"Why you sleeping in your breeches, John? Ain't you hot enough?" And, most common of all, "Where's your book, John? Read something for us."
The ability to read was what surprised his comrades the most, and really set him apart. It had earned him the position of corporal the day he arrived, and the captain had made it clear he was dithering between that and sergeant. If only the captain had dithered the other way. Sergeant stripes would get him out of the common barracks.
Cooper sighed. He needed the promotion. Surely, one major achievement would do it for him. Something that would show he was brave and capable, as well as literate. Something like being the one to arrest an infamous pirate. That was why he was disguised in civilian clothes and sitting in the brothel, doing his best to ignore the squalid behaviour around him.
Taking Grim Mary prisoner would not be easy. Pirates did not keep any sort of predictable schedules, and even if Cooper found out where she was going to be, in time to arrange an ambush, it would not help his plans. Grim Mary was always surrounded by her crew, and it would take a squad of soldiers to overcome them. Cooper had to capture Grim Mary singlehandedly, to help his chance of promotion.
Grim Mary was currently entertaining herself with the whore in the middle of the room. Yet, at some stage, presumably they would go to a private room, and Grim Mary would not want a half-dozen of her crew with her then. Cooper chewed his lip. Might that be his chance? The risk would be high, and not merely from the pirate.
Reynard, the owner of The Golden Fleece, had a reputation to rival that of Grim Mary herself. Pirates were volatile customers, and Reynard had invested heavily in security to protect his merchandise. People who caused trouble in his brothel ended up floating face down in the harbour. As well as a small army of guards, he was known to have a network of informers, and bribes paid to all the right people. Rumours also spoke of secret escape routes from the brothel. For both staff and clientele, The Golden Fleece was easily the most secure place in town, but where else did Cooper have any hope of overcoming Grim Mary?
Without warning, the bench he was sitting on shook as a whore plonked herself down beside him.
"Hey, handsome, sitting here with the long face. Why don't you let me cheer you up?" The woman spoke with a marked accent, either Spanish or Portuguese. As far as could be seen in the weak light, she was younger and prettier than most other whores. Ringlets of black hair fell around a sensual, oval face. The normal pancake make-up was missing, which could only mean that she had not yet caught the pox.
Regardless of the woman's appearance, Cooper shook his head. "I don't have money to spare. I'm just here to drink."
"I don't think you mean that. There are taverns enough in town for those who desire only wine or rum. Come on. Don't be shy. I know what you really want."
"What I really want is to be left in peace."
The whore would not be put off . She snuggled up against Cooper, sliding one arm around his waist. He tried to shift away, but was hemmed in by a post.
"I've been watching you, handsome. A man like you, yes, I think I could be very good for you. I have a room upstairs."
"No, I assure—"
The whore's hand landed on Cooper's thigh and started to inch up, its goal clear. In panic, Cooper clamped his own hand down, blocking the path.
Still, the whore moved closer. Her lips brushed against Cooper's neck and then nuzzled a line up. She breathed softly into his ear. "I know you're a woman."
Rosa sank onto the filthy straw pallet on the floor of her room and looked up at the nervous woman still standing with her back against the door.
"What's your name?" Rosa asked the question quietly. The walls upstairs in The Golden Fleece were thin.
"John Cooper."
"That wasn't what your parents called you."
"No, but it's what I'm called now."
"Very well then, John Cooper."
The guise of a man suited her, Rosa judged, far better than a feminine appearance would. Some women just looked wrong in a dress. The firm line of John's jaw and cheekbones would be awry if set against long hair. Her square shoulders and narrow hips would make any dress hang off her like a sack. Whereas the loose shirt and breeches? Rosa smiled. Yes, the male attire suited her new acquaintance very well.
"My name is Rosa. The customers here call me Spanish Rosa." Her smile saddened. "And that's not what my parents called me, either. Why don't you sit beside me and we'll talk."
"I'll stay here."
"Then we'll have to talk loudly, and people in the hall might hear."
John jerked away from the door and glanced at it anxiously, as if it were a threat. If nothing else, John knew how to act cute—which was a shame, because right now, cute was not what was needed. John was young, surely not past her teens, and clearly way out of her depth in games of subterfuge. She was also the only help on offer. Rosa just hoped that she would not turn out to be stupid or cowardly. John shuffled two half-steps forward and back, then forward again before dropping down on the pallet. "How did you know I was a woman?"
"Your moustache."
"I don't have a moustache." John raised her finger to her upper lip, as if
needing to confirm that one had not suddenly sprouted there. She really was quite endearingly artless.
"You do. A woman's moustache. Soft baby hairs."
John looked confused.
Rosa explained. "For a man to be as clean-faced as you, he would have to shave very closely. There would be no hair left at all. When I got close, I saw the fine hairs in the lamplight and knew."
"Oh."
"You should shave even those fine fluffy hairs from your face."
"Right." John stared down into her lap, chewing her lip.
"You haven't been passing as a man for long?" It was a safe deduction. "No. Only a couple of months. I joined up last—"
"Joined up? You ran away to become a soldier?" How romantic.
"Mainly, I ran away. I didn't have a lot of options about what to do afterwards."
"Why?"
"My parents wanted me to get married. The man they'd picked, I guess he was all right but—" John shrugged. "Somehow, I didn't want to." No, you wouldn't. "There was someone else you preferred?"
"No. I guess I haven't met the right man yet."
Rosa shook her head. Was John really that clueless? Anyone could see that a man was not what she wanted. "A woman might be more to your liking."
"No." John's denial was immediate and vigorous, but the downturn of her eyes contradicted it. "In my family, we don't do things like that. My father is a vicar."
"That makes a difference?" Rosa smiled. "Be honest. I saw you watching Captain Mary. I think you were a little interested in her sport with Christobel."
"No. It wasn't that." John had been ill at ease before. Now, she blushed bright red.
Footsteps sounded in the hall. Rosa gave a series of dramatic gasps and moans until the people had passed. Her performance was explicit enough that John turned even redder than before. Rosa licked her lips. Teasing John was most definitely enjoyable, but there were more important things to discuss. "I agree. It was not desire I saw in your eyes. I do not think that you wish the pirate captain well." John started to speak.
Rosa held up her hand. "No. It is not a safe thing to admit, but I do not wish her well, either. That is why I approached you. I think we have common aims."
"You're against her?"
"In truth, I want her dead."
"Why?"
"Revenge. She murdered my family—my father and my young brother." Rosa turned her head and stared out through the foot-square hole in the wall that served as a window, fighting to hold the memories under control. "What about your mother?"
"She died when my brother was born. So, there was just the three of us, living in Cadiz. My father ran a warehouse. When I was twelve, he got a new job in the West Indies. We set sail together for a new life, but all we found was death."
"Grim Mary?"
&nbs
p; "We were a few days from land, when we were boarded by her. They stole everything and killed every man and boy on the ship. Made them walk the plank."
Rosa scrunched her eyes shut, but she could not block out the memory. "Rosa. Papá." She could still hear the cry from seven-year-old Pedro. The old montage flowed over her. The terror on Pedro's baby-soft face. His hands reaching out to her, pleading for help as he backed away from Grim Mary, who was poking him with the tip of her sword. His last scream when he was forced off the end. Grim Mary's laughter. Her father fighting so desperately that when his turn came he could not stand, so the pirates tossed him over the side. Four of them held his hands and feet, counting "One. Two. Three." As her father swung, he met her eyes, one last time. The horror and regret she saw there—he knew what was in store. With the last male captive dead, the pirates turned to her . . . "But not you?" John's voice brought her back.
The room swam with unshed tears when Rosa opened her eyes. "No. There were three women on board. If you can count me as a woman at the age of twelve. They did not kill us three. They had other uses. But one woman threw herself overboard when she got the chance, rather than continue to live as the pirates' plaything. And the other got caught in the middle of a drunken brawl and was killed. I think it was an accident. So, I was the only one left when they reached here."
"Did they let you go or did you escape?"
"The ship's quartermaster. The only man on board who had not raped me. I think I reminded him of his own daughter. When we landed, he took me to the church here in town. There's a small convent attached. He left me with the nuns. I don't know if he suffered any reprisal from his fellows for it. I hope not."
"You didn't go back home?"
"I had no home to go to. My family was dead. If I'd gone back to Cadiz, I might have found some distant relatives, but it wasn't certain they'd take me in. I'd have been soiled goods, unfit for marriage. So, I stayed with the nuns for eight years. I thought about joining them. But the life of contemplation is
not for me. I burned for revenge. That's why I became a whore. It's the only way I could get close enough to Grim Mary to put a knife in her heart. After so many years, I was sure neither she nor any of her crew would remember me."
"And she hasn't?"
"No. But I have changed my mind a little."
"You don't want to kill her?"
"I want her dead, but a knife in the heart is too quick. I want her to see death coming. I want her to piss herself with fear as she watches the seconds rush by. And I want her to die like my brother and father, as entertainment for jeering onlookers. I want her to be surrounded by laughter as she breathes her last. I want her to dance with the hangman."
"You want the law to deal with her?"
"Yes. What death is crueler? She will walk to the gallows, knowing she will not walk away. Utterly without hope, without mercy."
"I wasn't thinking in quite those terms, but I was hoping to arrest her."
John pursed her lips. "It isn't going to be easy."
"I have a plan. And you can help me."
When they left the room and walked downstairs, the scene of debauchery below was unchanged. On the bottom step, Rosa caught John by the arm and swung her round. Before the surprised woman could react, Rosa wrapped her in a hug and mashed their lips together in an ardent kiss.
Admittedly, it worked well in terms of the overall act, but putting on a show for any watchers was not Rosa's main motive, and she was rewarded by seeing yet another blush sweep over John's face.
"Hey, big boy. You be sure to come back soon. You know how to make a girl feel good."
John's expression of stunned confusion was priceless. She looked like she thought she ought to back away but had forgotten how. Her eyes remained fixed on Rosa's lips as though she had never seen a mouth before. She really was quiet delightfully clueless.
Peaches's lips puckered in a sullen pout that was indistinguishable from her normal "kiss me" pout, except for an extra wrinkle at the corner of her eyes. She watched as the young man left The Golden Fleece, and Rosa homed in on her next mark. The Spanish bitch thought she was so great. She had arrived only a month ago and already she was acting like she was the main draw in the place. Peaches could not see why everyone fell for it. Already, the sailor who Rosa had picked was open-mouthed and drooling. It was not as if she was that pretty.
Peaches's expression changed slowly to a self-satisfied smile. Most changes
happened slowly with her. As with the two years it had taken her to realize that she had not acquired her nickname as a result of her complexion, but because her last name was Plumb. However, this time, she had to be quick. She was supposed to be in her room, practising a special dance routine to entertain a rich client, and Reynard would be angry if he caught her slacking.
Fortunately, Spanish Rosa needed just a few minutes to snare her mark. Once she had escorted him to her room, Peaches sidled over to Grim Mary. Two of the girls were currently vying for the pirate captain's attention with a zeal due mainly to Grim Mary's reputation for generosity. Otherwise, she would not have been the girls' first pick for a mark, a reticence due not to her being a woman—most of the girls rather liked that—but because she was far too quick to turn abusive if her companion was a little slow in guessing exactly what she wanted.
Peaches elbowed one of the girls aside and brought her lips close to Grim Mary's ear. "I know something that you're going to want to hear."
"What?"
"It's private."
"Nice play, but I'm not falling for it. Keep smiling and you'll get your turn after I've finished with these two."
"I'm serious. I've overheard something."
Grim Mary turned her head to look at Peaches. "You better be telling the truth."
Peaches shivered as gooseflesh prickled her skin. She would not like to encounter Grim Mary outside the security of The Golden Fleece. She was sure the abuse would not be limited to harsh words and a slapped face. However, for now, she was safe.
Once she was settled on Grim Mary's lap, Peaches continued whispering.
"I've got the room next to Spanish Rosa. I overheard her talking to her last mark."
"Which one?"
"He's just gone. I've not seen him before, but I could point him out when he comes back here."
"What did he say?"
"It wasn't what he said. It was Spanish Rosa. She has a plan to have you nabbed by the law. They're going to set it up that you'll go to her room. He'll be waiting in there for you with a loaded pistol. The pair will cart you out by a secret passage she's discovered."
"Will they, now? I think I'll need to talk to them about it." Grim Mary's lips curled up in a smile, but her clenched teeth spoke of nothing except malice. "And how would you like to be rewarded for this information?" Peaches did not need to answer the question. Already Grim Mary's hand was delving under her dress. Without preamble, the hard, calloused fingers thrust into her.
Grim Mary sheltered in the entrance to an alley, with five of her crew in attendance, and studied the scene. The church attached to the convent stood on the quiet side of town. The dusty square in front of it was deserted, except for the row of tired palm trees and a couple of seagulls. Grim Mary glanced back at her crew.
"Wait here and stay out of sight until the bitch turns up. Then don't let anyone else in."
"Aye, Cap'n."
The interior of the church was cool and dim after the sunshine. Grim Mary took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust. The scent of incense hung heavy in the air. Sounds from the harbour were silenced by the thick walls. Her grin widened. No one outside would hear the screams when they started. One lone priest was in sight, praying before the altar. Grim Mary sauntered down the aisle and tapped the man's ankle with her foot. "Find somewhere else to pray, Father. Don't come back for a while and keep your mouth shut. You understand?"
The priest's eyes widened in terror. Despite the instruction, his jaw also dropped open. No sound came out, which was good
enough, but he seemed rooted to the spot, until Grim Mary stamped her foot, impatiently. The priest nodded in a convulsive shudder and fled.
The confessional stood against the wall. Grim Mary settled herself down on the side reserved for the priest and pulled the curtain shut. Now, she had to wait, but she did not mind. It gave her time to plan, in precise detail, just what she was going to do to the slut.
Fear in her victims' eyes was the sweetest sight Grim Mary knew. Nothing else came close to the feeling of power it gave her. Sex was a bland game in comparison to holding someone's life in her hand, hearing them beg, hearing them scream.
The Spanish slut was going to beg and scream. Where had the whore got the nerve to think she could bundle Grim Mary up like a package and deliver her into the hands of the law? She would learn better, as she was sliced to pieces, bit by bit. Hunting down the stupid mark and giving him his due would come next. She must remember to get details about the man before she cut the whore's tongue out. Grim Mary smiled while her fingers traced the pattern on the pommel of her dagger. She would start with the whore's ears, or maybe her nose. Then fingers, toes, and finally skin, inch by inch. How long would the whore last?
The job would take time, but her men outside would ensure she got it.
The Golden Fleece would be more comfortable surroundings, not least because she could get a drink whenever she needed one, but Reynard would never allow it, regardless of how much he was threatened or paid. Grim Mary needed to catch her prey when she was unprotected, but the only time the Spanish slut set foot outside the brothel was once a week, when she came to the church to confess her sins. The whore must have plenty to confess. It was a wonder the priest's hair was not white from the shock of it, even though he was a young man. Perhaps that was it—he let the whore off a few rounds on the rosary beads in return for a quick hand job under the cassock.
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