Blackbeard's Justice (The Voyages of Queen Anne's Revenge Book 3)

by Jeremy McLean

  "I'd be glad to join you for some ale," he said.

  Fernando waved him in. "After you."

  Hebert went into the brothel, followed by Fernando and his comrades. The first floor was filled with rooms, with a small area for dining and drinking. There were five tables strewn about, and Edward could see men and scantily clad women sitting at all of them. At one end was a stocked bar with what seemed to be one of the few men working at it.

  He noticed and made eye contact with several of the patrons, all of whom were his crewmates. They nodded back to him subtly.

  Some of the men cleared away from one of the tables, the women they were with leading them by the hand to different rooms. Herbert, Fernando, and his friends went to the now empty table.

  A server came over to their table, a young woman and possibly the only one not working as a woman of the night. She was a local, and greeted them in Spanish, but when she noticed Herbert she spoke in English. "What can I get for you—?"

  "Just fetch us some ale, dear," Fernando interrupted.

  The girl's mouth went agape, and she glanced from Fernando to Herbert before she nodded and went to the bar to complete the order.

  "So," Fernando said, "what brings you to Panama City?"

  "I'm with a merchant ship, looking to make some deals between here and Porto Bello. We just arrived in the city after a day's travel, so I'm here to rest before business begins."

  Fernando's eyes widened. "A day's travel?" he said. Herbert nodded. Fernando shook his head. "It must be hard with those legs of yours."

  The server returned with the ale and passed a mug to each man. Herbert took his in hand and took a long sip from it.

  "Yes, travel is rather difficult."

  Fernando smirked. "What about your downstairs business? That work, or does it just hang low?" he said, pointing in Herbert's direction as he took a swig of his ale.

  Herbert chuckled. "Oh, he works just fine." He didn't elaborate and hoped that the men would move on so he could try to find out more about this place. "This is quite the establishment," he said. "I don't think I've seen one quite so big."

  "She's the biggest one in Panama City. All the men from the shore to the centre come here for a night with our girls."

  "Must make a pretty pence." Herbert took another drink of his alcohol and peered over the edge of the cup at Fernando. The ale tasted like the inn smelled, but he didn't let on about his thoughts, lest his guests not take kindly to the comment.

  Fernando nodded. "That it does," he replied.

  "I wonder if the owner would want some of what I sell? Do you know him?"

  "I know him. What is it that you sell exactly?"

  "This and that. My crew and I were seeing where the need was, and whether we could fill it," Herbert leaned forward in his wheelchair, "not unlike these girls," he finished with a forced grin.

  Fernando laughed heartily at the joke. After a moment he pointed at Herbert, his cup of ale still in hand. "I like you," he said, and then he downed the rest of his drink. "Come, I'll introduce you to him." Fernando rose from his seat and walked away from the table.

  Herbert's face lit up. "Ah, thank you, sir. You do me a kindness." He set down his cup and followed Fernando.

  "Don't thank me yet. The owner is a fickle man."

  Herbert glanced to the other tables, and noticed his crewmates were still there, but distracted by the women tempting them to their beds. He continued following Fernando into a room in the corner on the first floor.

  Upon entering the room, Fernando's men followed in behind and closed the door. Fernando walked over to a desk at the back of the room, turned around, and half-sat on it.

  "So, where's the owner?" Herbert asked, suddenly feeling nervous.

  Fernando motioned to himself. "You're looking at him," he said.

  Either he's lying, or I've been set up. "Oh, sneaky. Why didn't you say so to begin with?" If I can just fire my pistol, the others will rush over here. Herbert slowly moved his hands closer to his waist, where a pistol sat on his lap, covered by a blanket.

  "I already know why you're here, Herbert, as do my men," he said.

  His comrades grabbed his arms to stop him from grabbing his weapon. "Hel—" he tried to yell, but the third man came up behind and placed his hand over Herbert's mouth while choking him with his large arm.

  "I've always told my brother to watch the people he trusts, but he still couldn't see the spy right in front of him."

  Herbert couldn't breathe with the muscle wrapped around his windpipe. His body struggled to pull air in, as did his arms to pull away from the men pinning him, but he couldn't win against their strength.

  "You, though… I didn't expect him to send someone like you."

  Herbert felt pain across his neck, face, and head, as each muscle strained to bring him life-giving air. He could feel the slow, methodical beating of his heart across the skin of his face. Thump, thump, thump, it went in his ears. It was slowing down as each second passed. Thump, thump, thump. Herbert's vision faded, black spilling into the corners of his eyes, and weakness sapping the strength from his arms. His eyelids sagged, and soon fell to a close.

  "Goodnight, Herbert."

  Those words from Fernando—or Marco, Herbert supposed—were the last thing he heard before he blacked out.

  …

  Christina awoke with a start. She was breathing heavily, and there was a cold sweat across her forehead. She didn't remember if it was a bad dream that had forced her out of her slumber, but if it was, the remnants of it took hold of her heart. A feeling a dread gripped her, and stayed with her even after she caught her breath and wiped her face with a wet cloth.

  What is this feeling? Tala was beside Christina, fully awake as well, and whining. She kept glancing from her master to the door and back. "Do you feel it too, girl?" she asked while scratching behind Tala's ear. Tala responded with a loud bark.

  Christina clothed herself, told Tala to stay in the room, and went down to the inn's dining area. The room was mostly empty at this hour, and much of the smell from earlier in the day was gone, but some still lingered in the air. The smell of the open cups of ale and the food still coming out of the kitchen was more prominent now.

  As it was late at night, most of the crewmates were in their rooms already, but a few were sitting at one of the tables playing a game of cards. She went over to the men.

  "Where is Herbert?" she asked.

  The men glanced her way before continuing their game. "He's gone with some mates to the whorehouse. They gettin' the skivvy on how to go about it."

  "Or gettin' their loins wet," another man said, causing the others to laugh. After a moment they stifled their laughter and glanced at Christina.

  Christina ignored the comment and looked at the door to the inn, now closed, but with shutters open and showing the dark of the night. Lanterns lit the outside of the inn, but beyond that she couldn't see anything. A cold gust tried to penetrate the door, but instead made it bang and crash against the loose lock keeping it in place. The cold still seemed to hit her somehow, and a chill went up her spine.

  "How long has he been gone?"

  The same man who answered before peered at the ceiling in thought. "Hmm, before the sun fell, wouldn't you say mates?" The others at the table nodded. "Yea, near that time." The crewmate looked at Christina over his shoulder, and he had his brow cocked. From the look on his face, he could tell Christina was worried. "Nothing ta worry yerself over, Miss Blackwood. No one knows who we are."

  The mate's words were little comfort to Christina. She absentmindedly touched and tugged at the wooden carved rose around a chain on her neck. She would never admit it to herself, but whenever she was afraid it would show in that nervous tic of playing with the memento around her neck—a constant reminder of one she lost, and could not let go of.

  "We should check on him. Something doesn't feel right," she said, the fear she wanted to hide creeping out into her voice.

  The men glanced
her way again, but this time they stopped playing their game. "No need to trouble yourself. Everything is well, and your brother will be back before you know it." The other men nodded with the comment and joined in reassurances.

  Their comfort did little to ease Christina's heart. "I can tell when my brother is in danger. I can always tell," she said, force behind her words this time.

  The men looked at each other, some with slight smirks on their faces. The main crewmate who was talking with her walked over to her and began pulling her back to her room. "My dear, do not let your worries send you into hysterics. After a night's sleep you'll feel better."

  Christina pulled away from the man, furious. "Enough!" she yelled. "I'm not in hysterics. Something is wrong, and you can either come with me and help my brother, or wait here and let a girl overshadow your valour."

  The men were speechless at Christina's burst of anger. They stared at her, unsure of what to do. The room became silent, and even those who weren't in their crew were watching the scene.

  "Hmph," Christina said, turning around and going back to her room.

  She gathered a cutlass, a pistol, and a musket, and strapped them all to her person. Then she donned a cloak to help with the cold of the night and to cover the weapons up from prying eyes.

  "Venir, Tala," she called to the wolf, who came running over to her.

  She and the wolf went back down to the dining room, which was now empty of the crewmates. Their pride afforded them leave of the embarrassing situation, but did not spur them to prove her wrong, it seemed.

  "I guess we're on our own, Tala." The wolf simply looked up at her, not understanding, but staying by her side regardless.

  "Pas nécessairement," a voice said behind her.

  She turned around to see Alexandre and Victor standing there, garbed for battle. They both looked as awake and fresh as always, and Alexandre looked as ready for physical activity as he ever would.

  Christina smiled widely, and felt the twinge of tears forming in her eyes. She stifled them before they showed. "You heard what happened?" she asked.

  Alexandre glanced at Victor and then grinned. "We rarely sleep much, if at all," he said. "I was itching for something exciting to happen, and this seems just the thing to save me from death by ennui."

  Christina chuckled. She'd always liked Alexandre and his odd way of doing things. "Let's go then. Marco's not going to kill himself!"

  …

  The first thing Herbert noticed when he awoke was pain. Pain around his sore and dry neck, pain in his head, and pain around his arms.

  As he blinked, and the focus returned to his eyes, he moved his head around to see where he was. His stupor faded, his memory returned, and he recalled being choked by one of Marco's men. He was lucky to still be alive, but he doubted he was any safer for having survived. He pulled on his arms and discovered they were tied behind his back.

  "Finally awake, yes?" Marco asked from his chair in front of Herbert.

  Herbert glanced around, still not fully aware of his surroundings. He hadn't been moved to a different location, it seemed, and Marco's allies were nearby.

  Herbert tried to talk, but his throat felt raw and he coughed. He hacked several times until his throat seemed warmed up and he was able to talk. "So, your name isn't Fernando, is it?" Herbert asked, his voice hoarse from the punishment from earlier.

  Marco laughed. "No, and you already know who I am now. At least I hope so. You look smart."

  Herbert didn't see the need to hide his intentions any longer, but wouldn't mention the crew in case that was still a secret. "How did you know about me?"

  "You don't remember?" Marco said, getting up from his seat. "Before you fell asleep I mentioned how I have a spy with my brother. He sent word of an English crippled assassin coming for my head." Marco went to the front of the desk and leaned his back against it. "Few of those in these parts, so here we are."

  Herbert nodded. "No, I don't imagine there are," he said.

  He was fortunate that they had left him in his wheelchair, because it afforded him an opportunity to escape. His hands were tied behind him, not around the back of the chair, so no one could see him fiddling with the knots. If I can get my hands free, I can take out the knife hidden under my wheelchair.

  "Care to tell me why I'm still alive?"

  Marco chuckled. "You do not sound happy."

  "Simply confused. I can't think of a reason why you'd keep me alive."

  "Well, I can tell you it's not because of your pretty face, or lack thereof." Marco had a smirk plastered on his face, and he took his time in replying to Herbert. "We know you didn't come alone, my friend."

  Herbert cursed in his head, but stifled himself from blurting it out. The momentary shock caused him to halt his progress on the knot. "Is that so? This is new to me. I hope these phantoms didn't go spending my pocket money."

  Marco poured himself a drink and took a swig of it. "You came here with four others, but there are more somewhere in town," he said. He pointed at Herbert. "The sooner you stop lying to me, the sooner we can finish this business."

  Herbert swore again, and gritted his teeth. The momentary pause to stop himself from cursing before had tipped Marco to the lie, Herbert was sure of it. He continued trying to take the knots apart.

  "If you tell me where your people are, I promise it will be quick. I can't promise painless, that I cannot do," Marco said with a wave of his hand.

  Herbert wasn't going to let him take his life without a fight. If he'd learned anything on his time aboard the Queen Anne's Revenge, it was that no situation was without hope. He could feel the knots around his wrist loosening.

  I need to keep him talking. "How about we just forget this whole thing happened and we can all leave here alive?"

  Marco howled with laughter. "You think you still have a chance to barter with me?"

  "Why not? If you don't, I can guarantee you won't make it through the night," Herbert said. "First off, I'll tell you I won't give up my crewmates, but let's say that I do. What then? You send some of your goons to take care of them? I'm not sure what your spy told you, but we're pirates. We're trained. You might be able to kill a few of us, but any one of my men are worth ten of yours."

  Marco listened to Herbert without interrupting him, all the while taking sips of his pungent drink. It was just as Herbert wanted, and he was taking the opportunity to keep working on the tight knot on his wrists.

  "Even if you kill me, my crew will still kill you. Trust me when I say we're focussed on revenge, and your brother has information we need. Either way, you're a dead man. But if you let us go, we can handle your brother ourselves and get the information from him by other means."

  Marco shook his head back and forth, took another sip of his drink, and pointed at Herbert. "You see, you shouldn't have said that," he said.

  Marco reared back and punched Herbert in the stomach, nearly sending him to the floor. The blow knocked the wind out of him, and a similar choking feeling overtook him. The sudden need for air arrested his thoughts. Between the pain of the blow and the dry gagging for air, Herbert couldn't keep untying the knots.

  Marco punched Herbert again, this time in the face. His head snapped to the left and pulled his body over with it. His eye started swelling immediately. His cheek felt hot and aching, and he knew that there would be a bruise there later. After a moment he was able to regain his breath, but the pain lingered.

  Marco pulled Herbert's face forward with one hand and the other gripped his wheelchair. "My brother may be a little shit, and he may have sent you to kill me, but he's still family," he seethed. "We'll have a talk after this, but no one lays a finger on my family. We'll take our chances with you pirates any day." Marco's men hooted in response. "Now, where is your crew staying?"

  Herbert was dizzy from the punches, and his mouth was also swelling by now. He couldn't see straight, and it, as well as the pain in his stomach, was sending waves of nausea through him. He breathed in and out dee
ply, and soon he was able to see again.

  "Fuck you," he spat.

  Marco's grip on the wheelchair turned his knuckles white. He punched Herbert in the face again, and in the same spot as before. He kept punching him again and again until Herbert's cheek tore open.

  Herbert's head felt like there was an anchor attached to it, pulling it down over the side of his wheelchair. The hot, throbbing, stabbing agony spread all across his face. Debilitating fatigue replaced his nausea. Herbert wanted nothing more than to sleep and be rid of the pain, but he forced himself awake. He needed to remove the knots, or he would die.

  "What the hell is that noise?" Marco shouted, his accent coming back with his anger. He yelled something in Spanish to his comrades.

  Herbert didn't hear any noise over the ringing in his ears. He was able to hear the screaming Spaniard just fine, but hardly anything else.

  He leaned forward and turned his head as best as he could to watch the door leading outside. One of Marco's men was approaching the entrance with a knife drawn. He slowly opened the door and peeked outside, only to have it slam open and hit him in the head.

  Christina rushed in and halted just inside the room.

  Christina!

  The sight of his sister sent a wave of energy into Herbert's body. He needed to get out of the ropes, and he was so close. The energy he gained was just the thing he needed to finish the last bits of the knot.

  Behind Christina, Alexandre, Victor and Tala were soon to follow. They each had weapons drawn, Christina with two daggers, Alexandre with a rapier, and Victor with a small sword and shield. And Tala, of course, had her fangs and claws.

  Marco and his three comrades also had their weapons drawn. Before a battle could erupt, Marco flung Herbert's wheelchair around and placed a blade at his neck.

  "Don't move, or I'll kill him," he growled.

  For a moment, no one moved or said a word. It was a stalemate between the two sides. Christina began talking—or rather shouting—at Marco, telling him to let Herbert go. They argued back and forth, but Herbert stopped listening.

  He focussed on the image of the knot around his wrists in his mind. He twisted and turned his shoulders, arms, and hands to release its hold on him. With all that was going on, he was able to move more freely without worry of being caught. Through his foggy mind, he could feel the ropes loosening. As the knots loosened, it gave him more room to move, and when he used his newfound space, the rope gave way even more. With one last tug, Herbert's hands were free.