halos.
Blue eyes, green eyes - colors he’d always deemed more exotic - hid things. They fooled you. Brown eyes were real, true.
Jill looked up - revealing all her misery. She was startled, he knew, and more hurt that no one shared her feelings than the actual plan to dive. If Jon had just taken the time to explain to her, make her understand.
Slowly her misery faded, replaced by a rueful smile. A gallant smile. On such soft lips…
He was kissing her.
Startled, Wall pulled back. He hadn’t planned that, had had no such intention. He came here with Melanie, even if no longer sharing her cabin. Jesus, he was here with her cousin and adopted big brother. Any thought of pursuing her had to wait until they were back in Delaware. Wait until…
All his thoughts drowned in the pool of those brown eyes. When her hand touched his cheek, his arms claimed her.
With the cool rain countering their heated play, they made love.
Cartagena 1648
Wednesday, October 14th
Isabelle clasped the balcony railing.
It was hot, as ever in the city, but for once she didn’t resent it. For news of her husband’s death had not come as she’d feared. Indeed, Captain Sadico had had other reasons for his visit. Pleasurable reasons.
Even as she remembered last night he emerged, striding through the doors as if he laid claim to her husband’s home as well as her. Commander of a successful ship, he set his own rules, showing no concern that this house belonged to the Governor. Fernando was away, pursuing his pursuits.
Whatever his pursuits were, they did not include his wife. Captain Sadico’s did.
Isabelle drew her kerchief over her bare shoulders, a shawl from fashionable Europe that truly had no place in this heat. The Captain slid it off, baring her skin for a long, lingering kiss.
He was a big man, dark and swarthy. As masculine as true Spaniards were. His black beard caressed, igniting sensations skin alone could not. Her husband was pale and puny beside this man.
“What is this gift you have for me?” she
murmured.
The Captain continued his assault, teeth teasing the nape of her neck. “It approaches now, Senora.”
Marching below the balcony was a line of slaves.
“They are fresh from Africa, Isabelle. Young, hardworking. Healthy.”
She’d seen slaves arriving from across the ocean before. Few could claim any of those traits.
“You may have your pick, sweetling. My gift for…a most memorable night. In the hope of future such nights.”
“I prefer jewelry,” she murmured.
“Rubies,” he nodded, studying her throat. “When next I come I’ll bring rubies.”
“I shouldn’t accept such things without…payment.”
“You may pay for it in other ways,” he whispered enticingly.
Delighted, she turned to the Africans. A slave could be scrubbed, she mused. After all, they were not inexpensive. And to have her pick from the Captain’s purchases…
Watching them shuffle by, heads down, she saw the sudden stumble of a female - with her swollen belly protruding over her thin bones. A tall male caught her, moving faster than Isabelle thought the lazy beasts could move. He must be her mate, she mused. Perhaps he’d be a good choice, though his frame seemed devoid of muscle.
No, not him. The pregnant female.
One of the Captain’s men cracked a whip, to punish the clumsy slave. Her tall rescuer jumped in front to shield her.
“I want the female,” Isabelle pointed.
Captain Sadico burst out laughing. “You double your gift, Senora.”
The male’s cheek darkened. Split open by the lash, she realized.
“They bleed?” she asked.
The Captain’s arms encircled her, hauling her against his broad chest.
“Freely,” he murmured against her skin.
They huddled in the dirt beneath a cruel sun.
Seeing her shiver, Quash put an arm around his mate. Shivering in heated air was never a good thing - he could only hope it was not a chill but fear that affected her. The latter, at least, was reasonable.
