“No, you don’t get to eat me. Sorry,” Ethan croaked, his throat feeling like sandpaper.
“A nibble would’ve been nice,” replied the ahuizotl.
Ethan sighed at the predictable reply and turned to his better half. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you.”
Zoey leaned over and pressed her lips into his. She ran one set of fingers through his hair and around the back of his head as she repositioned herself, so she lay half on him and half on the bed. “I think I do,” she whispered, drawing him into her gaze when they finally parted. Her eyes lit up, and she chuckled. “We’re bonded now. Just so you know. Things will only get more interesting from here.”
“Or annoying,” Maii chimed in.
Ethan ignored Maii’s comment and danced his fingertips down Zoey’s spine and toyed with her hair. “Eh. I think we’ll manage.”
“I’m sure we will.”
“Mind telling me what happened?” he asked. “My memory is a little fuzzy after I fell.”
Zoey laughed, her face tightening in the process as if recalling a painful memory. “They fished you out of the water a little beyond the finish line, leaking blood like a sieve.”
“Who did?”
“Azrael.”
Ethan blinked, not expecting the answer whatsoever. “He did? Why?”
Zoey shrugged. “I don’t know, but I’m not complaining, either. Not sure you would’ve survived if he hadn’t. He was quick to bandage you up and pump you full of pots.”
Ethan’s gaze drifted as he turned this unexpected news over in his head a dozen times. He couldn’t come up with anything other than Azrael was indeed a sportsman of the highest caliber. Despite that thought, he also couldn’t help but think Death had something sinister in store for him as well. “How’s the crew?” he asked, turning his attention to more immediate and pressing matters. “And the ship? And did we win?”
“Last I heard, Marcus and the crew went to get drunk,” she said, shrugging. “The Victory sailed herself onto shore. She’s little more than a wreck, but she’s there, waiting for us. As for the race, I have no idea. Katryna went this morning to argue our case in front of the judges. It seems who actually won is hotly contested at the moment.”
Ethan frowned and then cursed up a storm when a splitting headache erupted across his skull. At that point, he quickly became acutely aware of how agonizing it was to even breathe. Worse, his memory had a gaping hole to it. Deep down, he felt as if they should’ve won, and more importantly, he should know why, but sadly, try as he might, he could come up with nothing whatsoever.
Maybe Katryna had it worked out. He could only pray that was the case.
His stomach growled, and a stabbing pain ripped through his torso.
“Christ, I’m hungry,” he muttered. “I need something to eat.”
The door to the room flung open, interrupting it all, and Katryna raced inside.
“Hurry! Get up!” she barked. “They’re going to rule if they don’t hear from you!”
Ethan jerked upright. “On the race?”
“Yes, on the race!” she said. “What else would I be talking about? Now let’s go!”
* * *
Ethan, hungry but not starving (thanks to Katryna supplying him with a bottle from an unnamed donor on the way), sat inside a decorative and packed courtroom. Zoey joined him at the table on the courtroom’s right, while Azrael and his first mate occupied the table on the left. Ahead, on a raised platform, were the regatta’s three judges, staring down at all of them from their benches with wrinkled eyes set under powdered wigs.
The judge who sat in the middle, the one who looked about as youthful and spry as a thousand-year-old mummy, toyed with a quill as he hummed to himself. Normally, Ethan wouldn’t have paid him much attention, but the man had hit his gavel a couple of times moments ago and bid the room to quiet.
After a few more seconds and a thorough, hacking cough, the judge slowly turned his pale eyes to Azrael. “Do you care to make a closing statement?” he asked in a slow, raspy voice.
Azrael nodded and stood from his place. He wore a pristine navy-blue uniform, finely pressed with gold trimmings and shoulders, and a slew of gold medals hanging above his left breast. From his hip hung a ceremonial sword, and upon his feet were black leather boots polished so sharply, Ethan could use them to shave a hundred yards away. His attire, especially when compared to Ethan’s sack-like trousers and white cotton shirt, was striking, to say the least.
“The court is gracious in hearing my case,” Azrael said. “And while I will not insult the fine judges here today by repeating the details of what we’ve already spoken of at length, I will simply reiterate the crux of my argument, as well as what should ultimately guide your decision. Master Ethan, a resourceful and worthy opponent, was not in control of the Griffin at any point during the race, nor was he even on board as my ship crossed the finish line. As such, he cannot be deemed the victor.”
The judge in the middle looked to the men on either side of him, and they huddled close for a few moments, whispering, nodding, and whispering some more. “Very good,” he finally answered. He then rapped his gavel on the bench and added, “The record shall reflect the standing champion’s case unless anyone has cause to deny its validity.”
The pause in the courtroom was brief. The judge then turned to Ethan. “Does the challenger have anything he’d like to say on the matter now that he is awake?”
Ethan nodded and stood, wincing as he did. Despite the wounds that had already closed thanks to his unnatural healing, there were still plenty more to go.
“The Victory clearly was winning up until she was fired upon,” Ethan said. “And when she was fired upon, she’d already crossed the line that separates open water from the safe harbor. Had my opponent not broken the rules, we would’ve crossed the finish line first.”
“Objection, your honors,” Azrael said, shooting up out of his chair. “We’ve gone over this before. The Victory never crossed the buoys marking the ceasefire zone.”
“That’s because those buoys were shifted by the storm!” Ethan fired back.
“We acted in good faith, your honors, thinking it was a legal engagement,” Azrael went on, ignoring Ethan’s retort. “It’s hardly fair to us if such markers are not readily available to see, and we would contend Master Ethan’s assertion that his ship was within the safety of the final run. All we have is his word to go by.”
Ethan took to his feet as well. “I took an oath, and I gave my word,” he said. “Does that mean nothing here?”
The judge on the right, the shorter, more wrinkled of the three, frowned as he played with a set of thin-rimmed glasses. “Under most circumstances, it does,” he said. “However, something about you…” he said, now pointing a shaky finger at Ethan, “makes me think that perhaps your word is not as ironclad as we would like to believe.”
“A fine observation, your honor,” Azrael said, nodding. “If I may reiterate before this ends, no sizeable amount of crew from the Victory made it aboard. The Griffin was never in danger of being lost.”
Ethan snatched a copy of the rules he had at the table and held it up for all to see. “That doesn’t matter,” he said. “The rules say, and I quote, ‘While touching his ship with his colors flying, whichever captain crosses the finish line first shall be deemed the winner.’ My colors were flying. The Griffin, at best for my opponent, was commanded by the two of us. I crossed the line first since I was at the bowsprit. Therefore, by the rules, I should be deemed the winner.”
Azrael sighed as if he were embarrassed for Ethan’s sake. “Even if that interpretation could be had, my esteemed opponent is clearly suffering from delusions,” he said. “Master Ethan fell before the Griffin crossed the line. A captain who abandons ship cannot be crowned the victor.”
“I did not fall before we crossed!” Ethan said, slamming his hands on the table. “On my word, I held on to the end!”
> The center judge pounded his gavel like the god of smiths worked an anvil. “Enough, both of you!” he boomed. “This bickering stops now. Do you two understand?”
Ethan reluctantly lowered himself into the chair, and when he realized the entire courtroom was waiting for his answer as Azrael had already given one, Ethan nodded and gave a quiet reply. “Yes, your honor. I understand.”
“Good. Now, do either of you have anything else you’d like to say that’s both pertinent and new to the matter?” he asked.
Neither did, and the three judges sat back and conferred amongst themselves for a few tense minutes. All the while, they would occasionally glance at Ethan and Azrael but gave no other indication as to what they were talking about. Ethan tried listening in with his heightened vampiric senses but was dismayed when he quickly realized they weren’t helping for whatever reason.
“We’ve come to a decision,” said the lead judge, sending a flutter through Ethan’s heart. “On the matter of whether or not the Victory was within the safe harbor or not, we find that the matter is not clear enough either way, and thus, the engagement stands as is.”
Ethan cursed to himself and tried not to slouch. He also couldn’t help but wonder if he shouldn’t have taken help from the Duchess. That didn’t matter, now, he knew, and all he could do was listen and pray as the judge went on.
“On the matter of whether or not the Griffin was sufficiently in the control of one captain or the other, the simple fact of the matter is that since Captain Ethan still had enough men on board to form a skeleton crew—pun not intended—and with colors flying, we deem that indeed the ship was contested at the time of her crossing the finish,” he said. “Which leads us to the final matter: Was Captain Ethan aboard the ship or not when the Griffin reached the finish?”
The judge paused for a moment to take a small drink from a nearby glass of water. “In that regard, while we believe Captain Ethan is a skilled captain to have come this far in the race, we also believe his character is nowhere near impeccable enough to rule solely on his word. As such, with no clear evidence as to whether or not he was truly aboard the Griffin when it crossed, we have decided to declare this year’s Grand Regatta a tie. All honors and accolades will be granted forthwith at the award ceremony tomorrow, and all prize monies shall be split evenly, excluding Master Ethan’s bonus for successfully acquiring the wind in a bottle which shall go to him in full.”
The judge slammed the gavel, and the courtroom exploded with cheers of excitement and shouts of enragement. Ethan flopped back in his seat, exhaling sharply and wondering what all of this meant for Anne. For Zoey. For himself, even.
He’d barely had time to ask that question when Zoey pounced on him, straddling his waist, grabbing his face, and kissing him hard.
When they finally parted, he leaned back and stared at her with a blank face. “But…but he won.”
“We both won,” she said. “He can claim victory, but not victory over you.”
“Which means what? Rematch?”
“Yeah,” she said. “But we can negotiate what sort of rematch later. Right now, the crew’s going to want to celebrate, and I think we should indulge their request and maybe slip away for a bit.”
“Oh, you do, do you?”
“Good for morale.”
Ethan drew back a corner of his mouth. “Yours? Or theirs?”
“Well, if you have to ask...”
“Maybe I just like hearing you say it.”
“I think I’ve got a little more you might like,” she said, toying with his hair.
Ethan nodded with a stupid grin and hopped to his feet. He was about to make for the door with her when he saw his bandaged arm and frowned. “I still have stumpy, though,” he said. “Any chance this will grow back?”
“Most definitely,” Zoey said, walking a pair of fingers down his arm, starting at the shoulder. “In the meantime, however, we could always get you a hook, complete the pirate ensemble and whatnot.”
“I’ll think about it,” Ethan said. He stuck an open elbow out to the side. “Shall we, then?”
Zoey nodded and slipped her arm around his. “On your lead, Captain.”
The two left the courtroom, pushing through a sizeable crowd bent on getting answers as well as two reporters wanting more. When they finally broke free of them all and made their way onto the cobblestone street that ran from the courthouse back to the harbor, Azrael was there, waiting for them, leaning against a signpost.
“A commendable performance throughout the race, Master Ethan,” he said with genuine praise and a tip of his hat. “I must say, I’m pleasantly surprised at how this all turned out.”
Ethan stopped, unsure if he’d heard right. “You are?”
“Aye, I am,” he said. “It’s nice to know there are still those out there who can offer me a challenge. Keeps eternal life interesting.”
“If you want to keep things interesting, how about we up the stakes on our next contest?”
Death chuckled as he reached into his jacket and pulled out his pipe and a bit of tobacco. “What did you have in mind?”
Ethan straightened and folded his arms over his chest. “Double the pot.”
A slow, wicked smile spread across Azrael’s face, and a fire that put a shiver through Ethan’s spine twinkled in Death’s eyes. “And how do you propose we do that?”
“I throw myself in for Zoey and her kids,” Ethan said.
“Tempting, Master Ethan, tempting,” Azrael replied as he packed the tobacco and lit the pipe. “But by my count, I’m betting three souls against your two, which hardly seems worth the risk given you’re a proven opponent—especially now with The Duchess on your side.”
Ethan froze as his breath caught in his lungs. “You know about that?”
Azrael grinned. “I knew it would happen before you even considered putting quill to deed.”
Ethan’s lips formed a tight line, and he considered his options. He had to get Azrael to agree, somehow. Sadly, only one way came to mind, and it wasn’t a very good one. “I’ll give you odds.”
Azrael’s grin became even larger and more sinister. “Will you now?”
“Ethan! Don’t!” Zoey said, grabbing his arm. “We can figure something else out.”
Ethan took Zoey by the hand and interlocked his fingers with hers, all the while never breaking eye contact with Azrael. “I’ll give you odds. What say you?”
“I say that’s a very intriguing offer.”
Ethan reached out despite Zoey’s further protest. “Do we have a wager, Master Azrael?”
Azrael chuckled and gave his hand a shake. “I believe we do, Master Ethan. We shall work out the details tomorrow, after the ceremony. And until then, I bid you farewell. Please do give The Duchess my kindest regards.”
(End of Book II)
Acknowledgements
My heartfelt thanks to my fantastic editor Crystal for working on this new series with me, as well as the Mrs. for all her hard work and motivation for getting it done. The littles, too, for offering a lot of great creative input as we tossed around early ideas for the storyline.
Of course, another heartfelt thanks to all of my beta readers who read early drafts and helped smooth things out.
And another heartfelt thanks to all of my readers and fans of this book. Here’s to hoping you enjoy the next as much (if not more) as the first.
And, and…I definitely need to thank Bob Kehl for both his talent as an artist and the license on yet another amazing cover.
About the Author
When not writing, Galen Surlak-Ramsey has been known to throw himself out of an airplane, teach others how to throw themselves out of an airplane, take pictures of the deep space, and wrangle his four children somewhere in Southwest Florida.
He’s also rather fond of murder yoga and has a passion for choking out his friends. Thanks to his long legs, he tends to favor triangles but won’t pass up a good cros
s-collar.
Drop by his website https://galensurlak.com/ to see what other books he has out, what’s coming soon, and check out the newsletter. (Well, sign up for the newsletter and get access to awesome goodies, contests, exclusive content, etc.)
About the Publisher
Tiny Fox Press LLC
5020 Kingsley Road
North Port, FL 34287
www.tinyfoxpress.com
The Crew (Captains & Cannons Book 2) Page 33
