The Devil's Fire (12 page)

"I would make a very poor pirate if I did not."

"Your plunder must not include people!" she protested, and nearly toppled over in the process. She thrust out a foot and regained her balance.

"Where else might I have found my crew? Those blacks you see on deck, they were slaves, Katherine. Now they live free lives."

"How lovely for them," she scoffed. "What of my life? What of my husband's life? You murdered him!"

He stood and circled the desk, moving close. "Your husband betrayed you."

"Never!"

"The coward surrendered his wife to me to save his own skin. He disgusted me and I killed him for it."

"You lie!" she said, tears spilling over.

"I enjoyed killing him," he said, his drunken gaze narrowing.

"I don't believe you."

He touched her cheek. "Then why do you cry?" She pulled away and faced the opposite direction. "You know it's true, Katherine. Tell me, how else would I know your name unless your husband provided it?"

She faced him, eyes red and watery but no less fierce. "I gave my name to one of your crew and he told you, not my husband. Please end this charade."

He blinked. "I knew nothing of this. With whom did you speak?"

"What does it matter?" she sneered. "You're senses are impaired. You won't remember any of this come sunrise."

"Likewise," he grinned. He turned to retrieve the bottle of wine. "We pirates sustain our spirits better than we let on."

She pounced while his back was to her. She grasped the hilt of his cutlass and slid it free of the sheath. He turned a disbelieving gaze on her. She pointed the tip of the blade to his throat and cocked her head with a jubilant grin. "I wonder how well you will sustain your spirits as they drain from your neck."

He regained his composure and managed a smile. "You're welcome to kill me, but what then?"

"That really doesn't concern you."

"I think you're bluffing. Kill me and you'll incur the wrath of one-hundred vengeful pirates."

She pressed the point into his neck, a tiny bubble of blood forming on the tip of the blade. "You think highly of yourself. Perhaps they’ll appoint me captain."

"Maybe." He elevated his chin. "Perhaps they’ll fuck you to death."

"You think that scares me now?"

"Yes," he said.

She knew he was right, but she wouldn’t let him see it. She would throw herself over the side before allowing the crew to get at her.

"I think you’re bluffing," he said.

"Perhaps I am bluffing. Perhaps I won't kill you. Perhaps I'll just take another piece of you as I did your ear. Perhaps I'll remove that piece which worries me most."

Flickering candlelight glimmered in the tiny beads of sweat clinging to his forehead. "You've nothing to fear."

"No?" She glanced indicatively at his crotch. "Why not? Does it not work?"

"It works, last I looked," he replied tersely.

"Then why shouldn’t I be afraid? I'm so very beautiful, remember?" She gave the hilt a slight nudge and the bubble of blood popped, trickling down his neck. "It wasn't a lie, was it?"

He lowered his chin and looked into her eyes. The sword faltered a notch. He pulled back suddenly and slapped the blade away from his throat, barreling into her and pinning her against the wall. He seized the hand that held the cutlass and smashed it against the wall until her knuckles bled and her fingers opened. The weapon fell. He hissed hot breath onto her cheeks through clenched teeth. "What must I do to end this hostility?"

"It will take more than wine."

"Clearly," he nodded. He released his hold on her and went to retrieve the cutlass. He wiped the blade clean of his blood and returned it to the sheath. He looked at Katherine, his face lost behind a mesh of raven black hair. "Damn your fiery blood, girl. You know nothing of the world and even less of the sea. How is it that your poor dead rich husband came to so fine a business? On the backs of the poor, under the cover of law! No such law fosters me, and so I must be a villain. I cared naught for merchant squabs whose sails I mended without so much as a nod of gratitude. Instead they offered me the heels of their boots dug firmly into my spine, and they did worse to the others. What was I to do? Let them kill me and the boys what served alongside me? No! I fought back and the crew fought at my side; they needed only the inclination. We took their swords and with those swords we took their lives. I felt nary a weight on my conscious, for they were naught but dogs."

His eyes drifted past the wooden barriers of the cabin to glimpse some distant, dreadful memory. "Alas, it was not enough that we give their bodies to the sea; undeserving were they of so rich a burial."

Katherine released the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding in. She pressed her back against the wall, silently praying that the boundaries of reality would give way and that she would be thrust magically through the planking, away from this nightmare and into the sea. "You ate them?" she said, not bothering to subdue the trembling in her voice.

"We're not animals, Katherine. We cooked them first."

Livingston closed his eyes and permitted himself a smile as the warm breeze caressed his face and washed over his hairless scalp. When he reopened them, he knew he was not dreaming.

It seemed an eternity since last he looked on New Providence. The sun's shimmering reflection danced on the crystalline waters from a cloudless sapphire sky. Nassau harbor brimmed with over four hundred pirate ships that altogether formed a floating brown city. Livingston took pride in the fact that
Harbinger
stood out as one of the larger, more attractive vessels. The majority of these were rundown sloops and schooners with torn sails and sloppy decks. Several ships were careened near the shore, tilted at sharp angles with crewmen scattered along the exposed sides of the hulls, scrubbing vigorously.

The long, natural harbor carved between New Providence and Paradise Island allowed for two possible entry points and doubled the escape routes. It was unlikely that a warship large enough to pose a threat could enter the shallow harbor without her keel running aground.

A thin contour of blinding white sand separated the shoal waters from the infinitely lush island. The grand settlement that lined the harbor denoted a merging of ships and land. The taverns and the stores and the homes were little more than dirty shacks wrought of wayward planks and roofed with palm fronds, in addition to tents erected with spars that were shabbily covered by old sails. The colony gave off a natural kind of amphibious beauty.

The jungle that shrouded the island paradise encased the odd, makeshift structures that otherwise might have appeared unsightly. Many of the buildings assimilated the jungle into their architecture, with palm trees cutting through their roofs.

The only unnatural blemish of industrialization was a tiny rundown fort that stood on a hill outside of town. Livingston chuckled to himself as he recalled a rather persistent rumor about a hermit named Sawney who was squatting at the fort. He had yet to see the old man for himself.

Livingston felt the crew gathering behind him. Most of them had been to Nassau the year prior, but the colony had expanded dramatically since that time, both in structures on land and ships in the harbor.

Harbinger
's voyage had been uneventful since her departure from the America, consisting of nothing more than daily lollygagging and nightly celebrations on the main deck. The provisions they had acquired on the mainland were eagerly consumed to near exhaustion. Their bloated bellies did not ease the communal depression that had swept the deck. It was Livingston's job to read the thoughts of his crew. He knew that the recent surge in celebration was the result of unquenchable boredom.

Harbinger
satisfied their every desire except one, and the fierce Katherine Lindsay was not an option. The last man to make an attempt on her had lost his head, and deservedly so. The crew happily obliged Griffith’s murderous action; as long as he brought them good luck, he could kill or fuck whomever he pleased. As far as they were concerned, Katherine Lindsay was off limits. Not a single thread of gossip escaped Livingston's ears, yet he had heard no complaints directed at Griffith. So long as
Harbinger
continued her victorious streak, Griffith would remain their entrusted captain.

Still, their loins had been aching with the promise of New Providence and the pleasures they would find in the taverns and brothels. They'd been at sea for far too long. They had packed the hold to the brim, and were eager to spend everything they had earned. As Livingston looked on the bustling community, he knew that the crew's desires would be well met and their pockets completely emptied by the end of the vacation. They would return to sea happier and poorer than when they left, and so the cycle would continue until their luck ran out.

There was no sign of Nathan Adams. Livingston had glimpsed very little of the boy since leaving the East Coast. He hadn't seen him socializing with his American brethren or climbing aloft, as he so loved to do.

He couldn't help but feel partially responsible for the boy. Livingston was not a social man, and he did not consider Nathan a friend. There was only one man aboard
Harbinger
that he allotted that honor, and that was Jonathon Griffith. However, Nathan was different. Livingston had no sons that he knew of, but he liked to think he had infected the West Indies with at least a few dozen bastards. He imagined that his offspring would resemble Nathan in spirit; graced with insurmountable ambition.

But Nathan's ambition was stably faltering. He knew the boy was lamenting the events that had taken place on the mainland. Nathan had seen his share of violence in his time aboard
Harbinger
and had seemingly brushed it off like water from a duck's back. So why was the lattermost event so disturbing? Perhaps this boy wasn't the pirate Livingston had hoped he was. There was no place for loners on a ship, where every man depended on the other. Livingston prayed that Nathan would end this selfish phase as soon as the leisurely pace concluded.

Livingston shook his head, aggravated that his brooding prevented him from enjoying the full splendor of the island before him. Normally this sight would be enough to steal all his worries, on those rare occasions when he actually worried.

When he realized that his nerves would afford him no comfort, he pulled himself away from the glorious view and descended below decks, where he found Nathan between two crates, playing with a chicken.

"The ship's in no peril, I trust?" Nathan said curtly, as if to indicate that his duties were not required, thus negating the quartermaster's company.

Livingston shook his head.

"Then what's your business?"

"The resolve of every man on this ship be my business."

"I'm fine," Nathan replied halfheartedly. He ran his fingers through his mop of sandy hair.

"A fine liar," Livingston scoffed.

Nathan blinked.

Livingston kicked the chicken out of his way and kneeled beside the lad. "I know what you're about, boy. I weren’t always an old coat, and I had me share of fury to sort through. Me hair was just as full as yours, ‘fore it slid off me noggin."

Nathan's involuntary smile brought Livingston immense satisfaction. He swallowed the perplexing emotion almost as swiftly as Nathan censored his smile. An uncomfortable silence followed, and it might have sustained an eternity if not for a diplomatic squawk from the chicken.

Livingston grunted and rose to his feet. "Are you too stubborn to partake of Nassau’s many pleasures?"

Nathan's head perked up. He attempted to mask his excitement, but Livingston was already grinning, knowing he had the boy's undivided attention.

"Stick by me, lad," said the quartermaster, "and you'll know the finer points of the finest port merging sea and land."

Griffith strolled apathetically through the jungle bazaar as pirates auctioned off their plundered goods to voracious traders. The street, if the sandy pathway could be called that, was packed with pirates of every shape, size, and color. Sordid merchants offered every manner of outlandish goods, and the roar of their haggling was deafening. Blacksmiths sold swords and axes, some of them fine, others shoddy, depending on the dealer. Several women dotted the crowd, examining dresses that varied greatly in cultural fashion.

Griffith had but one item in mind as he perused the bazaar: a pet for Katherine Lindsay. She had insisted on accompanying him to the colony, and he might have granted her request had he not spied a certain desperation in her eyes. He assured her of the futility of an escape attempt; this was a pirate colony, and there were worse sorts she might fall in with. Her only hope for a steady income would be through prostitution. She was quick to retract her request.

She had been uncharacteristically submissive ever since Griffith claimed that he and his crew had resorted to cannibalism in overthrowing their former superiors. It was sheer nonsense, of course, and he'd shared a good laugh with Livingston about it. He could not deny that he had thoroughly enjoyed the little ruse. He would reveal the truth in time, but he needed her to remain submissive, locked safely away in his cabin.

Wearing away at Lindsay was a delicate process that would take time. A gift was in order, but what to get her? Eventually he came to a tattered advertisement posted to a palm tree, flapping in the wind:

PARROT FROM VERA CRUZ
Very pretty and yellow and red
Biggest bird of the West Indies
Well educated and good humored
Talks English, French, and Spanish
Visit Sams shop for more
Don't fancy birds? Buy a monkey for cheap

Griffith didn't care for parrots and monkeys. Loudmouthed birds were as cantankerous as the worst of any pirate crew, and rarely did they offer true companionship. And his one experience with a monkey didn’t end well; he doubted an animal that used its own feces as a projectile would win the girl’s affections.