The Devil's Tide (3 page)

"I wonder," Nathan grated, "would your keys ring so loudly if we were not scheduled for execution?"

Ferrell's eyes went fierce at that, his sweaty cheeks blooming red, and he clutched his rifle threateningly. "I wonder," he furiously intoned, "would you speak so boldly if you weren't destined for the gallows?"

Nathan stood and clutched one of the bars. "If I weren't destined for the gallows, I would return for you."

Ferrell slammed the barrel of his gun against the bars, and Nathan recoiled just before his fingers could be smashed. "You've got one more night to dream of revenge," Ferrell said, grinning through his teeth. "Shame you'll wake up." He lumbered off, giggling to himself.

Nathan sat back down, his face flushing with heat. How had it come to this?

"Katherine Lindsay," Henry rumbled as he flicked a fly from the black mess of his gaping knee. He had uttered that name at least once every waking hour over the past two days, as though he would forget it if he didn't recite it regularly. But how could anyone forget her? "She's killed us all."

He's right,
Nathan reminded himself. She had left him to die here. She could have saved him and herself so easily. There was a reward for her safe return to London, and Nathan had hoped to claim it under the guise of an innocent sailor who had been kidnapped alongside Lindsay by
Harbinger's
pirates. In truth, Nathan was far from innocent, but he had hoped the friendship he
thought
he shared with Lindsay would compel her to corroborate the story.

Katherine Lindsay had apparently vanished into the wilds of Nassau or booked passage on a ship to God only knew where, leaving Nathan to rot in a cell. Her mane of red hair burned in his mind like a sunspot seared into the retina. He could scarcely recall her face, overpowered by that shroud of hair. There was a time when he felt so sorry for her, held against her will by Captain Griffith, who probably thought he had found a wife. Griffith murdered her husband without hesitation and took her without bothering to consult his crew.

Katherine had seemed so lost, so ready to give in, and for a time Nathan thought Griffith might have won her over, as insane as that notion seemed now. And then something changed. Nathan had no idea when or why it happened, but survival suddenly became a priority for Katherine, at the expense of every man aboard
Harbinger
, including Nathan. Griffith let his guard down, and Katherine took his life as quickly as Griffith had taken her husband's. Nathan wondered what went through Griffith's mind in that final moment, other than the bullet. Did the justice of the deed occur to him, or was it nothing more than a betrayal?

"That bitch shot me leg," Henry whimpered for the hundredth time.

"Yes, Henry," Nathan sighed. "You mentioned that once or twice."

"I done nothing to her," Henry went on, firmly shaking his head. "I done nothing!"

"That's not exactly true," Nathan said. If there was one thing Nathan had learned, it's that not a single pirate held himself accountable for his own actions. The disreputable paths they had chosen were irrelevant to whatever indecencies they were suffering presently.

"They'll probably take it off," Henry groaned. The flies were growing more courageous now, deftly avoiding the frantic sweeps of Henry's hand and landing on dark flakes of dried blood. "One-eyed, one-legged Henry," he went on, shaking his head.

"I don't think you'll need to worry about that much longer."

"Says you," Henry sourly replied, aiming a finger at Nathan's missing arm. "Yours healed up nicely."

Nathan massaged the stump at his elbow, fingers rolling over the bone just beneath the skin. "Not really," he shrugged. "It didn't grow back."

Nathan felt older than he imagined any twenty-one year old should. He had lost much of his appetite along with his arm, and his skin felt taut over his bones. His ribs ached with every breath, and his eyelids were constantly threatening to close. His sandy blonde hair was starting to fall out in tufts. There was of course no bed in the cell, and his ass was sore from sitting on the hard stone for so long. Shifting his position no longer assuaged the pain. He had grown accustomed to discomfort. "Life is pain," his father told him years ago, after Nathan had been thrown from a horse and scraped up his elbow, on the very same arm that was now shortened. "So long as you're in pain, you aren't dead."

Henry hissed through his teeth, jerking his leg sharply. "Oh god," he moaned. His forehead was drenched in sweat. "Will this never end?"

"Very soon," Nathan reminded him.

A distant door creaked open and a column of white light spread down the hallway. "Whossat?" Henry said, leaning forward with a crazed look in his eye. "WHOSSAT??"

Nathan set his head against the closely-notched bars, trying to see who was coming.
The fat guard on his way to taunt me with the keys again?
Nathan could break his arm, unlock the cell, and make a run for it. What other chance would he get? He was dead either way.

Three shadows split the column of light on the floor, stretching in size as the footsteps grew louder. The shadow in the middle was tall and large, and his pace was less stiff than the flanking shadows.

Nathan pulled his head away from the bars and propped himself against the wall with one leg flat and the other raised, his one arm dangling casually over a knee. He wasn't about to let them see him sweat.

"This one here," came a gruff voice.

"I remember."

The three men stopped before the bars. The two on the right and left were guards, and the middle was Woodes Rogers, Governor of the Bahamas. Nathan had met him once before, after he demanded one of the soldiers in town take him before Rogers. He was promptly thrown in this cell, and Rogers came to him a short time later.

Rogers was a tall man with a great round belly held aloft by a sloping belt, the huge buckle facing downward. He wore a navy blue coat with polished brass buttons. His head was covered by a full white wig, the curls of which rested on his shoulders. He had a broad nose and bushy eyebrows that were just as black as his impenetrable eyes. His chin was inconsequential, descending into the frill of a white collar. His left cheek was engraved with a round scar, roughly the size of a bullet, bordered by a thick ring of rubbery skin that was split in several places, like a crater on the moon. His upper jaw on that side was slightly caved in, forging an uneven face. His skin was surprisingly tan and leathery, as if he had spent much of his youth outdoors.

"I watch hangings whenever I can," Rogers said without delay, peering directly into Nathan's eyes. "Not because I enjoy them. In fact, I loathe death. I feel a man who hands out judgment should witness the consequences firsthand. It's a small price to pay."

Nathan rolled his hand, opening his palm to the ceiling. "You came here to tell us that?"

"Pay him no mind, Nathan," Henry spat, shaking his head. "Thinks he's better than us because he talks fancier. He's just a pirate for the King."

Rogers seemed unaware that Henry existed, despite the intolerable stench of his wound. "I do not respect those who would condemn a man to death without the decency to watch them die."

Nathan fronted a casual smirk, though he felt a nervous twinge in his cheek. "That sentiment will comfort me as the rope constricts about my throat."

"You're not a typical pirate," Rogers said. "Your speech is long and clear, and you are evidently bred of fairer stock."

Henry grunted loudly at that, but he failed to divert Rogers' attention.

"Not all sailors are simpletons," Nathan said.

Rogers leaned against the bars, furrowing his considerable brow. "Is that what you call yourself? A sailor?"

"Governor," Nathan sighed, "my time is running short. What do you want?"

Rogers wasted no more time, pushing himself off the bars. He broke into a pace, walking back and forth outside the cell while the guards remained dutifully still. "You claimed to have sailed with Katherine Lindsay, a woman whose name continues to plague my desk. Her husband's family is nothing if not diligent. And it seems I may have let her slip through my fingers."

"That's too bad," Nathan said, suppressing a curse. "If only someone had warned you."

"I am a busy man, and I sent Benjamin Hornigold in my place. That was a miscalculation. Now, Hornigold has fled my employ, last seen in the company of a redheaded woman, before he sailed his ship and crew out of my harbor to . . . well I think you know where."

"I don't follow."

"I think you do." Rogers adjusted the buckle that his belly rested upon. "In fact,
following
is exactly what I expect you to do. Benjamin Hornigold was a former pirate. Also of fairer stock. He surrendered himself to me under the condition that he hunt down the criminals he once crewed alongside. I quickly came to regard him as a friend. A fellow adventurer. We traded many tales in a short span. I suppose, over the years, politics have made me a sterner man." Rogers' gaze faltered only for a moment, a shadow passing over his face. He almost looked sad. "It seems Benjamin's ambitions got the better of him. The only reason he would have fled is if that woman promised him something I could not."

Nathan snickered. "A fuzzy nook between her legs to rest his face?"

Henry choked out a laugh.

Rogers bristled. "Now you pretend you're a less cultivated young man than you and I both know you are. No doubt such vulgarity was a necessity to keep your place amongst scoundrels, but it will gain you nothing in my presence."

Nathan embellished a sigh. "And what could I possibly gain from you?"

"I suspect you're a man of at least two faces," Rogers said, studying him. "It takes a rare sort of intelligence to blend so effectually with one's environment."

Nathan shrugged. "If I was so smart, I wouldn't be in here." His teeth gnawed at the inside of his cheek.
I certainly wouldn't have trusted Katherine Lindsay to do the right thing.

"He's got you there, Gov," Henry added.

"There's no greater crime than wasted talent," Rogers said.

"So hang me," Nathan chuckled. He was starting to enjoy this. If he was going to die, he might as well have some fun first.

Rogers seized his belt buckle and shifted his girth. "Though my resolve in suppressing piracy is encouraged by your lack of respect, I fear I must decline."

Nathan's arm slid off his knee, and his hand slapped the cold stone floor. He curled his fingers, dragging his nails along the irregular surface. "You want me to tell you where they went?"

"No. I want you to
show
me where they went."

Henry's back straightened. His lone eye widened. "My name's Henry," Henry declared, his voice pitched strangely high.

Rogers blinked, reluctantly shifting his line of sight. "Pardon?"

"My name's Henry," Henry repeated. "We was introduced once before." Henry had been there when Rogers granted Nathan his meeting.

Rogers' eyelids fluttered with irritation. "Strange. I must have forgotten you."

"I know where she took your man." Henry looked ridiculous, absently leaning over his rotting leg as though it was attached to someone else. "I know where she took him, and I can take you there."

Rogers smirked. "Do not mistake me. One of you will hang tomorrow. Judging by the smell of that grotesque wound, you're dead either way. I'll do you a kindness in shortening your torture."

"This?" Henry said, tittering down at his leg. "I've had worse." He aimed a thumb at his eye. "Rotted clean out of me skull, it did. I can handle a ruddy leg."

Rogers motioned to the guard on his left. "Open the cell."

"Sir," the guard acknowledged at once and fumbled with his ring of keys.

"Bless you," Henry said, slapping both palms together and resting his forehead on his thumbs.

The guard opened the door, which screeched on its rusty hinges, and stepped in. "Just the boy," Rogers instructed. The guard nodded and lifted Nathan by his armpits.

"Wait!" Henry pleaded. "Wait!" He seized the guard's leg. The guard jerked away and gave Henry's wound a gentle tap with his heel. Henry shrieked, clutching his knee. Nathan was dragged out of the cell as Henry wailed behind him. "Tell them they need me, Nathan! You won't find the island without me! And even if you did, you don't know where he buried it! I do!"

The guard put Nathan before Woodes Rogers. Nathan struggled to keep his balance, his legs wobbling underneath him. The guard steadied him.

Nathan saw Ferrell a few cells down the block, watching anxiously. When Nathan made eye contact, Ferrell's eyes flickered away, and he went about his duties.

The other prisoners were leaning against the bars of their cells trying to see what was happening, jittering to one another.

Nathan could see Jethro now. The man appeared very relaxed in his bunk, his back against the wall. He wasn't as old as Nathan had guessed, maybe forty. His close-cropped hair and mustache were peppered with grey. A deep scar was carved in his forehead, from his scalp to his right eyebrow. He was surprisingly well dressed, with a clean white shirt, ruffled at the neck, and maroon breeches. A black cap with a red ribbon sat in his lap. An empty goblet stood on the floor, and Jethro tapped it with the tip of his boot.

"Tell me, Rogers," Jethro wheezed, "How many ships did you plunder in your expedition around the world, with that treacherous scallywag Dampier for a navigator? How much gold and silk did you return to England before you determined piracy an ill affair?"

Rogers was unfazed. "I am not addressing you, sir. My business is with the young man."

"If not for business with former pirates," Jethro said, "you'd have no business at all."

"Persist in this fashion," Rogers countered flatly with a sideways glance, "and I shall be unable to ignore the wine that magicks itself into your cell."

Jethro inclined his head politely. He didn't say another word.

Rogers returned his attention to Nathan. "I care naught for lost treasure that probably doesn't exist."

"It does exist!" Henry bellowed. "I know where Griff buried it!"