The Siren's Song

by Jennifer Bray-Weber

  A knot cinched in Gilly’s stomach. Thayer was in immediate danger and he had no idea. He would die if he entered the city. She mustn’t let that happen. But how?

  “You assume too much, Mather.” She took a meticulous drink from her glass. She hoped her attempt to personify his calm contrivance paid off. “Perhaps I will sing miserably.”

  “I’ll be clear,” he said. “If you do anything that tarnishes my chance to make a sale, I will kill both you and that little curmudgeon. Is Henri’s life incentive enough? Is yours?”

  Foiled, she could think of nothing to say. All her hope deflated. None of her plans she worked out in her head were achievable and she needed time to rethink. Escaping, saving Henri and warning Thayer was too much for her to handle. The whole situation weighed upon her. Thoughts and emotions jumbled and swarmed together like angry bees.

  A young man hurried behind the bar. With nervous glances to the group, he spoke in the barkeep’s ear. The barkeep nodded and waved the lad away.

  “Señor.” He leaned over the bar. “Señor Diaz has agreed to watch your cantatriz bonita. He’ll be here in an hour.”

  Mather cast an infuriating grin. “Splendid.”

  “She’ll need a dress,” a feminine voice said.

  The barkeeper stared hard at the person sitting two stools from Gilly. The woman, wearing a tricorn hat, stared back. Without a word, the keep shoved off the bar and walked to the other end.

  “She’ll need a showy dress if you want to impress Señor Diaz,” the woman said.

  Just how much of their conversation did this woman hear? She’d only sat down a few moments ago.

  “Your name, miss?”

  “Joelle.” She rose from her chair and removed her hat. Striking red locks harnessed in a leather tie at her neck fell down her back. Her calculating emerald eyes sparkled as they swept the group. “But my name is unimportant.” Freckles dusted the rise of her cheeks with her sweetened smile. “As I’ve said, to impress Diaz you’ll need to embellish the package. He’ll not listen to her sing looking as if she’s been sleeping with the livestock.”

  So close she was to the truth, Gilly couldn’t be offended.

  “What do you know of elegance?” Mather said. He waved a hand over the woman’s clothing. “Your attire matches that of a beggar boy.”

  Joelle arched a shapely eyebrow. “My clothing suits me. I’m not dressing to catch the eye of the wealthiest man, second only to the governor, in Havana.”

  Mather conceded with a nod. “Are you offering to help the lady?”

  “I can make her beautiful.” The redhead looked to the barkeep to which he nodded. “Bobadilla will lend her a dress. We’ll find one that fits among those for the dancers who perform here.”

  “If you are looking for payment—”

  “I’ve no need of your coin,” Joelle said. “I only want to see if this chit can indeed win over Mache—Diaz. He’s no fool and only parts with his money for the finer things. Just look at her. He won’t consider hearing her even if she sings like an angel. Call it a challenge, but I’d like to see if I can tip the scales.”

  Did she look that bad? She looked down at her clothing. Bits of hay stuck to the wool of her trousers, her tunic was ripped and, by the feel of her hair, Gilly was in dire wont of a brush. She didn’t want this woman to tip any scales but the alternative was far bleaker. She’d find a way out of this. But for now, Gilly had to play along.

  Mather smirked. “All right. Let’s see what you can do. Be warned, lass, Miss McCoy is not to leave this tavern. If she does, I’ll have your neck.”

  “Very well,” Joelle said.

  A pure evil grin coiled his lips. “Turk, go with the ladies.” Mather gave them his back and returned to his cups.

  Turk slid his eyes over the fire-headed beauty, and she seemed to be doing the same. Only Joelle wasn’t giving Turk coy eyes. Rather, by the tilt of her head, she assessed his level of threat.

  “Shall we?” Joelle hooked her arm into Gilly’s and hurried to a door beside the stage. Down the corridor were several doors. Joelle led them to the last one. Pushing Gilly through, she tried to shut it but Turk stopped it from closing.

  “You don’t believe we’re going to let you in here while she’s in a state of undress, do you?” She planted a fist on her hip. “Well, do you?”

  “M’ boss said keep an eye on you.”

  “Uh-huh. Come in. Take a look around. That’s right, see for yourself. No windows, no doors, nothing but costumes and makeup. Now, how about a little privacy, big man?”

  Gilly was impressed. Joelle’s blunt approach and the way she seemed to seductively smile even when she wasn’t had Turk doing exactly what she wanted. Much like she had with Mather. With her God-given assets and confidence, Gilly didn’t think many men said no to her. She envied Joelle.

  “I’m gonna be right outside this door, ya hear?” Turk said. “No foolishness.”

  “Of course. Push off. I’ve got a lot of work ahead if I’m to make her dazzle in an hour.”

  Joelle locked the door behind him. Turning around, she stared at Gilly a moment before circling around her, scrutinizing every inch of her. She lifted Gilly’s arms out to get a good look and patted down her curves from her bosom to her waist.

  “How is Thayer? Speak me his tidings.”

  “You know Thayer?” On the heels of her surprise came caution. Was this woman a friend of Thayer’s, or a foe, or worse, a lover?

  “Aye. Our paths cross frequently. But I haven’t heard news since the Rissa took to fair winds nearly eleven months ago. Not since…” She paused and looked to the ceiling. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. “What ventures is he in?”

  “Oh. Um. He’s a salvager. He saves people and cargo from shipwrecks along the Florida coast.”

  Joelle snorted. “Saves, you say? That doesn’t sound like the abominable Captain Drake.”

  “I tell you true.” Gilly bristled with annoyance. “He saved me. I would have drowned if he hadn’t.”

  “How long have you been with…the Rissa?”

  Was she implying something? Gilly couldn’t be sure. She opened her mouth to answer but shrugged instead.

  “And Valeryn? Does he still sail with Drake?”

  She nodded.

  “Of course he does.” Joelle tossed her a brush. “The wicked follow the wicked.”

  Gilly couldn’t figure her out. Joelle asked questions as if she genuinely wanted to hear good news about Drake and Valeryn but then scoffed over them with bitter remarks.

  “Tell me why this Mather wretch wants to sell you off and how Henri got involved.”

  Joelle picked through the costumes as Gilly recounted everything that had happened since Hyde was killed. Everything but certain intimate details. The woman didn’t need to know about her arrangement with Thayer. Nor how he made her feel. Nor how he now hated her. No, she kept those tidbits to herself.

  “A bit of a muck you’ve gotten mired in,” Joelle said, her back to Gilly. “How’d you plan to get out of it?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I’ll wait for the right moment to flee.”

  “Do you think that anyone here would help hide you away from Diaz? They don’t call him Machete because he has a fondness for knives. Well, he does, but more so because the man is without a conscience and slaughters those who oppose him. He’s been known to kill simply because it suits his mood.”

  Gilly stopped brushing her hair midstroke. “M-Machete?” Her imagination ran rampant. Panic advanced from the corners of her composure. What kind of man took pleasure in murdering people with a machete? Abel, Mather, now Diaz. She was beginning to think she would never be safe from danger again.

  Joelle turned. “You look as if you swallowed a bad oyster. Ah, don’t fret, love. I’ll help you.”r />
  “But Machete.”

  Joelle smiled. “I’ve no cause to be frightened of Machete. We have mutual interests in the trade industry that keeps me mindful of his practices. He’s a murderer, yes, but a rather foreseeable one.” She held up a blue dress and matching arabesque stomacher. “Ah, this one is perfect. It’ll really bring out those charming eyes of yours. I can see why Drake took cotton to you.”

  Drake! Joelle could warn Thayer of the ambush! “Mather has put a price on Thayer’s head. You could go to him and warn him before he leaves the ship.”

  “No.” Joelle held the frock up to Gilly. “I think this will fit nicely.”

  “No?” Gilly was aghast Joelle wouldn’t warn him. “You won’t help him?”

  “He’ll be fine.”

  “But he’ll be killed,” Gilly shrilled.

  “One can hope. Maybe Valeryn will get his due, too.” She tilted her head still looking thoughtfully at the dress. “The sleeves may hang too low. Hmm. It’ll have to do.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The garrisons guarding the mouth of the Bay of Havana loomed atop the cliffs. Cannons which hadn’t been used in some three years sat perched in their carriages. Drake had no doubt that they were kept clean and ready for firing. And not solely because of the British. He smirked, remembering why the guns were last fired. The ship he had captained, the Widow Maker, had barely made it out to sea. The brief upheaval of the people and Governor de Barca’s untimely death was still fresh in the minds of those in power.

  Silently, the Rissa passed into the bay. The crew was silent, too, as if making too much noise would arouse the sleeping dogs and alert the Spanish military they had returned. It was that way each time they sailed into Havana. All of the men who were with him on the Widow Maker called it suicide, taunting death, by coming back here time and again. All but Valeryn. His best mate enjoyed poking death with a stick, stirring it up and outsmarting it at every turn. In truth, death would catch them one day. Just not today.

  Returning to Havana for a businessman such as himself took little forethought. Here, Drake got the best prices for the goods they salvaged, better than the conscientious Bahamians. It was easier and often more profitable than capturing a prize at sea. Though he claimed loyalty to no country, Havana was his home and he loved her.

  Willie sailed the Rissa around to anchor between two merchants. The position offered protection from gunfire and a straight route back out to sea. Drake instructed the men to be armed and ready to sail at all times. Stay close to the docks and don’t get lost in their cups. Not until they had Henri back.

  Retrieving him would be easy. That slop bucket Alligator sat within a hail at the quay. Lynch, the fat bastard, was so predictable, docking his ship so he didn’t have to struggle with climbing in and out of a longboat.

  “You were right, Capt’n,” Sam said. “T’ey did come to ’Avana.”

  “Lynch knew this is where I planned to head. Whether Mather has Miss McCoy is irrelevant. We’d come for Henri and this is where they would find the best chance to destroy me.”

  But Gilly wasn’t irrelevant to him. Drake promised her sanctuary from Mather. He failed. He would find her and give her the refuge she deserved. Once safe, he would disappear from her life. She would be free to forget all about him. And then he would shoulder another curse as he would never be able to forget about her.

  Sam rowed Drake, Valeryn and two other lads to the pier.

  “What are your plans to get Henri back?” Valeryn asked.

  “We’ll ask politely. If that doesn’t do it, cut them into pound pieces, we will.”

  “Ho!” Valeryn cheered. “Here’s to a rude tongue.”

  Movement stirred out the corner of Drake’s eye. He snatched at his gulley knife and slung it toward a stack of crates. A miscreant pointing a flintlock at them stumbled from the shadows. He looked down at the blade stuck into his chest, and tried to take aim before folding to the ground.

  “One o’ Lynch’s men?” Sam asked.

  Drake stood over the man and retrieved his knife. “He’s Spanish. A local.”

  A shot rang out. Wood from a crate splintered, raining shards on the group. Their flintlocks drawn, Drake and his men searched for the bullet’s source. Valeryn pulled off a shot, hitting his mark. The man, grabbing at his thigh, hurriedly hobbled for his life. Sam began to follow, but Drake stayed him.

  “Let him go. Barker, Dawson, you two scour the docks for witless vermin. We’ve a bounty on us and I can’t be having such distraction.”

  Drake scanned the quay, assessing hiding places for assassins.

  “Lynch didn’t do this,” Valeryn said.

  “No. Mather did.” Drake tucked his knife back under his belt. “Come. Let us retrieve Henri. Then we go hunting. I have a heart to cleave asunder.”

  * * *

  Drake strode up the plank to the Alligator, raising his pistol as Lynch ducked out of the hatch door of the ship’s interior. Valeryn and Sam pulled their weapons on Lynch’s cohorts.

  “Where’s Henri and the girl?” Drake demanded.

  “I thought I heard gunfire. Good day to ya, Drake.” Lynch’s cheery tone did not reflect the surprise on his mug.

  “You’ve done something most unwise, Lynch.”

  “That I have, lad.” His eyes traveled the length of the pistol until they met with Drake’s. “Not for takin’ the lass, mind ya. I’d do it again if I had the chance. She’s a pullet worth mauraudin’ a pirate for.”

  “You honor me.”

  “If you call bein’ listed in the service of the devil an honor,” Lynch retorted. “Alas, my blunder came by trustin’ that traitorous thrice-damned villain, Mather. The bastard hoodwinked me, he did.”

  “Explain.”

  “He’s plannin’ to sell off your doxy. Wants her to sing for a man they called Diaz.”

  Drake felt as if someone smashed a battering ram into his gut. Mather intended to sell his woman to his most hated enemy, Machete.

  “Heaven almighty,” Valeryn said.

  “As motivation, I’m to bring Henri. Mather’s threatened to kill him if she didn’t win over this fella.”

  Lynch reached to move Drake’s pistol from his face, apparently thinking they’d gone beyond the immediate precipice. Drake shook his head, a warning not to touch his gun. Lynch wisely yielded.

  “Fool me once, but I ain’t goin’ to be fooled twice. That bastard’ll put a price on me head, too, as soon as I’m done doin’ his biddin’.”

  “Doesn’t look good for you, Lynch.”

  “Nay, and that’s why I was releasin’ your squab barbecue and settin’ sail.” He waved over at the hatch. Jamison swung open the door and out hobbled Henri, grumbling and grousing with every step.

  “What took ya fellas so long?” Henri scolded. “Did ya get lost, ya ungrateful tarry-breeks?”

  Drake stifled a smile and nodded to Sam who threw the crusty crab a flask of rum. For an old man, Henri was quite spry catching the flask in midair.

  “I’m leavin’ this fight to you, Drake,” Lynch said. “They’re at El Trovador. You’ll need ta hurry. She’s to sing in a half glass.”

  “You and I, we can settle our differences another day,” Drake said. He removed his pistol from Lynch’s face. The conch visibly relaxed.

  “I look forward to it.”

  Drake and his men disembarked the Alligator, all the while listening to Henri grumble about thieving chickens.

  “That lass is a real gem, Drake,” Henri added. “We can’t be lettin’ her down.”

  Drake had thought of little else since he left Gilly crying in her bed three nights ago. The guilt corroding his black heart hurt, physically hurt. It was purely selfish, but he had to ease the pain gnawing away at his sanity. He had to rescue Gilly a
nd set her free so he could go on about his miserable life again.

  “We won’t, Henri, but you’re too hurt to help.” He held up a hand as Henri began to protest. “Don’t argue. There’s a fresh jug of bumbo waiting for you on board.”

  Henri lit up. “Bumbo? That sweet rum will have me dancin’ a jig by t’night!”

  “Sam, help Henri to the ship,” Drake said. “Wait for us there.

  * * *

  Drake and Valeryn walked to the tavern without incident. ’Twas good. Drake couldn’t afford the delay of dispatching another assassin. As expected, the popular Trovador had many customers. Every one of them had their attention focused on the woman with the angelic voice.

  Gilly took his breath away. She glowed brighter than the torch lights illuminating the stage. The blue gown she wore shimmered more beautifully than the morning light skipping across the turquoise sea. Golden ringlets cascaded down her shoulders, resting on the rise and fall of her bosom as she sang. The lithe sway of her hips and graceful turns of her wrists could bring the gods to their knees.

  Granting her mesmerizing performance, he didn’t fail to notice her purple bag still hung from her wrist.

  Her beauty was beyond compare, and with her rich voice, Machete would certainly pay Mather’s price. He scanned the crowd until he spied Machete and Mather. They sat at a table off to the side of the stage surrounded by cronies. Drake cracked his knuckles. The need to rush the stage and sweep her away scratched against his advisable reasoning.

  Gilly’s song ended and the tavern erupted in applause. A surprised, somewhat shy smile beamed from Gilly, as if she had never been greeted with such gaiety from an audience.

  There was that unexpected, rare feeling again—pride. Drake swelled with pride for his songbird. If only he could hold her in his arms and kiss those sweet lips.

  “Another! Another!”

  Machete stood at his table encouraging Gilly to sing more. She looked to her right to someone offstage, nodded and began again, this time with a livelier tune.