The Devil's Tide (9 page)

"Nay," said Blackbeard, wagging a finger. "She's no longer your concern. Men, take her below!"

Four pirates scooped up the captain's daughter and dragged her kicking and shrieking into the darkened hollow beneath the quarterdeck. "No!" the captain exclaimed. He tried to stand, but two more pirates held him in place. "What are they going to do to her?" he demanded, tears welling.

Annabelle couldn't see Blackbeard's face, but she knew he was smiling. "Those men are going to ravage your daughter, be that clear enough? They have gone too long without female company. And after they've done with her, I'm going to set you and what's left of your daughter back on your ship, and you're going to sail straight to Nassau and relay to Woodes Rogers exactly what happens to ships what put
Queen Anne's Revenge
to their rudder."

"You release her right now!" cried the young man at the captain's side.

Blackbeard drew back slightly. "Be this your son?"

"Yes," the captain said. "He's only twenty, sir."

Blackbeard loosed a guttural laugh. Smoke lifted from his beard, tendrils swirling in the wind. "You think that not old enough to die?"

"I most certainly do not."

"You most certainly do not think it
not
old enough to die?"

The captain's eyes went wide as terror mounted. "No, no, wait, no. I think it . . . I think it
not
old enough to die. What you said, sir."

"Well, now I be thoroughly perplexed."

"There's nothing perplexing about it," the captain said, anger overwhelming him. "Twenty is most certainly not old enough to die."

"What age be proper?"

"I don't know," the captain growled. "Not his."

Blackbeard looked to his crew. "This man would have us believe twenty an unkillable number. Refresh my memory, gentlemen. Have we not seen twenty-year-olds killed?"

"Aye," they said.

"Are you certain? The captain says nay."

"That's not what I said," the captain protested.

"Then twenty-year-olds
are
killable?" Blackbeard said, embellishing a confused tone.

The captain's head drooped. "I cannot win this game."

Blackbeard looked to the son. "Your father quits easily. If I didn't know better, I'd think he wishes you dead. What do you think? Don't I know better, or do I?"

The son thought about that for a moment, eyes darting back and forth until he came to a conclusion. "You don't?"

"Then your father
does
wish me to kill you."

"Wait!" exclaimed the son. "You
do
know better!"

"An unfortunate conclusion, in light of the sentence preceding it."

"This is absurd, sir!" the captain protested.

"I agree," Blackbeard said. "Neither of you can muster a coherent sentence even when your lives depend upon it."

"Goddammit, Teach!!!" bellowed the captain, his face blooming with rage.

Blackbeard's crew started to laugh.

"I'll do the only damning this night," Blackbeard promised. "Starting with your son. Boatswain, fetch my sword."

The lanky boatswain, whose name Annabelle had never bothered to learn, shuffled off on a bum leg, sporting a sinister grin. He returned with a massive curved sword and laid it flat across his captain's palms. Blackbeard gestured, and two pirates dragged the son before him.

The captain squirmed beneath his captors. "Teach, I beg you!"

Blackbeard moved behind the boy, and Annabelle had a clear view of what happened next. He set the massive sword across the boy's neck, standing behind him with one hand on the hilt and the other gripping the tip of the blade. He jerked back hard, drawing the blade deep into the boy's throat, and a waterfall of blood gushed down the thick steel. The boy's eyes rolled back in his head, and his jaw fell open. He made a gurgling sound before slumping against the sword.

"Hmm," said Teach, frowning at the fresh corpse. "Appears the boy yielded no fervor for life. I pray your daughter be putting up more of a fight, though the lack of screams troubles me."

"Oh, God, why?" the captain moaned.

"Absent parties rarely offer riposte," Teach said, bending over to wipe the blade on the dead boy's shirt. He stood and faced the captain again. "If there truly be a god, I exist by his design. He allows me free reign over this ocean. He set me in your path. Think on that."

Blackbeard handed his sword back to the boatswain and ascended to the quarterdeck without another glance at the devastated captain. He nodded curtly at Annabelle as he passed, and she obediently fell into step with him. She knew the entire crew was watching. They hung on Blackbeard's every move. Unlike most pirate crews, they had no minds of their own. They were the men no one else wanted. They had no ambitions beyond thievery and murder. Life meant nothing to them. Tomorrow did not exist, only today. They would live and die at sea, because land had no tolerance for them.

Annabelle felt a weight lift from her as Blackbeard closed the cabin door. She knew they would have savaged her by now if not for Blackbeard's protection, just as they were savaging the captain's daughter right now. She wished to thank him for that in the best way she knew how, but he had not permitted it.

Tonight would be the night.

Seeing him murder Charles Martel had awoken something in her, and tonight had given her another taste of his power. The ferocity in his eyes as he took a life was like nothing she had ever seen. Men shrunk before him.

Teach took off his hat and coat and began tugging at the fuses in his beard, which were all but extinguished. She shrugged out of her robe, enjoying the way the silk felt against her skin as it slid off. She stood naked before him, the candlelight accentuating her mahogany skin, dancing shadows exaggerating every curve of her body.

He regarded her incredulously. "Not tonight, love," he sighed. "Murder steals my strength."

She might have fooled the others, but she hadn't fooled him. One sidelong glance from under the brim of her comically wide, low fitting hat and Nathan knew this boy was not a boy. She had wisely avoided mixing with the rest of the crew, never drawing attention. Not everyone on a ship was a bundle of personality, and it was easy to fade into the background if one so desired. Many were content to settle into a quiet corner, reading or drinking, with no one taking issue. The boisterous jokers more than made up for the reclusive types.

She was standing between two cannons on the main deck, arms resting on the port rail, watching dolphins as they recurrently arced out of the water near the bow of the ship. Their silver skin glittered in the sun. They had been following tirelessly for nearly an hour now. Nathan was thrilled the first time he saw dolphins, but they soon became too common a sight to rally his interest.

The sun beat down from a bright blue sky, and Nathan wondered how the girl's bare feet could stand the heat of the deck. The wind matted her frumpy clothes against her body, revealing the curves of her hips and ass for an instant. She shifted into a more boyish pose, sniffing and crossing her arms. Her short and jagged black hair fluttered beneath the hat. Her height and broad shoulders aided her ruse.

"I never got your name," Nathan said.

"That's because you never asked," she replied in a gruff voice.

Nathan set his hand on the rail beside her, noticing the faint patch of freckles under her eyes for the first time.

"I'm no good for company," she said, sustaining the false masculinity in her voice.

"That will be a welcome departure," Nathan quipped. "I've had nothing but good company since stepping onboard this ship." Nathan was treated as a celebrity after his uproarious entrance. Most of Dillahunt's crew were former pirates, and Nathan's previous captain was held in high regard among them. Any man who had nearly been executed for serving under Jonathan Griffith was a friend of theirs.

A small minority of the crew were not so kind, however. They muttered choice slights whenever he passed, "traitor" chief among them. They did not welcome a pirate assisting the governor in hunting down other pirates. The irony of their own involvement apparently escaped them. Or maybe Nathan was the personification of their guilt. He was getting used to being a scapegoat.

The most worrisome was a man known only as Red Devil, who was said to be half a native from the Americas. His skin was indeed tinged red, and his broad jaw was completely without bristle. His hair was long, thick, and black. Nic Lawsome, the cook, had told Nathan that Red's father was a noble-born Englishman who had kidnapped and raped an Indian woman who strayed too close to his property. He sheltered her until she gave birth and murdered her shortly after. Why anyone would do such a thing, Lawsome couldn't say, but there was something in Red's merciless eyes that made the tale believable, as though he knew he had been born of an evil act.

Other than a few dissenters, Nathan felt mostly at home on
Crusader
. The ship was similar in design to his old ship,
Harbinger
, though it was kept in far prettier condition. The many cannons were spotlessly polished, the sails were bright and new, and the decks had been freshly tarred.

"I have an idea," the boy who was not a boy suggested. "You tell me my name and I'll tell you yours."

"Not a fair game," Nathan frowned. "You probably already know my name."

She shook her head, careful not to look at him. "I have no idea who you are."

"I see," he said. He found it hard to believe, given that they wouldn't be here without him as a guide, but he couldn't think of a way to dispute it without coming off as egotistical.

After a long silence, she said, "You're not going to leave, are you?"

"Thought I'd enjoy the view."

A dolphin leapt precariously close to the ship, its fin scraping the hull, and then arced back into the water. The girl let out a little gasp, then remembered herself. "Don't worry," Nathan said. "Never seen one hit by a ship. They're too smart for that."

She curved a lopsided smile his way. He could tell she was the flirtatious type, and she was having a very hard time subduing her nature.

"Is it Sarah?" he asked offhandedly.

"What?"

"Your name. You seem like a Sarah to me."

Her expression turned ugly. "Is that some sort of joke?"

"No more than that hat," he said, flicking the brim with his middle finger.

She jerked away, glaring at him. He offered a smile, and her expression gradually softened as she realized there was no point denying it. "Have you told anyone?" she demanded, trading her manly tone for her true voice, which was refreshingly feminine.

"Not a soul," he said, placing a hand over his heart.

She looked around in distress, then seized his collar and drew him near for a conspiratorial whisper. "Do you think anyone else figured it out?"

"No. I'm dying of boredom. Captain Dillahunt doesn't want me working any part of his precious ship, so I've nothing better to do but notice details I normally wouldn't give a second thought."

"He doesn't trust you," she said, releasing his collar. "I'm starting to see why."

"Why?"

She regarded him with an upturned eyebrow. "You're too smart for a pirate."

"A low hurdle, easily vaulted," he chortled. "It seems their ranks are easily infiltrated by smart men and attractive women."

She blushed. "A charmer, I see. No wonder he doesn't trust you."

"Are you his?"

The redness in her cheeks brightened, but not from his charm. "I belong to no one, thank you very much."

"You know what I mean."

She looked to the sea, eyelids fluttering rapidly. "Yes."

"I thought so," he said, pulling back slightly. "I saw you steal into his cabin the other night. You didn't leave."

Her lips curved into a naughty smile. She seemed relieved to be able to express herself with someone other than Dillahunt. She stuck out her hand. "Jacqueline Calloway. Not Sarah."

"Nathan," he replied, shaking her hand with a full grip as he would a man's. "Pleased to meet you, Jacqueline."

"Jaq," she corrected. "Or Calloway, if you like."

He winked knowingly. "Of course."

"And does anyone belong to you, Nathan?" she asked.

"She also belongs to no one," he replied matter-of-factly, though he could only
hope
that was true. He tried not to think about the rumors regarding Annabelle and Blackbeard. He'd spent too much time dwelling on that in his cell in Nassau.

"I see," she said, intrigued.

"I'll probably never see her again," he sighed, vacantly rubbing the stump where his left arm had been.

"Her fault or yours?"

"Must there be fault?"

She let out a tart laugh befitting an older woman. "Where people are concerned there is always fault. I may be young, but I know this much already."

Nathan ground his fingernails into his stump, wincing. "The fault is mine. I could have stayed, but the sea was too tempting."

She smiled. "When I look at it, I forget everything else."

"A part of me knew she would not be there when I returned."

"Oh, Nathan," Calloway said with a reassuring smile, "who's to say you won't see her again?"

He returned the smile, but the muscles of his face felt dense and stubborn. "The world is too large and too much time has passed. It's likely she's forgotten who I am. She is a strumpet, after all."

She wrinkled her nose, freckles gathering close. "A whore cannot love?"

It took a moment before comprehension struck him, and when it did, the girl before him was illuminated. "Of course she can," he stammered. "Apologies."

She giggled. "Don't worry, it's very hard to offend a whore. We develop thick skins even at my age."

"Twelve?" he suggested with an impish smirk.

"Very funny, but a few years short."

"You're only fifteen?" he said, mouth hanging open. His jest wasn't as far off the mark as he had intended. She nodded, setting her arms on the rail again. He joined her. A couple of dolphins were still leaping out of the water, but most were just swimming now, keeping pace with the ship.