The Siren's Song

by Jennifer Bray-Weber

  “Seven. His time is running out, señorita. Will you have his blood on your hands?”

  “Put the dagger down, Gilly.”

  She glanced at the weapon quivering in her hand. ’Twould be easy to puncture her skin with the slim blade. All it would take was one good thrust. She lifted her other hand, gazing at her bandaged wrist. How much more pain would this dagger cause?

  “Eight.”

  Gilly remembered the scars on Thayer’s body. All the suffering he had shouldered in his life, it wasn’t fair. He deserved more than the short straws drawn for him. He deserved peace. She would give it to him, give him a fighting chance.

  “Nine.”

  Gilly gripped the knife with both hands and poised the tip to her chest. “Forgive me, Thayer.”

  “No!” Thayer jabbed his elbow back into Machete’s groin. Machete folded, and Thayer followed with an upper blow of his fist. He then threw himself back, pushed off the floor and landed on his feet.

  Machete recovered and pointed the pistol at him, but Thayer blocked his aim with his arm. Grabbing Machete’s arm and twisting into him, Thayer aimed the gun toward her and fired. Gilly screamed as Machete’s crony crumbled at her feet. Blast that was close.

  The two men traded swings one after another. She feared for Thayer. How long could he keep up the fight with his wounds? Powered by such hatred, neither gained an edge over the other. No time to worry over him, Galo was coming for her. Quickly, she put the desk between them. Each time he tried to reach her, she scampered to the opposite side.

  “Come here, ya little bunter.”

  “Kiss my arse.”

  They circled the writing table once more and came to a complete standstill. Galo was no closer to catching her and Gilly was no farther from getting away. The sword Machete had laid down earlier to examine the crate’s chandelier could give her an advantage. ’Twas unfortunate Galo had come to the same obvious conclusion. Both snatched at the sword. Gilly grabbed the hilt first, but Galo nabbed her hand. He was too strong—she couldn’t pull free.

  Galo chuckled, but his grin faded when Gilly offered him a smirk of her own. She sliced the rondel dagger down upon his arm. Unwieldy with the knife, she didn’t achieve the desired effect of goring him. He let go all the same.

  “You bitch, you cut me!” Galo attempted to staunch the blood flowing over his fingers from the sizeable gash.

  She poked at him with the cumbersome sword, needing to hold on to it with both hands. Not an easy task while also holding the dagger. “I’ll do it again if you come any closer,” Gilly warned. The sword wobbled, but she managed to keep Galo at bay.

  Thayer crashed into the desk from a resulting blow. Sweat trickled down his brow and coated his upper lip. His eyes, rimmed with redness, blazed with anger and hell-bound determination. But his injury took its toll and he struggled to keep up with the fight.

  “Take this!” Gilly handed him the rondel dagger.

  Giving Thayer the knife allowed her to hold the sword better, yet she felt only marginally more confident. She was much too clumsy with the long rapier. Gilly kept the sword poised outward to avoid dropping it and slicing off her toes. Galo, eyeing her fixedly, waited for his chance.

  Thayer twirled the dagger around his fingers in an impressive show of speed and dexterity before shoving off the desk and charging Machete with renewed vigor. He slashed through the air left, then right, coming fast at Machete. Machete stepped back, leaning away from Drake’s swings. Drake’s blade hummed with his swings, shaving through their grunts redoubling off the walls.

  With his back against the wall, Machete latched on to Thayer’s arm. The dagger quaked, poised at Machete’s neck, as the men struggled. In a sudden shift of strength, Machete let one grip go and slammed his fist into Thayer’s wound. Thayer bellowed through clenched teeth, staggering away.

  Gilly gasped, and the distraction cost her. Galo sprang over the desk, wrenched her wrist and disarmed her of the sword.

  “Machete!” Galo tossed his boss the weapon.

  “Let go!” She bit Galo’s arm, sinking her teeth deep into his sour flesh.

  “Crazy chit!”

  “That’s the truth of it.” Gilly socked his jaw.

  He smirked, working his jowls from side to side. “You hit like a wee girl.”

  Suddenly, remembering the pistol stashed in her bag, she grabbed the bag and whacked him across his face. “I am a girl, you dolt!”

  In retrospect, using the pistol as a gun instead of a mallet might have worked better. Even so, the impact dazed the brute.

  Afraid the wooziness wouldn’t slow him down, Gilly snapped up a gold inkwell and chucked it at Galo, clubbing him in his head. He swayed, his eyes rolling back, and thudded to the floor.

  I did it! I beat him! I saved myself! Victory was short-lived.

  Metal connected with metal. Spits of bellows and grunts accompanied thrusts and parries. Thayer’s smaller weapon challenged him with blocking more than attacking. And yet, he dispatched Machete’s lunges with the appearance of ease, though Gilly knew better. How long could he continue his defensive moves? Someone, at some point, would have to make the final blow and end the fight. Thayer was at a disadvantage. She must find a way to help.

  She slipped her bag on her wrist and looked around the room for something, anything that might help. The chandelier in the crate! It was a silly idea, but the only one she could conjure up. Gilly pushed the crate across the floor. Plague and perish, it was heavy. She shoved and smacked her weight into it, moving it steadily until she had it positioned behind Machete. If Thayer could get Machete to step back…

  The men fluctuated, stepping closer to the crate and then away again. Come on, come on. She gnawed on her bottom lip. Yes, closer. Closer.

  Machete’s legs butted against the crate, but he didn’t fall as Gilly had hoped. Surprised by the obstacle not there moments ago, Machete hesitated. In that moment, opportunity favored Thayer. Her captain seized his enemy’s thrusting arm, spun into him and plunged his dagger into Machete’s chest.

  “This is for every man, woman and child you have wronged.”

  Time suspended. The air left Machete’s lungs. He clamped down his lips, as if trying not to let any more precious breath escape. His sword slipped from his hand and clanked against the marble floor.

  “And this is for my family, you son of a bitch.” Thayer hitched the dagger higher.

  Gilly flinched and her hands flew to her mouth.

  Machete grabbed a fistful of Thayer’s tunic. Coughing up blood, he strained to be heard. “I will…wait for you in hell, Capitán.”

  “Until then, give my regards to Old Nick.”

  Thayer let go of the dagger and yanked free of Machete’s grip. The commander sank down onto the crate. His gaze glazed over, and as death took him, he slumped off the box.

  Gilly rushed into Thayer’s arms. Tears of joy, tears of exhaustion, tears of extreme emotions flowed down her cheeks. “Thayer. I was so scared. I thought he had killed you. When he had the pistol aimed at you…Oh God, I couldn’t bear losing you.”

  “Shh.” He stroked her hair, soothing her with his whispers. “Shh, it’s all right, love. It’s over.”

  Thayer shifted, leaning more into her. Gilly tucked her arm around him to support his extra weight. “You had me terrified,” she said. “Come, you need a chair. Let me look at your injury.” Crossing the room was a challenge. Every step became slower, heavier.

  “You
were very brave,” he said.

  “My strength came from you.”

  “No, Gilly. ’Twas in you…the whole…time.”

  Drake’s leg gave out. “Thayer!” Gilly tried to keep him upright. His weight was too much and she did her best to keep him from falling too hard.

  He groaned as she cradled him into her lap and pushed up his blood-soaked tunic. The bullet had torn a fleshy hole through his side. Merciful Heavens, she must stop the bleeding. Gilly made quick work removing his shirt. She swallowed back the bile building in her throat from the tart smell of blood. Balling the shirt up, she placed it on the wound. He jerked, grinding his teeth against the pressure.

  “I’m sorry.” Her mind raced. Gilly had no training in medical matters. “What do I do, Thayer?”

  “Just give me a minute.” His words came out in a rush. He was in so much pain and she wanted badly to put him at ease. “Let me rest.”

  Gilly nodded, choking back her panic. She laid her cheek against his head and listened to his erratic breathing cresting with his agony. She had to do something. They couldn’t sit here much longer. Surely men loyal to Machete would happen upon them if they stayed put. Should she risk going for help? Was she strong enough to drag him to safety? There had to be a way.

  “I’ll get us out of here, don’t you worry,” she whispered, swiping at the sweat beading on his brow.

  An eternity had passed before he finally spoke. “Why, why would you take your own life to save mine?”

  “Because I love you.”

  “You can’t—”

  Snapping his eyes shut, Drake expelled a long, torturous moan. He arched up, tensing against the throes devouring his body. She held on to his hand, squeezing tight. With all her heart, she wished she could take his place.

  Gilly heard footfalls nearing. Someone fast approached down the corridor. It was happening, just as she knew it would. There was nothing to do but be discovered. Whatever their fate, be it torture or execution, she would not leave Thayer’s side. She would face whoever came through that door with her pistol drawn. She withdrew the gun from her bag, but the footsteps had stopped. She strained to hear any sound beyond Thayer’s ragged breathing. Her arms cramped and she couldn’t steady the shake of her aim.

  The wait was killing her. “Who’s there? Show yourself.”

  With weapons drawn, Valeryn and Joelle sallied into the room. Sam and Henri came through the library door.

  “Christ, Miss McCoy. Put the gun away.”

  “Valeryn, you must help him!”

  Valeryn stooped beside them. “How goes it, brother?”

  “It hurts like hell, I’ll grant it,” Thayer said. He cringed as Valeryn removed the balled shirt to inspect his injury. “’Tis a fine night, V. The bastard is dead and there’s an end on it, my friend.”

  “So it is, so it is.”

  Gilly didn’t like the frown creasing Valeryn’s brow.

  “Sam,” Valeryn said. “Fetch up a torch.”

  “What for?” Gilly was afraid she already knew the answer.

  “Gotta close up that there hole, lest he bleed to death,” Henri said.

  “You should have seen Gilly,” Thayer said. She wasn’t fooled. He deliberately thwarted the attention from himself. “She fought off Machete’s scratching alone. Pummeled him good.” He winked at her, and she tried to conceal her smile, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Did you hear? She can carry a tune, too.”

  Teasing her in a time such as this? Insufferable! How she loved him so.

  Henri kicked at the dead man’s leg. “This fella’s been shot.”

  “You shot him?” Joelle asked. “I don’t believe it. ’Tis not possible. It had to be an accident, am I right?”

  “No, not him. Him.” Gilly pointed to where Galo lay. Or rather, where he should have been lying. “He’s gone! Galo’s gone!”

  Thayer’s face contorted with the pain as he sat upright. “Give me your rum, Henri.”

  “Aye, Capt’n.” Henri screwed off the flask’s top and wiped the rim with his sleeve. “Take your due. All of it, now.”

  ’Twas astounding the respect and loyalty these men had for one another. Gilly was fascinated by the bond between friends. That Henri didn’t grouse at all about giving up his precious rum said a great deal. No matter what Thayer alleged, she knew he was a good man. Good men had good friends willing to risk life and, in Henri’s case, liquor for one another.

  “Ready, brother?” Valeryn asked.

  Thayer handed the empty flask to Henri and nodded.

  “Best you look away, dear.” Joelle helped Gilly to her feet, moving her aside so that Sam could take up her position.

  The torch sizzled against Thayer’s wound. His petrifying roar tore through Gilly. Her stomach curdled on the stench of sulfur and burnt flesh. He thrashed against Sam’s hold and Valeryn fought to keep the torch in place. She could stand no more, turning to Joelle for comfort.

  Once Thayer’s screams silenced, Gilly dabbed her tears and chanced a look at Thayer’s lifeless body.

  “You killed him!”

  “He’s unconscious, Miss McCoy,” Valeryn said. “’Tis good, for the suffering.”

  She knelt beside Thayer, swiping his damp hair from his peaceful face. Her gaze traveled down to where Valeryn worked busily wrapping his captain’s wound.

  “Will he be all right?”

  “We can do no more now, here.”

  Damn it all, could no one give her a straight answer?

  “We must leave—now,” Joelle said, poking her head out the door. “Or we all will die.”

  Sam hoisted Thayer over his shoulder.

  “The diamonds?” Valeryn asked.

  “I have them.” Gilly lifted her bag.

  “That bit of scrap has been nothing if not trouble,” Henri said.

  Gilly would agree, if her nerves weren’t raw from worry.

  The group took flight down the hallway searching for an exit. They emptied into the arcade surrounding the gardens, but Galo and a pack of armed men blocked their escape and pressed forward.

  “There’s too many,” Valeryn said. “We can’t fight.”

  Drake had said that the door across the garden was the only entrance, meaning it was the only way out, as well. Gilly looked to each of her companions. Did any of them know what to do? Would one of them lead them to safety? Or would she die alongside them? How much longer could they avoid death’s pendulum?

  “This way.” Joelle guided them back inside.

  They fled through a labyrinth of passageways with Galo and his men nipping at their heels. Gilly’s chest burned from running down the narrowing halls. The damp, fetid air became heavy with salt, making it even harder to breathe. Her shoes soaked through from the water collected on the cobblestone floor. Into another corridor they ducked and deeper they ran until the ankle-high water slowed their pace.

  Laughter echoed down the rocky walls from where Galo and his men had stopped at the last intersection. “Lookit, fellas. These pirates fancy a swim. What say we oblige, eh?” Galo pulled on a wooden lever Gilly regretted not having seen when they ran past. A thick stone door descended from the ceiling, the rumble drowning out their laughter. Galo bent and waved just before the door sealed into place.

  Somewhere in the chasm of the passage, sounds reminding Gilly of waterfalls clenched her to reality. Galo was flooding the tunnel and the water was fast rising. “We’re going to drown!”

  “Stay calm,
” Joelle said.

  “Easy fer you ta say,” Henri groused. “You ain’t got water up to yer—”

  “We must find where the water is coming from,” Valeryn cut in.

  “Right,” Joelle agreed. “Where the water flows in, the water must flow out.”

  “I don’t see how that will keep us from drowning.” Gilly’s words fell on deaf ears. She brought up the rear behind Sam wading against the rising eddy. Thayer’s slackened body swayed as Sam trudged ahead. Spots of red dotted Thayer’s dressing, frightening Gilly all the more. Get a hold of yourself. The situation is dire enough without you acting like a milksop. Be strong, for you both.

  “Over here,” Valeryn called.

  Seawater surged through an opening plenty big to swim out of the shaft, except for the iron bars preventing any escape. Valeryn and Joelle tugged on the bars without luck.

  “Sam. We need him awake.”

  The behemoth nodded at Valeryn and leaned Thayer against the wall.

  “Miss Gilly.” Sam’s black eyes, belying his brute strength, held softness in their depths. “When he comes to, keep his head above t’e water.” He splashed water into Thayer’s face and slapped his jaw. “Bowse up, Capt’n.” Thayer came awake spitting and cursing.

  * * *

  Cold water jolted Drake from a deep slumber. But the ache in his side and the pounding in his head reminded him he hadn’t been asleep. Hell, he felt like he’d been keelhauled. Water swirled around his waist, and he smacked at the pungent brine dripping over his lips. Realization beat him like a whoreson. They were trapped in one of Machete’s diabolical death chambers. “Damnation.”

  “Thank God, you’re awake.”

  Gilly, her expression pinched with concern, wrapped her arms around him as Sam let go.

  “You got ’im?” Sam asked.

  “Please hurry,” she answered.

  Sam waded to an iron grate, struggling against the deluge pouring into the tunnel. Valeryn and Quint worked their gully knives into the stone around the framework. Poor Henri, ’Twas all he could do to keep above the waterline and not be washed away by hanging on to a section of the grille. Sam yanked and pulled on the bars. The grate shifted.