The Far Horizon

by Marsha Canham

  He studied the girl again as the carriage rolled through the moonlight. Who was she? Where did she come from? What bizarre events in her life had brought her to this point? The snatching of the diamond pin had been quick and deft; certainly not a skill taught in any school for proper young ladies.

  Not that he had much experience around properly schooled young ladies. His mother Isabeau had grown up at the helm of a ship with a sword in her hand. She had raised her daughter to be just as fiercely independent and Juliet, in turn, had placed a wooden sword in the hand of her daughter when little Lily Rose was but two years old. It was not uncommon to see mother and daughter sparring on the sandy beach of Pigeon Cay.

  Dante smiled inwardly. His sister was with child again and Juliet was not the sweet, quiet type who suffered her confinement with grace and serenity. Both he and Varian had been quick to depart the Cay and hopefully, by the time they returned to their home port, Juliet's belly would be too big and swollen for her to go chasing after either of them with swords and muskets.

  Jonas's brother Gabriel had found himself a wife who also had strong opinions, most of which concerned her husband resuming his role as half of the Hell Twins. Evangeline Dante was no wilting blossom when it came to being the wife of a privateer, but when Gabe lost a finger to a musket ball, she pinned his ears to his head and convinced him to concentrate more on salvaging the rest of the treasure they had found on the island of Espiritu Santu than chasing after galleons on the high seas.

  That left Simon and Jonas as the only members of the Dante clan actively hunting on the Spanish shipping lanes. Even then, Simon took his Avenger, out less and less often these days, preferring to collaborate with Geoffrey Pitt in his efforts to design faster, stronger vessels.

  But the adventure, the danger, the excitement was what made the blood flow through Jonas's veins and he could not think of a single thing short of losing all of his limbs that would make him take to a rocking chair to admire the colors of a sunset... or remember the names of flowers.

  He chuckled softly and Bella turned her head.

  “Something amuses you, Captain?”

  “Life amuses me, dear lady. I see humor and pleasure in every ripple of a sail, every leap of a dolphin, every well-aimed broadside.”

  “You enjoy your life’s work then?”

  “Immeasurably. Do you enjoy yours?”

  She paused a moment before answering, wary of a trap lurking behind the question. But then she shrugged and answered truthfully. “There are days when I do, yes. When I know some spoiled whiny bitch will waken to find her prized trinket missing, I do enjoy it. Immeasurably.”

  He chuckled. “Much the same satisfaction I get watching the capitán of a Spanish galleon bow his head to me and surrender his sword after a well-fought battle.”

  She stared into the shadowy corner, catching faint pinpoints of light reflected in his eyes. "And yet you are here in London being paraded about like a prize bull by men like Lord Parker Seville."

  "My brother-in-law, the Duke, is the only prize bull in our family. I am in Londontown solely for the purchase of copper sheathing. Our master ship-builder, Geoffrey Pitt, decries the ability of barnacles to attach themselves to wooden hulls like clusters of grapes, slowing a ship's speed by two knots or more. I have these past three days loaded twenty tons of sheathing into the hold of the Tribute, which should dampen his clucking for a time. With luck and wind in my favor, by this hour tomorrow, I hope to be well out in the Channel and on my way back home."

  "You say your ship is anchored at Bellyn's Gate?" She lost herself to a distant memory for a moment. "I was born not far from there. My father named me Bellanna to mark the occasion."

  "A comely name. I was named after my grandfather, Jonas Spence. He and my father met when they sailed with Drake to burn the port of Cadiz. My mother was the navigator at the time."

  Intrigued despite herself, Bella continued to watch for the pinpricks of light in his eyes. "She was the navigator on board her father's ship? I thought women were considered to be a curse at sea."

  "Never dare tell that to my mother or my sister... or either of their crews, for that matter. To a man they would follow both to the gates of hell and back. And have done so on many an occasion. Now, my brother's wife... that might be another matter." He paused and chuckled. "I would not exactly call her a curse, but she has worked some form of magic on my little brother. Gabriel walks on three legs when he sees her and prefers to lock himself away in a bedroom for days on end rather than hunt for Spaniards."

  "Have you not heard, the king is negotiating a peace treaty with Spain?"

  "The king is always negotiating a peace treaty with Spain, and as always, Spain will only honor it when hell freezes."

  ~~

  The journey from the outskirts of town into London proper took another thirty minutes during which time Dante was so silent Bella assumed he had fallen asleep. Indeed, when the coach crossed a wooden bridge and the horses began clip clopping along a roughly cobbled street, he shifted his weight in the seat and sat up straighter, using a finger to lift aside the leather blind and peer outside the window.

  Jonas had no reason to be familiar with this part of the city but he could see by the facades of the buildings that while it was not where the richest families dwelled, neither was it somewhere one would expect to find a coven of jewel thieves hunched over their night’s takings. The houses were tall and thin, built of whitewashed stone, with steeply pitched roofs and gables that jutted out over the street. The gloom was broken every twenty paces or so by iron cressets that were mounted on the facings to hold lanterns, most of which were lit and casting circles of light against the walls. Fifty or so paces from where the coach began to slow, a wooden foot bridge formed an arch over the road shrouding the street beneath in darkness.

  As it was well past the hour of couvre feu, there were no pedestrians out for a stroll, and few hints of candle lights glowing in any windows. The moonglow between the shadows was bright enough, however, to show the occasional stray dog nosing along the gutters in search of a late meal.

  The horses snorted softly as the driver whistled them to a stop. When he swung down from the box and came back to open the door, Dante held out a large hand and halted him in his tracks. After a quick glance at Bella, the coachman bowed and stepped discreetly away.

  Bella sighed audibly. "What now, Captain?"

  “I was hoping you would humor me with a few more moments of your time.”

  Her expression confirmed her belief that he'd had no intentions of letting her go so easily. "And just how might I humor you, Captain? On my back with my skirts lifted? Or on my knees at your feet?"

  If the boldness of her tongue startled him, it did not show in the smile that curved his lips. "Both choices hold vast appeal, and if you insist, I would be a fool to refuse. But in truth, 'tis only a question or two I would ask."

  "Ask then, but for the love of God, if one of them begins with 'what drove a beautiful woman like yourself to become a thief' I shall throw myself off the nearest bridge."

  Jonas laughed. "Aye, you are, indeed, a beautiful woman. But you would not look quite so beautiful hanging from a scaffold with your eyes bulging and your tongue black and swollen. And if this is where you live, I would not exactly call it a pauper's hovel."

  Bella laced her fingers together on her lap. First Liam, who had caused her pleasant mood to turn sour, and now this lout. What had begun as an uneventful evening was turning into a test of patience.

  "Firstly, Captain Dante, my late husband left me his name and not much else. Secondly, I live in this house by the grace of an ungracious nephew who only allows it because I threatened to tell his porcine wife that he raped me."

  "Ah. And did he?"

  "Did he what?"

  "Rape you."

  "He tried. And for that he shall carry the imprint of my shoe stamped on his crotch until he shrivels in the grave."

  Dante laughed again, full out. "By God you
are indeed a fascinating minx. Are you quite sure you would not like a tour of my ship?"

  "Quite sure." She gathered the folds of her skirt and cloak in one hand and reached for the door latch. "I will say goodnight now, Captain. I cannot say it was a complete pleasure meeting you, but it was... interesting. My driver, Smith, will take you to your ship, if that is where you are bound, and I wish you fair sailing in the morning."

  Without waiting for assistance, she ducked out the door and stepped down onto the street. The driver was up front with the horses, his attention briefly distracted by the sound of someone running across the footbridge.

  Bella started toward the house, but stopped so abruptly the waves of silk skirting creamed forward around her ankles. The lantern under the portico was not lit, nor were the lamps marking the entrances to either of the adjoining row houses. She initially blamed the wind, which was sending rusty leaves scuffling along the walkway, but she noticed lanterns further along on both sides and less sheltered than her own, were still lit.

  The street was deserted.

  Everything looked perfectly normal.

  Everything was in its place.

  Everything but the bloody footprint on the paving stones in front of her door.

  Chapter Four

  The entranceway was webbed with shadows cast by the branches of a nearby tree, which made it difficult to see, at first, that the door was slightly ajar. The hinges creaked softly as the breeze nudged it and there, just outside the threshold, was the clearly defined imprint of a boot. That it was made in blood was obvious by the reddish hue, for everything else was bathed blue-white by the moonlight.

  Behind her she heard a different sort of creak as Jonas stepped down from the coach and stood beside her. His keen eyes saw the print at once.

  "Is there anyone at home?" he asked in a murmur.

  "My maid, Molly McDevitt. And the old houseman, Hendricks."

  She took a step toward the door but Dante stopped her.

  "Let me take a look inside first. You might have some unwanted guests." He signalled the driver over and when the older man came forward, he asked, "Do you have any weapons?"

  The driver was thin and wore an obviously borrowed livery suit that was far too large for his narrow frame. He had to crane his neck to look up at the much taller privateer, and when he did, he frowned. "Aye, I’ve the persuader and a brace o' pistols, but--"

  "Get them. Prime them and stand here ready to shoot if someone other than myself comes out that door."

  The driver looked to Bella, puzzled.

  "Do as the captain says, please," she said softly, pointing to the dark boot print.

  "Aye." He backed away and swung himself up into the driver’s box and reached under the seat, from whence he produced a trumpet-nosed blunderbuss of an unusual design, as well as a brace of long-barrelled flintlock pistols. He tossed one of the pistols to Dante with a nod.

  "Already loaded ‘n primed. Got robbed once on a dark road. N'owt about to let it 'appen twice."

  Jonas tucked the pistol into his belt. After touching a warning finger to his lips, he moved forward with surprising deftness and was absorbed into the shadowy interior without a sound.

  ~~

  Jonas stood motionless in the shadows a few moments to let his eyes adjust to the heavy gloom of the foyer. There were no candles burning in the wall sconces, but a fire had been laid some time before in a small reception room off to his right. The door was wide open and the room appeared to be empty but for an overturned chair. A quick look inside told him someone had conducted a thorough search; there were bits of broken china strewn across the floor and cushions had been slit open, the feathers covering everything like snow.

  Stairs directly ahead led to the upper level. Behind the stairs was a narrow hall that presumably led down to the kitchen and scullery.

  There was a second bloody footprint at the base of the staircase, and a smear of red on the wooden banister.

  Jonas tipped his head to listen. Years of standing alongside exploding cannon had dulled his hearing somewhat, but he thought he detected shuffling sounds coming from somewhere on the upper floor.

  A thief ransacking the house belonging to another thief might have presented a delicious irony... if not for the bloody footprints.

  He studied the ghostly shape of the dark oak staircase rising into the blackness above. There were four steps leading to a square landing, then a turn and several more stairs to the top. From experience he knew that wooden stairs usually creaked and groaned like ship boards underfoot and if someone was still up there, Dante’s presence would quickly be known. Conversely, banisters were like yardarms, solid and well planted.

  Moving with purpose, he leaped onto the first rail and swung himself up and over the second, landing cat-like in a silent crouch to listen intently again.

  He waited a full count of twenty before he straightened and ventured along the hallway, his footfalls silent. There appeared to be two rooms on this level... a salon and a library of sorts. In the latter room, whatever books had been on the shelves were now scattered about the floor. Someone had been looking for something and getting more and more frustrated with their inability to find it.

  A muted thud caught his attention and he stared up at the ceiling. Backing out of the library, he retraced his steps to where a second flight of stairs rose to the third floor. He repeated his acrobatics and again found himself on a narrow landing with more doors, three open and one closed. With three rooms showing nothing to hide, he guessed the thud had come from behind the closed door.

  Wasting no further time on caution, he approached, turned the brass handle and kicked the door wide. He ducked and rolled to the left, landing upright in a crouch with the pistol in his right hand, a dagger in his left. A candle flickered on a nightstand, throwing a circle of light across the bed. An old man was lying spread eagled there, naked, his ankles and wrists bound tightly to the four corner posts. His thin body was slashed deeply in half a dozen places; patches of skin were missing completely. The coverlet beneath him was soaked red and he was obviously—mercifully—very dead.

  Bound to a chair at the foot of the bed was a young woman, her body slumped forward against the ropes. Fresh blood was dribbling from a cut on her forehead and at first glance, Jonas thought she might be dead as well. But when he started forward, she reacted to the sound of his boots on the floor and her head came up. Her eyes widened when she saw Jonas, but then she glanced at something over his shoulder and cried out a warning. A dark shape came hurling toward him out of the shadows, slashing at his neck with a blade. Dante jerked aside at the last possible instant, but was caught hard on the shoulder and the contact sent him smashing back into the wall.

  The figure ran past into the hall and down the stairs and in the two seconds it took Dante to recover his balance and give chase, the intruder ran into the library and slammed the door shut behind him. Dante bolted down the stairs and arrived outside the door the same time as Bella and her driver.

  "Stand back," he warned. He grasped the brass latch and twisted, but it had been locked from the inside and the door barely quivered. Dante snarled then lifted his boot and directed it squarely at the ornately scrolled escutcheon plate.

  The door juddered but the lock held.

  Jonas was about to kick again when the sound of breaking glass stopped him.

  "The window. Where does it lead?"

  "The room overlooks the garden," Bella answered, "but he’ll be long gone before you break that lock."

  Dante cursed and stood back a pace, aimed the pistol and shot the ball into the escutcheon plate, shattering a chunk of doorjamb and twisting the brass enough for him to shoulder his way through the door. Smith was two steps behind, the blunderbuss raised and ready, but as predicted, the window was smashed and the intruder nowhere in sight.

  Bella had remained on the landing, but when she heard a weak cry for help from the upper room, she started up the stairs.

  "Hold up!" D
ante shouted. He ran back out to block her at the first turn. "Trust my words when I say you do not want to go up there. 'Tis not a sight you will want to see when you close your eyes at night. Stay here, I'll fetch the girl down."

  Bella waited on the landing, her hands twisted anxiously together. In a few moments, Dante emerged on the landing above carrying Molly in his arms. The gash on Molly's head was still leaking and had splashed blood down her bodice almost to her waist.

  Bella guided him into the ruined parlor and pointed to a chair that hadn't been smashed to bits. Bella looked around a moment and spied a strip of lace-edged linen that had been used as a table runner. She snatched it up and gently wrapped it twice around the wound on Molly's head, hoping to staunch the bleeding.

  The girl moaned and started weeping.

  "Molly, what happened? Who was that man?"

  "Oh mistress…please… It was horrible. So horrible. I screamed. I screamed and screamed but no one came!"

  "Molly… how did he get in here? Did you know him?"

  "No, my lady." She wailed again, clutching at Bella's hand. "When I first heard a noise, I thought it were you coming home but when I come down the hallway, the brute was standing there. Right there! Ugly as sin, he was, with black teeth and a nose like a rotten turnip. I asked who he was and what the devil he was doing in our house, but he just grunted like some wild animal and came at me with a knife. I tried to run, to get out the back way, but he caught me and… and hit me with something to stop me screaming. I… I must have fainted because the next thing I knew, I was up the stairs and tied to the chair. My head was bleeding where he struck me. And he had Hendricks. Had him already stripped and bound to the bedposts and was asking him questions. He made me watch… made me watch what he did to the poor man. He kept asking, over and over: where is it? where does she hide it? where is it? And Hendricks kept telling him, he didn't know. Didn't even know what he was asking about. Jewels, the brute said. Jewels! And he just kept cutting and cutting—" She stopped briefly, reliving the horror, and whispered through a shudder, "I could hear someone else going through the rooms, searching, breaking things. He came into the room after a bit and… and…"