Pirate Wolf Trilogy (108 page)

"I'll take them letters."

The looming black shadow of Augustus George
stared at her down the barrel of a long-snouted flintlock pistol.
She remembered thinking his eyes and the hole at the end of the
barrel were identical: black, cold, and empty.

"Augustus? What are you doing here? What are
you—?” She stopped and looked around, aghast. “Surely you didn’t do
all of this!”

“Ye’re the sneaky one, aren’t ye?” he asked,
glancing at the niche in the fireplace. “Never woulda found ‘em in
there, would I. Now hand them letters over. The coins too.”

"The... coins?"

"Aye, them fancy Spanish coins yer father
sent. I want ‘em."

“You wouldn't really shoot me, would
you?"

The grin that spread across his ugly face
made the blood turn to ice in her veins. "Might fuck ye first. Then
shoot ye. He didn’t say I couldn’t do both.”

Eva shrank back against the mantle, her
knees trembling, her heart about to explode through her chest.
"Please. I don't know why you are doing this, but if you leave now,
I'll not say anything to Mr. Ross."

His thumb caressed the brass serpentine lock
on the gun and his grin widened to show the thick gums above his
teeth. "Who do ye think sent me, ye silly bitch?"

Eva shook her head, shocked beyond any
capability to think. Her hands were behind her, groping the mantel
to keep from stumbling against it. Her fingers struck something
cold and metallic and curled around the heavy iron poker. Reacting
purely on instinct, she clenched her teeth, swung the poker up and
hurled it across the room. The hulking brute presented such a large
target, she could not have missed striking something, and it was
his shoulder she hit. The poker bounced harmlessly off the
iron-hard muscle, but when he flinched to avoid it, his finger
jerked on the trigger. Eva saw the hammer spring down onto the pan,
saw the powder in the pan spark and ignite in a puff of smoke to
send the lead ball exploding out the barrel.

Something punched her in the ribcage and she
spun around, slamming up hard against the stone mantel. She looked
down and saw nothing at first, just a neat hole in the side of her
stomacher. Beneath it though, she could feel something hot and wet
beginning to spreading across her skin. There was pain too, delayed
for the split second it took her to realize she had been shot, but
then it flared into white-hot agony and sent her sagging down onto
her knees.

Augustus George leaned over and snatched the
letters out of her hand. The little box had opened when she dropped
it and the contents had spilled out across the floor: dozens of
tiny wax disks in red and blue and yellow... and three tarnished
silver escudos.

With a grunt, George scooped up the coins
then crushed the rest of the disks under his boot as he stepped
over her crumpled body and smashed the glass chimney off an oil
lamp. He sprinkled the oil over the piles of torn bedding then took
a candle off the table and tossed it onto the heap. The flame
seemed to flicker out for half a second but then it caught on the
oil and burst back to life.

“Please,” she gasped, holding out a bloodied
hand. “Help me. I… I can’t move.”

Augustus smirked. “It weren’t nothin’
personal, Miss. Just followin’ the boss’s orders.”

He took a last look around, then strode out
of the bedchamber and shut the door behind him.

~~

"Everything after that is a blur," Eva said
quietly. "I remember feeling the heat and seeing the flames follow
the oil from pillow to blanket to cushion and I knew I couldn't
just lay there. I got up somehow and made it to the door, then down
the staircase and outside. It was dark. There was no one on the
street and I couldn't seem to find enough breath to scream or
shout, so I just kept walking... stumbling, really, holding onto a
fence, then a tree. I don't know what happened after that. I do
remember falling and something licking my face... a dog, I think.
The next thing I was aware of was waking up in a strange bed and
being asked my name." She paused to moisten her dry lips with the
wine and looked at Gabriel as she shook her head. "I honestly could
not remember anything. I tried, but it was all a big black
emptiness. It was horrid and frightening.

"The doctor said I must
have hit my head when I fell and not to worry, that it was just a
temporary loss. And he was right. After a while I started
remembering things—who I was, where I lived. The kind people who
had found me sent for Mr. Bernard, who was shocked to learn I was
still alive. He told me the house had burned to the ground and they
assumed I had been burned with it. There had been a funeral and
three days later, the
Cormorant
had sailed with Lawrence Ross and Augustus George
on board."

Dante toyed with the coin while he listened
to her story. "So now you've come after them hoping to find your
father before they do?"

"You might think me foolish and the task
impossible, Captain Dante, but I couldn't simply stay in Portsmouth
and do nothing."

He cocked his head.
“Nonetheless, it might have been a better way to spend your time. I
can't even begin to tell you how many men, how many ships of all
nations have gone in search of the
Victorio
. None of the rumors or
whispers of her whereabouts have ever yielded anything to prove she
has been found."

Eva bit her lip. “You said the escudo looked
real. Is it possible someone stole some of the coins before the
ship left Havana?"

Gabriel shook his head. "If ten coins were
minted, ten were counted and notched, ten were listed on the
manifest, and ten were then placed in the hold and sealed. Unmarked
bars of bullion have often strayed into the deep pockets of the
greedy governors and administrators along the route, but coins
minted for the king’s personal use? No. They are made in specific
and exclusive quantities and bear the stamps and seals that mean
instant death to anyone found possessing them. Believe me, Mistress
Chandler—"

"Evangeline," she said, interrupting. "Or
Eva. Please."

"Believe me... Eva... the
Spaniards are as fanatically meticulous about their ship's
manifests as they are about their religion. They itemize everything
in their cargo holds down to the last punch of nails. Each barrel
and crate is packed and affixed with a thick seal that is not to be
broken before reaching Seville. Four copies of each manifest are
made at the time the galleon is loaded. One copy remains with the
ship's
capitan
,
two are sent out on sister ships in the fleet in case of loss or
separation—and to keep the
capitan
honest, I suspect—while the fourth remains in the
governor's hands in Havana.

"In the case of the
Nuestro Santisimo Victorio
, one of those sister ships was captured and taken in prize
by a Dutch raider. Listed on the copy of the
Victorio’s
manifest were sixty
crates of gold bullion in bars, one hundred and twenty of silver,
numerous casks of emeralds and pearls and exotic
spices."

"You seem quite specific in your knowledge
of what the manifest contained, Captain."

"Even if the ship and her contents were not
legend in these islands," he said, allowing a small grin. "I have
seen the documents. I've read them and studied them just as I have
studied the logs and charts with boyhood visions of being the one
to find La Fantasma's watery grave. To be honest, I put those
boyhood visions away a long time ago."

"But you may be holding
real proof that someone has indeed found her," she insisted. "And
if you help me find my father, you might also find the
Nuestro Santisimo Victorio!"

He laughed and fit the escudo back into the
locket, snapping it shut. "As enticing as that sounds, I have
nothing more important on my mind than reaching Pigeon Cay without
seeing another sail on the horizon. It is a wish that may or may
not be fulfilled, since the battle we have just emerged from by the
skin of our ballocks, involved a few score of Spanish warships.
Once they regain their sense of indignation, they will be scouring
the islands with blood in their eyes and double-shotted cannons. At
the best of times it would not be advisable for us to sail into a
Spanish port and start asking questions about the wreckage of a
missing treasure ship."

"But... what shall I do?
How shall I go about finding my father? How would you go about
finding
your
father if he was lost in the jungles of London and you did
not know your way around?"

"There are cannibals in London?"

"Some would say yes," she answered
pertly.

He smiled at her sarcasm, but in the end
only shook his head. "I am afraid I don't have an easy answer. You
are familiar with the expression... searching for a blade of grass
in a stack of hay? This is more like a drop of water in a rain
barrel. You don't even have a clear idea where he was the last time
he sent word home."

Her jaw set stubbornly and she stared at her
empty goblet for a moment before reaching for the bottle and
refilling it herself. Gabriel noted the tremor in her hands and the
huge effort it was taking not to burst into tears of anger and
frustration—which was just as well, for he would sooner be
confronted with a coiled, poisonous viper than a woman leaking
water down her cheeks.

"The captain of the
Eliza Jane
was willing
to help me," she muttered into her wine.

"You showed him the coin as well?"

"And the letter from the baker's son.
Captain Fitch was one of my father's dearest friends and he
believed me. He was convinced my father was still alive."

"From the sound of it, so was your
fiancé."

"
Former
... fiancé," she reiterated
savagely.

"Enough so that he was
inspired to rob you, shoot you, and leave you to die in a burning
house. As for the captain of the
Eliza
Jane
, he not only saw the coin, he landed
on Fox Island and probably asked the wrong questions of the wrong
people. There is no telling whose interest he piqued and who may
have had information about your father's whereabouts that he chose
to keep to himself. Can you see how the situation becomes less and
less appealing?"

"You mean... there could be others looking
for Father now?"

“One drop of blood in the water can attract
a hundred sharks for a feeding frenzy. If someone thought your
father knew the location of the wreck, and they knew where he was,
I would say yes, there could well be a good many others looking for
him now."

She lost the battle with her tears and
Gabriel found himself staring into two deep pools of silvery water.
Growling inwardly, he set his goblet aside and fingered through
some of the thick rolls of sea charts until he found the one he
sought. He spread the chart open, using his dagger and an inkwell
as weights to keep the edges from rolling in on themselves.

His mother was a chartmaker and had spent
the past thirty years or so making extremely detailed maps of the
islands. This particular chart showed the Baha Mas chain of
islands, the Strait of Florida, the location of the treacherous
shallow reefs, and the eastern coast of Hispaniola from Havana to
Baracoa.

"When the hurricane
struck," he murmured, "the flota was somewhere in this vicinity."
He circled the chart at a point midway between the lower tip of
Florida and the Berry Islands. "The winds blew like
aliento del diablo
, the
devil's own breath. Some of the galleons ended up as far east as
Lucaya, others were blown south and sought shelter in the smaller
islets. If your baker's letter is genuine, and if your father was
last seen on New Providence, it would suggest an area within a two,
three day sail if he was there getting supplies."

"The letter said they had to hide when the
Spanish came to the well for water. So... somewhere with a
well?"

Gabriel closed his eyes briefly to contain
the urge to either laugh or slash the absurdity of that statement
with sarcasm When he opened them again, he saw that she was
watching him with one of those breathless, hopeful expressions that
was even worse than tears. Her lashes were spiked with wetness, her
lips parted, her hands were clutching the goblet like it was a
lifeline.

He scowled and drew a larger circle on the
chart with his finger. "A three day sail entails an awfully wide
area Mistress Chandler."

"Eva."

He stared at her for a long moment,
recalling why he preferred women who talked less and knew how to
put their mouths to better use.

"If memory serves, the general opinion of
those in the convoy put the galleon as far east as Abaco, where
most of the searches have been conducted.”

"You sound dubious."

"Not dubious. But from my own experiences
with the currents and winds, two ships sailing side by side can end
up a hundred leagues apart after a simple squall. And what that
means is—" he saw a fleeting spark of hope flickering in her eyes
and smothered it instantly. "What that means is, my skull is still
too bruised to think clearly. Perhaps when we reach Pigeon Cay,
fresher eyes and fresher minds will be able to make something of
all this. For now, I don't mind saying I could use about twenty
hours of sleep. Would you care to join me?"

Eva had just taken a small sip of wine and
some of it spluttered over her lip. “I beg your pardon?”

“Sleep, Mistress Chandler. I’m sure you will
be more comfortable in the bed rather than the chair.”