Desire Wears Diamonds (40 page)

He couldn’t have saved Sterling, even if
he’d wanted to. And he couldn’t have handed over the diamond
without risking the lives of his friends and their families. He’d
forfeited almost everything and braced himself for the worst—and
learned a valuable new lesson in the strategies of the heart.

Sometimes, a soldier has to accept defeat in
order to achieve victory, and Grace was his reward.

Epilogue

“I still can’t fathom it.” Michael crossed
his arms. “All of that misery and effort for what is ultimately a
rock.”

The diamond in question sat in the middle of
the table between all of them, glittering with a brilliance that
defied description.

“It’s hardly a rock,” Galen corrected him
carefully. “And if so many believe it has magical properties as
that prophesy claimed…”

“Bosh!” Rowan sputtered. “It’s no more
magical than a tea cup.”

“Don’t be so quick to judge,” Ashe said, the
solemn timber of his voice silencing them all for a moment. “Don’t
mock magic you yourself have benefitted from, Dr. West.”

“I?” Rowan asked.

“All of you,” Ashe said. “Ever since we
walked out of that hell hole, the cards have generally fallen in
our favor. Rowan came into that inheritance that allowed him to
take over his father’s practice and fund his clinic. Galen’s
investments paid off beyond his wildest dreams and he was able to
restore his family’s estate even before he came to the title. The
few gems we did sell went for more than we’d expected and then good
fortune touched us all. Darius will have his academic career. And
look at me. Against all odds, I have my Caroline and two absolutely
perfect angels who I intend to spend every spare moment spoiling
until there is no chance of any man ever measuring up to their dear
handsome father.”

“He’s a willing slave to them already,”
Josiah sighed.

Darius laughed. “It is a condition I’m eager
to share in a few months.”

“And what of you, Michael?” Ashe asked.
“Aren’t you curious how this sacred treasure in your possession
extended to all of us, but not to you?”

Rutherford smiled. “And that’s where you’d
be wrong.
If
it’s the source of our good fortunes, then I
know exactly why my friends were included in its blessings.”

“Do tell,” Galen set down his glass of
lemonade.

“Because we are all bound by brotherhood and
I’d made a vow to leave none of you behind, to share whatever I had
and to do everything in my power and possession to protect you if I
could. I’d sworn an oath as we were leaving that dungeon. I think
that chunk of rock was in my pocket when I said it out loud.”

“My God! I remember that!” Darius exclaimed.
“It was all chaos and noise but I remember you mumbling something
about getting us out before you’d take a single breath of free
air—and I thought you a little mad for it.”

“So I think I blessed the Jaded without
knowing it, and since we never broke the circle that connected
us…”

“The spell was never broken?” Rowan
finished. “But what of your fortunes, Michael?”

“I never cared for coin,” Michael confessed.
“On the ship, my greatest fears were finding a place to feel safe
and belong, to achieve some sense of normal or family; and of
course, to make sure I was in a position to uphold my oath to my
friends.”

“The Grove,” Josiah said with a smile. “I
brought you to the Grove!”

“Mrs. Clay and the Grove provided a home I’d
only dreamt of and gave me everything I needed to heal.” Michael’s
smile broadened. “Apparently, the raj’s magic bauble recognizes the
needs of a simple man.”

“And now?” Josiah asked.

“Even with Grace, it’s an extension of that
first wish. She’s family and my future. She makes any room a
sweeter sanctuary and since we’ve added a door to adjoin both of
the apartments, it’s all the room we need. My Grace has no
encumbrance of housework or duties, the largest desk I could find
in all of London and…”

“And you,” Galen finished the sentiment.
“You are quite the unique and modern couple, Rutherford.”

“So what now?” Darius pressed, shifting in
his chair. “Don’t forget the prophecy. So long as the East India
Trading Company doesn’t have it, then we are by default the foreign
hands that hold it without ill intent that the ancient text
referred to. If we keep it, we’re safe but we have to keep it
hidden away for all time.”

Rowan ran a hand through his hair. “As a man
of science, I’m still having trouble taking this all in.”

The diamond’s fire gleamed more brightly and
each man did his best to convince himself it was a trick of the
light.

“We keep it then.” Michael stood from his
chair and lifted his glass, and the others immediately followed
suit. In an echo of mythical round tables and magical oaths in
their country’s past, every member of the Jaded raised his glass as
they closed ranks. And as they spoke; their eyes were on each other
and not the glittering stone between them. “Gentlemen!”

“To the continued haven and survival of the
Weary and the Wicked!” Galen said.

“The Wanton and the Wandering,” Ashe
continued.

“And the Unwanted,” Josiah whispered.

Their glasses touched and in unison they
finished it.

“To the Jaded!”

fin

Poseidon’s
Curse

or

The Fatal Storm



A Penny Dreadful
by

A.R. CRIMSON

Presented by S&Y
Publishing

London

CHAPTER ONE

An Ill Fated Voyage

The list of British ships that fought
bravely against Napoleon is well known and celebrated by the people
of Britain (as they should be, Dear Reader). But one ship in Her
Majesty’s Service is never spoken of; for its fate during the great
Battle of the Nile of 1798 is unknown and her service has been
largely stricken from the history books. At one time, she was
officially listed as “lost in battle” but even that record has
since vanished. Some say her captain must have turned traitor and
run from the fray to disappear at such a critical moment; but no
witness can say—for none have ever been found.

So here, Dear Reader, on
these pages, allow me to tell you the final tale of the HMS
Fatal
and to reveal its
true and unbelievable destiny. Read on, if you dare, and judge if
her captain and crew be traitors or ultimately, heroes.

Captain Hiram Jack Martin, or Captain Hack
Martin, as he known to his men is a striking figure, tall and sound
with eyes as fierce as the seas. He is uncommonly tall and
imposing. A fair leader who relies on his brave and moral example,
the discipline of his officers and a generous spirit to earn the
respect of his sailors and crew; it is war that binds them fast.
The Mediterranean theater had encompassed a great naval campaign
that summer between the English and French fleets and that now
famous final battle in August loomed.

The
Fatal
was to bring up the rear of
the English line of ships and support the
Justice
. In tandem with the fleet
and under the command of the revered Admiral Nelson, Captain Martin
is confident of ultimate victory. The crew is anxious to see battle
again if only to end the gnawing toll on their nerves as they
wait.

Little do they know, they have a different
battle ahead and an enemy unknown to them.

The sun sets in a ring of
red and the sea turns to molten copper. It is a sign of foreboding
for a superstitious traveler and portends blood to come. But
Captain Martin laughs when his first mate, George Parsons, says as
much. ‘You’re an old woman, George!’ he teases. But the laughter
dies quickly when the men on the ship slowly come to the
realization that they cannot see the
Justice
or the line and a fog the
color of pale mold is heading toward them with an uncanny
speed—though the wind blows in the opposite direction.

Cries of alarm go up and within minutes, the
ship is readied as if for battle. The wind changes, and changes
again and something in his gut warns him that he spoke too soon and
will owe his best friend an apology before the night is out. They
were to sail toward Aboukir Bay with shallow shoals and challenging
confines to take on the French directly but something tells him
that they are now heading out to sea. He has navigated every form
of weather known to man and with a sailor’s understanding of wind
and waves it is hard to shake his confidence. But he is shaken
now.

CHAPTER TWO

A Storm for the Ages

For the space of several moments, too long
to be dismissed as a figment of imagination, the wind stopped. It
did not slow or lessen, it stopped. Grown men who had faced cannon
fire and fought into the teeth of Napoleon Bonaparte’s navy grew
pale and one old salt began to cry. He couldn’t be blamed for it
and no one within hearing felt anything beyond a jealous wish that
they weren’t too frozen to weep as well.

Then the wind comes again with a hurricane
force from above that presses the ship downward and lowers its keel
so quickly that men stumble to clutch at the ropes and rails to
prevent themselves from falling into the sea. Discipline takes over
and they respond to the barked orders of the officers to save the
ship. The wind lashes across the decks and the sails and the canvas
begins to shred. Proud squares become strips of cloth that flutter
like the mockery of a May Day celebration and the sky blackens but
it doesn’t rain.

The odd fog is gone but when Captain Hack
Martin strides over to the wheel and looks up, his heart stops. The
stars are gone and an umbrella of green fire arches over the tips
of the masts encircling the ship like a mad sorcerer’s cloak. Few
have seen St. Elmo’s fire but this—this is different. This fire
burns. Men throw buckets of water onto the flames with no
effect.

They cannot see another
ship to signal their distress and Captain Martin fears that if the
entire British Royal Navy is facing the same demons then all is
lost. Green lightning sears the ship, the officers command the
panic as best as they can and then the world fails to make sense
when the ocean beneath the ship turns to glass but the waves
encircling them churn and chop in a whirlpool that is higher than
the rails on the decking. The HMS
Fatal
is trapped in a bowl of watery
violence and then the main mast implodes. Hack took the wheel only
to have it snap into a hundred pieces in his hand. The wood of the
ship is brittle; the very structure they live and fight on begins
to crumble beneath their feet.

The
Fatal
is doomed.

Men below decks drown but
the crew that have the means leap into the ocean to cling to what
debris they can until the ship is gone beneath them. Gone as if it
never existed and never sailed above but has always been a denizen
of the depths. Wooden planks that should have held them aloft,
abandoned them eager to disintegrate and sink along with the
remainder of the
Fatal
.

Then the entire sea is the enemy. George
Parsons calls out to Hack as the sea begins to eat the men. As if
the waves became giant’s hands with claws, men are gripped from
below and overtaken by water than now has will. Man after man
disappears in a malicious dance of magical seas and George screams
before he meets his fate.

Captain Martin looks up to the sky, robbed
even of the sight of the heavens to make his final plea or prayers,
there is only a blanket of green flames and the vicious riptide of
serpent shaped waves that surge up to consume him as well.

CHAPTER THREE

To Drown Alone

Hack holds his breath until he cannot.
Invisible forces pull him downward and the pressure against his
body is nearly unbearable. At last his lungs surrendered even when
his will had not. Seawater flooded his lungs and darkness rules him
as life slips away.

Captain Martin awakes and not to the bright
glow of his heavenly reward but to the cold damp of a dim cavern
with walls of rough stone and coral and door of bars formed from
iron. The entire room looks as if it were quarried from a reef on
the ocean’s floor. He sits up from a pallet of rags and seaweed,
sore and miserable but alive. He is alone.

He calls out for the guard and is rewarded
quickly. Two men, half-naked of solid muscle necks as thick as
bulls wearing nothing but what looked to his eyes like ancient
Greek costumes unlock the bars and hold out the most savage looking
weapons he has ever seen. It is a blade that curves and along the
inside edge are shark’s teeth edged in steel. It is not a rapier
for graceful combat but a razor-sharp collection of aggressive
cutting edges that promises pain to any adversary.

‘Come, Human!’

He eyes them again
convinced of their humanity but unsure enough not to argue. He
complies without wasting words. Captain Martin is taken up through
a palace the grandeur of which grows with each level they gain. But
there is something otherworldly about the marble columns and
ancient mosaics. Gemstones are set into the walls for effect, the
floors are inlaid with mother of pearl and sea glass twisted like
sea weed create sconces and vast lanterns that hang above to make
his eyes widen. For the flames are green inside the sconces—green
like the fire that overtook the
Fatal
.

At last, they reach a pair of doors large
enough to herald an interior to shame the halls of Windsor. Captain
Martin is pushed inside to a golden domed throne room filled with
courtiers, all in similar Greek costumes that do nothing to hide
their physical beauty. Each member is striking in his or her own
way and he is amazed to think of such an assembly, all perfect and
preening, now offended by his rougher appearance in their pristine
midst.