He glanced at his men, all stripped down to their breeches and shirts, weapons strapped securely around their waists or across their shoulders.
No flintlocks. Only blades.
Without another word, he led the group to the gunwale, grabbing a dangling rope and lowering himself over the side. The others followed closely, and in mere moments, the men were swimming through the black waters toward the looming hulk of the Intrepid. Beyond lay the shore, and a few flickering lights indicating that not all in the village slept, even at the late hour.
It wouldn’t matter. If the captain’s plan was successful, they would be on and off the Crown ship without anyone on land or sea knowing they’d been there.
With a low grunt, he pulled himself up on the Intrepid’s anchor chain and rested a moment, scanning the hull of the ship for the rope he’d seen through his spyglass earlier in the day. If luck was with them, it would not have been retrieved.
Jonathan smiled. Luck was indeed with them.
Slipping into the water, he floated easily along the bobbing vessel, then kicked his feet to propel himself out of the water so he could grab the rope. It took a few attempts, but he finally gripped it firmly, pulling himself up the outside of the ship, his bare feet slipping slightly against the slimy hull. He paused when he reached the gunwale, and peered over the edge uncertainly. He could make out a couple of slumped figures on the other side of the ship.
Sleeping. Jonathan grimaced in disgust. Such a thing would never happen on his ship.
He pulled himself onto the deck and slipped into the shadows, quickly lowering additional rope to his awaiting crew. In a matter of moments they stood next to him, dripping and tense with expectation.
Jonathan nodded at Hutchins and pointed at the two sleeping crewmen. With a mate at his side, the master rigger approached them, and Tremayne knew in a moment they would be bound and gagged and no longer a threat.
“Find the girl,” Jonathan whispered to Max, and the two parted, each taking a contingent to search the ship. Slipping his dagger from its sheath, Jonathan approached a doorway, pressing his back flat against the wall and listening intently before peeking around it. Edging into the dark passageway, he waved his crewmen through to the left, while he went to the right. They moved noiselessly in the darkness, and the captain smiled in satisfaction.
He made his way down the hallway, systematically pressing his ear to each door before opening it quietly and peering inside. Just as he was about to turn a corner, he froze at the sound of a low conversation.
Hidden in the shadows, Jonathan edged around the corner to find two of Stanton’s men standing guard before a wooden door, their bodies casting flickering shadows in the low light of a lantern. One of the men leaned forward, using a scrap of twisted linen to capture a bit of fire for his tobacco pipe, and the captain wrinkled his nose at the sweet-smoky scent as the leaves caught the spark.
“Do you think the boy speaks the truth?” the other guard asked. “Should we have told the commodore about Tremayne?”
The captain froze at the sound of his own name.
“Why do you insist on repeating the same question?” the first guard answered, blowing a stream of smoke into the air. “The boy was obviously lying. He knows nothing of One-Eyed Jack that the commodore doesn’t know already. He’s a powder monkey or a cabin boy with no important knowledge.”
He took another pull on his pipe. “Not to mention that the commodore is entertaining this evening,” he said with a grin. “And I’m sure he would not look kindly on any interruptions.”
The other guard laughed. “Yes, did you see the chit he took into his chamber? Comely, but none too bright, I think.”
A shuffle behind him drew Tremayne’s attention, and he looked back to find his two crewmen, Crawley and Jenkins, coming his way. He held up a finger in warning, and they pressed against the wall, watching for his order.
Tremayne watched the two guards intently, waiting for his opportunity. When they both turned to look through the small window at the top of the door, he nodded to his men, and as one, they swept silently into the small space. Crawley clouted a guard on the back of his head with the hilt of his dagger and Jenkins caught him as he slumped to the floor. Meanwhile, the captain slipped his arm around the neck of the second guard, his own blade pressed to the soft flesh beneath his chin. The man’s pipe clattered to the floor, forgotten.
“Be silent now,” Tremayne warned in a low voice. “You wouldn’t want my hand to slip.”
He felt the shift of the man’s Adam’s apple as he swallowed, and smiled grimly in satisfaction.
“Unlock the door,” he ordered, “and make not a sound.”
The man fumbled for a ring of keys clipped to his belt, finally inserting one into the lock with a shaking hand. Tremayne reached around into the guard’s inside pocket and withdrew a linen handkerchief, wadding it up and stuffing it unceremoniously into the guard’s mouth. He shoved the man toward Crawley with a nod.
“Bind them both and be quick about it,” he told him. “Make certain they won’t be discovered for a while.” He twirled his dagger in his hand once as he turned back to the door, and Jenkins took up position at his flank, his own blade drawn.
Tremayne swung the door open and squinted into the dark interior, then stepped inside carefully, scanning the room as Jenkins did the same. A jangling sound caused him to freeze in his tracks, and he looked down to find he’d kicked a chain secured to the floor. His eyes tracked the chain to a gap between two stacks of crates and he glanced at Jenkins, pressing a finger to his lips in warning. Jenkins nodded, and they silently crept along the trail left by the metal links.
A sharp crack rang out, and an equally sharp pain shot through Jonathan’s skull, dazing him for a moment before he turned to find the Talbot girl staring at him wide-eyed, holding a plank of wood over her head, apparently ready to hit him again. He staggered, and Jenkins sprang in front of him to block the second blow, grabbing the surprised chit and whirling her about, her back to his chest, and his arms banding around hers in an iron grip. Her makeshift weapon clattered to the floor as she struggled against him, and he quickly shifted, covering her mouth with a palm when she opened her mouth to scream.
Tremayne rubbed at his scalp, glaring at her in the dim light.
“I am at a loss for why you always feel it necessary to bash me on the head,” he growled in a low voice.
The girl tried to respond, her voice muffled by Jenkins hand.
“Be still, lass,” Jenkins warned. “I’ll wager given yer current accommodations ye’ll not want to be discovered by the commodore any more than we. I’ll release ye if ye vow not to scream . . . or try to kill me captain again.”
She considered her options, then nodded once. Jenkins released his grip only after kicking away the plank of wood. She straightened her shirt with her shackled hands then turned a defiant gaze on the captain.
“Tremayne,” she said distastefully. “Whatever are you doing here?”
He took a step closer, looming over her tiny frame. She swayed, as if fighting the urge to step back, but held her ground, glaring up at him.
“You did not think you could steal from me and leave me for dead, and I’d not come looking for you, did you?” he asked, his teeth bared and grinding. “Now, where is my cutlass?”
“Your cutlass?” she countered. “I believe you mean my cutlass.”
He took another step, their bodies almost touching. “Do not press me, wench,” he growled. “I’ve half a mind to leave you chained at the commodore’s mercy.”
“The commodore will release me,” she replied airily. “Once he realizes his mistake.”
Tremayne laughed. “The commodore doesn’t make mistakes,” he said. “A fact you will become vastly aware of once you’re facing the hangman’s noose.”
The girl gulped, the chains binding her wrists clinking as she trembled. Jonathan could see the emotions warring on her face, even in the dim light—fear of Tremayne,
combined with a vile hatred, along with a near desperation that he could be correct, that the commodore would not listen to reason.
“Fine,” she said finally. “I’ll go with you.”
“And what makes you think I want you?” he scoffed in reply.
“You cannot leave me here!”
“Oh, I cannot?” He shook his head, shooting a mocking glance at Jenkins, who smirked in response. “I believe I can, and I will unless you tell me where my bloody cutlass is!” He struggled to keep his voice low, but the threat was evident, and Sarina shuddered slightly in response.
“The commodore took it,” she replied.
“Obviously,” Tremayne said with a heavy sigh, “but did you see where he put it?”
She shrugged. “Ask one of my guards, if you haven’t killed them, that is,” she added with a sneer. “The tall one is the one who took it from me.”
Jonathan jerked his head toward the doorway and Jenkins left the room to question the guard, returning a moment later with Crawley. The girl glared at him mulishly in the interim, refusing to break the uncomfortable silence.
“It’s in the commodore’s quarters,” Jenkins said. Tremayne nodded, expecting the answer.
“Take the girl,” he said gruffly. “But leave the shackles in place.”
“What?” She gaped at him. “But . . . you can’t!”
Tremayne ignored her. “I’ll go after the cutlass with Max. Get the others off the ship and back to the Arrow.”
“You must release me!” she demanded.
Tremayne sneered. “You do not give me orders, wench. And if you do not wish to remain on board this vessel, you will silence your tongue!” He turned to Crawley. “Do not let her drown. I have plans for her.”
“Drown?” she repeated weakly. “Am I supposed to swim with my arms bound?”
“Do not worry,” Tremayne replied distractedly. “Crawley is an excellent swimmer and will keep your head above water . . . as long as you do not cause any trouble.” He grinned at Crawley, who winked in response.
“You . . . you monster!” the wench exclaimed.
Jonathan shrugged. “Aye.” He turned to leave as Crawley flipped through the guard’s keys to release Sarina.
“Wait!” she exclaimed. Tremayne turned back in annoyance, and she winced, remembering she was supposed to be quiet.
“What?” he snarled.
“You have to free James.”
“Who?”
“James.” She pointed toward a dark corner. “The commodore will have him killed if you leave him here.”
Tremayne approached the cell, squinting to make out the form of a man slumped on the floor.
“You there,” he said, tapping the bars with the tip of his boot.
“He’s been beaten,” she explained. “He needs help.”
Tremayne crouched down and peered through the bars. “Damnation,” he breathed. “Is that Jamie Ceron?”
“You know him?” she asked.
He ignored the question, holding out his hand. “Crawley, bring me those keys. And for the love of God, get the wench out of here!”
Crawley tossed him the keys and left with the girl, who thought better of making any further comment. Jenkins approached, leaning against the bars.
“Charlie’s son,” he said in acknowledgement. “Haven’t seen him since he was little more than a boy.”
“Aye,” Tremayne agreed, unlocking the cell and approaching the man. He touched his shoulder gently. “Ceron,” he muttered quietly, then shook him a little harder. “Jamie, wake up. We need to get you out of here.”
James blinked, still dazed with sleep. Then he sat up abruptly, his hand flying to his head as a low groan escaped his lips.
“What is it?” he asked. “Who’s there?”
“Jonathan Tremayne,” the captain replied. “It appears you’re in a bit of a tight spot, boy.”
James winced. “Tremayne?” Startled, he sat up abruptly, eyes darting around in the darkness. “Where’s Sarina? What have you done with her?” he whispered.
“Sarina? The Talbot chit? She is safe, on her way to my ship.” He tried a few keys before managing to get the cell door unlocked. “You’re welcome on board as well.”
James stood, swaying slightly on his feet, and Jonathan could feel the uncertainty rippling of him in waves.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked quietly.
The captain sighed. “Your father was a good man,” he said. “A friend to me and many others.”
James stiffened. “I wouldn’t know. I barely knew the man.”
“Aye, well . . .” Tremayne’s words drifted off. He knew that Old Charlie Ceron had a woman and a child somewhere in the islands. He also knew that the man loved the sea more than anything else. There were no words of defense to be offered. It was the way it was.
“Regardless, I owe him for many things,” he said instead, “and it seems you’re in need of my help. In fact, we could help each other.”
“What do you mean?”
A thump overhead drew their attention, and the captain lowered his voice, hissing quietly, “There’s no time for this now. We need to get off this ship, but I must retrieve an item that was stolen from me first. Go with Jenkins.” He turned to leave, but James’ voice stopped him.
“No.”
Jonathan turned to see the man bending through the low cell doorway, then stretching to his full height. He was taller than he’d seemed slumped on the floor of the cell, and broad through the shoulders—almost as big as Hutchins. The dim light from the porthole gleamed off his dark skin, his teeth glinting slightly as he spoke.
“You’ll need help,” he said finally. “I’ll go with you.”
“It isn’t necessary. You’re in no condition—“
“I’m fine,” he insisted, rolling his massive shoulders to emphasize the point. “I’ll go with you.”
Tremayne nodded before sending Jenkins away with a jerk of his head. He handed James his spare dagger as they slipped into the dim hallway, finding no sign of the guards.
Crawley had done his job well.
Wordlessly, they made their way through the shadows, drifting around corners and into doorways like wraiths, all the while listening for the inevitable alarm they both knew would sound eventually.
They emerged upon the dark and silent deck, the ship rocking quietly in the black depths. Crossing to a dim archway leading to what Tremayne knew would be the commodore’s personal quarters, he could barely make out the faint splashing of his crew swimming back toward the Arrow. He thought he heard a feminine screech of protest and smiled slightly at the sound.
Perhaps the bothersome Miss Talbot might be a little more amenable from now on.
Somehow, he doubted that.
However, having the daughter of Danny Talbot in his possession might prove useful when it came to finding what he was looking for. After all, the cutlass was only part of the puzzle, and who knew how many more pieces Sarina Talbot’s father had obtained before he met his death?
Jonathan aimed to find out.
He signaled to James, and the two pressed their backs against the wall on opposite sides of the commodore’s door. Jonathan listened carefully, finally leaning over to press his ear to the gleaming wood. Faint snores rumbled from within and he nodded at his companion, slowly turning the doorknob.
The door squeaked lightly as he opened it, and the two men froze in place as the snores stopped, interrupted by a snort and a cough and the ruffling of sheets as a body repositioned itself. Jonathan peered into the dark room to make out two forms in the bunk, one long shapely leg peeking out from under the sheets.
It appeared Stanton had some company this evening.
The snoring began again as the commodore relaxed into a deeper sleep, and James gripped the dagger firmly, his eyes focused on the bed as Jonathan scanned the room. He grinned, spying a metallic glint on top of the desk against the far wall.
Apparently, the commodore had been too
intent on his entertainment to appropriately stow away the spoils of the day. As James kept watch, Jonathan quickly retrieved the cutlass, then paused as he spotted a leather pouch next to it. Never one to turn away a bit of profit, he stuffed the pouch into his pocket, relishing the weight of the gold inside.
Tremayne turned back to Jamie Ceron, and the two men made their way to the door, only to be stopped by a soft gasp breaking the silence. They turned in unison toward the bed, where the commodore’s bedmate, a pale beauty with a tangle of yellow hair billowing around her head, sat upright, looking shocked, a hand clasped at her throat.
The captain put a finger to his lips, but knew as soon as she drew a deep breath that the motion was fruitless.
“Run,” he told James in a low voice, and the two took off down the hallway as an ear-piercing scream echoed off the walls behind them.
“Females,” Jonathan muttered in frustration, as around him the ship came to life, the shouts of alert and loud curses mingling with slamming doors and the sounds of booted feet on worn wooden floors.
He swore that if he were caught and hanged because of Sarina Talbot, his ghost would return and haunt her for the rest of her days.
The damned woman would be the death of him. Of that, Captain Tremayne was almost certain.
Opportunity is a fleeting commodity. One must seize it when it appears, for if one falters for but a moment, it is lost . . .
- The Journal of Simon Alistair Mellick, 2 June, 1664
“Now what?” James asked as they emerged onto the deck seeking escape. The crew had come to life with rousing shouts and barked orders, and a half dozen men scrambled out of the doorway at the far end of the ship, tugging up breeches and checking their flintlocks. Behind him, Captain Tremayne could hear the slam of a door, and the bellowing voice of the commodore.
The captain spared not a moment, realizing that acting quickly in the confusion, before they were spotted, was probably the most prudent action.
Not that he feared a fair fight, but two against a shipload? Even Jonathan was not that arrogant.
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