Mama Lu studied his face. Her dark eyes filled with sympathy, something he’d seen many times in the last ten years. But he took it from her—he always did. He shared much with her. She knew when his heart ached. But it wasn’t pity. He abhorred pity.
She sighed. “I can’t guarantee anything, Alan. You know how Glacious can be. She’s a jealous bitch, and if you can’t hide how you feel from her, she’ll make it her business to destroy Mrs. Pawes. You can try, with Mick and the mirror. That might be enough to draw the Kraken to her palace. Mick can take care of himself. That woman, she been here long enough to learn some defense, but not enough to stand against Glacious.”
“I won’t take her into the palace. I can lure Mick; he’ll cotton to what is going on quickly enough. Pawes won’t, and she’ll get hurt. Or dead. I’ll take the chance on the mirror. And Mick.”
It must work that way. That dear woman couldn’t face the ice cold glare of his ice queen. Emily boiled with heat, with fire and fury. Glacious would do anything to snuff out that fire. Especially if she realized how much it warmed him.
Mama Lu shook her head. “You do the spell perfect, Alan. And you pray Mick remembers more than the hatred he holds.”
“Em…Mrs. Pawes said something to me. About how Mick’s anger doesn’t ring authentic to her. I trust her judgment, Lu. Mick is playing a role because it suits him.”
“You sure the role wasn’t pretending to be your friend?” Lu always asked the difficult questions.
Alan took a deep breath, held it, let it out slowly. “No. But I trust him. And her. I have to. I need this done!”
“That’s fine. Now, I know where ta get the ring you can use to pierce her. You give me two weeks and come back. And bring me some of that darkest rum. When you gonna see this dream inta reality? And where?” Mama Lu thrust the cork back into her bottle and set it aside, signaling he’d be leaving soon.
“She wants something from the dyers on St. Marteen. I’ll make it worth their while. Set that up while you get the ring. What of the ring for her half of the dream? The silver one I will wear?” He rose from the table, anxious to keep the momentum going.
“I get that, too. And I’ll make sure the ring is where she can find it when she reaches St. Marteen. See it happens soon, Alan.”
“The tailors of Nassau haven’t heard from the Quill yet. They are bound there next. I’ll make sure the dyers offer to teach Mrs. Pawes, and send message to Nassau with enough promise of sharing dye secrets to lure her off the Quill in four weeks, Lu.” He turned toward the door.
“You barely have time. Ya turn sixty-five in nine weeks.”
“I know my own birth date, Lu. I’ll be back in two.” He left her snug house and began walking down the winding path to the harbor. He had some bribes to make.
***
Emily woke with her side aching. She tried to stretch and a moan escaped her.
“It will feel better soon.”
She turned her head to see Davis propped on a stool in a corner of her cabin. She peered at him. “You watching me?”
“Yup. You need to take another dose. One to make you sleep more.”
She must have made a face, for he chuckled.
“The Captain wants to see you once you’ve eaten,” he said.
“Oh. I’d like to see her, too.” Emily managed to rise with Davis’s help. She took the cup he offered and swallowed the contents without discussion. Touching the bandage at her side, she grimaced to realize her breeches were gone. And she was wearing a new shirt.
“Did you undress me?”
“Yes.”
She snorted.
“I don’t take advantage of wounded women.” He sounded offended.
“Hell, I didn’t think you did! I’m not used to having anyone undress me.” She looked around, not wanting to think about the last man who’d undressed her. Or the one before that.
“Only certain men, I know.” Leaning on him, she made it from her cabin to the galley. She did not address his comment.
None of his business.
Once she’d eaten, her next stop was the Captain’s quarters. She’d been in there before, but this visit was different. Jezebel acted quite formal, nodding when Emily entered, leaning on Davis.
She refused to be treated like an invalid in front of the captain and shook him off.
“Captain.” Emily waited.
“Crewperson Pawes…it has come to my attention that you didn’t follow the direction of Mr. Davis. Why did you delay in striking that bastard?” Jezebel asked. Her eyes betrayed no curiosity, despite the question. Her face gave no clue to what she might be feeling, holding a formal stillness.
This was not what Emily expected. She started, her spine straightening despite the way the stance pulled on her wounds. “Captain, ma’am, I’m not used to killing people. Sure, I’ve fought on deck and done some damage, but to throw a knife into someone’s back? I’m so sorry if it disturbs you, my lack of bloodthirstiness, but I couldn’t do it easily.”
“The captain of the Petite held a pistol on me!” Jezz met her eyes straight. “I don’t believe it is unusual for me to expect you to act according to your instructor and do something! Davis is the experienced man and you should have followed his lead.”
“I did do something. I listened as you tried to talk him out of hurting you. I was ready to throw if the situation continued. I followed your lead.” Emily found herself getting pissed. Maybe she’d expected a bit of gratitude!
Jezzie threw her arms into the air. “I didn’t know you were there, or my strategy would have been different. Davis! Leave us.”
Emily swallowed nervously while the Captain paced a moment. Three steps to one side, three steps to the other, head bowed, arms clasped at her back. The cabin wasn’t terribly big.
“Sit.” Jezzie directed her to a chair.
“Ma’am, if I’m to continue being scolded, I’ll stand, thank you.”
“Sit!”
With a nervous swallow, Emily took a chair. It hurt to sit, but she tried not to let that show.
Jezzie walked behind her, leaned over and set her hands on Emily’s shoulders. “Firstly, thank you for saving my life.”
“Uh, you’re welcome.” Emily glanced from the corners of her eyes, trying to see the Captain. “I truly didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry if the delay cost you something.”
“Yes, well. Apologize to Mick. He doesn’t want it bandied about the Caribbean that he is the one talked about. Luckily, he’d wrapped a scarf around his lower face. They shouldn’t be able to describe him.” Jezzie squeezed her shoulders and sat down across from her.
“Okay. I will, but for what? I didn’t understand the strategy you used. Why would they care if he survived Silvestri’s curse?” Emily found she truly wanted to understand this, considering she’d tried to kill the same man, albeit accidentally, and escaped unhurt. “Why did it nearly work?”
“You couldn’t see Mick or the crew from where you were. Let me see if I can explain.” Jezzie poured a measure of rum and offered some to Emily.
Being served by the captain was unusual, but Emily accepted the drink. Not to would be rude and offending the woman who offered her shelter didn’t seem prudent.
Clearing her throat, the captain continued, “First, this strategy worked with the cloth merchant’s ship because they were French. And the French are more superstitious than other sailors on the Caribbean. You know of Silvestri’s curse?”
“Yeah. Basically, his good luck is stolen from the good luck of others around him. Even causing them bad luck.” Emily sniffed, desperate to maintain some semblance of not caring,
“Yes. Ten years ago, Silvestri was able to remain in any one location three months maximum before the curse struck. As long as no one came against him, that is. Then his time shrank to three weeks, now it’s down to three days. The shorter the time, the more vicious the bad luck grows. No one escapes. Mick did. Ten years ago. He nearly killed Silvestri. It’s known someone esc
aped and assumed that the bad luck hovers around that person. I know it doesn’t, but the French have reason to fear Silvestri’s trail of bad luck.”
“Why did Mick try to kill him? He knew of the curse, knew he couldn’t succeed.” Emily sipped at the rum, fascinated by the story.
Jezzie laughed. “Mick strike you as always thinking before he acts? He had reason to seek vengeance against Silvestri. Evidently, the good Captain Silvestri left the Caribbean soon after and spent some time in France. In France, the bad luck that followed him proved legendary. He bragged about it and was quite reckless. It’s surprising the government didn’t pay some magical worker to kill him.”
“Yeah. This magic stuff…honestly?” Emily tilted her head at Jezebel. “I mean, I’ve been here over three months and aside from the insanity of finding modern conveniences scattered here and there. I haven’t seen anything I’d call magic. There is really magic here?”
“Really. I’ve been here thirty years and I’ve seen enough to believe. Those splinters you took?”
Emily lifted a hand to her side. “Yeah?”
“In the historically accurate Caribbean, you’d be in a fever, possibly die from infection. Not here, because Mama Lu knows more than herbs. She knows magic. She does magic. Don’t fight it; it works.” The Captain locked eyes with her until Emily nodded.
“So, Mama Lu in Tortuga. Jeremy Verde in Nassau. Tobias Tiny in Barbados. They all know magic. Tobias started the story of Silvestri’s curse growing stronger and he’s likely right. When the Immortal took a galleon a few weeks back, some idiot on that ship fired a single shot. The galleon blew up while the Immortal sailed away. Once, the idiot responsible would have merely tripped over a railing and drowned. This time? The curse took the whole ship.”
“Jesus.” Emily shuddered.
“I have good reason to keep Mick far from Silvestri. Tobias said when the curse closes in on Silvestri, it will draw the few who escaped back to it and swallow them. And everyone with them. Silvestri is down to three days before his affliction goes active? No one knows how much longer the plague has before it will swallow Alan Silvestri and anyone near him.”
Emily’s heart sped up and a sickness filled her gut. She pushed the rum away. A drop of sweat ran down her back. Was his wicked magic going to take her down? He’d batted the pistol away—just as he did with Mick? Would Silvestri survive the curse closing in? Why did she care? Damn.
She didn’t betray how all this affected her. She leaned forward, curious, but didn’t wipe the sudden sweat from her face. “Is Mick the only one?”
“I don’t know. No one knows for sure. Perhaps Silvestri knows. I don’t like to use Mick like I did earlier today. I resent having to use him. But you didn’t know. And I do understand the hesitation of taking a man in the back. But if you wish to remain on this ship, you have to toughen up. Davis saw the opportunity for you to end it, and you hesitated. Don’t pause again, Mrs. Pawes. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Emily bowed her head, furiously thinking. “Is Mick concerned about the curse closing in on him?”
“Mick doesn’t believe in the curse, fool that he is. Although the truth is that he plays at not believing the curse. This ship keeps him secure, but he doesn’t accept that. I paid all three magic workers to create a safe place here. We stay away from the Immortal, and we remain at sea. The curse will finish and take Silvestri eventually. Now, if we are done…? You need to return to your cabin, take another dose of Mama Lu’s remedy and sleep again.” Jezebel waited for Emily to rise from the table.
Emily stopped at the door. “Should I apologize to Mick?”
“No, he’d rather forget my eluding to his escape.”
Emily nodded. Once back in her cabin, her mind spun with what she’d learned. She got some answers, but they weren’t helpful. If Mick was safe on this ship…was she as well? What made Mick the exception, if the curse truly caught everyone?
Magic? Really?
She lay down on her cot and tried to make sense of what she’d been told, adding in what Silvestri related to her. Thinking of the curse only brought her more questions and a growing fear that she was being used in some way to get to Mick. If not by Silvestri directly, then by his curse.
Fuck.
Chapter Twelve
Emily recovered faster than she would have thought possible. The cook and Davis took good care of her. Her knife instructor never chided her for not throwing her blade when he first nodded at her, and none of the other pirates knew she missed her opportunity to help save the Captain. Mick acted as though the entire episode never occurred. Emily suspected her lack of taking the initiative wasn’t told to everyone.
When they docked at Nassau, she went ashore. Janey burbled alongside as they walked the road to the center of the market terribly excited. “The party is in three weeks! Should be plenty of time to prepare a proper outfit and what a perfect time to take that cloth merchant. You have your favorite pieces with you, right?”
The effervescent pirate didn’t wait for her to respond, only nodded as Emily held up the bundle of cloth.
“Good! The Tortuga celebration ball is incredible—you’ll love it!”
Emily listened with amusement, wondering if she’d have time to continue her search for the way back to her time. She found this odd bit of the Caribbean comfortable, but she felt compelled to get back to California. She didn’t belong here. She was supposed to be touring the Pacific Northwest in her new, snug little Mini-Winnie, writing that travel book she’d dreamed of for decades.
But the party sounded like a good time. If she didn’t find her way home, well she’d enjoy having a lovely skirt or shirt made of her fabric to help her remember the sweet times.
She wanted to reach into her bundle and stroke the fabric. Modern silk didn’t have such a luxurious feel. She’d claimed several yards of a deep reddish-brown, streaked through with golden dying flaws. She remembered her mother calling them that. Those sometimes serendipitous flaws added a uniqueness that Emily loved. The cloth wasn’t on a bolt, but nearly tied up in knots. Likely too imperfect for most to see the unique value. But Emily fell in love with the streaks of gold.
She hoped the tailor would have some suggestions on making the most of her find. The cloth reminded her of the brilliant fall colors lining Walden Pond when she toured New England states one autumn.
She was no spring chicken to dress in the light blues and purples several of the other crew members selected. Though Tink found a red that nearly held a pulse. It fit the woman, and Emily knew she’d pair it with something black and ominous.
Emily’s fabric didn’t consist of much over two yards, but she figured a black skirt and a blouse from her stuff would suit her fine.
Janey led the way to a shabby tailor’s store and handled the negotiations with an angry older man. Mr. Pomps.
Mr. Pomp-ass, Emily thought.
Nevertheless, she let him take her measurements without objection. Janey claimed the man was a genius with the needle. Afterward, they enjoyed a delicious afternoon tea, and Janey finally slowed her narrative, leaving Emily a chance to get a few words in.
“You aren’t still hurting, are you?” Janey asked. “I mean, you’re especially quiet today, and though I know I chatter….” She paused. “I’m worried. What is it?”
Emily sipped at the strong tea, almost good enough to substitute for coffee. A sudden welling of tears surprised her. She wiped at her eyelids and looked up to see the normally cheerful Janey near tears herself. The Bosun smiled crookedly and wiped at the dampness threatening to spill from her eyes.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I haven’t felt right since the battle,” Emily said.
“Is it killing the captain of the Petit? Because you didn’t. Davis did.” Janey turned away. “I found firing a pistol and wielding a sword hard at first. But after we were attacked, I got better at taking the initiative in battle.”
“Davis killed him? I didn’t know that. I wasn’t even certain he wa
s dead.” She shook her head, determined to put it out of her mind. “When did someone attack the Quill?”
“Oh, the whole episode happened a few months before you showed up. These idiots didn’t know who we were. Apparently, they spied on us from shore and thought we’d be an easy catch. We found out later they’d bragged about taking another ship and selling the women to the pasha in Arabia. Most know not to attack us.” Janey picked at the remains of the pastries.
“Because of Mick?” Emily lowered her voice. “Jezzie explained it to me.”
“Yeah, sometimes it’s because of Mick. But mostly it’s due to the spellwork Jezzie paid for. Our name refers to a curse. The writer’s curse. Any who attack us risk a writer’s curse.”
“Okay. What would a writer’s curse do?” Emily tilted her head.
“Oh! Well, a writer can write anything, right? So, anyone who sets it off might find themselves written into a cyclone. Or given pox that rots an arm, or a leg. Or some twitch or new habit that would see them laughed at across the Caribbean. It’s non-specific, but quite effective.”
“Who does the writing?”
“No idea. But it works. After we drove the idiots who attacked us off, they ended up wrecked on the far side of Tortuga. Then, thinking they were somewhere else, they charged the vampire’s castle. They’re dead now.” Janey grinned. “No one messes with us.”
“Sounds a lot like Silvestri’s curse.”
“No, nothing so widespread. The men we caught didn’t suffer more than humiliation and being forced to work below decks for several months. And we don’t bring bad luck being somewhere.” Janey shuddered. “Damn. No, nothing like it!”
Emily wondered.
When they returned to the ship a few hours later, Emily found a message waiting for her from the dyers on St. Marteen, offering a trade. They needed several large ledgers. If she put them together, they would show her some tricks of the trade. But they wanted her there in three days, and she would need to stay with them a week.
She took the letter to Captain Jezebel.
“It’s a good deal. The Lazy Day is sailing for St. Marteen with the morning tide. You can take passage on her, and we’ll pick you up in ten days. We can head for Tortuga once you’re back on board, the timing will work out perfectly.” She set the letter down. “You want to learn something about the dyer’s trade, right?”
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