Page 54 of The Sea Witch (Salt & Sorcery #1)

“You and I met in Tortuga,” Alys explained to Ben as he rowed them toward the dock at Lambert’s island estate. “Well, off

the coast of Tortuga, when we both attacked the same Spanish merchantman, bearing gold and jewels bound for Barcelona. We

argued over who’d take the prize, but in the end, you yielded to my superior skills as a pirate, and the Sea Witch took the majority of loot. And I took you to my berth.”

She spoke quickly, her gaze fixed on the approaching dock. The Sea Witch had anchored some distance from the shore, and it was left to Ben and Alys to row themselves in. Numerous other ships were

anchored just out of firing range, including sloops and schooners favored by pirates who relied upon their sleek lines and

shallow hulls to sail quickly and take refuge in precarious coastal shoals.

Ben gripped the jolly boat’s oars. Pirate vessels loomed on every side. He spotted Diego Sanchez’s ship, as well as Louis

Dupont’s. They were here. One of them might have murdered his father.

But Ben was a killer now, too.

Like him, Alys was all edgy energy, one hand on the grip of her cutlass, the other clenching and unclenching in her lap.

Unease almost visibly emanated from her.

For all her restlessness, she looked every inch the pirate queen.

Her coat was black brocade adorned with bright brass buttons and scarlet braid.

Beneath this, she wore a crimson waistcoat topped with jet trim, and a wide leather belt encircled her waist, capped with a large buckle.

Her polished black boots rose up over her buckskin covered thighs, and she wore her auburn hair loose.

A red plume fluttered atop her tricorn, announcing to everyone that she would not be content to hide in the background.

If someone had asked him a month ago that he might ever find a pirate attractive, he would have sent them immediately to a

surgeon to be bled and have their humors balanced. Now... looking at Alys in all her piratical regalia... there was

no one like her.

For all the power she exuded, he couldn’t disregard her uneasiness.

“My memory is excellent.” He oared them closer to the dock. “We’ve reviewed the tale of how we met three times already.”

“Can’t leave important details to chance.”

“You fear Lambert won’t welcome you to his refuge.”

“Women like me, we aren’t accepted at his enclave. Not really.” She scowled. “Like most men, Lambert’s afraid. Wary of witches,

suspicious when it comes to women aboard a ship in anything other than a recreational capacity. It’s the same when it comes

to his refuge.”

“How many times have you been here?”

“This’ll be my third.”

“You survived then, and you will again. But there’s a difference this time. I’m with you.” He started. “It’s me that’s got you in a state. You’re worried about me.”

“I’m not in a state,” she fired back. Then, surly, “I’m slightly concerned.”

“Should I be pleased or insulted?”

“Don’t bother with it,” she said through clenched teeth.

“I can handle myself. Already, I can walk like a pirate.”

Her tight mask gave way, and her eyes gleamed with trepidation.

“There’s a difference between walking like a buccaneer and being amongst them.

Ben,” she said, her gaze holding his, “other than the servants, and hired company, the only people at the enclave are pirates. Not that long ago, every buccaneer was your enemy.”

His jaw hardened. “I meant what I said aboard the Sea Witch . I’m not so thirsty for pirates’ blood that I’ll put us in danger.”

“These men love brawling and fighting,” she pointed out. “Doesn’t take much to get them going.”

“I won’t challenge anyone to a damned duel, if that’s what’s unsettling you.”

“Ben.” Her gaze held his. “If you’re hurt... if something happens to you...” She cleared her throat, and glanced away.

“I don’t want to have to drag your corpse back to the jolly boat.”

At her gruff words, he gave her a reassuring nod. “When you row back to the Sea Witch , I’ll be right there beside you, alive. That’s my vow.”

She exhaled and offered him a wry smile. “I should know better. The man who chased me onto my ship, climbed the mainmast of

my ship while in irons, scaled a waterfall, and killed an unkillable Redthorn—a man like that, well, he won’t go down easily.”

He glanced over his shoulder and tipped his head toward the approaching dock.

“We’ve a contingent waiting to greet us,” he noted. “Three people, armed with pistols and blades.”

“Lambert’s majordomo, Janssens. The other two are part of the group who keep order on the estate. Order ’s a relative term.”

Turning back to his task of manning the oars, Ben rowed the jolly boat to the dock. Dozens of other jolly boats and cutters

were tied to the dock, final proof of how many other people were at the enclave. He tossed a line to one of the guards, who

tied them to a cleat with quick practiced movements.

“Captain Tanner,” said a man with ruddy cheeks and a long full wig. His accent marked him as from the Lowlands of Europe. “An unexpected surprise.”

“Surprises are always unexpected, Mr. Janssens.” Alys stood and planted her hands on her hips. “That’s what makes them surprising.”

“Arriving with a guest.” Janssens eyed Ben. “We have not had the pleasure of meeting you, er...”

“Prowse.” Ben climbed onto the pier and helped Alys up. “Bloody Ben Prowse.”

He tried to imbue perfect ease and confidence in his voice, making certain to look at Janssens as if he expected to be given

his due.

“The Terror of Madagascar,” Alys added. She looked at Ben with pride, and patted her hand on his chest. “Bloody Ben and I

have been sharing a berth for months now.”

“Well...” The majordomo looked uncertain. “If you are willing to vouch for him, Captain Tanner...”

“I wouldn’t have him in my berth if I didn’t trust him,” she snapped. “And I wouldn’t bring him here if I feared betrayal.”

“As you please, Captain Tanner,” Janssens replied with the smooth cadence of one well used to pirates and their quick tempers.

He waved toward a path that wended through a grove of copperwood trees. “I believe you know the way.”

Alys tossed him a doubloon before sauntering down the pier, toward the house. As Ben strode past the majordomo and the two

scowling guards, he gave them all a jaunty salute, before hurrying to catch up with Alys’s long easy strides. Even here, simply

walking away from the pier, she imbued her gait with self-assurance. Regardless of any uncertainty she struggled with in her

heart, the confident pirate captain was a role she inhabited well.

“That went well,” Ben said as they continued on the path.

“The first obstacle.” Her gaze was fixed ahead. “More await.”

They emerged from the copperwood trees onto a broad.

.. Lawn was too lofty a term for it. Once it might have been a neatly tended and trimmed terrace.

Now, it was overgrown with all manner of plants, both native and imported, including fever grass, sea marigold, and paradise plum shrubs.

They formed a sprawling expanse leading to an enormous manor house.

The structure itself was built in the colonial style, with tall columns supporting a portico at the front, two stories boasting lofty windows protected by shutters, and a sharply pitched roof.

Like the lawn, the house itself had likely seen more well-tended days, as vines grew wildly up the sides, and large patches of paint had stripped away from the exterior walls like peeling skin.

Several shutters hung askew, and a few of the windows were broken.

People lolled on the front veranda, and draped themselves on the steps leading to the front door. Most of them appeared unconscious—or

dead. Bottles were strewn around them. One of the loungers stirred and sat up. He shouted something unintelligible as he pointed

at Alys and Ben.

“We caught Lambert throwing one of his bashes. This one’s a real ripper, too. Look lively, Bloody Ben,” she said under her

breath and winked at him.

Taking in a deep breath, he took Alys’s hand in his.

He kept his pace deliberately loose and long-limbed as he swaggered toward the manor. As they approached, music lurched out

of the open front door, a cacophony of fiddles, drums, and woodwinds.

Bleary-eyed revelers watched as he and Alys climbed the steps. The pirate who had pointed at them had used up his remaining

sobriety and now observed Ben through half-slitted eyes as he lay, spread-eagle, on the stairs.

A middle-aged man in a gold brocade coat came out of the manor.

A woman hung on each of his arms. One of them petted the fringe of light brown hair that ringed his head.

He possessed the mealy features that came from aristocratic breeding.

His nose was red with broken capillaries, but his eyes were sharp as he took in Alys and Ben coming toward him.

He walked as though, at one point in his life, he’d had a dancing master.

“Tanner,” he said neutrally.

“Lambert,” she answered. “We’re in need of your famed hospitality. We came at the right time, too. Even your legendary parties

can’t compare to this one.”

“Word about what happened to Fontaine has been spreading across the Caribbean.” Lambert’s words were smooth and cultured,

clearly the product of a public school education back in England. “A fate that might await every pirate. If our time on this

Earth is short, then by God, we’ll end our days in a blaze of revelry.”

“And what a revelry it is,” Alys agreed.

“Kept yourself busy.” Lambert eyed Ben and their linked hands.

“New friend.”

“Bloody Ben Prowse,” Ben replied. Did pirates shake hands? Unlikely, so instead he gave Lambert a sly smirk.

“The Terror of Madagascar,” Alys added helpfully.

“I’ve never heard of you,” Lambert fired back.

“Only been in the Caribbean for a month,” Ben answered, “but a hell of a month it’s been.” He grinned at Alys, and she grinned