He remembered a story he'd read as a child that took place in medieval times and centered on an old sorcerer whose name he could not recall. One of the sorcerer's more powerful spells magicked time to a halt. A young knight in love with a princess who was set to marry a prince she did not love begged the magician to use the spell on him and the girl, so that they could extend one night into a lifetime. Nathan couldn’t remember exactly how the tale ended, only that it had ended in tragedy. Nevertheless, Nathan wished he knew a sorcerer.
Frustration consumed him. Captain Griffith was sheltering a woman aboard Harbinger without hazarding the consent of his crew. It was becoming obvious that Griffith did not intend her for any kind of ransom, as he originally indicated. Any other man would have been marooned for so blatant a crime. Nathan didn't wish this on Griffith, and he doubted the crew would turn on their overly fortuitous captain, but he thought it profoundly unfair that Griffith should be permitted such privileges while others were strictly forbade them.
He looked to the sea. There was a time when one glimpse was all he needed to bring him contentment. A single day had changed that. Now he viewed the sea as an insurmountable adversary that would ultimately steal him away from the harmony he had discovered on an island in the Bahamas.
ANNABELLE
The pirates would have made her rich, if not for Charles Martel, the owner of the Strapped Bodice, who took a fair portion of every night's wages. Still, she profited well enough to eat, buy suitable clothes, shiny trinkets, and even save a bit, which was more than most women could hope for.
Her troubles were seldom and her occupation far more comfortable than stories alleged. She was well known among the strumpets of the Strapped Bodice, which was the most renowned brothel in the colony. She had no qualms taking pirates into her bed, so long as they paid well enough. It was a job and it paid better than any other that was available to her, and there were so very few jobs available to a woman on a pirate island.
Her career was not nearly as hazardous as gossips that spread with the fervor of a plague would have you believe. She knew for a fact that the rumor of Edward Teach murdering a whore in her brothel was false. Yes, a whore had indeed perished, but she had taken her own life by slicing her wrists. The rumors no doubt started because the whore's suicide took place on the night of Teach's visit. Purely coincidental, though not unlikely, given that Teach frequented the brothel whenever he was in Nassau Port.
Annabelle had known the girl well. Her name was Mary and she had been careless in her whoring, which led to an unwanted pregnancy. Mary's recklessness plunged her into a spiral of depression. She was a fretful woman who had heard horrific tales of botched abortions and was equally terrified by the prospect of raising a child on her own. Annabelle had not been surprised when the girl was found dead.
Pregnancy was one of the worst mistakes a whore could make, and also one of the most frequent. Annabelle was meticulous in her precautions. Her life was not a complicated one, and she had no desire to make it so.
She was thankful, however, that her mother had made that very mistake. Her mother had been seized from a Spanish ship by pirates and, after finding herself stranded on Tortuga, turned to the brothels in order to earn a decent living. Annabelle's father was a random pirate that she would probably never meet, or simply not recognize if she did. She had nightmares about unknowingly bedding her own father.
She was born and raised in a brothel and introduced into the profession at the age of twelve. Shortly thereafter, Annabelle's mother contracted an inexplicable malady that claimed her life all too swiftly. Annabelle hadn’t shed a single tear for her mother, whose affection blossomed for men with deep pockets but rarely for her own daughter.
When Martel moved his business to Nassau, where it was guaranteed to rake in a tremendous profit, he took the best of his whores with him, and Annabelle had swiftly proven his most prized strumpet. "Her skin outshines your best gold," Martel would tell his clients on rare occasions when they actually attempted frugality. "It's a fair exchange as far as you should concern yourself. As for my views, I must have lost a piece of my mind to give her priceless pleasures away, if only for a night, and entreat so scant a sum in return. Take advantage of this fine tender while I'm still inclined to madness."
And never did the pitch fail. Annabelle took to bed every manner of pirate and, after a time, was surprised by none of their sordid eccentricities. In addition to her physical talents, she was gifted in making each man believe that he was different than the one before. In truth, she forgot each as quickly as she took on the next.
Apart from his clothes, there was little about Nathan Adams that resembled the pirates she was used to; he possessed virtues that were notorious for escaping his kind. Nathan was attractive, intelligent, and a romantic.
"You're a terrible pirate," she told him. It was the highest compliment she had ever paid.
He was too good to be true, and she often wondered if his wide-eyed innocence was a ploy. As time progressed, she came to realize that he was interested in no other part of Providence. He had eyes only for her. She could not deny that his affections instilled her with an uncharacteristic bashfulness. Instead of masking her timidity, she used it to her advantage.
In the month they spent together, he treated her like a princess, showering her with extravagant dresses and jewelry. He allowed her to take no other man to bed while he courted her, and overpaid her in exchange for her temporary fidelity. Martel offered no objections once he saw the wages she was collecting from Nathan alone.
By the end of that month, she suspected that the boy had exhausted his earnings. That night, in the privacy of their room, while she was washing her clothes, she spoke her mind. "I'll have no more of it," she said sternly. "You've wasted on me what I reckon most men spend in a lifetime."
"I’ve wasted nothing," he shot back curtly. "It was money well spent."
He'd been distant all day; chuckling faintly at her jests, as though he hadn't really heard anything she'd been saying, but wanted to remain polite.
"What's wrong, Nathan?"
"Nothing."
She tilted her head and smirked, like a knowing wife. She knew he fancied the prospect of marriage, as foolish a notion as that was, so she acted the part. "You're lying."
"Fine," he sighed. "I suppose it's unfair to keep it to myself any longer. Won't make it any less true, will it?"
"What?"
"I leave on the morrow."
The revelation did not impact her as intensely as she pretended. Nathan was a pirate, and a pirate was bound to his ship. A pirate ship never remained in one port for long, not even the best of ports. Nor was it usual for a whore to stay with one pirate for a month, but that is exactly what had happened.
"Oh," was all she said. She knew men hated a stunted, emotionless reaction. She turned away from him and went back to scrubbing a fancy dress against a rippled washboard. Her disappointment was not an act, though it was hardly for the reasons Nathan probably expected; she doubted the next pirate would be as generous with his purse.
"Annabelle . . . " he started.
"I'm not angry," she said too readily, too cheerfully.
"No of course you wouldn't be," he conceded crossly.
"And when will you return?" she asked as heedlessly as possible.
"I don’t know," he replied. There was a long silence. And then she felt his hands on her waist and his breath on her ear. This is how husbands hold their wives, she thought. "But I will return," he whispered.
She didn’t look at him just yet. She knew exactly what he was thinking. He was thinking that if she looked at him, the balance of her emotions would be tipped too far and she would burst into tears.
She stifled a giggle. Men were such simple creatures. Boys were even simpler.
She woke in the middle of the night to find him wide-awake, sitting up and staring pensively through the open window. The candles in the room were extinguished and the only light was that of the moon, wh
ich cast their naked bodies in a ghostly white radiance.
The rustling of palm trees mingled with the endless crashing of waves as each washed over the beach and then retreated back to the sea, one after another.
Annabelle put her hand on Nathan's stomach, brushing the tips of her fingers over his rough abdominal muscles. His belly shuddered in reaction to her touch. She had discovered that he was ticklish and she exploited it at every opportunity.
"Have you slept at all?" she asked.
He shook his head.
"What were you looking at?"
"My ship."
"Show me."
"I’ve shown you a hundred times."
"And I never once believed you." She sat up and snuggled close to him. "Perhaps a hundred and one will do the trick."
He sighed and pointed to the harbor. She followed the line of his finger to the same ship he had indicated before. "Still that one, eh?"
"The very same. Her name is Harbinger. Watch me on the boat tomorrow and see which ship I row to, and you'll know I've not steered you false."
"I believe you," she said, patting his stomach. She had already spied him boating back and forth on a number of occasions, but she enjoyed teasing him. "I'll watch you on the boat, but not to see which ship you board." She realized that part of her truly meant this; she would likely never see him again.
"I would bring you to sea with me," he told her, "if not against the code."
She cackled. "I always get a laugh out of hearing a pirate utter the word ‘code’."
"I was serious."
She chewed her lip penitently. "I know." Stupid boy, she thought. You really do mean it.
"Would you go along if I invited you?"
She shook her head. "No." It was the most honest answer she had ever given him. For all the coin he had emptied into her, she figured she owed him that much in the end.
"Not even if it was fair to take a woman aboard?"
She rolled her eyes. "A woman stuck on a stinking ship full of sweaty pirates? It's nice of you to offer, but I think I'll save my tortures for the fires of Hell, thank you."
LIVINGSTON
"I'm not going."
Livingston furrowed his brow. He was beginning to wonder if young Nathan Adams was more trouble than he was worth. "That's just like your sort," he growled. "You fall on your ass for the first whore what gives your spar a lick."
"I'll not be swayed," Nathan shot back with infuriating conviction and a high-held chin that reminded Livingston of all the dead men who had refused to cooperate with him.
"Plainly you wish me to convince you otherwise, or you wouldn't have put me to task."
"I wanted to tell you myself. Figured I owed you that much." Nathan’s tone implied that nothing else was owed. He turned away and set his hands on the rail, facing the colony.
"Good of you to ask," Livingston shrugged. "The answer's still no."
Nathan spun on him, his cheeks flushing red. "I'm not asking permission!"
"Nor were I permissing!" Livingston shot back, swiping a hand through the air, past Nathan’s face. Mistaking the gesture as intent to strike, Nathan flinched away and primed a retaliatory fist. Livingston shook his head in disbelief. "Simmer down, boy. I weren’t about to hit you." Though, in truth, he would have if he’d thought it would make any difference.
Nathan’s shoulders sagged and he nodded somberly. "I’m sorry," he sighed. "Of course you weren’t."
"Gods!" Livingston cried, reaching for the sky. "What could this woman have done as put such a murderous fury in you? Swallow your milk, did she? A rare find that be, and sure to put a craze in any man's head, even one with a skull so thick as yours."
"She's a fine woman," Nathan insisted.
"And a fine pirate. She's plundered your senses."
"I gave them willingly."
Livingston clenched a fist and mashed it into his palm, before it could fly of its own accord. Fire swelled in his breast, but he sucked it in and proceeded calmly. "I reckon her dresses got fancier the longer she stayed at your side. She couldn't have run you cheap."
A flickering uncertainty registered in Nathan's eyes. The quartermaster had found his niche, and he felt his anger cooling. He moved closer. "Ah," he grinned, "not a cheaply lass, were she?"
Nathan clenched his jaw.
"But certainly worth your wages, eh?" Livingston added with a wink.
"Every piece."
It was clear that the boy had developed a potent affection for his strumpet, and while Livingston didn't quite understand it, it was worth exploiting if it meant preventing a promising young man from throwing away his career. "Let's say you remain at your whore’s side. You don't want her putting to bed with swabs while you're sweeping a tavern floor for bits and pieces, do ya? Not a pleasing notion of romance by any man's eyes, least of all a young pirate with fortune calling."
Livingston set a hand on the boy's shoulder and tossed a conspiratorial glance about the deck, as though what he was about to say was of the utmost importance. "Now, have you told your girlie your feelings on the matter 'fore I talked sense into you?"
Nathan hesitated. "I didn't want to get her hopes up."
"Ahhh," Livingston grinned, "No wonder you came to me! You needed persuasion against irrational thoughts."
Nathan withered before him.
"Don't be shamed, boy, for it only proves you have sense in you. More so than I was like to grant you a few minutes ago, but we'll put that sad affair behind us where it rightly belongs. It's well she thinks you're going to sea, because that's exactly what you'll do, and you'll return a richer man and buy your bonnie a home. She'll love you for the rest of your days, and you'll love her back, if she's lucky. And maybe you'll love other whores too, as your reformed whore will surely understand the wants of a loving husband extend well beyond a single strumpet. The beauty about whores, I should think, is they aren't a picky lot. Not anything like the sort in the Captain's cabin, with her nose in the clouds. Stay away from that sort, if you wish to keep coin in pocket."
"I'd share myself with no other," Nathan proclaimed, regaining his conviction.
Livingston curled his lips into a scowl of disgust. If he had eaten recently, he might have wretched all over the deck right then and there. "That's the daftliest thing I ever heard, boy. Talk like that again and I might be less inclined to sway your foolish notions."
Nathan smirked lopsidedly.
Livingston nodded to Nassau Port. "You know what waits for you here, boy." He turned and pointed to the space between Providence and Paradise Island that would lead Harbinger out to the open sea. "Out there, you've yet to discover!"
"Which one is Annabelle?" Livingston said, looking over the whores lounging about the Strapped Bodice.
The leathery skin of Charles Martel’s cheeks bulged as his tongue worked from one side to the other. He looked like a creature born of the sea that had sprouted legs and ventured on land. He had small, black eyes seemingly devoid of irises in the low light, and he was mostly bald on top, with scattered strings of curly black hair that shimmered like seaweed running from one ear to the other. His overly sunburnt skin resembled a dry lakebed, with flaky cracks running along his arms and legs. Livingston wondered if he had some sort of skin affliction.
"Who be asking?" Martel spat through teeth stained black.
Livingston seized the little man by his scrawny neck and drew him near. "I be asking."
Martel’s tongue slithered out to moisten his cracked lips, like an eel emerging from a crevice. "I mean no offense. She’s a popular girl, is all. Sees a lot of men with heavy coin."
"One in particular, and hardly a man. Only a boy, this one. You know the lad?"
"Aye," said Martel. "Pays well, he does."
"I have coin," Livingston growled, not missing Martel’s meaning.
"Then she’s yours for the night, she is."
"I won’t need so long." Livingston released the repulsive man and gave him a shove. A skinny whore spr
ung from her circle of candles before Martel collapsed onto them. He brushed at his clothes to make sure he hadn’t caught fire.
"How much?" Livingston growled.
"Payment won’t be necessary till you’re through," Martel said, lips twitching into what might have been a smile, though there was nothing but fear behind it. Sweat trickled down his brow, flickering in the dim candlelight.
"Where is she?"
"Upstairs, she be."
Livingston started toward the stairs, then stopped, spun on his heels, and aimed a steady finger at Martel, who had been in the process of rising from the floor. He halted in place, legs bent and wobbling. "Do not disturb me, little man," Livingston warned.
Martel gave a fervent shake of his head. "I’ll leave you to her, I will."
Livingston ascended the stairs and checked each room until he found her. She was lying in bed with a book and a candle, the sheets pulled over her breasts. Her eyes rose above the page, and she smiled welcomingly. Livingston had no trouble seeing what Nathan saw in her. She was beautiful. A little too beautiful.
"I’m enjoying a break, handsome," she said.
"My purse says otherwise," Livingston replied.
"Your purse talks, does it?"
Livingston grinned. "It sings. Would you like to hear a jingle?"
She regarded him narrowly for a moment, and then closed the book and set it on the small bedside table, next to the candle. She stretched, one hand rising above her head while the other slid the sheet away from her body. She was completely naked. Her thick black hair spilled over her shoulders to touch her nipples. Despite her curves, she was a tad skinny for Livingston’s tastes. Nevertheless, he was instantly aroused.
"Should I bother to get up?" she asked, smirking.
"No," Livingston said.
"Prefer to be on top?" She giggled wickedly and opened her legs, giving him full view of everything in-between. Livingston wondered if she affected so naughty a persona with Nathan Adams. He doubted it.
"Never give a woman the high ground," he said.
The Devil's Fire: A Pirate Adventure Novel Page 12