Virgin Star (14 page)

"All hands to the quarterdeck!"

Twenty minutes to the fireworks, but it had been unanimously decided that they should all enjoy a cup before the countdown. All thirty-three crew members working on board the Wind Muse emerged up the gangway from the galley and hull, onto topside. Arriving in twos and threes, the men of the Wind Muse climbed the ladder onto the quarterdeck where Edward and few other officers already waited. Sensing the crew's excitement, Oliver, their much-loved mascot, barked excitedly from below. He stood on two paws, yelping to be lifted up.

Walking behind Hamilton and Tucker, Butcher climbed the plank. They would just stay long enough to see it before he would return to the search for the girl. As the search progressed, he had kept hearing Seanessy's parting words: "She won't last a day in port ..."

He kept thinking of the girl's long braid.

The persistent thought sprang from an unpleasant memory of a Caribbean port. A couple of years ago they had sailed into a pleasant seaside village near Port au Prince, one that supported many trading ships' layovers. They were getting their land legs when he caught sight of first one, then two men with a woman's plaits hanging from their belts. He had smiled, pointing it out to Seanessy. "The half-witted sods are cuttin' their wenches' hair for mementos on lonely blue nights."

Seanessy had smiled too, but then another man passed with a two-foot-long rope of dark hair and another short light-colored one swinging like scarves from his belt. Sean stopped suddenly. "Butcher, have you ever known a man foolish enough to part a woman from her hair?"

He made a brief inquiry. Turned out the savages wore the braids as trophies from rapings. Sean hoped he had stopped the barbaric practice when he offered fifty pounds for every braid that came with its owner's ballocks. From that time on the sorry example served to remind Butcher of his sex's cruel barbarism to the fairer.

He kept thinking of that girl's lovely braid.

Butcher knelt down to pet Oliver, a big lug of a dog, before hastening up the ladder and greeting the mates. He interrupted Hamilton's explanation of their search to Edward, asking, “Seanessy arrived yet?"

"Not yet," Edward said, cup already in hand. With a smile he added, "And the man's got less than a quarter-hour to get here too. The fireworks are probably the only bloody thing on earth that won't be waitin' on him."

"That will be a rude awakening for the captain." Tucker laughed.

"Who's out there to warn the luckless bystanders?"

Butcher asked as he grabbed a tin cup and marched to the rum cask.

Edward had not considered the necessity of this measure but did so now. Cherry Joe and young Greyman had laid enough dynamite to blow the duke's ship sky-high; it would light up the dock for miles in each direction. Cherry Joe crouched hidden in a water barrel at the very moment, waiting to light the fuses before running for his life. No one ran faster than Cherry Joe. The explosion would send fiery pieces of the White Pearl sailing into the air. It would be raining fire for a hundred paces in all directions.

Someone should clear the way of innocent bystanders.

"How do ye think we should go about it?"

"Set someone outside the nearest tavern, acting drunk and mad like, and then have him start randomly firin' shots minutes before. That should open a clean path for a distance."

"Who wants the duty?" Edward asked the men. "You'll be gettin' a bird's-eye view of the fireworks."

Tucker had the highest rank of the volunteers, but he had no watch to mark the time. Hamilton produced an expensive gold pocket watch. Tucker cocked and readied his pistol and left to encouraging cheers.

Butcher's gaze traveled up the long mast to the lookout step and saw Prescott. In the olden days ships had a proper lookout, a small basket with a side railing a man could grab a hand to. Nowadays the lookout was no more than a rat line melded into the tallest mast, so only the most surefooted men got the duty. Prescott was not only as surefooted as an alley cat, but after surviving four different drops into the deep blue sea, he still had no fear of heights.

Butcher called up, "What's it look like up there, ole man?"

With an arm around the mast, Prescott put the glass to his eye, surveying the doomed ship. The White Pearl sat less than four hundred paces away, a sleek modern clipper that was registered to one Duke de la Armanac. "Cherry Joe keeps peepin' like a torn from the water barrel." He shouted, "Methinks his fingers be itchin' to strike a light and run like the devil for his randy life."

The man laughed below, and Butcher asked, "How many hands on deck?"

"Four hands on deck that I can see. Two more in the hold. Skeleton docking crew."

"What say you?" Butcher asked the men. "Will Tuck's pistol fire call them out? Or are the poor bloody bastards doomed? Given six on board, I say ten pounds four mates go up and two come out—"

Bets were placed and Cummings, whose mind for numbers was as sharp as Seanessy's, began accepting terms for the popular wager.

Prescott surveyed the stretch of street before the doomed ship, looking for Tuck. Within minutes, he caught sight of him and watched as the man casually assumed a position against the wall of a nearby tavern and then took out Ham's watch, studying it.

The street grew more crowded near the noon hour. Prescott raised the glass higher to view the street beyond, trying to anticipate who would be near Tucker when he started shooting. A group of redcoats moved too fast. An old man with a music grinder and a little squirrel monkey strolled in front of two young apple vendors. Young Jack was one's name, he knew that lad—

Appearing from nowhere, two large-men fell in step behind the two boys. Suddenly Jack collapsed. The other lad turned to him in alarm, while the two men grabbed that one's arms, pulling them hard and high behind his back before landing a blow to his neck. "Sir!" Prescott's voice sounded alarmed and the men gathering beneath fell silent as their gazes lifted. "Looks like some kind of commotion going on down the street. A circle's forming around two lads, an apple vendor and another fellow who's bein' beat by two men—" His voice rose, "Mother Mary! 'Tisn't a lad at all! Tis a young wench dressed in breeches! And, my God, the bastards are taking fists to her—"

"The girl Shalyn!" Hamilton called out as he dropped the cup and flew toward the ladder. With a curse, Butcher rushed to the side and leaped the twelve feet to the deck, racing down the plank after him. Oliver followed.

"What the hell is Shalyn?"

"The captain's new pet, I hear."

"That be worth a fight!" Knolls said, the popular sentiment revealed in a loud cheer as all the men clambered for the ladder.

Edward suffered a fleeting moment's indecision, but thinking they'd all be blown to hell in the explosion, he called out, "Hold your steps, mates!"

The men all stopped and turned to him. He glanced at where Butcher and Ham ran through the crowd, and thinking of the imminent disaster, he shouted, "An army couldn't pass between Butcher and Hamilton—they don't need any help." The men mumbled complaints and he added, "At post for the fireworks."

A surprise attack, a rush of motion; Shalyn cried out as the man threw a fist into poor Jack's stomach, doubling him over, only to send him crashing to the ground with a rock-hard hit on his neck. Her hands were trapped behind her back in a tight thumb clasp, while the other man grabbed her at her waist, squeezing the wind from her. Dizziness exploded in her head just as she heard a deep and familiar voice shout, "Hold it!"

The two men looked up to see the enormous Negro with a cocked pistol pointing at them. The man holding Shalyn froze for a split second as Ham warned, "Easy mate ..."

Ham stopped as the man charged in a blur of motion. Hamilton saw a leap led by a raised foot and he fired. The foot hit Hamilton hard in the chest at the same instant the bullet exploded in the dead center of the man's torso. Hamilton went down with a jarring thud, falling hard on the cobblestone street. The villain lay in a pool of blood.

A huge dog leaped on the man holding Shalyn and she screamed as the man fell back. The sickening crack of his skull sounded against the cobblestone. With a desperate push she rolled over. Face to the cobblestone, she screamed again as she felt the dog's paws on her back. Hands behind her, she curled up and sprung to her feet.

Riding up on mounts, Seanessy and Kyler had just reached the ship when the streets exploded in a sudden confusion of shots and screams and cries for help. Seanessy had one leg over his horse when pistol fire turned his head down the street, and he heard Edward shout from the quarterdeck, "The lass named Shalyn! Butcher and Ham went to the rescue!" The two stallions leaped into a gallop. Edward shouted to their backs, "And mind the goddamn explosion!"

Oliver kept his large jaw on the fallen man's neck, waiting for the order to retreat. Breathing deeply, Shalyn stood up. A thundering crash of horses' hooves: roared down the street. Butcher yelled, "Duck, Shalyn!"

She ducked as she saw another man poised with a bronze hand cannon raised toward Butcher, a pistol in his other hand for Hamilton. Too slow, the man screamed as a knife pierced one hand almost at the exact instant four different pistoles fired simultaneously. The bullets' deadly impact lifted the villain off his feet, hurling him to the ground with ungodly force. As the smoke cleared, Hamilton, still lying on the ground, dropped his weapon with relief. Butcher rushed to where the well-trained animal held the man, the dog unaware that man was quite dead.

Shalyn turned toward the horses. Kyler swung off his mount, slapped its back to return it to the stables, and rushed over to Hamilton. All she saw was Seanessy. The moment would live in her consciousness forever: Seanessy sitting tall and handsome in the saddle, putting his agitated horse through paces as he swung his smoking pistol back into the shoulder harness, no more alarmed or worried by the fatal fight than if he had just returned from a good fox hunt. Then he swung off.

She started to run for her life.

Only to find her knees unwilling or unable to support her, and she dropped. The street resounded with renewed pistol fire. Seanessy held two cocked pistols in hand, ready to fire when he saw it was Tucker.

"Curse it, Tucker!"

"Back off, Oliver! Home, boy! Home!" Butcher cried to the dog and then snouted, "The fireworks!"

Sean was already flying. Shalyn felt his arms come around her and sweep her up into the air. She screamed, half-protest and half-terror as, holding her tight against his chest, Seanessy ran for cover. Tucker's shots continued to fire indiscriminately in the air as he started dashing through the streets like a madman.

Then the world exploded. First one crash, then an

other and another in a deafening blast of heat and light and fire. There was a brief moment of soundless quiet lit by a magnificent gold and red blaze before the sky rained burning bits and pieces of wood. Seanessy dropped to the ground, careful to shield Shalyn's small form and hold her head tight against his chest. A hot piece of wood hit Oliver. Seanessy heard the painful yelp just as he felt a sudden hard stab on his back, cutting right through the thin cotton shirt. The searing pain made him swear. He stole a glance behind him to the empty dock where the White Pearl had once sat, seeing nothing but a blazing, burning piece of timber. Butcher was leaning over the poor apple vendor to shield the unconscious lad.

The world suddenly went quiet. Quiet save for the frantic pounding of Shalyn's heart, and with some small surprise, she realized she was still alive. She felt the huge body lift partially from her to turn and view the utter chaos around them.

Seanessy watched as Hamilton and Ryler stood up to survey the three dead bodies. Smaller fragments of red-hot wood still fell from the sky like an afterthought. Various-sized pieces of smoldering timber surrounded the area, everywhere; the entire street looked like a battlefield from hell. He looked back into her terrified dark eyes and sighed with a disparaging shake of his head. "I knew you'd be trouble."

Shalyn felt her heart racing still and her trapped fingers trembling with the vibrations of an aftershock from the mighty explosion. She drew deep uneven breaths and kept her face buried in Seanessy's chest as he carried her up the plank of the Wind Muse. A deafening cheer of Seanessy's men rose as he stepped up the plank. Backslapping men and hearty exclamations of congratulations surrounded him, but she hardly heard.

They had found her. Somehow the dangerous people knew where she was. How? Where else were they looking? Had they sent more men already? They probably had seen Seanessy carrying her to his ship—

She had to escape London! Before they located her once more, she had to be gone. Yet she could not venture on the docks. Anywhere. They were everywhere!

She stole a brief glance up and behind, half expecting to see the dead rise up to chase her. Seeing no phantoms in pursuit, she returned her face to his chest, forced the background noise away, and concentrated on the soothing sound of his swift and steady heartbeat. She breathed in the strangely compelling masculine scent of soaped and hard-worked leather, the faintest trace of gun smoke...

"The purpose of fear," an ancient voice said in her mind, "is to drive us to save our lives. We have no fear, for we have no interest in preserving our lives ..."

A smaller voice questioned this wisdom. "But, master, why then do we go on? If life is not precious to us, why do we cling to it so?"

"You must accept death as the inevitable conclusion ..."

She did riot want to die!

Seanessy set the girl to her feet to accept a rum cup, still bantering and laughing with his men as if this was the happiest day of his life. She spent several moments struggling to free her hands from the thumb clasp, but she stopped, realizing that the more she struggled, the tighter it felt. "Sir," she interrupted Butcher. "Please, if you would unlock this thumb clasp?"

Still talking to a group of men, Butcher knelt behind the lass to see the clasp. "Shalyn darlin', 'twill need a metal saw taken to it." And rising, he returned to his conversation.

She would not suffer the indignity long. "Please," she began, stepping in front of Butcher to catch his fleeting attention. “If you would be so kind as to get this saw—"

She stopped, froze as the enormous dog lumbered up the plank. She watched as he seemed to circle Seanessy's legs, tail wagging, small gaze lifted to Sean with adoration as if Sean might be the very reason for his existence.

Laughing, exchanging congratulations still, Sean reached his hand down to pet Oly’s head as someone asked, "So what the devil was all the commotion before the blast?"

One of the men asked, 'Was it this pretty piece?"

Seanessy laughed as his hands came to Shalyn's slender shoulders. "Ah, let me introduce you to young Shalyn."

Shalyn looked up to realize she had the keen interest of over twenty men. Without her realizing it, the sudden masculine interest made her lean into the security of Seanessy's tall frame. "Now as everyone can plainly see"—Seanessy chuckled—"I grant the girl's beauty, though—now mind these words—it is a potentially fatal lure. For no female since Eve herself has brought the world more trouble."

The men accepted the words with warm chuckles, but more than one man failed to match the words with her face. Samuel said, "Pretty, aye, but ye look harmless enough!"

"More beautiful than Botticelli's Venus, even in trousers—"

"She looks as fragile as porcelain—"

"It is but a clever ruse," Seanessy assured them. "Believe me, slight as she is, if trouble is flies, this comely maid here is a day-old corpse. Our luckless child was strolling down the street when a group of Arab sods happened to be searching for live game to bring to the block."

"Oh no! You are wrong!" She swung around to face him. "Those men were searching for me! They're the ones I can't remember—"

"Shalyn darlin'." Butcher patted her back in reassurance. "Those dark-skinned barbarians be Arab infidels—we checked them out." He waved his hand, a gesture of disgust and dismissal as he explained, "For three hundred years these foul lechers have been sailin' into London to snatch up our fair-haired girls. And there you were: an unattended beautiful young lady—theirs for the picking. If'in Prescott here hadn't seen you, you would be on your way to some heathen's harem—"

"Ha!" Sean laughed and said with scorn, "Shalyn and a sheik! That paints a pleasant picture. I can just imagine some lard-ass prince lying down the total of his stolen wealth for this pretty piece, only to find the first time his greedy hands come upon her, the girl's got his ballocks in her hand and she squeezing!" He shook his head with apparent regret and drained his cup. "I should have let the wretched pimps have her."

Arab sheiks? She couldn't believe this, she just couldn't! "They spoke French! I heard them—"

"Half the dark sons of Mohammed speak that silver tongue, lass," Butcher said. "Doesn't mean anything—"

"They were looking for me! They're the ones I fear!" Urgency filled her voice; she felt desperate to make them believe her. "They knew me! I know they were looking for me—"

"Shalyn," Seanessy chuckled. "Why would any

man in his right mind look for you after even a moment of your less than rewarding society?"

With a dismissive grin, Seanessy headed toward his quarters beneath the quarterdeck. Shalyn scrambled through the crowd, pushing past idle, drinking crew members to leap in his path. "Please, Seanessy—"

He looked down to see her upturned face, the turbulent emotions in her lovely eyes. Truly beautiful eyes, he noticed again, distracted suddenly. Catlike dark eyes, so heavily fringed with dark lashes and accented with thin brows of the same color. Where had she come from?

The thick mass of hair had loosened from the plait and he reached up, brushing stray wisps of it back to the gold halo it made around her face.

He abruptly realized she was speaking. "What?"

"Please, you must see. They were after me!"

"Were, and now dead, two key words that might serve you well as clues—"

"You're wrong. I know you are wrong. There will be more. And," she added with wide-eyed alarm, "they won't stop until they find me! Oh, please, I need passage back to Malacca! You must be made to see this."

She was far too distraught to notice his sympathy as he considered her. "My poor little catamount," he said, a look of pity mixed with amusement in his eyes, "just your bad luck to have a couple of pimping slave drivers pick you off the street. Now I'll never get the idea out of that pretty little head. Look, child." He leaned close to emphasize the point. "Think of it this way: even if someone was chasing you, searching for you, I have over seventy men oh this ship alone. You are perfectly safe! Now we'll see..."

Breathing hard and fast, she could hardly listen.

For he stood so close! His mouth was so close! Her mind teeter-tottered, she could not think of what he was saying. She felt his warm breath tease her skin, a pleasant taste of apples and ale—

"Apples!" She drew back, so he saw the sudden worry in the lovely eyes.

The exclamation brought his scrutiny. Apples? What the devil did apples have to do with anything? "Apples?"