The Devil's Tide

by Tomerlin, Matt

  "I doubt that," she had replied. "There aren't many women like me."

  "Then I have been most fortunate," he said, giving her hand a squeeze. Her stomach fluttered. "Are you alright?" he asked, studying her. He looked so very concerned.

  "I've never been this high," she said.

  "Few have," he replied.

  The expansive cavern was luxurious. The large canopy bed in the center of the room was carved of solid mahogany, stained with a deep burgundy finish. Gold leaf accents spiraled up the bedposts. Maroon silks draped from the canopy, elegantly braided. The mattress was covered with spotless ivory sheets, topped with shimmering gold cushions. The figure of an octopus was carved into the headboard, tentacles spreading outward from the bulbous center. Each tentacle curled at the end, grasping white, inlaid pearls. A little round table stood to the left of the bed, flanked by two gold-cushioned chairs. Beyond that was a giant armoire, set against a rocky wall, nearly touching one of the many stalactites. On the opposite side of the bed was a dressing table, with a mercury mirror hanging on the wall behind it in a gold leaf frame. The floor was uneven, so all the furniture was slightly angled. Candles were scattered all over, wax melting upon natural ledges in the rocky walls. The flames flickered in the soft breeze that occasionally drifted in through the wide entrance.

  Outside, a dark blue starry canvas twinkled above the black wall of the canyon's eastern side. A bout of laughter rose from the dock somewhere below.

  The hot water soothed Kate's aching limbs. She had been sitting in a cell for too long, never able to find a comfortable position on the hard floor. Sleeping was even worse, and too often she would wake to find she had cast aside her blanket and was naked for all to see.

  If nothing else, several days in a tight cell had given her time to wear down Calloway's defenses. Kate hoped the girl was safe. She had inquired with Calico Jack as he escorted her to Vane's quarters, and the quartermaster assured her Calloway would stay with Captain Dillahunt. Kate wanted to check on her, but she couldn't exactly run around a pirate fortress bare-naked. Vane promised to bring her clothes, and she wasn't going anywhere until he did. She felt guilty enjoying a hot bath while Calloway was being transferred from one cell to another, but she wasn't about to pass up an opportunity to clean up, especially when there was nothing else she could do. Maybe she could convince Vane to release the girl. Then again, maybe she was safer in a cell.

  Kate closed her eyes, and the blotted remnants of the many candles shimmered like blurred stars against the back of her eyelids. She drifted in warm darkness, wondering distantly if this was what the womb felt like. A woman emerged from the black, strolling towards her, smiling with an outstretched arm. Kate couldn't see the woman's face clearly from so far a distance, but she knew it was her mother based on the long, vibrant red hair, and that bright, flowing yellow dress Kate remembered so fondly. It was her mother's favorite dress, and she wore it so often that eventually it faded. She had been dead ten years, but Kate had never forgotten her face. As she neared, she saw that her mother had aged ten years, as if she'd been alive all this time. Faint lines curved from the corners of her eyes and mouth, and her dimples were not as smooth as they used to be. Still, she was as beautiful as ever. Kate fell into her arms, squeezing her tightly, so she wouldn't be able to escape. "I missed you, mother."

  Her mother didn't speak, and when Kate looked at her, she was simply smiling warmly. The smile was a combination of amity and pride, though Kate couldn't imagine why her mother would be proud of her. "I have so much to tell you," she said uncertainly, burying her face in her mother's bosom and trembling in her grasp. The tears fell freely then, darkening her mother's dress. She wept and wept, until she couldn't possibly have any tears left to shed. She squeezed her eyelids shut, until the tears stung her eyes and forced them open again. The yellow dress was soaked through, completely translucent, but the skin beneath had an ethereal greenish tint. Kate looked at her mother's face, but the elegant face that looked back was not her mother's. Her hair had gone black and straight. Her eyes were gone, replaced by illuminated blue orbs. The yellow dress dissolved into water, splashing at her feet, revealing a lithe, green figure.

  "I remember you," Kate muttered, pulling away in terror. "You came to me on Hornigold's ship."

  The petite mouth split into a wide grin, revealing rows of pointed sharp teeth. The wraith burst into a fit of giggles, aiming a long finger at Kate.

  Kate jerked into consciousness, splashing water over the side of the bathtub. For a moment, she had no idea where she was or why she was there, and she sat there gripping the rim of the tub until her memory slowly returned. The water had lost some of its warmth. She didn't think she'd been asleep that long. She contemplated getting out before the water went cold, but she couldn't bring herself to leave just yet.

  Vane entered through the tunnel in the back of the room. Two very large men followed after him, carrying a big brown chest between them. Kate sank further into the water to avoid their leering eyes. They set the chest before the bed and then started back the way they came, with Vane snapping his fingers at them.

  The captain took off his coat and threw it over the chair in front of his dressing table. He produced a ring of keys and jingled them at Kate. "My two jailors are dead, and Dillahunt's woman is missing. What do you know about her?"

  Kate lifted up slightly, frowning. "We barely talked," she lied. "I know Dillahunt fancies her." And would be very upset if anything happened to her.

  "Dillahunt refuses to talk. I might have to torture him."

  "I doubt that will do you any good," Kate replied nonchalantly.

  "You're probably right." Vane set the keys on his desk, and Kate pretended not to notice them. "Well, these problems have a way of working themselves out. If the girl doesn't turn up soon, she'll starve."

  Kate tried not to think about Calloway fumbling in the dark, scared and alone.

  Vane took a step toward her. "I'm sorry about the tub. I've been attempting to procure something nicer to match the rest of the room."

  Kate snickered dismissively. "I've been relieving myself in a bucket in front of two people for the past week. The tub is just fine."

  His expression went rancid. "I'll do my best to forget that statement."

  "Turn around," she said. He did, and she stepped out of the tub, quickly wrapping her old blanket around her. She was shocked at how much dirt she'd left in the water.

  Vane opened the chest. It was packed full of colorful garments. He rummaged through them for a long time before he produced a black chemise. Kate shook her head. "I prefer breeches."

  He curled his lip in revulsion. "Your mouth is moving, but nonsense is flowing out."

  "Breeches, or I'll stick with the blanket," she insisted, clutching the blanket to her breasts. "I've grown fond of it."

  "Fine. At least put on a bodice. Your tits could use the boost."

  "I might try one," she said, curious how her breasts would look.

  She slipped into a pair of dark brown breeches that might have hung loose a year ago, when she was thin as a rail. She laced a long-sleeved, cream-colored shirt only so far, leaving her shoulders bare. He helped her into a sleeveless black bodice intricately embroidered with two dozen roses that were the same shade of red as her hair. The roses trailed thin, intertwining brown stems lined with thorns. She couldn't help but smile when she looked down. The bodice boosted the top of her breasts above a low swooped neckline. She adjusted her sleeves as he laced up the front. He turned her around and adjusted the backside.

  "You're good at this," she said.

  "I'm better at getting you out of it."

  "Maybe another time."

  He pulled her close, reaching around and cupping one of her breasts. "Maybe now." His other hand slid around her waist and down her stomach.

  She grasped his hands, holding them still. "But you just went to all that trouble to get it on."

  "I enjoy unwrapping my presents."

 
"I'm not a present." She slipped out of his embrace and swiveled to face him, stepping behind the tub. "And you already have a woman."

  "You mean the whore?"

  Kate put a finger to her lip. "I was certain she had a name."

  He circled the tub to get at her. "Has she? It seems to have slipped my mind."

  "No it hasn't," Kate said, positioning herself behind the tub. "She's brought you a fortune." She brushed a fleck of dust from her bodice, murmuring, "Possibly misfortune."

  When she looked up, Vane had stopped moving and was studying her skeptically. "Do you know something I don't?" he asked.

  She shrugged. "I know she murdered my friend, Nathan Adams, and betrayed her master, Blackbeard." She glanced at the ceiling. "Or did she? I'm indefinite about that last bit. Oh well, I suppose we'll find out soon enough."

  Vane grinned shrewdly. "You're trying to raise my suspicions."

  Her head sank into an innocent shrug. "Merely voicing my own."

  "You're a devious woman," he said, moving around the tub. "And I'm hard."

  "And I'm sorry."

  "I want you."

  "Out of the question," she replied, evading him. She crossed the room to the dressing table and appraised herself in the mirror. "But thank you for the clothes. I rather like the bodice. The thorns are a particularly nice touch." She poked one of her breasts with her index finger. "And these do look fantastic."

  Through the mirror, she saw Vane adjust himself in frustration. "I'm not accustomed to being denied," he fumed. "I could take you right now, if I wanted to. I doubt Griffith gave you a choice in the matter. How long was it before he took you? The first night or the second?"

  "The taking was mutual."

  "I find that difficult to believe."

  She shrugged. "I don't care what you believe."

  "Did you pretend to enjoy it? Or worse yet, did you actually enjoy it?"

  "I enjoyed it," she answered. "When he was inside me, I thought about all the ways I might do away with him." She drew her hair away from her missing ear, running a finger over the rough, red skin. It looked hideous. She was thankful it was so easily concealed. "And one day, when he dropped his guard, I finally did it."

  "And did that make it all better?" he asked.

  She nodded at him through the mirror. "Yes."

  Vane glanced downward. "Oh dear. I seem to have gone soft."

  Kate tried to adjust her hair in the mirror even though she knew it was futile. The red tresses were wild and scraggly beyond repair. For a year, the wind had been her only comb. Her skin had gone a bit lighter, after being deprived of sun for a week. The wound on her cheek had healed to a thin indent, detectable only in angled light, offering a faint reminder of her short time with Benjamin Hornigold.

  Vane walked to the edge of the cave, locking his hands behind his back and looking down upon his kingdom. Kate pulled herself from the mirror and crossed the room, approaching the edge cautiously and leaning forward until she could almost see the eastern dock below. Most of the caves cut into the eastern wall had gone dark, where pirates were sleeping. A few caves were still lit, and she could see men within. One man was framed at the edge of his cave, staring into the canyon, sipping a goblet. Another was pacing in circles, lost in thought. A third was relaxing in a chair, with his legs crossed. Vane had built quite a community, hollowed in the rock. She saw another man shimmying up a ladder toward his cave, wobbling as though he was very drunk. She wondered how often pirates plunged to their deaths.

  "You see that brigantine?" Vane said, pointing at the eastern dock. "The one your ship docked behind?"

  "Yes," she replied nervously, unable to bring herself any closer to the edge.

  "That's Ranger."

  Kate rolled her eyes. "What an original name."

  He ignored the jest. "I'm allowing Jack Rackham to captain her. I've half a mind to take her back. Valiant is fast, but she's no Ranger."

  "It's a very pretty ship," Kate said. She slowly backed away from the edge, for fear of passing out from nausea and toppling over.

  Vane guffawed in pleasant surprise. "It's good to see you're afraid of something."

  "I fear a great many things," she assured him.

  He scratched the back of his head, suddenly perturbed. "I do wish you'd ask me something about, well, me."

  She resisted a laugh. "What should I ask?"

  "Oh, I dunno," he said, looking around. "There must be something you want to ask me. Anything. First question that springs to mind. You must have a hundred."

  She bit her lip. "I can't think of anything."

  He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, then threw up his hand. "Maybe you're curious how I came to pirating?"

  "Not really."

  His jaw hardened.

  Kate saw movement in the cave across the way, at the opposite end of the bridge that extended into Vane's loft. A stout man with a red bandana and a bushy red beard emerged and started over the bridge. He wore a red shirt and brown pants, shredded at the ankles. His feet were massive, with gnarled toes. He was sweating terribly, and his muscular chest heaved as though he'd been running. "Captain Vane, sir," he called.

  "What is it?" Vane said with a touch of irritation.

  "I know it's late, sir," the stout man gasped, unable to catch his breath.

  The captain feigned confusion, looking at the stars. "Is it? Or has the sky been prematurely veiled by a large blanket pricked with holes?"

  "It's one of Crusader's men, sir," the other man went on. "One of them you wanted we should put in special quarters, if you catch my meaning, sir. Goes by name of Ogle, sir."

  "Yes," Vane grated impatiently. "Get fucking on with it."

  The stout man glanced uneasily at Kate. "Well we was torturing him . . . "

  "Naturally," Vane replied, rolling his eyes.

  " . . . and he said something I wager you'll want to hear."

  Vane embellished a sigh. "And what would that be?"

  Bigfoot swallowed. "I think you should hear it for yourself, captain, sir."

  "Fine," Vane sighed, ushering him away with several flicks of his wrist. "Off with you. I'll be there presently."

  Bigfoot nodded and started back across the bridge.

  Vane retrieved his coat, but he left the ring of keys on the dressing table. "You're welcome to wait until I return."

  "In your bed?" she replied with an exaggerated swoon.

  He grinned. "It is quite comfortable."

  She teased him with a smirk. "Save it for Annabelle. I'll not divvy a man with another woman, let alone the woman who murdered my friend." She inclined her head, adding casually, "Not while she's alive, anyway."

  ANNABELLE

  The kitchen was a long, cavernous room, which was accessible from the eastern dock by a thirty foot tunnel that burrowed into the mountain. The room was brightly lit, with four sconces running along either wall. Two long benches stretched across, and there was a massive oven in the back, carved into the rock. Near the oven, a heavyset chef was plucking feathers from a limp chicken, while his black assistant prepared a stew in a large iron pot. Chickens strutted around the room, pecking at crumbs. The wobbly floor was matted with hay. The air was teeming with the competing stenches of hay and chickens and raw meat, and Annabelle nearly gagged when she first entered.

  She had been wandering Pirate Town for hours, well aware that she should be impressed by everything she saw, but all she could think about was what Vane had been doing with Kate Lindsay all this time. She hadn't seen Lindsay since Vane had invited her to his quarters. That bitch gets to see his quarters before I do? Annabelle wanted her dead, reward be damned. I should have tossed her to the sea alongside Nathan. He would have liked that. She knew Nathan had fancied Lindsay more than he'd ever been willing to admit. Who wouldn't?

  Killing Nathan had been easy. Truthfully, it was easier than she thought it would be. Her body had shuddered as the pistol kicked in her arms with more force than she expected. One minute he w
as alive, the next his brains were leaving his skull. His last moment was one of comprehension, forever frozen on his young face. In that moment, he finally understood who she was. After his body vanished into the deep, she'd hardly given him another thought.

  But she hadn't been able to murder a woman, let alone a woman who had suffered indignities at the hands of Edward Livingston. A woman who survived Livingston deserved to survive anything. Annabelle realized now that she had used the reward as an excuse to spare Lindsay's life. She humiliated her instead, to remind her who was in control, but even that had been a thinly veiled excuse not to kill her. Crusader carried enough treasure to last a hundred lifetimes, and procuring Lindsay's reward would be problematic at best. There had been no real reason to keep her alive, other than sympathy.

  I should have been stronger, she told herself.

  She would correct that mistake. Lindsay was just a woman, and she was made of the same flesh and blood as any other. She wasn't invincible. She could die as easily as anyone else, and Annabelle knew just the man for the job.

  Gabe Jenkins was seated at the far end of the room, near the oven, hunched over a steaming bowl of stew. His shirt was tight across his muscular back. Thick curls dangled over his brow, darkening his eyes. His jaw worked slowly as he chewed. He didn't look at her as she approached, but a slight tilt of his head told her he knew she was there. She took a seat beside him on the bench and scooted close, nudging him with her hip. "I was looking for you," she said.

  He glanced apprehensively at her, briefly making eye contact. "What do you want?"

  "You're mad," she said, making a sad face.