When Tavish was gone, Quinn surveyed the tavern filled with Turks and Irish. Could these two crews work as one when they could barely communicate with each other?
Tavish suddenly came running back into the tavern, his face a mask of excitement.
“What is it?”
“There are Moroccans on the dock who report that Dragut Reis has been killed.”
“What?”
Tavish nodded. “Apparently, he attacked Malta and was killed in battle.”
“Killed how?”
Tavish lowered his head. “They think it might have been friendly fire. He and his men were routed.”
Abdullah entered the tavern and called the Turks outside. They immediately jumped up and followed him out.
“Yer fella, Abdullah told me outside.”
“What does this mean?”
Tavish looked over his shoulder at the door. “It means these men truly have no place to go now. You’d be sendin’ them back to a navy which would no longer trust them since they sailed with you.”
Friendly fire.
A fleeting thought wafted through Quinn’s mind, but she pushed it away. She had no reason to believe it was Sayyida’s friendly fire. None at all. “You believe I should keep them.”
“No, lad, I don’t. I believe we ought to plunder a ship or two on our way home and see how they react. If they can prove an allegiance to you… to us… then you’ll ken what to do, aye?”
Quinn nodded. “Aye.”
“In the meantime, I suggest we get our men back to the ship before these Turks begin toastin’ their dead Admiral.”
And that was precisely what Quinn did.
Once everyone of her men was back on The Edge, and she and the Turks back on the Corsair, Quinn pulled Abdullah aside and offered her condolences.
Abdullah listened a moment before bowing his head. “Dragut Reis was a great Admiral, a fine Pasha, but an average man.”
Quinn cocked her head in question.
“Killing women and children is the action of an immoral man, Önder. Placing men who have displeased you in prison because you could, is the act of a malignant soul…a dark, dark spirit.” Abdullah locked eyes with her as if waiting for her to understand what he referred to.
The unspoken news hit her hard. “Your crew…”
“Your crew.”
“My Turkish crew aren’t sailors, are they?”
Abdullah kept his gaze on her. “Most are… Some became that later. We trained for a few days while you were in port.”
“They’re criminals, aren’t they?”
Abdullah looked away. “Aren’t we all?”
Finally, this gift made sense. These men were considered undesirables… throwaways… at the behest of a man who called himself magnificent. The Sultan hadn’t given her a seasoned crew of experienced Turkish sailors – he’d unloaded men Dragut had found unfit.
“Oh, Abdullah. I am so sorry. I did not know.”
“I am aware, Önder, that you thought us a gift. In a way, we were, but we are a poor present.”
“Don’t say that, Abdullah. Your men are tough. Men are brave, they are—”
“Not seasoned sailors, Önder.” Abdullah bowed his head. “I… am filled with shame and regret for not telling you, but I did not want my men to be returned to the dungeons.”
Quinn stepped closer. “That is understandable, Abdullah, but now I ask a favor.”
“Yes. Anything.”
“Do not ever bow your head to me. We are equals, you and I. I may be the captain of our ship, but as people, we are equal. You should not feel ashamed, Abdullah. This was not your doing.”
Abdullah slowly looked up, suspicion and doubt filled his eyes. “That…that is very gracious of you, Önder, but we are not nearly as skilled as your real crew.”
“Do you wish to be?”
Abdullah frowned.
“It’s a simple question, Abdullah. Do you want to be good sailors?”
“Yes! By all means we do. We cannot go back home and we cannot truly sail like pirates, but we can learn.”
“Then my men and I will teach you.”
His eyes softened. “You… you are nothing like the others.”
“Let me do this for you and your men. Stay with me and my crew to Ireland. If you wish not to stay, you will be free to lead the crew and ship wherever you wish to go. I will release you from any obligation to me. If you decide that a life at sea is something you wish to try, I’ll make certain you are all well trained.”
Abdullah nodded slightly. “I believe we would like that very much, Önder. So we shall follow you to your country and await further orders upon arrival.”
Quinn smiled. She liked the older Turkish gentleman with the wise yet gentle eyes. “Excellent. In the meantime, I will teach you how to captain a ship.”
“I would like that very much.”
For the next couple of hours, Quinn put him through his paces. When she realized he was tiring, she said, “That is enough information for one day. Bring to me those among you who have committed the most heinous crimes.”
Abdullah’s eyes grew large. “Forgive me, Önder, but to do so will only serve to poison your heart against them.”
“I would be remiss in my duty as a Captain, Abdullah, to not know who among us might turn on us for coin or pussy.”
Abdullah acquiesced. “I shall return with those men then.”
“Good. I’ll wait here.”
Five minutes later, Abdullah returned with five of the fiercest-looking Turks she’d ever seen.
“Thank you. Now, one by one, bring each man to me and tell me of his crime.”
The first man’s name was Kadir. His face bore several scars and his nose had the bump of one broken more than once. His crime, as Abdullah translated for Quinn, was the murder of a high-ranking official.
“What does Kadir mean?”
Abdullah answered without asking. “Valuable.”
“Good. Tell him he will be valuable to you as your first mate. His job is to protect the captain at all cost.”
Abdullah frowned.
“I don’t know what you thought I would do to these men, Abdullah, but for better or worse they are part of our crew. Of your crew. Every captain needs a first who is willing to die for him. Perhaps if we trust them with specific tasks, they will be less likely to go rogue on us.”
Abdullah translated and then listened as Kadir rattled off a long speech in Turkish before bowing to Quinn.
“He is grateful for the chance, Önder, and says he will die before he allows anyone to attack our captain.”
“Excellent. How do I say ‘be valuable and love a long life’?”
“Degerli olun ve uzun bir yasam yasayin.”
Quinn repeated it and watched as Kadir’s face lit up.
The next man, Metin, was huge with muscular arms, broad shoulders, and was almost entirely hairless. Even his eyebrows were missing.
“This large one is named Metin, which means tough or hard.”
Metin openly glared at Quinn, so she walked right up to him. “Tell him if he can stay standing when he is punched one time, I will free him. If he does not, he is the Sergeant of Arms aboard your ship and he is to keep order of our fighters.”
Abdullah stared at her. “Then you ought to free him now, Önder. I have seen him fight and never have I seen him bested. Not by one punch. Not by twelve.”
“Tell him.”
Abdullah reluctantly translated to Metin, who smiled and nodded.
“Next.”
“This one is Savas. His name means battle. He was charged with raping several women.”
Quinn’s face did not reveal her disdain of the crime. “Tell him if he ever takes another woman against her will, he will die at the hands of one.” Quinn walked several paces away and watched as Savas laughed when Abdullah told him.
Pulling one of her throwing knives out, she let it fly. End over end it travelled, nicking his ear as it shot by his head.
He stopped laughing and started for his sword.
Quinn raced ten steps toward him, brought him to the ground with a leg sweep, and placed the tip of her short sword against his neck. “I have no need for rapists on board. Ask him if he can control himself or if I need to put him down right now.”
Abdullah seemed incapable of speech.
“Tell him!”
Abdullah translated, and Savas nodded and replied.
“He says he was found guilty of crimes he did not commit because he left his lover for another and she made false claims.”
“Do you believe him?”
To her surprise, Abdullah pulled out his scimitar and placed the tip next to Quinn’s.
“I do, Önder,” he said, before engaging in a long conversation with Savas. When it was over, Abdullah raised his sword. “He says he respects you as his leader and will lend his sword and his life to protect you and all women. On that, you have his word.”
“Good. Tell him he is in charge of the belly of the ship.”
The fourth man was a short, stocky Turk with a dark beard, darker eyes, and dark demeanor. His name was Tolga, meaning helmeted one. His crime was theft. Quinn waved him away.
The fifth and final criminal was a tall, wiry fellow who could have passed for a European. His name was Yavuz, which meant strict.
“Strict, eh?” Quinn said. “Good, tell him—”
“I speak your language,” he said in Gaelic.
Quinn sheathed her sword and approached him. “You’re Irish?”
“My mother was. My father was a Turk.”
“What was your crime?”
“I killed my father.”
“Because?”
“He would not stop beating my mother.”
“Is that all?”
“No. I killed my brother as well.”
“You will be the second mate, and in charge of the Firsts when we board. You make absolutely certain my men and your men communicate. If enna one dies because of your inability to translate fast enough or communicate well enough, I’ll have you hanged by a mast beam.”
Yavuz nodded. “The other four want to know why you let us live, Captain, when we all know most other captains would not.”
Quinn rubbed her chin. “I’m not like other captains. I choose to trust my men until they give me a reason not to.”
He nodded. “Yet you made a deal with Metin.”
“I did. If you would be so kind as to go get the Scot named Tavish, we can see just how tough he is.”
Two minutes later, Yavuz returned with Tavish, who had been working with some of the cannoneers.
“This ship’s got excellent cannons, lad. As a support vessel, ya couldna ask fer better.”
“Excellent. I need you to punch that big guy over there in the face and knock him off his feet.”
Tavish’s eyes lit up. “Och. Aye?”
Tavish McGree could do one thing Quinn had never seen before or since: he could knock a man out with a single punch. Only one young man had managed to keep his feet, and that was Arracht, a young mute boy Quinn left in Kaylish’s charge back home.
“This big one?” Tavish asked, pointing to Metin.
“Aye. With everra thing you have, my friend. There’s a deal on the table I need to win.”
Abdullah sidled up next to Quinn. “Forgive me, Önder, but this short Scot cannot possibly—”
“Watch and learn, Abdullah. Actually, call everyone over here. I want them to see this.”
Once the crew was circled around the two mismatched men, Quinn stepped up to Metin, stood on tiptoe and said, “I give this man one punch. If he takes you off your feet, you will keep your end and swear and allegiance to both me and him.”
Abdullah translated and had a brief exchange with a chuckling Metin. “He believes you must be touched in the head to think this short, squatty Scotsman can fell him.”
Stepping back, Quinn turned to Tavish. “He thinks I’m touched in the head.”
Tavish half-turned to her. “Did he actually say that?”
“Aye.”
In a pivot so fast, Tavish landed an enormously loud and bone crunching first to the cheekbone of the large Turk, lifting him off his feet. He rose, arched his back and then landed with a large thud and an “oof” sound on his back.
He did not move.
The Turks looked down at Metin then up at Tavish before erupting in a loud, raucous cheer.
“Thank you, Tavish.”
Tavish flexed his hand. “Enna time, lad.”
Abdullah blinked and stared before shaking his head. “The crew wishes to buy kisa kirmizi iskoc drinks for the rest of the night.”
Quinn smiled.
“Kisa kirmizi iskoc means short red Scotsman. They will call him Kisa, just so you know.”
“Excellent. Well, Kisa, you and Abdullah take the men back inside and enjoy yourselves. Yavuz is to remain out here with me and Metin.”
“Ya sure that’s wise, lad?”
“I’ll be fine, Tavish. Go. Enjoy.”
As the men returned to the tavern, Quinn knelt beside Metin who had not come about yet.
“How did he do that?” Yavuz asked.
“Did you see how large his hands are?”
“I did.”
“There you have it.”
Yavuz knelt on the other side of Metin. “You remind me of my mother,” he said softly. “Are all Irish women so fierce?”
Quinn nodded. “Some fiercer than others. I play to win, Yavuz. I am not one to suffer fools, bullies, or men who cannot follow orders. It’s pretty simply after that.”
“I shall keep that in mind.”
As Metin started to come to, his eyes fluttered open. When he looked at Quinn, he did something she hadn’t expected.
He laughed. Then he said something to Yavus, who chuckled and nodded.
“He says he must learn that trick,” Yavuz translated, “and that he will follow you and Kisa to the ends of the earth.”
Helping Metin up, Quinn patted him on the back. “Tell him I would be honored. Now, all of you enjoy yourselves, but stay out of trouble.” Quinn watched as they trudged back to the tavern, talking loudly and laughing as they did.
“That was quite an unnecessary and yet very calculated risk, my love.” From the darkness came Sayyida.
Quinn threw her arms around Sayyida’s neck and hugged her tightly. “How long have you been skulking around in the shadows?”
Sayyida pulled back. “I do not skulk…I do not think…it is a harsh and ugly word, but I have been here a couple of hours.”
Quinn backed away. In the moonlight, Sayyida looked tired and there was a fresh cut on her chin. “You were fighting.”
Sayyida shrugged. “I did, but everything is fine now. I have accomplished what was asked of me and now, all will be well in my world.”
Quinn held Sayyida’s hand as they walked away from the tavern. “It was you, wasn’t it?”
“Me?”
“Don’t be coy with me, Sayyida.” Quinn lowered her voice. “It was you who killed Dragut, wasn’t it?”
Sayyida stopped walking. “He was, as I understand it, killed by accident.”
“Rumor has it he was killed by friendly fire on Malta. Since the Sultan and you had a private conversation before we left Turkey, I am guessing he tasked you with ridding the world of the pox that was Dragut Reis.”
Sayyida heaved a loud sigh. “You understand I cannot ever confirm nor deny that rumor to you my love. Not to you. Not to the Sultan. Not even to Allah. Dragut Reis is dead. How or by whom will not change that fact.”
Quinn smiled softly. “Fair enough. I’m just glad you made it back safely.”
“To be honest, Callaghan, from what I’ve heard, the battle on Malta was a massacre. It is good he is a dead man. He has killed enough innocents as it is.”
Lightly touching the fresh wound on Sayyida’s chin, Quinn stepped closer. “Now what?”
“Now, my men and
I will relax for a week or so here in Morocco. Our ship took some cannon fire so we need a few repairs.”
Quinn nodded. “We will be shoving off in the morning, heading back to Ireland.”
“Can I talk you into staying in Morocco for a few days? I can show you our beautiful country.”
“I would love that, but I really must get back. My crew never expected to be gone so long from home.”
Sayyida looked over Quinn’s shoulder. “You’re keeping the Sultan’s gift, I see.”
“Aye, though you might have told me the kind of gift it was.”
“Would you have accepted?”
Quinn shook her head. “You know I wouldn’t have.”
“Well, there you go. They’re a rough crew, to be sure, but I believe my men can teach them how to be damn fine sailors.”
“Do it here, Callaghan. Talk to your men. Ask them to stay a couple of days here while you train them. My crew can help.”
“I don’t know…”
“My love, what is your hurry to go back to that cold, gray country of yours? Your woman is probably long gone, your wench has another lover, and your people fight amongst themselves and the English. Your men would love it here if you’d only give them the chance.”
“I suppose I can ask.”
“Tangiers is beautiful. It is colorful They will love the food, the drink, and the women. You can meet other Corsairs and begin to be familiar with the coast. This could be what your spirit needs.”
Quinn had to admit she posed a very interesting idea. She wasn’t at sure that Kaylish would still be there, though she could not imagine she’d leave the children. “I’ll talk it over with my crew in the morning. We could use the help training this crew.” Quinn stared into Sayyida’s eyes. “You knew.”
“I do not have any particulars, but I know the Sultan well enough to know he would never part with a full crew of seasoned sailors. The ship? He can always replace. The crew? Well—”
“They’re criminals.”
She chuckled. “Suleiman is quite the character at times. I imagine he got quite a laugh over giving you half a gift.”
“Well, he has misjudged me and my gift.”
“Your gift, sweet one?”
X Marks The Spot (The Plundered Chronicles Book 6) Page 12
