Brimstone and Lily (Legacy Stone Adventures) (49 page)

Quiet. Silence. Pure blissful tranquility. Nobody shooting, yelling, threatening. No battle smoke stinging my eyes. Nothing exploding. Just wind rushing past my ears. Now that we flew over the ocean there lay nothing below except the shattered hulk of the Merchantry ship and the greyhound outlines of the
Penelope’s Kiss
. Other than that it was just dark water. Off to our left lay Chesapeake Bay. Ahead someplace would be Cape Charles, the tip of the peninsula that made up the bay’s eastern boundary. Miles to the south were Norfolk and the mouth of the James.

“Hey, who’s up for singin’ some good old sea shanties?” Jasper blared in my calm head.
So much for blissful tranquility.
“A few rousin’ choruses of ‘Haul Away, Joe’ ought to make the time just fly by, if you’ll pardon the expression.”

“Don’t you ever take a nice, long nap?” I sighed.

“Had one. Lasted a few thousand years, I think.” He cleared his throat and started in to singing. “Oh, when I was a little boy and so my mother told me, that if I didn’t kiss the girls my lips would go all moldy.”

“Ick,” I said.

“Don’t ‘ick’ me. Mark my words, there’ll come a day when you’ll be puckerin’ up like all the girls in my home town.”

I thanked my lucky stars that we got to the
Kiss
before Jasper could give me any sordid details. Dropping Alcibiades in lower, just skimming the waves, Tyrell called out, “Ahoy the
Penelope’s Kiss
! Permission to come aboard!”

A crusty voice barked back, “Who’s askin’? Be ye warned, there’s a dozen muskets trained on ye, stranger. And on your partner, too.”

“Captain Laurence Tyrell, CSA. Detached officer of the Coterie Redempteur. This is Romulus, Marshal of the Equity. I’m delivering your little package.”

“You don’t say? And I’m s’posed to take the word o’ every bloke who shows up on me starboard side in the dead o’ night ridin’ a flapper pony?”

Alcibiades whinnied and hovered just off the ship’s bow. Romulus’ horse did the same. Ernie yelled, “Aw, for the love o’ Pete, Fergus, let us board or I’ll feed your one good ear to the rats.”

“Pwomises, pwomises!” said Gracchus, giggling.

That seemed to be our passport. “Hey, Commander! Ernie and Gracchus is back! Looks like they got the kid.”

“Bring them aboard then, by all means,” replied a deep voice from farther toward the stern. “Don’t leave them out there tiring their wings. The Norns will be piqued.”

“Ye has leave to board,” Fergus said. “Mind the lines amidships.”

“And bring them some lanterns, if you please,” said the other man.

And that’s how I set foot on my first honest-to-goodness pirate ship, floating down on the back of a winged golden horse to land on the wide deck with the lightest of bumps. Lanterns made a glowing arena for us. Ernie and Gracchus hopped off before anybody else, followed by the Marines. They all skittered toward the stern, the mouse announcing that they’d take the cheese stores by storm. Sha’ira was next, helped down by two young men with shaved heads and tattoos. She managed to stand on her own legs, but held onto the two lads just to make sure the ship’s roll didn’t topple her. Sliding from his horse, Romulus hit the hardwood deck with a heavy thump. The ten or so crewmembers who’d semi-circled around us backed up a step, impressed by his great muscular bulk even in the dark. Tyrell lifted me off that wretched saddle so Romulus could grab my waist and get me down easy.

I looked around to see what kind of folks I’d be traveling to Europa with. Most of them were the same scruffy leathery types you see in any harbor town. Some old and scarred, some just boys who should’ve been home playing in their parents’ front yards. Like every pirate adventure yarn I’d ever read, there were eye patches, peg legs, and hooks where hands had once been. The ship seemed to have no uniform policy. They all wore whatever made their jobs easier. Loose shirts, linen pants, low leather shoes, or no shoes at all. Wide-brimmed hats, scarves, even a couple of kepis. Not a woman to be seen, but I hadn’t expected any. Sailors swore they brought bad luck to a voyage.
Wonder what they’ll think of me and Sha’ira, then
. Nowhere did I see hide or feather of Roberta. I hoped she was okay. Hard to imagine a red-blooded pirate ship without a parrot.

“Hi, y’all,” I said with a wave. “I’m Verity. Ernie said you’d help get me to London.”

A short middle-aged man with a striped shirt and bowed legs stepped to me. He wore a gray chin beard that circled his moon face, but no moustache. A gold ring twinkled in one ear. The other was missing, maybe victim of a sword slash. “H’lo, miss. Fergus MacPherson, third mate. Welcome aboard.” By his voice he was the gruff sentinel who’d greeted us. He waved a hand to the pair of fellows aiding Sha’ira. “These two scalawags be Bogus and Sham. Brothers. Can’t say as I can tell you which be which, but there you are.”

I nodded a greeting to them. “The lady they’re helpin’ is called Sha’ira. Take good care of her. She just fought three Shades. And whipped ‘em.”

The crew sucked in their breaths in amazement and respect. I gathered we wouldn’t have any foolish notions about her being unlucky. I might be a different story.

“Well, let’s get her into a berth so the sawbones can take a look at her,” Fergus offered. Bogus and Sham took that as an order and off they went, escorting Sha’ira but careful to let her do as much walking under her own power as possible.

“And this is Romulus,” I went on, indicating my mountain of a friend. Somehow he looked bigger in the flickering lantern light.

Another crewman, a bulky man who’d have loomed over most folks but looked puny next to Romulus, let out a surprised yelp. “You’re Marshal Romulus? The Romulus?”

“Guess so,” my guardian said.

“Heard about how you got inside that Merchantry castle in the Papal Fief. What was it, two years ago? Cost ‘em eleven knights and a mage, you did. They write songs about it.” He paused, looking confused. “I..well, ain’t you supposed to be…weren’t you a…?”

Romulus grinned. “Sorta lost my tail in a misunderstandin’. I runs on two legs and drinks out of a glass now.”

Leaving the crewman to his embarrassment, I stroked Al’s mane. “This is Alcibiades, a real Valkyrie horse. And the big lug ridin’ him is Captain Tyrell, a Redeemer.”

Tyrell touched the brim of his hat. “A pleasure, gentlemen. Please do me the honor of keeping careful watch over this little girl. Don’t let anything happen to her. You don’t know how important she is.” Rubbing my head, he added, “And don’t make her mad. I just saw her smack a Shade into next week.”

The snickers of the crew made it clear that they didn’t believe a word of that. By the way Tyrell had been acting ever since we’d reached the ship, my being the Stone-Warden must’ve not been known to those on the ship. I decided to keep it that way. “Aw, you can whack the tar outta anybody with a big enough stick if they don’t see you comin’.”

“That could be our motto,” a new voice said from behind me. Well, not that new, to tell the truth. Low, cool, and Britannic, it was that of the man who’d ordered Fergus to let us board. The crew all backed up and stood at what passed for attention on a buccaneer boat. I turned to take a look at the ship’s master.

About six feet tall and slim as a whip, with black hair that reached his shoulders, Aloysius Pitcairn wore a plum-colored coat from the early 1700’s. It had huge cuffed sleeves, rows and rows of shiny buttons, and enough silver trim to make a wedding cake envious. His silver brocade waistcoat sported a jeweled watch chain. A lace-covered tricorn hat sat atop his head, white ostrich plumes poofing out from it. Matching lace flowed at his neck and wrists, all that showed of the black silk shirt he had on beneath the lovely coat. Knee-high boots, better suited for horseback than strolling a ship’s deck, covered his legs. His final accessory, and the one guaranteed to catch my eye, was the silver-chased smallsword at his hip. Despite all the finery, I got the feeling that Pitcairn considered himself a man of the blade rather than of the salon.

I held out my hand to shake his. “Pleased to meet you, Commander.”

With a delicate touch that his rough scarred hands shouldn’t have managed, Pitcairn brought my fingers to his lips. His long moustache and pointy chin beard tickled. This close, I saw that his eyes were sapphire blue and that he had a lot of laugh lines in his face. “Likewise, Miss Sauveur. My lady speaks highly of you. She swears we will have a voyage utterly devoid of ennui now that you are arrived.”

That perked me up. “Then Roberta
is
here! I was afraid somethin’d happened to her.”

Pitcairn laughed, along with his men. “Oh, something has certainly happened to her. But she’s fit as a fiddle, trust me.”

“Where is she? I haven’t seen her flyin’ about. Haven’t heard her squawkin’.”

Everybody laughed again.
I hate not bein’ in on the private jokes.
“The last I saw her she was berating our poor cook, Mr. Van Tassel, about the stew. Threatening to hurl him overboard.”

Tyrell spoke up, adjusting his reins. “Commander, Al and I have to hurl ourselves overboard, with your permission. I need to get back to my men. Left them hiding from some well-armed renegade Bonapartists. We have to lick our wounds and make our way to Richmond.”

“Understood, Captain,” Pitcairn said with a curt nod. “Mission first, but troops always. Keep a weather eye out for ravens. They’ll be a might cranky that we slipped their leash.”

“Oh, they’ll keep their distance from Al, after last night.” The Reb winked at me. I adjusted the Stone around my neck and smiled. Alcibiades looked a bit put out that nobody had offered him an apple. The great golden horse rose into the air with slow flaps of his angel’s wings. Romulus’ rider-less mount sped on ahead toward shore, eager to return to his fellow Norns. I waved at Tyrell and Al as they turned away and made ready to fly back themselves, not noticing the distant boom of a gun until it was too late.

Fireworks blossomed beside them, followed by a loud crack that left me numb. Alcibiades let out a scream like a banshee. Horse and rider plummeted into the sea beside the ship like a spider whose web had been cut. A huge column of water crashed up as they went in.
Oh, no!
I dashed to the rail to see where they were. Tyrell floated face-down, unmoving. Al, one wing broken and bleeding from shrapnel wounds, struggled to keep his head above the surface. Before it even dawned on me that the supposedly-surrendered gunboat had fired on us, Pitcairn had ordered a longboat launched and the
Kiss
brought about. Officers and men ran around like ants whose hill has been stepped on, but it all looked like it had a purpose. In nothing flat the unconscious Tyrell was hauled out of the water and his horse had lines around his neck to keep him afloat.

“Mister Nickleby!” cried Pitcairn, whose voice carried from one end of the ship to the other like a bronze bell. “Chastise the so-called Honourable Merchantry, if you please.”

“Aye-aye, sir!” his gunnery officer said. “Love to.” A moment later, with Tyrell halfway back up the side of the ship, the
Kiss
shuddered from a tremendous broadside that sent over a dozen cannonballs into the enemy vessel at point-blank range. Some of them must’ve been hot shot, heated in furnaces below decks, for they glowed a lava-like red all the way across the water. Fires broke out all over the gunboat. I could see members of their crew diving overboard to escape the flames. After maybe two minutes the magazine caught and their ammunition exploded. The flash and roar overwhelmed my Stone-senses. When I could see and hear again the ship that had given me so much grief all night had disappeared. Obliterated. Nothing but matchsticks remained, bobbing on the waves.

“Duly chastised, sir,” Nickleby announced.

“Thank you,” Pitcairn said with a satisfied smile. “Well done. Rum for your gunners.”

Tyrell had been laid out on deck. Blood trickled out of his nose and one ear, but he breathed. I tried to get closer to him, but there was too big a crowd around. So I moved back over to the rail to check on Alcibiades. The boatmen had managed to lash him to their craft. A cargo net slid down the ship’s side from the bow. Two swimmers ducked under with it to get the horse situated in it so he could be lifted up onto the deck. Any other animal might’ve been thrashing and panicking. Al, a seasoned campaigner, seemed to know that all the fuss was intended to help him. He stayed quiet, nostrils flaring as he took in the salt air and waited to be rescued. His poor broken wing, bent at a sickening angle, must’ve hurt like the Dickens, but he never complained.
I’m gonna get you a whole barrel of apples, buddy. Just you wait.

I should’ve been paying more attention to what went on. The lines of the cargo net slid across the rail as Al got hoisted. One of them whacked into me and over the side I went. My stomach lurched as I felt myself fall. Just as my body cleared the rail and I realized I was a goner, I stopped moving. Somebody had grabbed my coveralls.

“Can’t have you drownin’ after all the trouble I went through to get you here,” said Roberta.

Dragged back to safety, I turned to see…a woman. Not a parrot, but a real human woman, looking just shy of forty, wearing spectacles on her nose. “Hey, shrimp. Miss me?”

37/ The Pirate’s Honeybunch

“Saw that fine figure of a man take down three armed Marines with nothin’ in his hand but a belayin’ pin.

Decided right then and there that he was the gent for me.”

I blinked, heart still thumping from my near-dunking. “Pretty good imitation. Had me goin’ for a second. So where’s Roberta? Still in the galley?”

The lady put her free hand on her hip. “You know, fer a Stone-Warden you’re pretty dim.” She let me go and stepped back a pace or two.

Sure sounds like Roberta.
I looked her up and down. About as tall as me, but rounder, she had long frizzy chestnut hair flyin’ in the breeze from beneath a black old-timey tricorn hat similar to Pitcairn’s. This one was trimmed in gold and had a dusky silk rose pinned to it. Her generous bosom half-spilled out of a black boned bodice with loose lacing across the front. A pearled dagger hilt peeked out of it. The stranger wore tight leather trousers with a gold brocaded half-skirt over them. Just like the ship’s captain, she had on tall boots, only hers had suede cuffs at the top. Belted around her waist, a beautiful tooled sword belt held a cutlass with a handle that matched that of the dagger in her bodice front. A well-oiled flintlock pistol accented the other side of the belt. She looked like your aunt, the fun one who played with you, not the pinched maiden aunt who tried to make you sit up straight, keep your feet off the furniture, and memorize Bible verses.