The Devil's Tide

by Tomerlin, Matt

  Blackbeard feigned injury to his heart. "You wrong me, boy. I be nothing if not a fair man. You will of course be amply compensated. Emphasis on the 'ample.'"

  Nathan spread his hands. "What could you possibly offer that I don't already have? A spare arm?"

  Blackbeard shrugged. "Your life."

  "Other than that."

  "You do not wish to live?"

  "Of course I do," Nathan said, confused.

  "Of course you do not wish to live?"

  Nathan hesitated. "Of course I wish to live. Doesn't everyone?"

  "Do they not?"

  Nathan sighed, quickly growing weary. "What are you playing at?"

  "Strange," Blackbeard said, a crease in his brow. "Everyone claims a desire to live, but their words be so unclear when their life hangs in the balance."

  "My words were perfectly clear," Nathan insisted. "It's your forked tongue that muddies them."

  "Do not anger me, boy," Blackbeard suddenly glowered. "It's best to be clear with me, for my mind be easily scrambled, and my hand finds itself compelled by frustration." He laid his hand casually upon the hilt of his sword.

  Nathan found a blade of his own tucked in the hollow of the desk. "If you came here to threaten me, you should have brought more than four men. I must say, I expected more from the mighty Blackbeard than childish word games."

  Blackbeard was unfazed. "And I expected less from a child playing captain." He let his hand slide off the hilt. "I merely try your mettle, boy. Clearly there be more to you than meets the eye."

  "Thank you."

  Blackbeard slid out one of the chairs and slowly took a seat. Somehow, he still seemed very tall. His eyes held Nathan's. "You be quick to smile, but I see no glee behind it. Are you not a happy man, Nathan Adams?"

  "What kind of question is that?"

  "The inquisitive kind."

  "Are you a happy man?" Nathan countered.

  "I will be, very shortly. Fulfilled goals leave a man contented, would you not agree?"

  Nathan sat back in his chair, trying to appear more relaxed than he actually was. His fingers did not leave the hilt of the sword concealed beneath the desk. "Some would say happiness is in the pursuit."

  "Then mayhap you will not want what I have to offer. Not yet, anyway. Shall I dangle her just out of reach, only to steal her from your grasp once more?"

  Nathan stiffened in his seat. "Dangle who?"

  "Her name is Annabelle. She tells me you are acquainted."

  Nathan didn't even realize he had stood until he heard the chair topple distantly behind his legs. The sword fell in the hollow of the desk, clanging loudly. Blackbeard smirked at the sound. Nathan backed away, his calves touching the overturned chair.

  "I see she didn't lie," Blackbeard said.

  "If you are lying," Nathan seethed, "you will not leave this tent."

  Blackbeard choked out a laugh. "Ah, youth. I miss it so. Alas, my passion ignites only for revenge."

  "Show her to me."

  "My men row her to shore presently. I signaled them to do so when I first heard your name."

  "A convenient bargaining chip," Nathan said skeptically. "How could you possibly know I would be captain?"

  "I didn't know," Blackbeard admitted. "Your promotion be a stroke of fortune. I expected to bargain with you in secret, after talks with Dillahunt failed." He glanced at the wine cabinet. "My lips be parched."

  Nathan moved over to the cabinet. He uncorked a bottle of wine with shaky hands and poured two goblets to the brim. He handed one to Blackbeard and then downed his own, wincing at each gulp. He had never much cared for wine, but he needed it right now. He quickly poured another. Blackbeard stared at him indifferently, sipping at his goblet. "Go easy, boy. Wine dulls the loins' ambition, and I suspect you'll need all you can muster."

  "You are not what I expected," Nathan said, shuffling into the center of the tent.

  "I am exactly what you expected," Blackbeard replied. "The present conundrum does not require the horrors foretold of me. They're all true. I would see your head mounted upon my bow, if it served my benefit."

  "Lucky me," Nathan said, peering into his wine. He couldn't see his features within, only the outline of his head cast in blood.

  "Do not mistake our bargain for amity."

  "I've accorded to no bargain yet," Nathan reminded him. His voice was already slurring. He set his goblet next to Dillahunt.

  "You will," Blackbeard stated with no hint of ambiguity, lightly sipping at his wine.

  "Who says I even have Hornigold?"

  "You've hardly denied it. Shrewdness be earned with more than a lost arm, Nathan Adams. Wisdom be far more precious than an absent appendage. The trick is surviving youth, and more often than not that's a game of fortune."

  "Fortune is relative," Nathan muttered. How many had died because Blackbeard survived his youth? And you're about to hand him another victim, if what he says is true.

  "Morals tug at you," Blackbeard said, sounding genuinely concerned. "Virtue be yet another appendage stolen with age. I sometimes forget."

  "You expect me to believe you were ever virtuous?"

  Blackbeard shifted in his seat, staring at him. "There was a time, though mine was discarded long before yours. Virtue be no match for ambition."

  The tent flaps parted, and Candler stuck his head in, glancing uneasily at Blackbeard. "Begging pardon. Another boat approaches."

  Nathan's heart beat against the inside of his chest, as though it yearned to burst free. For a moment he thought he was going to fall over. "If the boat carries a woman, bring her to me at once. If not, we'll be accommodating another prisoner, one that Woodes Rogers will be very pleased to see."

  Candler nodded, and his head withdrew from the flaps like a turtle retreating into its shell.

  Nathan turned to find Blackbeard still looking at him, smiling confidently. His beard was dripping red around his lips, where the short curly tendrils had dipped in his wine. "You'd better not be lying."

  Blackbeard cackled. "Threats from a child. Benjamin Hornigold threatened me once. His days were numbered from that moment."

  Nathan scratched the stump of his left arm. "Our days are numbered from the moment we're born."

  "Aye," Blackbeard conceded, "but if the water be teeming with sharks, will you take a swim?"

  "No."

  "Nay, indeed," Blackbeard said with a firm nod. "Our days be limited, but carelessness quickens mortality. A hard lesson learned, and too often the last."

  "And you're the man to teach that lesson?"

  "We cannot deny our appointed stations in life," Blackbeard said, lifting his eyes respectfully.

  Nathan didn't know if the man was joking or serious, and he wasn't sure which was scarier.

  Candler's head shot through the flaps once more, and Nathan nearly jumped. "They have a woman, captain."

  "Send her in," Nathan said, holding back his mounting impatience.

  Candler vanished. Nathan held his breath, watching the flaps wavering back and forth. A slender hand slipped through the gap, and then another. The flaps parted, and a bare, copper-toned leg appeared, followed by the rest of her. She wore a silk white robe, belted at the waist. It plunged in a V at her neck, nearly to her naval, revealing the perfect curve of her cleavage. Her hair was as thick and black as he remembered. Her right cheek was badly scarred, but it did not diminish her beauty.

  Nathan's heart had all but stilled in his chest. "Annabelle," he heard himself weakly murmur.

  She nodded timidly. "Nathan," she said. Her great brown eyes met Nathan's only briefly before fluttering away, as if the details of the room held greater interest.

  "It's good to see you," Nathan said, realizing instantly how lame the words sounded.

  "Mhmm," she replied.

  Blackbeard stood. "You have your prize. Now take me to Benjamin Hornigold."

  Nathan started to turn, but he didn't want to take his eyes off Annabelle for fear she wouldn't be there
when he looked back. Blackbeard grasped Nathan's shoulder, turning him with surprising force. "That is, if your morals have no further objection." His breath was hot on Nathan's face, steely blue eyes gazing into his.

  "They're mum on the issue," Nathan said.

  "Good," said Blackbeard with a nod of finality.

  "AAADDDDAAAAAAAAAMMMMMS!!!"

  The eerie howl seemed to billow the fabric of the tent and shudder the ground, prickling the hairs on the back of Nathan's neck. Nathan, Blackbeard, and Annabelle turned towards Dillahunt, who was struggling to rise from his heavy blankets. He stretched a trembling hand at Nathan, bloodshot eyes bulging beneath the bandages wrapped around his face. "You traitorous cunt . . . you strike bargain . . . with the Devil! I will . . . see your . . . cock removed!" With that, he collapsed back into his bed and didn't stir again.

  Blackbeard looked from Dillahunt to Nathan, raising his eyebrows. "That puts a chill in the marrow. Do you want to kill him, or should I?"

  "No one's killing him," Nathan said.

  "I suggest you act fast," Blackbeard said with a knowing glance at Annabelle. "This bargain will be for naught if you are parted from your cock."

  Annabelle flushed with aggravation.

  "I'll deal with Dillahunt," Nathan said.

  Blackbeard started for the exit. "I suppose that be your problem. Good luck." He brushed past Annabelle without sparing her a final consideration. She watched him go, jaw tight and arms folded. Nathan tried not to think on what their relationship had consisted of until now.

  "I'll be back," Nathan assured her, but her stiffly set jaw was pointed in another direction.

  He stared at her. Her skin was so dark in contrast to the thin white robe that did so little to conceal her every curve. She was so perfect. He wanted to touch her and make sure she was really there, but he didn't know how. Part of him had somehow known he would see her again, but he had hoped for a much warmer reunion. Leaving her had been the hardest thing he had ever done, and now she looked at him with nothing more than vague familiarity. She hadn't even seemed to notice his stump. She just needs time, he reminded himself. Who knows what she's been through? He wondered if the trench in her cheek had been delivered by Livingston or Blackbeard.

  "Annabelle," he said, lifting his lone hand to her face.

  "Conclude your business," she stated flatly.

  He lowered his hand, nodding. "I will speak with you after."

  "I look forward to it," she replied, but nothing in her tone suggested anticipation.

  CALLOWAY

  She watched through the flaps of a darkened tent as Nathan talked with most of the crew near the firepit. It was difficult to hear over the crashing surf, but she heard the names 'Tortuga' and 'Woodes Rogers' repeatedly. Most were nodding in agreement and exchanging enthusiastic grins.

  "We're not going back to Nassau," came Kate's raspy voice from behind. She had been sitting quietly in the dark on a blanket for the past hour, with her legs crossed and hands in her lap.

  "I figured that out all by myself," Calloway drawled. She looked down at the dagger she'd lifted from Bellamy's medical bag while he had been examining Dillahunt's wounds two days ago. She ran a thumb along the curved blade, which was shiny and new. Her thumb came away with a red slit that seeped tiny droplets. If Bellamy suspected she took it, he never said a word.

  She looked to the horizon. The sun was hanging just above the ocean, casting an iridescent column across the water, which was broken by the two ships moored offshore. She had recognized the big ship by its shape alone as it pulled in. She had first glimpsed that ship while walking the beach at Nassau one murky morning. It appeared through a thick fog, dark and hulking. By the end of that day, her mother was dead, and the ship quietly departed.

  And now that ship had come to claim another victim, though Calloway was not concerned with the fate of Benjamin Hornigold. Blackbeard had yet to emerge from the prisoner tent. God only knew what he was doing in there.

  Calloway turned the dagger over and over. She smeared droplets of her blood over the hilt, darkening the wood. She tried not to think about the mysterious black-haired woman in the white robe that had been brought into the big tent. The woman was still in there, with Dillahunt. The dagger suddenly felt hot in her grasp.

  "What are you planning to do with that?" Kate asked.

  Calloway wasn't sure how Kate had even seen the blade. Calloway's back had been to her the entire time. "I'm going to stick it in his throat."

  "Whose throat might that be?"

  Calloway bit her lip. I won't say his name.

  "Blackbeard?" Kate said.

  She flinched. I won't say his name. I won't say his name. Not until he's dead.

  "Is he the one that did it? The one that—"

  "I don't want to talk now," Calloway barked.

  She couldn't be distracted. Not now. She had to prepare herself. She knew he would emerge at any moment. He would be too occupied with his prize, Hornigold. She would catch him off guard in his moment of triumph. There would never be a better time. She wouldn't get another chance.

  "Is that why you're here? To kill him?"

  Calloway said nothing. She hadn't come to sea with that intention or any real intention that she could easily identify. She had been moved by a sudden and inexplicable desire to leave Nassau and sail with Dillahunt. She wished she knew herself as well as Kate Lindsay seemed to know herself. She had instantly resented Kate's confidence, the easy way she walked, and her careless disregard towards danger. It was as if nothing could touch her. Kate was a woman who had seen her vengeance fulfilled. Perhaps her easy demeanor was the result of that.

  The only thing Calloway knew for a certainty was that fate was offering a chance for revenge, and that chance would slip away if she didn't seize it.

  "It's strange," Kate said. "Blackbeard has made so many enemies, yet no one has come close enough to kill him."

  "Not yet," Calloway replied.

  "No one but Jacqueline Calloway," Kate announced with a mocking flourish. "You're going to finish the mighty Blackbeard."

  "If I don't try, I'll hate myself."

  Kate snickered. "And if you do try, you'll be dead, and there'll be no one left to hate herself."

  Calloway looked back. A stripe of sunlight from the slit in the tent's flaps fell over one side of Kate's face. "You should know better than anyone, Lindsay."

  "I do. I also know I'm very lucky to be alive. I pray you're favored with the same fortune."

  Calloway returned her gaze to the beach. "Save your prayers. I won't rely on fortune."

  "Fortune plays a bigger part in our lives than we'd like to admit."

  "Then it taunts me," Calloway said, squeezing the hilt of the dagger until her knuckles turned white. "Fortune brought that man before me."

  "And Blackbeard's fortune will just as happily see you dead at his feet."

  "What do you care, anyway?" Calloway snapped. "Is it because I'm a woman? I can't think of any other reason. You hardly know me."

  Kate's voice was softer than usual. "And I probably never will, if you leave this tent."

  "Well lucky for you there's another woman in Captain Dillahunt's tent. Befriend her, if you desire female company." You would have had plenty of that in London, you silly bitch.

  Blackbeard emerged from the prisoner tent with a confident smile that his beard could not conceal. Two large men followed with Hornigold in tow, hands chained behind his back, face shrouded in terror. Tattered clothes hung loose from his twisted, bony frame. He was the most hopeless creature Calloway had ever gazed upon.

  One life avenged, another saved. It just made sense.

  A boat was approaching the shore, carrying only a few men. They hopped out as it slid into the sand, and they stood there waiting to accommodate the prisoner.

  Calloway heard a light shuffling behind her. "Just hand me the knife." Kate's voice was alarmingly close. Calloway glanced up and was shocked to see her standing over her, hand outstr
etched.

  Calloway stood to face her. "I'll stick this in your belly if you get in my way."

  Kate offered no reaction. She merely studied her in the dispassionate way Bellamy inspected his patients' wounds. Calloway suddenly felt uncomfortable under her gaze, but she would not allow her to see it.

  "Good luck, Jacqueline," Kate said at last. "It was lovely to have met you."

  "The feeling is not mutual," Calloway replied. She tucked the knife in her belt and burst from the tent. She locked on to Blackbeard, who was nearly to the boat. He had fallen behind the two hulking men that were dragging Hornigold by the armpits, as if he thought Hornigold might try to escape from the rear.

  Calloway looked left and saw Nathan still occupied with his crew. He wasn't even looking at the man he had condemned to death in exchange for a woman. Was she the lost love he had talked about with such reverence?

  Calloway quickened her pace, hand falling to the hilt of the dagger. She knew Kate's eyes were on her back. Would she truly be sad to see me killed?

  She shook her head. It doesn't matter. Focus.

  She was catching up with her target. His back remained unguarded. He seemed to grow taller and taller as she drew near. Soon she was within ten paces of him.

  Nine paces.

  Eight paces.

  She clutched the dagger.

  Seven paces.

  Six paces.

  She freed the dagger from her belt.

  Five paces.

  My God, he's huge!

  Four paces.

  She drew back her arm for the killing strike.

  Three paces.

  Two paces.

  A deafening crack sounded in Calloway's left ear, and the sand billowed upward between her and Blackbeard. She looked left, and Nathan Adams was moving toward her through a cloud of smoke that swirled from his raised pistol. "Jaq, no!" he screamed desperately, the veins bulging in his neck.

  Blackbeard spun, whipping his sword from its sheath in a smooth motion. The blade clashed with Calloway's dagger, sending it spiraling out of her grip. It landed harmlessly in the sand several feet away. She skidded on her heels and fell on her ass in the sand. He loomed over her, a towering black shadow that swallowed the sun beyond. He raised his sword. There was no mirth in his eyes. He would strike her down as he would swat a fly, and he would forget her only minutes later.