The Devil's Tide (23 page)

And then there was nothing but blue sky through a small porthole.

It wasn't long before the coffin began to tip downward, feet first.

Oh God, save me. Don't let this happen. Don't let me die like this.

He heard the cannonballs roll and clink together as they bunched at his feet. Two of the smallest toes on his right foot were crushed.

Something cold touched his heels, and he tried to recoil, but succeeded only in rattling his shackles. He looked down and gasped hoarsely at what he saw. Water was streaming in from either side of the lid, near his shins, collecting in a pool at the base. The pool spread until it covered his feet and the cannonballs, and the coffin tilted until it was nearly vertical. His knees buckled against the interior. Soon the coffin was so deep that waves lapped at the porthole. The water inside rose to Hornigold's knees, and outside the water lifted above the porthole. The coffin was completely submerged. Hornigold planted his face against the glass and watched in horror as the surface slowly lifted above him. The sun shimmered beyond the glassy canopy. He saw colorful fish swimming in schools, their scales glistening softly in the diminished light. He saw a shark that was either very small or very large and far away.

The water filled the coffin to his waist and then tickled his stomach. The blue world outside the porthole gradually darkened. His chest heaved rapidly, unable to supply his lungs with enough oxygen.

Maybe I'll pass out first. Please, God, let me pass out first.

It's not real. It's a dream.

It's real. If you're lucky, you'll pass out first.

It's a dream, it's a dream, it's a dream.

His teeth were chattering uncontrollably, even though the water wasn't all that chilly. His body shook, arms knocking the slim walls. The coffin started to groan all around him. He pressed his face to the glass, looking downward. The bottom was surprisingly close. Teach had chosen a spot just deep enough, so Hornigold would not be deprived of light.
He wants me to see my grave.

Long strands of gnarled seaweed stretched upward like fingers from the sand. And then he saw strange black columns within the seaweed. He counted twelve of them. Seven were standing vertically, and the other five had toppled over. As he descended, details came into focus.

It was a graveyard.

He was looking at coffins, much like his.

One of the coffins had broken open, and a skeleton was suspended above it, chained at the ankles and gently swaying with the seaweed. Bits of cloth and white flesh clung to it, and little fish nipped at what remained of the face.

It wasn't long before the coffin hit the bottom, settling in the graveyard amidst its companions. Hornigold pressed his face to the porthole. The surface was no more than a hundred feet up, and the weaving orb of the sun taunted him, casting oscillating rays upon his final resting place. He saw the black keel of
Queen Anne's Revenge
in the distance, slowly moving off.

Dark shapes darted between the seaweed and black columns. He saw a long thing with tentacles trailing behind a bulbous head. He saw a shark that was half the size of a man, weaving deftly through the graveyard, cold black eyes scanning for its next meal. A huge crab skittered atop of one of the coffins, claws raised as if in reverence to some great crab god above. Something struck the right side of Hornigold's coffin, and then a shadow blotted out the porthole, and he thought he glimpsed white teeth before it passed.

The water lifted to his chest.

He beat his fists against the lid in frustration, and he kept on beating until blood oozed from his knuckles. When the porthole cracked, he stopped pounding. A web spread rapidly before his eyes.

Oh God, this is it.

His scream was a terrible thing, tearing at the inside of his throat as it warbled out of him. It went on and on, until only a tiny, shrill sound emerged, as if a very small man was trapped somewhere in his stomach. A triangle of glass popped out of the porthole, striking him painfully in the cheek. Hornigold inhaled to summon a final pathetic wail, but saltwater gushed into his mouth and filled his lungs. He gasped for a breath that refused to come, his eyes bulged from their sockets, and he knew at last that he was not dreaming. He beat his hands against the slim walls, and his legs writhed, but he wasn't going anywhere. Agonizing torrents pulsed from his lungs, and his muffled gagging filled his ears as he convulsed violently. He beat his forehead against the glass until it shattered completely. His blood swirled about him in tendrils, drifting through the porthole.

The monsters gathered outside, waiting patiently.

The four men Teach had named were easily fetched. Once she found Ogle, who stood out like a sore thumb, she told him to summon Peter Lively, Gabe Jenkins, and Red Devil. All four had two things in common. They were highly respected among the crew, and they owed various debts to Blackbeard. For their covert meeting, Ogle suggested a cave he had discovered while searching for treasure chests. As Annabelle wandered alone through the jungle, with twilight darkening the sky, she hoped Teach had been right about the loyalty of these men. If he was wrong, she would likely be raped and murdered.

"They won't pluck a hair from your pretty head," Teach had assured her, but her confidence was waning with every step further into the jungle. She thought she'd have enough light, but she quickly regretted not bringing a torch. Croaking frogs, buzzing insects, and chirping birds merged to form an incessant chorus. A beetle the size of a walnut zipped toward her, colliding with her forehead before altering its course. She set a hand on a tree, and a long lizard slithered over her fingers, needlelike claws gripping her skin.

If she disappeared out here, no one would question her absence but Nathan Adams.

Slipping out of the tent had been easy. Nathan was too occupied with supervising his crew as they ferried the chests from shore to
Crusader
. She had counted nine chests in total. There were supposed to be four more, but after Blackbeard's visit, the pirates seemed eager to leave.

She had been here less than a day, and so far she and Nathan hadn't consummated their reunion. After their first meeting, he returned with a plain brown shirt and black breeches for her to wear, instead of the skimpy robe Teach had presented her in. She tried to undress in front of him, but he made a hasty exit before the robe hit the floor. She found the clothes uncomfortable. She had been so used to wearing next to nothing for most of her adult life, but without the protection of Blackbeard, it was probably best not to tempt this crew.

After that, Nathan checked in occasionally throughout the day, briefly making eye contact and then departing prematurely. He didn't know how to function around her. Joy and confusion seemed to be fighting a war within him, and she wasn't sure which was winning, nor did she care to find out. There was a time when that sort of thing would have endeared her, but now she just found it needlessly frustrating. Nathan had obviously been through hell—and emerged with one less arm—but he was still every bit the indecisive boy she had spent a month with in Nassau.

If he hadn't left her there, things would be so much different. She had been so naïve then. She knew she couldn't go back to that life even if she wanted to.

Nathan, you idiot.
It was sad how utterly foolish he looked when she first entered the tent, with his mouth hanging open and a little smile struggling at the edges. Was he really that stupid? The coincidence was so unfathomable, she hardly believed it herself. Perhaps that's why he couldn't look at her. He didn't trust her.

She smirked.
No.
A man who distrusts a woman does not shamefully pull his eyes from her. Nathan clearly felt guilty for leaving her behind. He had chosen piracy over her, and that choice had cost him more than he bargained for.

I'll show you a real pirate, Nathan.

Eventually, Annabelle came to a small clearing in the jungle, with two trees crisscrossing at the center, and she turned left just as Ogle had instructed. His directions were made easier by his leftover footprints, which remained in the muddy patches. She almost took a wrong turn once or twice, and then another footprint would clue her to the correct path.

After several twists and turns and no shortage of maddening uncertainty, the jungle opened onto the base of the mountain at the center of the island. At the foot was a black cave, with a yawning entrance wide enough to fit the bow of a sloop through. Cold air swept out of the darkness, riddling her arms with goose bumps. She heard a constant rush of water from somewhere deep within.

"Took your time," sounded a gruff voice from the black.

She nearly shuddered. "Who's there?"

"Who do you think?"

The man slowly stepped out of the darkness, and then she caught the familiar shine of his bald head. His gut jiggled as he walked, but the muscles of his arms and legs were hard as the rocky walls of the cave. He smiled obscenely. "The others aren't here yet. What should we do while we wait?"

"You're too big for me," Annabelle smirked.

"You're used to little men like Adams?"

"I'm used to
men
, not giants," she countered.

"Once you've had a giant inside you, you won't want a man."

She lowered her head and pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger, closing her eyes. "My employer would kill you if he knew we were having this conversation."

Ogle kept his smile, but one of his eyelids flickered. "I trust he knows a jest when he hears one."

"He knows a jest," Annabelle replied with a sweet smile, "but he might not find it very funny."

That
shut him up.

They waited in silence outside the cave. The sky was completely dark and littered with stars by the time Lively, Jenkins, and Red Devil arrived. Red Devil was carrying a torch, and the flickering orange glow made his skin appear blood red in the night.

"Shall we, gents?" said Ogle, intoning the air of a British gentleman as he gestured toward the cave.

"After you," said Jenkins, adopting a similarly haughty tone.

"No you first," Ogle replied.

"No I insist, ladies first."

Annabelle slipped between them and descended into the cave. She heard them giggling like little boys behind her. She shook her head wearily.
These are the men he tells me to rely on? I'll be lucky to leave this cave with my life, let alone my clothes.

The cave gradually blossomed with orange light as the four men fell in behind her. Red Devil remained in back, his torch casting their shadows upon the uneven walls. She wondered how deep this cave went. The rush of water filled her ears, echoing loudly. She would have to raise her voice to be heard. She cleared her throat and turned to face them. "You know who I serve."

"Served him well, I'd wager," laughed Lively, nudging Jenkins in the ribs, who winced and glowered in return.

Annabelle had to force herself not to stare at Jenkins, as he was an extremely attractive young man. She liked the way his thick long hair curled so naturally about his chiseled face. She cleared her throat. "I'm here to remind you of your obligation."

Lively's laugh faded down the cave, lost to the sound of water. He crossed his arms. "Yeah, I know who you serve, and apparently he knows me. But he don't know me well enough to summon me like a dog. I crewed with him but a month. We're all of us free men, last I looked. I don't recall signing no contract when I stepped aboard
Queen Anne's Revenge
. How about you gents?" Lively looked around for support, but Ogle and Jenkins suddenly looked anxious, heads angled away from their loudmouthed friend.

Red Devil merely smirked at the back of Lively's head. When he spoke, his voice seemed to rumble across the walls like thunder rolling over the sea. "You'd do well to mind your tongue, boy."

"You'd do well to let your brain talk instead of your cunt," Lively shot back. "I'm not scared of you, red man, and I'm certainly not scared of some pirate with delusions of grandiosity. What, he wears black and lights his beard on fire, so I'm supposed to piss meself at every mention of his name?"

Red Devil shook his head slowly and merely said, "Hmm."

Jenkins moved to the wall and started picking at a small jut of rock, trying not to look as nervous as he clearly was. "What carved this cave, you think? Water?"

"Water carves everything," Red Devil said.

Jenkins frowned. "Strange we put so much of it in our bellies. I'm sticking with rum from now on."

Lively scoffed. "If the oceans were filled with rum in place of water, the whole bloody world would burn through."

Annabelle rolled her eyes. "I'm sure you can continue this discussion later. I need to know which of you I can count on. More importantly, I need to know which of you
Blackbeard
can count on, because he will surely dispose of those he can't, when the time comes."

Ogle spoke first. "What is it you'd be counting on us to do?"

"Remove obstacles."

Ogle placed his hands flat on his great round belly. "When you say 'obstacles,' would you be meaning 'people'?"

"People who would cause a problem, yes. But they mustn't be removed one at a time. They mustn't suspect anything is amiss until it's too late. They must all be removed at the same instant."

"Jesus," Lively exclaimed. "She'd have us murder our mates in cold blood."

"Starting with you," Annabelle said, aiming a finger at him. She nearly hesitated, but the words were out of her mouth before she gave them leave. She needed to know they would do as she instructed, and Lively was the weak link of the group.

Lively's face went sour. "What did you just say?"

The torch fell, embers cascading down the rocky floor. Red Devil seized Lively by the scruff of his shirt and secured him easily. Lively squirmed in the huge man's grip, but it was no use. Red Devil's knife was at the boy's throat in a flash.

"Not you, Red," Annabelle said with a raised hand. She knew Red Devil was a killer from the moment she had laid eyes on him. She didn't need to test his willingness.