The Devil's Tide (37 page)

"No, I'd rather leave with
my
crew."

"
Your
crew? You have a crew?"

She nodded. "They're locked up in your brig, last I heard."

He stopped within two paces of her, studying her narrowly. Another distant eruption shook the walls, and a stream of dirt fell between them, collecting at their feet. "Why?"

"I left a friend behind once," she answered. "He did a stupid thing. He did many stupid things, in fact, but I shouldn't have left him. He was just . . . young."

Vane shook his head. "You're a stubborn bitch, Lindsay. I could put a fist in your gut, toss you over my shoulder, and carry you out of here, if I really wanted to. That would spare you whatever misguided moral obligation you think you must fulfill."

She cocked her head defiantly. "So why don't you?"

His answer came quickly and easily. "You'd probably slit my throat in my sleep, or something worse. Griffith was a fool to turn his back on you."

That made her smile. "Thank you." Nevertheless, she was overpowered by a nagging urge to correct him. "I didn't shoot him in the back, by the way. I shot him in the—"

Another blast sounded before she could finish. This one was much closer. Vane craned his neck to the ceiling as it shook.

Calico Jack stumbled out of the dark tunnel, setting a hand against the long table and catching his breath. Blood streamed down his forehead from a wound somewhere in his scalp. His right sleeve was sheared, and a long red stripe ran down his arm. "We have to go now, Charles, before they take the dock."

Vane glanced over his shoulder then quickly returned his eyes to Kate, as though he was afraid she would vanish if he looked away for too long. "Wait for me at the dock, Jack."

"We can't afford to waste—"

"I'm right fucking behind you," Vane grated.

Calico Jack nodded. He composed himself and left the way he'd come.

Vane didn't budge. After a moment, Kate said, "Good luck, Charles." She hoped he was done trying to convince her.

He sighed lavishly. "That's not something I rely on. I'm sure you understand."

"Everyone needs a little luck."

He snorted. "Speaking of luck, I suppose you'll be needing the keys to the cells before I go, if you want to save your friends." He smacked the side of his head with his palm. "Oh, what am I thinking? You already have the keys, don't you?"

She withered sheepishly. The keys were tucked securely in the front of her bodice, between her breasts.
Probably the first place he'll look.

Vane nodded confidently. "Did you sincerely think me fool enough not to notice their absence?"

She reached out to touch his arm in a friendly gesture and withdrew just as quickly. "I thought you a busy man with a lot on your mind."

He seemed to appreciate the clarification. "I put them out in the open on purpose, to see if you'd take them."

"Of course you did," she said, humoring him. "You're quite cunning."

His smirk grew. "I will have a kiss, before we part ways."

"Hmm? I didn't hear you?" she said, backing away.

He advanced. "I almost forgot, you are missing an ear." He raised his voice to a condescendingly loud decibel. "I SAID I'LL HAVE A KISS!"

"Captain Vane," she gaped, placing a hand to her chest in shock, "I had no idea you were a romantic."

"I'm not," he sneered in disgust. "I may be dead within the hour, if my plan goes to shit. I will have a kiss from a stubborn bitch first. Seeing as you're the only stubborn bitch still alive, you'll have to do."

She scanned the room, but there was nowhere to go. He was between her and the exit. If she tried to run, he would easily corner her. There was a plate and a bowl on the table beside her, but she doubted either of those would serve as much of a weapon. There were some big pots over by the oven. Assuming she could make it all the way over there, and had strength enough to lift one, she might be able crush it over his head.

Or maybe you could just let him kiss you.
At least he wasn't hideous to look at. And there was no time for it to go any further.
It's just a kiss. It won't kill you.

"What if I say no?" she murmured weakly.

"It's not a fucking request," he snapped. His hand struck with the speed of a viper, seizing her by the belt. He drew her close and shoved his tongue in her mouth. His lips tasted of blood. She grappled against his solid embrace, but not nearly as much as she might have.

After a long, restless night of tossing and turning on the uneven rocky floor of the little cell, Dillahunt finally started to doze off. His mind swirled with a plethora of gruesome fates for Jacqueline Calloway, and he could think of nothing else no matter how hard he tried. He had waited all night for them to bring her back, but that never happened. He could only assume Mongrel had disposed of her after having his way with her. Dillahunt cursed himself. He should never have let her board his ship. He knew it then, but he had not stopped it, because he was excited at the prospect of a woman sharing his bed every night.

His wounds itched terribly beneath the bandages. He tried to ignore it, but neglect only made the itching increase until it burned. Finally he would give in and rub away, but he was careful not to scratch.

Two men had appeared earlier in the night to remove Rotter's soiled corpse. Hornigold's men in the big cell cheered as he was dragged away, happy to be relieved of the stench. Later, they tried to make conversation with Dillahunt, but he ignored them. Most of them fell asleep eventually, with the exception of Avery Dowling, who sat on the long bench with his back against the wall, staring at nothing in particular. Dillahunt had never seen the man sleep.

It must have been early morning when Dillahunt's eyes finally started to close. As he faded, he was oblivious to the tingling of his wounds, and he had momentarily forgotten Calloway's fate.

And then he was stirred by the distinctive crack of gunfire, somewhere far down the passage. He jerked awake, rattling his shackles. He glanced over at Hornigold's men. Half of them were sitting up, looking around.

A distant
boom
sounded from somewhere in the tunnels, and the ground trembled in a rolling wave, displacing tiny pebbles. The rest of Hornigold's men popped up.

"Bloody hell was that?" muttered Andrew Harrow.

Bastion was rubbing his right ear, with one eye squeezed shut. "Too loud," was all he said.

"Sounded like gunpowder," Avery Dowling said, his face remaining apathetic.

"That weren't no gun," Jeremy Clemens replied.

"I didn't say it was," Avery grated.

A second
boom
shuddered through the dungeon, this one louder than the last.

Dillahunt got to his feet and grabbed the bars of his cell. "That was closer."

Everyone fell silent and listened. Smaller blasts sounded every minute or so, with cracks of gunfire sprinkled between. Dillahunt's mind tried to sort out a pattern, but the shots were maddeningly sporadic.

Five minutes later, a slender figure emerged from the dark passage, stepping into the torchlight. She wore a black bodice embroidered with roses. Her hair shimmered like blood.

"Lindsay," Dillahunt muttered in disbelief.

"I also have a first name," she quipped. She stopped before Dillahunt's cell, produced a ring of keys from her bodice, and set about finding the right key.

"Where'd you get those?" he asked.

"Vane," she said.

"I probably don't want to know how you managed that."

She tried four keys before the latch clicked and the cell was open. He stepped forward and thrust out his shackled hands. She found the right key after two attempts, and Dillahunt was free of his binds.

"What about us?" Harrow said.

Kate started for their cell. Dillahunt grabbed her shoulder. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

She stared at him as if it should have been obvious. "We need a crew."

"A crew?"

"Do you want to get out of here, or not? There's a fight going on in the caves, in case you hadn't heard. Vane's men are dying."

"Teach," Dillahunt realized. "He followed us."

Kate nodded. "If we don't take
Crusader
now, someone else will. But we need a crew, unless you think the two of us can sail her on our own."

"That's right," said Francois Laurent, standing. "You'll need a crew."

"Those are Benjamin Hornigold's men!" Dillahunt protested.

"Hornigold's dead," Kate reminded him, moving to the big cell. She fingered through the keys, trying each one in the lock. "These are your men, now, Captain Dillahunt. And you'll pardon all of them for their aid when we return to Nassau. Isn't that right?"

Dillahunt clenched his fists. The bandages felt like they were constricting around his eyes and temples. "Fine," he growled through clenched teeth. "When they slaughter us in our sleep, it's on your head."

"Whose crew was it that turned to murderous mutiny?" Kate said, glancing at the ceiling for the answer. She looked at him pointedly. "Oh, wait, I just remembered. It was yours."

"That's very funny," he replied stolidly.

Kate unlocked the cell, and Hornigold's men spilled out, one after the other. Harrow, Bastion, Dumaka, Laurent, Clemens, Elegy, Fat Farley, Billie, and finally Avery. Of the nine, Avery was the only one who didn't thank Kate. "You're welcome," she told him anyway. He grunted.

"Let's waste no more time," Dillahunt said. They started down the long, winding passage. Kate took point, insisting she remembered the way. Dillahunt was secretly glad for that, because he had no idea which forks they had taken on the way into the dungeon. These tunnels all looked the same. Everything looked familiar and unfamiliar. It gave him a headache to think about it.

"Have you seen Calloway?" he finally asked Kate. He had been terrified she would have an answer, but he had to know.

Kate glanced over her shoulder as they passed a sconce, and the light of the flame lined her grim expression. "I don't think she's alive, Guy."

He nodded. They didn't speak of Calloway again.

The journey through the tunnel seemed longer than before, and Dillahunt started to get nervous. He glanced at Kate, but she betrayed no signs of uncertainty, so he didn't question her. The loud blasts had ceased, with only an occasional crack of gunfire.

Harrow and Laurent started to bicker about whether or not they were ever going to find an exit. Dillahunt hushed them.

They came to a fork in the tunnel, heard a bloodcurdling shriek from one passage, and quickly took the opposite. Finally, light appeared at the end of the tunnel. Dillahunt stopped, and he felt Hornigold's men crowding at his flank.

"Right then," said Harrow. "Why did we stop?"

"I pause to assess the situation," Dillahunt murmured.

Clemens looked puzzled. "What's his ass got to do with the situation?"

Dillahunt progressed cautiously, the light growing larger and brighter. When they came to the end, Dillahunt brushed past Kate to move in front. She smirked at him. He emerged into the post dawn light, stepping onto a slim walkway. A dead pirate with a slit throat was slumped over the walkway, the lower half of his body resting in the water. Dillahunt nudged the corpse with the tip of his boot and watched it slide into the water. He motioned for the others to follow, and they made their way to the eastern dock. Bodies were scattered everywhere. Thin trails of smoke wafted from several discarded pistols. Dillahunt picked up a sword, and everyone else followed suit, including Kate.
Like she knows how to use that,
Dillahunt inwardly scoffed.

Crusader
remained at the dock, waiting to be claimed. The schooner across the way had been burned, and only its charred mast and upward tilted bow jutted from the water.

Beyond the schooner, hanging ten feet above the western dock, was the naked, mutilated body of a woman with long black hair. Her arms were stretched over her head, wrists bound together by a rusty chain that was nailed to the cliff face eight feet above. Her limbs were awkwardly tilted, and a jagged white bone jutted from her right shin. Her left foot was tilted inward, the ankle twisting around like a spiral of rope. Pieces of wood stuck out of her belly. Her contorted face was caked in blood, cheeks split open, jaw angled sideways. She stared blankly down at the dock through glassy, red eyes. A thick pool of blood had formed below her, but she had long since stopped leaking.

A shudder ran through Dillahunt. The body was so pulverized beyond recognition that for a terrible moment he thought it might have been Calloway, until Kate's impassive, raspy voice relieved his horror. "Annabelle," she said.

He sighed in relief, but that didn't make the sight any less gruesome. He pulled his eyes from the corpse. "Charles Vane is a monster."

Kate was chewing on her lip, and Dillahunt realized she was wrestling against a smile.

"Shame," Clemens chimed in. "Waste of a fine pair of teats." Everyone stared at him, and he shrugged innocently. "You're all thinkin' it."

Dillahunt returned his gaze to the eastern dock. Vane's brigantine was nowhere to be seen. "Where's
Ranger
?"

Kate shrugged and looked away. "Looks like Vane escaped."

"The dog is surely dead by now," Dillahunt snorted.

Kate smirked wistfully. "Something tells me he's not."

A few men moved about
Crusader's
deck. Their swords were bloody, their expressions sadistic. Teach's men were always easy to spot. "Only three," Dillahunt whispered to the others.

"That we can see," Avery replied.

"More in the hold, maybe," said Dumaka.

Dillahunt grunted. "Then kill these three fast, and set upon anyone that comes out of that hold."

"Yes, captain," Harrow replied with a vigorous gleam in his eye. "Haven't killed anything in quite some time."

Dillahunt led the charge up the ramp to the main deck. The first of the three came at him and then skidded to a halt when he saw the other men teeming behind Dillahunt. He tried to run, but Dillahunt raked his sword across his back, splitting him open. The man slumped, groaning. Harrow moved around Dillahunt and thrust his blade into the downed man's back, growling viciously.