“’Tis the Enchanted Lady,” he murmured to himself. “What is Renard about?”
“He wouldn’t dare attack,” Barton replied.
“No.” The captain collapsed the spyglass, tucking it into his pocket. As a privateer, Renard had built a considerable reputation in the Caribbean—for both his legal, and not-so-legal endeavors—but no one dared attack the Abaddon’s Curse. Even the British Navy gave Kane a wide berth unless forced to confront him. “But we best be prepared nonetheless.”
Barton nodded, and at his order, the rest of the crew came to attention as the Lady drew nearer with every minute. It finally slowed off the port stern and dropped anchor, a white flag flapping wildly in the breeze.
“Sir?” Barton asked quietly.
“Steady,” Kane replied. “Let’s see what he wants.”
After a few moments, he spotted a dinghy making its way toward them with only two men on board, Captain Renard and a crewman pulling the oars. The remainder of the crew stood on board the Lady, watching the goings on with interest.
“They are not armed,” Kane pointed out, indicating the other ship’s crew. He still deferred ordering his crew down from alert. He hadn’t become the most-feared pirate on the open sea by letting his guard down easily.
Renard looked up at him as the dinghy approached and held up a hand in greeting, a white flag dangling from his fingertips. Kane granted them permission to board with a curt nod, and his men parted to allow the two men onto the deck, hands still poised on their weapons.
“Captain Kane,” Renard said, doffing his hat with a flourish. “You are looking well.”
Kane nodded. “What is this about, Renard?”
The Lady’s captain glanced about nervously. “I was hoping perhaps to speak with you in private. It is a most urgent matter.”
Kane eyed him consideringly, then turned to one of his men. “Search him.”
“I assure you I am unarmed,” Renard insisted, holding his hands up as the crewman patted down his frame. “I come in peace.”
Kane snorted. “Peace?”
Renard grinned. “Well, in this case at least.”
The crewman stepped back and Kane led Renard, flanked by Barton and his quartermaster, Cromwell, to his quarters. He sprawled in a large leather chair, black eyes regarding Renard piercingly as he perched on a smaller wooden one.
“Now,” Kane said, “What is this about?”
Renard’s expression sobered and he licked his lips nervously. “I . . . uh . . . understand you have an interest in One-Eyed Jack Tremayne.”
Kane maintained a stoic façade. “What do you know of Tremayne?”
“I know he boarded my ship and plundered my cargo,” Renard said with a sneer. “Left my crew and passengers bound like animals.”
Kane smirked. “Well, that does come along with the territory, doesn’t it, Mattias?” he asked. “You are far from innocent in these matters yourself.”
Renard shrugged. “Regardless, I believe we could be of assistance to each other.”
Kane leaned an elbow on the arm of the chair, running a finger over his lips. “How so?”
“If you are searching for Tremayne, I would like to help.”
Kane laughed. “And what makes you think I need your help?”
“Perhaps not,” Renard admitted. “But a second ship, a second crew, could prove useful when you finally find him.”
“Aye,” Kane said thoughtfully. “And what would you be getting out of this arrangement?”
Renard’s eyes narrowed. “I simply want to see One-Eyed Jack brought down a peg or two. If you’re out to do that, I believe we have the same goal.”
Kane stood and paced slowly across the room. Tremayne was a bothersome arse, he had to admit. The fact that he’d retrieved the cutlass still grated on his nerves, and if he’d ransacked the Lady, Kane wagered he’d found the pendant as well.
Yes, Tremayne had become a thorn in his side, and one that must be dealt with soon.
Renard was wrong, however, when he said Kane was looking for One-Eyed Jack. Because Kane knew it was only a matter of time before Tremayne came looking for him. Still, he had to admit Renard’s ship and crew could come in useful when it came to taking down the Arrow’s captain. Kane knew better than to underestimate the boy. He’d already cheated death once.
He turned, fixing Renard with a penetrating, black stare. “You, your ship, and your crew will be under my command. I will not tolerate any insubordination.”
Renard tilted his head in deference. “As you wish. As I said, I only wish to see Tremayne punished, and hopefully retrieve some of my cargo.”
“Any booty will be divided by my quartermaster,” Kane snapped. “Do not think I am allying myself with you in order to line your pockets, Mattias.”
“Of course not,” he replied, swallowing thickly. “I only ask that my crew be rewarded for their loyalty as yours will be.”
Kane’s chin lifted, then he nodded once. “Done.”
A slow smile lit Captain Renard’s face as he stood and extended his hand. “We have an accord, then?”
Kane took it in a firm grip. “Aye, Captain. We have an accord.”
I had hoped to be nearing the Spanish colonies by now, but a vicious early winter storm has thwarted my attempts. Instead, I find myself snowbound, anxiously awaiting the warmer weather that will allow me to travel.
My only consolation is the storm has also delayed my competitors in this venture. I received word today that the expedition’s ship was forced to take refuge on a small island off the coast of Spain.
So as I must wait, they must also.
- The Journal of Simon Alistair Mellick, 1 November, 1664
“You’re a liar!” Sarina jumped to her feet and slammed her hands on the table. The dishes clattered, a bit of rum sloshing over the rim of Jonathan’s tankard. “My father was a good man. He was nothing like . . . like . . .”
“Like me?” Jonathan offered. Sarina’s face reddened in fury, and he felt a twinge of compassion. What he had to say couldn’t have been easy to hear.
“I told you, Sarina, I’ll not lie to you,” he said quietly. “But you are the one who asked me about your father. If you want to know the truth, you must listen.”
He held her gaze for a moment, and slowly she sank back into her chair. With a trembling hand, she lifted the tankard to her lips, choking slightly as she swallowed. She looked up at Jonathan expectantly.
“I came on board the Arrow when I was seventeen years old,” he began. “I took a position as cabin boy under Captain George Randall. I did a bit of everything—not unlike you,” he said with a slight grin. “Over the next few years, I got to know the ship, the crew, worked a bit with the ship’s carpenter, then the Gunner, and eventually worked my way up to mate.”
Sarina interrupted. “What does this have to do with my father?”
“Your father,” he replied, “was quartermaster of the Arrow.”
At Sarina’s wide-eyed expression, he continued. “He was a good man. You were right about that. He spoke often of the wife he lost and the beautiful daughter he had back on the mainland. Kept saying he was just saving his earnings so he could go home to her . . . to you.”
Sarina’s eyes filled with tears, and her gaze dropped to the table as her fingers fluttered at her throat.
“The captain led us on a raid that promised a vast treasure,” he said, his voice a low rumble as he relived the adventure. “We were to board at dawn, thinking to take them by surprise.” He paused, taking a gulp of rum. “But they were ready for us. In fact, it was a cunningly laid trap. They were following us from a distance and attacked while we slept.
“I was still young—barely twenty—and had yet to really prove myself in battle. But we all had to fight that night. The air was thick with smoke and screams . . . and the blood. Damn, there was so much blood.”
Sarina watched him with rapt attention, but he’d almost forgotten she was there.
“I sp
otted the captain on the far side of the deck, fighting against two men—sword in one hand, dagger in the other—but it wasn’t a fair fight, and it was only a matter of time . . .
“He fell to the deck, and I was the only one nearby. They didn’t see me coming. I’d never killed a man before.” He paused, gaze lost in the distance, before he cleared his throat.
“I got one, and it was enough of a distraction for the captain to regain his footing and dispatch the other. By the time the fighting ended, we’d lost six men—including our first mate, Old Charlie Ceron, James’ father. I myself was severely wounded in the fray.” He touched his eye patch lightly.
He met her gaze. “In appreciation for saving his life, Captain Randall named me first mate once I’d recovered. But after that night, Danny was never the same. He’d lost his taste for the sea, I suppose, or perhaps he was just tired of the killing.
“In any event, it was perhaps a year or so later that he got word that his sister had died. He left the ship, said he was going to live a normal life, that he would at least give that to his little girl. I never saw him again.”
Sarina wiped the tears from her cheeks, and he could tell her mind swirled with questions.
“And how did you become captain?” she asked after a moment.
Jonathan chuckled humorlessly. “A captain’s life is rarely a long one, Smith,” he said. “Captain Randall was shot in the leg and died of a fever shortly after your father left. The crew chose me as captain, and I’ve been serving as such for nigh on six years now.”
Sarina stood, slowly pacing across the room as she absorbed all she had heard. Jonathan watched her silently as she came to terms with the fact that her father was not the man she thought he was.
“I can’t believe he lied to me,” she murmured, half to herself, as she gazed out the porthole on the far side of the room. “All those years, and it was all a lie.”
“Not all,” Jonathan said. “He did love you, Sarina. He wanted the best for you. He did what he thought he had to do to provide for you. The rest was to protect you.”
Sarina snorted. “Protect me? It sounds like he was trying to protect himself.”
“Our world is a dangerous one. You, of all people, should understand that now.”
“I suppose.” She sighed heavily. “It just hurts. I thought I knew him better than anyone.”
“You did,” Jonathan assured her. “You knew the true Danny Talbot. The man he wanted to be.”
Sarina swiped at her cheeks again, squaring her shoulders before returning to sit across from Jonathan and take another sip of rum.
“You seem to be acquiring a taste for that,” he said with a grin. “Perhaps we’ll make a pirate of you yet.”
She smiled, and Jonathan couldn’t explain the rush of relief that swept through him at the small gesture.
“So,” she said. “If you didn’t kill my father, how did you come to possess his cutlass?”
Jonathan raised a brow. “First of all, it’s my cutlass,” he pointed out. She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off. “As for how it came into my possession, I liberated it from the man I believe killed your father.”
Sufficiently distracted from true ownership of the sword, she asked, “And you still won’t tell me who that is?”
Jonathan looked down at his plate with a frown. His instincts warred within him. On the one hand, he hesitated to reveal too much to her, not so much because he feared she would go off on her own. Surely by now she realized that her best chance to find her father’s killer lay with him.
No, his concern was more about revealing too much about himself. Aside from Max, and of course, Charlotte, no one knew what drove him. Why he was who he was—why he had become who he’d become.
“I think we’ve moved beyond secrets, don’t you think, Captain?” she added. “If you want me to trust you, perhaps it’s time you did the same.”
Perhaps just a little. Perhaps he could tell her just a bit, for Danny’s sake. And then maybe, just maybe, she would trust him enough to provide some information of her own.
With a deep breath, he looked at her. “His name is Kane,” he said. “He’s called Kane the Merciless. He is the one who killed your father. The one who took my eye.” He touched his patch lightly. “Nearly took my life. And he is the one who will pay.”
Sarina held his gaze for a moment before nodding once. “All right then.”
Abruptly, Jonathan shoved away from the table. “I’m needed on deck,” he said, slipping into his coat and waving at the table. “Be sure and clean this up, Smith, and then see to my boots.” He smirked slightly. “No need to concern yourself with the chamber pot.”
Sarina’s lips twitched. “Aye, Captain.”
He hesitated, tempted to say something more, before he turned about and stalked from the room without another word.
She knew there was more to it, of course. Rina was adept enough at reading people to know that Tremayne spoke the truth about Kane—Kane the Merciless, of course he would have a name like that—but he still held back from telling her everything.
It was all right. Sarina could be patient.
Or . . .
Her eyes flitted from the closed door to Tremayne’s desk and back again.
Perhaps she didn’t have to be patient.
She stood and walked to the door, pressing her ear against it and listening intently before sliding the bolt home. She’d have a difficult time explaining why it was locked but didn’t dare risk someone walking in on her.
She could always say she was dressing, she supposed.
Rina’s heart raced, and she swallowed a lump of guilt as she moved to the desk. True, the captain had shown trust in her by telling her what he had, but she didn’t entirely trust him, and she didn’t like going into something without all of the information possible. Surely that was enough to justify her snooping?
She shook her head irritably. Why was she worrying about, of all things, Tremayne’s feelings? He was a bloody pirate, had her working as his servant, and if they were to be allied in this endeavor, she deserved to know what it was all about. Really, he should be the one feeling guilty if he was keeping something from her.
And she knew he was keeping something from her.
She flipped through the papers on top of the desk, and after finding nothing of import, began to rifle through the drawers. When she came to the bottom one and found it locked, a surge of excitement rushed through her. Rina scanned the room, quickly spotting the dirk she’d kept in her boot lying next to her cot. She retrieved it and worked it gingerly into the lock, wiggling it about.
She’d just about given up hope when she heard a low click, and the drawer slid open. The sight of the chest from the Enchanted Lady put a victorious smile on her face, and she lifted it out carefully, along with a thick leather-bound book. With another quick glance at the door, she opened the chest, biting her lip as she examined the items inside: a hair comb, some coins, an emerald necklace, and a carved wooden cross. She held the smooth wood in her hand, examining the engraving running the length of it.
Latin, she thought, although she had no idea what it said.
More confused than ever, she placed the items carefully back into the chest and closed it. Why would Tremayne be so possessive of a chest holding only a few trinkets? Although pretty, they really held very little value when compared to the rest of the booty they’d retrieved from the Lady. Yet, it had to be important somehow.
Frowning, she turned to the book, running her hand over the worn leather cover. She sat down in Tremayne’s chair and opened it to the first page.
Simon Alistair Mellick
15 Kipling Street, Southwark, London
The address was scratched out, and underneath was added: Parts Unknown.
She read a bit and quickly ascertained that it was a journal belonging to a tradesman in London in the mid-1660s. She still did not understand why Tremayne would keep it under lock and key, however. Scanning the pages abs
ently and reading snippets here and there, she’d almost given up on finding anything of use. This Mellick seemed to have been a relatively boring man, his entries bland descriptions of day-to-day life, along with rather sad yearnings for something more. Apparently, he’d come to the Colonies at some point to start a new life.
Sarina almost missed the drawing at first, just catching a brief glimpse as she flipped through the pages. She turned back quickly, mouth dropping open in shock at the rendering of her father’s cutlass.
It couldn’t be.
At first, Rina feared she was being fanciful, so she sprang to her feet to retrieve the cutlass from the shelf behind Tremayne’s desk to compare it to the sketch. Sure enough, it was identical, even to the intricate details on the cupped knuckle guard. Her gaze darted between the drawing and the cutlass, unable to believe what she was seeing. A second sketch depicted the top of the hilt, every facet of the sapphire true to life, and even the engraved words circling the gem proved an accurate rendering. Heart pounding, she quickly read through the entry on the page below the drawing, disappointment warring with confusion when she found no reference to the sword.
She read through it again, just to be sure, but Simon Mellick, whoever he was, simply went on and on about the purchase of some kind of puzzle box to add to a collection that had been handed down from his father. Rina explored the entries on the pages before and after the drawing, but found no mention of it. She glanced nervously at the door, aware that it was only a matter of time before Tremayne became curious about her absence on deck, expecting her to appear at any moment to do his bidding. She flipped through the pages quickly, scanning them as the cutlass lay cool and heavy across her lap.
She’d just about given up when she noticed a loose page near the back of the book. The ragged edge proved it had been torn out at some point, but then tucked back into place. Her eyes widened when the word sword all but jumped off the page at her.
The sword will lead the way.
Confused, her eyes lifted to the beginning of the entry, the words whispering through her lips as she read.
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