Page 15

B eau was still grousing as she descended the shallow ladder into the area beneath the forecastle where the cook held rein over the ship’s stores.

He was a bellicose man, lean as a whip, ugly as a wart, with the unparalleled talent of being able to pass wind upon request. Beau’s query for food won a resounding demonstration of his skill, followed by a hand waved sullenly in the direction of the huge iron cauldron.

Assuming it meant help yourself, she did.

There was a thick miasma of rice and beans bubbling sluggishly in the kettle, some of which she ladled into a large wooden bowl.

Two thick slabs of boiled, salted fish were tossed onto a tin platter along with a handful of rock-hard biscuits and a wedge of yellow cheese.

With the crumbs of one hastily devoured biscuit clinging to her lower lip, Beau threaded her way back to the stern, choosing to take a path belowdecks rather than crossing above.

The air was dank and smelled of too many sweaty bodies cramped together in too close quarters.

Hammocks were slung between every beam and board, many of them already occupied by men of both crews who had worked hard throughout the day.

Most of them would be up again before dawn, engaged in normal ships routine.

A small, clear section perhaps six-foot square was devoid of any hanging canvas cocoons and it was there, around an upturned barrel, that a dozen or so men who were not slated for the early watch gathered to whittle and trade stories.

A shielded lantern hung over their heads, swaying with the motion of the ship.

Some chewed on knots of leather or sucked on hoarded sticks of sugarcane that had been left out in the sun long enough to ferment the juices.

Most of the twelve were from the Egret and tugged a forelock respectfully as Beau passed by. One offered her a strip of cane, which she accepted and popped into her mouth, chewing and sucking the stringy pulp to release the sweet, strong liquor.

Two of the men were off the Virago and watched her with curious eyes and slack mouths.

“She don’t belong to nobody,” she overheard one of the men whisper in response to a muffled question. “And if ye know what’s best, ye’ll forget ye askt.”

The narrow passage leading to the captain’s great cabin was dark, but Beau knew it as well as she knew the back of her hand. She ducked for the low beams and veered once to avoid clipping her hip on the ladder rail, a second time to maneuver around a barrel of water.

Where there was usually one large cabin spanning the breadth of the ship’s stern and occupying most of the area beneath the raised aftercastle, on the Egret there were two.

It was Spence’s only concession to Beau’s sex, that she have somewhere private to sleep and tend to her “woman’s things.

” Thus, the great cabin had been partitioned into two slightly unequal halves, with two separate doors and a wall of oak planking between.

Spence’s was the larger of the two, overstuffed with furniture as stout and well seasoned as the man who used it.

A wide, square berth filled one corner, a desk and a wire-fronted cabinet were crammed into the other.

The door to the gallery—a two-foot-wide balcony that stretched across the stern—was located in Beau’s half, leaving that much more room for the captain’s sea chests and piles of assorted clutter that filled every spare inch of space.

A large five-spoked wheel with simple brass lamps hung suspended from an overhead beam, spilling a pool of pale light over the top of a much-abused dining table and four sturdy chairs.

Spence, Simon Dante, and Geoffrey Pitt were seated at the table, a fresh jar of rum between them. Beau’s approach had been silent and no one looked up or noticed her standing in the darkness of the companionway, the platter balanced in her hands.

“Not near as fancy as yer Virago , I warrant,” Spence was saying.

“But then I’m not a fancy man an’ it suits me just fine.

Beau has the other half—fer her own safety, if ye know what I mean.

Not that she wouldn’t sling herself in a hammock alongside the rest o’ the crew, given her druthers.

Aye, an’ if it meets yer needs, Cap’n, ye can put up in her berth for the journey home. Beau won’t mind.”

Out in the corridor Beau’s mouth fell open.

“I’ll stay with my men. I don’t want to put anyone out of their bed.”

“Nonsense. There’s a perfectly good sail closet Beau can make proper cozy. An’ I’m not wantin’ to be known as the man who slung Dante de Tourville in a canvas sack atween two beams.”

Dante gave the red-bearded ship’s master a curious look. “A few hours ago you would have gladly slung me in a noose.”

Spence shrugged. “That were a few hours ago. Since then I’ve come to think ye’re an honorable bastard despite yer lapse o’ manners.”

Pitt grinned over the rim of his cup. “He’s actually fairly well housebroken when he isn’t chewing nails and spitting fire.”

Spence guffawed. “Aye. I figured as much when he didn’t rape my daughter when he had the chance—likely the provocation as well.”

"Was she disappointed?” Dante asked dryly.

“Only that yer gun did not fire. She thought it a dirty trick to blow out the prime.”

“Lucky for me I did or she would have blown out my gizzard.”

“Lucky fer ye she did not carve it out anyroad. She probably had more blades on her,” he added matter-of-factly. “Even stripped naked an’ searched ten ways to Sunday, she would have had one hid somewheres.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Just keep it in yer breeches, Cap’n,” Spence said with a not-so-jovial smile.

“I’ve yet to see a man take somethin’ from her she did not want to give.

Just like her mother, rest her soul. Regular hellcat when her fur was ruffled.

Gave me this—” he tilted his chin and lifted a hoary handful of red fuzz out of the way to reveal a six-inch-long scar running down the side of his windpipe— “on our weddin’ night, an’ this—” he pulled open the V of his shirt to display another badge of honor high on his shoulder— “the day she told me she were with child.”

“Her way of celebrating happy occasions?”

Spence chuckled again. “She were Portugee. A rare dark-eyed Gipsy with hot blood an’ mischief in her soul.

I took her off a ship we raided an’ wed her the same night; she took offence we did not stand before a priest, so she did not consider us married.

When she found she was with child, she could scarce bear the shame an’ forced me, at gunpoint, to seek out a Catholic sermoner.

The gun went off, accidental-like, an’ she wept fer two days thinkin’ she’d killed me.

When she judged I would live, she packed me into a cart an’ propped me in front of a priest anyway.

” He paused and smiled wistfully at the memory.

“Only wench I knew could give a man the sweetest taste o’ heaven one minute an’ the hottest bite o’ hell the next. Have ye a wife o’ yer own?”

“I had one. Once.” Dante said flatly. “But she was out of my life a long time ago and we are both happier for it.”

Spence chuckled. “Not a pleasurable experience, I gather?”

“No more pleasurable than falling into a pit full of snakes.”

“Now ye sound just like my Beau. Claims she wants no part o’ a husband, nor o’ any man who would pull her away from the sea.”

“Who put her here in the first place?”

Spence snorted. “She put herself.”

He assumed his companions’ cups were as empty as his and refilled all three before setting aside the crock and taking a slow, leisurely scratch at his armpit.

“Aye, so now I can tell ye all about what put my Isabeau on board the Egret … if ye need more time to decide if ye can trust me … or ye can tell me what killed yer ship.”

Pitt and Dante exchanged a glance. Pitt’s shrug was almost imperceptible and Dante lowered the cup from his lips, swallowing carefully.

“Greed, Captain Spence. I warrant it was greed and cowardice that killed my ship.”

Spence’s beard shifted over a thoughtful grimace. “When we heard about the raid on Veracruz, we also heard there were two ships sailed away, stuffed beam to bilges with gold.”

Dante nodded. “When the venture was first conceived, I knew it would need two ships. The risk was enormous, as you can appreciate, but the prize was worth ten times what a single vessel could hope to earn on a dozen voyages. The Queen herself put forward the candidate. She assured me he was … cut of good cloth.”

Spence grunted. “Even the strongest canvas comes with flaws, lad. Some with great gapin’ holes.”

“Aye, well, you can be sure Victor Bloodstone will have a great gaping hole in him ere I’m finished.”

“Bloodstone? Walsingham’s bastard?”

“He prefers the term nephew , but aye. One and the same.”

“Last I heard, he were the new darling o’ the Court, the prettiest face to amuse the Queen.”

“Indeed, he has a pretty face and Elizabeth likes to surround herself with beauty in the hopes it might be contagious. He also knows how to sail a ship, damn his soul; I can’t fault him for lack of skill or experience.

It was the only reason I agreed to take Bloodstone on, and in the beginning he did not disappoint.

We sailed for Veracruz like two hungry wolves stalking fresh meat.

” He hesitated and stared blankly out the darkened gallery windows.

“Do you know the Spanish harbor at all?”

Spence shifted in his seat, obviously not wanting to appear ignorant, but at the same time not wanting to admit he had never risked so deep a foray into Spanish waters.

Veracruz was a terminus for the mule trains that carried gold and silver out of the mountains of Mexico.

It had confidently been declared by the Spanish to be out of reach and impregnable to any foreign sail, as heavily fortified as any madman would expect a treasure depot to be .