The Pirate's Booty (The Plundered Chronicles Book 1)

by Alex Westmore

As she knelt before the slave, she asked, “Ya understand me, don’t ya?”

  The slave stared straight ahead a moment before nodding almost imperceptibly.

  “Do ya... do ya understand English better?” Quinn tried English on him instead of Irish.

  He did not need to answer for Quinn to know he did.

  She leaned in closer. Stopped. Leaned back and looked over her shoulder to find, as she suspected, Tavish leaning against a mast pole, watching.

  “I wouldn’t get so close, laddie. I canna help ya if he should do somethin’ stupid.”

  Quinn nodded. “I’ll be fine, Tavish. Please. Step away.”

  Tavish folded his arms and shook his head. “Sorry, laddie, but I canna do that. Carry on as if I wasn’t here.”

  Quinn exhaled loudly and turned back toward the slave.

  “Scotsmen. Bloody stubborn they are.”

  A hint of a smile appeared on the slave’s face.

  “Fine, but please do not interrupt.” Quinn shot a final glance at Tavish and then returned her attention to the slave. “What’s yer name?”

  The slave hesitated. “Kwame,” he answered.

  Quinn smiled softly. “Kwame. Very nice. I’m Callaghan. How is it ya know English?”

  “My fodder gave me to an English ship when I was a boy. I speak it almost better than my own.”

  “An English ship. Then how did ya get here... with them?”

  “The Spanish boarded our ship. I was... we... were a prize.”

  “I see.” Quinn stared at his amazing physique, unscarred by the taste of a whip. “Ya were not a slave on that English ship.”

  Kwame shook his head and glanced down. “I was not. I was in the crow’s nest most the time. My eyes are... ” he wrestled with the word. “Keen. I can see the fly on the rhino from far away.”

  “What was the name of yer ship?”

  “Victory. The captain is Edward Lynch. He’s a good man. A good captain.”

  “But he lost his ship to these Spaniards?”

  Kwame shook his head. “They took everything but left the captain and crew alive.”

  “Where do ya think they are now?”

  He shrugged.

  Quinn glanced around her. Tavish hadn’t left his post and the others were tending to the riggings. “We are no slavers, Kwame, but the Portuguese are. If I drop ya off here––”

  “We will scatter like leaves in the wind. They cannot get us all. You need not worry for us.”

  Quinn rubbed her chin. She had never realized how many decisions a captain had to make in a day, and her day had just begun.

  ***

  Now a full day from when they’d left Grace O’Malley to fend for herself, here they were, in territory Quinn knew little about, with dozens of slaves who needed to be set free.

  It was dawn and they were still moored outside the port off the coast of Portugal.

  “Captain––uh––Callaghan, a small boat a’ six men is headin’ our way.” Fitz said.

  “Jesus,” Quinn muttered, leaving the wheel to look out over the port side of the ship. She’d barely had any sleep. Yawning, she fretted and paced as she tried to decide whether to pull the ship into Oporto or not, whether to free the slaves here or not, whether to go after Grace or not. The decisions were mounting on her shoulders, and they were heavy indeed.

  Sure enough, a small skiff was moving quickly toward them. “Throw down the ladder and bring all six aboard.” Quinn had seen Grace do so on numerous occasions, explaining that she’d “rather know what all the men were up to” on the deck of her ship rather than guess what they were doing in the water below. Those same men responded just as quickly to Quinn’s orders.

  When the men were finally on board, Quinn had her largest Firsts greet them with swords in hand.

  “O’Leary. I understand ya speak Portuguese,” she called out, scanning her crew.

  A red-haired, thin-boned young man stepped forward. “Aye, that and a wee bit a’ Spanish.”

  “Ask them fer safe harbor under the flag of Mary of Scotland.” She turned to Tavish. “Stand with O’Leary.”

  Everyone turned to her in stunned silence.

  “Do as I said.”

  O’Leary and the Portuguese emissaries spoke briefly before he turned to her and said, “They say we can moor out here but that it would be unwise fer them ta aid ennaone plundering a Spanish ship.”

  Quinn rubbed her chin and looked to Connor for his opinion.

  Connor looked from the Portuguese to Quinn and then toward the men before nodding. “Makes sense, Callaghan. Here we can exit quickly.”

  Quinn kept her eyes on the six men as she spoke. “Tell them they can have everrathing but the chests in the hold if they guarantee our safety from outgoing ships.”

  The crew all murmured.

  “Callaghan, Captain O’Malley––”

  “Would do the same thing,” Connor interjected. “Secure our safety at all costs. That is what the captain charged Callaghan ta do and the lad is doin’ it.”

  Fitz nodded. “So shut yer traps.”

  “Thank ya. Fitz, ya take four men down ta the hold and move the chests ta our quarters. That coin goes ta Captain O’Malley, and enna man stupid enough ta reach a hand into one of those chests will lose it.”

  “Aye, Callaghan.” He turned to the crew, “Ya, ya, and ya, come with me.”

  When Fitz took off. Quinn laid her hand on O’Leary’s shoulder. “Tell them we need safe harbor fer three nights. They can take half now and come get the rest on the fourth morning. We want no trouble.”

  O’Leary translated and stopped when the men laughed.

  “What? Why are they laughing?”

  “They said ya already are in trouble. The ship we’re in belongs ta Diego Gonzalez.”

  Quinn pinched the bridge of her nose. “Holy mother of Brigante, will this never end?”

  Diego Gonzalez was one of the most brutal and blood-thirsty pirates on the seas. Known for cutting off limbs of crewmen who failed him, he’d become most famous for tying defeated captains to the bows of the ship while still alive and leaving them there until they expired from dehydration or exposure. It was rumored that some died of pure fright.

  “Tell them we do not give a shite whose ship we stole; we wish ta be left alone until we leave, and if they cannot guarantee that fer us, we’ll let the Moroccans have our shite.”

  The translation went back and forth until O’Leary shook his head slowly and said, “They cannot guarantee our safety from enna Spanish ships, but they give ya their word that no Portuguese vessel will attempt a run at us.” O’Leary hesitated. “Then they said ta go home. Grace O’Malley is more than likely at the bottom a’ the sea with her ship.” He paused to listen more. “And ta say our prayers if Diego returns before we can make away.”

  Quinn glanced around the deck at her crew just as Fitz and the others brought out the kegs of wine and oil.

  “Tell them we appreciate the unwanted advice and that I’ll have a private chat with their leader in the captain’s quarters.”

  O’Leary did as he was told, and when one of them stepped forward, Quinn nodded to Tavish to escort the man to her quarters.

  “Give them less than half, Fitz. They can clean us out with their own men. Come with me, O’Leary.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  As the last word lingered in her ears, Quinn, O’Leary, and the Portuguese leader followed Tavish to the tiny, messy captain’s quarters.

  “Have a seat,” Quinn said, motioning to an empty chair. “We don’t want enna trouble, and I am not accusing ennaone of ennathing, but... ” Quinn pushed the Medusa coin over to the sailor. “Do ya know who carries these coins?”

  The sailor cut his eyes down to it before answering.

  “He says he does not, but there’s a smithy in town who collects odd coins from all over the world,” O’Leary said.

  “Name?”

  “Fonseca. Doesn’t know his first name but says he is the
only smithy at port.”

  “Excellent.” Quinn reached into her pocket and withdrew two silver pieces. “Thank him fer his time.”

  O’Leary looked at her, hesitated, then did as she said.

  The sailor’s facial response was exactly like O’Leary’s.

  “He said ya are the strangest captain he’s ever met.”

  “Oh really? And what did ya reply?”

  O’Leary’s cheeks were touched with a blush that crawled up his neck. “I said I couldn’t agree more.”

  ***

  Quinn, O’Leary, Tavish, and One Eye started out for land around noon, leaving Connor and Fitz to keep an eye on the ship. As Tavish and O’Leary rowed, Quinn sat in quiet repose as she considered her options. She knew she had to wait for Grace or else try to make the four- or five-day journey back to Ireland in the hopes of meeting up with her there.

  Neither sounded appealing to Quinn, who’d left Connor in charge of their newly taken vessel, La Victoria, or the Victory. If she had time to wait, she would use it wisely and try to see if she could get a bead on either Drake or the ship from which the coin had come.

  At best, she would find some answers; at worst, she and her men would be able to bring back the fruits and nuts so loved by her countrymen from this strange place.

  As the oars cut through the water, Quinn stared out at the land of the Portuguese. She knew little about these small, dark people, save that they were Catholic slavers and fine seamen. Unlike the Spanish, who seemed filled with doom and gloom, the Portuguese laughed easily, smiled often, and never seemed in a hurry to draw their weapons.

  With the singular exception of the slavers, she sort of liked them.

  “Can I talk ya outta lettin’ them slaves go?” One Eye asked as he pulled on the oar.

  “Ya can try.”

  Tavish chuckled.

  “Well now, I know Captain O’Malley isn’t one fer slavery, what bein’ a woman and all, but I’m thinki––”

  Quinn’s head shot around. “What does that have ta do with ennathing?”

  “Womans don’t gotta lot a’ freedoms, ya know? They’re like slaves, only white. She’s not like them udder womans who have ta ask their master husbands fer shite. She... what’s the word... she––”

  “Sympathizes?”

  “Yeah! That. But even so, Callaghan, they’s worth a bunch a’ coin. We could sells ’em ourselves. Make a little––”

  “No. We let them go tonight.”

  “Tonight?” Tavish asked.

  “If they scatter... if they can move through the countryside quickly, they might be mistaken fer Moors.”

  “Moors! Now there’s a bloody group a’ bastards if ever I seen one. Nobody would enslave one a’ them. Oh no siree, they wouldn’t. They got that magic and shite. Uh-uh. If those slaves can pass themselves off as Moors, they might just make it.”

  “All we can do is hope. Wherever they wind up is better than where they are.”

  One Eye frowned and nodded. “Tonight then. And until tonight?”

  “Ya and Tavish take that purse and buy as much fruit and nuts as ya can. Have it back ta the dock an hour before sundown. Don’t be late, and don’t come back ta this boat smelling of whiskey or women, or ya will sleep it off on land. Understood?”

  Everyone nodded.

  “O’Leary and I have a stop we need ta make at the smith shop. Ya get that fruit quickly and do what ya wish until we meet, but have those goods at the dock before sundown. Ya do not wish ta incur my wrath.”

  Their eyes lit up before they took off.

  “Ya know they’ll just spend most a’ their time whorin’,” Fitz said.

  “I know. It’s not important as long as they get what I asked fer.”

  “And just what is it yer askin’ the smithy fer, Callaghan?” O’Leary asked.

  Quinn looked askance at him as she double-checked all her daggers. “A map, O’Leary. I’m hoping the smithy can show me a map.”

  ***

  Fifteen minutes later, as they stood side by side at the blacksmiths, O’Leary got his answer.

  “He says he’s seen this coin before but can’t remember when or where. He wants ta know if ya will part with it?”

  “Tell him no, but I have a gold coin fer him should he remember ennathing useful. Tell him we’ll be at the third tavern on the east side until sundown.”

  Quinn started out of the shop when the blacksmith began chattering to O’Leary. The conversation went on for a few moments before O’Leary joined her.

  “What was that about?”

  “Interestin’ fellow. He says yer lookin’ fer the wrong thing. He says that the Medusa head isn’t what’s important, but the metal underneath.”

  Quinn pulled the coin from her pocket and turned it over and over in her hand. “It’s bronze or something, right?”

  O’Leary shook his head. “The smithy said that corsairs from the east move their gold in coins like that because they appear. The coins are melted down when they reach their destination, and whatever regent wants their face ta be on it has it stamped that way. This way, they can move their gold about without ennaone knowin’ where it’s from or where it’s goin’.”

  Quinn stopped walking. “He didn’t happen ta be more specific about who uses this method of camouflage?”

  O’Leary grinned. “Actually, he did. He said the Turks have been doing it fer years. They find someone willin’ ta exchange goods or services fer the false coinage. That person then takes it ta their regent or monarch, who melts it down and uses it fer their own imprint. It’s brilliant, really.”

  Turning the coin over and over in her hand, Quinn could hear the drums rolling in her head as she waited for the final line of conversation she knew was coming.

  “And who do ya think has been transportin’ these Medusa heads ta his monarch?” O’Leary asked her.

  Her stomach fluttered a moment. “Don’t tell me––”

  “None other than that bastard, Francis Drake.”

  ***

  The wench pushed Quinn up against the wall and shoved her tongue into Quinn’s mouth.

  Apparently, the Portuguese women were far friendlier than the men.

  O’Leary had gone out to find Tavish and One Eye to see if they needed any help, and while they were gone, Quinn sat and waited, watching the wench flutter around her like a butterfly, unsure of where to land.

  It hadn’t taken long for Quinn to catch the eye of the server, who unabashedly flirted with her and eventually beckoned her out a side door, where she practically leapt on Quinn when she followed her.

  With quickly roaming hands, an eager mouth, and an exploratory tongue, the wench seemed eager—even desperate—to please.

  Quinn was attempting to return her affections, but she could not get Fiona’s face from her mind. She was being ridiculous, she knew, but her body wasn’t willing to remain dormant for a woman who had had no other choice but to move on with her real life with a real man in a forced marriage. If she could only extract the information she needed from this woman before things got any hotter, she’d be good to go.

  The wench kissed Quinn’s neck and was just starting to lower to her knees when Tavish came bursting through the door.

  “We’ve got a problem, laddie.”

  The wench quickly rose.

  “What is it?”

  “The Victory. She’s gone.”

  Quinn frowned as if she wasn’t quite sure she’d heard correctly. “Gone? What do ya mean, gone?”

  “One Eye and me were cartin’ the fruit ta the dock when we looked up and saw that the ship was gone. Gone. As in not there.”

  Quinn smiled at the woman, shrugged, and hurried for the dock with Tavish in tow. “They left us?”

  “Well, laddie, we’re here and they’re not, so... yeah. I’m thinkin’ that’s what they did.”

  Quinn started running. “There has to be a reason why. There’s no way Connor would have just left us.”

  “He was pr
etty upset about ya lettin’ them oarsmen live. Pretty miffed that she chose ya ta lead and not him. I hate ta say it, but––”

  “Upset enough to leave without––” She stopped so suddenly, Tavish ran into her, knocking her over.

  Quinn rolled and was back on her feet in an instant, her eyes cast toward the horizon. “God damn it.”

  There, looming larger than life, sat an English ship.

  Not just any English ship.

  It was Drake’s.

  ***

  “Shite. They must have seen him comin’ and taken off.”

  “We gotta get outta here,” Tavish said as they ran up to O’Leary outside the pub.

  “Where’s One Eye?”

  “I thought he was with you.”

  Quinn quickly surveyed the area around the dock. “Fuck. We have ta find him before they dock. They can’t know we’re here.”

  Tavish nodded. “It’s not like we fit in with these folks. I’m thinkin’ my red hair is a dead giveaway, Callaghan.”

  Inhaling deeply, Quinn saw them waiting for her to make a decision.

  Grace O’Malley made it look so easy. Quinn was beginning to see that wasn’t the case.

  “Okay. We need to split up. Find One Eye and lay low until either the Malendroke or the Victory pulls in. Do not say a goddamn word if you get caught. Meet me at the smithy’s at sundown.”

  “The captain won’t pull in with Drake here. She’s likely ta fire on him.”

  “Doing so while in port is a bad, bad, idea, and she doesn’t really have the manpower fer a full blown fight. Besides that, we don’t know which side of the fence these Portuguese fall on. Our first responsibility is ta ourselves. We need ta separate and find One Eye. Once we find him, meet at the smithy’s. We’ll leave when it’s dark,” Quinn repeated.

  “Leave? Leave fer where?”

  “The next port. We can’t stay here. If Captain O’Malley gets here before Drake leaves, she doesn’t have the crew ta fight him. She knows that. She’ll head ta the next port south.”

  The two men stared at her but said nothing.

  “I know. I know. Engaging him with a skeleton crew would be fool’s play, and Captain O’Malley is nobody’s fool. She’ll be looking fer us... just not here. Look, we’re wasting time. I’ll secure us some horses while ya find One Eye. I mean, how hard can it be ta find him among these folks?”