Page 55 of The Sea Witch (Salt & Sorcery #1)

back, making clear for Lambert’s benefit what they’d been doing for four weeks.

“Fucking and fighting, eh?” Lambert snorted. “The Caribbean’s been ablaze with word of you and what you’ve been up to. Stealing

Kinnear’s women for sale, wiping out his whole operation. There was nothing but smoke and bones remaining after you quitted

the place.”

Alys shrugged. “Kinnear had what I wanted, and I don’t ask for what I want when taking’s much swifter.”

“Like that naval ship? The Ajax ? Just snatched it away from His Majesty without a by-your-leave. What I can’t make sense of, though, was why the crew was

spared.”

“Who’d tell the tale if I killed everyone?”

Lambert abruptly turned to Ben. “Who did you sail with in Madagascar, Prowse?”

Ben rifled through his mental catalogue of the pirates sailing off the eastern shore of Africa. “Captain Mission. And Baldridge.

Then I captained my own ship before growing weary of that sea. Plenty of opportunity in the Caribbean. And fair wenches.”

He smirked at Alys.

She gave him a rude hand gesture.

“One man aboard the Sea Witch .” Lambert looked dubious. “A change from the usual policy.”

“There’s plenty of cock in these waters,” Alys answered. “But finding cock of quality, why, that’s another matter.”

Ben made himself grin, even though it wasn’t often that he had his cock discussed so freely. Come to think of it, no one ever talked about his cock in public.

“Charming talker that you are, Lambert,” Alys said breezily, “you’re an even finer host. The best part’s inside. It’s roasting

today and I’ve got a powerful thirst. Besides,” she added with a cajoling smile, “I’ve boasted to Bloody Ben here all about

your hospitality. He should sample it, don’t you agree?”

Ben held his breath as Lambert scratched his chin in contemplation, clearly in debate.

“None of your infernal witchy magicking while you’re under my roof,” Lambert said pointedly.

Alys peered past him, through the open door, and into the house. “Braga and Moreau are inside. You give them the same dictate?”

“Mages’ magic is different from witches’ magic,” came the retort. “Purer. Educated.”

Alys rolled her eyes, before saying, “As you like, Lambert.”

“I’ll keep her in line,” Ben said, and received a discreet elbow jabbed into his side.

“I’m smelling the fine work of your kitchen.” Alys sniffed at the air. “We lost our cook on the last raid, and I’m panting

for decent grub.”

“Go on, then,” Lambert grumbled, waving them inside. “Most of the bed chambers are taken but any unoccupied one is yours.”

“There, you see.” Alys grinned up at Ben. “The finest host in these or any waters.”

Ben clapped Lambert on his shoulder. “She told the truth about you, Lambert. My vow to you is that I’ll not drain your cellars.

Well,” he amended, moving past their host, “I won’t drink all of your wine.”

“Wily bastard.” Alys laughed. “You said nothing about his rum.”

Lambert scowled, but there was no heat in it. “Inside, you two.”

Still holding Alys’s hand, Ben stepped over the threshold and into madness.

There might have been a time when Lambert’s manor house served as a model of dignity and colonial grandeur. That time was

long past.

In this last-ditch attempt at carousing, people were everywhere, hanging off the landing, brawling in the foyer, dancing in

the salon. Paintings on the walls had been defaced with every known substance and several unknown substances. Some wag had

drawn horns on distinguished patriarchs and eyepatches on blushing ladies. Tables listed and chairs lacked backs and seats.

Tapestries hung in tatters like the ghosts of horrified ancestors.

Music and voices mixed into a discordant combination that, after the relative quiet of life at sea, rattled inside Ben’s head

in shards of broken pottery.

Pirates surrounded him. They were literally everywhere, men who obeyed no laws but the ones they made—and bent—for themselves.

In this place, with their world on the verge of ending, too, they indulged in every lawless, self-indulgent impulse.

They drank, fought, danced, ate, and, in a few corners, fucked. It was unimpeded profligacy.

A dark and edged heat burned in his throat and behind his eyes.

God, it would be so much simpler if he could merely hate them, as he used to.

And yet... a filament of envy knotted in his chest. They were so free. Yet their freedom had a cost that others had to

bear.

But to taste that liberty for himself...

He’d denied himself for so long. And for who? For what? A navy that was complicit in countless crimes? Or the need for vengeance?

His head spun.

Alys pressed a tankard into his hand. “Drink this.”

He eyed the contents, then took a sniff. It held the malty tang of ale. He drank.

Fortunately, it was ale, its flavor and mildly alcoholic sharpness grounding him in the midst of complete anarchy.

“It’s a hell of a talent you have,” he said. “To know what I need. Even when I don’t.”

“You looked on the verge of setting this house on fire.”

They’d moved through chambers and corridors, emerging in a massive hall that was two stories tall.

A huge staircase stood in the middle of the chamber, reaching up to the second floor.

A catwalk ran the perimeter of the second floor, and people hung off the railing, shouting down to the revelers below.

One gargantuan long table ran the length of the room, laden with plates and goblets and countless platters of food.

Roast meats, pies in hot water crust pastry, fruit from every corner of the Caribbean.

Anything a gluttonous pirate could desire was provided by a steady stream of weary-looking servants who marched out from a doorway that likely led to the kitchens.

“This is... a considerable amount to absorb,” Ben admitted to Alys.

Revelers danced at one end of the chamber, but nearly two dozen people were splayed in tall-backed wooden chairs set up along

both sides of the table. Women perched on pirates’ laps, and half of the buccaneers had their boots propped up on the table

as they ate with their hands.

Mixed amongst the crowd were mages, distinguished from the pirates by the embroidered black sashes wrapped around their waists,

just as naval mages wore the same sashes. Some drank and ate with the same abandon as the buccaneers. Others practiced fashioning

illusions of light and shadow for the crowd’s amusement, creating scenes of seafaring battle or fairies cavorting lewdly as

the throng cheered and clapped.

“ I’m overwhelmed,” Alys confessed. “Not a woman amongst this crowd who isn’t part of the hospitality. I belong here as much as

a pearl earring belongs on a boar.”

As she and Ben walked, stares followed them. Some were curious, but a goodly amount blazed with hostility. Yet Alys wasn’t

the only one of their pair that attracted attention. Suspicious glares were aimed at Ben.

“I seen you before.” A pirate with a long braided beard staggered forward, blocking Ben’s path. He narrowed his eyes. “The

Wig ’n’ Merkin.”

“What pirate doesn’t go to the Wig and Merkin, Smythe?” Alys rolled her eyes.

A quick chill of panic danced down Ben’s back. He’d been with the navy at the tavern on St. Gertrude, raiding the gathering

as they’d assembled to pay tribute to Little George Partridge. If any of these buccaneers recognized Ben as a member of the

navy, he’d be flayed and roasted and served as the next course.

“A favorite haunt of mine,” he answered with bravado. “Good rum, better wenches.”

Smythe didn’t smile. He continued to study Ben through red-rimmed eyes. “Wasn’t that long ago.”

“At Little George’s wake,” Ben replied.

“His letters,” Smythe said, shifting his attention to Alys. “Everyone’s talking about ’em. He was an underhanded bastard.

Workin’ with the navy. And there was that thing, that fail-safe. God, the screams from Fontaine’s crew... That could happen

to any of us now.” He took a steadying drink.

“Nobody’s safe,” Alys said.

“Not without that fail-safe,” Smythe shot back. “Van der Meer was sure you knew where to find it.”

“Van der Meer sells horseshit by the ton, Smythe” Alys answered.

Smythe seemed to accept this, but his wary watery gaze turned back to Ben.

“You were there? When the letters were read?”

“We were having ourselves a fine celebration,” Ben said, “until the navy showed up and spilled my drink in my lap.”

“Damn navy,” Smythe muttered. “Always spoiling a good time.”

“We left together,” Alys added, giving Ben’s chest a playful nudge with her shoulder. “Through a window. I imagined we’d both

wake up with broken necks.”

“Our necks are still sound, love,” Ben said with a wink, “even if the navy wants to stretch them.”

“Or have their leviathan swallow you,” Smythe added sourly. He looked at Ben with suspicion.

“You’re blocking the grub, Smythe.” Alys moved to shove the pirate aside.

Before she could, a man with rings in his ears and a knee-length embroidered tunic pushed Smythe away.

“Be off with you, maggot.” The man spoke with an Arabic accent. “No one has the stomach to be downwind of your breath.”

Smythe started to argue, then glanced at the jeweled and curved scimitar at the newcomer’s waist, before staggering off.

Alys tipped her chin in thanks. “Always a timely appearance, Karim.”

“In a mansion full of tedious people,” the corsair said with a sigh. “Smythe reigns supreme as the most tiresome.”

“And yet, you keep returning to Lambert’s.”

Karim’s smile flashed. “I remain optimistic that someone worthwhile will appear, and lo,” he added, gesturing at Alys and

Ben, “my hopes have been fulfilled.” He bowed to Ben. “Karim Samali, your servant.”

“Ben Prowse.” He bowed in return.

“Most of the people here have a weeklong advantage over you, as far as debauchery is concerned.”

“Including you?” Ben asked.

Karim pressed a hand to his chest. “In this, I am deficient. I only arrived three days ago, and so my debauchery is somewhat

lacking.” He waved away a servant offering cups of wine.

“Have faith, Karim,” Alys said with a smirk. “You’ll catch up.”

The corsair bowed before sauntering away toward a beckoning dancer.

Once Karim had gone, Ben permitted himself a small exhalation. Lambert’s refuge was a pit lined with knives. One misstep and

Ben and Alys would be sliced to bloody chunks.

“Now,” Ben murmured to Alys as they watched the depravity unfolding, “we’ve merely to find the answer to Little George’s clue.

And survive the night. Not certain which is more difficult.”

“When it comes to piracy and magic, everything’s a voyage through a hurricane. But,” she added with a grin, “that’s what makes

it fun.”