The Siren's Song

by Jennifer Bray-Weber

  Mather rolled the dice across the table. “Three.” He chuckled at the bad throw. “I’m terrible at hazard. Just terrible. I’m always throwing out.” He barely paused. “’Twas unfortunate what happened next, wasn’t it, Gillian?”

  Gilly would never be able to purge the sounds of that night from her mind. Standing outside Hyde’s door, she heard the angry arguing. And then the shot.

  She wished for a spot of her laudanum to dull her memories.

  Many things were becoming clear to Gilly. Those fine dresses and costumes Hyde brought her, all those fancy dinners they ate, the pricey hotel he stayed in. He had told her his luck at the tables had helped pay for the luxuries. But it was her performances that allowed them to indulge in the wealth. His wins didn’t last long with his spendthrift ways. Hyde had managed the money she made at the Peregrine Inn. He arranged it all and now she wondered where the money had gone.

  “Before Hyde met with his untimely end and in a cowardly plea to spare his life, he mentioned you. You had my money—and more. This I believe.”

  She didn’t understand. Hyde had not given her money. It hardly ever passed through her hands.

  “I entrusted much coin to him. Naturally, I kept an eye on the one constant in his life. I came to see you perform many times. Between watching you from afar and feigning interest in Hyde’s personal affairs whilst drinking to his latest trick, I knew I had leverage against him making off with the pool.”

  He rolled the dice again. “Seven,” he smirked.

  “Good throw, boss,” Turk said.

  “Pray tell.” Gilly leaned forward, challenging Mather with her question. “If you were worried Hyde would make off with the winnings, why didn’t you oversee him yourself?”

  Mather had a charming smile, she couldn’t deny it. It was easy to see how men and women alike might let their apprehensions melt away in his friendly assuaging warmth. She would not forget his amity was poison.

  “My connections to games at private engagements are often at the recommendations of the lady of the house. I am obligated, in a manner of speaking, to be in her company while the host plays.”

  “Much like the cuckolded husband, you lost control of your possession while preoccupied dipping into the stakes.” Gilly treaded in dangerous territory. She simply didn’t care a fig. “Wouldn’t you say that was a greenhorn mistake?”

  The muscles along his jaw line twitched and his tongue flicked out. The convulsions rattled her control. His angry glare bored into her. “Unlike your Hyde, I still breathe, Miss McCoy.”

  Anger hardened in her gut, but she would say no more. There were no words to say that would help her now. Bide your time, Gilly. You must bide your time if you want to escape with your life.

  Mather took several deep breaths. “He wanted me to give him a chance to get my earnings from you. Honestly, I don’t know why I would do such a thing. I suppose he didn’t want harm to come to you.

  “Hyde fought well, yes, dear girl, he did. But my message was quick and sure.”

  “Bang!” Turk hollered.

  Gilly jumped in her seat and Turk laughed.

  “Ain’t necessary to torture the poor lass like that,” Captain Lynch chided. He cast a worrisome, apologetic expression her way.

  Mather rolled the dice a third and final time. “Eleven.”

  “Ya win, boss.”

  Clear, evil eyes met with hers. “Yes, I did. As for you, sweet Gillian, your fate was sealed the moment Hyde mentioned your name.”

  * * *

  Gilly stretched her cramped legs across the Alligator’s floorboards. Her bottom ached from sitting on the wooden floor of Captain Lynch’s ship for more than two days. The tiny cell she occupied with Henri consisted of nothing more than a pile of hay and a chamber pot. Despite the grate overhead in the middle of the interior deck allowing for sunlight, odors from the pigs in the adjacent pen and animal dung hung thick to the air. Snuffling from the hogs and chatter from the roaming chickens made it difficult to hear the men working on the deck above, but Gilly picked up word they had reached Havana’s harbor.

  She did not know what Mather had designed for her and she worked out many plans for escape in her head. Many of those scenarios included Captain Lynch. The portly Irish captain had a fancy for Gilly. He’d come to see her twice and offered her the comforts of his cabin. No fool, she knew those comforts came coupled within the fat folds of his slimy embrace. His eyes feasted upon her with a mixture of lust and anger at her refusal to take him up on his generosity. She didn’t want to anger Lynch too much since he could be the key to her freedom. She simply thanked him and stated she would not leave Henri behind. That was the truth. Gilly couldn’t desert him, not after he risked his life for her. She uncorked her laudanum and took a swift nip, going over the scenarios in her head again.

  A chicken ambled into the cell, scratching the floor for bugs to eat. Its head jerked this way and that and spied Henri asleep in the corner. Knobby twigs carried the fowl hurriedly across the floor. Pecking at Henri’s beard, the bird plucked a red bow and wrestled to pull it free. It pecked and pulled, pecked and pulled.

  Henri’s eyes popped open. “Ow! Ow! What the—” He sat upright, but the chicken persisted, snapping at his beard. “Git away, ya damned drumstick!”

  Gilly couldn’t contain her laughter. Henri was no match for the fowl. It finally pulled the bow from the bind. The little man chased the chicken on all fours, but it slipped through the bars out of reach. As if to mock him, it turned, its head jerking to watch him.

  “Come ’ere chicky, chicky.”

  The bird took its prize, nestled it in a nest of hay and sat on top of it.

  “Ya sorry biddy,” Henri spat. “I’ll pluck and fry ya up.”

  Gilly laughed even harder as Henri, with only one drooping bow hanging on to his scraggly whiskers, turned to glare at her. It took effort, but she brought herself down to giggles.

  “I’m sorry, Henri.”

  He huffed and crossed his arms, snarling at the hen.

  “How’s your leg?”

  He pulled up his trousers. “Swellin’s gone down.”

  “That’s good. Can you walk? I need you to be able to walk.”

  “What ya rambling ’bout?”

  “We’re in Havana,” she said. “If we’re to make an escape, you need to walk.”

  “Doncha worry ’bout me, lass.”

  “Can you walk? I can’t carry you.”

  “I can take care of mesself. Now, if somethin’ happens to ye, I’ll be a dead man. Drake’ll see to it.”

  Gilly didn’t believe it. Thayer was fond of Henri, that was clear. And, she had destroyed any relation she might have had with the captain. He likely blamed her for getting Henri captured, too. Nay, if something did happen to her, Thayer would hardly be affected.

  “Don’t ya get any nitwitted notions ’bout gettin’ outta here, neither. Ya listen ta me for the chance ta break loose, ya hear? Ya listen ta me and we’ll be toastin’ ta freedom ’fore dark.”

  Henri might be ornery and seasoned, but Gilly knew a thing or two about escaping, too. She’d eluded death four times in the past few weeks. When the time came, she and Henri would know when to make a getaway.

  The hatch door opened and the ladder creased and cracked under the heavy steps of Lynch.

  “Mornin’ to ya, Miss McCoy.” Smoke curled from his pipe jutting out the side of his smiling lips.

  Gilly rose to face the captain. “To you, as well.”

  “And a beautiful mornin’ it is. I awoke to the most breathtaking break o’ day and yet it paled in comparison to the way the sunlight shines on your yella hair.”

  “You really mustn’t continue complimenting me,” she said. “It does little good whilst I stand in this rotten prison cell.”

 
“Then, lassie, you’ll be pleased with me.” He withdrew his pipe. “We’ve made Havana. I am to escort you to shore.”

  “We’re being set free?” Hope welled in her chest.

  “Nay, sweet child.” He solemnly tilted his head. “Mather has insisted you accompany him in town. Don’t you worry, lass. I’ll not let harm come to ya. I swear it.”

  That was what she was afraid of.

  Lynch unlocked the door. Gilly reached for Henri’s arm, helping him to his feet.

  “The old man stays.”

  “No.” Gilly stepped to stand beside Henri. “I don’t go without him.”

  “Let’s not be disagreeable, lassie. Mather has other plans for the old crab.”

  “What other plans?”

  “None of my doin’, ma’am, to be sure.”

  Henri pulled away. “Ya must go, Miss Gilly.”

  “No, I won’t leave you.” He used her name. It was the first time he called her by name—the situation must be dire! She clutched her bag tight. This would be the last time she saw the rusty old man. Her vision blurred with the welling of tears.

  His pale eyes rimmed with deep wrinkles of age and wisdom stared hard. “Clap a stopper on yer eyes, girlie, and git goin’. Go on.”

  Gilly took a reluctant step forward. She didn’t want to leave him.

  “Go on, I say.”

  If she must leave, she would do everything in her power to get Henri free. But first, she had to make her own escape. Lynch held out an elbow, but she straightened her back and walked past him.

  Gilly took her first breath of fresh warm air. The day was indeed beautiful, as was the city before her. From her vantage on the ship’s bow, the domed roofs and majestic architectures of the city’s buildings were awe-inspiring. Quaint dwellings in shades of apricot and coral were trimmed in whites. Stone buildings were adorned with tall archways, ornate windows and fluted columns. At the mouth of the bay, large fortresses on either side stood sentinel. Formidable citadels in the limestone cliffs, their cannons poised toward the sea and their blue flags fluttered silently in the coastal winds.

  Lynch led Gilly off the pier and down a tree-dotted avenue stretching into the heart of the city. His strong arm, Jamison, followed close behind. He pushed aside his jacket to offer her a clear view of his pistol, a warning not to try and flee. Lynch walked leisurely as if out for a stroll, his pipe, long since burned empty, hanging from his teeth. Friendly people smiled, men tipped their hats to her, and children played through the streets. Despite her fears, a sense of peace eased into her. She felt welcomed here, as if she had belonged in Havana all along. Though she hardly said a word, Lynch spoke with a casual cadence of Havana’s history, pointing out various buildings and cathedrals. The city was rich as much as in an important port for Spain as with its lore, including those involving pirates.

  Gilly wondered about her own brush with a particular pirate. Lynch’s stories gave way to visions of Thayer standing at the Rissa’s helm commanding his ship, then of him commanding her.

  Sadness clenched her heart. She regretted ever becoming intimate with him. She regretted interrupting the intimacy. Mostly, she regretted falling for a man who didn’t share her feelings.

  She wished him well.

  “Here we are.”

  The large stone building stood two stories. Blue painted the wood casing around double doors and floor-to-ceiling windows. Ironwork curved and coiled over the glass panes.

  “La Cervecería del Trovador,” Lynch said. “The Alehouse of the Minstrel. Locals just call it El Trovador. ’Tis a favorite among men looking for more exclusive entertainment while squanderin’ coin on drink.”

  Drinks likely came at a price. The place brimmed with sumptuousness. Decorative torches lined the walls between mirrors, chairs were cushioned, and a cloudy sky was painted on the ceiling. Patrons, many for this hour, ranged from very wealthy to the mere commoner with money to spend. But most impressive was the large stage along the back of the room, larger than any stage she had seen. Blue curtains had been pulled open revealing a scene painted on the wall of a garden with the sea just beyond. What would it be like to stand up there and sing? How heavenly it must be to perform here.

  “Beautiful,” she said.

  “Don’t let that fool ya, Miss McCoy. El Trovador can be as dangerous as the roughest tavern full o’ cutthroats. Bobadilla, the proprietor of this place, will shoot ya dead for looking at ’im cross and he tolerates no brawlin’. Says he runs a respectable business and means ta keep it that way. But ya know, a drunk don’t care where his gullet’s getting soused if he wants trouble. This way, lassie.”

  He placed a hand on the small of her back to guide her forward. Chills slithered up her spine and she hurried ahead just to put distance from his touch.

  Mather and Turk sat at the corner of the bar near the stage. Mather’s view of the door was unobscured and he watched intently as she crossed the room. He rose from his stool.

  “Gillian.” He plucked a piece of hay from her hair. “How was the rest of the journey for you?”

  “Splendid,” she said flatly. “Why am I here, Mather?”

  “I like that about you.” He twirled the hay between his fingers, and then flicked it to the bar. “You’re a frank girl.”

  He motioned for her to sit and signaled the alehouse keeper. Lynch stood uncomfortably close to her, even resting his hand on the back of her chair. “Refill our drinks, good sir. Six and tips for the paddy and his man. Milk for the lass.”

  “Rum. I’d like rum please.” If she couldn’t have her laudanum, the rum would do. She’d become quite partial to the smooth flavor.

  Mather’s eyes pressed upon her and his unmoving pupils held until his tight lips crooked into a sneer. He nodded to the barkeep. “Rum for the lady.”

  The drinks were forthcoming, but Mather’s explanations were not. “This Havana, I find it a lovely city, wouldn’t you agree? A precocious place, with an array of culture. Too bad Spain lays claim to this island. By no means does that matter to a man like me. But I do consider myself a patriot.”

  “Your frittering is not an asset, sir.”

  “’Tis not frittering. I’m merely enjoying the company.”

  “Nay,” she said. “You enjoy watching me squirm while I wait to hear of my fate.”

  “True. But now I tire of it.” He set his glass on the counter. “It occurred to me I may never see the money Hyde stole from me. Either you are telling me the truth and he did not give it to you or you have hidden it someplace. Rather than continue this ridiculous pursuit, I have decided to recoup my money. The keep here tells me of a man, a very wealthy man who may enjoy your…talents.”

  “You would have me earn back the money lost by employing me to sing?”

  “Ha! The city is indeed intriguing but I’ve no plans to stay for such nonsense. I’m due back in St. Augustine in a fortnight for an important engagement, and I won’t disappoint Madam Bonner by not showing.”

  Gilly searched for his meaning and came up empty. “If I’m not to earn your money back by singing, how do you intend—” She gasped. “I’m not a whore!”

  Mather threw his head back and laughed heartily. His natural amusement and pleasing looks softened his cold barbarity. Several women in the room took a keen interest of Mather. She could understand why as with his easy smile, she momentarily found him to be a jolly companion. But only until he spoke.

  “Dear girl, wealthy men willing to spend a fortune on a young woman for their bedroom pleasures do so for virgins, which you are not. I’m not in the business of hawking laced mutton.” His gaze snaked down to her bosom. “Besides, if I were, I’d insist on sampling my wares first.”

  Lynch put a protective hand on her shoulder, which did anything but make her feel safe. Oh, what a mess she was in.

 
She removed Lynch’s hand. “What would you have me do?” Her sarcasm bit in her question. “Pray tell, Mather, what grand design have you fabricated for me?”

  His eyes left her breasts in favor of her attention. “This man, Mancho Diaz, is the commander of Havana’s infantry and advisor to the governor. The keep says he has highly discriminative tastes and would appreciate a refined songbird such as you. You are to perform for him. If he likes what he hears, and he will like what he hears, I’ll make him an offer.”

  “What?” Lynch stepped around from behind her chair. “Mather! We had an agreement! Catch up to the Rissa and help you get your money back, and I get the girl.”

  Mather shrugged. “I lied.” He took a sip from his glass, unconcerned over Lynch’s face reddening with anger.

  “Bastard.” Lynch reached for his piece, but Turk already had his pistol trained on him from his hip and Lynch thought better of the challenge. He, instead, reached in his breast pocket and pulled out his tinder box filled with tobacco.

  “Sit back down, Gillian,” Mather said.

  “You used me,” Lynch ground out.

  “Tut! You’ve served me well these past few days and you’ll be compensated well once I am paid for Miss McCoy.”

  “I’m not yours to sell,” she said.

  “Ah, but you are. You are indentured to me until the money Hyde stole is replaced.”

  She reached for some modicum of threat, and, heavens, was it a stretch. “Captain Drake will come for Henri and he will come for me. He won’t let you do this.”

  “Captain Drake is no longer a concern of mine and I’ve no use for his old dwarf. He’ll be released upon your payment.”

  “You’d be foolish to dismiss Drake,” Lynch said. “He’s a devil. That you can mark well.”

  “I’ve not dismissed the enterprising pirate. On the contrary, I’ve put word in a few buggers’ ears. The first one to kill him gets a nice reward.”