Beneath Black Sails

by Clare Sager

  Knigh watched her, one eyebrow raised. “Vee, do you – are you seriously saying you believe in that old wives’ tale?”

  “You mean, you don’t?” She leant in. “Come on, what else would be important enough to keep locked in a box, if not gold and jewels?”

  He stroked his cheek, fingers rasping against the stubble he’d let grow. “Government secrets? Naval orders? A map of troop stations and movements?” He cocked his head. “Details of a treasure ship’s movements? Which my colleagues took a lot of time and risk to gather and yet we’re only just picking up the trail now, over a week late because …” He took a long breath and shook his head, jaw and shoulders hard. He understood exactly why FitzRoy had delayed following the treasure ship.

  She rolled her eyes, no interest in the pair of captains competing over the contents of their breeches. “Look, Drake was the greatest Albionic privateer who ever sailed the high seas. He sacked treasure ships and Hesperian towns dozens of times over. Where did it all go?”

  “His descendants are still wealthy now – that’s where it went. It’s in some vault on the Drake estate.”

  She sighed and leant across the rail, staring out over the waves. No hidden treasure. What a dull way to see the world. “You really think he brought it all back with him?

  He mirrored her pose, forearms resting on the rail beside hers. “What else would he have done with it?”

  “You know – hidden it somewhere. Buried treasure, like the stash Flint found up the coast from Nombres de Dioses – the silver was too much for them to carry and –”

  “And their ships had left, thinking them dead – yes, I know the stories. Just because someone found some silver that might be from that raid, doesn’t mean all the mad tales sailors spew are true.”

  “No, but –”

  “Sails ahead!”

  Vice’s eyes widened, and she hurried to the fore rail of the quarterdeck, squinting into the distance. Not visible at this height yet, but the call came from the main top where they could see miles further than from deck.

  Knigh stood at her side, jaw clenched. “Where are we?” He frowned back towards the island they’d left. “No, he can’t have –”

  “The Covadonga,” the shout came from aloft.

  Knigh huffed. “He did. The wily bastard.”

  Her heart leapt. FitzRoy had timed their trip to place them along the treasure ship’s path. There was still the chance of treasure after all.

  Below their feet, the door to FitzRoy’s cabin burst open. “Full sail,” he bellowed. “Vice?”

  “On it, Captain.” Grinning at Knigh, she released her awareness and cast around for a nearby current she could bend to thrust them towards the prize.

  Over the hour it took them to approach, The Morrigan’s crew busied themselves with the usual preparations on deck. They sprinkled sand, readied sails, doled out weapons, and loaded rifles, pistols, and cannon. With all the noise, Barnacle sloped off to Perry’s cabin.

  When they raised the black flag, the Covadonga refused to strike her Hesperian colours. Instead, with a puff of smoke and flash, they fired stern chasers, splashing far wide of The Morrigan.

  From the fore rail of the quarterdeck, Fitz smiled coldly. “It’s like that, then, is it?” He nodded to Bricus and Perry. “Rake her stern.”

  Rubbing her hands together, Vice grinned at Knigh on the wheel and helped The Morrigan speed closer. “Decided to help after all, then?”

  He cocked his head, gaze fixed on their course. “Still just sailing.” With a practiced hand, he leant into the wheel, turning the ship smoothly.

  The deck thundered with cannon fire as they unleashed a full broadside, splintering against the Covadonga’s stern. Cries and screams drifted across the sea.

  The next volley took the Hesperians’ mizzenmast.

  At the front of the quarterdeck, Fitz drew a pair of pistols. “Prepare to board!”

  Half her attention on turning The Morrigan to bring her alongside, Vice drew her rifle from the quarterdeck’s gun rack and flicked open the breach block – loaded and ready.

  “Hooks! Cover!”

  Her team hurried over, ducking against the rail.

  Grappling hooks thunked over the Covadonga’s rails, and The Morrigan’s crew hauled on the lines, drawing the ships closer.

  She flashed Knigh a grin. “I’ll see you on the other side.” When we have that treasure. She turned to join her team, but he caught her arm, spinning her to face him.

  His look alone would have been enough to make her pause – eyes dark below lowered brows, nostrils flaring, jaw knotted. He opened his mouth and closed it again, his breaths loud and fast. He swallowed. “Be careful.”

  She laughed. “Oh, you don’t know me at all.”

  He leant closer, his soap and cinnamon scent cutting through the sulphurous smoke. “I say that because I do.”

  His hand tightened on her arm, his eyes intense, and for a moment, all she could do was stare back. What did it matter to him if she was careful or not? Unless he cared …

  She scoffed, but it came out as a half-hearted effort. She lifted one shoulder in a shrug and cocked her head, forcing a grin in place. “You worry about this ship, I’ll sort out that one.”

  “Vee –”

  Gunshot whistled overhead, and they both flinched. A puff of splinters rained from the spar.

  He released her and steadied the wheel as they pulled up alongside. “Please?”

  That look, the lines creasing between his eyebrows – she’d seen them on Perry plenty of times. Concern.

  He did care.

  Why the hells did a pirate hunter care about her?

  Wild Hunt damn him, this was not the place or time to puzzle over his own personal brand of insanity.

  Winking, she clapped him on the shoulder. “Try not to get shot.”

  Rifle in hand, she crouched beside her team as another shot flew overhead. It missed Knigh by only a foot, making him duck. She peered over the rail – who the bloody hells was aiming at the helm?

  There, a tall man behind the Covadonga’s mizzen, loading a gun, not entirely hidden by the remaining stump of mast.

  “Cover,” she ordered her team, levelling her rifle and cocking it. With a long, deep breath, she aimed.

  Shots rattled left and right, smoke drifting in the breeze, as Saba, Effie, Wynn, Lizzy, and Aedan obeyed.

  Vice exhaled, sights lining up with the rifleman’s ducked head while he concentrated more on reloading than staying out of view. She squeezed the trigger.

  A flash, a crack, a haze of smoke, and the distant spray of crimson, then he fell.

  As she ducked and reloaded, the spent cartridge burning her fingertips, she smiled at Knigh. He was now safe and busy shouting an order aloft.

  She fired off another shot before the ships bumped together and she led her team in a leap across the gap, rifles left behind.

  Pistol in one hand, sabre in the other, she shot and sliced out space for more of The Morrigan’s crew to board. Other teams did the same further fore.

  As they forged a path towards a knot of officers she guessed were gathered around their captain, there was a clatter and a cry.

  “Vice,” Saba shouted, blocking a blow from a black-haired man.

  Vice followed her wide-eyed nod.

  Every hatch on the Covadonga was open. A wave of royal blue edged with scarlet poured out. Dozens of Hesperian marines.

  “Bollocks.” Vice kicked away her enemy. This was far, far more men than they’d bargained for. “Fall back.”

  “Slight problem with that,” Aedan said at her shoulder.

  Their way to The Morrigan was blocked by Hesperian sailors, marines rapidly adding to their number.

  The breath huffed from Vice’s chest. “Surrounded.”

  The Observer

  The sick knot in Knigh’s belly tightened as he lost sight of Vee behind a sea of Hesperian marines. He paced the quarterdeck, peering through the smoke into the fray.r />
  Clashing steel. Cries of fear, pain, and death. And beneath it all, the constant whisper of the sea – indifferent to the struggle playing out on the Covadonga’s deck.

  Knigh clenched his fists so tight his knuckles popped.

  Damnation – there weren’t supposed to be so many guards, certainly not a whole detachment of marines. That was why this treasure ship was worth pursuing – the lack of warships and servicemen available to guard it meant it was posing as a simple merchant to maintain a low profile.

  Forty marines – that was not a low profile.

  He swore.

  He’d helped The Morrigan’s crew sail, yes, but fighting was a different matter entirely. Killing outside of state-sanctioned war, that was worlds apart from …

  But was it really so different from the Navy?

  Grunting, he punched the mizzenmast. His blood burned.

  Yes, it was different. It was.

  The pirates had formed knots of fierce fighting, teeth bared, eyes wild, sabres and axes slashing and battering against their opponents.

  One man fell. Then another, his high yell piercing the smoky-salty air.

  Knigh’s heart hammered. His stomach roiled. He couldn’t …

  He’d eaten with these people, drunk with them, hells, even danced with them and he never danced. And now they were on a Hesperian ship dying while he stood here and did nothing.

  Observe only. Those were his orders, and he had to follow them.

  Fighting for the Royal Navy was nothing like what these pirates did. Nothing at all. He only fought those who stood in battle, other military men who knew what they were getting into. Pirates, though, they attacked civilian ships.

  But they gave the chance to surrender, didn’t they? And if they refused to surrender to pirates, didn’t they too know what they were getting into? Weren’t they choosing to stand and fight? He’d only ever seen The Morrigan’s crew, Vee included, kill armed men who didn’t surrender, who considered their belongings worth fighting and dying for.

  Hadn’t he killed men who considered their country worth dying for? Were the two things so different?

  Of course, a country was a more noble cause than money. Vee only attacked to –

  Oh, damnation, who was he fooling? He fought for money, the same as she did. Didn’t he target the pirates with the highest bounties? And before that, he’d followed orders, killing those deemed ‘enemy’ to Albion, because his family needed the wage.

  The only difference was he killed under the banner of war and country, and that made it legal.

  He massaged his buzzing temples, staring into the drifting gun smoke. Where was Vee? It was an age since she’d disappeared behind that wall of royal blue and scarlet. He paced the quarterdeck, hands clenching and unclenching.

  There was nothing he could do.

  It tore at him, jangling along his nerves, leaving them raw and ragged.

  “Come on, Vee.” He stared into the fray, thumb tracing the edge of the little abalone shell she’d brought up from the reef.

  She’d been so sure of success, so driven to take this ship, just like he was when approaching a bounty with the promise of victory sweet on his tongue. It was unthinkable that she wouldn’t survive and take her prize.

  Fingers raking through his hair, he growled. This was impossible.

  Then the marines parted – a crimson coat flashed in the gap. Knigh’s breath caught. Her teeth were bared and bloody, her forehead and down one side of her face covered in red, too. He’d never seen those lines on her brow before.

  The back of his neck prickled. That look – it … If he didn’t know better, he’d have called it desperation.

  Then Vee moved, and he understood – her left arm was looped around Wynn’s waist, straining to keep her upright. Wynn’s shirt was red rather than off-white, and her head kept dipping as if she fought to remain conscious.

  The line of marines closed, and he lost sight of Vee.

  He stood at the rail, gripping it with white knuckles, but there was no more sign of a crimson coat.

  A marine at the back of the group surrounding Vee pulled a powder flask from his bandolier and began loading his pistol. Once he finished, all he’d need to do was instruct his colleagues to part, and he’d be able to shoot her at almost point-blank range.

  Knigh’s stomach turned, and bile coated the back of his throat.

  “No.” He couldn’t …

  But the alternative …

  His pistol was in his hand. He stared down – hadn’t even meant to …

  Chest heaving, he paced away from the rail.

  He couldn’t. But maybe …

  As long as he kept control. That would be safe. And she would be safe.

  And whether she was the notorious Lady Vice or the heroic Pirate Queen – because he’d be damned if he knew which – at least he’d feel like he’d done the right thing.

  Besides, if the pirates lost, the Hesperians would board The Morrigan, and he’d be forced to fight anyway. And outnumbered like that, losing control was inevitable. This way …

  Turning, he cocked his pistol and levelled it at the marine. As soon as the royal blue uniform edged with scarlet was in his sights, he pulled the trigger.

  With a flick of recoil and a crack, the gun fired and the marine staggered towards the Covadonga’s rail. A dark stain spread across his jacket. Pistol and powder flask dropped from his hands as he turned. He looked down at the wound in his chest, stared up at Knigh, then fell.

  Knigh huffed out a shaking breath. Decision made.

  Muscles surging, he ran, leapt onto The Morrigan’s rail and across the gap between the two ships.

  Before his feet even hit the Covadonga’s deck, he swung his sabre, slicing through flesh, jarring on bone.

  He had to get to Vee. If she was still alive.

  Another slash and blood sprayed his hand. The marine gurgled and thudded to the deck. The others nearest started to turn, eyes wide when they found themselves flanked.

  Gritting his teeth, Knigh’s muscles burned with fae-touched strength, and he easily cut through one man’s defences and another’s.

  Copper and salt coated his tongue, eggy sulphur and smoke filled his nose. In every direction, red and royal blue.

  With a grunt, he parried a thrust from a wild-eyed marine. Knigh turned his blade and swept across the man’s belly.

  You let us down.

  His ears buzzed, and the only other thing he could hear were his breaths, harsh and heavy. Pulse throbbing, his body hummed, pushing his limbs harder, faster. Each blow vibrated through his arm.

  A wild cry sounded, and it was only the way it tore his throat that told him it was his. Two more bodies landed. Somewhere distant, there was pain, but it didn’t matter.

  You lied.

  Crimson – a coat, not blood. Arched brows rose in surprise, and Vee blew a relieved breath.

  “So nice of you to join us.” Her voice was strained, but she was alive.

  Nostrils flaring, he nodded and blocked a blow aimed at her. Thank the gods, yes, she was alive. He drew a deep breath, cooling fractionally.

  Ducking swiftly, she lowered Wynn behind him, the rest of the team forming a barrier around her. Vee wiped the blood from her eyes before taking up a place at his shoulder. She took out one marine with a low slash and Knigh reached past to thrust his sabre into the man behind.

  “Come on, you bastards,” she huffed between attacks, “just surrender.” Then she said surrender again in Hesperian.

  But the Covadonga didn’t strike her flag or raise the white.

  Together, he and Vee blocked blade after blade as wave upon wave of marines broke upon them.

  Sweat and blood bathed every inch of his body, and the fallen men made the deck treacherous underfoot. His muscles burned, tensing and loosing into practised drills, catching one blow than another and another.

  You ruined us.

  His racing pulse thundered in his ears until he could barely hear
Vee, even though she was close enough that her shoulder brushed his. He gritted his teeth as his vision blurred.

  You were never the man I thought.

  Breathe, parry, fist clubbing across a face.

  You left us with nothing.

  Hack, slash, red.

  I was a fool to believe in you.

  Cut and cut and cut.

  The clang of steel on timber.

  “Knigh?”

  His breath, his hands, his arms shook.

  Smiling – someone was smiling. People, pirates, mouths open, happy, but he couldn’t hear them.

  A cool touch on his blistering skin.

  He wheeled, grabbing something, raising his sword.

  “Knighton Villers.”

  He stopped. He knew that voice, that name.

  Slate blue eyes stared up at him.

  He blinked. He knew those eyes, even if they weren’t always that colour.

  “Knighton,” she murmured, and he stared at her lips as they moved so slowly in comparison to the rushing of his blood, “they’ve surrendered.”

  Vee. Stillness. Eyes on them. The silence of held breaths. Hesperian swords on the deck. His ears popped and it all rushed back in.

  Chest heaving, he stared at his sabre, the blade inches above Vee’s shoulder. He held her wrist so tight his hand trembled.

  “Knighton, come back.”

  He blinked and shook his head. Gods, what had he –

  Dropping her wrist, he let his sword fall to the deck with a clang. “No, I” – he shook his head – “I didn’t – did I?” He raked his fingers through his hair, gaze scanning her, but he couldn’t spot any more injuries than she’d had earlier.

  With a tight smile, she turned to the other pirates and waved a hand. “We’ve got ourselves a treasure ship, ladies and gents.”