by Raine Miller
Three days later, she discovered her mirror gone from her pack.
CHAPTER 16
He ordered the ship leave St. Marteen after stepping back aboard. He savored the experience of the short visit with Monsieur Jason of the dyers guild, to make plain his unhappiness at the treatment of Mrs. Pawes. They’d do damage to themselves, waiting for his curse to strike them. It wouldn’t—he already knew that. The situation fell too far from him personally.
The amusement found by worrying them would suffice.
The Immortal dropped anchor off the small baths the Quill’s crew preferred, and he left them to entertain themselves. He carried a small pack to the other side of the peninsula, aiming for the large bath he’d enjoyed with Mrs. Pawes.
The shadows lengthened into true dusk while he cleansed himself, using the powder Mama Lu gave him. He waited for dark and pulled out the mirror. He’d wrapped it well, protecting the glass from accidentally breaking. According to Mama Lu, this mirror was a precious gift. He would make certain he returned it to Emily intact.
He traced the face of the Kraken, almost smiling at the black eyes, so evident in the bleached white of the rest. He ran fingers up and down the tentacles. He swore, they almost gripped him. He didn’t know where this artifact came from, but it was powerful. He set it down and arranged spell items upon it. First, the needle he’d used to place Emily’s nipple ring. The one she used upon him. A small scrap of fabric, he’d collected their combined sexual fluids with. He lifted that to his nose first and inhaled slightly.
Divine.
A hair from his head and a hair from hers. And lastly, the seal from the last letter he’d received from Mick, denouncing him. It held fury and anger. But it also acknowledged their long friendship. The letter he kept—the seal would suffice to make the connection.
A sliver of moon rose from the sea as he walked into the surf. The water chilled him slightly, but nothing like the nightmare the night Emily held him. He’d seen her, Glacious. A frost appeared on the glass and her eyes studied him. Studied them.
He shook the memory off, praying it had been nothing more than a lingering effect from the nightmare. He walked until the water hit him below his waist and stopped. He held the mirror flat, barely above the water, as Mama Lu told him. A ripple of water reached for it, which was certainly strange. Well, spells should be unusual. He lowered it minutely, and the next ripple kissed the mirror, stirred the powder Mama Lu told him to sprinkle atop the rest.
A ripple flowed away from him, counter to the sea’s course. It disappeared toward the horizon, barely visible in the bare light of a crescent moon. And he waited. Mama Lu said to be patient.
“Ya gonna get a sign. Some message or vision ’bout what way ta go. Wait for it!”
He heard her melodic cadence even now, floating above the sea. The quiet of the night, the lack of any breeze, nothing stirred the trees at his back. No birds called. He looked up at the stars; they blazed down at him.
He sighed and turned his head back to the horizon.
He fought the instinct to scramble away from the great, bulky head of the albino Kraken, not three feet from him, bobbing above the waterline. He swallowed and mastered his fear, while his heart galloped loud enough for the world to hear.
Two tentacles, wider than his waist, drifted to his sides. A fingerling tip brushed the back of his left thigh. He’d never felt so exposed, so vulnerable, small, and insignificant in his entire life.
Gazing into those black eyes, he slowly relaxed. There was no threat there. Simply interest.
Another tentacle snaked up his back, draped across his shoulder like the arm of a casual friend. A suction cup the size of his palm paused at his pierced nipple, brushing the metal as if tasting it.
Wonder where Mama Lu got this ring? It seemed to interest the Kraken.
They eyed each other—two old warriors, in a moment out of time.
He broke the silence. “Old Monster, you know me.”
A blown breath stirred his long hair. It hinted at a depth of ocean impossible to imagine. Cold, colder than Glacious. He shivered.
The head rose, until they were eye to eye.
“I’ll lead you to her, if you will come. I know she hides from you. She steals from you,” he whispered. They were two Old Monsters, conspiring in the night to take down an evil woman who haunted them both. “Help me protect the woman I care for from the ice queen, Old Monster, and I will give you whatever you desire. Anything.”
He should have said he loved. He knew it, but the words stuck in his throat.
A small tentacle slipped from the water and swept the items from the glass. He peered at the mirror. Glacious’ ice palace rose from its surface. It spun and shattered, pieces floated atop the reflection, sank away.
He chuckled. Another sweep of that tentacle left something. He picked it up and held it to the scant light. A white disc on a slender chain. He studied it and finally the image came clear. An etched Kraken.
“For my woman?” He stopped, looking up. The Kraken was gone.
He’d received the only answers he was going to get. He’d take the disc to Lu. Clearly, the Kraken would help with Glacious. What it would ask in return he didn’t know. But he’d pay whatever was asked. He draped the chain over his head and returned to the shore.
He’d get the mirror back to Emily in Tortuga. Ten days remained until the party. Afterward, he would sail north to find his queen and bring about her destruction to return a free man or die trying.
***
Emily returned to the ship with a sense of unease. She’d barely slept the one night she’d spent in the boarding house. Instead, she stood at the small window, staring out at the city. It wasn’t a busy port, like Tortuga. Once night fell, it fairly closed its doors and rolled up its streets. She had nowhere to spend her restlessness.
She fretted. What did he mean? Those words he’d spoken, as he woke from the nightmare haunted her. I felt them, I felt them all?
What did he feel? And what had he seen, or thought he’d seen? What would make the man she’d come to know exhibit such fear? Was it personal fear or was she involved? Just too many questions and no answers. No wonder sleep proved evasive.
She breathed on the window, leaving a small vapor cloud. She traced his initials, AS. An impish grin crossed her face.
Wonder if his middle name begins with an ‘S’?
It would leave her a legitimate insult, since he’d ruled out SOB and bastard. Quite clever of him, actually. She wiped out the initials and sat back on the bed.
What would scare him? With his curse, he couldn’t be scared of enemies, of accidents, food poisoning, infections…. She played with the ring at her nipple. Fear of infection kept her from doing this more than fear about how it might look to others. She never truly cared about things like that. Well, not with physical things.
She labored at being polite. She did her best to be thoughtful and aware of how others might be hurt by what she said or did. If her appearance offended someone? Fuck it. But it had bothered Tom.
Insecurities plague everyone, she figured. Again, what would make Silvestri insecure? A threat to the security his curse offered?
Though she didn’t think he enjoyed his curse. Or consider it an agent of security. A beautiful woman offered him good luck, and being fifteen, he took it without a thought. She didn’t know his exact age, but he’d carried the weight of that decision a long time.
And could claim no friends, no family, no one to talk with because of it. He didn’t trust his crew, that much was certain. And that confused her. A captain should be able to rely on his crew for more than just practical matters. She supposed he believed in their ability to run the ship, to obey orders, but not with any sense of camaraderie.
The idea of living so long aboard a ship without a friend made her sad.
Her life was solitary, too. Even when Tom was alive, they lived a lonely sort of life. They went out to events like the pirate festival, renaissance fairs and other historical
enactment celebrations. They went to science fiction conventions, attended concerts and craft fairs, then they went home. They never had company over, never went to the homes of others for dinners, or parties.
It wasn’t strange to her. It was how they lived.
Here, in this odd delusion she presently inhabited, society was different. The crew of the Quill certainly did their best to afford privacy to each other, but not to the extent she was familiar with. They often left the shower with towels barely wrapped about themselves. Sometimes they sprawled about the deck, mostly nude, to dry after a good swim.
No one hid who they slept with or when.
Save for her. But she was sleeping with the enemy.
Which turned her thoughts to Mick. Did he actually hate Silvestri? She entertained some doubts. Climbing off the bed, she paced in the small confines of her room.
Were they enemies? Silvestri didn’t act like an enemy. He went out of his way to avoid the Quill . Was it to protect Mick?
Who was she protecting by remaining quiet about her rendezvous with Silvestri?
A sharp pain rose between her eyes, heralding the advent of a headache. With a curse, she threw on some clothes and left the room. Deserted streets might be the cure she needed.
Hours later, she sat on the sea wall, staring out at the stars. They touched the horizon, the night was that dark. A world with no air pollution or electric lights to obscure the night sky.
Her headache faded, but her heart felt raw. She wiped at a tear trailing down her face.
She wasn’t lying to the Quill about Silvestri. She simply wasn’t talking about her meetings with him. She wasn’t ashamed; she didn’t want to hurt them.
Oh, hell.
She bowed her head and let the tears fall. She was terribly confused.
Did it count if you lied to a delusion?
The sun rose while she trudged back to her room, still without answers. When she rejoined the Quill , she answered questions about the dyers with some bitterness. Her ill humor registered with the rest.
Janey poked at her. “Because they were idiots, don’t mean you have to be.”
Emily almost snapped back at the vibrant woman, but held her tongue. She straightened her back and took a deep breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I barely slept last night and it was disappointing, how nasty they were.”
“They’re mostly Frenchman—they were born nasty,” Tink commented from the stairs, where she used an extremely wicked looking knife to carve on a bit of wood. “Surprised they even offered you anything. Most unlike them.”
“They only wanted two ledgers. I doubt they even kept them. They probably sold them.” Emily tried to answer the comment without a lie. Maybe Silvestri paid them. He might have!
“They wanted something more than ledgers. You do good work, but ledgers can be purchased other places. You use your flower dye on the ones you made them?” Tink asked her, tilting her head at the wood in her hand.
Emily paused to think a minute. Did she?
“Yeah, I did. But they know the flowers—even showed me how they got a weak green from certain leaves. I doubt they cared about that.”
Trying not to lie directly proved difficult.
“Well, you’ll find out eventually why they agreed to it.” Tink sheathed her knife and threw the wood to Emily. “What do you think?”
Emily held it up, squinting. Tink was an excellent wood carver, but her subjects sometimes were hard to figure out. She turned the slender bit of wood in her hand and suddenly realized what she held. She grinned.
“A prick knife? This is quite cool. I like how you actually caught the bulbous tip and yet made it sharp.” She tossed it back to Tink. “If there were mail here, it would make a great letter opener.
Tink tossed it back to her. “For you. Seems to be the only prick you’ll touch.”
Emily froze, struck to the bone by Tink’s comment. The blood rushed to her face, and she fought not to retort with the news that her lover saw her well acquainted with his prick, thank you very much!
Janey must have read her stillness as hurt and quickly jumped in. “You sample enough prick for twelve sailors, Tink. Pawes can be particular if she chooses. When she’s ready, she’ll find someone.” She turned her back on the sharp-tongued quartermaster and linked her arm with Emily. “We’re heading back to Nassau. The tailors should be done with our outfits. We can shop for accessories and leave for Tortuga after.”
Emily allowed herself to be led off, gripping the prick knife tightly. Tink was a bitch.
Two days later they sailed through a small storm, delaying their arrival at Nassau. They would have to raise every sail to reach Tortuga in time to peruse the shops before the party.
Emily faced the tailor while he spread his hands in apology. “Merci! I am sorry! My assistant made the mistake, Madam! Your blouse is done and it is quite lovely, I assure you. But it is already speeding its way to Tortuga. Take this.”
He handed her a folded bit of paper. “The blouse will be at this location. My friend, Mr. Reibe will see the mistake on the invoice and hold it, waiting to return it to me. This note will see him hand it over to you!”
Janey held up her finished dress, beaming at the lovely mix of green and gold the man put together for the skirt portion. “Don’t worry, Pawes! You can pick it up in Tortuga and get a skirt at the same time. Mr. Reibe has a nice shop.”
“Yes! Yes! He does! Madam, you’ll be pleased, I assure you!” He bowed and backed away, turning to help another customer.
Emily swallowed her disappointment. She never had good luck with special orders. Looked like this bit of reality followed her into insanity.
They returned to the ship and raised sail for Tortuga.
He wouldn’t be there, she knew. He wouldn’t risk facing Mick’s anger, real or not.
She unpacked her bag from St. Marteen, searching for the perfume bottle Silvestri gave her. He’d carefully shown her how to seal it back up the morning they’d returned to port. She pulled out the bag her mirror normally rested in, only to discover it was gone. A stiff bit of paper had been inserted in the bag to hold the shape.
“Those fuckers!” she hissed. “God damned dyers! I’ll sic him on them! Must be that Monsieur Pannsil!” She’d been careful but he’d seen the mirror despite her care. She’d pulled it out to see on how badly a splash of dye marred her breeches, and the mirror stowed in a pocket. She shouldn’t have check it while he stood there. Damn it! He’d asked about it, and she’d hidden it deep in her bag afterward.
He’d tried to buy it from her!
“That prig nosed bastard, son of a diseased camel!”
“You all right?” A soft knock came at her cabin door.
She took a deep breath to calm herself, took the step and half to the door and opened it.
Davis stood there, looking concerned.
“I’m fine. Only found something missing from my bag. Probably one of the dyers. I’ll see if I can get it back next time we’re on St. Marteen, but it pisses me off!” She stepped outside the cabin. “Join me in a drink?”
“Of course. You’re not missing one of your knives, I hope?” He followed her to the galley. She reassured him that her knives were safe and secure. She managed to fend off questions about what was missing.
She didn’t lie.
CHAPTER 17
He waited for her at the dressmaker’s shop. Mr. Reibe expressed pleasure at receiving the business, even at the last minute. He’d taken the blouse and used it to create something sublime. Silvestri paid well for the dress. The shoes he pulled out of his stash on the Immortal. He’d known long ago these were special, and once he’d touched Emily’s feet, he knew why he’d hidden them away.
He’d seen the Quill sail in an hour ago. The Immortal set anchor several miles away. Ascertaining that Captain Jezebel’s favorite shops were much further down the hill, he’d set up in the back of this shop to wait.
The Immortal left him the day before and he’d
used his time well. After the party, he’d leave and seek out Glacious. But these two days would be spent watching Pawes smile.
When she strode into the shop, one of the workers signaled him of her arrival. He heard the prearranged argument start. Mr. Reibe shouted he had nothing of hers here! That bastard on St. Marteen most likely stole her fabric, or ruined it and tried to fob the mistake off on him. She tried to stay calm—her voice didn’t rise to argue with him.
Alan exited from the back and moved to the front, entering while she grew angry. He liked seeing the color in her cheeks.
“Listen, you jerkwad! I need something to wear tomorrow. I don’t care who fucked up, you show me something or I’ll send Mick from the Quill up here to perch on your porch and drive away every customer from here to next Tuesday!”
Interesting threat. Would Mick do that for her? The idea pricked him. No, Jezebel would have Mick’s balls in a satin bag if he played around on her.
He cleared his throat, entering the shop. She didn’t see him at first. Mr. Reibe looked over her shoulder at him, and she spun, still shouting, “Deal with me, you weasel.” She saw him and stopped, obviously shocked. “Oh, it’s you. No, wait, you can’t be here! What are you doing here?” She blinked at him, the rhythm of her rant interrupted.
“I often shop here, Mrs. Pawes. Has Mr. Reibe done something to anger you?”
“Between him and the twit on St. Marteen, they’ve lost my blouse! Now what will I wear to the party?” She took a step closer to him. “You can’t be here. The Quill is in port,” she said, dropping her voice to a whisper.
“I know that. And I know how to stay out of the way. I heard your voice while walking by, Mrs. Pawes. I’m certain Mr. Reibe will find a garment for you before tomorrow night. Yes, Mr. Reibe?” He raised his eyebrows, and as arranged, the tailor took a step back and bowed, babbling apologies.
Silvestri took Emily’s arm. “Come, we’ll return tomorrow, and you will look spectacular, I’m sure.”
She sighed and took his arm.
Once outside, she nervously examined the street, her eyes darting down the road, tilting her head as if she could see around corners. “Honestly, you can’t know where he’ll wander!”