Page 56 of Storm over the Caribbean (Storm and Silence Saga #8)

Over the next few days, I had lots of fun. And no, by that I do not mean having secret trysts in the captain’s cabin! Get your mind out of the gutter!

Although we did that, too. A lot.

Ehem, where was I…

Ah, yes! Explaining how much fun pillaging and setting things on fire was!

Was that bad? Probably. But here was the thing: I didn’t give a flying fig. These people hadn’t hesitated even an instant to let a ship flying the Jolly Roger approach and escort them across the ocean. It had taken me some time to realize what that meant, but finally it clicked.

“They know.” Eyes narrowed, I gazed out across the sea at our next target. The sailors were waiting at the railing, big grins on their faces. “I thought it was just a captain here and there, but that’s not it. They all know about the pirates being hired to eliminate their competition.”

When nothing but silence came from behind me, I turned around. Mr Rikkard Ambrose was looking at me, his eyes cool and unperturbed.

“You knew. You knew that they knew from the beginning.”

He cocked his head. “Why do you think I started approaching my competitor’s ships flying a pirate flag?”

Oh.

So…that had been a test?

Of course. This was Mr Rikkard Ambrose. He always had a reason for what he was doing, and most often more than one.

“So…” Eyes narrowed into slits, I once again stared at the distant ship. “Do you think they know about the other things as well? The sabotage? The murder attempt?”

“Most likely not. But…”

“But?”

“Probably only because nobody bothered to inform them. As for whether they would have cared had they known…?”

He trailed off meaningfully.

I swallowed. “I see.”

“Indeed.”

“Captain Rockface?”

“Yes, Freddy the Fatty?”

“Do you think you could show me how to load a cannon?”

“With pleasure.”

Five minutes later…

Boom!

“Mwahahahahaha!”

“Um…are you all right, Mister?”

Glancing behind me, I noticed Liam. For some reason, he was eyeing me wearily.

“Never been better! Hand me that cannonball, will you?”

“Err…all right.”

Boom!

“Haha! Mwhahahaha!”

Suffice it to say it was a very satisfying day. Firing cannons does wonders for pregnancy moods. I should recommend it to Ella once I got home.

“Homeward, men!” Mr Ambrose roared from where he was dangling in the rigging, a sabre clutched in his right hand. “Homeward to celebrate!”

A roar of cheers went up from the crowd of pirates on the deck below. The fact that the deck happened to be spattered with blood and was part of a stolen ship didn’t seem to bother any of them. It also didn’t really bother me, for that matter.

“Plenty of whiskey and rum for everyone!”

“Huzzah!” the pirates roared. Throwing my arms into the air, I joined in. “Huzzah, huzzah!”

“We’ll revel all through the night, celebrating our victory!”

“Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!”

“And we shall feast to our heart’s content!”

“Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzz—”

Wait just a minute. Feast?

Someone would have to cook that, wouldn’t they?

Crap.

***

Thwack! Thwack!

“I… sniff …h-hate…chopping…onions!”

With a few mumbled curses, I threw the onions into the giant, bubbling pot. At least those were the last ones, right?

Just then, I heard the tent flap behind me being pulled open. Glancing over my shoulder, I spotted Liam, tugging a giant tub full of onions into the tent.

“Was told…you…needed this,” he panted.

My eyebrow twitched. “Oh, you were, were you?”

“Um…yeah.” The boy took a hurried step backward. Then several more. “I’ll be going then. I’ve got stuff to do and, well…stuff.”

“What’s the hurry?” I cocked my head. “Won’t you stay for a bit? I’ve got a few treats for you, and I could use better company than that thrice-damned bird.”

“Err…thanks, but I don’t think I can. I’ve got to…got to…”

Putting down the knife, I turned to fully face the boy. “Is it just me, or do you seem unusually nervous about being in my tent? Is there a reason for that?”

“N-no! Of course not! No reason at all.” And he took three more steps back. “I’m totally fine. I have no problem whatsoever. No prob—”

“Squawk!” Polly picked this moment to join the conversation. “Dressing up! Girl dressing up in men’s clothe—”

Clang!

The parrot was abruptly silenced by the cast-iron pot slamming into his cage.

“Ehem…just don’t pay any attention to her.” Clearing my throat, I sidled over to the bloody bird and clamped its beak shut. “That bird says the strangest things. Haha. Funny, right?”

“Yes, haha,” Liam agreed woodenly. I scrutinized him closely, looking for any sign that he’d taken the bloody bird’s words seriously, that he had realized who I really was—but, once more, he wasn’t even looking at me.

Instead, he was staring at the bird with a face full of terror.

Was his ornithophobia 33 rearing its head again?

Reaching out, I placed a comforting hand on the little fellow’s shoulder. “You know…we all have problems of our own. If there’s anything you want to tell me, I’ll listen. A burden shared is a burden halved.”

The little fellow’s face paled, and he stumbled back, staring at me as if he’d seen Satan himself. “N-no, thanks! I’ll be all right! And I don’t have anything to share in the first place. I mean, what kind of secrets could a cabin boy like me possibly have? Haha, right? Bye, I’ll be going now!”

And he ran out of the tent.

Blinking, I stared after him. Well…all right then. That was…odd.

Not that I currently had any leisure time to think about it. My eyes lowered to settle on the enormous tub full of onions in front of me.

Back to work. Oh joy!

Soon, I was so busy chopping onions that I didn’t hear the mutters and curses coming from outside.

Over the next few days, Captain Rockface and his band of bloodthirsty bastards unleashed a campaign of terror all over the Caribbean, at the memory of which people would shiver in fear for years to come.

Or maybe not, because in order for people to feel fear, there actually needed to be survivors.

I wasn’t there for most of the action, unfortunately—for one very simple reason.

“By Davy Jones’ beard, Freddie!” I heard a voice from beside me and, a moment later, spotted Jackal settling down in front of the campfire. Eyes wide, he was staring down at my belly. “You really like tasting your own food, don’t you? No wonder you became a ship’s cook.”

“Pffft!” I sent a spurt of my drink into the fire and started coughing. “Cough, cough…ehem, yes, that’s it. I just can’t stop eating my own food. It’s almost addictive. That’s definitely why I’m gaining weight, no other reason.”

“Well, can’t say I disagree.” Grabbing a nearby bowl, he filled it from the pot bubbling over the fire and started devouring the contents.

“Though I’d be careful if I were you. I noticed the captain’s benched you for the last few raids.

You should cut back a bit if you wanna go with us the next time. ”

One corner of my mouth quirked as I glanced over at Mr Rikkard Ambrose, who just so happened to choose that moment to look up and send an intense stare at my belly.

“Thanks for the advice, but I think there’s little chance of that.”

My pregnancy was now well and truly showing, and Mr Rikkard Ambrose had informed me in no uncertain terms that I would be going on further pirate raids over his cold, dead body.

And even then, his zombie self would probably try dragging me to safety.

And the worst thing? I couldn’t really bring myself to disagree with him.

Back in my London office, I would be the first to proclaim that any pregnant woman could do the work of a man perfectly fine, thank you very much.

But if that “work” involved storming enemy ships, swinging a sabre and evading pistol shots?

Even my optimism had its limits. And so did Mr Ambrose’s restraint. I was aware that “ball and chain” was a phrase for someone’s spouse, but if I decided to join in on a raid in my current condition, I wouldn’t put it past Mr Ambrose to take the expression a little too literally.

Suffice it to say that my new inactivity was not very much to my liking. With every passing day, my impatience grew, because, every day spent hunting those “merchant ships”, we were not hunting the true culprit behind all of this.

That is, till the tenth night after we left.

We were just coming back from a resupply trip, one of the few recent trips I had been able to convince Mr Ambrose to let me join.

Night had already fallen. I was about to make my way to my cabin—which just so happened to have a connecting door to the captain’s cabin—when I noticed a tall, dark figure at the railing, silhouetted against the moonlight.

I stared for a moment, not quite believing what I was seeing.

Stepping closer, I confirmed that, yes, it was indeed Mr Rikkard Ambrose, who was apparently spending his time just… enjoying the view?

“Stargazing, Dicky Darling?” I whispered as I sidled up to him from behind.

“Not quite. Although I am looking at the pretty lights.”

If I’d looked at him oddly before, it was nothing compared to now. I was just about to peek into his ear to check if he had lost his marbles when I noticed it: the light flashing in the distance. Rhythmically.

I stiffened. “What’s that?”

In answer, I only received a silent look. What did that mean? Why would lights be flashing in the middle of the night, as if…

Then it clicked.

“That’s…a signal.”

“Adequate, Mr Linton.”

I felt a tingle travel down my spine. “What for?”

“I left orders back at the bank to send someone to the shore every night who would send signals that I could spot when sailing past this island.”

My eyes narrowed at the distant light. I swallowed. “And what does the message say?”

He turned around. Icy eyes glittered at me in the darkness. “They found him.”

***

A line of men strode onto the pier in a certain city’s harbour. A line led by a massive figure with an even more massive beard.

“Um…Mr Karim, Sir? Are you sure about this?” a suicidal sailor asked.