Wake of the Bloody Angel (10 page)

I didn’t answer. If she truly didn’t know, that tankard of parental worms could wait for another day. “I have to tell you, Angie, I’m awfully close to giving you back your gold and dropping this right now. What else have you left out that might be important?”

“He’s the only thing. I really didn’t think he’d still be there. Will you think less of me if I say he hardly ever crosses my mind?”

“I’m in no position to judge anyone. That’s between you and your conscience.”

She said nothing for a long moment. “I can’t fix what I did to him. And it was still the best choice out of a pile of bad ones. For him, and for me. I’m sorry he’s upset about it, but life’s tough for everyone.”

Her blithe answer annoyed me, so I pulled out the big sword. “He’s a better parent than you, at least.”

That took a moment to sink in. “I . . . what?”

“You’re a grandmother.”

She blinked a few times, then looked down at her hands in her lap. At last she said, “A boy or a girl?”

“One boy. Not sure what the other one is.”

“Two?”

“Not much else to do where he is.”

She nodded slowly, the way you do when all the implications of something haven’t quite registered. “Then I suppose I should—”

“No. Don’t do anything. He doesn’t want to see you, and his life is chaotic enough. Just file it away under ‘Things I should’ve told Eddie before I sent him off on that wild goose chase.’ ”

“So are you giving up?”

“You know I’m not. I’ve already spent enough of your money to feel obligated. And believe it or not, I’ve got a lead. But I’m telling you now: If I come across any other big secrets like that, I’m packing it in. I won’t work for someone who doesn’t level with me.”

She nodded slowly. “Understandable,” she said blankly.

“Goddammit, Angie!” I slapped my desk and she jumped. She stared up at me as if she’d just noticed I was in the room. I’d never seen her like this, all flat and numb. Then again, I’d never imagined her as a mother and a grandmother.

Finally she said, “I’m sorry, Eddie. I’ve kept things to myself a long time; it goes from being a habit to a lifestyle. So what
have
you found out about Edward?”

“That he was known as Black Edward Tew, and that the
Bloody Angel
sank in a storm off Watchorn Harbor with only one survivor. Supposedly it was loaded with treasure, and he was coming back for you.”

She nodded. “I’ve heard that story, too. But I never met this so-called survivor, and I don’t know anyone else who has, either. So there’s no proof that his ship sank there, or anywhere.”

“No, but he’s my sole lead, so I’m going after him. His name’s Wendell Marteen. Mean anything to you?”

“I never heard the story told with the same name twice.”

“It came from a reliable source.”

“Who?”

I shook my head. I didn’t want to mention Rody Hawk. He was like a demon you summoned by saying his name out loud, and I didn’t want to invoke him here.

“I’m your client,” Angelina pressed.

“That means you pay me to do my job, not tell me
how
to do it. Now, let me ask you again: Is there anything else I need to know before I go back out to look for this guy?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded.

I sat heavily in the chair behind my desk. “All right. I’ll be heading out again in the morning. I’ll be in touch again when I have something to report.”

“Do you need any more money?”

“No. If I do, I’ll let you know.”

She stood. I did not. I said, “People remember you. They said you were a witch.”

She smiled. It was the kind of smile that made swords rise on their own. “I was. My spell was that I liked doing things other women didn’t. Like being with their men. If those proper ladies had said yes instead of no more often, I’d have been powerless.” Then she left without another word.

I sat listening to the muffled sounds of the tavern for a long time, wondering about Angelina’s effect on Edward Tew. Had he turned pirate because of her, or had she turned him in spite of himself? And did that really matter, if he was lying dead on the bottom of the ocean?

AFTER
Liz showed me how glad she was to see me, we lay in bed and I told her about my adventures so far, once again leaving out Rody Hawk. If I didn’t want him manifesting in my office, I sure didn’t want him here.

When I finished, she said, “Wow. Angelina’s a grandmother. Hell, even picturing her as a mother is hard. Or a cranky aunt. She hates kids.”

“Maybe that’s why. If every kid reminds you of the one you abandoned, you probably wouldn’t want to be around them.”

“What about you?”

“Oh, I think she likes me okay.”

She tugged on my beard. “No, kids. What about you and kids?”

“They’re all right.” I hadn’t been around many, but they didn’t make me nervous like they did some men. I’d found that if you were honest with them, they were pretty much like anyone else, except smaller and with shorter attention spans.

“You ever thought about having any?” Liz asked.

“Who says I don’t? I was a wild blade for a long time before I met you.”

She chuckled. “If you had kids and knew about it, I’d know, too. You’d be sending them money and making sure they stayed out of trouble.”

“Maybe.”

She was silent for a moment, then said, “Think we’re too old to have any of our own?”

“Yes.”

“You’re probably right. Tough to squeeze ’em in between my deliveries and your saving the damsels.”

I turned on my side to look at her. “Have you been thinking about this much?”

“No, not really. I mean, the time for this was when we were both twenty years younger, right?”

“Yes. Nobody wants their dad to be so old, he could be their grandpa.”

“Yeah.” She snuggled close, and I kissed the top of her head. I felt her breathing change as she settled in to sleep, but I stayed awake staring at the ceiling. If I found him alive, I wondered how Edward Tew would react when I told him he was a grandfather.

When I finally fell asleep, I dreamed I was on a ship. Two men stood at the wheel: Rody Hawk, and a man with Duncan Tew’s jet-black hair whose face I couldn’t see. Hawk smiled, pointed at me, and gestured that I should join them. I was terrified down to my toenails and screamed,
“Son of—”

chapter EIGHT

“
—a
bitch!”

I snapped wide awake, finishing the curse I’d begun in my sleep. I looked around, momentarily disoriented, then remembered I was on a pirate-hunter ship headed for the Southern Ocean, and had been for two weeks. I tossed the light blanket aside, sat up, and shook my head to clear it.

In my half-awake state I’d just realized something that should have been obvious, and I was astounded at my own idiocy. How had I missed that? It was right in front of me, plain as day, and hadn’t registered.

I swung my bare feet off the bed. The wooden deck was damp with condensation, as was my skin. The tiny master’s cabin—a closet-sized space located between the much more spacious captain’s quarters and the equally claustrophobic one belonging to the purser—had one round window that was essentially useless unless the door was open to allow a cross breeze. Seated on the edge of the bunk, I could touch my forehead to the opposite wall if I leaned far enough. My saddlebags lay beside the door, and my sword rested under my bunk.

I stood, wiped the sweat from my face, and looked around for my tunic. I’d cut the sleeves off my second day at sea; now my face and arms were deep brown, and the crisscross marks of old sword battles stood out pink and white against my new tan. I could’ve gone shirtless like most of the crew, but I’d discovered over the years that the big scar on my chest, and its matching one on my back, led to lots of questions I’d rather not answer.

I pulled on my trousers and boots, then opened the door. I was still furious. The little cabin boy who generally slept right outside jumped to his feet when he saw me. “Yes, sir!” he exclaimed with a rigid salute.

“At ease,” I said as I tied a bandanna around my sweatmatted hair. “Dorsal, is Captain Argo in her cabin?” She’d been given the purser’s cabin next to mine.

“No, sir, she went on deck about an hour ago.” He had the serious face of a child for whom childhood was not an option. I guessed he was about nine or ten, barefoot and dressed in adult clothes cut down and cinched up to fit him. “I think she’s talking to Captain Clift.”

“Thanks,” I said, and he jumped aside as I went out into the dim hold. A good number of men still slept in the hammocks, as the ship carried a crew twice what was required to operate on a day-to-day basis. Since I was paying for this charter, I was also subsidizing their apparent laziness. I was assured, though, that in battle every man would earn his keep.

The heat was just as oppressive in the hold, but the smells were worse. This was the odor of pirates, all right, and even if they now worked on the right side of the law, they hadn’t substantially changed their ways, certainly not their personal hygiene routines. I’d let myself slip a bit, too, but I still managed to wash in vital places every day.

I stopped at the piss barrel. Apparently stale urine did a great job getting blood out of clothes, so everyone contributed; well, except the female crew members, although I wouldn’t put it past Jane. I added my allotment, marveling again at how the human nose can eventually get used to any smell. I wondered if I’d ever be able to appreciate a rose or good cooking again.

“Hey, sword jockey,” a man said sleepily. One leg dangled off the edge of his cot, and was long enough to rest his bare foot flat on the ground. This was Suhonen, the biggest man aboard, a towering piece of muscle who, I suspected, played dumber than he was. “What’s the hurry? We won’t hit the Southern Ocean for another two days.”

“I just thought of something,” I said honestly. I left out
that I should’ve caught a damn month ago.
No need to advertise my shortcomings.

“Must be some thought to have you busting out like a moray eel,” he said. Other heads popped up from hammocks, aroused by the voices and any break in routine.

“Nah, nothing important,” I said. I went up the stairs to the main hatch and stood halfway out as I waited for my eyes to adjust to the blinding sun. I heard a voice below me murmur, “Cap’n Jane says he’s the most vicious swordsman in Muscodia.”

“That’s not saying much,” someone replied, and I fought not to laugh.

“She also says he took a sword to the heart and lived.”

“And
that’s
just impossible.”

“Did you ever know Cap’n Jane to lie?”

“I never sailed with her before. All I know is what you moony-eyed schoolboys tell me about her.”

“Well, call her a liar, wake up a eunuch, so say those of us who
did
sail with her.”

I climbed through the main hatch and emerged on deck before I laughed out loud. Instantly the breeze hit me, a rush of clean salt air that felt especially wonderful after passing through the hold. The morning sun was about a hand’s-width above the horizon, and the heat had not reached the eggboiling proportions it would by midday. If this was what it was like at this latitude, I really wasn’t looking forward to the heat of the Southern Ocean.

But at the moment, the heat I was most concerned with was my own temper. I looked around the ship that had been my home for the last two weeks, seeking Jane Argo.

Our ship bore the unlikely name
Red Cow.
She was a twomasted schooner eighty feet long and weighing in at about 220 tons. The crew complement was around a hundred. I knew very little about ships, but I did notice that the
Red Cow
sported an extra-long bowsprit, the purpose of which I had yet to discover.

She was a twenty-gunner as well, with five ballistae mounted on either side of the deck, and five more set to fire through ports below. The bolts might not pierce the hull of another ship, but they pierced the crew just fine. They could also grab fast to the other ship’s wood and allow the
Red Cow
to winch the two ships together, which was how pirates often secured their prey. Using their own tactic against them was just one of the ironies about the whole pirate-hunter enterprise.

The
Red Cow
was one of the fleet supported by the international coalition known as the Anti-Freebootery Guild, formed forty years ago in an attempt to stop the rampant criminal activity in and around the Southern Ocean ports. At first the various countries that signed the Guild charter used their navies to enforce it, but there were too many language barriers, cross purposes, and old grudges. In the first three years, twice as many naval vessels as pirates were sunk, often at the hands of so-called allies.