Page 5 of The Sea Witch (Salt & Sorcery #1)

by hostile buccaneers couldn’t be at ease. Still, better a wary pirate with magic than a soul-crushed fisherman’s wife forced

to keep her power hidden.

Pretending to drink more of her rum, she stood and ambled around the smoke-filled tavern, purposefully making her steps seem

aimless when they were far from that.

Why did Little George want his wake to be held here, on this island, in this tavern? His viciousness was only matched by his

cunning, so there had to be a reason that the old barnacle had picked the Wig and Merkin.

Something was here, something that Little George had hidden.

“I’ve another letter,” the one-eyed pirate said, getting back up onto a table. He waved a square of wax-sealed paper over

his head. “Supposed to read it once the first round is drunk.”

“Is it extra coin for more rum?” someone shouted, followed by raucous laughter.

“Down to the depths with ye, Van der Meer,” the one-eyed man yelled back.

Alys listened to the sniping as she continued her reconnaissance of the tavern.

The Wig and Merkin was a two-story structure, with a staircase leading up to a catwalk, and branching off the catwalk were rooms, likely where seafarers would take their pleasure with lovers for hire.

It was much like any tavern at any number of lawless pirate-infested towns scattered across the Caribbean. Nothing special about it.

At the top of the stairs, though, was a window. Candlelight glinted on the glass.

She straightened and, as discreetly as possible, began to climb the staircase. Windows in and of themselves weren’t so out

of the ordinary. They were needed to let in breezes that might cool down the tropical atmosphere that collected heavily indoors,

yet the fact that this window held expensive glass was unusual. Especially considering that all the other windows were simply open to the elements.

As she eased her way up each step, the one-eyed man continued to read.

“Before the Brethren of the Coast,” he said, “I make my full confession to unburden me heavy heart. I been colludin’ with

Admiral Strickland of the British Navy, using me own secret abilities as a mage. ’Twas I who helped him create the magic to

bind a leviathan to the navy’s will, to help him build up the Crown’s power here in the Caribbean. Power used to fight and

destroy pirates.”

Alys paused in her climb as the gathered crowd muttered in angry shock. Little George had been cunning to the last. Not only

was he actually a mage, but he’d worked with the enemy to use magic against his own buccaneer comrades.

Every pirate lived in terror of the navy’s leviathan. It accompanied the naval flagship, and was unbeatable in combat. Dozens

of pirate ships had been destroyed by the beast. Alys and the Sea Witch had fortunately never encountered the British man-o’-war and the leviathan.

Thank the tides for that. But no thanks to Little George for creating the problem in the first place.

It was only a matter of time before she and her crew found themselves facing the naval flagship and the creature they had enslaved, and when that happened, may all the goddesses of the sea protect her and the Sea Witch .

Damn Little George.

Yet, it was impossible to be disappointed in someone who had been a devious and underhanded bastard to all who knew him. There

wasn’t a man in the tavern who hadn’t in some way been deceived by Little George.

When Alys had met him, he’d stared at her as if conniving some way to slip poison into her rum. Considering that he was also

secretly a mage, it was a damned shock that he hadn’t snuck a potion into her drink that could’ve turned her into a crab.

Either she’d been beneath his regard, or—and this was what she suspected—he had some hidden plan for her. One that brought

her here tonight, amongst pirates who had sailed these waters for far longer than she had.

“If I be dead,” the letter went on, “know ye that me murderers serve the king, and I be surely double-crossed. But I see the

blade comin’ for me throat, and so I’ve made a fail-safe to be used against me betrayers. This fail-safe do sever the magic

that tethers the leviathan to the navy, freein’ the beast.”

More growls sounded from the crowd, but even as Alys continued up the stairs, she kept careful attention on the letter still

being read.

“The fail-safe be hidden,” it went on to say, “to keep it from fallin’ into the Royal Navy’s hands. But I trust in me fellow

pirates to find it, for it can only be discovered by those who know these waters as well as I—your most ever lovin’ and deadly

Little George Partridge.”

While the buccaneers muttered amongst themselves about what all of this meant, Alys reached the landing at the top of the

stairs. A corridor stretched ahead of her, lined with doors that led to the prostitutes’ rooms, but her interest lay elsewhere.

After making certain no one was looking in her direction, she peered closely at the window.

“Holy hell,” she murmured under her breath.

A message had been etched into one of the panes of glass.

“Weigh anchor!” somebody shouted below. “?’Tis the Navy!”

This was Benjamin Priestley’s chance. His hand upon the pommel of his cutlass faintly shook. The metal rattled until he released

his grip.

“You’re a sailing master, Priestley.” Lieutenant Oliver folded his arms across the wide breadth of his chest, broadened from

the exercise of personally administering the many floggings their commanding officer was so fond of bestowing. “Your duties

are with the ship, not mucking up our opportunity to finally capture scores of pirates. What do you even know of close combat?”

“I defeat you,” Ben answered, “each time we spar.”

“You can’t win a ruthless war on a battlefield because you beat your opponent at chess in the drawing room,” the first mate

said.

Ben fought for calm as he faced his admiral in the HMS Jupiter ’s great cabin. The admiral’s quarters ran the length of the back of the ship, as excruciatingly tidy as one might expect

from a commanding officer who ran his ship with the same ruthless efficiency. All the charts were carefully rolled up, the

books upon the built-in shelves smartly arranged by subject matter as well as height, and the bedlinens on the berth appeared

lacquered on. No pictures of a spouse or lover, but then, Admiral Strickland always said that anything other than his ship

was a mewling distraction hardly worth the trouble.

“Our ship’s navigation falls to me ,” Ben said to his admiral, “and I have been the one responsible for tracking down every lead on capturing pirates, getting us to the proper locations to intercept

them. The more time we spend here in counterproductive argument, the greater the likelihood that all of the buccaneers gathering

in St. Gertrude will slip through our grasp.”

Oliver opened his mouth, but their commanding officer spoke first.

“Avast,” Admiral Strickland clipped. His expression remained as icy as it always did, even when disciplining seamen for insubordination.

Ben swallowed around the coral lodged in his throat.

“We’ll have to move with all haste,” he replied. “I know the layout of the town, and I need to be part of this mission. With all due respect, sir,” he added when Strickland narrowed his eyes warningly.

“Five years ago, I accepted your request to transfer to the Jupiter because no one is more dedicated to eradicating pirates than you, Mr. Priestley,” the admiral said. “But that doesn’t mean

I tolerate disobedience, no matter how many buccaneers you’ve helped us locate and capture.”

Ben inclined his head. “No, sir.”

“ I was there on this very ship when we found the smoking ruins of your father’s vessel,” Strickland added. “ I saw the bloody effect of the pirates’ greed when they stole the ship’s cargo, and the lives they took, including Captain

Priestley’s.”

Guilt cut through Ben, as it always did, whenever his father’s death was mentioned. Ben should have been there that day...

He could’ve helped... Done something .

But he hadn’t been on his father’s ship.

“This gathering of pirates at St. Gertrude’s,” Ben said. “The most infamous buccaneers will be there. I’ve narrowed the possible

suspects to four men, and surely one amongst them will be in attendance. I can question them—”

“You interrogate maps, not suspects.” Oliver rolled his eyes. “Leave such dangerous matters to me and the trained marines.”

Ben tightened his jaw. “You must let me go, Admiral.”

“Do not lecture me on my duty, Mr. Priestley,” Strickland retorted. “As sailing master, you’re a considerable asset aboard the Jupiter , and I must weigh your value to this ship over your sense of personal justice.”

“Sir.” Ben took a step forward. “I... I appreciate the gravity of what I’m asking. Sailing masters are stationed on the

quarterdeck during combat. We do not fight. If I could just... If you would permit me to accompany Lieutenant Oliver, I

will stay out of his way. I won’t interfere or be one more responsibility for him to shoulder. Only...” He hauled in a

breath. “ Please , sir. I need to be there.”

There was a long pause, and then Strickland snapped, “Go ashore with Mr. Oliver. And Mr. Warne.”

Ben’s gaze flicked toward Warne, standing at the admiral’s left side. The mage had a full head of white hair, even though

the man himself was only a few years older than Ben, and he flouted regulations by wearing it loose rather than in a queue,

as if mages didn’t have to adhere to the code of conduct that kept the navy orderly and just. He did, however, sport the black

sash around his waist that all naval mages wore.

“But mind, Mr. Priestley,” the admiral continued, “you are not to engage unless absolutely necessary. I want your sharp eyes,

not your sharp sword. I’ll need a full report of everything you see and hear, most particularly whatever relates to Little

George Partridge. That pirate was a thorn in the navy’s hide, and there’s no telling what sort of malice he has perpetuated