The Kip Keene Box Set: Books 1, 2 & 3

by Nicholas Erik

  “That still leaves a lot.”

  “Give me a real gun and that would change,” Strike said.

  “You see a ladder over there?”

  “The hell are you talking about?” Strike ducked as a shot collided with the boat, sending a shower of sparks into the water.

  “A way on board.”

  He watched Strike push her head out again, then quickly dive back to their narrow band of cover. A small wave whipped towards Keene. He held his last remaining pistol high above his head to keep the powder dry.

  “Yeah. Maybe twenty foot dead run. But there’s at least two of them lurking behind all the gold idols and shit.”

  Keene handed her his pistol. “You’re the best shot we have.” Linus also gave her a pistol, which gave her two shots.

  “I’ll lay down cover fire,” Strike said. “And hope like hell they miss.”

  She stood straight, flattening herself against the bow.

  Keene nodded, counting quietly to himself, listening. It made him feel like he had some control over what was random. He didn’t know how much munition the pirates had, or even where they were lurking. But waiting gave him the illusion of control.

  He got to eleven, and said, “Let’s go.”

  Theodora sprinted out first, Strike raising the pistol over the madam’s charging shoulder and firing. Keene and Linus slipped out next, hauling ass towards the silver ladder bolted to the ship’s side.

  Keene’s eyes bounced from gem encrusted chests to heaps of coins. No members of the Red Flag Fleet poked their heads out. He could hear them, smell them, everything but actually predict what they were going to do.

  From the corner of his vision, he saw Theodora scale the short ladder and disappear on to the Silver Songbird’s deck. Linus was next.

  Keene placed a hand on one of the cool rungs and glanced back. Suddenly, the landscape was teeming with pirates—not a couple, as Strike had said, but a half dozen, maybe more, popping up like groundhogs from their holes.

  Groundhogs with pistols. Terribly inefficient and inaccurate pistols, but still. He tore up the ladder as bullets blasted past him, leaving blackened dents in the ship’s beautiful finish.

  Tumbling over the ship’s edge, Keene was half convinced that at any moment he’d discover that he’d been mortally wounded. Checking himself over, however, he found that his body was remarkably intact, even if his nerves were fried.

  He popped up over the low railing to give a cursory examination of the landscape. No sign of Strike beneath the ship’s bow, but his angle wasn’t all that great from here. Gloriously, no more gunshots followed—although the sound of furiously pounding ramrods formed an unwelcome symphony to Keene’s ears.

  “Stay low,” Keene said to his two companions. “Flat, if you can.”

  “What if they board, Keeney?” Linus said.

  “Let’s hope Strike can distract them.” A lump formed in his throat when he said the words. This was like throwing his partner to the wolves. Alone, with the water rising above her thighs, pirates closing in, her chances seemed grim.

  Muffled cries—more annoyed than pained or worried—brought his attention to the ship’s cabin.

  Keene kept his head low and barged through the silver door. Lorelei was tied to a chair, shaking her head, eyes wild. She got louder upon seeing Keene, making strange gesticulations with her neck.

  He froze for a moment, reunited with his sister after five months of fruitless searching. Here, in a cave, deep below sea level, with pirates threatening to kill them all if the rains didn’t get there first.

  “Well, here we are.”

  “Mmmph. Mmmph!” A silk scarf was stuffed in her mouth.

  “All right, I’ll let you loose.” Not that he had any such plans. But hearing what she had to say might be enlightening. Keene took a step forward, which put him halfway across the tiny room. His eyes adjusted to the dimmer light. Lorelei’s soot-stained face was soaked with sweat, her arms tied behind her.

  A thin hissing filled the air for a moment, while there was a lull in gunfire.

  Keene turned his attention towards the ominous crackle. He froze, his leg in midair, when he found the source of the noise—what Lorelei had been so bothered about.

  Then a single gunshot punctuated the air outside the cabin.

  A lit fuse sparked, running along the floor towards the bottom of Lorelei’s chair. Keene rapidly traced the glowing white strand to its terminus, when his breath caught.

  His foot set down, and he almost lost his balance.

  “Shit,” he said.

  Dynamite.

  The Red Flag Fleet, it seemed, took guarding the Silver Songbird quite seriously.

  Even if it meant death for them all.

  32 | Hasty Escape

  Strike tore out from the ship’s bow. The silence was getting to her. All this action, smoke, gunfights, screaming pirates, and then what—a damn siesta? All she could hear was the rhythmic rake of the ramrods running against the inside of the pistols’ long barrels. Like hell she was going out like this, let someone slip up behind her and run her through with a rusty sword.

  Recalling her FBI training, she scanned each possible hiding spot for threats, even though she had no hope of returning adequate fire. The final single-shot pistol dangled off her index finger.

  Out in the open, without the safety of the bow’s angle to hide behind, Strike felt a foreboding in the quiet air. Maybe she’d scared them off.

  Then the remaining members of the Red Flag Fleet all emerged from cover at once.

  Strike dove into a barrel roll, her head dipping beneath the water’s surface, shoulder blades bouncing off the rocky ground hidden in the depths, sharp edges tearing at her clothing. An enormous eruption, like the climax of a fireworks display, came from the glittering stacks.

  She launched herself off the ground at the end of the roll, emerging through the air like a dolphin soaring out of the ocean. Maybe moving around would make her harder to hit. Couldn’t hurt. After all—

  A late shot rang out, and a sensation like being hit with a sledgehammer buffeted her stomach, throwing her against the side of the ship. Her shirt grew warm and her abs clenched. Crimson pools rippled out in the water below. She dropped to one knee, gritted her teeth and screamed.

  Linus responded. “Striker! You all right?”

  Strike looked up to see Linus’ face leaning over the edge. He disappeared when a couple more shots came his way. It was hard to tell where they landed, but the kid didn’t catch any of them. Out of all the misfired bullets, the one that hit home had to get her.

  Strike submerged her fist, pressing it against the ground in an attempt to stand. Her arm wobbled, and she almost fell face down into the water.

  “Grab the rope,” Linus called.

  This time, Strike didn’t bother to look up at the kid. It hurt too much. A tuft of strong rope floated into her field of view, like an angel had dropped it from the sky. She took one hand and grabbed it loosely.

  The silence had returned.

  Warfare used to be so stupid.

  Actually, it still was stupid, just much more efficient. Maybe that was even dumber.

  “Put your other hand on it, Striker, before they reload.”

  Strike stopped thinking about the costs of war, and, struggling to locate the rope, managed to latch her other hand onto the blurry lifeline.

  She found herself flying through the air, bouncing off the side of the boat.

  Just as her grip was slipping, she careened over the edge, landing face first onto the deck.

  She closed her eyes and groaned.

  Someone leapt over her.

  “Come on,” Strike said. “Go around.”

  There was a loud explosion, and the entire structure shook and quaked. Large shouts—fearful, now, instead of intimidati
ng—came from the treasure room.

  Before Strike lost consciousness, she could’ve sworn she felt the whole place begin to crumble.

  33 | Final Showdown

  Still panting from his mad dash to toss the dynamite overboard, Keene did a quick assessment of the situation. The explosion had quelled the pirates’ further efforts at defending the ship as more primal concerns—like being dashed by falling boulders—took over.

  Still no sign of Ching Shih. But if Lorelei was here, that meant they might just be getting home.

  If this damn rockslide didn’t kill them.

  Keene dragged Strike into the cabin to save her from the falling rocks and water. Theodora was already inside, quivering in the corner from the chill. The sky was opening up above, the moon shining through the cracks in the man-made cave’s ceiling. As impressive a feat of engineering as this had been, the combination of the flood and dynamite had thrown its delicate balance off kilter. A boulder hurtled down and glanced off the roof of the junk, sending the ship into a spiral against the cavern wall.

  Keene slammed against the cabin wall, thrown against the hard surface with such violent force that he felt a couple ribs fracture. He gasped, the room spinning. Water sloshed over the side of the ship, covering the floor.

  “Lorelei?” Keene called into the maelstrom. But the chair was empty, the tossing and turning splintering the wood like a child playing with toothpicks, Mother Nature’s sudden escalation freeing her from her earthly bonds.

  He slipped on the slick surface, waving his arms to balance as the ship continued to roll in the rising tides. Torrents of water rushed down, sea water pounding the ship’s exterior. Managing to reach the center of the room without falling, he checked his bearings. Linus and Theodora were taking care of Strike as best as could be expected in the corner.

  A flash of lightning, followed by an echoing thunder clap, made him look at the door. A woman in flowing silk robes, the wet fabric clinging to her agile frame, stood in the open doorway. Even after emerging from the depths, the woman’s posture still radiated confidence.

  “Ching Shih.” Keene took a step back, almost losing his footing. “How?”

  “Surely you understand that I would not entrust something so valuable without oversight.” The woman advanced, drawing a short dagger. She pointed it at Keene, as if she were toying with an unworthy adversary. “Or let you escape with it.”

  Overflow continued to slosh around the deck and cabin, the briny water making for an uncertain battle surface. Keene’s lack of weaponry had him at disadvantage.

  “So why blow up the ship?” Keene racked his mind, trying to stall for time. The best idea he could come up with was to engage her in conversation, hope that the elements would intercede on his behalf.

  “Idiots,” Ching Shih said. “A fool’s decision, taking orders too literally. He will be dealt with.”

  “I think the sea will take care of that problem for you.”

  She nimbly glided over the floor and slashed at Keene with the blade. He leapt backwards, the sharp edge missing his bare torso. The pirate queen wouldn’t grant him time to think. Ching Shih may have disagreed with her men’s method of disposal—the hostage trap that would take the precious ship with it— but she still very much wanted Keene dead.

  Somehow remaining upright, he steadied himself, shoulders crouched. He caught a glimpse of his comrades from the corner of his eye. Linus looked on from the corner with the helpless, confused expression of a puppy caught in his first blizzard. Four on one was a theoretical advantage, but in truth it was more like three-quarters on one.

  “Doesn’t seem like a fair fight,” Keene said, his eyes searching for weaponry of any kind in the spare cabin. If only this time ship had come outfitted with sabers. Trawling through history, a traveler was bound to get into some hairy situations with the locals.

  Like the dagger wielding maniac who was now jumping through the air towards him. Keene dove to the side, crashing to the ground against his shoulder. The impact jarred him for a moment, his ribs screaming protest. When he recovered and flipped over, he found Ching Shih soaring through the air again, dagger pointed at his heart.

  The woman had the balance of a jungle cat, and the killer instinct to match.

  Keene rolled out of the way, the blade scraping against the metal floor with a nasty screech. Splinters raked his face. He lifted a hand to protect his eyes, and found his fingers touching a piece of the ruined chair.

  He grasped the busted leg, but let go when a stinging pain shot through his palm. Droplets of blood dripped through his field of view, followed by a shining blur aimed at his stomach. With his ruined hand, he reached out to deflect the incoming attack, feeling the dagger’s edge tear into his forearm.

  Kicking blindly, he connected with solid flesh. He crawled and hopped away from where he felt the knife was coming from. Truth was, his senses were almost useless from all the loud noises and the ship’s constant churning. An omnipresent veil of nausea and pain covered everything in a hazy fog.

  He clutched his injured arm tightly to his cracked ribs, blood streaking down into the salty water. Stray droplets finding their way into the wound caused the already brutal pain to reach unbearable heights. Footsteps splashed, and Keene turned around, catching Ching Shih’s short blade with his collarbone by mistake.

  He screamed, his anguished cries drowned out by a new train of rocks rumbling down from the cave’s ceiling.

  Ching Shih jerked backwards, trying to free the weapon. She took both hands and put them on the hilt—a miscalculation that offered a chance for the wounded Keene to push her away with his good arm. The move caught the graceful woman off-balance, her weight in the wrong place.

  She flew backwards as if Keene had blasted her with a shotgun, landing against the wall of the cabin with a sizable thud.

  “This doesn’t belong to you,” Ching Shih said with a snarl through gritted teeth. She tried to stagger to her feet, but the impact had left her disoriented. Instead, she stumbled from side-to-side, slumping to her knees like a drunk.

  Keene squinted, sucking in sharp breaths with each splash of water washing over his many wounds. His collarbone had saved him from certain death—a few more inches to any side, and the blade would have sunk deep into his flesh. But Keene had no time to count his blessings, for Ching Shih was unlikely to stay down. He groped around for the broken chair leg, finding it half-submerged nearby. Shaking it off—and taking his steps with deliberate caution—he approached his adversary. He pulled the blade from his skin and tossed it away, coloring the water a deep shade of red. He loomed over the kneeling pirate queen, breathing heavily.

  “Leave the ship.”

  “Or you’ll kill me?” Ching Shih gave him a derisive laugh. “You are too weak.”

  “I got things to do,” Keene said, wincing at the thought of stopping Lorelei. His body ached and bled. All he wanted was a long nap, maybe a beer. Morphine wouldn’t go unappreciated.

  “They’ll have to wait.” Ching Shih’s hands materialized from the water, bearing a small pen-sized stiletto knife. The razor-sharp blade tore at Keene’s legs, causing him to drop to his knees in surprise.

  The pirate queen went to finish the job, launching the hidden dirk towards his exposed throat. But Keene, sensing his own vulnerability, made the unpleasant decision to pitch forward, his head dropping so low that his nose touched the shallow water. His cheek hit against her foot.

  He felt her momentum take her body out of position, all of her efforts bound up in slashing his throat. Ignoring the agonizing pain of his collarbone and ribs, Keene reared back, head rising up from the floor like a sea monster from the depths.

  The top of his skull connected with her jaw bone, Keene pushing straight through with his remaining energy. A knife clattered to the ground, splashing lightly.

  He launched himself to his feet, chair leg ready
in case she had any more hidden tricks. But Ching Shih wasn’t going to be much of a problem—her eyes were closed, tongue out, head leaning against the wall.

  “Jesus, Keeney, I think you killed her,” Linus said. “I thought you were gonna mash her brains all over the wall.”

  Keene’s legs buckled as he tried to walk. A deep laceration in his shins opened and closed with each step. He ground his teeth and fell towards the staircase in the room’s corner which descended into a part of the ship unknown.

  “Nah,” Keene said. “She’s lucky Strike got shot, though.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Would’ve been her last day of pirating, I can tell you that.”

  Keene propped himself up against the wall, staring down into the abyss. A little waterfall had formed down the steep stairs, like a Zen garden in a glossy magazine.

  He didn’t know if he had enough left to even make it down.

  But then, was Linus going to save the day?

  “Make sure our pirate friend doesn’t wake up,” Keene said. “I got something I need to do.”

  With a long groan, he began the slow walk into the darkness.

  34 | Rising Tide

  Keene’s fingers glided past a golden leafed key still inserted into the open door’s lock at the bottom of the stairs. Its presence gave him a good idea what was in store down here in the belly of the Silver Songbird.

  Soft torchlight illuminated one corner of the large room. This was no engine room, for there were no mechanical components, no oar holes for men to slave at, no navigational equipment to guide the craft by.

  Instead, the empty room stretched from bow to stern.

  Keene limped towards the far corner, where a shadowy form worked at feverish pace. Although no more than thirty feet, the distance felt like miles. His numb feet kicked up tiny splashes of water. He watched as Lorelei assembled the necessary pieces of the Pendulum, attaching the black box to a mysterious hole in the wall.

  Then she began to twist various knobs and dials sticking out from the silver hull.