He stirred the mysterious contents of his stew with a large wooden spoon but didn't take another bite. "You figured that out, did you?"
Annabelle resisted a smile. He's fetching when he's angry. This wouldn't be difficult. If he was angry, it meant he cared. "You feel betrayed," she said. It wasn't a question.
He tried to shrug casually, but his bulky shoulders were too stiff. "What do you care?"
"I'm here asking, aren't I?" she said.
He shook his head, snickering loudly, and swept his curls back into place with a quick, furious hand. "You're here because you want something. Don't pretend. Only time you pay attention to anyone is when you want something. Everyone knows that now. Shame Adams figured it out too late."
She flinched, blinking rapidly. "That's not a very nice thing to say, Gabe Jenkins."
"The truth isn't always a very nice thing to hear, is it?" he shot back, flashing a glare. "Anyway, it doesn't matter what I think. Only thing that matters is what Teach will think when he finds out what's happened here, and I have a feeling that'll be sooner than you expect."
An icy chill of doubt riddled her arms with gooseflesh. She clutched his wrist. "Do you know something I don't? Answer me."
"No," he replied, staring at her hand as if it was a very large spider. "But I know how Teach works. No one escapes him for long. You should know that better than anyone, having spent so much time with him. It baffles me that you'd try something like this and honestly think you can get away with it."
"I did get away with it," she reminded him.
"Everyone thinks that," he chuckled sardonically, "until Teach's ship is bearing down on their stern. Hornigold probably thought that too, but he didn't count on being traded for a woman."
"Teach can't get in here," she assured him. "This place is a fortress."
"He'll find a way," Jenkins replied. "Why do you think Vane's been so careful not to get on his bad side all this time? He's afraid of him. He may not say it, but he is. Everyone is, as well they should be."
Her palm slapped the table. "Vane was quick enough to accept the plunder I brought him."
His laugh was bitter. "I heard a song once. I can't remember the lyrics, save for one. 'A bit of shine sets every pirate out of his mind.'"
She leaned closer. She knew he liked it when she was close, even though he pretended he didn't care. "Well, it's not like you're going to tell Teach, right?"
An amused look passed over his face, followed swiftly by dread. "I don't have to. He'll find out with or without my aid. He knows things. I don't know how, but he does."
"What do you owe him, anyway?" she asked. "It must be something important, if you'd kill a friend over it."
He slapped the spoon into the stew, splattering the table. "But I didn't kill a friend under Blackbeard's orders, did I? I only thought I did."
"I am sorry about that," she said, trying to sound as genuine as possible, though she couldn't even recall the name of the man Jenkins had killed in that cave.
"You don't look sorry," he returned. "I'm a bloody idiot."
There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Her stomach broke it, unleashing an embarrassingly loud growl. Jenkins slid the bowl her way. "Sounds like you need this more than I do. I'll be dead soon anyway."
She laughed. "Why do you think that?"
"Because you're going to have me killed, just like Ogle and Red Devil. No one can find them. You told Vane to do away with them, didn't you?"
She nodded slowly. "Yet you're still here. What does that tell you?"
He frowned, unable to come up with an answer to that one.
She dipped the large spoon into the steaming muck and lifted it cautiously to her mouth. The stew was thick, permeated with strips of chicken, chunks of potato, and maybe bread. It wasn't particularly tasty, but it was better than nothing.
"So if you're not going to kill me," he said finally, "what is it you want? You must have kept me alive for a reason."
She narrowed her eyes and licked the spoon clean. "Two reasons, actually. The first is, well, I fancy you."
His cheeks flushed red.
"The second," she continued, "is I want something."
He threw up his hands. "Here it comes. Who do you want me to kill this time?"
She glanced at the cook and his assistant. Neither seemed particularly interested in their conversation, but she lowered her voice to a whisper nonetheless. "I want you to kill Kate Lindsay."
He thought about that for a minute, eyes shifting. When he came to a conclusion, he chuckled. "You're not my boss anymore, lady. Teach is. Seeing as you don't really have his best interests at heart, I can't help you."
"Don't you want to know what you'll get in return?" she asked, sliding a hand over his leg, fingers tantalizing his crotch.
He shifted uneasily. "I know what I'll get. A knife across my throat. If I'm lucky, you'll sit on my face first."
She jerked her hand away and folded her arms. "You're in a foul mood tonight. Maybe I should have you killed."
"Go ahead," he said, smirking. "Or do it yourself, if you've still got the stomach for it. I'm not killing anybody else for you, certainly not for a quick fuck. There are plenty more whores where you came from."
She raked her nails across the table, but she swallowed her rage and kept her voice at a low hiss, so the cook wouldn't take notice. "Are you scared, is that it? Do your hands shake?"
His glare was icy. "They used to. Not anymore, though. Keep pushing me and you might see for yourself."
"Good!" she exclaimed cheerily, reaching for his wrist. "That means you're stronger now."
Jenkins pulled his hand away and stood, stepping over the bench. "You're right about that," he said. "You want her dead? You'll have to do it yourself. Shouldn't be a problem for you."
"I suppose I'll have to," she concluded haughtily.
He aimed a finger at her face. "You think killing makes you stronger? It doesn't. It only makes you weaker." He turned and hastily made for the exit.
"Gabe," she called, but he didn't look back before vanishing into the tunnel.
Annabelle lowered her gaze to the soup. The uncertain contents swirled in the murky brown stew. She saw a scar dimly reflected within. There might have been a face behind it, but it was impossible to see. She pushed the bowl aside.
VANE
Five of Ogle's teeth were scattered about his knees. His bald head was striped with red lacerations that seeped rivulets of blood down his paling face, like red fingers. A sliver of skin dangled from his left arm, exposing pink muscle and a hint of white bone. Despite his condition, he was grinning. "You're all going to die," he mumbled through a quivering broken jaw.
The dark cave was thick with the stench of death, wafting from a pit in the back, where they had dumped recent bodies. Water dripped from gnarled stalactites, pattering the various torture devices that Vane had collected over the years. He was up to twenty-two, now. There wasn't always a good reason to torture someone, but he didn't want to see his collection to go to waste.
Bigfoot stood behind Ogle, slapping a sweaty hand on his shoulder. Calico Jack was leaning casually against an iron maiden, arms folded. Tanner, a lanky man with shifty eyes and long blonde hair, studied a table full of knives and tools, pondering his next option while stroking his pointed chin.
Vane set his hand on a double torture chair, which consisted of two bulky wooden chairs placed back to back, with dozens of rusty iron spikes protruding from the backrests, and two collars tethered on a short chain. It was designed for two victims, who would inevitably pull each other against the spikes. Vane adored the simplicity of it. He smiled down at Ogle. "I had intended this chair for you and your red friend. You would have made a lovely pair. Sadly, my quartermaster has informed me that he's gone missing."
"You'll never find him," Ogle said. "Red Devil knew that cunt wanted us dead."
Calico Jack and Bigfoot laughed heartily, and Tanner stared at them inquisitively. The torturer was never known to join in laug
hter. "We'll chance upon him one day," Calico Jack said, "and unless his bones are as red as his skin, we won't concern ourselves with who they belonged to."
There were too many places a man could disappear to in these caves. But that didn't matter. Red Devil would have to come out of hiding eventually. There was no food to be found anywhere on this barren, mountainous isle, save for what Vane's men ferried in from a lush island many leagues away. Red Devil wouldn't last long on his own.
"What about the brothers?" Vane asked Calico Jack.
"The Maynards put up a fight," Calico Jack said, shifting his eyes elsewhere. "Found the two of them in a corridor, talking in whispers. One of them came at me. I put my sword out and he ran right into it. The other went mad when he saw his brother dead, saying he was going to kill us all. There was no approaching him, so we shot him."
Vane suspected Calico Jack wasn't being completely honest about what had gone wrong. The quartermaster too often gave men a chance to do the right thing. That made him sloppy. Still, Jack Rackham was one of the few men Vane considered a friend, which afforded him far more leeway than anyone else.
"Crusader's crew brings fortune both shining and ill," Vane grated. "Maybe I should kill them all and be done with it." I've already lost two jailors.
"Too late for that," Ogle said.
Vane snickered. "Where'd you find this one?" he asked Calico Jack.
"In the kitchen," the quartermaster answered, "putting grub away like he didn't have a care in the world."
Vane kneeled close to Ogle, peering into his eyes. The big man reeked of sweat and dirt and salt. "Did you know you were enjoying your last meal?"
Ogle shrugged. "I take every meal like it's my last."
Tanner plucked a massive serrated knife from the table and inspected it closely. It looked like he might kiss it. "Oh my, what a pretty girl you are."
Calico Jack shuddered. "It's not a girl, it's a knife."
Tanner stared at Calico Jack as a religious zealot stares at a blasphemer. "They're all Tanner's girls," Tanner insisted. "They're his sharp little girls."
"You've been down here too long, friend," Calico Jack said.
"There's no better place for him," said Vane.
"No better place for him," Tanner agreed, nodding fervently. He had always been a despicable creature. His eyes lit up whenever Vane brought him a new torture device.
Bigfoot thrust a foot into Ogle's back so hard that he nearly fell into Vane. "Tell him the thing you told me," Bigfoot urged. "The thing about you-know-who."
Ogle sat upright, filling his great chest with air. "He's on his way."
Vane smirked. "Who?"
Ogle grinned, blood oozing from the gaps in his teeth. "Blackbeard."
Vane maintained his smirk, but his jaw was tightening. "And how would that be possible? My scouts spotted no other ship trailing yours."
"He wasn't following close enough to be seen," Ogle laughed.
Vane returned the laugh. "How could he follow what he couldn't see?"
"We never trusted that strumpet," Ogle said. "She was giving orders from the start, before we even left the island. Well, that didn't settle too well with me and Devil. We knew we couldn't trust her to lead us to Teach. So we dumped barrels over the stern every so often, when she wasn't about. She spent so much time in her cabin, it wasn't hard. We fixed the barrels with pretty garments, so they could be seen for miles. We did that from the start. From Griffith's Isle all the way till she changed course on us, and then all the way here. A pretty trail leading straight to you, Charles Vane." He cackled, blood and spit dribbling down his chin. "You should have turned us away when you had the chance. By my wager, Teach is already here."
Vane stood and looked down on Ogle's shredded bald scalp. Ogle slowly raised his head, glaring up from beneath a bloody brow. His shoulder's shook as he chuckled. "He will give you no quarter. He will not wait on your account. He will burn every cave and every man within. You know this."
"Pirate Town is not easily penetrated," Vane reminded him.
"He'll penetrate your little hideout one way or another," Ogle said. "He'll find a way. And if he doesn't, he'll wait outside until you starve."
Vane's molars scraped as his lower jaw worked back and forth like a saw. A sharp pain spiked through his right cheek, tugging at his eyelids. One of the molars had gone rotten over a month ago. He knew he would have to remove it eventually. That would be a hard day, if he lived long enough to see it.
He patted the double-torture chair. "Strap him in."
Bigfoot nodded enthusiastically. "Right. And who else?"
"You."
Bigfoot eyed Vane suspiciously for a few seconds before he broke into jittery giggles. "That's funny, captain. You got me, there. I almost pissed meself."
Vane looked at Calico Jack and Tanner. "Put him in the chair. And get a bucket, in case he pisses himself."
Bigfoot sprang forward and clutched Vane's arms. "Captain, sir, whatever I done, I'll set it right."
Calico Jack and Tanner seized Bigfoot, wrenching him off of Vane. Vane brushed off his sleeves. They shoved Bigfoot in the chair, and he shrieked as his back mashed against the nails. He stiffened as they strapped him in.
Vane leaned in close. "It's more what you didn't do, you little shit. You dragged me all the way down here instead of relaying the news in my fucking quarters. Every minute you wasted brought Edward Teach that much closer."
"Captain, sir, please, no!"
Tanner tittered with excitement.
Vane snapped his fingers at Calico Jack. "Where did you last see the whore?"
Calico Jack sighed. "I told you how many times, Charles? Don't snap your fingers at me. I'm not one of your dogs."
"This is hardly the time to fuck with me, Jack," Vane growled. "Where did you last see the whore?"
After a long, sullen glare, Calico Jack answered, "Probably in the kitchen by now. She asked me where it was earlier."
"Thank you," Vane replied with exaggerated obligation. "When you're done here, ready the guns and secure all exits. Teach will not take Pirate Town without a fight."
Calico Jack nodded. "I say we block the entrance with Valiant. Revenge will have to get past her and every man on her before she sees the inside of this canyon."
Vane hesitated. "I rather liked that ship."
Calico Jack shrugged. "Plenty of ships in the sea, eh?"
"Aye," Vane nodded. "When Revenge breaks through, she'll have our mounted cannons to deal with."
"Them little cannons won't save you," Ogle said, sputtering blood and laughter. "You think Revenge is coming alone? You're all going to die."
Vane turned on Ogle, clutching the man's bloody cheeks so tightly that his lips bunched together. "That might be true, but you'll know nothing of it. This cave is very deep and very difficult to find, as I'm sure you noted on your way down. Teach's men will never find you here, not even when you scream at the top of your fucking lungs. And scream you will."
Ogle continued to laugh. "I'll take comfort knowing that cunt will die."
"That's the only comfort you shall receive," Vane said, shoving Ogle's face away. He looked Calico Jack. "Put him in the other chair."
Vane grabbed a torch and started back up the long dark passage to surface level, with Bigfoot frantically calling after him. "I done nothing! I done nothing! CAPTAIN!!"
Bigfoot's wails soon faded, and Vane was alone with his thoughts. Ogle was right. Teach would offer no quarter, let alone allow Vane a chance to explain himself. Not that there was anything to explain. No lie would be sufficient. It was obvious what had happened.
Plunder stiffens my cock and clouds my brain, Vane realized. He had always known treasure would be the death of him. The epiphany had occurred to him several times over the past two years, usually as he was engaged in battle on the deck of an enemy ship, parrying blades, with bullets and cannonballs zipping past his head. Since he had aided Henry Jennings in raiding Spanish ships that were in the process of
salvaging the wreckage of a treasure fleet off the coast of Florida, the promise of fortune at the end of a battle had urged him heedlessly forward.
He pounded a fist against the wall, splitting a knuckle on a sharp rock. The pain was bracing, coursing up his arm. "Fuck!" The curse reverberated down the tunnel. When he finally reached the first of the sconces that lined the upper passageways, he cast his torch aside and cradled the wounded hand in his other, massaging the shattered knuckle with his thumb. He hunched as he walked, passing many sconces, moving through light and darkness.
He wound through several passages, taking left and right turns without deliberation. When he had first discovered this isle, which had been mined by the Spanish half a century before his arrival, he dared not venture too deeply into the tunnels. Now, he knew them like the back of his hand. The entire volcanic rock was a honeycomb of intertwining tunnels, both natural and manmade. Vane insisted that his men commit the necessary passages to memory. He didn't want outsiders learning anything about his hideout. When he caught one of his men sketching a crude diagram of the tunnels, which Vane had specifically ordered against, he had the man tortured to death. The diagram proved woefully inaccurate, but Vane had to set an example.
It was nearly an hour's walk from the torture chamber to the kitchen. To Vane, the thick aroma of poultry was nearly as nauseating as the stench of dead men. Annabelle was no longer there. The cook's assistant, a wiry black man named Roach, who was busy polishing the pots, informed Vane, "She go to your quarter, captain. She say she make you real happy."
"Oh, she will," Vane hissed.
A damp breeze swept across the face of the eastern wall as Vane scaled the stairs that snaked along the side. His heart thumped violently against his ribcage. Halfway up, he looked back toward the entrance of the great rift in the island. A fog was drifting in. Are you lurking somewhere out there, Teach? Waiting for me to run?
Annabelle was sprawled in his bed, naked and smiling with the sheets cast aside. He was fully aroused by the time he crossed the bridge into his loft. She traced a finger down her perfect stomach, inserting it into the cleft between her legs. "I got tired of waiting."
The Devil's Tide Page 26
