by Clare Sager
He bit back a sigh. Searching so many vessels would be quite the task, and if she had left, it would delay his pursuit. Not to mention the fact that holding all these ships in dock for a day on the chance she might be on board wouldn’t win him any allies. If it turned out she’d already gone, it could be downright embarrassing for the Navy and, by extension, troublesome for him.
Asking the dockers hadn’t been much help – either they knew nothing about Lady Vice or were damn good liars. Both were entirely possible.
Smoothing his expression, he scanned the ships at rest, bobbing in the ebb tide.
Ebb? Wait –
He pulled out his pocket watch. Six o’clock. The high tide wasn’t meant to be until seven. From the way the water had dropped in the past hour, he’d have guessed there’d been a high tide recently.
He crouched by one of the wharf’s timber posts. Wet almost to the algae-coated high tide line. The sea was too calm to have lapped up that high.
Rocking back on his heels, he scanned the port again. Had there somehow been an extra high tide? But – no, that just wasn’t possible. The tides were caused by the moon, and the moon didn’t just change its orbit on a whim.
Strange. Very strange.
There had to be some other explanation, perhaps –
A burly docker hauled crates at the end of the wharf. The crawling starburst of a scar on his jaw, from gunshot or the edge of an explosion, was familiar.
“Here, Smith, isn’t it?” Knigh rose, dusting off his hands.
The man’s head jerked in his direction, and he nodded. “Aye, ser.” He snapped a neat salute – former Navy, most likely.
Knigh circled to him swiftly.
The docker’s eyes widened. “All’s well with your ship, ser – I’ve been keeping an eye on it as you asked.” He nodded again, body bending too, almost making it a bow.
“Yes, yes, excellent – thank you. It’s not that I’m here about.”
The man visibly relaxed a fraction. “Oh?”
“You might have heard by now – the infamous pirate Lady Vice was here last night.”
His bristly brows shot up. “A pirate? Right under the Navy’s nose, ser?”
Thank you for the reminder. Knigh clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring for a second before he cleared his throat. “I’m afraid so. Did you see anything unusual late last night or early this morning?”
Smith rubbed his whiskered cheeks. “Nothing that stands out, ser. Apologies.”
“What about a woman roughly so tall” – he lifted one hand to his eye level – “dark hair” – he cleared his throat – “easy on the eye.”
Smith’s eyes widened slowly, his brows rising. “Oh, her? And you reckon that’s Lady Vice?” He shook his head with an apologetic wince. “Sorry, ser, of course you do. Well, I suppose it might be. Quite a few merchant ships take women in their crews these days, though, not just the pirates, so she wouldn’t’ve stuck out to most of us, ser. Only really remember her because – well, as you said, her face is uncommon pretty, ser, if you don’t mind me saying such about a pirate.”
Knigh scoffed softly and shook his head. “You wouldn’t be the first to notice.” Or to be distracted by it. He’d let a ballroom and a pretty face lower his guard. Well, he wouldn’t make that mistake again.
But it hadn’t only been that, had it? There was this disarming honesty to her – apparent honesty, anyway. She’d been lying through her teeth the whole time.
Lady Lyons – ha!
Although … she did call herself Lady Vice. He’d always assumed it was a piratical affectation – they so often liked to elevate themselves. But perhaps it wasn’t. She’d passed herself off as a lady so easily – her accent and manners had both been excellent if a little forward. Maybe she had some experience amongst the gentry. She must have had some sort of life before piracy. Who had she been? Someone of consequence?
Exhaling, Smith’s gaze went into the distance. “I didn’t have nothing to do with them loading, ser, but I saw Barrels speaking to the lady when she arrived yesterday. He’s over there – maybe he knows something, ser.”
Hope flared in Knigh’s chest, bright and warm in the cool morning air. If he could get a lead right away, he might even manage a capture within a day or two. That would undoubtedly silence any comments from the Governor or anyone else who’d seen him sharing a drink with Lady Vice.
He thanked Smith and strode straight for the pot-bellied man he’d called Barrels.
With a swift greeting, he got the niceties out the way before asking about Lady Vice. Like the others, he claimed ignorance, although a flicker of a reaction laced his movements – a shift in stance, a twitch of the eyebrows, a thumb pressing to his lips.
Could be nerves – speaking to an officer had that effect on some dock workers – but then again, it could be the sign of a lie. Time to probe deeper.
“Yesterday, you were seen speaking to a tall young woman, dark hair, pretty. Do you remember her?” If he didn’t, he’d have to be blind or a damn fool.
“Oh, her? Aye, ser. Very pretty and tall, ser.”
“Where is she? What ship did she come in on?”
“I’m afraid they’ve gone, ser.”
Knigh huffed. It had been too much to hope they were still in dock. “Gone where?”
Barrels shrugged, hands open. “Afraid I don’t know, ser. So – er – you think she could be that pirate lass?”
“I’m sure of it.” He gave the man a flat look.
“Well,” Barrels said, shaking his head a few times too many, “I wouldn’t know anything about any of that.”
Knigh gave a narrow smile. “Oh, but I think you do.”
“I – no – I –”
“Mr Barrels, let’s not waste anyone’s time here.” He raised an eyebrow. “As you’re no doubt aware, I’m a pirate hunter of the Queen’s Navy. This Lady Vice is a pirate. And you – well, you strike me as a good man, a hard worker, honest, always stayed the right side of the law. Correct?”
The docker’s gaze dropped, and he nodded. “Aye, ser.”
“While this so-called Lady Vice, well, she kills people for a living – on a daily basis, I dare say. Thinks nothing of it, just poof.” He flicked his fingers into the air, then let them clench slowly into a fist. “I am also here to do a job. Occasionally I kill, but I prefer not to. Mostly I capture criminals and return them to Albion to face the Queen’s justice.”
Knigh drew a long breath and let his gaze fall on Barrels – the man stared, rapt. “As a pirate-hunter,” Knigh went on softly, “I have more powers than your average ship’s captain. I can have a man arrested, Navy or not. Strapped in irons. Locked up. Gods, I’m sure I could even have them throw away the key. Imagine it lost somewhere in Davy Jones Locker – just a tiny little key sinking in the vastness of the ocean never to be seen again. Now, I’d rather not do that – you seem a good sort – but as I said, I have a job to do.” Plus a mother, brother, and sister relying on him to earn that bounty. “And you – you can help me, Mr Barrels.”
The docker’s mouth hung open, and he blinked suddenly as if waking from a stupor. He swallowed, a crease between his brows as he met Knigh’s eye. “How, ser?”
“Tell me what you know about Lady Vice and her ship.”
“I don’t know nothing about her, ser – just that she’s a pirate, ser. Just the normal things that everyone knows.” He swallowed again, forehead gleaming.
Knigh patted him on the shoulder; it might have been friendly if it hadn’t been such a calculated manoeuvre. “I’ve been away from Arawaké a while, maybe I’m behind on the latest news – tell me what exactly ‘everyone knows’.” Eyebrows raised, he cocked his head and unleashed his smile.
He tended to keep a distance from, well, everyone, but sometimes a little warmth, even superficial, could go a long way. And being fae-touched came with a distinct advantage when it came to turning on the charm.
The docker’s shoulders instantly lowered, and the tens
ion around his jaw slackened. Slowly, the corners of his mouth turned up, just a touch. He glanced around, eyes flashing, furtive. “Let’s see … Well, she’s a pretty lass, as you said” – he ticked the piece of information off on one finger – “and a pirate.” Another finger. “But I hear she always offers quarter, so …” He blinked, and his gaze snapped to Knigh as if he realised he was painting a pirate in glowing terms to a pirate hunter.
With a gruff clearing of his throat, Barrels went on, frowning: “Think her ship’s The Morrigan, captained by a man named FitzRoy. Everyone says she’s his right-hand woman.”
When Barrels drifted into silence, Knigh clenched his jaw against an exasperated sigh. That was all information he already knew. If he could find out a bit more about her ship or captain, maybe that would give a clue about their destination from here. He forced another smile in place. “What about FitzRoy? What sort of reputation does he have? Any favourite haunts?”
The man’s mouth screwed up. “Wouldn’t know about that, ser. He’s meant to be” – he lifted one shoulder and glanced around again – “let’s say a bit less reasonable than the lady – so I hear. And if he gets a sniff of anything about Drake, he can get downright violent.” His shudder suggested he had experience of that.
“Drake?” Knigh cocked his head. Surely not – “As in, Ser Francis Drake?” What did a long-dead privateer have to do with anything?
“Aye, ser. You’ve heard the stories about his treasure, surely? Everyone knows FitzRoy’s obsessed with it – reckons he’ll find it one day.” Barrels scoffed and quite rightly – most people of sound mind had given up on it a century ago. “Well, he hasn’t found it in all the years he’s been around these parts.” Sighing, he shrugged. “But then some men need their obsessions, don’t they?”
Knigh blinked, a genuine smile easing into place. “Yes. Yes, they do.” And obsession pushed men to make mistakes, like chasing every clue they came across. “Thank you, Mr Barrels, you’ve been a great help.” He held out two silver crowns and nodded. It was possibly more than he should give, and it came out of his own pocket, not the Navy’s – they didn’t hold with bribes. But it was nothing compared to the bounty he’d get when he delivered Lady Vice to the authorities back home. “A great help indeed.”
He had to catch up with her and get a message to his contact, first. Turning from Barrels, he took a deep breath and mastered his expression. Control. He didn’t have her yet.
But he did have a plan starting to form …
All he needed was a rumour of a clue to Drake’s treasure that led to a quiet spot somewhere he could lie in wait. Somewhere with shallow reefs where they wouldn’t realise they were stuck until he sailed into view, blocking their exit.
Oh, yes, that would work nicely. He kept the smile under control, but his fingers drummed on his thighs as he walked back to his ship, his step much lighter than his earlier stomp and the sea air salty and sweet with impending victory.
He stroked his chin. Perhaps he could manufacture a fake clue. It could come in useful as a prop, and he could plant it somewhere. But the main stratagem would be the whispers luring her in.
It would be a simple matter to spread word around local gossips at the main ports. Sailors and dockers were a talkative lot. They’d do the rest for him, telling all and sundry about this rumoured clue to Drake’s treasure. When FitzRoy took the bait and followed the fake lead, Knigh would spring his trap.
Why sail all over Arawaké searching for Lady Vice, when he could make her come to him?
Rumour
“Bugger.”
Vice collapsed the spyglass and glanced towards the familiar ship again. Yes, the sails, that sleek hull, even the Albionic flag fluttering – definitely the Venatrix. “Gods damn it.”
For the past few weeks, Vice and The Morrigan had criss-crossed the Arawakéan Sea, stalking and taking ships and cargo. That had left them with ill-gotten gains to sell off and a need to take on food and fresh water. Kayracou Port was the best bet in the area. The island walked a thin line between serving both legitimate shipping and pirates, so long as the latter pretended to be the former.
Even better, when they’d arrived earlier today, her friend and occasional lover, a docker named Sam had reported some interesting news. And this time it wasn’t just more tall tales about ships with mysterious flags. Oh no, this was far juicier. The Venatrix had been seen a week ago anchored on a nearby island, the crew on shore digging.
Why on earth would a pirate hunter be digging? Unless he had a whiff of treasure even better than the bounty on her head …
As soon as he heard of it, Fitz had wasted no time in ordering all but a skeleton crew to gather information from every loose-lipped lubber in Kayracou Port.
The man was obsessed.
The rumours that had come back were mixed. Some put a clue to Drake’s treasure in the possession of Captain Blackwood. Others said Blackwood had searched but not found anything. Others said he was merely interested in taking the riches for himself. Whatever the truth, Fitz had stewed in his cabin ever since.
Was Blackwood here now because he’d found something? Or was it just because this was the nearest major port and he needed provisions?
Either way, Perry, Bricus, and most of the crew had now gone off carousing, and she was stuck on watch duty, the Venatrix’s fine lines making her heart leap.
That ship was meant to be hers, damn it.
Sighing, she thrust the spyglass into its case at her belt and paced the deck, absently scratching Barnacle under the chin. This was a friendly port – even if FitzRoy agreed to go after the Venatrix, he’d never open fire here and risk neighbouring ships, the wharves and taverns, and Kayracou’s goodwill.
Fingers itching to do something, she yanked out the glass again and watched the Venatrix. They’d anchored, sails stowed. A flurry of movement suggested they were lowering their boat to come ashore. Scanning left and right, she groaned – where they’d anchored, every ship leaving would have to pass within yards of their hull.
The Morrigan was again disguised as merchantman The Three but that disguise was only designed to fool a cursory glance, not close inspection by a pirate hunter. After she’d tweaked Blackwood’s nose in Port Royal, Perry had driven it into her that he’d be on full alert. He knew what to look for – he’d notice the outline of their closed gunports.
If he recognised The Morrigan as they passed to port, they’d be in the prime location to take a full broadside from his – she squinted into the spyglass – ten guns.
“Bollocks.” And she’d have to hide as he’d probably recognise her, too. “Bollocks!”
The dozen hands left on watch looked up from their game of dice, eyebrows raised. Even Barnacle leapt off her shoulder and turned to give a sharp miaow of irritation for ruining her favourite spot.
“Sorry, little goblin-cat,” Vice muttered.
Putting the glass away once more, she puffed out her cheeks and approached her crewmates. “Hunter out at the harbour mouth,” she muttered. “Make sure our name and gunports are covered and don’t even think the words Morrigan, Vice, or FitzRoy.”
Saba rose, dark eyes alert, face calm. “Aye, ma’am.” Her teeth gleamed bright against her jasper-brown skin as she grinned, one eyebrow quirking at calling her something so formal. Tossing her long braid over her shoulder, she set to work, and the others rushed to follow, game abandoned.
Eyes narrowed, Vice surveyed the rest of the harbour. Several ships bobbed between her and the Venatrix – they were hidden well enough for now.
But she still had to report this to the captain and Perry. No doubt they’d find some way it was her fault.
Vice sighed and squared her shoulders before making for FitzRoy’s cabin.
Then again, could this be an opportunity? With a little sneaking, she could disable the Venatrix. A few lines cut here, a couple of knots hopelessly tangled there, and they wouldn’t be able to set sail. The Morrigan would be able to slip by without pursuit.<
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Plus, if she could raise the tide just a little earlier, say half an hour, then Blackwood’s crew wouldn’t even be on alert. Why be on watch, cannon loaded when no smart captain would be leaving port for another half hour?
It would only take a few hours. Perry and the Captain wouldn’t even need to know until she came back victorious. Instead of reporting a problem, she’d present them with a solution already executed and tied in a bow. FitzRoy did love a gift. And the more points she could score with him, the more likely he was to finally give her that captaincy.
Smiling, she backed away from the door and diverted her course.
“Tonight,” she said, sidling up to Saba, “cover for me. If anyone asks – I snuck off with one of the lads from the Firefly.”
Saba looked up from her work, eyebrows raised. “And where will you be?”
“With one of the lads from the Firefly.”
“You’re going” – she glanced towards the Venatrix – “Vice, don’t. Perry will have your guts for garters.” Her dark eyes gleamed in a pointed look.
“Only if I fail. Besides, she’ll have to catch me first to pull them out.” Vice flashed a grin.
“I can’t –”
“You can, and you will. It’ll only take an hour or so.”
Saba sighed through her nose and lifted one shoulder. “Fine, but you be careful – that’s a Navy ship, they run differently to us – they’ll have a proper watch on deck.”
“Noted.” Chest pounding, Vice saluted and backed away to her cabin, gaze still on the Venatrix.
Quiet Work
A few hours later, once the bright colours of sunset had faded and the sky was ink-dark and full of stars, Vice crept out into the night. She wore dark clothes and daggers. This wasn’t a job for pistols, far too loud, but she felt their absence keenly, and her hand kept going to the empty spot at her belt.
It would be fine – no one would see her anyway, so there was no need for weapons. Sneak in, slip out, job done.
She circled around to the wharf nearest the Venatrix, passing through dark alleys between warehouses, and skirting the scant lamplight.