The Devil's Fire

by Matt Tomerlin

  "That’s a wild story," the redhead said with a smirk. "Rogers believe everything he hears?"

  "Certainly not," Hornigold said. He realized that he had been idly stroking his moustache and promptly jerked his hand away. It was an annoying habit he had never been successful in smothering. "However, it’s a claim worth investigating while young Adams sits in a cell awaiting execution." He studied her for a reaction.

  "He’s going to hang?" she said, her chin quivering very slightly. She looked into the wind, hair sweeping past her face.

  Hornigold resisted a smile. He had found his woman. "Only if he’s lying," he said.

  Sassy Sally’s portly cook ascended the stairs at that moment and lumbered up to them. He set a bowl of turtle soup before Hornigold and glared fiercely at him. Hornigold seized the man by his collar. "Bring me a second bowl, minus your saliva."

  The cook shrugged innocently. "I dunno what you mean."

  "Listen to me, you shit, the soup isn’t for me, it’s for the lady." The cook’s eyes darted from Hornigold to the woman. "Now bring her another bowl or I will split you from cock to—"

  "Yes," the cook nodded frantically, "‘Cock to apple.’ I heard you say this inside! My mistake! I thought soup was for you." He pulled away, retrieved the soup and shuffled off.

  Hornigold sat back down. The redhead merely raised an eyebrow. "Chivalry is alive and well in the Caribbean, I see."

  "They don’t like me here. It seems I’ve stifled much of their business."

  The cook returned rather swiftly, depositing another bowl on the table, this time in front of the woman. He bowed slightly and smiled nervously. "Apologies," he said, and threw Hornigold a furious glare before scurrying away.

  The woman stared uncertainly at the murky contents of the bowl. "Eat," Hornigold insisted. "You appear famished." She greedily seized the spoon and slurped up the soup. Her shirt fell open and Hornigold shifted to one side, hoping to catch sight of a nipple. Unfortunately her damnable hair deprived him from this angle. When she had emptied the bowl, she tossed the spoon in, slid it back to him, and returned her sight to the bay.

  "You are Katherine Lindsay, are you not?"

  "I am not," she replied easily.

  "That’s unfortunate," Hornigold said. His hand inevitably drifted toward his moustache as he wondered if he should return with guards to seize this woman. "Might I ask what your name is, then?"

  "Kate," she replied, and for the first time, she actually smiled.

  "Kate?" he said, astonished at the nerve of this woman.

  She tossed a cavalier hand in the air and said, "It’s a common name."

  Hornigold winced as his fingers absently gave his moustache a fierce tug. He dropped his hand to his lap and held his wrist firmly in place. "Tell me, Kate, what’s to keep me from dragging you before Rogers?"

  Her lips parted, revealing clenched teeth. "It would be very foolish to present a false woman to Lindsay’s family."

  "Oh you are false; of that I’ve no doubt," Hornigold proclaimed, standing and slipping his coat back on. It had grown a tad chilly for his liking, and this conversation was nearing its end. "But you are also Katherine Lindsay."

  "How much are you willing to bet on that, Captain Hornigold?" she asked, standing along with him. She circled the table. Her blood-soaked shirt hung loose, hair covering her breasts. Her trousers were tight against her slender, muscular thighs. She was smiling confidently.

  "How much is at stake?" he asked nervously.

  "More than Katherine Lindsay is worth," she replied casually. "More than your little ship is worth."

  Anger swelled in his chest. The nerve of this bitch! He started at her, hand poised for a crushing blow, but he managed to stop. She didn’t flinch. She set her hand atop his, which was still raised, and slowly pushed it downward. He was transfixed by the taut muscles of her heavily sunned arms. "I may not be Katherine Lindsay, but I did swim from his ship last night."

  He pulled away from her. "Then you’re a pirate."

  "As were you, I imagine," she retorted.

  "I am no longer!" he protested bitterly. "I am a privateer! I have always been so! Sometimes a man must resort to extreme measures in extreme circumstances, but I have never attacked my own. The dog they call Blackbeard twisted my crew against me and took it upon himself to attack good British sailors."

  "Then you’re a smart pirate," she replied quickly, "but a pirate nonetheless. There are far worse than you roaming those waters."

  "One less, it would seem." With finicky fingers he adjusted the black collar of his red coat, which was nearly a match for the color of her hair.

  "You mean Griffith?" she sneered. "It’s my understanding he was not the worst of the Caribbean’s troubles. The man burned down his own ship, for heaven’s sake!"

  "Did he?" Hornigold said. "I would’ve guessed he’d had help. Perhaps from a vengeful woman whose husband he’d murdered. Terrible luck bringing a woman aboard. Most pirates know better."

  "Very terrible for Griffith," she said. She was closing on him again. Whatever exhaustion had plagued her earlier had completely faded. "Not so terrible for you."

  Some silly part of him felt like leaping over the balcony to get away from her. "You’re insane, do you realize that?"

  "I’m alive," she said. "Griffith is dead." She sat on the table before him, folded her arms, and crossed one leg over the other. "And I can make you a very rich pirate hunter." She raised a finger to correct herself. "Privateer."

  Hornigold wrenched his eyes from her and set his fists on the balcony railing. He swept his gaze over the bay, trying to avoid the white sails of Ranger. They were far too bright, pervading his peripheral vision. "Virgin sails," a cackling Blackbeard had once said in ridicule of Hornigold’s tidy ship. "Afraid to get dirty."

  He turned and found her smirking at him, her tresses moving softly in the wind. He caught another glimpse of her mangled ear. "What was he like?" he asked.

  "Who?"

  "Griffith."

  "I don’t remember," she answered without haste.

  He chuckled. "Was yesterday so long ago?"

  Again she unveiled that pleasing smile that softened her face. She was very beautiful, but her sun-touched skin, lean muscles, the bloodstains on her shirt, and the occasional fleeting glimpse of that recently lost ear reminded Hornigold that this woman was not to be trifled with. He had never met a woman like this, and he suspected that if he left now, he never would again.

  Her reply was methodical. "Not so long that I don’t remember the location of Griffith’s greatest secret."

  "Buried treasure?" Hornigold loosed a boisterous laugh.

  She spread her arms. "Is it so farfetched out here?"

  "Yes," he replied. "A pirate rarely parts with booty until he reaches port, where it is exchanged for coin and swiftly fumbled into the willing arms of strumpets. Buried treasure is almost always a myth, conjured over bonfire under influence of spirits."

  "Almost always," she agreed. "Griffith did not part with his booty. He merely secured it in order to accept a pardon from Rogers, claim the title of pirate hunter, and retrieve it at a later date."

  Hornigold frowned. Unfortunately, that scheme made perfect sense to him. He would have done the same, had Blackbeard not stolen his crew and the majority of his bountiful plunder right out from under him. "And you know the location? Can you produce a map?"

  "I can draw you a map," she said, tapping the side of her head. "It’s all here."

  "I find that difficult to believe."

  "As a woman who resided in Captain Griffith’s cabin for a year burdened with nothing but an abundance of time and unrestricted access to his maps, I can assure you, I know many things I should not."

  Hornigold pushed himself off the railing and approached her. She gazed up at him but didn’t rise. He pinched her chin and studied her eyes intently. Having served with pirates since 1713, he knew a liar when he saw one. There was no lie in this woman’s eyes.

>   He released her chin and turned away. If the treasure was as real and lucrative as she claimed, Hornigold might ease in his obligation to hunt pirates. More specifically, he might abandon his search for Edward Teach, who had earned nothing less than a bloody demise at Hornigold’s vengeful hands. Yet, he had always known that hunting Blackbeard was at best a fool’s errand. Teach had warned him not to follow, and in issuing that warning he had deliberately galvanized Hornigold into doing just that. The monstrous bastard ached for a final battle at sea between the two of them. And surely, if Teach won, he would allow no one else the honor of killing Benjamin Hornigold. The last thing Hornigold would see would be Blackbeard’s grinning face swathed in the smoke of that terrible burning beard.

  Hornigold felt the woman’s eyes on his back and turned to find her regarding him with a shrewd smile. "You’re thoughts are at war," she said. "Who’s winning?"

  "Money always wins," he replied.

  "Not always," she said, setting a hand on her leg. "Just ask Griffith."

  "I can’t," Hornigold chuckled. The wood groaned as a heavy gust of wind tugged at the balcony. The trees swayed all around, and for a moment the entire island seemed to be moving. "What’s it like to take revenge?"

  The wind tossed strands of the woman’s hair in front of her face, but her eyes did not flutter as they held his. "I wouldn’t know."

  Hornigold breathed deep the salty air. "I would think it intensely gratifying."

  She shrugged pensively. "I would think it too final to be satisfying. A man can only die once, when a thousand deaths would serve him."

  Only one test remained now. Hornigold had no wish for an innocent boy to die, but who was to say Nathan Adams was truly innocent? Lady Katherine’s crew had not reported a deckhand missing. By their account, only Katherine Lindsay had been kidnapped. "Shame about the boy," he said. "He was so very convincing."

  She opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something, but closed her lips.

  "To your knowledge," Hornigold pressed on, "did the boy willingly commit acts of piracy?"

  "What?"

  "Is Nathan Adams a pirate?"

  Her eyes flickered away. "What does it matter if he is? Have your governor hand him a pardon and make him one of your crew. You can do that, yes?"

  Hornigold proceeded cautiously. "If in fact this boy is a pirate, then he has attempted a perverse deception against ‘my’ governor, and any pardon he may have otherwise received is null."

  Her lip curled in disgust, but still she avoided eye contact. "Nathan would never have received a pardon even if he had surrendered himself without subterfuge."

  "Then you admit that he is false."

  "Rogers will kill him no matter what I admit."

  "That’s not true," Hornigold insisted. "You will be safely returned to your family, and Adams’ life will be spared." He smiled. "That is, if you are, in fact, Katherine Lindsay."

  Her brow creased. Her head sank and she let out a slow sigh that was barely audible over the wind.

  "You’re thoughts are at war," Hornigold echoed.

  She set one hand in the other and rubbed her palm with her thumb. She didn’t seem to recognize the lines she saw there. Finally she lifted her head and held Hornigold’s gaze. "I won’t pretend I’m someone I’m not."

  "Then the boy will hang," said Hornigold.

  She looked to the bay. Her gaze was impossibly distant, as though her vision stretched beyond the horizon and sailed the curve all the way to the end of the world. A single strand of hair trailed in front of her face, swaying gently, and she made no attempt to remove it. Hornigold followed her gaze to the horizon and found a gray patch of clouds that he hadn’t noticed only moments ago. The clouds appeared small from this great distance, but were densely packed and ominously dark. He couldn’t be sure if they were approaching or diminishing.

  The red-haired woman’s raspy voice cut into his thoughts. "I’m ready to leave when you are," she said.

  AUTHOR'S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction set during the final years of the golden age of piracy. The majority of the characters are a product of the author’s imagination. However, a select few are actual historical figures. While a degree of accuracy has been attempted for authenticity, some events and facts have been changed in order to serve the story.

  Woodes Rogers was indeed governor of the Bahamas and greatly contributed to the downfall of piracy. Benjamin Hornigold was a privateer turned pirate who recruited Edward Teach, who became the notorious Blackbeard. Hornigold eventually accepted Rogers’ pardon and turned pirate hunter. Despite the implication of the concluding chapter, Hornigold remained loyal to Rogers. Because little is known about Hornigold as an individual, much of the character’s portrayal is entirely speculative and should not be accepted as an accurate representation.

  Katherine Lindsay, Jack Cunningham, Jonathon Griffith, and Harbinger’s crew are entirely fictitious.

  EXCERPT FROM "THE DEVIL'S TIDE"

  The water gently lapped at Ranger's hull as her sharp bow slid through the calm night sea, like a knife silently cutting glass. The waxing moon shimmered luminously in the delicate ripples that spread from the ship's wake. The sails fluttered softly, plump with the mild yet persistent wind that urged Ranger forward. A pirate snorted in his sleep, his hammock swaying as he rolled onto his side.

  "This won't last," Bastion said in his thick Jamaican accent, aiming a finger at the brilliant starry sky. A storm had been chasing them since departing Nassau, a dense cloud growing heavy and black on the aft horizon. No matter how fast they pushed Ranger, the cloud's mass slowly increased, like a great monster that had all the time in the world. The wind was constant and Ranger was a fast sloop, but the storm could overtake them in a few easy steps if it so desired.

  "Nothing ever does," Bart replied, plucking the last sliver of meat off of a chicken bone. His belly was full to bursting, but he knew better than to waste good meat in the early stages of a journey. The crew would be living off hardtack and rum before long, and chickens would plague their dreams. Bart savored the final juicy bite and tossed the bone to the sea, watching as it tumbled downward and made a little splash in the dark water. Not much of a meal for the sharks.

  He rested his arms on the bulwark beside Bastion, letting the cool breeze sweep over his face. Tomorrow would be warm and bright, storm permitting.

  "How long you think before Governor Rogers come for us?" Bastion said, throwing a nervous glance over his shoulder, the whites of his eyes showing brightly around his pupils. His dark skin would have rendered his features indiscernible in the night, if not for the moonlight.

  Bart had specifically chosen a best friend who would enhance his mental and physical appearance in every way he could possibly conceive. Bastion was a foot shorter than Bart, and though he was lithely muscled, Bart was far more powerfully built. Bastion was five years older than Bart, who was twenty-five, but Bart thought him no wiser than a teenager. In fact, there were very few aboard Ranger that Bart considered his intellectual equal.

  "I don't know," Bart said with a lengthy sigh. He didn't care to think about what was behind them, only what was ahead. He had run away from his overly strict parents in New York when he was eight and had never looked back. He spent much of his youth moving from family to family, conning each with various fictions that detailed a tragic heritage, though in truth he had suffered no tragedy. He spent a year or two with each family before growing tired of them, gathering up whatever valuables he could conceal and moving onto the next. Eventually he ended up working on a merchant ship, where he displayed considerable aptitude mending sails. He remembered little about his mother, but he was certain she had been a gifted seamstress. The gift must have trickled down.

  Eventually Bart was recruited into piracy when the trade ship he served aboard was set upon by Benjamin Hornigold and his protégé, Edward Teach.

  "Rogers isn't after us," Bart continued. "He's after our dear captain. You and me, we're ghosts. O
nce we've got that treasure, we'll disappear."

  "What if there be no treasure?"

  Bart shrugged. "Then we'll disappear as poor men, same as always, and move to the next venture, until we can disappear as rich men." Bastion was always dwelling on what might go wrong. As far as Bart was concerned, there was an easy way out of any situation, if one only bothered to look for the escape route.

  "Captain Benjamin no disappear so easily?"

  "He's a fool," Bart growled. Benjamin Hornigold, a former pirate turned pirate hunter, had been Governor Woodes Rogers' right-hand man, and he'd thrown it all away thanks to a mysterious woman's promise of a buried fortune. Under cover of night, Hornigold held a covert meeting with his crew in Nassau harbor, informing them that he planned to abandon his duties and seek out this treasure. Hornigold would bring the woman with them as a guide; a kind of human treasure map. She was a pretty thing who called herself Kate, with untamed hair that might have been colored in blood.

  Bart and the majority of the crew, most of whom had been former pirates, were more than happy to oblige. They weren't making near enough under the employ of Woodes Rogers. If Rogers apprehended them, they could always feign ignorance and say they were simply following Hornigold's orders, and didn't realize that he had acted without Rogers' permission.

  "Once pirate, always pirate," Bastion said. Probably something he had heard one of the men say. Like a parrot, Bastion often latched onto phrases he had overheard, even when he didn't fully understand their meaning. Bart often found himself explaining to Bastion the meaning of the quotes whenever Bastion used them inappropriately.

  "Problems arise when a pirate makes a name for himself," Bart replied, digging a strand of meat out of his teeth with a fingernail. "A man can't disappear when everyone knows his face." He nudged Bastion with an elbow. "You and me, we're nobodies. You know why history doesn't tell of successful pirates?"

  Bastion thought about that for a moment, frowning. When he came to a conclusion, he looked like he might throw up. "Because they do not exist?"