Death by Ploot Ploot

by Dara Joy

  The cutlass left its scabbard in seamless coordination with the pirate’s boots hitting the wooden planks of the deck. “My good friend, Creaze.”

  The Panther held the blade right to the slaver’s throat. The rest of his men followed, poised for battle.

  “Now, now, Capt’n.” Creaze held his hands up. “No need to get yourself in an uproar. I was just helping you out, I was.”

  The man at least had sufficient survival instincts to not pretend ignorance. “Helping me, is it, then?”

  Creaze swallowed. Carefully. The blade was resting snugly against his bobbing Adam’s apple. “Aye. I gots what yer want. Take it! I’ll give y’ no trouble.”

  Slash spit on the deck, disappointed that there was to be no disagreement over the matter. “Bah!” What was a proper raid without a little spilt blood? “Might as well have stayed in the hold liquefying my innards on some grog,” he groused to Hack.

  “Aye, the Captain appears a mite let down too. It’s a real shame he won’t have to run the man through.

  What a bugger that stinkin’ Creaze is!”

  “Good of you to so easily relinquish what you should never have had in the first place, Creaze.” The Panther smiled at the picaroon.

  Creaze started to smile back, and even attempted a nod, when the Panther’s pale eyes glowed eerily at him in the moonlight. His expression stilled, half-baked.

  “I thought I made myself perfectly clear when we met at that tavern, Willie. What part did you not understand?”

  The Panther’s deadly tone sent chills skipping down Creaze’s back. He nervously ran his finger around his collar. “I-I was going to split the spoils with you, Panther. God’s teeth, I’d never cut you out of that.”

  “And tell me... Why would I believe that?”

  The pirate’s low, silky voice totally unnerved Creaze. “Be-because I know you’d hunt me down and kill me if I did aught else?”

  “Correct.”

  Keeping his blade tightly pressed to the man’s neck the infamous pirate captain paced slowly in front of the slaver. “So what makes you think I won’t kill you either way?” He flicked the blade, slightly nicking the skin. A bead of blood welled up.

  Creaze began to sweat profusely.

  “C’mon, now, you’d not kill your old friend, Willie.

  Remember, I was the one what warned you when y’

  were in bad trouble that time back in Barbados. Y’ got away with yer hide intact, didn’t ya?”

  Only because in warning him, Tyler was able to save Creaze’s neck as well. It was not the first time he had reminded Tyler of the occasion. He viewed the slaver suspiciously through half-lowered lids.

  Finally making his mind up, he dropped the blade slightly. “Consider that card played.”

  “Warning taken.” Creaze gingerly pushed the sharp blade further away with his index finger. “Eh, come have a drink of grog, Panther. Willie will fix ye up.”

  Tyler had no intentions of drinking with the man.

  And his patience was wearing thin. “Where is it?”

  Creaze sighed. “It’s in me cabin, in the trunk by the window.”

  Tyler turned on his boot heel.

  “Panther.”

  Tyler glanced at him over his shoulder.

  “Leave me other ‘cargo’ be, if you will. It’s got nothing to do with this and I got plans fer it.” He gave the pirate a shark-like grin.

  Thinking he probably had a doxy on board, the Panther snorted, disgusted. “I want only the package.

  I have no interest in anything else.”

  He would soon rue that statement.

  Chapter Twenty

  The first indication that all was not well came with the pounding of footsteps.

  Ginny awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of sailors running to and fro over the decks.

  Throwing back the covers, she dashed to the porthole. Standing on tiptoe, she peeked outside.

  A large, black ship was silhouetted by the moon’s glow. It rode upon the waves right next to them.

  Opening the porthole slightly, she heard men above scrabbling across the deck. Cries of “pirates!”

  And “the Panther!” floated down to her.

  Ginny clutched her nightrail, horrified.

  This couldn’t be happening! There were pirates out there? They were being boarded by the dreaded Panther?

  She gazed up just in time to see a swashbuckling figure arc through the air to land on the deck above.

  Good lord, they were done for! She had to warn Mabel!

  Ginny ran to the tiny room which connected to hers by way of a small door. She flung the door open only to discover that Mabel was not in the cabin. Where was she?!

  Sometimes the older woman had trouble sleeping and liked to walk at night. She often did this in the hallways of their house in the early hours; the poor woman had probably been on deck when the fiends attacked. Oh, Mabel, please be safe.

  There was a commotion on deck. Heavy footsteps were coming her way...

  Frantically, she looked for a place to hide.

  Unfortunately, Captain Creaze’s cabin was extremely sparse. There wasn’t anywhere to go.

  Thinking quickly, she dived into bed and pulled the heavy counterpanes around and over her, bunching the material up into mounds. Then she scooted as deep as she could into the bedding. It was foolish to hide under the bedcovers, she knew; but it was her only option.

  Perhaps the night would aid her, and she would not be noticed; the lantern did not throw off too much light.

  The door crashed open as a booted foot kicked it in.

  Someone strode purposefully into the room.

  Slithering down to the middle of the bed, she carefully peeked out from under the edge of the blanket, trying not to shake with fear.

  A pirate stood in the center of the room.

  Tall and well-built; he cut quite a dashing figure in the flickering lantern light. A wicked looking sword hung from his side, and a pistol was tucked into his waistband.

  There was a bandana tied around his forehead.

  Dark, wavy hair flowed down his back, and a few thin braids trailed over each shoulder. Ginny squinted in the low light. Something was tied to the ends of those braids...

  She shuddered as she recalled Lord Gingridge’s description: “... hair... flows down his back... some of it in narrow braids... and at the ends of those braids are...

  human bones...”

  Ginny trembled, terrified.

  It was the deadly Panther, himself!

  She covered her mouth before a squeak of fear could issue forth.

  The man strode purposely across the room. Stopping in front of the porthole he bent before the small trunk on the floor. It was not one of hers; it belonged to Captain Creaze. Using the hilt of his sword, the marauder hacked the lock off with one powerful swipe.

  He seemed to be looking for something in particular–

  he didn’t ransack the entire trunk.

  She knew he found what he was looking for when he gave a small grunt of satisfaction. Something clothwrapped?

  He opened the bundle and seemed satisfied with the contents.

  He stood and pivoted to leave the cabin.

  Moonlight streamed in from the porthole outlining his face. For an instant, the pirate’s features were perfectly captured in silhouette before shading back into relief.

  The ruggedly handsome visage was etched sharply in her mind.

  Ginny gasped aloud.

  The pirate froze instantly.

  In the blink of an eye, he pulled the pistol from his waistband and pointed it straight at the bed. Moon rays sliced across his face, highlighting those unforgettable eyes. They glowed in the shadowed cabin like crystalline waterfalls. “Come out,” he ordered.

  Ginny sat up, throwing the covers off. “You!”

  It was difficult to say who was more shocked.

  For a good few seconds they simply stared at each other, stunned. It was Ty
ler who found his voice first.

  “What are you doing here?” he snapped.

  Ginny placed her hands at her waist. “I might ask the same of you– and why are you impersonating the Panther?”

  The soft laugh chilled her to her bones.

  Her mouth fell open.

  He arched that maddening brow of his.

  Her hands covered her mouth. “I can’t believe it! It isn’t possible! You are the-the scourge of the seven seas?”

  “I would sweep you a bow, my lady, but I fear any display of manners at this point would be wasted.”

  She gave him a horrified look.

  Then began tossing pillows at him. Ginny was plenty peeved; he had deceived her. And she could not seem to get rid of him. “Be gone, thou foul wretch! Out! Out damn spot!”

  He planted his hands at his hips and cocked his head to the side. “This is hardly a Shakespearean tragedy.”

  “It is to me!” Having run out of pillows, she scanned the bedside table seeking more ammunition. The small wooden tobacco box would do nicely.

  It sailed by his head as he smoothly sidestepped it.

  “The question remains, my sweet, as to what you are doing on board this ship– or any ship for that matter. I thought my instructions to you were perfectly clear.”

  Ginny was furious. “Your instructions? Who gives a fig for your instructions!”

  Only about every seaman who ever crossed his path.

  He simply stared at her, eyelids lowered.

  There was not a trace of the wastrel Lord Devon in front of her. In his place stood a hardened pirate through and through. She was shocked at the transformation.

  Although there had been a few hints along the way. Like that time in the garden and at Frocks...

  A disembodied voice yelled down the hatch. “Are y’ all right down there, Capt’n?”

  “Aye, I’ll be up anon, Cappy.” It was best not to remain on Creaze’s ship longer than he had to; they had come aboard with a small contingency. One never knew when foolish bravado would strike– even to one as unimaginative as Creaze.

  Ginny nervously smoothed down the front of her nightrail as she kneeled on the bed. The fine cotton lawn was somewhat transparent. Unfortunately, her actions brought direct attention to the dilemma. His focus shifted to her gown, then his eyes flicked up to meet her defiant stare. A slow smile curved his cheek.

  “Stop that.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  “I’m afraid I need to take my leave, madam.”

  She motioned him out, as if brushing the dust balls from the dirty cabin.

  His eyes narrowed. “I don’t think you quite have the way of it,” he murmured softly.

  That said, he bent a shoulder and before she knew what he was about tossed her over it.

  The breath temporarily left her body with a grunt.

  She found her voice quickly, though.

  “Are you mad?” she shrieked. “Let me down!”

  “No.”

  He headed for the door, dipping low to get under a beam.

  “I am going to the Carolinas!” she yelled, pounding his broad back.

  “Maybe someday. Not today.” He continued on, unperturbed.

  “Argh!” Her rump wiggled next to his face.

  He looked at it askance. “I’m getting rather good at this position with you.” He slapped her backside.

  “Let. Me. Down. You. Barbarian.”

  As if he would ever leave her to Creaze’s men. “You should thank your lucky stars I came upon you, madam.”

  He shuddered to think what would have happened to her if he had not intercepted the Abernathy. What were the odds of this chain of events?

  “I am beginning to believe you are my fate,” he murmured against her buttock.

  “The only thing you are fated for is the gallows!” She tried to kick the rogue, but he subdued her legs easily enough. They had already reached the main deck. She got an upside down view of several men standing with weapons drawn. His scruffy crew, no doubt.

  Then she spotted Captain Creaze. He was surrounded by several ruffians who held him in check with drawn swords.

  “Captain Creaze, help me!” she yelled out to him.

  Creaze, noticing the Panther hoisting his best prize, did make a plea, but it was not the one she expected.

  “Ach, Panther, leave that one to me; we had a bargain didn’t we?”

  Tyler swung around with Ginny dangling from his broad shoulder. “I don’t recall any bargain between us, Creaze.”

  Ginny tossed out, “Oh, I assure you; he doesn’t understand the meaning of keeping a bargain!”

  Tyler lightly slapped her backside to shut her up.

  Creaze’s expression turned speculative. “What she mean?”

  “I have no idea; nor do I care. This lovely girl comes with me. Consider her forfeit– as recompense for your over eager initiative. Having her warm my bed might mitigate my present cold thoughts of you, Creaze.”

  “What?!” Ginny tried unsuccessfully to twist away from his iron grip. “I’ll warm no one’s bed, you cur!”

  Creaze scratched his ear. He had lost the Lion’s package. That was plain and understood. But this little prize had nothing to do with the Panther.

  Try telling the pirate captain that.

  Creaze clenched his fists. The sweet bit was forfeit to him. As delectable as she was, she wasn't worth the possibility joining the late Mr. Abernathy's underwater tea party.

  If he objected too much, he was sure the Panther would issue the invitation.

  At the other end of the deck, Mabel Dooley struggled against two pirates who flanked her on either side. "Let me go, ye dankish, dog-hearted scuts!"

  Tyler's men watched in awe, mightily impressed with the older woman's creative use of the king's tongue.

  "Tell them to unhand me, y' onion-eyed piece of ratsbane!"

  That was flung at Cappy, who, like the others, was agog at the hearty spleen of the woman.

  "Did ye not hear me, ye tottering, ill-natured–"

  One icy glance from the Panther was all it took to shut her up.

  The woman seemed suddenly stupefied as her mouth literally dropped open. The Panther's pastel eyes narrowed in warning and the fight went completely out of her.

  He spun around to leave the ship when Ginny, still dangling from his shoulder, whispered near his ear, "You must take Mabel with us."

  He paused.

  The older woman would never leave her charge. He was glad of that– but she should not have allowed this journey in the first place. He would need a few words later with Mabel Dooley. “Take the other woman too; she’ll be a good bed warmer for my men.”

  Creaze cringed. “Not the hearty servant woman too, Capt’n!”

  Cappy placed his cutlass at Mabel’s back.

  Dutifully, she walked to the edge of the ship. In states ranging from bemused to slack-jawed, both crews watched as the scruffy little quartermaster attempted to hoist the hefty mob-capped woman over to the other ship.

  First, he bent at the knees and tried to swing her over his bony shoulders.

  Like a weighted sack of potatoes, Mabel remained unmoved.

  Cappy walked around the ‘problem’, scratching his stringy hair. Muttering to himself, he grabbed one of the grappling ropes, tied it around her middle and called out to his ship. “Heave-ho!”

  Whereupon, Mabel Dooley (arms crossed and a set frown on her ruddy face) was hoisted through the air by no less than six grunting, sweating swabbees.

  “Ginny! Ginny!” Waving a lacy handkerchief, Lord Henry came charging up on deck, wig askew, in a striped nightshirt and sleeping cap.

  Tyler’s shoulders bunched. Good lord, was that nitwit here too?

  Even with his pirate conscience, Tyler could not leave Ginny’s cousin to the likes of Creaze. “And the fop as well,” he grimaced through clenched teeth.

  Hack and Slash gave him a peculiar look.

  Creaze was not happy. “C�
�mon, Panther, at least leave us the bleedin’ fop!”

  “Nay.” He turned to Hack and Slash. “Get her belongings.

  A lady such as this will have finery we can trade.” They ran to do his biding.

  “Mrowwwwr.”

  Tyler just stared expressionless at the sky. “Do not tell me you brought the bloody cat as well,“ he hissed.

  “If you leave him here, I will kill you in your sleep, you sodden pirate,” she threatened.

  Tyler stomped over to Charles and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck with his free hand. The fat cat went limp and waited (aye, waited!) to be ferried aboard his ship.

  At this point, he realized that his men were hoisting dozens upon dozens of trunks up on deck. “What is going on here?” he roared.

  Hack stuttered a reply in the face of his Captain’s ire.

  “You-you told us ta get the belongings, sir.”

  The Panther looked about ready to murder something. Men from both crews took a step back.

  “You travel with all these trunks, madam?” His voice sounded as it did right before there was a skewering.

  “Oh, they ain’t hers, Captain.” Slash came forward.

  “They’s all his.” He pointed at Henley.

  Tyler gave the fop a fulminating glare.

  Lord Henry squared his shoulders. “A gentleman has requirements. Fashion is a demanding mistress, after all.”

  Hack screwed up his angular face. “Wot he say?

  Blimey, he got a mistress?”

  Even Creaze snickered at that one.

  “Wot shall we do, Capt’n?” Slash asked.

  “Bother it, take the lot!” he snapped.

  With that he leapt over to the other ship. Wife and cat in tow.

  Ginny’s complaints trailed after them. “I do not wish to be your wife!”

  * * *

  Creaze shook his head.

  Perhaps the foolish chit thought the pirate aimed to marry her? He’d seen his share of naive girls who had no idea what was to befall them in the hands of a pirate crew. Yet... Maybe not.

  Something about the way the Panther handled her tipped him off. He knew her. Knew her well.

  The thought occurred to Creaze that she might already be the Panther’s wife. If so that bit of information might prove invaluable...