The Devil's Fire

by Matt Tomerlin

  "Doesn’t take much," she grinned. She was telling him exactly what he wanted to hear. She was far more intelligent than most of her ilk, he had to give her that. She even knew how to read, which was uncommon. "Then again," she admitted, "I don’t keep the smartest of company."

  He sat on the edge of the bed and set a hand on one of her feet. She flinched ever-so-slightly. "Sorry," she laughed, her voice rattling. "Your hands are cold."

  "No they’re not," he replied flatly. Nothing was cold on this island, least of all his hands, which were presently damp with sweat. This woman was afraid of him, and rightfully so. He squeezed her foot and yanked her a few inches closer. Her eyes betrayed an unmistakable flash of fear. She composed herself instantly and retrieved a smile. She lifted her other foot and set it in his lap, massaging his crotch. He stared between her legs.

  "Do you know who I am?" he asked.

  She shook her head. "Should I?"

  "Just curious if young Nathan spoke of me," he answered.

  Her foot stopped massaging him for less than a second. "Nathan? You’re one of his crew?"

  "He be one of my crew," he drawled. "Has he named hisself ‘captain’ already?"

  "Hardly," she said, maintaining her false smile. "He rarely speaks of his crew."

  "It’s likely he didn’t want to frighten you," Livingston grinned.

  She waved a dismissive hand. "Pirates hold no surprises for me."

  He took hold of both her ankles and yanked her toward him. She let out a pitiful yelp as he twisted her onto her belly and crawled on top of her. He grasped a handful of her hair and jerked her head back. She gasped. He licked her cheek and then thrust her face into a pillow, holding her in place. She squirmed in vain beneath him, hands slapping at his thighs.

  "You’re undeserving of the lad," he whispered into her ear.

  With his free hand, he fumbled to open his trousers. She lifted her head just long enough to release a truncated scream, before he shoved her faced back down into the pillow.

  He returned to Harbinger late that night, glimpsing two figures atop the quarterdeck, near the helm. He knew it was Griffith, thinking on the journey ahead.

  As he ascended the slim stairway to join his friend, Livingston was unable to suppress a sly smile. Griffith glanced at the quartermaster, looked away, and then swung his head back for a second look. "What affords you so much glee?"

  Livingston immediately traded his smile for a less jovial scowl, as was far more common to him. "The passing memory of a strumpet’s moistened cunt," he answered. "Already difficult to recall her face."

  "There’s blood on your shirt," Griffith said, nodding indicatively.

  Livingston searched his shirt until he found a few small spots on the left breast. He licked his finger and scrubbed at it, but succeeded only in smudging the stain. "Could be anyone’s," he said with a shrug.

  "Looks fresh," Griffith replied in a nonchalant tone.

  "Is it a problem?" Livingston said, perhaps too defensively. He didn’t like being questioned, no matter how casual the interrogation.

  Griffith raised his hands harmlessly. "Meant no offense."

  "How I spend my money is my own business," Livingston growled.

  "It's of no consequence to me what men do with their wages. Better that they lose their riches before they return, thus their wants never cease."

  "Aye," Livingston agreed, and they spoke no more of it.

  Harbinger's hold had been lightened of its precious cargo in exchange for far less than the total worth, but far more than the crew could spend in a night; they had vacationed in Nassau Port for a month before exhausting their fortunes. The hold was now packed with provisions, supplies, and livestock. The winter season was just beginning, and they would have to patrol the waters of the West Indies for fresh plunder.

  "The Windward Passage," Griffith said. "It feels lucky. I'm confident the crew will agree."

  Livingston nodded his assurance. "They will. Warm waters is always welcome."

  KATHERINE

  The kitten was good company, but Katherine's boredom was insatiable. As the months progressed, she came to realize that she would rather die than spend another day in the cabin. And so, on the morn of an early February day, she swung open the door and stepped onto the deck.

  It was not as it had been in Nassau. Pirates were everywhere, and all of them tilted their heads to stare at her as she emerged from her den. She leveled her chin and continued on her way, pretending she was oblivious to their ogling. It was as if they had forgotten her since her time at the mainmast and suddenly discovered that she still lived. After a while they returned to their duties and seemed to forget her all over again.

  She ran her fingers along the bulwark and admired the crystal waters. The rippled sand was visible through the shallow waters, yet there wasn’t a single spot of green on the horizon to mark land.

  She remained at the bulwark for the better part of an hour, until Griffith and Livingston passed by. She received a tentative glance from Griffith and an irrefutably evil eye from Livingston. Both men then started whispering conspiratorially to one another.

  That night, Griffith said nothing of the day's events. He merely collapsed into his chair and fell asleep.

  Katherine stayed awake for a while, playing with the kitten. As she rapped her fingers along the floor and the kitten lunged to nip at them, she considered venturing outdoors again on the morrow.

  On the second day, she remained outside for an hour. On the third, two hours. And so this cycle continued until it was common for her to remain on deck for the better part of the day. Her excursions were hell on her dresses, and soon not a single garment was left unspoiled.

  Apart from her initial few ventures, the pirates paid her no heed. If she was in their way, they hastily brushed past her. She amused herself by stepping in their paths and watching them stumble to avoid her.

  As much as she disliked Captain Griffith, she was grateful that he had engaged in the duel with the tall, funny-accented man. She wagered that there was not a pirate aboard Harbinger who would dare make such an attempt after that deadly incident.

  For many weeks Thatcher was the only one to hazard brief conversation with her, hurrying off whenever anyone of authority presented himself. Coated in a glistening sheen of sweat, his stench was all the more repugnant outdoors. Katherine wondered if there was any water left in his body, for it seemed to be escaping through his pores at an alarming rate.

  One morning she found Nathan Adams and one of his American friends loitering around her usual spot at the bulwark. She made no attempt to amend her course, not wanting to appear put off by their presence. Nathan stood and greeted her with a smile and a small bow that nearly gave her a laugh.

  "It's good to see you about, Ms. Lindsay," he said.

  "It's good to be about," she smiled. "Though I doubt your fellows share such sentiments."

  At that, Nathan's comrade rose awkwardly from his seat. "Not at all!" he exclaimed. "It's always nice to see a woman about."

  Nathan rolled his eyes. "Sit down, Gregory, before you frighten her back to the cabin."

  "It would take far worse than your friend’s compliments to prompt my retreat," she joked.

  "She talks funny," Gregory whispered to his friend.

  "Introduce yourself, Gregory," Nathan prompted, nudging him in the ribs.

  "Gregory Norrington," Gregory murmered timidly.

  "Pleased to meet you, Gregory," Katherine said, offering her hand. Gregory seemed unsure what he should do with her hand, so he did nothing except stare at it dumbly.

  She spent the remainder of the day with Nathan and Gregory, talking at great length of England and then listening to their tales of America. She worried that their duties were not being attended to and frequently asked them if her company was a burden. They insisted that the ship was in perfect working order. Still, wayward glances from Griffith and Livingston made her nervous.

  Her fears were confirmed when sh
e returned to the cabin that night and found Griffith waiting for her in his chair. "I must say, parading yourself about my deck like a whore is a drastic shift in character."

  "I'm no whore, Captain," she scoffed. "Much to your disappointment, I'm sure."

  He stood up, the chair falling away behind him. "Mind that sharp tongue! I’ve already lost one ear to it, and I don’t mean to forfeit another."

  "Why am I here?" she demanded. "I serve no purpose!"

  "Convincing me of that would not be in your best interests."

  "Then convince me otherwise," she replied stubbornly.

  He set his jaw. "I owe you no explanations."

  "Only lies, it seems."

  "That's enough!"

  "Hardly!" she shouted, stepping closer. "If death is all I have to fear then take my life. This cabin suffocates me! You've taken the only thing that mattered to me and substituted it with a cat. A bloody cat!"

  "By the powers, woman," he shouted, throwing up his hands. "You drone on and on about that foolish husband of yours. I'd be less maddened if his ghost came back to haunt me."

  "Am I to forget him?" she said, eyes lining with tears.

  "Frankly, I haven’t a single care what you do with his memory, so long as it fades from mine."

  "I see," she smirked. "The pirate doesn't want to be reminded of his victims, yet he's content to steal their wives."

  "I'm hardly content, Katherine. You make certain of that."

  "Then allow me to go outside! It's all I ask. I'll even surrender the bed if I must. That chair must be murder on your back."

  He held up a finger. "The only reason you enjoy that bed every night is because I permit it."

  "And I'm grateful for that," she said, managing her best smile, though it was spoiled by her watery eyes and reddening cheeks. "The crew does not hate me. They barely notice me. I'm not a burden, I swear."

  "You know nothing of their feelings or desires." He ran his fingers through his raven-black hair in a gesture of frustration. "I’ll not have them lay a finger on you."

  "They won't," she insisted. "You made certain of that on the beach. They hardly look at me for fear of losing their heads."

  "Do you intend to remind me of every man I've killed?"

  "Only the men you’ve killed for me. I could scarcely bear the burden of all the rest."

  He relinquished with a sigh. "I suppose you'll venture outside whether you have my blessings or not. You are a woefully stubborn girl, Katherine Lindsay."

  With that, he strolled across the room and plopped down on his bed with a luxuriant sigh. "I'd almost forgotten how inviting this mattress was."

  He was asleep and lightly snoring within five minutes.

  Katherine settled into the chair and spent a long time attempting to tilt it just right, nearly falling over in the process. Eventually she gave up and opted for the floor.

  She didn't get a wink of sleep. Later that night, with the first hints of dawn, she quietly tiptoed to the bed. She watched him as he slept and, for the first time since her capture, allowed herself to consider his looks. The surreal quality of the early morning light allowed her temporary reprieve of the baggage that she had weighted upon this otherwise attractive man. She wondered if she would have stolen a glimpse in passing, under other circumstances, not knowing him for the monster he was. His thick black hair, strong jaw, and soothing voice hindered her resolve, though she had never admitted this to herself until now.

  The awful possibility of Thomas's betrayal festered in her mind. She simply could not account for Griffith's knowledge of her name, as she was now uncertain that Nathan Adams had revealed it.

  She stowed these thoughts away, but did not permit herself to forget them.

  The next morning she found Nathan and Gregory waiting for her in the same spot. "Hullo, Ms. Lindsay," they greeted in unison.

  "Good morning, gentlemen," she replied, offering a small curtsy by lifting her petticoat slightly.

  "That gown is a disaster," Nathan remarked.

  "And your clothes look no worse for wear than the day we met. I should like something more practical."

  "You want to dress like a man?" said a wide-eyed Gregory, and he subsequently received Nathan's elbow in his ribs.

  "Well," she blushed, "it sounds indecent when you put it that way."

  "But no less true," replied Nathan with a grin.

  "The truth is these dresses won't survive another week."

  "Follow me," Nathan said.

  She had never descended below decks. She still wasn't sure that she trusted this Nathan Adams, though he had always seemed a nice enough boy. Despite her wariness, the promise of new clothes got the better of her, and she cautiously trailed Nathan and Gregory into the dark depths.

  She could've sworn she'd stumbled into a barn, for there were animals everywhere. The place stunk of cattle dung and God knew what else. She had to kick away several squawking chickens that haplessly brushed against her legs.

  Nathan led her to a small partition that was sectioned off from the hold by crudely positioned planks. He opened a large, rusty chest and took a step back.

  "Well, Ms. Lindsay, have at it," he said. "Take whatever strikes your fancy. I reckon those clothes will fare better than your poor gowns have done."

  Nathan and Gregory left her to her privacy. She shuffled through the heaps of clothes until she had gathered a white shirt, brown trousers, and a red silk sash. She stripped off her gown and slipped into the trousers. They were overly baggy, so she fastened the sash around her waist to keep them from sliding off. She threw on the white shirt and buttoned it halfway, leaving it open in the shape of a V at her cleavage.

  When she ascended to the main deck, she was almost a perfect fit for her surroundings.

  She wasn't on the deck long before Griffith caught glimpse of her. He halted dead in his tracks and stared in disbelief. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, and then seemed to think better of it. He continued on his way.

  Katherine returned to the bulwark, enjoying the ease of movement that the trousers provided. The dip in her shirt exposed a good deal of her chest, and if she were to bend over, a pirate would be treated to a view of her breasts. She found that amusing, though she had no idea why.

  As the months passed, Katherine’s skin took on a comely hue of rich mahogany. The sun bleached her hair with streaks of fiery orange. Her appetite strengthened and by spring she had gained ten pounds.

  Anyone who hadn't known Katherine Lindsay prior to this metamorphosis would have mistaken her for a native of one of the countless West Indian isles. Never would they have guessed who she really was.

  Nathan constantly likened Katherine’s appearance to a woman named Annabelle. He seemed genuinely happy whenever he spoke of Annabelle, so Katherine obliged his stories, no matter how often he repeated the same tales over and over again. It was the magnificent sparkle in Nathan's eyes that delighted her as she listened.

  "I'm in love with her," Nathan unabashedly announced one night, after drinking too heavily. "It's the finest feeling I've ever felt."

  "I know," Katherine nodded. "And nothing shall surpass it."

  Through Nathan and Gregory, Katherine made fast friends with One-Eyed Henry. She looked past his relentless come-ons and, to her surprise, discovered a gentle-hearted man trapped within the gritty shell of a pirate. It didn’t hurt that they shared a profound dislike of Livingston.

  She described to him her boredom and he instantly capitalized on her woes. He taught her to unwind the endings of ropes with a wooden fid and then splice two separate ropes together. She became so good at it that, though all crewmen knew how, she was from then on allowed the privilege of splicing all of the ropes that needed adjoining. She was very proud of this newfound talent, even though it was one of the simplest tasks to be performed on a ship. She garnered the respect of several crewmen, who now saw her in a different light. Katherine became "that lass what splices the ropes," and while there were many that sti
ll frowned upon keeping a woman aboard, and cursed such as bad luck, they were a dwindling minority.

  She was convinced that one man, however, would never warm to her. "So she splices ropes," Livingston sneered. "One day someone will find her real talents, should they think to look between her legs."

  He always referred to Katherine as "her" or "she," even when he was speaking directly to her. "She looks nice," he told her. "When she takes on a little more weight, even I might fancy a go, if she's lucky."

  She wished a thousand violent deaths upon him, but one would be enough.

  Nathan Adams mocked her in far friendlier a manner, though no less disturbing in his insinuations. "Splicing the ropes, eh?" he remarked cheerfully. "Would that not consequence a fast ship, and thus promote our piracy?"

  She threw him a fierce glare, and he repentantly waved his hands and insisted, "It was only a jest!"

  GRIFFITH

  When spring ended, the crew elected to remain in the West Indies rather than return to the East Coast of North America, for they were fond of these waters and saw no immediate need to replenish their fortunes. They spent most of their days on islands gathering water and catching turtles and sunbathing. They had careened Harbinger on three occasions, scraping the hull of the seaweed and barnacles that thrived in the warm waters.

  The ill crewmen that had been confined to a separated partition of the hold had all perished. Otherwise, the crew remained relativity healthy, their bellies gladdened by fresh water and the wholesome meat of turtles.

  Griffith was inclined to agree with the crew's decision to stay, though logic told him it was a bad idea. The North Atlantic was far more lucrative, and each year the Caribbean had seen fewer merchant vessels treading her perilous, pirate-infested waters. It was a fine place to spend the winter, but Griffith had found very little profit over pleasure.

  He had watched Katherine Lindsay blossom. The constant sun had darkened her skin. She was eating heartily now, and her bony angles had filled to pleasing curves. She allowed her wild mane to flow freely. He was finding her increasingly difficult to resist, and he could have sworn that her eyes beckoned him with every glance.