by Rebecca Hart
She brought the heavy bags to Nelson, panting with exertion.
He took the sacks and set them beside one of the guns. “Good, now go get some more and hope we don’t have to use them.”
Ellie nodded and headed back for more bags.
By the time she returned to Nelson, The Surf Runner had closed the distance between the vessels and was bearing down on the Dutch ship.
“Prepare to come alongside ’er!” Captain Harris shouted.
Men jumped to action. No part of the ship lay idle as the crew scrambled into position, two per cannon. One man set the powder while the other loaded the lead ball and shoved it home with a ram.
Ellie backed away, eyes wide and heart threatening to pound right out of her chest. This can’t be happening.
Nelson spun to face her. He pointed to the stairway that led further below. “Get your arse down there until I call for you.”
Ellie quickly did as she was told. She hunkered down on the second step, eyes glued to Nelson.
He walked the length of cannons, checking with the men to ensure they were all loaded and ready.
The captain’s command to fire echoed through Ellie.
Nelson raised his arm, cast a quick glance her way, and shrugged. “Fire!” He swung his arm down as he repeated the captain’s command.
The row of five guns erupted in a succession of shuddering booms. Smoke puffed from the cannons’ mouths as they jerked back beneath the force of the shots. The sounds of splintering wood told them they’d hit their mark.
Screams of pain mingled with shouted orders.
A return call of “Fire!” echoed across the water.
A second volley of guns rent the air. The Surf Runner trembled as enemy cannonballs blistered its hull.
The impact vibrated the stairs Ellie perched on, making the hair at the back of her neck stand up. She bent and flexed her fingers to expel some of the nervous energy surging through her body.
Nelson drew his sword and ran toward her. When he reached the stairs where she hunkered, he turned away, climbed the steps two at a time, and rushed out on deck.
Ellie scrambled up the treads after him, stopping short of bursting through the gangway into the growing fray.
Grapples tangled in the rigging. Musket and blunderbuss shots sang through the air in both directions. Shouting men swung across the space between the vessels. The sound of steel on steel rang out.
Awestruck, Ellie watched as a Dutchman rushed Nelson, sword raised. With a calm deliberateness, Nelson pulled the flintlock from his belt, cocked it, and fired.
The sailor’s eyes widened as his chest exploded with crimson. He staggered backward two steps and dropped to the planking.
Sword at the ready, Nelson twisted and faced another.
The man swung his blade, but Nelson was ready for it. He deftly sidestepped and slashed back, nicking the Dutchman’s waist.
The two men circled each other, panting. Each sought an opening in the other’s defenses.
Ellie held her breath, wide eyes locked on her only friend.
In a surge of motion, Nelson lunged at his adversary, driving his sword deep into the man’s stomach. Gurgling noises rushed past the man’s lips as his sword fell to the deck with a clang.
When Nelson pulled his sword free from the dying man, Ellie saw a second Dutchman approach. He raised his pistol, taking aim at Nelson’s back.
“Nelson! Look out,” she shouted.
The gun fired.
The shot pierced Nelson’s shoulder, spinning him around to face Ellie. His brown eyes widened as he clutched a hand to the cherry-red stain growing on the front of his shirt. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, the shooter drew his sword and swiped at him.
Grunting, Nelson raised his sword, barely blocking the blow.
A red haze surrounded Ellie as a cry of rage ripped past her lips. Drawing her cutlass, she scrambled up the steps toward Nelson. Ellie slashed wildly at any who stepped in her path, cutting a desperate swathe through the enemy.
Step. Duck, swipe.
Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.
Nelson dropped to his knees. Blood ran down his arm from the gaping wound in his shoulder, shirt soaked with his lifeblood.
“No!” Ellie’s stomach twisted into a knot when his head sagged forward.
Dodge, spin, stab.
The Dutchman turned as Ellie rushed at him. He raised his sword to fend off the crushing intent of her blow, spun, and swiped his blade at her knees.
She lunged left. With a twist, she came around, her cutlass aimed at the man’s chest.
Metal clashed, the Dutchman blocking the blow. His chest heaved and sweat dotted his wide brow.
Breath coming in short gasps, ears humming with rage, Ellie sidestepped right and advanced again.
Slash.
Her blade cleaved flesh. A satisfied smile bowed her lips. Taking advantage of her good fortune, Ellie spun around, sword at her shoulders. She swung her arm outward, pivoting on her toe. The blade sang through the air, cutting the man open across the throat.
His steps faltered and a shadow slipped across his features. He opened pale lips, tried to speak, but only gurgled. The man’s eyes bulged as blood sprayed from the opening in his neck and he shrank to a lifeless heap at her feet.
Ellie swung about, sword at the ready. Perspiration soaked her temples and each deep gasp for air strained the tight bindings wound around her chest. It took her a moment to realize the fighting around her had ceased.
The bloodied bodies of friend and foe littered the blood-slicked decking. Gorgon, massive as always, stood guard over a handful of captured Dutchmen near the mainmast. Captain Harris ordered the boarding planks put out.
Ellie sheathed her weapon, rushed to Nelson’s side and dropped to her knees. Pain contorted his face as she helped him sit up. She grabbed his bloodied, tattered shirt in both hands and pulled, tearing it in two at the neck. She inspected the ragged hole in his shoulder, then the wider one on his chest.
The shot had gone clean through.
A sigh of relief slipped past her lips. “You’re going to be okay, Nelson, I promise.” She pressed the wad of torn fabric against both seeping holes. “I’m so sorry.”
Nelson grunted as she pushed at the edge of the bloody hole with the front half of his ruined shirt. “What the hell are you sorry for?”
“I should have warned you sooner. Stopped him.” The only friend she had, and because of her inaction he could’ve died. Tears stung her eyes. “I should never have come.” She swallowed hard. “Maybe having a girl aboard really is bad luck. I’m a terrible sailor.”
Nelson let out a raspy chuckle. “Hogwash, El. You may be inexperienced, and even carry bad luck in your pocket.” His brown eyes sparkled and a smile pulled at his lips. “But you’re going to make one hell of a pirate.”
Her chest tightened at his words. I’m sure Papa will be thrilled to hear that bit of good news.
Part One
Chapter Nine
Port of Gibraltar - August, 1665
Daniel followed Captain Winters down the crowded streets of Gibraltar, heading for the Taylor mansion at the far edge of the city. After months of finagling and strategic palm greasing, they’d earned themselves a face to face with their target, who was purportedly providing large amounts of weapons to the Dutch.
Winters dodged to avoid a man on horseback travelling up the road in the other direction. “General McTavish said Jashir would meet us at the auction to discuss the final arrangements. I hope he doesn’t delay things. We’ve already spent longer on this than I’d planned, and we need to get back to searching for Ellie.”
“I still don’t understand how selling a shipment of guns to a man we know will only sell them to a country we’re at war with makes any sense.”
“McTavish wants to find out who his Dutch contact is. He’s decided he doesn’t want to just cut off an arm by taking out Jashir, he wants the monster’s head too.”
<
br /> Daniel skirted around a slow moving group of men. “I still think it’s an asinine idea.”
“Well, when you make general, you can give the orders. Until then, shut your pie hole about it. I don’t like this any more than you do.”
“Aye, Captain.”
The columned mansion sat at the top of a hill overlooking the infamous Gates of Gibraltar. If it weren’t for the seriousness of the situation, Daniel would have enjoyed the breathtaking view of the narrow gateway into the Mediterranean Sea.
“Just remember why we’re here. Stay sharp, lad.”
Daniel wiggled his fingers, as if he could release all of his pent-up apprehension through their tips. “Aye, Captain.”
Captain Winters knocked on the ornately carved door of Gabriel Taylor, a notorious smuggler with a head for making money. Each summer Taylor held his annual inventory clearance auction, and the guest list included a collection of the most nefarious privateers and pirates on the seas. Pirates like Jashir.
The portal swung open to reveal a squat man who appeared to have no neck; his head merely sat atop broad shoulders. The man inspected Daniel and Captain Winters from head to toe with no concern for speed. “Password,” he grumbled finally.
“Herring smells like shit,” Winters said.
The doorman grunted and stepped aside.
Daniel followed Captain Winters into the grand mansion.
They entered through a large open foyer. A staircase leading to the second floor stood on the far end of the space, and two wide archways led to rooms on each side of the hall. Light twinkled down on them from the mammoth crystal chandelier hanging above them. I’d hate to be the one to have to light all those tapers.
The doorman swung a fat arm toward the second arched entryway on the left. “Bidding will be held in the grand ballroom.” He twisted his round torso and fingered toward the other side of the hall. “Food and beverages are laid out on the right, in the dining room.” He flashed a toothless grin. “If you’re interested in the company of one of Taylor’s treats, talk with Ramona. She is mingling about somewhere. You can’t miss her.”
“Thanks,” Captain Winters replied.
The man nodded and went back to his post at the door.
Winters nudged Daniel. “Come on. Let’s see if Jashir is here yet.” He headed for the grand ballroom.
Another chandelier, similar in style to the one in the entryway, hung in the center of the space. An assortment of chairs and sofas lined the walls of the smoky room. Small clusters of men were scattered about, talking, smoking, and drinking.
A tall woman with long blonde hair and startling Asian eyes drew Daniel’s gaze. The plunging neckline of her black dress framed her round breasts and highlighted her pale skin. She leaned against a large olive-skinned man in a turban and robes, her painted red lips whispering into his ear.
The man belted a throaty laugh, drawing curious gazes his way.
“That’s Jashir,” Winters said. He headed in the couple’s direction, offering a greeting here and there as he passed men he knew.
Daniel trailed behind the captain at a relaxed pace, taking a mental inventory of those assembled. With the wide array of riffraff on display, he needed to be prepared for anything. Tension twisted his stomach, but he put on a mask of calm confidence, as if he cavorted with cutthroats and pirates all the time.
Jashir noticed their approach and turned to face them, his arm around Ramona. He flashed a row of white teeth. “Good afternoon, Captain Winters. I am happy to see you decided to come. You will not be disappointed in the goods Master Taylor offers his guests.”
“We’re not really in the market to buy, but you already know that.” Captain Winters offered his hand in greeting, playing the game. “It’s good to see you, Jashir.”
Jashir grasped his fingers in a halfhearted handshake. He gave the woman plastered to his side a squeeze. “This lovely flower is Ramona Sawyer. Ramona, this is Captain Winters and…” He waved an arm toward Daniel. “I don’t know you.” His arm dropped to his side, and his eyes darkened. “Who are you?”
Daniel’s throat tightened. He forced out the words. “Daniel O’Roarke, sir.”
“He’s my lieutenant,” Winters said.
Jashir released his hold on Ramona. “Go make some new friends, kitten.” He patted her backside possessively.
Ramona purred a sultry laugh. “Pleasure to meet you, boys.” She traced a long fingernail down Daniel’s shoulder and lifted an appreciative brow. “Especially you.” Her green eyes sparkled with mischief. “Pity.” Ramona emitted a dramatic sigh and walked away, hips swaying. The faint scent of lavender trailed behind her.
Jashir returned his attention to Captain Winters. “Let us go upstairs. There are private rooms available for our discussions.”
Daniel and the captain followed him from the ballroom and up the wide staircase at the back of the massive foyer. At the top, he turned down the hall to the right. Iron sconces with flickering tapers lined the wall on the left, casting the long walkway in an eerie yellow light.
Jashir entered the third door on the left, Captain Winters and Daniel close behind him.
A round card table sat in the center of the space with six chairs placed around it. Red velvet sofas nested beneath the room’s two windows, and a pair of cots with folded blankets on them waited in the corner. A stocked bar rounded out the room’s decoration.
“Please, make yourselves comfortable, gentlemen.” Jashir pulled out one of the wooden chairs, the thin legs scratching across the floorboards. He sat down in a flutter of robes.
Captain Winters followed suit, taking a chair across from him.
Daniel remained by the door.
Winters leaned back in his seat, resting an elbow on the table. “I’m not much for small talk, and we all know why we’re here, so let’s get down to it, shall we? We have the flintlocks, two hundred and fifty of them, just as you requested.”
Jashir rubbed his chin. “I had expected it to take longer for you to procure such a large number of firearms. This is pleasing news. When can delivery be arranged?”
“Just as soon as you pay for them,” Winters said.
“Easily done. I will bring the funds to your ship on the morrow, and my men will transport the cargo to my vessel. Expect me shortly after dawn.” Jashir rose from his chair. “Now, if you will excuse me, gentlemen, the auction is starting shortly, and I have my sights on some of the Asian silks Taylor managed to acquire from the Orient.” He extended his hand to the captain in a stiff motion.
Captain Winters gave it a light shake. “Until tomorrow.”
Jashir stepped past Daniel and left the room.
***
Ellie rolled her eyes and knocked on the mansion door. “That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard, Nelson. Mermaids don’t exist. They’re a myth.”
The door swung open.
“Herring smells like shit,” Ellie said, then turned back to Nelson. “So how’s this Taylor bloke supposed to sell you one of their tails?”
The doorman stepped aside, allowing them to enter.
Ellie continued chattering away. “I’m telling you, it’s a fake. I don’t care how famous the guy’s auctions are.”
Nelson ignored her, crossing the long foyer in determined strides, and headed up the stairs with Ellie hard on his heels. “Just because you have not seen a thing doesn’t make it imaginary. My people have been using ground mermaid tail as a medicinal for almost a century.”
Reaching the top of the staircase, Nelson turned left, barreling straight into a large man dressed in a turban and long flowing robes. He bounced off him and staggered backward.
“You should slow down and watch the path in front of you, dirty cur,” the robed man hissed, looking down his aristocratic nose at Nelson.
Nelson stiffened, but instead of the quick retort Ellie expected, he lowered his head and muttered a quiet “Excuse me, sorry,” before he stepped around the turbaned man and hurried up the hall.
>
The robed man glared at Ellie. “Did your mother not teach you that staring is rude, young lady?” He scrutinized her up and down. “She obviously did not teach you how to dress.”
The hair at the back of Ellie’s neck stood on end and her stomach tightened. Young lady? She pulled her skullcap down tighter on her head, hunched her shoulders. How does he know?
“Come on, El,” Nelson called from the other end of the long hall.
Swallowing her heart out of her throat, Ellie dragged her gaze away from the intimidating man and scurried after Nelson.
Nelson stood outside the third door on the right, face ashen. “Let’s get my mermaid tail and get the hell out of here.”
Ellie had never seen fear in Nelson’s eyes before. “I thought you wanted to stay for the auction? We trekked all the way out here and now you want to leave?” She glanced back toward the stairway, but the robed man was gone. “Who was that?”
Nelson pushed open the door. “Just Satan’s handmaiden.”
***
Daniel emerged from the card room. The door across the hallway clicked shut, drawing his attention. He stepped into the empty hall and headed for the stairway.
Captain Winters came up beside him and slapped a friendly hand onto his shoulder. “Now that we’re done working for the day, what say we go downstairs and see what this whole auction business is all about?”
“That sounds wonderful, Captain,” Daniel replied, warmth surging through him at his captain’s affable manner. He rarely smiled since he’d learned about his daughter’s disappearance.
Together, they descended the wide stairway on the way to the famous Taylor auction in the grand ballroom.
Chapter Ten
With square-rigged sails full of strong coastal wind, The Siren’s Call was one of the fastest ships in the Atlantic. Her dark hull cut through the water with the ease of a blade through butter.
A tingling sensation spread through Daniel’s limbs and his heartbeat accelerated. Next to the way he felt when he swam through the breakers in seal form, nothing made him happier than when the deck of a ship rolled beneath his feet.
