Of Witches and Werewolves Trilogy Boxed Set

by Cory Barclay

  Severin slapped his knee with a half-eaten chicken leg. “Great, that means we can do a Bird Coup.”

  “A witch is being executed tomorrow,” Hugo pointed out. “The marketplace will be packed—”

  “Perfect! It’ll be ripe for the taking.”

  Hugo watched Severin’s pointy eyebrows. “There will be too many eyes tomorrow, Sev. It’s too dangerous.”

  Severin made a clicking sound with his tongue. “So . . . you’re scared? Ah, look at the frightened kitten,” he mocked in a high-pitched voice, swishing his chicken leg in the air. Then his face grew dark. “Let’s have a vote then, eh? Raise your hand if you’re for the Coup.”

  The room was silent. Then Severin raised one of his chicken legs. Karstan hesitated before raising his hand. Hugo narrowed his eyes on his friend, but Karstan wouldn’t meet his glare. “Sorry, Hue. It’s as good a time as any for a Coup—crowded market, sunny skies . . . and we got to eat.”

  Waving Karstan off, Hugo glanced at Ava in the doorway.

  “I’m with Hue,” she said. “We could use a day off. We made off with plenty today.”

  “That’s rubbish!” Severin yelled. “We can never have too much. If we don’t work, we starve.” He raised his other chicken bone in the air. “This vote’s for Danny.”

  Danny was the fifth member of their illustrious gang. He’d gone missing a few months prior and hadn’t been seen since.

  Severin glanced from face to face. Finally, he said, “Then it’s settled. We’re doing the run.”

  Hugo opened his mouth to argue, but Ava shook her head at him. He sighed, then joined her at the door as the others continued eating.

  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the ring. “I-I got this for you today,” he stammered, smiling nervously. “Happy birthday, Ava.”

  Her eyes lit up. And Hugo’s heart pounded. “You remembered,” she said, her eyes transfixed as she toyed with the ring in her palm.

  Hugo tilted his head to the side. “Of course I did. How could I not?”

  Ava beamed. Leaning toward him she planted a kiss on his cheek. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

  “The stone matches your eyes,” Hugo blushed, repeating the point Karstan had made earlier.

  Greasy hands on their shoulders startled them. It was Severin, standing between them. “What’s that you got there?” he asked, snatching the ring from Ava’s hand and holding it up to the sky, making it sparkle. “Keeping things from the group now, are you? That’s a no-no, Hue. Makes it seem like you don’t trust us.”

  “Hey!” Hugo said, “give that back to her. It’s a present.”

  “It’s part of the group,” Severin sneered, holding the ring higher than Hugo’s hands could reach. He laughed at Hugo’s futile attempts to grab it.

  Ava frowned. She took no part in the boys’ altercations.

  Noticing her expression, Severin sighed, then finally relented. “Fine . . . the stone looks fake anyway,” he said, letting the ring fall from his hand to the wet ground. Hugo quickly snatched it up, rubbing off the grime as Severin sauntered away.

  The next morning the quartet gathered at the town’s marketplace, an open-air bazaar where merchants hawked their wares. Today however, bystanders filled the area, waiting to watch the public execution set to begin shortly.

  It was the third witch burning in less than a month. It seemed that more and more witches were popping up every day. So common had they become, Hugo hadn’t even bothered learning the name of this newest offender.

  Instead, he sat on an overturned fruit crate, eating an apple and watching the crowd grow. A scaffold had been raised in the center of the marketplace. On it stood a wooden cross—man-sized. The town’s bishop, Balthasar Schreib, stood next to the cross, waving his arms as he announced the multiple charges the witch faced.

  All four thieves now occupied strategic locations along the perimeter of the marketplace. They waited patiently for rich stragglers to come riding or walking by.

  The Bird Coup was a particular ploy requiring all four of them.

  The Owl was the lookout, responsible for keeping an eye out for patrolmen or guards. At any sign of trouble, he’d give a hoot. He also was responsible for picking the mark, but was otherwise relatively free from harm or exposure. Today, Severin played the Owl.

  The Falcon did the mugging, because he had the fastest wings—or in this case, hands. Hugo was the designated Falcon.

  The Eagle was the decoy and, if necessary, the muscle, because he was the biggest and most flamboyant. Not surprisingly, Karstan always played the Eagle.

  The final part was the Raven. This role was the trickiest and required the most skill since the Raven took the handoff from the Falcon. Ava played the Raven.

  The set-up was straightforward: The Owl chose the target and kept watch. The Falcon dove in, snatching the goods, while the Eagle distracted the mark. The Falcon would then hand off the goods to the Raven, who’d disappear into the shadows.

  And if anything went wrong, and a mark or bystander suspected foul play, it would be the Falcon they’d go after, who would innocently show he had nothing on his person.

  The group had successfully pulled off the ploy countless times.

  As Bishop Schreib finished off his grand proclamation, the crowd parted to make way for two guards who escorted the witch toward the scaffold and cross.

  Which was the cue for the Bird Coup to start.

  Sitting nonchalantly on a stack of flour bags, Severin nodded toward an incoming merchant. Seeing Severin’s sign from across the market, Hugo bobbed his head, the sign that the target had been picked. The merchant carried a large purse over his shoulder, wore lavish clothes, held a smaller knapsack on his hip, and had a woman clinging to his arm. The perfect mark.

  The woman will be my best advantage, Hugo thought, watching the rich lady almost melt into the laughing merchant. They were probably drunk, arriving right as the execution was set to begin. A few people stood between Hugo and the merchant, but all faced the scaffolding, their backs to Hugo.

  Hugo’s heart hammered. He was twenty paces from the merchant, trying to meld into the crowd. His eyes shifted from the scaffold, back to the merchant, then back again to the scaffold.

  The screaming witch was being dragged through a row of onlookers. Hugo passed her with his head down.

  When Hugo was fifteen paces away from the couple, Karstan calmly nudged in behind him, keeping a few paces back. Meanwhile, Ava remained out of sight. Hugo could literally hear his heart thumping as he closed within ten paces of the merchant.

  Bells and whistles abruptly sounded in his head. He stuttered a step as a man walked up alongside the merchant. A man Hugo hadn’t noticed—middle-aged, blond hair, stern face. Most telling, though he wasn’t outfitted like a patrolman, he carried a sword at his waist.

  He looks strangely familiar, Hugo thought. But with no warning from his Owl, there was no reason to scrap the plan, so Hugo quickened his pace.

  When he was within five steps of the mark, he stopped sharply, pivoting to his side so Karstan could pass. Karstan bumped into Hugo, causing Hugo to stumble into the merchant.

  “Oh my!” Karstan said, shoving Hugo out of the way and facing the merchant. “My apologies, sir,” Karstan said as Hugo walked away with the merchant’s knapsack.

  The merchant growled in protest.

  Appearing from the shadows, Ava passed by Hugo as he handed off the knapsack to her. Head down, she quickly disappeared into the crowd.

  Hugo exhaled as he strolled away. His heart slowed.

  Until he heard a yelp.

  Spinning around with panic in his eyes, he scanned the faces of the crowd.

  Someone was dragging Ava by the arm through a cluster of people. As she cried out, Hugo focused across the way to the flour-stack. Severin was gone.

  Coward!

  He could see Karstan trying desperately to shove people aside to get between Ava and her captor.

  Which was when Hugo
realized her captor was the same blond-haired man who’d been beside the merchant. As the man reached for Ava’s chest, as if to grab her breasts, Ava screamed.

  “Pervert!”

  Undeterred, the man ripped open the front of Ava’s shirt and out tumbled the merchant’s knapsack, which he raised in the air.

  By this time, several members of the crowd had turned from the execution to face the growing commotion between Ava and her captor. When the man raised the knapsack, they collectively gasped.

  Karstan finally made his way to Ava and appeared ready to bull-rush her captor, just as the man drew his sword and leveled it at Karstan’s throat. Karstan gulped and put his hands in the air.

  “Back, thief,” the man shouted, “she’s coming with me!”

  He then backed into the crowd, dragging Ava behind him with the knapsack over his shoulder. As he passed the intended mark, he handed the bag to the man. “Your purse, sir,” he said.

  “Ava!” Hugo shouted, reaching out but clutching air.

  The last thing Hugo saw was Ava opening her bright green eyes, gazing through the crowd and locking onto him, her hands outstretched.

  And then she was gone.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ROWAINE

  “Yes,” Rowaine said, “I severed the captain’s prick, then his throat. If anyone wants to join him, my knife is ready.”

  The tension on the Lion’s Pride was as taut as stretched rope, ready to snap. Rowaine stood at the ship’s helm, hands bloodied, eyes cast down at the crew. Half of them stared at her with daggers in their eyes, the other half held weapons aimed at the first half.

  She gazed at the hardened faces. “I know I wasn’t the only soul tired of his antics, his madness, his bloodthirst. Constantly ordering us to go where we did not agree. Enough was enough. Captain Galager is dead. All we can do is go forward from here. I’m angry I didn’t slay him sooner. If I had, what happened to poor Dominic could have been prevented.”

  A few mutterings floated through the ranks of the men. With fire in his eyes, First Mate Adrian Coswell yelled out, “You’re a traitor, you bitch. Who will lead us now?”

  Daxton Wallace, his pistol pointed at the first mate’s head, clicked the matchlock, then whacked Coswell over the head with the butt of the gun. “It’s a bit obvious, isn’t it, mate?”

  “L-long live Captain Row!” Jerome Penderwick shouted from the starboard railing. For such a skittish surgeon, he showed an amazing amount of courage.

  “Yes, long live Captain Row!” Alfred Eckstein echoed.

  Half of the shipmates followed suit, while the rest stayed quiet.

  “I was next in line for the captaincy!” Adrian Coswell screamed, rubbing the back of his bruised head.

  Daxton laughed. “I don’t think you’re in any shape to be bargaining, fool.”

  I don’t want this, Rowaine thought. But she knew it couldn’t be helped. The mutiny was my idea. Someone has to lead these sorry bastards. She kept her gaze on the first mate, before abruptly turning her head, her red hair fluttering in the breeze. “How are our medical supplies, Doctor Penderwick?”

  “D-dismal, my lady.”

  She turned to the rigger. “And our riggings, Mister Eckstein?”

  “Soggy ropes and loose lines,” the young man replied.

  “Termites have gotten into our wood,” Daxton said, loud enough for all to hear.

  Rowaine held her arms out wide. “Don’t you see, Mister Coswell? Henry Galager was leading us on a death march. Can’t you see the struggles of the men?”

  “Henry Galager was my captain,” Adrian scowled.

  “As he was mine,” Rowaine said, “but not anymore. Believe me, I didn’t plan on doing it like I did. But when I saw how he hurt Dominic, and what he was about to do to me—” she faced the floorboards and suddenly stopped speaking.

  “You’ll never be more than a usurper to—”

  A loud crack interrupted the first mate. Coswell crumbled to the ground in a heap. Daxton leaned over him with his pistol raised into the air.

  “Dax!” Rowaine shouted as faces surveyed the commotion.

  The bald carpenter shrugged nonchalantly. “I was gettin’ tired of his yammering.”

  Rowaine groaned. I’m trying to bring us a sense of unity, and he threatens to divide us even more! He needs a talking-to.

  Although there would be no official vote, it was clear what the outcome of Captain Galager’s death would bring. Having single-handedly spearheaded the mutiny, Rowaine became the de facto captain of the Lion’s Pride.

  Now I need to figure out what to do with the people who hate me . . . including Adrian Coswell.

  “Bring Coswell to Doctor Penderwick, Dax,” Rowaine ordered. “Make sure he’s okay, Jerome.”

  The surgeon nodded, scrambling over to the carpenter and fallen first mate. Grabbing Adrian’s arms, while Daxton took his legs, they carried him through the parting crowd to the stairs.

  As they reached the hallway, Daxton gasped then stepped aside, forcing the small surgeon to follow him—they almost dropped Adrian in the process.

  Dominic Baker stood in the doorway, head downcast, his tunic torn, hands at his side, fists clenched. His normally kind face was masked with pain, his mouth a mere slit, his eyes burning with rage.

  As he limped ahead, the men quietly got out of his way. When the cabin boy stepped onto the bloody deck, he stared down at Captain Galager’s severed penis.

  Then he stomped hard, directly on target, a grotesque squelch sounding beneath his foot. With dead eyes aimed at Rowaine, he spun around and headed back downstairs.

  As his footsteps faded, no one spoke.

  Rowaine sat in the same room she’d been playing cards in just hours before. Things have changed so quickly. She felt dizzy, but tried to hide it by crossing her arms over her chest and pursing her lips. Daxton, Alfred, and Jerome stood solemnly in front of her.

  “Where’s Dom?” Rowaine asked.

  “Locked in his room, Row . . . er, captain,” Alfred said. “He refuses to come out.”

  Rowaine frowned. “Even though I asked him to be here?”

  “Er . . . especially because of that, I’m assuming.”

  Rowaine understood. He blames what happened to him on me. I would too, were it me.

  “We m-must go on w-without him,” Jerome stuttered, nodding to himself.

  “The amputator is right,” Daxton said. “No offense, Row, but why do we need him here? He was just the cabin boy.”

  Rowaine shot Daxton an icy glare, forcing the big carpenter to find an interesting speck on the wall to stare at.

  “Because I’m going to name him my first mate, Daxton.”

  The carpenter’s shoulders slumped.

  “Isn’t Daxton the most able and senior of our group?” Alfred asked.

  “Yes, captain, s-should we really have s-such a youngster in charge?” Jerome added.

  An hour into my captaincy and I’m already sowing discord. I’ll need to change that. “I am the captain, boys. You said it yourselves.” She faced the carpenter. “Don’t worry, Daxton, you aren’t forgotten, but I’ve made my decision. Dominic Baker is my first mate.”

  Daxton said nothing. For the first time in a while, his lips stayed still.

  “With that being said,” Rowaine continued, “we need to make our plans. I consider you three—and Dom—my cabinet. I’ll be asking you for advice. Can I trust you in that?”

  She eyed each man one by one. They all nodded firmly, although Daxton hesitated a beat.

  “Our first plan of action needs to be docking the ship. We will return to port on the Dutch coast, unload our loot, and acquire more men.”

  “More men?” Alfred scoffed. “Is that necessary? We can hardly keep the men we have aboard content.”

  “We need to replace Captain Galager’s loyalists with our own. I don’t trust half those wretches. We’ll simply trade them out.”

  “They won’t like that, Row . . .” Daxton said, tr
ailing off.

  Rowaine narrowed her eyes. “I don’t care what they like, Dax. That’s why I have you three—to help make this work.”

  “Right,” said Daxton. “But before any of that, we need to figure out what we’re going to do with Coswell. We can’t trust him, either.”

  In unison Alfred and Jerome both nodded.

  “I know that,” Rowaine said. “As long as he goes, the people loyal to Galager will go with him.”

  Daxton sneered, his mouth agape. “Let him go, Row? You can’t be serious. You’re asking for a counter-mutiny doin’ that. What do you plan to do, simply let him wander off when we dock, free to assemble his own crew?”

  Rowaine slowly exhaled. “We’ll be out of port soon enough—”

  “We’ll need at least a week on land,” Daxton argued, “which gives him plenty of time to raise a ruckus. Not only that, but we’ll have to come back to land at some point. Revenge will be the only thing on his mind—as I’m sure it is right now.”

  “Well, he’s un-unc-unconscious right now, so I doubt he’s thinking much of anything,” Jerome quipped.

  “What do you suppose we do, Dax?” Rowaine asked.

  Daxton reached into his tunic and produced his pipe. “I figured it was pretty clear, Row. Adrian Coswell needs to die.”

  Rowaine was shaking her head before he even finished. “I won’t have any more blood on my hands.”

  “That’s fine,” Daxton said. “I’d be happy to do it.”

  Rowaine sighed, raising her eyebrows and turning to Jerome and Alfred.

  “I’m w-with Daxton, captain. Adrian Coswell is a major t-t-threat,” Jerome said.

  Rowaine was shocked to hear that from the usually peaceful surgeon.

  Alfred spoke. “It’s too messy. Row, er, the captain is right. We don’t want to risk another mutiny by provoking the men who are loyal to Adrian’s cause. I don’t think we should kill him.”

  All eyes focused back on Rowaine.