Blood in the Water (4 page)

“You’re sure it was a ghost? Not a spirit?” Ghalil twisted under his skin, and not for the first time, Eric wondered if it could hear him while confined.

The Hawk’s captain slid him another considering smile. “Why does it matter?”

“Just wondering.” He deflected, “Have you ever seen other jars like that one?”

The smile slid away, and for a heartbeat, the captain stared. Then he scoffed and kicked a trunk on his way toward Eric. “Naw, and I wasn’t interested in that one except that you were.” Shrug. “Sold it for a nice profit, though. Seems the ghost trade is a popular one.”

“I can’t imagine.”

“That so?” He paused a few inches away and leaned his hands on the wall beside Eric’s shoulders. His eyes shone bright amber, almost red in the center. “Then why is it you’re so interested in a jar for holding one?”

“It doesn’t concern you.” Eric felt a little silly holding his arms crossed between them when the Hawk captain seemed intent on hovering as close as he could.

“Everything you do concerns me.”

Eric narrowed his eyes. “Why did you run up the parlay?”

The captain leaned closer, their noses almost touched, and Eric witnessed a sense of pleasure flicker across his face. “You smell divine. What is that?”

Reality kicked Eric in the chest when Ghalil surged against him. Eric rubbed his pectoral and cleared his throat. “It’s called cinnamon. It’s the reason I’m here. The Spanish ship you took was carrying some. I need it.”

“Why?”

“It’s not your concern.”

“I’m making it my concern” —his eyes slid up, like one might consider a woman in a short skirt— “Eric.”

“It’s Deumont, to you.”

He grunted.

“Why did you run up the parlay?”

Disappointment twisted the Hawk captain’s brows for a flash, then he shrugged again. “Need it beaten into you, do you?” Then he pressed their bodies together. Hips, chest, lips: a slow writhe.

Eric stiffened, his arms popped up to the captain’s shoulders in shock, but he didn’t push away. In fact, it felt… rather nice. Eric opened his mouth to accept the man’s tongue and kiss. He dragged one hand up a strong neck to short blond hair. He groaned.

Heat flooded his skin in a way he had forgotten. Sex hadn’t crossed Eric’s mind in years, yet it ground against him, now, with demanding force, a hard plane of body against his, pressing him into the wall. Eric tore his lips away to gasp for air. A hot tongue licked his chin, his neck, and teeth bit into his shoulder. Hands across his chest. Fingers fiddled with the ring in his right nipple, through the shirt. Ghalil shifted. Eric slapped his hand away and grabbed it so it wouldn’t return.

“What’s the point of a nipple ring if it’s not to play with?”

Far more than Eric cared to get into right now. He pulled on blond hair to put those swollen lips at the right angle for kissing. They rutted in quick, chaotic strokes until the captain tried to pull Eric’s shirt up.

Eric tumbled them across the wall. He pinned the captain’s hands with his own, lacing their fingers above their heads.

“Modesty does not become you.”

“There’s more than modesty under this shirt.” And Eric wasn’t about to tell all. He bit at the captain’s lips and chin. Nipped his neck. He drove his hips up in long synchronous strokes, relishing the flash of fire in his gut. His captive arched and moaned.

“Eric. Oh, yeah. Just like that.”

Eric had to agree. The captain jerked against him, biting his own lip to stay silent, like the jangle of clips and metal on their belts didn’t give everything away. Eric chased the cliff edge, regardless, squeezing their fingers together as his body curled close. He came with a fierceness that stunned him.

The bliss of a much-delayed climax cracked in a heartbeat as Eric realized the mess he’d just made. He let his head thump to the wall and sighed.

The captain laughed heartily. He unwound their fingers. “Yeah, not the brightest idea I’ve ever had. But still, we’re making progress!” He ambushed Eric with a peck on his lips and pushed off the wall. He threw the cabin door open, “Oi! Antony! Fetch the bosun. I want to know how much cinnamon we have on board.”

Eric slid his shoulder to the wall and hit his back there to face the room. “What the hell is your name, anyway?”

Another bark of laughter. This guy was far too cheerful. “Kyros Vindex. Of the Grecian isles.” He made an elaborate greeting gesture.

“Far from home.”

“The boat’s home enough.” Someone jogged down the stairs. Kyros greeted him. “Ah, Bram. What have you got?”

The short man at the threshold pushed a pair of spectacles up his nose. “Cinnamon you said, sir? Three ounces.” Eric closed his eyes and let his breath out, careful to avoid any outward sign of disappointment.

“Not much.” Kyros grunted.

“It’s very rare, sir.”

Kyros leaned his head in toward Eric. “That going to work for you?”

“It will do.” Two, maybe three times if he conserved. It would have to do. Ghalil shifted under his skin.

“Wrap it up, Bram, and meet us top-side.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So.” Kyros turned on Eric and startled him away from the wall. Backed him into the desk at the center of the space until they were chest to chest. “Are you going to make me chase you around for another year?” Eric’s fingers ran into linen on the table, and he pulled it off the thing Kyros had tried so casually to hide. “Or have I done enough to convince you we should coordinate shore leave?”

Eric split his attention between his fingers scrambling over a heavy piece of something and the intense question Kyros delivered. “We’re taking a long way around to Nassau. If you’re going in that direction…” Eric’s finger tripped over a piece of the object that lifted and rotated. This had to be the fourth piece of the jar. Kyros had taken it from the Spanish ship. If he didn’t know what it was, and their conversation indicated he didn’t, then why was he here, attacking this particular ship?

“We can be,” Kyros said, with a smile crawling wider.

Eric nodded. He worked a pouch at the back of his belt open and stuffed the thing inside. “I’ll see you there, then.”

****

February

Minutes Later

Kyros smiled and let Eric lead the way out of the cabin. He touched the table littered with linen and noticed the too-heavy puzzle thing had walked. Good. Kyros followed Eric across the gun deck and back up the steps. The largest pouch on the back of Eric’s belt swung like it was full.

Bram caught up as they breached the top deck, his spectacles folded on the front of his shirt. “Captain.”

Kyros accepted the small pouch and sniffed it. The visceral memory of Eric’s body pressed into his surprised him. This was the stuff. “Here.”

He tossed it to Eric. The Sun’s captain hefted it in his hand, then dropped it into a pouch on his belt, already rust-red with spice dust.

Kyros crossed his arms and kicked his chin toward the gangplank. “Don’t be a stranger, now.”

Eric watched him for a heartbeat, then turned away. Kyros didn’t watch him go, but it was a tough thing. Instead, he dove back below decks. He needed a change of pants and a drink. Araceli found him there pacing the length of his cabin.

“We’re just letting them go?”

Kyros looked up at her scowl. “I thought you didn’t want to engage?”

“No…” She crossed her meaty arms. “But I don’t like that you let him saunter around, either.”

Kyros laughed. “Collect all the leads for a meeting, we have a new heading. Also, send someone up to the nest to keep any eye on the Sun. I want to know when they’re clear of the reef and under way.” He tossed the last sip of rum down his throat and set the tankard back on his belt. The bottle he left on the table. By the time he’d tidied up the linen and shoved his scattered messes into a corner, the cabin had filled with men.

“Pass the rum around,” he said.

Bram reached for his tankard. “Good news, Captain?”

“Yes.” He did a quick headcount. “Where’s Theo?”

“Here.” The big blacksmith squeezed through the door last. “Sorry, sir. I’ve got iron in the fire. Want to take advantage of being still.”

“I won’t keep you long.” Kyros nodded. “Most of you know, the captain of the Midnight Sun just paid us a visit. He’s onto something magical. Ghosts or spirits. Maug, what can you tell us?”

Maug rubbed his forehead and hummed. “Well, is it ghosts or is it spirits?”

“What’s the difference?”

“Ghosts walk, talk, and reason. Spirits are a… like a single emotion given form.”

“He asked me the same question. I’m guessing he’s dealing with a spirit.”

Maug shifted his weight and hooked both thumbs in his belt. “Well, you’ve never had an emotion like a spirit does. They only have one overwhelming thought, so I guess you could call them predictable. Pure love, pure hate, purely mischievous— just one thing.”

“Can they be controlled?”

“Not like you can train a dog, no.”

Kyros rubbed his hands together. “Okay. When I dug around in the captain’s cabin on the Spanish ship, I found an item, maybe this big around.” He held a circle shape with his hands. “Looked like gold, but too heavy. Definitely a puzzle piece of a larger item. Deumont took it.”

His crew bristled and Kyros held up his hand. “Relax, I left it out on purpose.” He nodded at Araceli. “We knew he was going after this trade ship, but we just happened to get here first. The piece he took looks a lot like the jar I stole from him some time ago, and I don’t believe in coincidence. Deumont is seeking out a puzzle jar to capture a spirit.”

Maug snorted. “What for?”

“I don’t know yet, but that jar I sold set us up for months. Whatever he needs it for, the trade is hot, and we stand to make a nice profit from it. But even if we don’t find Deumont’s jar, I want to look into others.” Agreeable nods from the crew. “Maug, between meals, can you sit down with Bram and dictate everything you can remember?”

Bram cleared his throat of rum. “I’ll need a new book, Captain.”

Kyros found his small library in a drawer. He touched a row of mismatched leather-bound books of scattered size. He pulled one out and flipped through the uneven pages. Full of the boatswain’s passable handwriting. The next one was empty. “Last one I have. I’ll get another next time we make land.”

Bram passed it back to Theo. “Can I get a buckle and a clip on it?”

“Ya. No problem.”

A hand pounded on the door but there wasn’t room in the cabin for another body. “Sorry, sir! Midnight Sun is out of the bay.”

Kyros clapped once for attention. “I propose a heading. We follow Deumont at distance. I suspect he’s aiming for landfall at Nassau. Now that he has his jar piece, he’ll need to reconnect with the rumors for his next step.” He lifted his right hand. “All in favor?” Hands went up and he counted. Then lifted his left hand. “All opposed?” Only two hands in the air.

Kyros passed his looking glass through the crowd. “Get back up on the nest and keep the Sun’s heading in sight. Report in to the quartermaster.”

The voice from the back said, “Yes, sir!”

“You’re all dismissed. Sam and Christoph, you two stay. I’ll hear your thoughts.”

****

April

Two months later

A loud mix of high-scale extravagance and bottom-feeding degeneration: Nassau. Eric found it horrific and invaluable by turns. Where else could men rape each other of pride and money, and each come out of it claiming they got the better end of the deal? Eric avoided the well-traveled main road and let himself into an unassuming side yard.

An old dog sighed in his direction. Chickens clucked at him, pecking near his feet for corn or seed. Pigeons cooed from a coop at the end of the yard. One of them scratched for seed on top of the coop, a letter bound to its leg.

Eric took the letter and guided the pigeon into the coop with its fellows. He spied another message waiting for him on an interior shelf. Eric tipped his sword to the side and rested on a trunk placed against the wall. He unrolled the first message.

Mister Deumont, I was surprised to receive your letter
— blah, blah, introductions.
Puzzle jars are something of a curious specialty
— blah, blah, nothing Eric didn’t already know. Ahha:
However, it is with regret I return to you no knowledge of this specific jar piece you seek
— Eric tsked and tore the note to shreds for the chickens to scratch into their afternoon nests.

Drunk laugher scratched across the gateway and adobe wall of his hideaway. “The bloody Sun, can you believe it? Like any tosser would sign up for that gig?”

“It’s a death wish. Every one of ’em is tempting the fates.”

“But you know, they’re the best paid slobs in town, I’ll give you that.”

“I’d rather stick my hat with the hooligans on the Lola’s Embrace. Or even the Hawk!”

“HA! The Hawk? Bunch of superstitious louts.”

Eric pursed his lips and slid his second letter inside the breast of his jacket. Vindex was a spontaneous man, but Eric had seen too many things to think superstition played a part. He rubbed his chest. The voices drifted farther down the alley and turned, so he scaled the courtyard adobe wall and pulled himself up to the roof.

“—ing in the tavern tonight. Said there’s a line out the door for signing up.”

Eric overheard and followed the voice, mindful of his footing on the thatch. The two men below staggered against each other, half-arguing. One held a bottle of rum and watered the dirt more than his own palate.

“Don’t tell me you’re considering this?”

“Fuck—” Hic. “Why not? Maybe get to see more of the bloody planet than this rock. Hey!” A poke in the chest that nearly sent them both into the dirt. “You ottercomewith.”

“Sign up with the Embrace?”

“No, the fuckin’ Hawk—” A mutter of something Eric didn’t catch. He hopped to another thatched roof and slid himself down the back side.

The Hawk was in town signing men up to sail. Eric took a deep breath, surprised to find his heart racing for something other than the spirit in his skin. Vindex said he wanted to meet, but… well, Eric never put any faith in it. Yet, he was here. It was so strange to have someone outside of his crew expecting to see him. Ghalil did a good job of isolating him either by rumor or slaughter, and Eric had focused so hard for so long on getting the spirit out that he let personal pleasures slip away unnoticed.