Page 7 of The Summons (Legend of the King’s Ring #1)

B

lake had kept one eye on the surrendered merchantman and one eye on the ensuing altercation between Maston and Charlie. He knew there was bad blood between them, though he knew not the reason. But of all the times for them to cross blades! He had a ship to pillage, and he needed his men to be on the alert should the merchants entertain a reckless thought and pick up arms. He was about to order them to cease their foolishness when Miss Hyde did something so astounding, Blake had to blink twice to ensure his eyes did not deceive him.

The high-bred woman—the little timid mouse—grabbed Charlie’s sword from its sheath and pointed it at Maston. Blake would laugh at the shocked look of indignance on the Frenchman’s face if he had time for such tomfoolery. As it was, his men called to him from the cockboat below.

“Are ye comin’, Cap’n?”

One glance at the merchant schooner told him the crew remained unarmed and ready to be boarded, kept under submission by the twenty muskets in the Summons ’ shrouds and the nine-pounders mounted on her starboard railing.

He marched toward Maston and the girl, plucking his cutlass from his belt, and intending to fling a multitude of curses upon them all when Charlie elbowed Maston in the gut. His bosun bent over groaning, released the knife, and leapt out of the way, cradling his stomach and laughing. Laughing ?

“Well met, ladies. Well met!” the Frenchman managed between moans.

Charlie picked up her knife and stuffed it back into her baldric, casting Maston a seething glance.

Miss Hyde remained frozen, the sword leveled mid-air, and her bottom lip quivering.

“Enough of this!” Blake shouted, halting before the mad trio. “Back to your stations!”

Wind blew a strand of hair into Charlie’s face, and she swept it away, scowling. “It were his fault, Cap’n.”

Maston raised his hands innocently. “I merely asked if the lady wished an escort to her cabin.”

Charlie inched to Miss Hyde’s side and carefully pried the sword from her tight grip. “I thank you, Miss, for your help.”

The lady finally released a breath and nodded. The Summons rolled over a wave. Blake reached out to settle her, but she balanced herself well enough.

Turning to Charlie and Maston, he growled. “I should have you both flogged for such antics during a raid! Now back to work before I dock your portion of the loot!”

“Aye,” they both grumbled as Blake turned to Miss Hyde. “Best get below, Miss.”

Her eyes met his briefly, etched in fear, aye, but also with determination and a strength he’d not expected, before she nodded and descended the hatch.

There was no time to ponder the enigmatic woman as the next three hours were encompassed with boarding the merchant schooner, keeping their crew subdued, and hauling up what turned out to be quite the impressive load of goods from their hull.

Their captain, a giant of a man with a bulbous nose, receding chin, and grey hair that resembled a porcupine was none too pleased to see the wealth he hoped to make stolen by a band of cutthroats.

Blake swept off his tricorn and bowed before the man with a flourish. “I do thank you, Captain, for your generous donation to our cause.”

The man merely scowled and spat to the side. If his eyes were armed, they’d have killed Blake a thousand times over by now. As it was, Blake spun on his heels, descended to the jollyboat, leaving the poor merchant crew alive and well and their schooner still aground on the shoals. With the tide now going out, they’d be unable to free themselves for some time. Curses were hurled at him and his men as they rowed back to the Summons , but Blake could only smile at the plunder they had acquired. ’Twould keep his crew satisfied for quite some time. Yet for Blake, ’twas more than the wealth. A mist of seawater sprayed over him as the boat leapt over the waves. He twisted the Ring on his finger. Once again, it had proven its power—power over tide, waves, and wind. He couldn’t wait to discover what other gifts it held. Gifts that would put Blake in control of not only his destiny, but over the destiny of others as well.

“What is the sum of it?” Blake asked Finn as he entered his cabin several hours later. After he’d gotten the ship underway, he’d been waiting to hear the value of the loot they’d plundered.

Rummy slouched in a chair to the left of Blake’s desk, bottle of rum in his hand, while Maston stood to Blake’s right, fluttering the feather of a quill pen over his cheek.

Finn’s eyes sparkled with greed. He wagged his brows and drew the pipe from his mouth. “A good catch, says I, Cap’n.” He held up a piece of parchment. “Five pounds o’ spices: pepper, nutmeg, and cinnamon. Ten pounds o’ sugar. Eighteen bottles o’ rum.”

At this, Rummy shouted with glee.

“Several bottles o’ some fancy wine, twenty muskets, thirty blades, fifty pounds o’ gunpowder, two trunks full o’ fine clothin’, all velvet an’ lace, dried beans, coffee, salted meat, tobacco. An’ the best part?” He grinned. “A chest full o’ pieces of eight, silver coins, and gold guineas!”

“Quite some haul, Capitaine .” Maston laid down the pen.

“Indeed.” More than Blake had expected on such a small ship.

Bandit obviously agreed as he leapt up and down on Blake’s desk, squealing with enthusiasm. Behind him, a sinking sun spread a rainbow of colors across the horizon, announcing the end of a productive day.

Finn scratched his thick beard and uttered a deep sigh. “Ye’ll get yer five shares, Cap’n. Maston an’ me gets two, an’ the rest o’ the crew gets one, ‘cept Pedro gets half a share.” As if summoned by his name, the lad bounded into the cabin, his admiring gaze on Blake.

Finn growled. “Don’t see why this French popinjay gets as much as me, Cap’n. Don’t seem fair.”

“French what?” Maston fingered the hilt of his cutlass.

“Sink me, I meant no insult. Jist makin’ an observation.” Finn settled his pipe at the corner of his mouth.

“You agreed to the code when you signed on with me,” Blake interjected, gesturing for Maston to stand down.

Pedro stepped forward. “We shouldn’t complain. Captain Keene is the best pirate captain on the Spanish Main! I’m happy wit’ my half share.”

“Cause yer just a silly lad.” Finn mumbled through his pipe, then glanced back at the parchment in his hand.

Something in the way he stared at the list of plunder gave Blake pause. In the five years Finn had sailed with him, he’d become a trusted friend. Still, the quartermaster had taken no pains to hide his lust for wealth. During many a night when they’d both been far too deep in their cups, he had shared with Blake how he’d grown up poor on the streets of Portsmouth and watched his mum and younger brother starve to death. Could Blake trust him with so much wealth?

Could he trust any of them? They were pirates, after all.

“I say this calls fer a celebration.” Rummy attempted to rise but plopped down into his seat again.

“Indeed,” Maston agreed.

It took no further convincing for Blake to open the cabinet and pull out several bottles. He pointed one at Finn. “See to it that the crew gets extra rations of rum this night. We have much to celebrate.”

b

The sun dipped below the horizon, dragging warmth and light over the sea, leaving dark waters in its wake. Emeline turned from the porthole, struck flint to steel, and lit the single lantern left to her in the tiny cabin. Along with the darkness, unnerving sounds rose around her—the eerie whine of a fiddle, a chorus of ribald shanties, shouts, curses, insults, and boasts.

Hence, when a knock rapped on her door, she was hesitant to answer it. When it opened and Charlie’s face appeared around the edge, Emeline breathed a sigh of relief and gestured her inside.

Charlie shut the door behind her and leaned back against it, crossing arms over her leather waistcoat. “You are full o’ surprises, Miss.”

“Please call me Emeline.” She gestured to the chair, but Charlie remained at the door.

“I came to thank you for stepping in today, though I can handle meself wit’ that froggish rake.” Her lips slanted.

“I have no doubt.” Emeline lowered to sit on the bed and hugged herself. “I couldn’t just stand there and let him…” She sighed. “I should be thanking you for coming to my rescue. In truth, I had no idea how I was going to put him off.”

Charlie waved a hand through the air. “I don’t ‘xpect he would have hurt me, an’ he’s not one to force hisself on a woman. Just remember you must ne’er cower before him.” She gave a mischievous grin. “Next time, mention his Negro blood. He hates that.”

“Negro?”

“Aye, word is his father were some wealthy nobleman on Martinique who sired Maston with one of their slaves. When the man’s wife discovered it, she tossed young Maston to the wind.”

Oddly, Emeline suddenly felt sorry for him.

Charlie shook her head. “Don’t you go feeling bad for him,” she said as if reading Emeline’s mind. “He’s no innocent.”

“I heard what you said. How he left that poor woman with child.”

A gust of wind barged in through the porthole, stirring the lantern flame and sending shadows over the bulkhead.

Charlie’s jaw hardened. “She’s not the first either.” She pushed from the door and strode to the window. “Men think they run the world…think they can whisper sweet words to any woman, make promises to love them forever, an’ then leave them wit’ a swelled belly an’ not a coin in their purse.”

Wind tossed Charlie’s hair as she stood at the window, staring out upon the sea, her thoughts seemingly elsewhere. Instantly, her belly swelled like a bloated sail. It looked so real, Emeline sucked in a breath and was about to dash to her friend to help her with whatever malady had come upon her so suddenly.

But the vision—for surely that was all it was—vanished as quickly as it had come. Charlie had been with child. What else could it mean? Confusion racked Emeline’s already rattled mind, for she could not fathom why God showed her these things. “I’ve seen many women left destitute with young ones to care for.”

Facing her, Charlie slammed a hand to her waist. “And jist how would you have seen such things?”

“My family and I,”—sorrow burned behind her eyes at the mere mention of them—“we help the poor.”

“Hmm.” Charlie cocked her head. “Like I said, ne’er met any lady like you, Miss.”

The stomp of footsteps thundered above, accompanied by a fiddle and shouts that grew louder by the minute.

“I must go. You should stay in your cabin tonight.” Charlie headed for the door.

“Why are you not out celebrating with them?”

“The more men drink, the more they turn into dung-souled fools. Best to stay away.” She offered a gentle smile, quite in contrast to her manly demeanor.

“Thank you, Charlie. ’Tis good to have a friend on board.”

At this, one of the woman’s brows lifted. “I will aid you where I can, but I would ne’er defy the cap’n. He’s been good to me.”

Emeline’s stomach sank, but she nodded nonetheless. All hope of asking Charlie for help to escape soared out the window with the evening breeze.

b

Grabbing the bowsprit, Blake lowered to sit on the bow and swung his legs over the bulwarks. The Summons leapt over a swell, then sank into the trough, flinging foamy saltwater onto his bare feet. He shook it off and raised the bottle of rum to his lips, taking a large gulp. Well past midnight, his crew had slunk off to their cots to sleep off the night’s revelry. But he’d been unable to sleep, his spirit as restless as the sea in a summer squall.

Above him, clouds drifted across a velvet sparkling sky that seemed to go on forever. Eternity. Was there such a thing? He twisted the Ring and thought of King Solomon, the wisest and most powerful ruler who’d ever lived. The old Jew said the Ring received its power from God Almighty. Blake had never given much thought to God. If He existed, He certainly hadn’t given much thought to Blake either. Still, the Ring did possess power, but from whence did such power hail?

Wind blasted him, tossing his hair behind him. He closed his eyes. 'Twas not only the Ring that kept him astir, but the lady below deck. A genteel lady by all accounts and yet one who wielded a cutlass with the skill and courage of any pirate.

“I see I’m not the only one who couldn’t sleep.” The deep voice that could only be Sam’s drew Blake’s gaze to the aged surgeon as he shuffled close and gazed over the black sea.

“’Tis been a busy day.” Blake tipped the bottle to his lips once again.

Sam leaned on the railing. “No more than usual.”

“You did not join us to celebrate.”

“You know I don’t indulge in such folly.”

Aye, Blake expected as much. Though Sam rarely disclosed anything of his past or even spoke of himself at all, Blake had learned he’d once been a professor of Natural Philosophy at Oxford. His downfall had something to do with a lady—as downfalls usually did—a betrayal and a sentence aboard a Royal Navy Frigate. Which was where he and Blake had crossed paths. Blake a prisoner and Sam a deserter. Sam needed to disappear from society. Blake needed a surgeon. A deal was made, and Sam aided in Blake’s escape. They’d sailed together ever since, and Blake relied on the elder man’s wise words, for he’d never had a father who offered him such counsel. Still, the man could be rather gloomy at times, often gainsaying Blake’s plans.

“Perhaps ’tis the lady that causes your soul unease,” Sam offered.

Blake twisted the Ring, wishing he could disclose its power to Sam and get his opinion on recent unexplained events. “Nay. I have no time for silly feather-brained females.”

“That pleases me. I intended to warn you against such madness, for she seems quite unlike your prior wenches.”

“Aye, she is remarkable, is she not?” He spoke the words before he realized how true they were. “But never fear, my friend. I intend to put her ashore at the next port.”

“Then why bring her on board in the first place?”

“She had something I wanted. Now that I have it, she is of no further use.” Even as he said the words, he cringed at their cruel ring.

Silence spanned between them for quite some time, as it often did when they were alone together. The Summons continued its gentle curtsey over the dark waters. Blake continued sipping his rum.

Finally, that rum emboldened mind could keep quiet no longer. “What do you know of magical or perhaps godly powers that inhabit ancient artifacts?”

Sam uttered a rare chuckle and glanced at Blake. Moonlight sparkled humor in his eyes. “I’d say there is no such thing. Neither magic. Or God.”

Back in his cabin, Blake pondered Sam’s words as he stood in the dark, staring out the stern windows at the black rolling sea. A heaviness settled on his shoulders at what the wise surgeon had said. If there was no magic, no otherworldly powers…no God, then there was no purpose to any of this. No hope, no reason to go on, save to spend one’s life seeking one’s own pleasure. Yet wasn’t that precisely what Blake had been doing? Chasing power, wealth, revenge? He gripped the black cross around his neck, a symbol of his lack of faith in the God his mother worshipped, a God who led her to cast Blake out onto the street.

Evil laughter spun him around. He peered through the dark cabin but saw no one.

There is no God. There is no God. The black specters returned, shadowy figures billowing in a hellish dance of death.

No hope, no purpose. No joy. No God , they repeated over and over.

Blake fingered the Ring. “Begone!”

The shadows disappeared, but their chanting remained, haunting him through what was left of the night until, by daybreak, his head pounded, his mouth was as dry as a dead sailor’s bones, and even Bandit cowered in a corner, staring at Blake as if he were a ghost.

He hailed Pedro and ordered him to bring the lady at once.