Page 6 of The Sea Witch (Salt & Sorcery #1)

from beyond his waterlogged grave.”

“Aye, sir.” Ben saluted.

The first mate also saluted, but not before glaring at Ben. Warne followed, silent yet ominous in his shadow-colored coat

embroidered with twisted vines.

“Dismissed,” said Captain Grey, standing on Strickland’s right side.

Easy to forget that Grey was aboard, when Strickland ran nearly every aspect of the Jupiter .

They quit the admiral’s quarters to walk the narrow passageways. Sailors went briskly about their duties. The ship teemed with over seven hundred men crammed together on a first-rate man-o’-war. It reeked of sweat, seawater, and soup.

Ben, Oliver, and Warne took the companionway to the upper deck. A group of red-coated marines armed with muskets snapped to

attention, their eyes fixed into the martial middle distance. The landing party waited as their longboat was lowered. Ben’s

heart pulsed in his throat as the small vessel reached the surface of the water, and when it came time for him to climb down

into the boat, his hands trembled on the rope ladder.

No one spoke as they began rowing toward an inlet close to the island’s town. When the boat was a dozen yards away from the

Jupiter , water roiled and swirled, glinting off serpentine iridescent scales the size of dinner plates.

Lifting its massive head, the leviathan regarded them with pale green eyes, and Ben’s breath caught, as it always did, to

be so near such a gigantic beast. It stayed beneath the water, but he could still make out the shape of its long twisting

body and the talons that tipped its grasping claws. Powerful musculature shifted under its scales. The creature could destroy

them with a single flick of its tail.

For a moment, its eyes darkened, pupils widening from slits to the size of a man’s hand, as if spotting prey. Ben made his

limbs loose and ready, in case he was thrown into the water and had to swim for safety.

On the other side of the longboat, Warne muttered incantations as they rowed past the creature. Vacancy suddenly clouded the

leviathan’s gaze, its pupils turning back to slits before it dove back beneath the waves. It kept close to the Jupiter . Not close enough to harm the ship or its crew, but near enough that should its might be needed in battle, it could be summoned

at once to do the navy’s violent bidding.

He’d seen it happen, the creature unleashed upon whoever was foolish enough to challenge the Jupiter . Hulls were crushed beneath its coils, men devoured whole by its gaping, serrated mouth, leaving limbs and smears of blood

upon the surface of the water and screams of agony and terror in its wake. He hadn’t slept for a week after the first time

he’d witnessed the leviathan attack. The only way to live with the memory was to place it in a strongbox and let it sink to

the bottom of the sea, never to be unlocked.

Ben exhaled. “We’ve enough manpower of our own not to press that creature into service with unnatural magic.”

Warne’s smile was thin. “You say that now, but when we’re set upon by an armada of buccaneers, you’ll bless me for leashing

it to my will.”

Ben would sooner kiss a pirate.

“You’ll have to choke down your distaste for the navy using monsters,” Warne continued. “Wiser minds than yours have taken

my counsel into consideration. There will soon be more beasts added to our arsenal.”

Ben wiped his face clean of expression, even though this was the first he’d heard of this scheme. How much could he trust

what Warne said? But if the mage spoke the truth... God help whoever crossed the navy’s path. And God help the poor beasts

that were forced to kill on command.

The longboat rowed on, the goal to put in at a small distance from the St. Gertrude harbor with a complement of marines. This

would give them an element of surprise as they entered the town. Admiral Strickland had ordered that the Jupiter would sail around the island and position itself near the low cliffs that edged the island’s only town once the ambush on

land had been executed.

Though Ben made certain to keep his expression stoic, his pulse was a hurricane. Soon he’d be in the largest gathering of pirates since New Providence in the Bahamas had restored law and order.

“Playing nursemaid to a sailing master.” Oliver shot Ben a scowl. “Look at you, shaking like a virgin on her wedding night.”

He leveled his finger at Ben. “Mind what you said to the admiral, Priestley. You stay in the back and you don’t get underfoot.

Or killed.”

“I can assure you on the former,” Ben said with as much calm as he could summon, “and will do my best on the latter.”

Oliver looked away, muttering under his breath.

Ben checked his pistols. Both were primed and loaded. He partially unsheathed his cutlass, and then his dagger.

“First combat?” one of the marines asked, not unkindly. At Ben’s quick nod, the marine said, “Staying in one place’ll get

you a boucan knife to the belly or a truncheon to the back of the head. Guts and brains a-spattered everywhere.”

“I’ve seen the effects of close fighting.” Still, Ben gingerly touched the back of his head, then his fingers drummed across

his churning stomach.

“From a distance. Ain’t the same when you’re in it. Be quick on your feet, and no lingering. That’s how you survive the skirmish.”

Ben gave the marine another nod, even as coldness spread throughout his limbs.

“I heard that the witch pirate Captain Alys Tanner might be there,” one of the rowers noted. “They say she’s a withered crone

with dried dugs down to her knees.”

“I heard she’s got a face like an eel and files her teeth so she’s got a shark mouth,” another seaman ventured. “An’ she cuts

off men’s bollocks an’ swallows ’em down like oysters as part of her magic spells.”

“Quiet,” snapped Oliver, “and put your backs into your oars or I’ll give you all thirty lashes.”

The men silenced, and Warne smirked.

Ben pressed his lips tight. Strickland insisted flogging was the best way to maintain discipline.

Though punishment was typically done by the boatswain’s mate on other ships, on the Jupiter , Oliver himself carried out the admiral’s orders.

The first mate wore a vicious little smile whenever he cut bloody stripes

across the men’s backs with a cat-o’-nine-tails. Warne gathered up the spilled drops of blood for use in potions.

The longboat neared the inlet, and once they were close enough, several of the seamen jumped out and dragged the boat onto

the beach. Oliver, Ben, Warne, and the marines clambered out of the small vessel.

Ben staggered as he waded toward the beach. Not long now until he’d be actually facing off against pirates.

Water foamed around his ankles, trying to pull him back into the sea. He struggled against the tug of the water.

“Look lively, Priestley,” Oliver snapped.

Ben pushed onto the sand and joined the others as they scrambled up a sloping hill. A fringe of spiny palm trees stood in

whispering sentry, but there were no villagers to witness their ascent.

A pale thin shape flickered at the edge of the trees. Ben whirled, cutlass out. Only palms swayed in the slight breeze, their

fronds taunting as they bent in the wind.

The marines chuckled as Ben sheepishly sheathed his blade.

“Be chary, Priestley.” Oliver shook his head. “You’ll gut one of our own men before even clapping eyes on a pirate.”

“Aye,” Ben said, then added at the lieutenant’s hard stare, “sir.”

They emerged on the edge of the town, where the dilapidated timbered buildings were more scattered apart. At once, people

nearby spotted them and hastened away or darted into structures, slamming doors behind them. Though St. Gertrude was known

as a pirate haven, where law had little weight, no one wanted to be caught in any potential crossfire.

“Word is that pirate captains are all gathered at someplace called the Wig and Merkin,” Ben said to Oliver and Warne.

The officers strode in the direction of the tavern, and Ben quickly followed. They passed cluttered shops filled with stolen

merchandise, and shabby doss-houses where those that didn’t run away lolled on porches or catcalled from open windows.

“We ought to approach it from the side,” Ben said to Oliver’s back. “Not through the front door.”

“We’ll go straight in.” Oliver spoke over his shoulder without breaking stride. “Any attack will be met head-on, with the

full confidence and conviction of the British navy.”

“And here’s my contribution,” Warne added, his hands forming patterns in the air. As he did, fiery energy collected around

his fingers. He tapped each of the marine’s cutlasses and the bayonets of their muskets. Power seeped from his fingers into

the steel, making the metal glow.

Grinning, one of the marines swiped his blade through a thick wooden column. The wood split apart as if it was only a twig.

The roof it supported slanted and, groaning, collapsed. A man in a stained waistcoat yelled in indignation, but no one paid

attention.

When Warne reached for Ben’s cutlass, Ben pulled back.

“I’ll do this on my own,” Ben answered.

The mage shrugged. “Matters little to me what you do, Priestley.”

Ben said nothing as he kept pace with the landing party, striding over the uneven and rutted dirt road leading to the center

of town. His gaze was never still, moving from building to building, alley to alley. Faces appeared and retreated into the

shadows cast by oily torchlight. The smell of unwashed human bodies, rum, and roasting meat clung to the lanes that wove through

the settlement.

Even at this late hour of the night, a thick and heavy heat lay upon the streets.

Perspiration made Ben’s shirt cling to his back.

A shame that officers couldn’t wear the lightweight loose shirts and billowing pants favored by sailors and citizens, but appearances had to be kept up, and so he was dressed in a full-skirted dark blue coat over a long gray waistcoat, his gray breeches tucked into tall leather boots. At the least he was properly armed.

“Ahead.” Ben pointed toward the two-story building on a corner. As they neared, many raucous voices tumbled out. The tavern

was full to bursting with buccaneers.

Ben’s skin went hot and tight.

Oliver and the marines pushed forward, striding quickly toward the tavern. Ben hurried to come abreast of the lieutenant.

“I strongly suggest we go in through the side,” Ben said to Oliver’s stern profile. “Otherwise, they’ll flee ahead of our

entry.”

“A sleeping incantation could subdue some of their numbers before we even set foot inside,” Warne offered.

“Silence, both of you,” Oliver snapped. “We attack through the front—now!”

The lieutenant charged through the tavern’s open doorway. Marines surged in behind him. Ben stood in the street, then took

a breath.

He stepped into the tavern. At the same time, someone inside cried out, “Weigh anchor! ’Tis the navy!”

A cascade of pirates tried to push through the front door. Ben shouldered into them. Unlike the orderly appearance of the

navy, the pirates were a collection of men both garish and ragged. Some wore coats with embroidered cuffs and gaudy buttons,

with gold glinting from their ears and gemstones on their fingers. Others were grimy and unkempt, threadbare clothing stained,

and their hair caked with God knew what. Yet from the ostentatious to the shabby, they all had the same greed and viciousness

in their gazes. None of them valued human life over treasure and plunder.

Chaos was everywhere as the armed marines clashed with the buccaneers. The marines’ magic-charged cutlasses slashed through tables and bucklers as though the heavy wood and metal shields were made of paper.

Ben struggled to grab a blond pirate by the sleeve.

“Where is Jacob Van Der Meer?” he bellowed at the struggling man. “Louis Dupont? Diego Sanchez?”

“Piss off, navy man.” The pirate shoved at Ben. Buffeted by a human tide of fleeing buccaneers, Ben staggered. His grip slipped

and the pirate disappeared into the throng.

A jet of fire shot toward Ben, flung by a pirate mage. Ben ducked. Heat from the spell sizzled along his back.

Hell . He’d never had magic used against him.

Ben straightened and elbowed the mage in the face. The magic user fell to the ground, and fleeing pirates stepped on and over

his prone body.

Jostling against the escaping buccaneers, he fought to grab another pirate, a man with half a nose. There was too much pandemonium,

and he couldn’t get a decent grip before the ruffian was borne away on a human tide.

Ben’s chance to capture and interrogate the pirates was slipping through his fingers. The rough plaster walls of the building

shook, and any second the melee would bring the roof down on everyone’s heads.

A blast of hot, crackling magic detonated behind him, throwing him onto a quaking staircase that led to a second floor.

He leapt to his feet, struggling for balance as the stairs shuddered beneath him. The lower half of the staircase crumbled.

There was no choice but to go up.

A glimpse of someone with long red hair caught Ben’s attention. A barmaid, no doubt, caught up in the turmoil, trapped at

the top of the stairway and in need of aid.

Ben took the remaining stairs two at a time, until he reached the landing.

“Miss, you must come with me,” he said. “I’ll get you to safety.”

“Just the same,” the woman answered in the flat accent of a Colonial, “your help isn’t wanted.”

Only then did Ben realize that the barmaid was wearing a full billowing shirt, leather tunic, and snug breeches with boots that climbed up to her thighs. With her own

brace of pistols, her cutlass, and the dagger poking up over the top of her boot, he’d never seen any woman so well armed.

Hair the color of the burning sky at sunset trailed in a braid down her back, and though it wasn’t possible to tell the hue

of her eyes in the candlelight, they gleamed with intelligence and determination.

In her hand, she held a shield made of glowing energy, carrying it with the confidence of one who was well-familiar with wielding

magic.

She was no tavern wench. She was Alys Tanner, the captain of the pirate vessel the Sea Witch .

And a witch herself.

Her attention ricocheted between him and the window she stood before. The glow of her magical shield revealed what appeared

to be writing on the glass.

Before he could make out what the inscription said, Alys Tanner threw her energy shield through the window, shattering the

glass. She gave him a tiny ironic salute before diving through the open pane.

Ben hesitated. And then he leapt after the pirate witch into the darkness.