The Devil's Tide

by Tomerlin, Matt

  Kate moved past her, toward the cabin. Annabelle followed, with Ogle and the Maynard flanking her. Kate struggled to keep her breath shallow as she stepped through the door. She knew Annabelle would be studying her for a reaction.

  There are no surprises in here. You know what you'll find.

  He was splayed on his back across the desk, legs hooked over the front. The bullet had penetrated his brow, just above his left eye. Blood streamed out of his ear, collecting upon a dark red mass that had oozed from the back of his skull. His expression was frozen in dumb shock.

  Nathan, you bloody idiot. Were you truly surprised?

  Ogle's cutlass loosed a metallic shriek as he sheathed it, nearly causing Kate to jump out of her skin. She managed to keep her feet firmly planted. She glanced sidelong at the big man, wondering if she could snatch the weapon from his belt and elude his sweaty, bloody hands quickly enough to sink it into Annabelle's neck. A few hacks to sever that pretty head from those perfect shoulders.

  The strumpet's voice was gently modulated. "He gave me little choice, I'm afraid."

  Kate sensed Annabelle's eyes on her back, and she knew better than to turn away from Nathan too quickly. She gradually swiveled to face her, crossing her arms. "So it's true what they say."

  The strumpet cocked her head inquisitively. "What's that?"

  "Blackbeard holds grudges."

  Annabelle's eyelids fluttered in bewilderment. "I have to confess, I expected a different reaction."

  Kate put on a honeyed smile. "Expected, or hoped for?"

  "I worried that I might need to kill you. I worried that the sight of him might drive you to do something rash. Forgive the theatrics, but I had to know." Annabelle gestured at Nathan's corpse. "You should have another look, before we give his body to the sea." She frowned. "Sailors always say that. 'Give his body to the sea.' Does that make them feel better about dying at sea? I think it's horrific. Imagine what happens to a body down there, nibbled apart by fish. I can't think of anything worse."

  "I don't think the dead care," Kate mused. "Only the living dwell on such things."

  "You're so smart," Annabelle said, but Kate detected a hint of sarcasm. "Really, you should have a last look. He was your friend, wasn't he?"

  "I saw him," Kate promised her. "It's a good clean shot. Do you make a habit of killing?"

  "What do you think?" The strumpet spread her hands. "I just claimed a ship in naught but a few moments."

  "With your own hands, I mean."

  Annabelle tightened the belt of her robe. "He was my first."

  "And you're eager for more?"

  Annabelle's hands slid away from the belt, moving behind her back, where she interlocked her fingers. "I'll do what I have to do. Whether I enjoy it or not is beside the point."

  Kate hazarded a step forward, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Ogle clutch the hilt of his cutlass. "I'm worth nothing dead."

  "You're worth nothing to me either way," Annabelle argued. "I can't exactly claim your bounty, can I?"

  "Oh, I'm certain Blackbeard has his ways. He just took a ship without lifting a finger. One of his spies could turn me in and relay the reward to him. But you already know this, or you would have killed me by now."

  Annabelle's eyes narrowed. "You're a keen woman. Come now, are you not the least bit sad?"

  "Nathan was a fool," Kate replied with a lazy wave of her hand in the general direction of Nathan's corpse. "I tried to kill him myself once, did he tell you that? Probably not. Five days isn't a generous amount of time to get reacquainted. I'm sure most of the catch-up was spent in the bed, yes?"

  Annabelle reached out to touch Kate's arm. It took everything Kate had to not flinch away abhorrently. "He was interested in little else," the strumpet giggled. "You know how it is."

  Kate joined in her laughter, but Kate's laugh was distinctly bitter. "Oh yes, let's bond over the men we've killed, shall we? Did Nathan murder your husband and take you against your will as well?"

  Annabelle took a step forward, raising her hand, and for an instant Kate was certain she was going to strike. Annabelle's fingers delved into her hair, pushing it back from her missing ear. "That must have been painful. What happened?"

  "Jonathan Griffith's quartermaster was hungry."

  Annabelle recoiled. "Edward Livingston?"

  "You knew him?"

  Her eyes darkened. "I wish I didn't." She faced Nathan's corpse, putting her back to Kate. It was a while before she spoke again. "I wonder where I'd be if not for that man."

  Kate was very curious to find out what Livingston had done to this woman. "Set you on a dark path, did he?"

  "That's a matter of perspective."

  Kate couldn't help herself, blurting, "And you've smartly murdered anyone who doesn't share your perspective."

  Annabelle turned and placed a hand flat across her chest. "My God, I love how funny you are."

  "I wasn't trying to be funny."

  "Probably not," the strumpet replied with a saccharine smile. "You have a natural sort of wit." She tapped her chin with her index finger in contemplation, eyes descending. "I'm curious. Would you be so amusing without clothes?"

  "I don't follow."

  The strumpet grinned, perfect white teeth contrasting mahogany skin. "Let me help you." She snapped her fingers at Ogle. "Unburden her." Ogle stared at Annabelle questioningly. Annabelle sighed. "Take off her clothes."

  Ogle's eyes brightened as comprehension struck him, and he stepped forth without hesitation, huge hands grasping at Kate's clothing. She made no attempt to pull away as the big man easily shredded her shirt and tossed it to the floor. She slapped her hands over her breasts.

  Annabelle continued to tap her chin inquisitively. "Despite the little bits of skin you like to tease the men around you with, I think you prefer wearing clothes."

  Kate smiled obliviously. "If you're hoping for equal ground, I have a lot of catching up to do."

  Annabelle looked at Ogle. "Why have you stopped? Don't you want to know what she looks like down there?"

  Ogle nodded hungrily and proceeded to slide Kate's pants down her legs. He stared at her crotch the entire time, never blinking.

  "You match," Annabelle said with a wicked smile, biting her fingernail. "How exciting! You never know with redheads."

  After Ogle had bunched her breeches at her ankles, his clammy hands slipped around one of her thighs, grasping tightly, and he smashed his face against her skin. Kate remained still as his tongue darted out of his mouth and slid up her thigh, tugging at her skin like the underside of a slug. He gradually made his way toward the nook between her legs. She let her mind wander. She thought about the gently rolling waves of the ocean on a clear day. She tried to imagine how lovely the warm Caribbean water would feel against her bare skin, with the hot sun beating down on her shoulders.

  "That's enough, Ogle," Annabelle commanded in a surprisingly stern voice that lacked its prior ease. When he kept licking, she snapped, "That's enough!"

  Ogle pulled away, though it seemed as difficult as prying a magnet from a metal beam. He let out a pained groan as he returned to Annabelle's side, hanging his shiny bald head low, like a dog scolded by his master for following his instincts.

  Annabelle reached into the cleft of her robe and produced a rolled parchment. "Appoint a suitable navigator and have him sail to these coordinates."

  Ogle took the scroll, unrolled it, and scowled. It wasn't what he expected. "What is this?"

  "Our destination."

  He studied her skeptically. "And this is where we meet Blackbeard? It's in the middle of nowhere."

  "Good a place as any," Annabelle replied haughtily.

  Ogle lingered. "And what do we do with the prisoners?"

  "What prisoners?"

  "The survivors from Hornigold's ship, locked up in the hold. All those men fled with Hornigold when Rogers offered pardon. They can't be trusted."

  She shrugged. "Leave them to their cage. I think there's
been enough killing for one day. Keep them fed. They may be of use. And don't let any harm come to Captain Dillahunt. He could be a valuable hostage."

  Ogle inclined his head, favored Kate's loins with a longing glance, and took his leave. The Maynard lingered. His eyes were shaded beneath his protruding brow, but she knew they were trained on her. She wondered how long she would have to stand here in the nude. She imagined she looked rather silly. Her thigh was cold where Ogle left smears of sweat and saliva.

  Annabelle's index finger returned to her chin, tapping slowly as she decided what she wanted to do next. She turned to the Maynard. "Which Maynard are you? Dick or Richard? Forgive me, I get you confused."

  "Richard," he rumbled absently.

  "Lovely. Richard, escort Mrs. Lindsay to the brig. Put her with Dillahunt and the girl, where she won't be violated."

  "How thoughtful," drawled Kate. She bent down to lift her breeches.

  "No," Annabelle interjected. "You'll go as you are."

  Kate didn't miss a beat. "Fine," she said, and she stepped out of her breeches and kicked them aside.

  "Richard," Annabelle went on, "make sure everyone gets a nice view of her as you lead her down, will you?"

  "Aye," Richard said, stepping forward. His hand closed around Kate's, and he jerked her into motion. Kate allowed herself a final look at Nathan's lifeless form before she was yanked outside.

  Most of the mutineers had gathered on the main deck. The lanterns had been lit again, and there were several bodies littered about, though not as many as Kate had expected. Apparently Blackbeard's influence was stronger than she imagined. They all turned their heads and gawked at her as Maynard dragged her toward the hold.

  "I fancy our new captain's methods already," said the other Maynard.

  Gabe Jenkins was there, too. To his credit, he looked downright ashamed. He briefly met Kate's gaze and then turned away.

  She heard the rest of them jabbering excitedly as Richard took her down the stairs into the large hold. They snaked through the maze of cargo, and several more dead bodies were sprawled about. Three of them had died in their bunks, throats slashed. Four had put up a fight but were clearly outnumbered, with cutlass wounds in front and back. One of the dead was still standing, slumped on a cutlass that had been thrust through his midsection, pinning him against a crate. He had died gaping at the cutlass, with a sliced hand resting atop the blade.

  Maynard dragged her past the prisoners from Hornigold's ship. Eight of them lowered their heads respectfully. Avery Dowling wasn't so kind, staring at her with a sinister smirk. Avery refused to acknowledge her as anything more valuable than the juicy meat she had been sneaking them every night, even as he greedily consumed it.

  Richard brought her to Dillahunt and Calloway, who both raised their eyebrows and then looked at each other in shock. He unlocked the door and shoved her in, slamming it behind her. "Enjoy your new quarters, missy," he sneered and trotted off.

  Kate smiled sheepishly at her two cellmates and crouched, hugging her knees. Calloway stared for a moment, as though she was trying to figure out if this was some kind of a ruse, and then snatched one of Dillahunt's blankets and hurried over. She set the blanket over Kate's shoulders, concealing her, and then returned to her spot next to Dillahunt. "Thank you," Kate said.

  Calloway looked away. "These people are monsters."

  Dillahunt stared at Kate. He sported fewer bandages than before. The upper half of his face was mostly covered, with his hair spilling out the top, but his broad jaw was completely uncovered. It almost looked like he wore a bandit's mask. There were a few slices on his cheeks, but they weren't terribly deep. His bare chest and right arm were still heavily bound. He had thrown on a pair of black breeches and his characteristic black coat. She had to admit, he looked sort of dashing that way.

  He opened his mouth a few times to speak, hesitating, before he finally asked, "Did they . . . do anything to you?"

  "Other than strip me naked? No. Annabelle's taken the ship."

  Dillahunt's jaw fell open. "A woman has taken my ship?"

  Calloway shook her head. "They just started killing people."

  "How many dead up top?" Dillahunt asked.

  Kate shook her head. "Maybe ten."

  "That makes about twenty total," he said. "Did they get Candler?"

  She nodded. "And Bellamy."

  Calloway gasped.

  Dillahunt let the news sink in for a moment. "And Adams?"

  Kate lowered her eyes.

  "How?" Calloway asked.

  "Does it matter?" Kate said. "He's gone."

  "He deserved no better," Dillahunt replied with a smug air of vindication.

  Kate flinched angrily. "If you hadn't promoted him he'd still be alive. What were you thinking?"

  He snorted. "If he hadn't traded Hornigold he'd still be alive. When you spend your life making mistakes, one day you make the mistake that kills you."

  A sharp headache was swiftly materializing between Kate's eyes, muddying her vision. Her stomach growled noisily, and she realized it had been too long since her last meal. She would probably have to wait a lot longer until the next one, if it came at all.

  "Where are they taking us?" Calloway asked.

  Kate hesitated. "To Blackbeard."

  The girl's blue eyes went distant and icy. Her head sank between her broad shoulders, and she suddenly looked very young and very lost. "We're all going to die."

  "One day," Kate replied. "But not yet."

  "How can you be so cavalier?" Calloway demanded. "Nathan was your friend, whether you knew it or not."

  "I knew it," Kate said, stunned by Calloway's sudden fervor.

  "He wanted to hate you," she went on, "but he couldn't. I don't know what did or didn't happen between you two, but I think he loved you, in a way. He's been dead five minutes and you've forgotten him already. What kind of woman are you?"

  "I haven't fucking forgotten Nathan!" Kate exploded, forgetting to hold onto her blanket. She tugged it angrily back in place. "How could I forget? That dreadful cunt of a whore just rubbed my nose in his corpse! And I had to smile and pretend I didn't care, because if I did, she was going to stick a sword in my belly." Kate didn't realize she was crying until she tasted the tears on her lips. She furiously wiped a hand over her face. "And as you can see from my lack of wardrobe, that still wasn't good enough for her."

  Calloway withered against the bars, instantly repentant.

  Dillahunt's eyes swiveled in the slits of his bandages, from one woman to the next.

  Kate composed herself, refusing to allow more tears to flow. "Nathan's gone, and weeping won't magic him back to life. We're alive, and I mean to keep it that way."

  CALLOWAY

  She watched as Red Devil and Ogle rolled another barrel toward the stairs, as they had been doing every night since leaving Griffith's Isle. She no longer cared if they saw her watching.

  It had been two days since Nathan Adams' death, and with Kate locked up alongside her, there was no one to bring additional food. They got one meal every day, consisting of hardtack and rancid water. Whenever she forgot how hungry she was, her stomach growled loudly enough to remind her. She was tired of leaning against the bars, but there was nothing else to lean against. Her rear ached from the hard planking, but there was nothing else to sit on. Even when she folded a blanket and sat on it, it wasn't thick enough to provide much padding. She squirmed constantly and never got a good night's sleep, so she was always exhausted.

  Whenever sleep finally came, usually in the early hours of the morning, just before the ship became a flurry of activity, she would dream of her mother. The dreams always took place in Nassau. They would be walking the beach or perusing the market, conversing normally, and Calloway would not realize until she woke that her mother was long dead.

  Upon waking, her eyes were always drawn to Kate's brilliant red hair, matted about her head like a fiery cushion as she slept. Calloway marveled at how soundly the woman slept
after all that had happened. She had wanted to despise Kate, though she couldn't explain why. Kate wouldn't have it. She dodged every insult Calloway had hurled at her, no matter how subtle or brash, and remained infuriatingly sympathetic. And when one of those insults finally injured her, after Adams' death, Calloway was ashamed of herself. But she was also relieved that Kate was not too good to be true. Kate had feelings. Kate could be damaged. Kate was not untouchable. Somehow, that made her impossible to hate.

  Dillahunt's slumber was even more frenetically uncertain than before his injury. He would often wake rambling about puzzles and patterns and splinters. Sometimes he would feel his face, as if to make sure it was still there. When he realized he was in one piece, he would fall back to sleep.

  He was asleep now, breathing heavily. His scarred face was mashed against his arm, which he had folded under his head in place of a cushion. She was hopelessly in love with him. There was no point denying it. She loved the way he looked at her, as though he wanted to protect her from all the evils of the world and was genuinely sad that he could not. He seemed perplexed by his own feelings toward her, and that made her love him more.

  If she ever escaped this cage, she would never return to whoring. She had moved out of the whorehouse because she wanted to seek out her own clients. She didn't like men choosing her. She preferred choosing them. And now that she'd found a man she truly loved, she knew she could never go back to that life. Unfortunately, freedom was looking less and less likely every day. One way or the other, it seemed she would spend the rest of her days at Guy Dillahunt's side.

  "Dammit!" Ogle hissed while rolling a barrel across the hold.

  "What?" Red Devil said, looking around.

  "Splinter," Ogle answered, sucking on his finger.

  Red Devil sighed. "Shame Bellamy's dead. You might bleed to death without him."

  "Bugger off," Ogle spat.

  "What's she looking at?

  Calloway swung her gaze to Red Devil and was shocked to see him staring directly at her. She looked away immediately. His heavy feet thumped toward her. He pressed himself against the bars. "What are you looking at, little boy, or girl, or whatever you are?"