Siren's Secret

by Trish Albright

  He spun and returned to the top deck, ignoring her shocked expression.

  They were as prepared as possible. Now he could only wait until the enemy ships were in range. They would use the cannons first.

  He tuned his ears to the sea. The sound of oars on water drifted closer. He could make out the distance now. It was very close.

  Samuel looked about. The men were strung tight. He relaxed and smiled confidently to those who could see him. Then he held out his hand to wait.

  Finally, he raised a hand in the darkness. The signal passed from him to the men below.

  The silence of the night broke with loud explosions followed by the satisfying sound of cannon shot through wood. He gave the signal again for another round. Their aim was true. The Dutch ship pulled closer. It would wait to see if the corsairs tried to board, then do the same, should he need fighting men.

  Samuel gave a third signal as the pirates pulled closer. His archers lit their fires, and burning arrows aimed at the approaching vessel. Simultaneously, he signaled to turn the ship. The pirates had the speed of at least a hundred rowers, their long galley targeting the Avenger. Their ship was larger than he’d expected. At least three hundred men might be aboard, and there was very little wind in the Avenger’s sails to enable an escape. He shouted again to come about.

  “Pull the sails! Pull the sails!” The galley charged, threatening to ram their ship in half. A light at the front of the ship warned him of another danger. Damn. Cannon.

  The back of the ship took the shot. The corsairs reloaded.

  “Come on.” Samuel prayed, running to the helm and dragging the wheel further with his helmsman. Slowly his ship turned. “Just a little wind.”

  The men watched with increasing tension as his ship changed direction and the enemy continued on course, unable to redirect as easily at their speed. In the starlight the ships looked destined to collide at his stern.

  Samuel waited. It would be close. “Portside cannons! Fire!”

  They hammered the other ship with cannon. The pirate ship was long, lean, and oar powered, with only one big gun at the front. Unfortunately, its mounted rail cannon pummeled them.

  The Avenger caught just enough wind to turn, but the attacking ship showed no signs of slowing.

  Moments later they hit. The oar-powered galley, aiming to slice them in the middle, missed the target, but still scraped long and hard against the Avenger. The collision of ship on ship cut loudly in the night. A cracking sound of something breaking off worried him. He hoped it was the other vessel, not his.

  Samuel’s men went aft with guns and swords as the pirates threw lines to climb aboard. The first wave came over. Shots were fired. Swords came out. His second row of gunmen fired and reloaded.

  “Stay the course!”

  They were his last words to the helmsman as he pulled free his short sword, tossed it to the man for defense, and leapt into the fray, looking for the Dutchmen and his other ship for support. The Barbary ship was nearly past. His men cut lines, but couldn’t keep up with the sheer quantities of men as a second wave of pirates threw more lines, climbed, and swung onto the deck.

  Samuel estimated fifty on board already. He continued to defend on the front line of their attack, unconscious of how long he battled, at one point finding himself back to back with Nathan in the center of what seemed to be a dozen men. That didn’t frighten him. The most frightening thing he would remember from that night was a voice shouting in Arabic. A husky, familiar voice coming from a slender, unarmed form that couldn’t be far away. When she had learned Arabic was beyond him.

  Olivia shouted, “Behind,” and was terrified and relieved when it worked. The miserable bastard spun around at the Arabic command and she squirted his face. He screamed in shock before the sailor who was meant to guard her pierced him. She turned to another and shouted in Arabic again. “Right!”

  The man turned on command and this time was blinded instantly before dying. The small group continued to work their way to the center of the fray, Cook and Olivia leading with her commands until others took notice. She finished with another pouch and pulled it off her head, leaping sideways, but not fast enough. A cutlass sliced at her side. She thought she heard Stafford shout her name, but didn’t have time to analyze as she frantically patted her body to assure that she was still in one piece. Her hands encountered wetness. Her heart pounded in her ears until she realized the pirate had succeeded in destroying one of her precious bags, not her. He raised his cutlass again with a wicked sneer. Then he froze. And fell before her. Cook stood behind him. They both looked down at Cook’s butcher knife in the pirate’s back.

  Olivia swayed with nausea. Blood drained from her head and she nearly fell on her feet. Cook pulled her back.

  “Breathe, Professor!” He shook her out of it. Olivia reached for her last pouch. That’s when a scream pierced her consciousness.

  A female scream.

  Horrified, she searched for Mrs. Tisdale and found her held by the edge of a rail, three other corsairs protecting the comrade who held her. Her friend struggled, and then there was a shout. Another man nearby, clearly the leader, raised a hand to tell them not to kill Elizabeth yet.

  He cried in English, “Drop your arms, or I kill her.”

  With remarkable speed, the fighting ceased. The men did not step back from each other, but they held their arms at the ready, waiting to see what would happen.

  Olivia froze. Samuel shouted to the man.

  “You’ll not injure her. You need her alive.”

  The man responded in English. “She is not the one I want.” He motioned for the man to kill Mrs. Tisdale.

  “No!” Olivia screamed as loud as she could over the confusion. “Wait! I’m here. I’m here!” She pulled off her bandana and wig. Fear and anger ripped through every nerve—anger that they were attacking and fear that they would kill everyone to get to her. “You could have just asked for my help instead of being complete malevolent, murdering morons. Have you no humanity? Is your life so pathetic and dull that you must resort to the devil’s work?”

  It was silent. They all stared at her, obviously confused.

  “Who’s translating? Someone translate that!” she demanded, furious.

  Samuel didn’t know what the hell was happening. He was fairly certain Olivia was losing her mind. Rapidly. Hell, she was mad or truly was a genius. He shouted out her translation in Arabic. “She said …”

  He thought the last line most useful for provoking guilt, should any have that ability left. He filled in what general slang he knew for idiots and bastards. In the meantime her diversion allowed Nathan to get a couple steps closer to Elizabeth, and the Dutch and Stafford ships floated into better position for defense and attack.

  “I understand! Cease!” The leader did not want Samuel translating.

  Olivia shouted, “Let her go and you can have me without all this mess!” Then, as if she couldn’t help it, she threw in a number of insulting adjectives that not even Samuel understood. She was nervous and mad. A dangerous combination.

  Samuel saw Olivia step back from a threatening move by some pirates nearby.

  “Well?” Olivia shouted to the leader. As if saying, What’s it to be, you cultureless heathen?

  He responded with assurance and cried two terrifying words in Arabic. “Get her!”

  Samuel swore with panic.

  Olivia didn’t know more than a few words in the language, but she understood the swarm of pirates suddenly charging like madmen toward her. Terror as she’d never experienced nearly froze her. Until somewhere in the distance she heard Stafford shout, “Olivia! Run!”

  Run? She turned. Run where? There was nowhere to run! She was on a damned ship! With limited options, she started to climb some rigging—tumbling and tangling in the ropes. It was dark, after all. Someone grabbed her coat, she twisted, swung into him, and squirted her sight-sucking solution with power. A long spray of the secret formula sent the man back, and Kelley wa
s suddenly there killing him.

  “Climb, Professor!” he bellowed.

  She didn’t need further urging. She climbed. As she did, a third swarm of pirates invaded from the back of the ship. She couldn’t breathe. Her vision became spotty. Her brain started to get fuzzy. Vague thoughts registered.

  Not possible to survive. Certain doom. Slavery. Death.

  She took another step and slipped, causing her leg to slide through the footropes. Someone grabbed her ankle. She screeched. He released. She glanced down to see a man falling under the crowd of fighting men. Likely Kelley’s help again. She faced upward and with all her strength clambered to safety.

  “Up here, Professor! You can do it!”

  Olivia searched. A small sailor loaded a long rifle from a vantage point above. He fired. Then called to her again, standing to push some shot down the long musket barrel while giving her encouragement.

  She could make it. He looked safe up there. She scrambled higher.

  The sprite sailor reached and pulled her to temporary safety on a small, circular minideck. She breathed with relief.

  Then she looked down at the chaos. And whimpered.

  “No time for that, Olivia,” she encouraged herself. She had half a pouch of potion and dozens of men below. She couldn’t tell who was who. Then she spotted a corsair crawling along the main topsail yard. He had a knife in his mouth, a cutlass hanging from his side, and the look of evil in his eyes.

  Olivia tapped her partner on the shoulder and pointed.

  “Criminy!” he yelped with surprise—before aiming and blowing the man to kingdom come.

  “Well done,” she breathed, her arms tightly encircling the tall mast between them.

  “Out of shot, Professor,” he warned.

  She nodded, understanding.

  It was only matter of time before they got closer.

  Chapter Nine

  Samuel scanned the humanity of blood-covered fighting men to find a path to Olivia. He caught movement in the corner of his eye and swung his elbow sharply, ramming a pirate off his feet. One of his men finished the job. He looked again for Olivia, then cursed. She was climbing one of the fore shrouds … and not very competently. The length of his ship had never seemed so far.

  Nathan had not wasted time saving Elizabeth, his sword slicing men fast and efficiently until she was safe.

  Samuel kept his eyes on Olivia. Khalid’s cousin spotted her as well. They fought their way toward her. Samuel didn’t waste time with fancy moves. He killed and tossed bodies as quickly as possible, his size almost always an advantage.

  His men also made progress. One thing about his crew—they defended what was theirs.

  He checked on Olivia. The situation was not good. He had two loaded guns in his belt. Two shots, should he need them.

  Olivia looked down from her perch. It was hopeless. There were just too many. As soon as she had that frantic thought, a wave of men seemed to move toward her.

  A wave of toppling men. She stared in awe, discovering the source of it.

  Samuel Stafford.

  He seemed to be clearing ten men at time, with his crew gaining strength behind him, as if his own strength lent them more, making their combined spirit stronger. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. He was ruthless. And getting nearer. Until suddenly she could see his face. Someone dared swing at him and he roared, escaping the sword lithely and turning it on the man. He didn’t use weapons.

  He used his hands.

  She gasped. In horror.

  He came closer. For her. She didn’t know if she was reassured or afraid.

  Olivia scanned the scene below. Three corsairs fought together against two Stafford crewmen. Carefully she leaned over, opening her poison pouch. She warned the Americans to cover their eyes, then shouted in Arabic, “Above!” Several corsairs made the fatal mistake of obeying. She sprayed confusion upon them. Her men killed them, tossing their bodies over the side.

  Below her, three more pirates climbed a shroud to where she and the wiry little sailor crouched waiting. Then her partner leapt. No, he dove headfirst, taking one of the men with him to the hard deck below. That left two for Olivia.

  She hated their knowing grins and the way they relished her fear.

  She grabbed the long-barreled gun with the foot-long knife on the end. She would defend as long as she could. One of them laughed at her pokes, his hand trying to reach under and grab the barrel. She moved quicker this time, and rammed it with fury, surprised as it went through the palm of his hand. She let out a cry of shock the same time he did, then pulled the gun back and shoved again, this time getting his ear.

  Unfortunately, his partner had maneuvered closer and grabbed her arm from the other side. She dropped the gun, trying to hold her footing, certain she was about to fall to her death or be captured.

  A second later there was a gunshot, and the man released her. She stared as they both realized he had been shot. Not wasting her advantage, she pushed him and he fell. Below, she saw Stafford, slamming his gun into someone’s skull before crushing another head against wood. He fought so valiantly—albeit ruthlessly—that she could not give in.

  Olivia opened her pouch again and gave a quick squeeze as hard as she could. A little liquid came out. Enough to reach her other attacker’s bloody hand and make him wince with pain and fury. At her! She resented that. It wasn’t her fault he was attacking her.

  Olivia spun, searching for options. No place to go. The man grabbed at her foot. She kicked free, panicking, and did the only thing she could do.

  Jump.

  “No!” Samuel cried in panic as he saw a figure fall.

  Wait. She jumped. What the hell was she thinking?

  He plowed his way forward. She landed on the main yard, the reefed sail cushioning her landing.

  It was a less-than-safe place for a clumsy woman, prone to falling.

  Samuel could see Kelley and the others defending Olivia. He made his way to them, grateful for a fresh swarm of companions, who swung onto the deck nearby from the Stafford sister ship. The Dutch ship continued to drill cannon holes through the corsairs’ floating fort.

  That still left confusion forward. More and more pirates crawled up the shrouds after Olivia. Fortunately they made good targets for those with guns.

  He looked around for a weapon. “Longstrom! Find me two muskets!”

  The smaller sailor dove to the deck and found two not far away.

  Samuel raised an arm and thundered, “To the forward shrouds men!”

  He loaded one musket, while Longstrom loaded the other. He fired. Longstrom tossed the second musket and reloaded the first. Samuel fired both consecutively. Three shots. None wasted.

  The others joined him. Kelley and his men guarded the musketeers as they picked off pirates climbing after Olivia.

  The enemy loosened the rigging, and a fresh breeze snapped the foreyard around. The ship rolled, and Olivia’s body went flying off the yard, feet dangling over the water.

  Samuel knew instantly she couldn’t swim. Hell, had she ever been out of London? What were the odds she could swim to another ship for safety?

  She screamed and struggled to gain a better hold.

  Right. Very long odds.

  He plunged forward and picked two pirates by the back of the neck and tossed them overboard.

  “Olivia! Hold on!”

  She swung her legs up, and he was pleased when one caught. At least she wasn’t without some strength. She regained her leverage, then shouted, “Behind you!”

  Samuel turned in time to see a cutlass on its diagonal swing. He lifted his musket for protection as the sword sliced partially through the gunstock before getting stuck in the wood. He pulled forward and kicked the pirate onto his back, yanking the sword free and tossing the musket to one of his men.

  “Your right!” she shouted.

  Halfway through his turn to the right, Samuel ran his sword into the man. Then he set his sights on the leader. If he could stop hi
m, he had a chance of ending this. Except Khalid’s cousin was bigger than the others, had his own defenders, and was an excellent swordsman in his own right.

  Samuel didn’t give a damn.

  He heard Olivia’s shout again. This time in Arabic. “Above!”

  He looked up.

  She shouted back in terror. “No! Close your eyes!”

  Too late. A splash of something hit his face and burned like fire in his left eye.

  “Not you! Watch out! Behind you!”

  Samuel was half blind. He was going to kill the woman himself if she lived.

  “Sorry! In front of you!”

  He faced the pirate captain and his men. One of the men had also been blinded, and Samuel ran his sword through him, pulling it out in time to block a strike from Khalid’s cousin. With blind brute force he stepped inward and surprised the man with a left uppercut that stunned. Keeping his advantage, he struck his most powerful left hook, and the man fell sideways to one knee. Samuel’s knee met the leader’s chin and the man fell backward.

  He stomped his opponent’s sword arm, then ground his foot on the man’s wrist as he spun to defend against two more men.

  “At your feet!”

  Samuel heard Olivia’s scream again and hoped it was meant for him this time. Sure enough, his captive had pulled a smaller knife. Samuel kicked the man’s hand and the knife flew loose. Kelley came from behind and finished the other two irritants.

  Pulling the corsair leader to his feet, Samuel loosened one of the stays and made a noose around his neck.

  “Call off your men, or they will see you hang like a common thief.”

  His mouth clamped.

  “Have it your way.” Samuel pulled the rope.

  Feet dangled. He rasped something.

  “What’s that?” Samuel released, just enough for him to speak with his toes touching the deck.

  The man shouted in Arabic. “Cease. Surrender.”

  “Louder!”

  “Surrender!”

  Samuel waited as the corsairs froze. “Tell them to put down their weapons.”

  He did. Then he added furiously, “I’m Nuh al-Jamil bin Muhammad bin Yahyu al-Nasir!” He threw his left hand out, palm up in the air to emphasize. “Kill me, and you will have a war on your hands.”