Molly sat all the way up and rubbed her knuckles into her eyes. "What has he done now?"
Bella stripped off the cloak and hung it on a wooden peg by the door. Her hand lingered on the woolen folds for a moment and she sighed. "Nothing. He has done nothing. Go back to sleep."
"Master Franks says the captain has been in a rare mood these past few days."
"Master Franks seems to say a lot of things to you lately."
Molly blushed pink. "He often comes to sit with Digger when he has a spare moment. He tells clever, funny stories to make the time pass a little faster and to ease the poor man's thoughts from the pain he must be feeling."
Bella's patience snapped. "And do his stories make the time pass faster for you as well?"
Molly hesitated, looking perplexed. "Should they not, mistress? There is little else to do on board this ship."
"If he is, as you say, kind and thoughtful, then yes, feel free to laugh at his tales. If he is merely being clever in order to get under your skirts, then…"
Molly's dark eyes grew round and bright. "Master Franks has never touched so much as my hand! Never even tried despite… well, despite my possibly wanting him to. And I think it rather churlish that you should be questioning my blushes when you have spent the past month in the captain's bed."
As soon as the words left her lips Molly clapped both hands over her mouth. Her face drained of color and her eyes grew even rounder so that it looked like they might pop right out between the lids.
"Oh mistress, forgive me. I should not have said such a thing."
Bella was mildly shocked herself. But only because the girl was speaking the truth. It deflated whatever righteous indignation was behind her temper. Her shoulders slumped and she sighed.
"No, Molly. It is you who must forgive me. I have no right to tell you what you should do and what you should not do. You are absolutely correct in saying I am the last person on this earth who should be passing judgement."
"You've passed nothing you should be sorry for. I know you've only done what you've done to protect us both. For that, you have always taken care of me and looked out for me since I was seven years old! I would be a proper ingrate to think anything the less of you for doing what was necessary to keep us safe."
Bella watched a big fat tear slide down Molly's face. She pulled the girl into her arms, hugging her close. "How I wish this was all over and we were done with ships and pirates and cannons and endless miles of sea and sky! Two more days, so he says, and we will arrive at the infamous Pigeon Cay. Another week, perhaps less, we will be free to go on our way to wherever it is we choose to go."
Molly sniffled against her shoulder. "I can hardly wait, mistress."
The words had been spoken so quietly Bella almost missed the sadness in Molly's voice. But she heard it and knew the cause.
What a fine pair they made. One fallen in love with a man with too many outward scars to think anyone would want to touch him… the other with too many inner scars to admit she was half in love with a man eager to send her off his ship and be rid of her.
Chapter Eighteen
In the end it took four more days to reach Pigeon Cay. The unwanted delay was caused by a sharp-eyed lookout who spied a pair of French barques scuttling across the horizon. Jonas ordered the helmsman to follow a southerly route that took them past the Cay and then to be sure there were no other ships in the vicinity, they carved a wide circle around the cluster of atolls before coming back on course.
When the shout of "land ho" came down from the yards, Jonas had just finished taking the noon reading for their position. The sky was a clear, brilliant blue, the horizon so smooth the gentle curvature of the earth was discernable. When Jonas snapped his spyglass open he was just able to make out the tiny cluster of five atolls rising above the water's edge, one of which was the Dantes' home base.
Watches aboard the Tribute had been doubled since spotting the French barques, as had the lookouts in the tops, but they had seen nothing more menacing than pods of dolphin leaping playfully in their wake. After carefully scrutinizing the horizon all points north, west, south, and east, Jonas gave the order to steer a course for the atolls.
He felt a surge of excitement, as he always did approaching Pigeon Cay. They had been gone over three months and while he did not give much credence to the threat of an attack on the island—it was too bloody well-defended—there was always that niggling doubt that perhaps their luck had run out. Thirty years was a long time to have a home base located in the heart of the Spanish Main.
While they were still a fair distance from the cluster of atolls, the deep green of fathomless water began to gradually change to indigo as the floor of the sea rose. Within a league, the water would turn a clear, crystal blue marking the first of seven distinct rings surrounding the atolls, the depths causing varying shades from azure to cerulean to palest turquoise. Distance to the seabed beneath the keel would rise sharply from the immeasurable fathoms they were crossing now, to three fathoms where the water was palest. Once there, they would cross the last hurdle: a solid, wide bank of coral reef with spikes sharp enough to tear the bottom out of a ship.
Isabeau Dante's incredibly detailed charts of the area warned navigators of the danger of sailing too near the reefs and sandbars surrounding the atolls. Most navigators who sailed these waters carried either an original chart created by the Black Swan or a laboriously drawn copy, and most steered well clear, heeding the noted warnings that could draw a ship to her doom. The coral was razor sharp along the shelf of the reef and there was plenty of evidence of ships that were reckless enough to ignore those warnings. Wreckage was strewn across the sandy bottom. The broken ribs of hulls had become home to tiger fish and barracuda. Masts lay tilted over, covered in thick green fingers of seaweed that undulated in the moving currents.
One such wreck lay in such a way that her bow pointed in a south-westerly direction. This was the marker the Dante navigators relied upon to show them where the reef was divided just enough to allow a ship to pass through unharmed. This channel was not without its challenges, and guiding a three masted ship through it required precise speeds and accurate turns. Regardless how many times the Dante ships came and went from Pigeon Cay, their captains and helmsmen never ignored those precise instructions. They never relied on instinct or skill alone to guide them through the crooked passage, and certainly never attempted to approach if dusk was descending. Not even Jonas, whose sailing skills were unparalleled, would dare to risk the keel of his ship on the unforgiving coral.
Jonas spread his charts and consulted with the helmsman, Bullnose Charlie, named for the enormous, pitted proboscis that ran from brow to upper lip. Hobson Grundy was in the bow overseeing the men who were measuring the depth below the keel. Varian and Artemis Franks were on the quarterdeck with Jonas; both had their spyglasses pressed to their eyes.
Sixty feet above them, three lookouts in the tops also had their eyes trained on the shimmering horizon, ready to shout a warning of any unwanted surprises. The rest of the crew milled about on the maindeck, chatting over their pipes, excited to be home.
~~
Bella and Molly had both come on deck after hearing shouts and laughter and running feet. Following their conversation several nights before, Bella had not returned to the great cabin, preferring to share Molly's company, and Dante had been too preoccupied—or perhaps relieved?—to persuade her to do otherwise.
"That would make a fine painting, would it not, mistress?"
Bella followed Molly's gaze to the quarterdeck. Dante, the duke, and Artemis Franks were standing at the rail. The breeze was playing havoc with the three heads of hair, one red, one chestnut brown, one as blond as summer wheat. The duke wore a doublet of dark green velvet embroidered with gold thread and shoulder caps glittering with jewels. His sleeves were snowy white, his breeches black, his eagerness to see his wife evident in the smile that had not left his face since the cry of 'land ho'.
Artemis Franks
had dressed with no less care. He wore a fine brocaded doublet and slashed trunk hose in royal blue and scarlet, with a brimmed hat sporting a clutch of tall ostrich feathers in matching hues.
Jonas Dante was the tallest of the three, broadest across the shoulders and chest, and dressed as was his usual habit in white shirt, black breeches, and plain brown leather jerkin. Young Pitt had trimmed his beard for him but aside from brushing the perpetual tangles out of his hair—which only made it blow more wildly in the breezes—he appeared to have done little more to make a homecoming impression.
"Two out of the three would inspire an artist's brush, most assuredly," Bella said dryly.
"With the blue sky behind them and the full sails above them," Molly whispered, "they look so… piratical."
"Possibly because all three are pirates?"
Molly's gaze rose to the tall, straining sheets of canvas overhead. "Will you not miss any of this, mistress? Not even a little bit?"
"Not the smallest amount," Bella said almost convincingly. "Not the constant up and down and side to side, not the creaking and groaning of the timbers, or the feeling that water will rush through the boards at any moment. I'll not miss drinking water that tastes like dead fish, or the smell! Most assuredly not the pungent stink of mouldy wood and sweaty men. And should I never have to live through another terrifying battle at sea, it will be too soon."
"I might miss it," Molly admitted softly, her gaze returning to the tall blond gun captain standing on the quarterdeck. "A little, anyway."
~~
When they were as yet more than a league away, Young Pitt was dispatched with an invitation for Bella and Molly to join the captain on the quarterdeck.
"We will be making our approach to Pigeon Cay soon and the captain thought you might enjoy a less crowded view."
Looking around, Bella realized most of the crew was, indeed, crushed together on deck. They were laughing and jostling for positions by the rails. Some straddled the big guns. Others had climbed up the rigging and hung from the shrouds like monkeys by hooking an elbow and a knee around the cables.
The girls followed Young Pitt through the raucous crowd and mounted the ladderway to the quarterdeck. Varian St. Clare turned and offered a pleasant smile by way of greeting. Artemis Franks smiled widely when he saw Molly then almost as an afterthought, politely accorded Bella a courteous bow.
Dante lowered his spyglass briefly but raised it again without sparing more than a split-second glance. "Bring her about, Bull and trim her down."
The order was relayed to men in the yards. The cables were worked and the canvas realigned. Overhead, the huge main sail collapsed in on itself as if expelling a breath, then cracked forward with a great booming sound as the yards swung around to recapture the wind. The Tribute reared up in her bow and Bella nearly stumbled headlong into Jonas.
"The wind is strong today," Dante said, grabbing her arm to steady her. "The Tribute is a fine ship but, like most women, she can be a little stubborn about being reined in and I have no desire to end up sinking within sight of home."
"I am relieved to hear it, Captain." Bella waited for her stomach to slide back down out of her throat before she added, "I confess I have never learned how to swim."
"It wouldn't matter in these waters, even if you could. Too many hungry sharks scavenging along the reefs."
"Aye, there seem to be a great many out there," Artemis remarked, peering over the side. "More than usual."
Bella took an instinctive step away from the rail but scowled when she saw Dante's lips twitch with the beginnings of smirk.
"Is there nothing you are afraid of, sirrah?"
He frowned and thought a moment. "I am not overly fond of large hairy spiders. Or poisonous snakes. Both of which can be found in plentiful supply on four of the atolls."
"But not on the fifth, I trust?"
"N'owt unless the bastards build a bridge," Grundy remarked, stomping his way up the ladderway to rejoin the others. "Capt'n Simon might've thought he was a clever lout when he let 'em loose to breed thirty or so years back, but the bloody islands are infested with 'em now. One bite an' yer head explodes, blood leaks out yer eyes an' ears an' arse."
Varian cleared his throat rather emphatically and Grundy spread his hands in all innocence. "Well 'tis true. Never knew a soul who survived a bite. That's why the islands are called the Devil's Teeth. One bite. Toes up."
"Come," Varian said, offering Bella his glass. "Have a look. Before the hour is out we'll be close enough to see the Cay clearly without the use of a glass. And if this wind holds, we will be happily walking on solid ground before the sun sets."
~~
As predicted, before the final grains of sand had run through the hour glass on the binnacle, the five atolls were clearly in view. Before a second hour had fully passed, Bullnose Charlie had brought the Tribute within half a league of the wide bank of coral.
If the reef itself was not a formidable enough barricade, the islands beyond looked like nothing more than misshapen piles of barren rock cast down like dice by the hand of some giant, unforgiving god. Pigeon Cay was the largest stretching perhaps four miles long with several cone-shaped pitons reaching a thousand feet high. It appeared to offer nothing by way of a harbor or a bay for anchorage, nothing but uninviting cliff walls that rose straight up to the sky. At the base of those jagged walls, the waves pounded against the rocks, sending huge founts of spume in the air, each crash sounding as ominous as cannonfire.
Even with the aid of the spyglass there was no discernable break in those sheer stone walls and it explained why the pirate's lair had remained undiscovered for so many years.
It did not explain, however, why there was no sign of any lookouts on the cliffs.
~~
Jonas had his spyglass fully extended and was focussed on the cliffs above the pounding surf where there appeared to be nothing but uneven cracks and crevices in the rock. Camouflaged by those dark cracks was a battery of heavy siege cannon capable of firing thirty-two pound balls a distance of a mile or more. Each gun would have a dozen men crouched and silent behind it, awaiting a signal from the sentries higher above.
Dante moved the glass along the uppermost rim of the cliffs. The only visible movement came from the colonies of gulls that circled overhead on the warm air currents, screaming like banshees.
There had been no response to the first flag they had raised up the fore-topmast, a large square of green silk that should have won a similar show of color from shore.
"Run up the second flag."
Having anticipated the order, there was the instant sound of a hempen rope zzzzipping through metal rings to the top of the mast as a large blue square of silk flew up and unfurled.
The acknowledgement should have been a blue and yellow flag raised at the top of the cliff, but as Dante peered through the glass, he saw nothing. No movement. No flags. No smoke from any signal fires.
Nothing but screaming, circling gulls.
Jonas swung the glass and scanned the two smaller atolls that flanked Pigeon Cay. From a distance both appeared to be green with vegetation but it was mostly an impenetrable tangle of scrub and brambles. The two outlying islands were much the same, inhospitable and unable to sustain any manner of human inhabitants.
A thought started to creep into Jonas's head but he pushed it away. There was no way on earth a fleet of ships… or even one solitary Spanish galleon could sneak up on Pigeon Cay unseen. In all of his thirty years, even as a boy in a pinafore and knee breeches waving a wooden cutlass about, he had never known of a single ship to challenge the defenses of the Pirate Wolf's lair, much less breach them. Nor had he ever known a day when there were not at least a dozen sentries posted around the rim of the crater. Each man on the island took a turn at the duty so as not to become complacent or bored. One six-hour shift every twenty days kept eyes sharply focussed. A bonus incentive of five hundred ducats kept them alert to any sighting of sails on the horizon, an amount that was doubled
at night.
Jonas swung the glass back to the cliffs but he knew, despite having made the approach a hundred times over, he would not be able to see the hidden entrance to the channel until they had passed through the outer banks of coral.
He was also aware of the growing tension on board the Tribute. Crewmen had stopped laughing and capering about. There was no more good-natured bantering, no laughter or eager grins as they looked toward the Cay. They stood silent as ghosts at the rails, all beginning to suspect something was very wrong.
"There," Varian said suddenly, stabbing the air with a finger. "On the anvil. Is that a light?"
Dante swiftly aimed his glass toward the far edge of the cliffs. He missed the tiny spark of light completely on the first and second pass, but on the third he saw the pinpoint of glitter that might have been caused by a small fire or sunlight reflecting off a piece of metal. The anvil was named thus because of its shape, a solid two-ended outcrop of smooth rock halfway down the cliff face. It was only accessible by shimmying down a rope from a second ledge a hundred feet above. The cliff slanted inward at that point making it a harrowing descent in open air with a fatal plunge to the rocks below awaiting anyone who slipped. It had become, over the years, a challenge to the men of Pigeon Cay, a test of their strength and courage. Or their sanity.
Jonas felt the skin across his nape crawl at the memory of hanging there, his hands bleeding from the rope, his jaw clenched tight so as not to scream.
"Why in God's name would someone be on the anvil?" Varian asked, his voice too low for anyone but Jonas and Hobson to hear.
The quartermaster shook his head. "Mayhap to warn us away?"
Jonas called to Young Pitt. "Fetch a signal lantern."
His gaze flickered, for a split second, to where Bella and Molly stood against the stern rail. In anticipation of meeting the Dante family, Bella had fashioned a new corset for herself out of dark purple silk embroidered with tiny gold vines. Her shirt was crisply clean, with a collar of lace spilling down the front; her breeches were snug enough they might have been painted on her skin. Her hair was loose and flowed around her shoulders in a glossy black cascade. Daily exposure to wind and sun had tanned her prized white complexion but it only made the shape and extraordinary violet blue of her eyes more likely to strip a man of breath and halt his heartbeat.
The Far Horizon Page 18
