“It’s right on the other side,” she said as water crashed down from above, only inches from her head. “See you there.”
With that, the woman slipped through the cascading water and disappeared.
Zoey started to follow, but Ethan caught her by the elbow, rooting her in place. “Hang on a sec,” he said. “I had a thought.”
“About?”
“Our need for a crew,” he said. “I was thinking, maybe it’s not such a good idea that we only have skeletons.”
Zoey cocked her head. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I don’t know how trustworthy this Marcus guy is, and I don’t like the idea of him being in command of the entire crew,” Ethan explained. “He’d essentially be captain, and, well, I doubt he’s invested in the race as much as we are.”
Zoey folded her arms over her chest and drummed her fingers as her mouth twisted. “I have a feeling the more we’re together, the more I’m going to hate you for doing that,” she said with a laugh.
“Doing what?”
“Making poignant observations.”
Ethan grinned sheepishly. “What can I say? I have a mighty eleven INT now.”
Zoey blew out a puff of air and stuck her hands on her hips. “Right, so, we’re going to need more crew,” she said. “But before you go in there and try and get us one, there are a couple of things you absolutely need to know first.”
“Why do I get the feeling this is serious.”
“Because it is.”
“Okay,” he said, steeling himself for whatever it was she was going to throw at him. “Go ahead and break it to me. We’ve been through worse, I’m sure, unless you’re hiding some other godawful curse from me that’s going to get me killed.”
Zoey laughed. “It’s nothing like that, relax,” she said. She stopped, dropped her brow, and briefly touched her lips with a finger. “Well, in a way, I suppose it is.”
“Ha. Ha.”
“I’m not joking,” she went on. “We’re vampires. People react—how do I say this without scaring the crap out of you—in a variety of interesting ways when learning such things.”
“Like how? Stake through the heart?”
“Yeah, or the polar opposite, completely fanatical, which comes with its own problems,” she said.
“Like Katryna.”
“She was one of the more mild cases, but along those lines,” she said. “Most people, though, generally don’t trust us, and for good reason. Almost as many simply despise us. For those two reasons alone, we’ve got to keep things quiet.”
Ethan nodded. “Can do. What’s the other thing I need to know?”
“You’re the captain.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“No, I mean, whoever is in that cave is potentially going to be our crew. They need to see you like that from the start,” she said. “You’re going to have ten, twenty seconds at the most to convince them you’re a savvy, salty dog who has his own ahuizotl-guarded ship, who knows exactly what he’s doing. If you don’t, we’re sunk.”
“Well, I’ve got the first half at least,” Ethan said with a sheepish shrug. “But honestly, I’m making most of this up as I go.”
“So am I.”
Ethan jerked back reflexively. “You are?”
“More than you realize,” she said. “It’s not like I’m an expert in all things around here, but I fake it well enough, don’t you think?”
“Uh, yeah,” Ethan stammered.
Zoey scooted forward and rose on her tip toes to kiss him lightly. “That’s all you have to do,” she said. “Play the part. You’re the captain. They’re the crew.”
“Got it. Play the part,” Ethan said. He repeated that last bit again for his own benefit. “Right, play the part. I can do that. I can totally do that.”
“Good.”
“Should I talk more piratey?” Ethan asked as he tried to solidify the role in his mind. “Toss in some more ‘Arrs’ and what not?”
“Talk however you want, but it's more about attitude than anything, which is why I said remember you’re the captain,” she said. “If it helps, pretend to be your favorite leader from whatever book or movie you can think of.”
“I always liked Aragorn,” Ethan said.
“Perfect.”
“Maybe mixed with a little William Wallace?”
“Who?”
“The main character from Braveheart,” Ethan replied. When she looked at him with a blank stare, he added, “You know, ‘Freeeedom!’”
“Oh, right. The guy with the painted face.”
“Yeah, him,” Ethan said. “And topped off with Jack Aubrey, of course. Master and Commander.” Again, the blank stare, to which Ethan shook his head. “Never mind. The whole picture works for me, I promise. I’ll play the part as if our lives depend on it.”
“Good,” Zoey said as she grinned. “Because they do.”
A split second later, Zoey slid across the rock face and disappeared through the waterfall.
For a few seconds, Ethan stood there, his thoughts churning over her last words. He wanted to believe she was joking, at least somewhat, but no matter how he tried to perform his mental gymnastics to say otherwise, he knew she wasn’t.
He also realized he couldn’t stand there for the rest of time, either. The tips of his fingers dug into wet rock, slipping once as they tried to dig into ledges that weren’t quite what they needed to be. Likewise, his feet couldn’t grip the portions of rock he tried to set them on nearly as well as the girls had. Though he managed to quickly find his starting position, he didn’t get but a foot or two before he nearly fell off, thanks to a combination of water pouring down on his head and his inability to see, let alone find anything.
“Come on, Ethan,” he said to himself after freezing in place. “It can’t be that hard.”
It wasn’t that hard. It was harder. No matter where he stretched his hand through the waterfall, he couldn’t find anything to grab hold of that wasn’t exceptionally smooth, hard, and wet. Frustrated, he pulled back and tried a foot next, which ended even worse. His other foot slipped off the rock, and it was only a miraculous scramble that kept him from taking an unplanned dip.
Frustrated, Ethan collected himself once more. This time, he found the tiniest of holds for his fingertips about four feet in. Something for his feet? Not so much. He wasn’t sure what to do, but after standing under the waterfall for several moments, getting thoroughly drenched, he came up with a well-thought-out plan that could be summarized in two words.
“Screw it.” Ethan launched himself sideways, using the finger hold to add extra reach to his sideways jump.
Once he flew through the water, he shook his head midair to clear the hair from his eyes and did so just in time to see himself hurtling at a rockface. A dry rockface with plenty of places to grab, at that.
Ethan quickly attached himself to said rockface, smacking into it with a slight grunt, before then climbing the four feet that remained from him to the edge above. Once he cleared the top, he found Zoey and Katryna waiting for him, each smiling with amusement as their wet hair clung to even wetter bodies.
What stood behind them was not the damp, moldy cave with a dirty bedroll that Ethan had envisioned, but rather, an interior so lavish, it would be the envy of any. A fire burning in a nearby hearth provided a warm glow to the place, and four more high-back satin chairs had been placed nearby with three small end tables set between them. A half dozen brass oil lamps hung from iron hooks mounted in the walls, providing additional illumination as well as giving off a cinnamon-like aroma that Ethan enjoyed. If there was one breakfast food he could’ve survived on for his entire life, it was cinnamon toast.
Off to the side of the cavern, built up against one of the walls, was a full bar with overhead hooks holding a slew of steins, as well as a couple of racks that contained both fine glassware and dozens of bottles of what had to be wine and rum. While no one cu
rrently tended to or sat at said bar, there were four salty men of varying ages—but equal grit—who’d gathered around a massive round oak table. Though they were clearly in the middle of a card game and partaking in plenty of drink, their focus wasn’t on the game.
The moment their eyes found his, the entire group jumped from their seats, pistols flying out of waists and a few curses sailing through the air as well.
“All of you, stop!” Katryna shouted, hands up. “He’s with me, too.”
“Bah,” was the only response Ethan caught, though there was a low grumbling that accompanied it as well before the men settled.
Once they had, Ethan spent a moment taking the place in. “Damn,” he finally said with a long, slow whistle. “This is quite the hideaway.”
“Tell me about it,” Zoey said. “How the hell did Marcus get it all in here?”
“Lots of pulleys, rope, and patience,” Katryna replied, pointing to a block and tackle stored in one of the corners.
“What in the blackest abyss are you three doing?” bellowed a thunderous voice. Ethan jumped, and from a side passage in the back, a monstrous thing marched out that bulged more muscles than a championship strongman competition. It towered over everyone by at least a couple of feet, and the curved horns jutting from his bullish head looked like they’d drop an elephant with a single gore.
Short ebony hair clung to the minotaur’s hide, and from his chin were three long braids to form a beard, each wrapped in copper wire. The creature wore chestnut-colored breeches tucked into black leather boots, while an equally dark vest topped a bone-white long shirt. A pair of skulls hung from a chain belt around his hips, and a barnacle-encrusted tricorne hat sat atop his head. “Drip over there!” he shouted, pointing to the fireplace. “See the flames? Feel the heat? I swear to Great Lord Charethes—may he always infuse my soul with his undying power—every last one of you is as useless as a barrel of soaked powder!”
“Ugh,” Zoey said, rolling her eyes and head in tandem. She grabbed Ethan by the wrist and pulled him along to their designated spot by the hearth. “Come on, Ethan. Best keep Marcus happy.”
Unable to look away from the minotaur, Ethan felt his eyes bulge as she pulled him along. “He’s Marcus?” he stammered.
“He is going to go on a rampage if people don’t stop leaving puddles everywhere!” he roared as he stomped his way over. When he got to Ethan and Zoey, he bent low so his forehead was but an inch away from Ethan’s. “Did I not make myself clear last time?”
“Easy, Marcus,” Katryna said, putting a hand on his side. “They both just got here. They didn’t know.”
Marcus straightened. “They did? Bah. How was I supposed to know? You humans all look alike.” At that point, Marcus dropped his brow and grunted, huge puffs of air steaming out of his nostrils as he did. “Wait. When you say they just got here—”
“She means we literally just got here,” Ethan finished. “As in, I have a ship that could use some extra crew for a few weeks. You help me. I help you.”
“A ship could be useful,” the minotaur said, sounding like he was talking more to himself than to Ethan. His head dropped, and he tapped his giant hands together several times as he thought things through. “Hate to leave my home unattended, but there might be less of a chance it’ll be found if we left for a spell.”
Though Marcus seemed to still be on the fence, the group of men—all save one at the table—jumped to their feet, hope shining in their eyes. The lone dissenter kicked his boots up on the table and eyed them skeptically. “And what, pray tell, are we helping you with?”
“Reaching New Port Royal to start,” Ethan said. “After that, we’ll be sailing in the regatta.”
The excitement in everyone’s eyes sank faster than a galleon with a split keel.
“The Grand Regatta?” Marcus asked with a disturbing chuckle. “I think I speak for everyone here and say we’ll take our chances with the corsairs. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. Feel free to see yourself out.”
Chapter Six
Plans
“Scared of a little race, are you?” Ethan said, crossing his arms and trying to give off the best look of disgust he could manage. He realized this tack was a gamble, both in terms of success and reaction, but deep down, he felt questioning the room’s toughness would yield the fast results he needed. “I expected more from the lot of you, but then again, I suppose that explains why you lost your town.”
The men at the table growled and looked ready for a fight. Marcus, on the other hand, with his eyes narrowing and nostrils flaring, looked ready for war. “If you’re looking to test your mettle, this old seadog will be glad to send you to the bottom of the abyss, but only a fool would agree to challenge Azrael not knowing the captain he’ll be under. And from the looks of you, I’d say there’s not much you can boast about.”
“Is that a fact?”
Marcus nodded with a smug grin. “Aye, it is, but since I’m feeling charitable, I’ll give you ten to be explaining who you are, else I’ll take your words for what they are, insulting and begging to be answered.”
“Minutes?” Ethan asked.
“Seconds.”
That wasn’t the word he was hoping for, but Ethan did his best to play the part to win them over. He did, after all, have fifteen points in Charisma now, and he wasn’t sure how his vampiric charms worked, but they had to help, too. “Well, Marcus,” Ethan said, taking his time smoothing out his clothes. “I’m the one who went to Gibbon Isle with only my first mate and jackal at my side and not only acquired a hefty bit of treasure but killed the lich who lived there and took his ship.”
The room grew silent, save for the nearby crackle of fire. Marcus eyed Ethan with a tremendous amount of skepticism, but at the same time, respect, too. “You want us to believe you slew Lord Belmont?”
“We slew Lord Belmont,” Ethan corrected, motioning to Zoey. “I’ll not have anyone sail with me thinking otherwise, especially as she’s first mate.”
“What proof do you have?”
“I have his ship, the Victory,” Ethan said. “And…” Ethan let the pause hang for a couple of seconds to emphasize what he hoped would seal the deal. “We have his staff and spell book. I’m willing to let you use them to raise even more members for our crew if you want a taste of that power because, I’ll be honest, right now, our numbers are thin. We could use a full complement of skeletal minions. Means I have to hire fewer marines when we get to New Port Royal.”
Marcus let out a deep, wet snort. “You don’t expect me to believe you’re simply going to hand over an artifact as powerful as Lord Belmont’s staff, do you?”
“What you expect and what I’m willing to do can be very different things, my good bull,” Ethan replied, smiling and feeling good about where this was heading. “I’m not worried about letting you use it.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I took it from a lich, and I’ll take it from you just the same if you get any ideas,” Ethan explained. “Furthermore, as an extra incentive to keep things moving smoothly, I’ll say this: when we win the race—and win we shall—you can keep that staff as payment for your services.”
A deep, rolling laughter erupted from his belly. “Ah, Master Ethan, now you’ve overplayed your hand. No one in their right mind would give up such a thing.”
“I don’t care about the staff one bit,” Ethan said, unfazed. “All I care about is winning that race.”
Zoey stepped forward, joining Ethan at his side. “It’s true,” she said. “The treasure isn’t important to either of us. Only beating Azrael.”
Marcus balked, seemingly caught between wanting to believe and wanting to call bullshit on it all. “I’m sure I can find another necromancer to take me up on my offer,” Ethan said, hoping that all that was needed was a nudge. “If this bargain doesn’t suit your fancy, speak now, and we’ll be on our way. But I doubt you’ll ever have an opportunity like
this again.”
Marcus stroked his chin and toyed with one of the braids in his beard as he thought it over. “You drive a tempting offer, Captain. Tempting indeed.”
Ethan cocked his head and smiled. “Captain? Is that what you’d like to call me, then?”
Marcus shot out his meaty hand, which nearly crushed every bone in Ethan’s hand when he took it. “Aye, it is.”
Once the minotaur released his grip, Ethan casually placed his hands behind his back so he could work out the impending soreness without being seen and turned to the others. “Will the rest of you be joining us?”
The man farthest to the right crossed his arms over his chest. Soft, angular eyes narrowed into a wary gaze, and he lifted his large hooked nose into the air as if he could somehow sniff Ethan’s character out. A dark, short, and curly beard covered his jaw, while a set of unruly clothes, breeches, and a long shirt hung off his wiry frame.
“And what are you offering us in exchange for risking our lives?” the man asked with a French accent—well, it would’ve been a French accent if France existed in this world, Ethan reminded himself.
Before he could answer the man, Zoey hopped in. “You get six shillings a day, which is more than twice the pay you’ll see anywhere else.”
“Oui, but it’s a far cry from what he’s getting,” the man said, motioning to Marcus.
“He’s also a necromancer that’s going raise the dead, Mister…” Ethan said, letting his voice trail.
“Jean Bayard,” the man replied with a sweeping bow. “The one and only.”
“Well, the one and only Jean Bayard,” Ethan said. “I’ll give you each an extra ten crowns once we win on top of what I’m already willing to pay.”
“Make it thirty, and then you’ll be talking our language,” Jean replied.
Zoey gave a mocking laugh. “We’re hiring a crew. Not desperate for one. We can pick up who we need elsewhere.”
“Paying us each ten crowns says otherwise,” the man said.
Zoey went to argue some more, but Ethan held up his hand, not so much because he felt like she couldn’t handle the matter, but because he knew if he were to be seen and respected as captain, his word had to be the final say in all such matters. “You’ll get twenty crowns each,” he said, “as well as making a name for yourself. I reckon being able to brag you helped beat Azrael ought to be treasure enough for a man in charge of his own destiny. In exchange, from this point until we reach the finish line, my word is law, and anyone not working, sailing, and fighting as hard as he can gets tossed overboard without a shilling to his name.”
The Crew (Captains & Cannons Book 2) Page 5
