The Devil's Tide (13 page)

"Alert the crew," Dillahunt instructed Candler, "and tell them to keep their voices low as we approach."

Candler did as instructed and returned a half an hour later as men fell to their various positions. Gunners took to their stations and prepared the cannons. Ogle descended to the main deck to join them. Nathan remained on the quarterdeck, scrutinizing Dillahunt from time to time, his expression unreadable. Soon, Thompson glimpsed
Ranger
through his telescope, moored far off the eastern beach.

"Give the island a wide berth," Dillahunt ordered. "Then move close and approach from the west. And watch the shoals. It would be very embarrassing to report to Woodes Rogers that we ran aground trying to catch Hornigold unaware."

Dillahunt paced the quarterdeck in a circle for nearly an hour as
Crusader
slowly circumvented the island from the western side, making way toward the eastern beach. He made small talk with Nathan, asking him, "Did it hurt?" Nathan smirked at that, and Dillahunt wondered if he had fallen prey to some private jest. "Have I offended you, son?"

"No, captain."

"Then answer me. It unsettles me when my questions go unnoticed. It makes me question my existence."

"A little," Nathan said. "I passed out before my arm was taken off."

"There's a kindness."

"I woke to find it missing," Nathan grimaced. "That was not so kind."

It seemed hours before they caught sight of
Ranger
again. She remained haplessly bobbing in the water, far from shore, dark and silent. Thompson claimed no sign of movement. Dillahunt borrowed his telescope to confirm. He saw nothing, though it was difficult to make out details in the night, with the moon now hiding behind the island peak.
Ranger's
canvas had been taken in, so she would not be able to flee quickly once set upon. "They must be sleeping."

"Or they've all gone to the island," Candler suggested.

"Would Hornigold leave his ship unattended?" Nathan asked. He seemed to already know the answer.

"No captain worth his salt would be so irresponsible," Dillahunt said.

"Do you still think Hornigold worth his salt?" Nathan asked.

"We're about to find out."

Crusader
moved silently toward its prey, and still there was no sign of crew on deck.
Crusader's
bow turned starboard, and she pulled port-to-port alongside
Ranger
. The gunners all moved to the port cannons, light on their feet so their heels did not rattle the deck and draw attention. Soon
Crusader
was running parallel to
Ranger
, a ship's distance apart. Still there was no movement on her deck. No shapes or shadows betrayed lurking crew. Nathan smiled confidently. "They've not seen us."

Candler shook his head. "Hornigold truly is a fool."

"He wasn't always," said Dillahunt uncertainly.

"Women have that effect," Nathan replied sourly.

Something flashed brightly, as though the sun had materialized upon
Ranger's
deck. A dozen villainous faces were illuminated. A deafening blast followed a second later, and the bulwark exploded in front of Dillahunt. A maddening pattern formed before his eyes, splinters of wood, big and small, thick and thin, spiraled toward him, riding the blast. In a split second his mind absurdly tried to estimate their number.
My god
, he thought,
there must be a thousand!

The wooden needles perforated his body as the force of the blast propelled him against the opposite railing. He fell to his knees and stared at his hands, which were doused in blood. Splinters were sticking from his arms and legs. He was afraid to look at his torso or touch his face. The pain was like nothing he had ever felt, riddling every inch of him. He had imagined a hundred deaths for himself, but none had been as creatively spectacular as this.

Dillahunt slumped against the railing, taking in his surroundings for what he suspected would be the last time.

Nathan was dutifully picking splinters out of his right leg with a mildly annoyed look on his face. The rest of his body had somehow eluded mutilation. He'd been through far worse.

Thompson was crumpled against the railing on Dillahunt's left, gurgling thick black bubbles with a long shard of wood in his throat. His body lurched, mouth working open and closed, and then he fell silent.

Thunder sounded from beyond. Dillahunt heard both crews shouting insults across ships at one another.

Candler dropped to Dillahunt's side, staring at him forlornly, as a dog stares at his wounded master. He didn't appear to have a scratch on him, the lucky bastard. The look on Candler's face was so pitiful that Dillahunt found himself suddenly disgusted with his friend. "Stop that," he commanded. He tasted blood. When Candler continued to stare dumbly, Dillahunt shouted, "Stop looking at me like that! Your face is a twisted perversion!"

"You look affright," Candler said, his lip quivering.

"You must take command," Dillahunt said. He had never seen Candler like this. Had the man never faced tragedy? Dillahunt was having trouble recalling.

"You look affright," Candler kept saying.

"Yes, you said that."

Nathan stood up, wincing terribly, and hobbled over to them. He still had a few splinters in his leg, but he seemed to have forgotten them for the time being. Dillahunt noticed the right side of Nathan's face for the first time. Blood was steadily flowing from a thin splinter wedged in his scalp, just above his forehead. He grasped it between two fingers and hissed as he yanked it out. "Did you hear the Captain?" Nathan shouted in Candler's ear. "They're firing on us! You have to take command!"

Candler just looked at Nathan. "He looks affright."

"Adams," Dillahunt said without allowing his thoughts further deliberation. It didn't matter who Candler had been, he was clearly not that man right now. Nathan Adams was. "You're captain."

"What's that?"

"I name you my replacement, with Candler as witness . . . such as he is."

"Captain," Nathan said, his lips twisting into a smile, "you're not going to die."

"My body insists otherwise," Dillahunt moaned. "I feel its individual functions shutting down, each at a time, without the courtesy of my pardon."

"That's just pain," Nathan said.

"N-n-no," Candler sputtered, gaping in horror. "I can see it in his eyes. He's dying. He looks affright."

"You see blood in his eyes," Nathan said with a derisive snort.

"It's death I see," Candler said.

"Shuttup!" Nathan snapped. "You cower at the sight of blood, that's all. Find me someone who does not."

"Who?"

"The surgeon!" Nathan bellowed, spitting blood in Candler's face. "Bring the surgeon!"

"Yes captain," Candler replied, and scrambled down the stairs to the main deck.

"I'm not your captain!" Nathan called after him.

"Yes you are," Dillahunt insisted, clutching Nathan's shoulder.

A cannonball sailed over the quarterdeck, arcing into the sea. "Are the men returning fire?" Dillahunt asked.

"They require no instruction there," Nathan answered. "Hornigold's men are only firing three or four cannons. Most of his crew must be onshore, and Hornigold with them."

"A fine de . . . de . . . deduction," Dillahunt gasped, his chest suddenly heavy, as though someone had set a cannonball on him. Every breath sent a fresh jolt of pain through him. One of his lungs had probably been punctured, and he was going to drown in his own blood. "Order the men to sink the . . . bloody ship . . . that killed me."

"You're going to be fine, captain."

"Enough of that. Let me die knowing you will . . . sink that ship and Hornigold will ha . . . hang for murdering Thompson and me and . . . whoever bloody else he's killed. If it's not . . . too much trouble, have Hornigold's cock removed."

Nathan frowned. "You're in shock, captain."

"No I'm not. I couldn't be more . . . lucid. I want Benjamin Hornigold's . . . cock removed. Shove the dainty thing in . . . Katherine Lindsay's mouth. That woman should be used to . . . a pirate's cock in her mouth. Deliver the pair of them . . . to Woodes Rogers."

"Yes, captain."

Pain gave way to a sweeping numbness that would have been a welcome relief, if only he could breathe. He inhaled, but no air entered his lungs, and he knew they were filled to the brim with blood. He hacked something thick and gooey from his throat into his mouth and felt it dribbling down his lower lip. Nathan was doing his best not to look revolted. It was strange to be on the receiving end of that look, which Dillahunt had given more times than he cared to remember. It was his turn now. He had never been so certain of anything in his life.

He was going to die.

He struggled to think of a profound final statement, but before he could do so, he was struck by a terrible realization. He seized Nathan's collar, drawing him close and rasping into his ear. "If I should shit myself upon dying . . . see that my breeches . . . are changed."

"Captain's dead!"

It was the first thing she heard as she emerged from the cabin, after hastily dressing herself. Candler wailed it loud enough for everyone to hear over the chaos, flinching as a cannonball whipped over his head. Several of the crew stopped what they were doing just long enough to stare at him in shock. Young Peter Lively, a gunner, took off his hat and clutched it to his breast. Nic Lawsome, who was crouched over the bulwark with a long rifle, looked up in shock. Gabe Jenkins, a handsome muscular youth with curly black hair, mouthed a silent prayer.

Ogle merely sniffed. "Get back to it, men. Cap's not getting any deader, but we might."

Without thinking, Calloway plunged forward and seized Candler. "What did you say?" she hissed, forgetting to mask her voice. Luckily he was too dazed to notice.

"You heard me well enough," he said, looking at her but not seeing her. His eyes were lost in whatever horror he had just witnessed. His golden goatee was mottled with tiny dots of red.

"How? Where?!" She shook him.

"A cannonball took apart quarterdeck. There's blood everywhere. I just watched the best man I'll ever know die."

She shoved him away and started for the quarterdeck. "You don't want to go up there!" he called, but she ignored him. She glanced only briefly at the enemy ship and saw dark figures rushing about its deck, hurrying to load cannons. The hull was riddled with smoking holes, and the mainmast was listing, threatening to topple. The ship was in terrible shape, but her crew seemed unaware, cheering and laughing. Were they all drunk?

One of the cannons flashed, and the sound followed an instant later. Calloway ducked as the cannonball whooshed far above her, tearing through the main sail.

"Aim lower and you might hit something!" Ogle shouted across.

"The next will find your blubbery arse!" someone shouted from the opposite ship, inciting laughter among their ranks. "Won't be the first time he's had balls up his arse," shouted another.

Ogle laughed bitterly, his massive pecs vibrating. "Comedians to the end."

Calloway regained her footing and continued up the stairs. When she reached the top, her breath caught in her throat. The port rail had a massive hole in it, with splinters of wood scattered all over the deck. Jones Thompson's dead eyes stared up at the sky, mouth hanging open with a shard of wood sticking out of his throat. Nathan Adams was crouched over a body, his head hanging low. She scrambled over and shoved him aside. He fell on his rear and stared at her through a face half stained with blood.

She struggled to recognize Dillahunt beneath the crimson rivulets that covered his body in an intricate web. There must have been over two dozen splinters in him, with several lodged in his face.

"It looks worse than it is," she heard Nathan say.

"How could it be any worse?" she murmured. "He's dead."

Nathan scoffed as he struggled to his feet. "Candler's an idiot. Why Dillahunt saw fit to appoint that man first mate is beyond me. No matter, though. His wailing incites the crew's wrath."

"He's alive?!"

Nathan nodded. "For the moment, anyway."

Bellamy, the surgeon, ascended to join them. He crouched beside Calloway, setting down a weathered satchel and appraising Dillahunt with dispassionate eyes. He was a lanky man with silver hair tied back in a ponytail, a narrow face and bronze skin. He wore a light brown shirt and white pants, a red sash around his waist, and three golden bracelets on each wrist. He must have been the oldest crewman aboard the ship, probably mid-fifty.

"Is he breathing?" Calloway demanded. "I don't think he's breathing."

"He's breathing," Bellamy said.

"Are you sure?"

Bellamy looked at her, narrowing his eyes. His irises were grey, nearly a match for his hair. "Last time we spoke, you had a man's voice."

Calloway shuddered as a chill of panic ran through her. She had forgotten to mask her voice since leaving the cabin, and she had also forgotten her hat. She had been so diligent about both until now. "Don't tell anyone, please."

"It's not my concern," Bellamy said with a shrug.

"No it's not," said Nathan, his tone suddenly very firm. "This man's life is. I am captain now, and I command you to save him."

"Promoted yourself already, have you?" Bellamy said with a wry smirk.

"He promoted me," Nathan shot back, aiming a finger at Dillahunt.

Bellamy looked to Dillahunt. "Is that true, captain?" He turned back to Nathan. "He does not dispute it."

"I'm not lying," Nathan sighed, his patience lost.

"Suppose your sudden promotion conveniently lacked a witness."

"Ask Candler if you don't believe me. I doubt he'll lie. He craves the job less than I do."

Bellamy went to work on Dillahunt, his bracelets clinking together as he plucked out the smaller splinters with a pair of rusty pliers from his bag. "Makes no difference to me," he muttered. "I don't need to be reminded what my duty is, but if you speak the truth, you might look to your own."

Nathan took the not-so-subtle hint. He looked at Calloway. "He's right. I'll be on the main deck with the men." He lingered for a moment, as though he wanted to say something else. He looked suitably concerned. A man's courtesy for a woman in danger. "Keep your head down," was all he said, and then he hurried off.