The Sublime and Spirited Voyage of Original Sin

by Colette Moody

  “Don’t speak of her like that. She’s a beautiful angel and I adore her.”

  Anne was stunned for a moment, then laughed.

  “What?”

  “You do realize she’s the captain’s doxy, don’t you, brother dear?” Her words were still liberally mixed with chortles. James looked bewildered. “Your wondrous bloody angel has the same ‘proclivities’ that I have.”

  “Well, I did suspect there was something between those two.”

  “There is little between them, if you get my meaning. Celia is the only thing that has kept me out of the captain’s bed, you thickheaded prig.”

  He seemed unable to speak.

  Anne laughed again at his reaction. “Did you really think she was pining for your glorious member?”

  “You’ve been trying to seduce the captain?”

  She could not suppress a grin. “Well, look at her. Wouldn’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Ah, so you prefer the dark-haired, shapely type?”

  “I suppose I do.”

  “But Gayle is bloody magnificent. That gorgeous red hair and sense of danger. What a woman.”

  “Celia’s body is more to my liking. She has a breathtaking bosom.”

  Anne nodded. “Noted, but Gayle’s is more athletic. She cuts a fine figure, she does—swinging from a chandelier with a cutlass in her hand and a dagger in her teeth.”

  “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”

  “How about this? I’ll help you win Celia if you help me win Gayle.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Mark my words, James. If you and I cooperate, we’ll both get what we want.”

  He gazed at her in resignation. “You’ve a deal, sister.”

  *

  Far behind Original Sin, just within the view of a first-rate spyglass, lurked the Belladonna—a fast, trim sloop purposely trailing them. Captain Fuks stood on the deck watching his prey eagerly and pleased that Malvern’s crew seemed too focused on the loot they were bound to recover to notice him lagging in the distance.

  “The winds aid us greatly,” Crenshaw commented as he studied the chart in his hand. “They seem to be headed for the Berry Islands. If the treasure lies there, traveling at this speed they’ll land by nightfall.”

  Andrew Pierce shuffled up to the two men, obviously irritated. “Why do you put off apprehending them? Surely a swift vessel such as this could easily close on them. You aren’t even trying.”

  Fuks sneered at his passenger. “Look, old man. I agreed to bring you along so you could be certain no harm befalls your daughter. Though from the chatter I’ve heard, I think you’re a bit late for that.”

  “You…what?” Andrew’s eyes flashed with rage.

  Fuks went on without skipping a beat. “But I didn’t agree to involve you in my plans and let you question my orders. It would bode best for you to head back to your hammock before I set you to scutwork.”

  “Look here, you bloody maggot.” Andrew’s face turned red.

  “Crenshaw,” Fuks said, peering again through his spyglass calmly. “Take our inhospitable guest below and see that he is silenced.”

  Crenshaw grabbed Andrew by the throat.

  “If you think I’m bloody paying you after this—”

  “You will pay us, you great halfwit,” Fuks stated menacingly, without tearing his attention away from Original Sin. “One way or the other.”

  As Fuks laughed, Crenshaw pulled Andrew below deck.

  *

  Even though the sun had almost entirely set by the time Original Sin reached Deadlight Quay, Gayle decided to lead a party ashore anyway, darkness be damned. She was accompanied by Molly, Nichols, Dowd, Sully—a small, dark-complected gunner’s mate—and Caruthers, and they took the map, several lanterns, and many shovels.

  Celia had asked Gayle if this quest couldn’t wait until morning when they could see properly, and Gayle had simply answered, “Fortune waits for none,” and kissed her heartily.

  Excited, they rowed a small skiff past the shallow coral reefs that kept Original Sin from docking any closer to land. As they reached the white sands of Deadlight Quay and pulled their boat aground, the last glimmer of daylight had faded and what seemed like a billion stars surrounded them.

  “Nichols,” Gayle asked eagerly, “what does the map say?”

  The gap-toothed fellow was little more than a boy, but he had proved to be dependable. Though now she trusted him with such undemanding tasks as overseeing the unloading of cargo, someday he might make a fine quartermaster, she mused. After all, he had done surprisingly well with Molly and Dowd when they cleaned up the Pleiades.

  The gangly young man squinted at the map by the light of his lantern. “We should head east until we see a large dead tree,” he finally answered.

  Gayle drew her pistol warily as the group headed off where Nichols had directed. This quay seemed completely uninhabited, with little vegetation. After several minutes, they reached a tall charred tree, which had obviously been hit by lightning.

  “That must be it, aye?” Dowd shone the light of his lantern on the tree and studied it more closely.

  “One could assume,” Gayle said. “Now what?”

  “We head southeast and will eventually come across a group of small caves,” Nichols added, facing that direction. The wind was now blowing forcefully against them.

  The party adjusted the hoods on their lanterns to prevent the flames being blown out and trudged southeast. After traveling nearly two miles, they spotted the caves and breathed a collective sigh.

  “According to this,” Nichols explained, studying the map closely, “we need to find a cave opening so small that we’ll have to crawl to enter it. That’s where we need to be.”

  Gayle and her party scoured the cave formations eagerly, the adrenaline building as she and the others anticipated the feel of the exquisite hoard within their shaky grasp.

  “Here,” Sully shouted. Gayle led the charge to where he stood as he shone his lantern light on the cave near his small, bare feet. True enough, he had discovered a cave with an opening no larger than two feet in diameter. To enter it, one would need to be on his hands and knees.

  “In we go,” Gayle ordered, and each person dropped to their knees to carefully enter the cave one after the other. Inside, the cave was larger than it had seemed from the beach. All six were able to stand comfortably, though there wouldn’t have been room for many more.

  “There should be a diamond carved on the wall,” Nichols said. “The mark of where to dig.”

  All shone their lanterns on the cave walls and began to slowly search for the symbol.

  “Got it,” Molly called with satisfaction. Gayle moved to where Molly stood and, true enough, a small diamond shape was scrawled there.

  “My good crew,” Gayle said happily. “It’s time to start digging.”

  *

  By the wee hours of the morning, they had completely exhumed the hoard—and what a hoard it was. Madman Malvern hadn’t exaggerated when he had spoken of its vast wealth and some of the pieces’ inestimable artistry. Euphoric, Gayle stood with her exhausted crew, transfixed by the wondrous gold.

  They unearthed one large chest filled with doubloons, loose gems of assorted colors and sizes, and jewelry and small hand weapons of such adornment that no one had ever seen their equal. The other chest was filled with art objects that seemed profoundly valuable—rolled paintings, bejeweled plates of solid gold, and figurines—religious and otherwise. This truly was a treasure trove of vast riches.

  Dowd pulled the first chest outside of the cave as Nichols and Sully pushed from the other side. In no time, they had both coffers, and as they exited the cave one at a time, Gayle heard a sound behind her. Before she could draw her flintlock pistol, a malevolent voice shouted.

  “Leave it.” Crenshaw had already drawn his own pistol. Behind him stood five henchmen, swords in hand. “All of you out,” he directed. “Move.”

&
nbsp; Once all six crewmembers stood outside the cave, Crenshaw scrutinized them one at a time. “It’s about bloody time you finished digging this shit up. Do you know how many hours we’ve been waiting for you? Bloody laggards.”

  “Who the hell are you?” Gayle snapped.

  Crenshaw menacingly appraised her. “Your captor, sweetie,” he cooed, inching toward her. “You’re quite a juicy slice.”

  “Touch the captain and I’ll break your bleedin’ legs,” Dowd murmured.

  Crenshaw arched his eyebrows. “Captain? This young, supple bitch is your captain?”

  “Aye,” Gayle answered. “But I’m not too supple to slit your gullet in a fair fight.”

  Crenshaw laughed at her challenge, both unable and unwilling to conceal his profound amusement. “You…wish to fight me?”

  “Nay. I wish to kill you. The fighting will simply get the job done.”

  He was puzzled at her defiance, yet found her bravado and beauty such a striking combination that he couldn’t tear his eyes from her. He would give her the fight she was seeking, but he wouldn’t kill her right away. He would first experience the bliss of being inside her. What a glorious feeling that must be, he mused. Then he could kill her. “How can I decline such a polite threat?”

  “Just let me draw my cutlass.”

  Crenshaw passed his cocked pistol to one of his accomplices and drew his own sword. He gestured to the female captain to arm herself as well, and she wasted no time in doing so.

  “Do let your shabby-lookin’ crew know that if any of them move to help you, they’ll get a bullet in their skull,” Crenshaw added, as he started to move toward her.

  The defiant woman’s teeth flashed as she held her cutlass confidently. “And you might want to mention to your scab-ridden cronies that if they attempt to intercede in this fight they’ll lose an appendage. Though we’ll leave it a surprise which bits get severed. I do so like surprises.”

  Suddenly they collided, their blades clashing loudly amidst the starry sky and distant dirge of crashing waves.

  Gayle lunged aggressively, emitting a hostile grunt as Crenshaw dodged her. She took some small satisfaction in the sound of his heavy breathing. “Am I not the weak, simple tart you took me for?”

  He grimaced and lunged at her. She spun away and attacked again, slicing into his shoulder, eliciting the sound of tearing fabric coupled with his gasp of pain. A deep, guttural growl rumbled from him, and he flew at her. “Do not vex me, impudent whore. You will not like the way you die.”

  Deftly, Gayle deflected his blow, ducking and then leaping back up in attack. With each ensuing strike she advanced, putting him on the defensive and getting the upper hand. “But who is bleeding, you addled bastard? It surely isn’t me.” Her provocations were clearly affecting him strongly, and as his eyes flew open in fury at her words, her blade cut his cheek, drawing blood from his jaw and earlobe.

  He screamed in explosive rage, and Gayle took advantage of his momentary outburst to attack again, this time targeting his abdomen. Crenshaw seemed insane with outrage, and every successful blow Gayle landed only seemed to feed it more. His shirt began to show bloodstains, whereas Gayle was untouched.

  Suddenly, a shot rang out and she crumpled to the ground as everything went dark.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Though Celia lay in bed, she was simply pretending to pursue sleep. She had no real intention of dozing—not until Gayle returned from her late-night treasure hunt.

  The fact that so many hours had passed worried her, though she wasn’t really certain what she was anxious about. Gayle’s crew wouldn’t turn on her after they unearthed the hoard, would they? Celia squinted at the burning lantern hanging beside the bed as she tried to imagine such a scenario. It was hard to envision. The men seemed to genuinely respect and care for Gayle, didn’t they?

  Suddenly a loud commotion began on deck. Already mostly dressed, she threw on some boots and darted topside to investigate.

  Once there, she was horrified to see the crew pass Gayle over the rail, completely unconscious and covered in blood. They laid her gingerly on the deck as James knelt beside her and examined her wounds.

  Celia glanced to Dowd, who stood beside her, appearing beaten and exhausted. “What happened?”

  “Thieves,” he rasped, breathing heavily and wiping his sandy face with the back of his hand. “Somehow the bastards knew we were there to recover a hoard. When the cap’n commenced slicin’ up their leader, they shot her, then turned on us and took the treasure.”

  “By the Blessed Virgin!” She knelt next to James, who had ripped open Gayle’s shirt to get at her wound. “How is she?”

  “I’d say lucky.” He stood. “Take her to my quarters where I can start removing some of this shot.”

  Gleeson, a very muscular lad, bent and lifted Gayle as though she weighed nothing and hurriedly carried her below deck.

  “Is anyone else injured?” James asked Dowd. “Is she the worst off?”

  Dowd spat on the deck. “Hardly. Caruthers and Nichols are dead.”

  “No,” came an anguished plea from the crew that had begun to gather there.

  “Aye, lads,” Dowd said. “And the thieves have taken Molly. They’ll make her pay for all our sins, I’d wager. Thank God they left Sully alive too, as I’d never have been able to get Cap’n all the way back on me own.”

  This grizzled, stocky man no longer resembled the drunken bastard who had tried to take liberties with Celia when she had first boardedOriginal Sin. He now looked like a man who had taken a thrashing for Gayle, then carried her unconscious body miles for medical treatment. Without hesitating, Celia kissed his sandy cheek and thanked him.

  *

  Less than an hour after Gayle returned to Original Sin, she was awake and in a good deal of pain. James had removed from her left shoulder all the shot fragments from the flintlock pistol that he could find, and had sewn up her multiple wounds.

  Celia had stayed by her side for the duration and assisted him with the procedure.

  “That should do it,” he said, finishing the last of his sutures and dropping his medical implements into a shallow pail of water. “How does it feel?”

  Gayle grimaced. “Like my bloody arm is on fire.”

  “Good. That means you still have blood flow. Let’s get you bandaged up.”

  Celia took Gayle’s hand and held it tight.

  Gayle smiled weakly. “You always see me at my best.”

  “This wasn’t exactly how I had imagined getting your shirt off,” Celia said. “But I suppose it’ll have to do.”

  James awkwardly cleared his throat as he applied the bandage, as though to remind them that he was still in the room.

  “Tell me, how is the rest of the crew?” Gayle asked.

  “Sully and Dowd have some nasty bruises and gashes.” Celia hoped to put off giving her the bad news as long as possible. “They’re the two who dragged you back to the ship.”

  “Good men,” Gayle commented absently. “What of the rest?”

  Celia glanced at James in discomfort, but neither spoke.

  “What happened?” Gayle squeezed Celia’s hand.

  “I’m afraid Caruthers and Nichols didn’t make it back, my love.”

  Gayle was obviously horrified. “And Molly?”

  “The thieves took her.”

  “Bastards,” James hissed. “Who are they?”

  Gayle struggled to sit up, though she was clearly in a good deal of pain. “And how did they know about our mission?”

  “Could one of the crew have had a drink too many and disclosed it to someone at the tavern?” Celia asked.

  “Or someone overheard us.” Gayle stood, pulling her torn shirt closed to cover her bare breasts. “We head back to New Providence. No one helps themselves to my crew and gets to live.”

  *

  “Here it is, Cap’n.” Crenshaw coughed as he directed the heavy coffer of gold be placed before Fuks on the deck of the Belladonna. />
  “You look a damn sight, Crenshaw,” Fuks croaked, surprised to see his senior officer covered in what appeared to be his own blood. “Did you fight Malvern himself?”

  Crenshaw clearly bristled at the inquiry. “Aye.” The five crewmen who had made the journey with him began to chortle. “Silence,” he screamed, as though he’d become completely unhinged. “I’ve acquired all the treasure with which you tasked me, Captain.”

  With that he bent and opened the first chest, and the rest of the crew gasped. Fuks marched forward to take a closer look at the gleaming gold and gems and nodded. “Excellent, Crenshaw. And the girl?”

  Crenshaw snapped his fingers and someone pushed Molly forward before Fuks. Her mouth was gagged and her wrists and ankles were tied. “She’s quite a fighter, that one. Not like any seamstress I’ve met.”

  “Jones,” Fuks called. “Bring the tailor out here to reunite with his daughter.”

  Jones threw Andrew onto the deck, where he landed squarely on his ass, to the delighted guffaws of the crew.

  “There you are, sir,” Fuks said. “Just as we promised.”

  Andrew quizzically examined first the chest of spoils, and then the bound and gagged girl standing before him. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Your daughter, you great oaf,” Crenshaw shouted. “At no small cost to my men. She bites.”

  “But that is not my daughter.”

  Crenshaw grasped Andrew by the hair, pulling his head up and staring daggers at him. “What do you mean she isn’t your daughter? Of course she is. She’s the dark-haired doxy of Captain Malvern.”

  “Nay. My daughter is taller and fuller than this girl, and she has eyes the color of the sea.”

  “Shit,” Crenshaw said under his breath. “Malvern must have a whole harem of courtesans. We filched the wrong brunette.”

  Fuks strolled over to Molly and removed the gag from her mouth. “Who are you, maiden?”

  Molly promptly spat in Fuks’s face. “I’m Molly McCarthy, you ugly whoreson.”