The Red Siren (11 page)

P
ressing the spyglass to her eye, Faith focused on the brimming sails. A three-masted, square-rigged merchant ship rose and plunged over the agitated sea. Dutch and British colors flapped in the breeze over her foremast and mizzenmast. From her lines and size, she appeared to be a
fluyt
, a Dutch-designed ship built to hold a large cargo and a small crew.
      But not built to house many guns. Faith grinned.
      She focused on the larboard bow. The words
Vliegende Draeck
stood out in blue upon the tan hull. “The
Flying Dragon
,” Faith whispered, snapping the spyglass shut.
      “Light the fire!” she bellowed then scanned the crew. “Get below hatches and wait for my command.”
      Clutching her skirts, Faith leaped down the quarterdeck ladder and rushed to the railing, waving her cream-colored fan over her head.
      Black smoke curled up from the barrel as several pirates dropped buckets into the sea and then hoisted them up, pretending to battle the flames.
      Gripping the railing, Faith leaned over the side and knotted her face into a look of utter despair while shrieking pleas for help toward the merchantman. She made out the silhouette of the captain on the vessel’s foredeck and the glint of sunlight off his spyglass as he studied her.
      Veering slightly to larboard, the
Flying Dragon
turned and began its approach bow on.
      Lucas smacked his lips. “Looks like ye’ve caught a big fish on yer hook this time, mistress.”
      “Aye, ’twas easier than I thought,” Faith remarked out of the side of her mouth while maintaining her display of distress.
      Ivory foam spewed upon the bow of the Dutch ship as she sped toward her trap. Then, suddenly, the creamy spray slunk back into
the sea. The merchant vessel slowed. Down went her topgallants and mainsails until she took up a gliding position just outside the reach of the
Red Siren
’s guns.
      Faith dropped her fan to her side with a huff. “Of all the nerve. Why does he not rescue me?”
      Lucas chuckled and adjusted the captain’s hat Faith insisted he wear during raids. “Mebbe he don’t favor women.”
      “Perhaps
you
should drape yourself over the rail, then?” Faith scanned her crew. “Begin to lower the boats, men. And act more frantic. Quicken the fire! We need more smoke. And hurry it up there. Grayson, Strom,” she barked at two pirates passing by with buckets in hand. They stopped and gave her sheepish grins. “You need to appear terrified, not like you are carrying water to a Sunday picnic.”
      “Sorry, Cap’n.” Grayson’s one remaining tooth perched like a yellowed pyramid among a desert of decaying gums. The portly seaman—with the shortest arms Faith had ever seen, reaching only to his waist—always made her smile. Strom, a gangly, shy youth with hair braided down his back, lowered his eyes under Faith’s perusal and trotted after Grayson to fetch more water.
      Faith turned to Lucas. “Perhaps ’tis you,” she said, looking him up and down. “You do present a formidable figure.” She handed him the spyglass. “Gaze at them and give them a friendly wave.”
      Raising the glass, Lucas perused the vessel. “She sits low in the water.”
      “That would be the treasure. ‘Laden with pearls,’ I believe, was the phrase the good Mr. Waite used. Pray tell, what is their captain doing?”
      “He be talkin’ with three of his crew, mistress—like he’s decidin’ what to do.” Lucas lowered the glass and gave a friendly wave to the merchant ship. “I be thinkin’ ye might ’ave met your match. This captain be smart. He takes no chances with so much treasure aboard.”
      “Of all the impertinence.” Faith tossed her hands to her hips. “What sort of gentleman allows a lady to burn to death?” Shaking her head, she strutted toward middeck. “I suppose we shall have to go after him.” The idea was not without its appeal, for she dearly loved the thrill of the chase. Besides, it could take several hours to plunder the ship once they caught her, depending on the amount of treasure in her hold. “Look, mistress, he sends a boat.”
      Faith spun on her heels and snatched the spyglass from Lucas. Ten men lowered themselves into one of the ship’s longboats and shoved off.
      
“Good heavens, now what to do? When they discover our ruse…”
      “Can I blow ’em out o’ the water, Cap’n?” Bates, her master gunner, had popped up from the hatch and stood before them, a gleam in his twitching eyes.
      “Fire the guns, fire the guns,” Morgan screeched.
      “Nay.” Faith slapped the spyglass into the palm of her hand. “We shall take them hostage.” She winked at Lucas, who gave her a sly look in return.
      “By thunder, I think that’ll work, mistress.”
      “Never fear, Mr. Bates.” Faith gave the gun master a reassuring nod. “If all goes well, you will put your precious guns to the test soon enough.”
      “Aye.” Bates’s gloomy expression brightened, and he turned and wobbled away on the block of wood that served as his right foot—a souvenir of the Queen Anne’s War.
      Within minutes the longboat slogged against the hull of the
Red Siren
, and Lucas beckoned the men upward. One by one they leaped over the railing, their cautious eyes roving over the ship. Some had swords sheathed at their sides, others with pistols stuffed in baldrics, but they did not draw them, perhaps lured into a deception of safety by the sight of so few sailors on board and Faith’s sweet, innocent smile.
      Silence seeped through the ship, interrupted only by the lap of the waves against the hull.
      A man of no more than two and twenty, with a comely face and a pointed beard, bowed with a sweep of his plumed hat before Lucas. “My captain sends his regards and bids us assist you in putting out your fire, Captain.”
      Faith sauntered forward and placed her boot on a stool, drawing the attention of the men—partly, she assumed, because they had never seen a lady wearing boots and partly because she bared the curve of her shapely calf.
      “I accept your assistance as well as your captain’s regards.” Faith grinned as she reached under her skirts and plucked a pistol from a strap around her thigh. “But I must insist you remain on board as our guests.” She leveled the gun at the young merchantman as the rest of her crew drew and cocked their weapons.
      A horde of pirates spilled from the hatches, curses firing from their mouths. They formed a barricade around the sailors before they could draw their weapons.
      
“Clap ’em in irons. Clap ’em in irons,” Morgan admonished with a flap of his wings.
      “Welcome aboard the pirate ship the
Red Siren
, gentlemen.” Faith leveled a sardonic gaze upon them. Oh, how she loved saying those words and, even more so, watching the expressions of those who heard it from
her
mouth.
      Shock, anger, and fear combined into a whirl of emotions that swept over the men’s faces. Their shoulders slumped as they raised their hands into the air.
      Faith ordered them bound with rope and wire and taken below, then she turned toward the Dutch ship. As expected, the capture of his crew had not gone unnoticed by the captain. Men darted across the deck in a mad frenzy as sails were raised to meet the wind.
      “Hard to starboard, Mr. Wilson. All hands, up tops and gallants. After her!” she shouted.
      The crew flew up into the ratlines as the ship veered to starboard. In moments, the white canvas caught the wind in a jarring snap that sent the
Red Siren
plummeting over the churning waves.
      Faith marched to the foredeck as the ship pitched over a roller, spraying her with salty mist. “Raise our colors, if you please, Lucas.” She tossed the command over her shoulder, knowing her first mate would not be far behind her.
      Lucas repeated the order to one of the pirates nearby, sending him to the ropes. Soon, down came the white, red, and blue British Union Jack and up went the scarlet emblem of the
Red Siren
—a dark silhouette of a woman with a sword in one hand and pistol in the other set against a red background.
      Gripping the railing, Faith surveyed her fleeing prey. Although the
Flying Dragon
had all her canvas spread to the breeze, she lumbered through the water like an overstuffed whale. Faith smiled, doubting such a heavily laden ship would live up to her name today.
      Blocks creaked and spars rattled above her as they slung aweather and all sails glutted themselves with wind. Sunlight sparkled in clusters of diamonds off the azure sea, reminding Faith of the treasure she would soon possess—and the security it would provide her sisters. Excitement quickened her heart, along with an occasional twinge of fear. She expected no resistance, but there was always the chance someone would get injured. And although her crew had known the risks when they
signed on with her, she doubted she could bear it if one of them took a fall.
      Faith glanced at Lucas, who stood beside her—ever the rock of calm assurance. He winked then smacked his lips together in anticipation of the battle.
      The
Red Siren
rose and swooped over the sea as they bore down upon the doomed Dutchman. Within minutes, they came alongside, matching her thrust for thrust through the choppy waters and positioning themselves within gun range.
      “Lucas, have Bates fire a warning shot over their bow, if you please.”
      “Aye, aye, mistress.” Lucas jumped down the foredeck ladder and disappeared below.
      Soon the familiar command to fire echoed through the ship, and the vessel exploded in a thunderous boom that sent a violent shudder through her hull. Gray smoke enveloped them and stung Faith’s nose. Coughing, she swatted it aside, anxiously peering toward the
Flying Dragon
to see the effect of their threat.
      The merchant vessel did not lower her sails.
      “Signal them to put their helm over,” she roared over her shoulder to Lambert.
      Lucas and Grayson joined her on the foredeck while Lambert scrambled aloft to lower and raise the fore topsail, but before he could signal the
Flying Dragon
, her answer came in the form of a volley from the demichasers at her stern. A hail of small deadly shot pummeled the deck, sending the pirates ducking for cover.
      “By thunder.” Grayson, who did not so much as flinch at the volley, scratched his coarse beard. “That cap’n sure’s got some pluck.”
      “He’s naught but a fool,” Faith spat. She spun around to face her first mate. “Lucas, bring the prisoners up on deck and place them in plain sight.”
      He nodded.
      “Then bring us in closer and ready the chain shot. If he wishes to make things difficult, I shall be happy to comply.”
      “Aye, aye, mistress.” Lucas stormed away and fired orders across the ship.
      Grayson shifted his bloodshot, droopy eyes her way.
      Taking his thick, rough hand in hers, Faith squeezed it. “Next time we are fired upon, please protect yourself, Grayson. I would like you to
sail with me for a while longer.”
      With a flash of his single tooth, Grayson’s weathered face blossomed into a bright shade of red. “At me age, Cap’n, I’d rather be takin’ me chances standing upright than break a bone droppin’ to the deck.” Chuckling, he ambled away.
      Facing forward, Faith braced herself as the
Red Siren
pitched over a wave and angled to starboard. Salt water sprayed a cool mist over her, shielding her from the continual onslaught of the sun.
      They must hurry. Mr. Waite would no doubt come in search of the treasure ship when she failed to make an appearance at their rendezvous off Hilton Head. Faith drew a shaky breath. She had no intention of facing one of His Majesty’s warships, nor the battle-honored man who commanded her. After checking the pistol stuffed in her waistband, she clutched her skirts, barreled down the foredeck ladder to the main deck, and glanced at her enemy, nigh fifty yards abaft the
Red Siren
’s beam. Men huddled around a swivel gun mounted on her railing, readying it to fire. If Bates did not hurry, they might have to endure another barrage of round shot.
      Lucas popped his head above hatches. “Waitin’ on your command to fire, mistress.”
      “Whenever you have the shot.”
      No sooner had Lucas disappeared below than another thunderous blast rocked the
Red Siren
. Faith grabbed the capstan, closing her eyes against the acrid smoke. Even before it cleared, the distant crack of splitting timbers and the boom of falling wood confirmed their success. Dashing to the railing, Faith gazed toward the
Flying Dragon
, her shape taking form in the dissipating mist. Her foremast was shattered, and fragments of her yards and a tangle of cordage hung to the decks below.
      Crowding around the railing, the pirates waited to see their enemy’s response. Finally, the merchant vessel dipped her colors in surrender.
      Huzzahs and shouts of glee rose from the pirates, and soon the
Red Siren
crashed alongside the Dutch merchant ship to grapple and board her. Faith moved the prisoners, hands still bound behind their backs, within view of their captain.
      Then, standing with one boot upon the bulwarks, she cocked and pointed her pistol at the head of one of the prisoners—the young man with the plumed hat who had first spoken to Lucas. Sweat broke out
above his upper lip where a slight quiver had suddenly taken residence. She longed to assure him she meant him no harm. But instead she yelled across the expanse to the merchantmen. “I will speak to the captain.”
      After muffled protests, a stout man with a barrel chest and a mop of brown hair detached himself from the group of sailors and marched forward. With legs spread apart, he crossed his arms over his chest and cast an anxious glance toward the young man at the barrel end of Faith’s gun.
      “I’m Captain Grainger.” His polite nod belied the fury reddening his face.
      “A pleasure, sir,” Faith said. “Quarter will be granted and your men unharmed, Captain, provided you lay down all your arms and open your hatches. These are my conditions. I suggest you accept them.”
      “Give ’em no quarter,” Morgan squawked from his post, drawing the captain’s gaze.
      With clenched jaw, Captain Grainger turned and surveyed his men before his dark eyes narrowed back upon her. “Very well. You have left me no choice.”
      “Excellent.” Faith lowered her pistol and nodded to Lucas.
      “Prepare to board!” Lucas bellowed as the men armed themselves and crowded at the railing.