This is the last face my mother saw. Her mother was dead, and the man Calloway loved was next, both at the hands of this man. Edward Teach was going to take everything from her.
His steely blue eyes narrowed. "My eyes be puzzled by familiarity. Have we met?"
"Would you remember if we had?" she sneered without thinking.
It slowly dawned on him. "The lass on the beach with a mind to end the mighty Blackbeard!"
"Your memory is better than you think," she said.
"Fate be very kind to me or very cruel to you."
"So you'll kill me now?"
He nodded gravely. "You will not leave this ship alive."
Her head fell. In a way, it was a relief. If she was going to die, she could say everything she wanted to say. She raised her head, renewed. If these would be her final moments, she wouldn't waste them. "Fitting that the dog who murdered my mother should do the same for me. And make no mistake, Edward Teach, you are naught but a dog, paddling through the sea, who has deluded himself into thinking he's a man."
If he was offended, he hid it well. Instead, a curious look crossed his face. "Who was your mother, girl?"
"Her name was Elise," she said. "She was beautiful, and you took her from me."
"A strumpet at The Strapped Bodice, yes?"
"Yes," she answered.
"I remember her," he said, arching his head and looking to the heavens.
"As well you should."
His rigid gaze fell on her again. "I have murdered many men," he said. "Most of their faces be lost, adrift in a sea of hundreds, but surely I would remember a woman's."
She scoffed, folding her arms. It occurred to her how ridiculous she must look, sassing the mighty Blackbeard. "You expect me to believe you've never killed a woman?"
"Women have perished because of me," he admitted, "but never have these hands done the deed."
Her smirk faded instantly. "You're a liar. You just told me you're going to kill me. Did you forget already?"
He held up a finger, correcting her. "I said you won't leave this ship alive. I did not say I would kill you. I'll leave that to my men."
She jabbed a finger in his chest. "You killed my mother! I saw her body."
He glanced at her finger, as if struck by a fly. "What would a lie gain me? A man lies in order to shroud his guilt. I feel no guilt, not for murder and certainly not for a death I did not cause."
"You were her last visitor!" Calloway insisted, balling her hand into a fist and beating it against his chest.
His hand nearly dwarfed hers as he closed his fingers over her fist. "I have yet to murder a woman," he said, voice deepening to a low, guttural growl. "But I promise you, the day I do, I will not open her wrists for her. That be too slow a death."
Calloway wrenched free of his grip and took a step back, shaking her head at him in disbelief. "Lies, lies, and more lies!" she cried.
He offered a shrewd smile. "Don't pretend you didn't follow the blood to your mother's wrists, little girl. When I arrived for my pleasure, I came upon a corpse. It seems she did not wish to suffer my company. Not even for an hour."
Calloway blinked, and her vision glazed over. She clenched her teeth and looked the other way. Don't cry, not now. That would only confirm what she had always known but had fought for so long to avoid, suppressing all her mother's sad smiles and long silences. He's still responsible, she tried to tell herself, but she knew that wasn't true either. It would have happened no matter what. There was no stopping it.
Calloway's knees crashed to the deck. The pain was distant, as though the lower parts of her body had stretched far away. Her head fell, and she sobbed uncontrollably in her hands. A shadow stepped before her. "Tell me your name, girl," Edward Teach said.
"What does it matter?" she sobbed.
"It matters."
She pulled her hands from her face and stared at the tears in her palms. "Jacqueline Calloway," she muttered.
"I have a parting question for you, Jacqueline Calloway."
"Ask what you will."
"I will not ask twice."
"Ask your question!" she yelled at the deck, refusing to look at him.
He kneeled before her and placed a finger under her chin, lifting her head. His steely blue eyes penetrated her blurred vision, like twin beacons in a black fog. He was smiling beneath his bushy beard. "Do you not wish to live?"
KATE
She was jolted into consciousness by a tremor that rattled the long table. An empty plate and bowl jittered along the surface, sliding a few inches. The walls rumbled, and thin trails of dirt fell from the jagged ceiling, collecting in hourglass piles on the table and floor. Just as the rumbling started to die down, a tremendous boom resounded through the cavern, followed by another protracted tremor.
Kate stood, unsure what she should do. The kitchen was empty at this hour. She had gorged herself on bland meat and mysterious stew and then fell asleep with her head on the table, arms pillowed beneath her. The food was tasteless, which had allowed her to stuff herself before she realized she was full, making up for the scant rations she had been given during her incarceration on Crusader.
She knew she had slept a long time. It was easy to sleep with a full stomach. She was thankful she didn't dream of the glowing-eyed drowned woman again. Or maybe she had and just didn't remember.
She wasn't sure what time it was now. Her body told her it was early morning, but she had no way of knowing in here. A bracing chill sifted in through the exit, and goose bumps riddled her bare shoulders.
The room rumbled again, and she considered running for the exit. The passage out was a short walk, but she didn't want to get caught in a collapsing tunnel. Then again, she didn't want to spend the rest of her life in a smelly kitchen, with food rotting around her. She started for the exit.
She was halfway across when Charles Vane stepped into the room, blocking the exit. His comely face was racked with distress, and his forest green coat was covered in dirt, but he had managed not to lose his arrogant smirk. He was sweating so heavily that his auburn curls were nearly black. His shirt was open, and there was a long red slash running down the center of his chest, between his pecs. He held a cutlass in one hand and a smoking pistol in another. He stood there catching his breath.
"You look awful," was all Kate could think to say.
He spat blood and grinned. "Nonsense! Your loins are steeping at the disheveled sight of me." He paused to regain his breath. "Don't pretend otherwise."
She rolled her eyes. "What's happened?"
"Blackbeard's men have infiltrated my fortress." The edges of his jaw stiffened sharply. "I should have killed that cunt when she first arrived."
"It's never too late," Kate offered buoyantly.
He waved his pistol dismissively. "Oh, she's quite dead, mind you. I just wish I'd done it sooner."
"She's dead?!"
Vane nodded nonchalantly. "I lobbed her off a cliff. A quick death, but she had time enough to realize she was going to die. That's important. I ordered my men to string her up to the canyon wall. Last minute decision, that. Rather inspired, I think. The whore's corpse will be the first thing Teach sees when he sails in."
Kate bit her lip, but she was unable to prevent a bout of girlish laughter from gushing out of her. Annabelle's death wouldn't bring Nathan back, but at least some sort of justice had been served. Her only regret was that she hadn't been able to do it herself.
Vane scowled at her. "What are you so fucking giddy about? Did you not hear me? Blackbeard's men have come to kill us all. Those blasts you've been hearing are my men rolling barrels of gunpowder down the passages and blowing them up. My idea. Unfortunately, it's not enough to keep them out. There are too many."
She gestured at his chest wound. "What happened there?"
He glanced downward. "This? I had a run in with Red Devil not a half an hour ago. Believe me, he looks far worse."
"Did you kill him?"
"Depends on whether or
not he can survive a sword through the brain."
Another blast sounded somewhere behind Vane, causing him to blink rapidly, but he tried to preserve his cool demeanor. "We have to leave. My scouts tell me there's only one ship near the entrance to the channel. It appears to be Adventure. My sloop, Valiant, will engage very shortly, and when she does, I will seize the opportunity to escape in Ranger. But we have to leave now. Queen Anne's Revenge is never far behind Adventure."
Kate cleared her throat. "So you'll sacrifice everyone on your sloop just so you can get away?"
He almost shrugged, but stopped himself. "Ah, yes, women and their gentle hearts. Does that sort of thing concern you?"
"Not really, but it does interest me. By the way, if you're in such a hurry to leave, why are you here?"
He stabbed a bench with the tip of his sword and leveraged his weight against the hilt. "I came for you, obviously."
She grimaced. "No doubt you'll keep me in your cabin?"
"Of course," he said, grinning suggestively. "You'll be safe there."
"I can't go with you."
"That's strange," he said, scratching his head with the barrel of his gun. "You seem to be under the impression you have a choice in the matter."
"I'm not going. I don't want to argue about it."
He tossed his gun on the table, let go of his sword, and moved toward her. "You'd rather linger here to be raped and murdered than leave with me?"
"No, I'd rather leave with my crew."
"Your crew? You have a crew?"
She nodded. "They're locked up in your brig, last I heard."
He stopped within two paces of her, studying her narrowly. Another distant eruption shook the walls, and a stream of dirt fell between them, collecting at their feet. "Why?"
"I left a friend behind once," she answered. "He did a stupid thing. He did many stupid things, in fact, but I shouldn't have left him. He was just . . . young."
Vane shook his head. "You're a stubborn bitch, Lindsay. I could put a fist in your gut, toss you over my shoulder, and carry you out of here, if I really wanted to. That would spare you whatever misguided moral obligation you think you must fulfill."
She cocked her head defiantly. "So why don't you?"
His answer came quickly and easily. "You'd probably slit my throat in my sleep, or something worse. Griffith was a fool to turn his back on you."
That made her smile. "Thank you." Nevertheless, she was overpowered by a nagging urge to correct him. "I didn't shoot him in the back, by the way. I shot him in the—"
Another blast sounded before she could finish. This one was much closer. Vane craned his neck to the ceiling as it shook.
Calico Jack stumbled out of the dark tunnel, setting a hand against the long table and catching his breath. Blood streamed down his forehead from a wound somewhere in his scalp. His right sleeve was sheared, and a long red stripe ran down his arm. "We have to go now, Charles, before they take the dock."
Vane glanced over his shoulder then quickly returned his eyes to Kate, as though he was afraid she would vanish if he looked away for too long. "Wait for me at the dock, Jack."
"We can't afford to waste—"
"I'm right fucking behind you," Vane grated.
Calico Jack nodded. He composed himself and left the way he'd come.
Vane didn't budge. After a moment, Kate said, "Good luck, Charles." She hoped he was done trying to convince her.
He sighed lavishly. "That's not something I rely on. I'm sure you understand."
"Everyone needs a little luck."
He snorted. "Speaking of luck, I suppose you'll be needing the keys to the cells before I go, if you want to save your friends." He smacked the side of his head with his palm. "Oh, what am I thinking? You already have the keys, don't you?"
She withered sheepishly. The keys were tucked securely in the front of her bodice, between her breasts. Probably the first place he'll look.
Vane nodded confidently. "Did you sincerely think me fool enough not to notice their absence?"
She reached out to touch his arm in a friendly gesture and withdrew just as quickly. "I thought you a busy man with a lot on your mind."
He seemed to appreciate the clarification. "I put them out in the open on purpose, to see if you'd take them."
"Of course you did," she said, humoring him. "You're quite cunning."
His smirk grew. "I will have a kiss, before we part ways."
"Hmm? I didn't hear you?" she said, backing away.
He advanced. "I almost forgot, you are missing an ear." He raised his voice to a condescendingly loud decibel. "I SAID I'LL HAVE A KISS!"
"Captain Vane," she gaped, placing a hand to her chest in shock, "I had no idea you were a romantic."
"I'm not," he sneered in disgust. "I may be dead within the hour, if my plan goes to shit. I will have a kiss from a stubborn bitch first. Seeing as you're the only stubborn bitch still alive, you'll have to do."
She scanned the room, but there was nowhere to go. He was between her and the exit. If she tried to run, he would easily corner her. There was a plate and a bowl on the table beside her, but she doubted either of those would serve as much of a weapon. There were some big pots over by the oven. Assuming she could make it all the way over there, and had strength enough to lift one, she might be able crush it over his head.
Or maybe you could just let him kiss you. At least he wasn't hideous to look at. And there was no time for it to go any further. It's just a kiss. It won't kill you.
"What if I say no?" she murmured weakly.
"It's not a fucking request," he snapped. His hand struck with the speed of a viper, seizing her by the belt. He drew her close and shoved his tongue in her mouth. His lips tasted of blood. She grappled against his solid embrace, but not nearly as much as she might have.
DILLAHUNT
After a long, restless night of tossing and turning on the uneven rocky floor of the little cell, Dillahunt finally started to doze off. His mind swirled with a plethora of gruesome fates for Jacqueline Calloway, and he could think of nothing else no matter how hard he tried. He had waited all night for them to bring her back, but that never happened. He could only assume Mongrel had disposed of her after having his way with her. Dillahunt cursed himself. He should never have let her board his ship. He knew it then, but he had not stopped it, because he was excited at the prospect of a woman sharing his bed every night.
His wounds itched terribly beneath the bandages. He tried to ignore it, but neglect only made the itching increase until it burned. Finally he would give in and rub away, but he was careful not to scratch.
Two men had appeared earlier in the night to remove Rotter's soiled corpse. Hornigold's men in the big cell cheered as he was dragged away, happy to be relieved of the stench. Later, they tried to make conversation with Dillahunt, but he ignored them. Most of them fell asleep eventually, with the exception of Avery Dowling, who sat on the long bench with his back against the wall, staring at nothing in particular. Dillahunt had never seen the man sleep.
It must have been early morning when Dillahunt's eyes finally started to close. As he faded, he was oblivious to the tingling of his wounds, and he had momentarily forgotten Calloway's fate.
And then he was stirred by the distinctive crack of gunfire, somewhere far down the passage. He jerked awake, rattling his shackles. He glanced over at Hornigold's men. Half of them were sitting up, looking around.
A distant boom sounded from somewhere in the tunnels, and the ground trembled in a rolling wave, displacing tiny pebbles. The rest of Hornigold's men popped up.
"Bloody hell was that?" muttered Andrew Harrow.
Bastion was rubbing his right ear, with one eye squeezed shut. "Too loud," was all he said.
"Sounded like gunpowder," Avery Dowling said, his face remaining apathetic.
"That weren't no gun," Jeremy Clemens replied.
"I didn't say it was," Avery grated.
A second boom shuddered throu
gh the dungeon, this one louder than the last.
Dillahunt got to his feet and grabbed the bars of his cell. "That was closer."
Everyone fell silent and listened. Smaller blasts sounded every minute or so, with cracks of gunfire sprinkled between. Dillahunt's mind tried to sort out a pattern, but the shots were maddeningly sporadic.
Five minutes later, a slender figure emerged from the dark passage, stepping into the torchlight. She wore a black bodice embroidered with roses. Her hair shimmered like blood.
"Lindsay," Dillahunt muttered in disbelief.
"I also have a first name," she quipped. She stopped before Dillahunt's cell, produced a ring of keys from her bodice, and set about finding the right key.
"Where'd you get those?" he asked.
"Vane," she said.
"I probably don't want to know how you managed that."
She tried four keys before the latch clicked and the cell was open. He stepped forward and thrust out his shackled hands. She found the right key after two attempts, and Dillahunt was free of his binds.
"What about us?" Harrow said.
Kate started for their cell. Dillahunt grabbed her shoulder. "What are you doing?" he demanded.
She stared at him as if it should have been obvious. "We need a crew."
"A crew?"
"Do you want to get out of here, or not? There's a fight going on in the caves, in case you hadn't heard. Vane's men are dying."
"Teach," Dillahunt realized. "He followed us."
Kate nodded. "If we don't take Crusader now, someone else will. But we need a crew, unless you think the two of us can sail her on our own."
"That's right," said Francois Laurent, standing. "You'll need a crew."
"Those are Benjamin Hornigold's men!" Dillahunt protested.
"Hornigold's dead," Kate reminded him, moving to the big cell. She fingered through the keys, trying each one in the lock. "These are your men, now, Captain Dillahunt. And you'll pardon all of them for their aid when we return to Nassau. Isn't that right?"
Dillahunt clenched his fists. The bandages felt like they were constricting around his eyes and temples. "Fine," he growled through clenched teeth. "When they slaughter us in our sleep, it's on your head."
The Devil's Tide Page 28
