Princess at Sea (23 page)

All but Captain Rylan, Mr. Smitty, Duncan, and I scattered. The men ran up the goat path, the light from their torches quickly vanishing to leave us in the glow of a single torch and the moon riding high and almost full.

“And you!” Mr. Smitty said, giving Duncan a push so he almost fell over. “I want you on the aft sail. You'll be bringing her up by yourself till I say different!”

“Aye, sir,” Duncan said, the fire gone from his voice but not his eyes.

“Now, Mr. Smitty,” Captain Rylan soothed. “Duncan couldn't have had anything to do with them escaping. He's just thinking with the wrong part of himself. If anything, he saved one of them for us.”

“A whore I'd just as soon see dead!” the incensed man shouted, gesturing for Duncan to get moving. “And you're paying me to keep crew. You leave seeing to them to me!”

I held my dress closed as I stumbled to walk before them. For the first time in my life I felt shame for what I had done. No one had commented on me or my torn dress. I wasn't a woman any longer. I was a whore, a guttersnipe. I was the harlot that my mother had been and Kavenlow had bought me from. I was beneath notice and consideration.

My throat closed, and the warmth of tears pricked at my eyes as I weaved on my feet. Duncan caught my elbow, and pain tore through me. It was my bitten arm, and I almost passed out.

“Sorry, Tess,” he said, as I staggered.

Duncan fell back when Mr. Smitty cuffed him. “Git your hands offa her!” he shouted, his voice rough and sounding like tearing cloth. “She looked eager enough to tumble with you, so she's well enough to walk on her own. Tie her to the foremast when you get her aboard,” he added. “That's where whores belong. And she'll have a good view for when we take her queen back. I'm burning her boat to the waterline this time.”

I had watched the sun come up this morning while tied to the
foremost mast. Mr. Smitty had tightened my ropes with a cruel severity, and my wrists stung from the repeated washes of waves that cascaded over the bow of
Kelly's Sapphire.
Salt water dripped from my curls and ran down my face, making me shiver in the gusts of cold wind. Mr. Smitty was turning the ship to intentionally hit the occasional wave wrong so that the water would come over the deck. Normally the crew would be complaining for the rough ride. Today, though, they stopped their work and cheered whenever an especially big wave hit me.

Adding to their delight was that Duncan had already been appointed to clean up the deck. Mr. Smitty had put him to work shortly after sunrise and the first wave hit me. Of course as soon as Duncan got the deck cleaned, a wave would crash over the stanchions and he'd have to start over. He was as wet as I was, and he wouldn't look at me, his neck red and his motions stiff with anger.

I was miserable, cold to my core and shivering. It was only an hour or so past sunrise, but I felt as if I had been tied to the mast forever. I didn't think I could get my cramped muscles to move even if I hadn't been tied.

My eyes had been fixed upon the sails of the
Sandpiper
ever since we turned our bow to follow her, first by moonlight and now by sun. We were gaining very slowly, but I hoped that when the
Sandpiper
hit the stronger wind past the next string of islands, the longer boat would leap ahead. The capital was four easy days of sail ahead of us. They could make it in two hard days of sail, and perhaps as little as one and a half if they rode as if the hounds of hell were chasing in their foam path and the wind held.

We were now close enough that when the salt wasn't making my eyes tear, I could see figures moving about the deck. They had been throwing things overboard for the last hour, trying to lighten their weight so as to move faster, but the burned sails and limited rigging was slowing them where they once would have left us far behind. I fancied I could hear Captain Borlett shouting from time to time over the wind in my ears.

Captain Rylan was pacing from mast to mast in worry that we'd lose them despite the obvious inevitability of how this day was going to end, but Mr. Smitty and the crew had a confident, almost festive disposition.

“Captain Rylan!” the dour Mr. Smitty called, his voice carrying well. “I told you we'd catch them, and we will! You'll be walking a hole in my deck if you're not careful. Then poor Duncan will have to fix that, too.”

I heard the well-dressed, bell-decked man's boots come to a halt close behind me. “I don't share your confidence, Mr. Smitty,” Captain Rylan said, clearly peeved and impatient. “We should lighten our load as well.”

“No need,” Mr. Smitty said, and the men listening chuckled. “We'll be treating you to a fine bit of piracy afore the bloody boat gets halfway past that next island.”

Looking bothered, Captain Rylan stomped past me to the bow, holding on to the railing through the waves as several of the crewmen laughed their agreement. The position of the sun shifted slightly, and the bouncing grew less. I relaxed a notch, knowing that as long as the captain stood there, no water would be coming over the deck to soak me.

From behind me came the soft sound of instruction being given, and soon Mr. Smitty padded up in his silent boots to Captain Rylan. “My boys,” he said by way of greeting. “They set the markers as soon as we got here on the chance a merchant vessel came through early.”

Captain Rylan grunted, the silver of his beard glinting in the sun when he turned to the shorter man. A wide grin came over his face, worrying me. “Where are they?” he asked, squinting as he looked forward.

Mr. Smitty pointed, and I followed Captain Rylan's gaze to a large stake jutting up out of the water to warn ships of a shallow spot. “I'll be damned,” the captain swore. “How's the tide, Mr. Smitty?”

“Hanging as low as my dear mum's breasts,” the man said with a cackle. “She might see the shallows, but in this light and with these waves, it won't do her any good. It's as fine a wrecking spot as we've ever had. She's a long vessel, and she'll never make the turn to get out. Not goin' as fast as she is. I don't care how much she threw over to lighten herself, she's going to ground.”

I slumped into my ropes as I realized what was going to happen. The pirates had moved the shallow-water markers. A ship aground was easier to take than one moving.

“She's coming about!” came an excited call from the man hanging carelessly from a shroud high above the deck, and my eyes flew open. “Her sails are flapping! She's going, going . . . She's aground!” the man shouted. “She's aground and listing!”

A flurry of motion thundered as bare feet raced over the deck. Mr. Smitty looked like a wild man, his eyes glinting in anticipation. I sat helpless as he nodded once to Captain Rylan, and the two men walked past me to the wheel, their steps eager and fast. My heart sank. I was tied to the foremast and could do nothing but listen to the excited talk of how to best take my boat. Tar was being heated, and knots were being checked. The snick, snick, snick of metal being sharpened chilled me. I could do nothing. All my magical skills meant nothing.

We closed upon the floundering
Sandpiper
quickly, skimming over the shallower water with no hindrance. “Prepare grapples!” Mr. Smitty shouted, when we neared close enough to hear the shouts from the
Sandpiper
, and the men aboard her swarmed to the railing, ready to repel them. I searched the familiar faces, meeting them, seeing their resolve. Sailors with bared metal guarded the entrances to the lower decks. Captain Jeck was among them. His face was empty, and he wouldn't look at me. My chest tightened in fear and shame that he had used me so easily.

“All hands to starboard hull!” Mr. Smitty bellowed, and I tugged at my bindings. “Not you, Duncan,” he added harshly. “Get back here. You'll be my messenger boy.”

Frantic with the need to be free, I squirmed and wiggled, trying to find enough slack to do something. My stiff muscles protested, and my shoulder throbbed. The best I could manage was to shift my position so I could see better. My sister was aboard that boat. I was responsible for her, and I'd lost her twice.

Panic started a slow burn in my belly. My pulse quickened at the sound of men shouting. I stiffened when the tingle of venom scoured through me. Frightened, I looked at Jeck, wondering if he had darted me over the closing distance for some reason. But though his face was grim and his muscles bunched in anticipation, he wasn't paying me any attention.

A wave of dizziness rose high through me, and my cold, sun- and water-soaked body began to tremble. I felt my face go ashen when I realized what was happening. I hadn't drawn on my magic, but the lingering venom in my healing tissues was being washed out by my increased blood flow.
God help me. Was this going to happen every time I was afraid?

The sound of slapping water and the shouting of Captain Borlett drew my frightened gaze, and I breathed shallowly trying to fight off the vertigo. The shadow of the
Sandpiper
's rigging fell over me, cold. “Hooks, away!” Mr. Smitty shouted. He was standing behind the wheel with an exuberant Captain Rylan and a sullen Duncan.

With a horrendous yell, the men with hooks flung them.

Pulling against my ties, I watched helplessly as Captain Borlett sent his men forward and they sawed at the ropes or tried to pry them loose.

“Haul us in!” Mr. Smitty shouted. Grunts rose as the ropes were tossed to the largest crew members waiting behind them, and muscles bulged and tensed.

“Board her! Take her!” Mr. Smitty screamed, and men swung from the stays, dropping to the deck like birds from an arrow. I watched, aghast when what looked like a hundred men swarmed aboard the
Sandpiper.
All were shouting and swinging their weapons. The two vessels slowly came together, meeting with a crack and groan that sent my heart into my throat.

Salt water burned my wrists, and they grew slick when I gave a cry and tore the skin. Spitting the hair from my mouth, I flung my head so I could see. “Jeck!” I cried when I found him. He stood taller then most, his black uniform a dark splash among the bare skin and colorful reds of the pirates. Again, I twisted, managing to gain my knees though my arms were bent cruelly backward and my legs ached so badly I had to hold my breath against the pain. He had to protect her. I didn't care if I lost my kingdom before I gained it. She was my sister.

My overwhelming need to get free died in slack amazement as I realized Jeck was killing the attacking crew with an eerie regularity. Sword swinging, he made the same four moves over and over again. Strike, parry, strike, strike—and the man was gasping his last atop the deck, and Jeck was stepping to the next.

Ringing him were men unmoving and spilling their blood or shuddering men dragging themselves away. Red made the deck shine under his feet. His bearded face was empty, his eyes lost under his black hair. I could see his jaw clench and release with every blow. The mindless numbness in his eyes and the savagery and strength of his motions were shocking in their contrasts.

I'd heard of men possessed by death before, but I'd never seen it. And that was what he looked like, one of death's minions standing atop my boat in his black-and-gold uniform, muscles moving untiringly as he fought with a silence that struck fear into those he fixed his eyes upon. I watched him strike another pirate with no care that the man had lived and breathed and would take no more joy in another day. The man fell, screaming his last breath out in pain and fear, and Jeck moved to the next.

Sickened, I hung my head. I would not say it was wrong. I would not say it was right. Stupid, stupid men who knew no other way to be, and so those who did had no choice but to respond in kind. My sister was helpless, and I knew I would do the same as Jeck if it would ensure her life.

But the sound of battle drew my head up as I hung in my ropes and fought to keep conscious while the venom swirled in me. I watched through blurring vision the three men fight to protect a small forward hatch. Black spots swam before me as one fell. Captain Rylan shouted from the safety of his ship, and three more pirates hacked into the fray, headed for them.

I took three slow breaths, the muscles in my arms and legs starting to shake when I realized what was going on. Captain Rylan had just sent his best men to the hatch.
Contessa.

Tension slammed into me, my racing pulse making venom burn in me like molten metal. “Jeck! The hatch!” I shrieked, when another Costenopolie sailor went down. The last quickly followed, overpowered by three pirates. “Jeck!” I cried, unheard over the shouting men and flapping sails.

He didn't hear. Sword swinging he cut down another, drawing a breath before he strode to the next.