Page 45 of Storm over the Caribbean (Storm and Silence Saga #8)

Immediately, I searched the dark horizon, and he was right. There, in the distance, at the end of a long stretch of sand that jutted out from the island into the sea, I saw a blinking light, as if from someone repeatedly uncovering and covering a lantern. Once. Twice. A pause. A third time.

That’s the signal all right.

What, you thought I was parading around here in a stolen dress just for fun?

No. Mr Ambrose had come up with an actual plan for this mad venture of his.

One that required me to put on a dress to the snickers of dozens of pirates.

And worse, one that actually was smart, and that I had no logical arguments against.

Although I really wanted to argue.

Really , really, really.

Why?

Well, because my role in this marvellous plan was…

“Help! Oh, gentlemen, please, help! Over here! Over here!”

Yep. I was to play the damsel. The kind that was in distress.

I was going to murder Mr Ambrose. I wasn’t sure how yet, and I wasn’t sure when, but it was going to be painful.

Waving my arms and wailing like a perfect helpless female, I did all I could to attract the attention of the people passing by this late in the evening.

It didn’t take long for a nearby harbour guard to notice and rush to my side.

He was a tall fellow, with a handlebar moustache that contained enough wax for three candle factories.

“Is something wrong, Mademoiselle ? May I be of assistance?”

“Th-there!” Raising a trembling hand, I pointed into the moonlit harbour. “Over there!”

Monsieur Moustache frowned and followed my outstretched arm with his eyes—which suddenly widened to the size of dinner plates.

“ Mon Dieu ! Is that…?” The man’s face paled. Several people seemed to have heard his outcry, because they turned to look in his direction. “No…it can’t be!”

Hurrying forward to the edge of the dock, he raised his lantern, sending its light flooding over the water.

And there, at the very edge of the flickering light, right next to a pier at the other end of the harbour, a ship became visible.

A ship atop the mast of which a black flag with skull and crossbones was fluttering in the wind.

“P-pirates!” I gasped, pointing dramatically at the ship.

The ship that just so happened to belong to Mr Ambrose’s competitor.

Turns out, in the middle of the night it is amazingly simple to sneak onto a ship while wearing black clothes and carrying a black flag.

Especially if half the crew are as drunk as boiled barn owls.

Then a quick climb up the mast, and, well…

“She’s right! Pirates! Pirates in the harbour!” a man shouted. A man who just so happened to bear an astounding resemblance to one of Mr Ambrose’s crew members. “Run! Run for your lives!”

“Run!” Screeched another fellow, who somehow also seemed to closely resemble one of my fellow pirates. Wasn’t it amazing how many pirate lookalikes were running around at the docks tonight? “Run away!”

“Good God! What is the town guard doing? How did the pirates get into the harbour?”

“They’ll kill us! They’ll kill us all!”

“Everyone, calm down!” bellowed the guard, raising both hands. “Civilians, slowly and orderly retreat away from the harbour! Guards, ready the cannons! Summon the reserves from the barracks! Mademoiselle , you should get to safety as well.”

“Th-thank you, Sir!” Curtsying, I sent the pirate ship a last, appropriately terrified glance and dashed away. The other innocent civilians, also known as pirates in disguise, swiftly followed my example. Behind us, the town guards rushed to the docks, readying their rifles and cannons.

“Holy hell!” Jack was running right beside me, grinning like a loon. Though his grin wasn’t nearly as wide as that of the brat riding on his shoulders. “Holy hell, they’re really gonna do it!”

“Are they?” Another pirate looked over his shoulder. “I don’t really think th—”

Boom!

“All right, I take it back.”

I stopped for a moment, glancing back at the plumes of smoke rising from the cannons arranged along the shore.

A moment later, a thunderous crash echoed across the water as several balls of iron slammed into the “pirate ship”, skewering it with ease.

Shrieks went up into the air as the drunken sailors got an abrupt wake-up-call.

Jackal whistled.

“Remind me to never get on that stony-faced bugger’s bad side.”

I glanced over at the other pirates, who wore simultaneously awed and horrified expressions on their faces.

“Oh, I think they’ll help you remember.”

We quickened our strides, heading away from the harbour. But we didn’t go into town. Oh no, we moved along the shore until a tall figure appeared out of the darkness in front of us.

“You took your time, Mr Linton.”

“Glad to see you are your usual cheerful self, Sir.”

“Naturally. Things are proceeding adequately.”

Boom! Boom!

I glanced over my shoulder towards the harbour again, where flashes of light were illuminating the surroundings every so often. “I’d say so,” I agreed, trying my very best not to sound too impressed. “It actually worked! You actually got someone else to shoot down your targets for you!”

“Obviously. It saves ammunition.”

“But, Captain…” Clearing his throat, Jackal stepped forward—then quickly trailed off when Mr Ambrose’s icy eyes fell on him.

“You wished to say something?”

Jack swallowed. Seems like since witnessing Mr Ambrose’s fight with the former captain, “The Jackal” had gained a healthy respect for my husband.

“Err…aye, Captain. Not that I mean to complain or anything, but…you got the ship blown up. Normally we loot ships before that happens.”

Mr Ambrose cocked his head. “Why loot an empty ship?”

The pirates stared at him for a long moment. Crickets chirped in the background, intermittently interrupted by cannon shots.

“Err…empty?”

“You didn’t think they would anchor in the harbour and simply leave their goods on board, did you?” Turning around, Mr Ambrose started towards a few large buildings at the edge of town, connected to the harbour by a long road. “Follow me.”

It said something about the commanding nature of his voice that nobody hesitated.

Not the pirates. Not the horses some were riding, who were supposed not to understand English.

Not even me. Soon enough, we reached the end of the road, and arrived in front of the warehouses—all of which were unguarded. Surprise, surprise.

“You see,” Mr Ambrose explained like a professor trying to hammer into his students’ heads that two plus two is four, “when merchant ships arrive at a harbour, the first thing they tend to do is unload—because otherwise, their employers will light a fire under their behinds. And once the goods are unloaded, they are stored…” Stepping forward, he hit the rusty lock on the warehouse door with the butt of his sabre, hard.

Then he grabbed the door and pulled it wide open. “…in warehouses.”

Slowly, the pirates approached. One at the front raised a lantern, and its light flooded into the interior of the warehouse, revealing piles of gold and expensive cloth, stacks of bulging whiskey barrels, chests full of various exorbitantly expensive spices, and so, so much more.

Murmurs rose from the crowd, and one of the pirates turned to Mr Ambrose, his mouth agape in awe.

“H-how did you know this was there?”

Mr Perfidious Pirate Ambrose cocked his head in challenge. “In my profession, isn’t it customary to know where rich people keep their treasures?”

I covered my eyes with one hand. That bloody man…well, he was technically telling the truth, just not quite the way they thought he did. Luckily, the pirates didn’t seem to notice the difference. They were far too busy cheering for the paragon of pirates that was Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

“I knew it!” Jackal shouted. “I knew he’d be a great captain! The best pirate ever!”

Best pirate ever?

I could hardly keep myself from snorting out loud. What would they say if they were aware of why exactly Mr Rikkard Ambrose knew where rich people kept their stuff?

“Everyone, grab what you can!” Mr Ambrose roared, his eyes glinting with greed, strands of his black hair fluttering in the wind.

The cheers of the pirates exploded once more, hardly audible over the thunder of cannons in the distance.

“Loot everything! Then get down to the shore, behind the forest to the west! Our ships are waiting for us there!”

“Aye aye, Captain!” the entire crowd bellowed.

Five minutes later, the entire warehouse was empty, the corners cleaned out, even the spider webs gone from the ceiling. A procession of smirking pirates, laden with treasures of all kinds, was soon heading down to a certain hidden beach that formed a natural harbour.

“Oy, you, Fatty!”

I blinked, looking around, and spotted one of the pirates, who was carrying a chest on each shoulder. Fatty? Who was he talking to?

“Yes, you, Fatty! The one who’s staring at me! Why ain’t you carrying anything?” Grabbing one of the chests on his shoulders, he shoved it towards me. “Here, take that, lazybones!”

“I—”

I was just about to protest, demanding if he was off his rocker, when I realized—I couldn’t. I might be dressed as a heavily pregnant woman, but I wasn’t actually supposed to be a pregnant woman. Darn it! All the troubles and none of the benefits!

“Oy! Piss off, blockhead!” a high-pitched voice demanded from several feet below eye level.

“Mind your own business, squirt!” The pirate grunted—then turned his angry glare back at me. “Well, Fatty? What do you say?”

I glanced between the angry pirate and my pregnant belly. Bloody hell! What was I supposed to do now? I couldn’t just refuse! That would seem far too suspicious! If the pirates got even a hint of the fact that my current “disguise” wasn’t actually a disguise…

“Come on, what are you waiting for, laggard?” the pirate grunted, shoving the chest towards me before I could finish thinking. “Take it already, you bloody—”

Just then, a heavy hand landed on the man’s free shoulder.

“Huh? What—”

Growling, the pirate turned—and came face-to-stony-visage with Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

“You,” he spoke, staring at the man with an intensity that would have made a serial killer jealous, “are not going to make this person carry anything.”

“But Captain, it ain’t fair! Those things are bloody heavy! We—”

“Oh, you feel the load you are carrying is too heavy?” Mr Ambrose’s hand squeezed the other man’s shoulder, his eyes glittering dangerously. “You feel I should lighten it?”

“Err…well, yes.” Not seeming to read the situation very well, the pirate nodded enthusiastically. “Definitely! I—”

“I see,” Mr Ambrose’s hand on the man’s shoulder tightened some more. “Then how about I relieve you of your head? You’ll feel much lighter without it, I promise.”

Never had I seen a man run so fast while carrying almost two hundred pounds.

“What are you staring at?” Mr Ambrose barked at the rest of the pirates. “Get moving!”

“Aye aye, Captain!”

Quickly, they hurried away. Mr Ambrose didn’t. I didn’t. He stood there until the men were out of sight. Then, reaching out, he gently cupped my face.

“Are you all right?”

“Y-you really shouldn’t.” Swallowing, I glanced around. “If someone saw—”

“Are. You. All. Right?”

The look in his eyes… It was something else. He’d looked at me like I was the most precious treasure in the world before. But now? Now he was looking at me as if I was the world. And as if he’d burn down the rest of the universe just to keep me safe.

I swallowed.

“Y-yes.” His hand on my face felt so warm. So reassuring. And for once, I didn’t mind being treated as if I were fragile. For once, I just basked in the stolen moment, “Yes, I feel spiffing, Captain.”

I smirked at the miniscule narrowing of his eyes. “What, you don’t like your new title? Seemed to me like you were enjoying yourself quite a bit, oh Terror of the Seven Seas.”

A muscle in his cheek twitched. “I am merely taking appropriate measures against my competition.”

“Sure, sure.” My smirk widening, I reached out to cup his face—then suddenly extended my fingers to cover his left eye instead. “Hm…I think I know what I’ll get you for your next birthday. An eyepatch would look great on you, don’t you think?”

I felt the twitching of his facial muscle intensify beneath my hand.

“I do not enjoy being a pirate, Mr Linton.”

“You don’t?”

“Most certainly not!”

In answer, I reached out, stuck a hand into his pocket, and pulled out several pieces of golden jewellery and documents detailing various future shipments of goods that he must have “borrowed” from the warehouse.

“You were saying?”

“…I don’t know how that ended up there.”

“Sure, sure.” I patted his cheek, mentally going through the list of costume shops I knew back home. Hm…where would I find a nice eyepatch? “Now why don’t we join the nice pirates for some feasting, carousing, and singing about drunken sailors?” 31

“That does sound rather…”

“…nice?”

“…adequate.”

“Of course.”

“But—!” One of Mr Ambrose’s fingers shot up as he sent me an icy glower. “No carousing for you. None whatsoever.”

His hand lowered, coming to rest gently on my belly. My own hand covered his, squeezing his fingers. “Agreed.”

He extended his other hand for me to take. “Shall we go?”

I cocked an eyebrow. “And let the pirates see us holding hands?”

“No need for them to see. We’ll walk slowly.”

“And waste time?”

His deep, dark, sea-coloured eyes bored straight into my soul. “Some things are not a waste of time.”

And together, we slowly sauntered down the path.

***

On a certain ship, under a certain tarpaulin…

The icy night wind whistled over the deck, tugging at the end of a beard that stuck out from underneath the tarp. From beside the beard, the chattering of teeth sounded.

“M-M-M-Mr Karim, S-sir?”

“Yes?”

“A-a-are you s-sure they will come?”

“Trust me, I know that pirate bastard is coming for us. Back when we were leaving the harbour, I could almost feel him close. He’s probably racing to catch up to us as we speak.”