Not one of them looked at her. Her temper simmered—third time today, a record even for her. She gathered all the air her breathers could hold.
“Listen,” she bellowed.
The noise stopped.
Ebba beamed at her success. “Now,” she started.
She trailed off, realizing no one paid her any attention. Something else had caught the attention of her six pirate fathers. The steels of six cutlasses rang as they were drawn from her fathers’ belts.
Hunching over, she peered around Peg-leg’s peg.
“Barbless stinger o’ a manta ray,” she whispered.
Navy men.
Ebba whirled in the middle of the circle of her fathers, staring outward. A lot of navy men. They were surrounded. The king’s minions crowded them on both sides of the sandy path as well as the way to the market and the way to town.
“Lay down your arms, pirates,” a voice boomed. “In the name of King Montcroix!”
“In the name of the king!” the other navy men boomed, taking a step closer to tighten the circle around their crew.
The man who’d spoken had the largest hat of the bunch. The dying light illuminated the harsh edges of his face.
Ebba’s heartbeat thundered in her ears, and she turned to watch the silent communication between Stubby and Barrels. Hesitating briefly, Stubby glanced at her, and then shook his head.
Blast. They were going to surrender. In all their years trading on Maltu, they’d never been caught by the navy. This was her fault.
Stubby threw his cutlass down, and the rest of their crew followed suit. Ebba pushed between Peg-leg and Locks and emptied her sash of her two pistols, three daggers, and then her cutlass, tossing the weapons to the sandy ground.
Without her weapons, she felt completely vulnerable. Her mouth dried as she glanced at her fathers for a clue as to what happened next.
“Ye’re all right, lass,” Peg-leg whispered as the man with the big hat shouted for them to form a single line.
Two pistols were trained on her face as a young navy man locked heavy shackles about her booted ankles. Ebba grimaced at the tightness. The edges hung heavily on her ankle bones, even through her leather boots, and she knew there wouldn’t be any hope of slipping the shackles off. Chains were hooked between each of their manacles, connecting the pirates of Felicity, making it impossible to run.
“Tonight, you will be taken to the gaol,” the navy man spoke, hands clasped behind his back.
“Tomorrow, you will be shipped to Exosia to stand trial.”
Ebba’s ears rang. Did she hear that right?
He addressed his men briefly, dismissing their crew after the impassive announcement of their doom.
“Forward march,” another navy man called.
A few shoves had the seven of them shuffling toward town in the dark, a row of the navy men cushioning them on either side. Ebba wasn’t the only one in a bucket of shite any longer. Her fathers were only shouting because of her actions, allowing the navy patrol to creep up undetected. Ebba clanked between Peg-leg and Stubby, guilt weighing thick. If she hadn’t followed Pockmark’s lackeys and stopped to eavesdrop, none of this would’ve happened.
One thing was for sure. They had to escape before the gaol. Everyone knew what happened to pirates on Exosia, where the king resided. Pirates and royals were a deadly mix.
The bright colors of her onshore clothes seemed dull and lifeless in the fallen night. The bawdy singing and shouted cheers from the drunken inhabitants of the tavern called to her like a funeral song as they passed by. Soon all of Maltu would hear Felicity’s crew had been captured, and Sherry, Brandy, and Margaritta wouldn’t be able to save them this time.
“The king’s men don’t raid at night,” Stubby whispered. “Why were they about?”
Stubby had four younger sisters on the island and one worked in the governor’s mansion. She always got word to them when the governor ordered a raid. But her father was right; the navy only raided during the day.
Locks answered from farther down the line. “Delight told me the king’s son, the Exosian prince, be visitin’ the island.”
A prince? She’d never seen one of those before.
“Ah, so Governor Da Ville be pretendin’ to do his job,” Stubby muttered.
A wiry navy man whacked Stubby with his baton. “Quiet, vagabond.”
Ebba’s face heated at Stubby’s resultant grimace. But the batons used by the onshore navy patrols didn’t hold a candle to what awaited them on the mainland.
The realm was comprised of two seas, the Caspian Sea being the main ocean where everyone lived. Since King Montcroix won the Battle for the Seas against pirate kind in Year 252 of the Reign of Kings, he’d ruled the entire realm. To uphold the law in his absence, he’d placed a governor on each of the islands. However, over the last sixteen years, the king’s hold on the islands had loosened. Today, in Year 268, the part of the Caspian Sea south of Maltu and Kentro was referred to as the Free Seas. In the Free Seas, there was not much a pirate had to fear. . . .
. . . On the mainland, they did. In Exosia, a pirate’s trial only ended one of two ways: the cages or quartering. Judging by some of Plank’s more gruesome stories of Buckle O’Pigswill’s era, she knew neither fate was pleasant. Though hanging in a cage until she starved to death and birds pecked at her body while she lay too weak to raise an arm in defense seemed a smidgen worse to her.
But they wouldn’t reach the gaol. They couldn’t. Her fathers would think of something.
Doubt clenched within her at the thought. Maybe her hesitation was a sign of the day she’d had, but Pockmark’s words rang in her ears nevertheless. Her fathers did sail in the opposite direction to danger, and always had. Ebba trusted her parents with all her heart and yet she couldn’t help wondering why they did that. Was it to keep her safe? That’s what she’d assumed. But maybe she was wrong.
She startled as a navy man shoved her to the side of the road. Whirling to glance back, Ebba spotted a white carriage careening up the hill.
The carriage slowed as it reached the front of their procession.
A woman poked her head out the carriage window. “Commander Chancey. Such a pleasure to see you again.”
“Attention!” the commander called to his troop. All twenty of the navy men snapped their heels together and stood tall.
He bowed low. “Your Ladyship, I hope you fare well.”
Ebba leaned out of line to stare at the woman. Lady Maybell was Governor Da Ville’s much younger wife. Ebba had never seen her. Or the governor.
Lady Maybell pushed open the carriage door and accepted the hand of a footman down the step. Ebba muffled a snort at the woman’s appearance. The dress hoop she wore was even larger than Sherry’s, to the point of appearing the size of a small tent. The gown cinched brutally at the waist, and the front laced up so tight, the woman’s bust appeared more out than in. How did she even move in that thing? Her jewels glistened in the bright moonlight, and under the powdered wig Lady Maybell wore, the peach blush of her cheeks confirmed her youth.
Lady Maybell snapped open her fan, fluttering it before her face. “You have outdone yourself, commodore. Are these all your prisoners?”
“Yes, Your Ladyship. They are pirates and headed for the gaol. They’ll be shipped to Exosia for trial tomorrow morning, and executed for their pitiful life of crime.”
“How barbaric!” she said, peach mouth falling open.
The commodore stood proudly. “‘Tis the law.”
She batted her eyelashes. “How glad I am that I do not have to catch such fearful-looking creatures. My, that one has an eye patch. How rustic. That one a wooden leg. . . . Do you think they understand me, commodore?”
Ebba rolled her eyes. “We be understandin’ ye just fine,” she called.
The blunt end of a navy man’s stick dug into her gut.
“Blimey,” she choked out, eyes watering.
“Today be not yer day, lass.” Peg-leg observed.
; “Aye,” she agreed in a wheeze.
The heels of the lady’s shoes clicked on an embedded stone as she moved. The governor’s wife stopped in front of Ebba and gasped. “But this is just a young woman, commodore! What is the meaning of this?”
Ebba frowned. Who was she calling ‘young woman’? Ebba was a pirate.
The commodore spluttered, “Not a female, Your Ladyship. A pirate—as guilty as the rest.”
Ebba beamed.
“She is clearly no pirate.”
Ebba frowned again.
All eyes turned to her, surveying Ebba’s bright ensemble, golden hoop earring, dreadlocks and bright green bandana.
Lady Maybell snapped her fan shut. “Answer me this. If she is a pirate, why is her face bloodied? It seems to me she is merely hostage to these foul, stinking men.”
They did stink, but they weren’t foul. Ebba snarled, and then nearly fell on her face as Stubby pulled roughly on the chain connecting their right ankles.
Lady Maybell placed the back of one delicate hand to her temple. “To think what could have happened to this poor woman had I not happened upon you on my way back to the mansion.”
“Your Ladyship, I do assure you this female is a pirate,” Commodore Chancey said. Even he appeared to realize the argument was a hopeless one.
“Aye, I am a bloody pi—oof.” The air left her as Peg-leg drove a sharp elbow into her gut.
“What’d ye do that for?” Ebba gasped.
A navy man with a key kneeled at her feet and unlocked her manacles. Her jaw dropped. They were letting her go? Just like that? All because of a stupid lady in a stupid dress?
“I will thank you not to apprehend any more women,” Lady Maybell said with a sniff. “A female pirate, how preposterous.”
Ebba gritted her teeth at the comment, wiping her dripping nose. It left a bloody smear on her linen shirtsleeve. She turned to stare at the rest of her crew. What about her fathers?
“You go on now, little nymph,” Plank said softly when the lady moved back to the carriage. “You go with the lady.”
Barrels spoke up, “If the girl is no pirate, Your Ladyship, I gather her weapons will be returned to her?”
A smile crept across Ebba’s face. Genius. She’d take Maybell hostage. They’d have to make a run for it, but they could make it. Doubt crept over her as her eyes rested on Barrels’ salt-and-pepper hair and Peg-leg’s peg.
Lady Maybell ushered her to the carriage, surprisingly strong, considering how dainty and clean she looked. “No need for those barbaric things, miscreant.”
“Lady Maybell, might I send an escort with you, just for your safety?” the commodore tried.
She sniffed. “A man in my carriage? What would Governor Da Ville say?”
As Maybell dragged her away, Ebba glanced back, frantically searching her fathers’ faces. They should know better than to leave the planning to her! What was she supposed to do?
“We love ye, Ebba-Viva Fairisles,” said Locks hoarsely.
Tears poured down Grubby’s cheeks and he nodded sadly at her.
That sounded like they were saying goodbye. That couldn’t be right. A heavy dread swept through her at their pale and drawn faces.
What was happening?
Lady Maybell shoved her into the carriage and Ebba sat in a state of shock, never more at a loss in her life. She didn’t stand a chance against twenty navy men, not even with her weapons. Taking Maybell hostage was the only plausible idea she’d had. What did her fathers want her to do? Was she missing something? They couldn’t be saying goodbye for real?
Numbness filled her.
“To the mansion,” Lady Maybell said shrilly, knocking twice on the front of the carriage.
The mansion. . . .
“Hey, Maybell,” Ebba said. “Does the mansion be havin’ weapons?”
The powdered woman smiled prettily. “Lady Maybell, young lady.”
Ebba’s brows rose but she managed to quell down her hissed reply of young pirate. Plus, Maybell only looked a few years older than herself.
“To answer your question, yes, many, many weapons. But you don’t need to touch those nasty monstrosities any longer. Poor, poor creature. How you must have been abused.”
The governor’s wife wasn’t the brightest fire on the beach. Ebba needed to use that to her advantage. She had to somehow get back to the prison and free her fathers.
“Where be the weapons?” Ebba pressed.
Maybell narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
“Ye know . . . so I can avoid them.”
Maybell’s face cleared, and she flung open her fan in a grand gesture. “Of course. They are stored in the guard house where the king’s men sleep.”
That wasn’t any help. Ebba’s hands curled into fists. She didn’t have Barrels’ or Stubby’s smarts, or Plank’s charm. She didn’t have Peg-leg’s intimidation or Locks’ way with females. The seas take her, she wasn’t even as nice as Grubby.
All Ebba could say for certain was that if she didn’t free her fathers tonight, they’d be lost to the king’s mainland.
There was just one night to save them or they’d enter a place no pirate dared enter.
A place no pirate left.
Five
“I envy your lovely dark skin, Mistress Fairisles, but what are those atrocious black worms coming out of your head?” Lady Maybell circled Ebba slowly. “And are those . . . beads in your hair? Those will be the first to go.”
Ebba growled, batting the woman’s hand away. “Ye won’t be touchin’ my beads or my hair.”
“Manners! Just how long have you been with those thugs?”
The question wasn’t the type that asked for an answer. This much was clear after an hour in the frittering woman’s company. She was the kind who talked for the sake of hearing herself speak.
“Your face isn’t all that bad now the blood is gone, see!” Maybell brandished a hand mirror in her face, and Ebba took it to save herself from a second bloody nose. Moss-green eyes blinked back at her before flicking over the rest of her high-boned and bronzed features. The lady was a half-head gone in grog if she thought Ebba’s face was all right. Already, purple bruises smudged from the bridge of her nose to the other corner of both eyes. The nose itself was twice its usual size and bright red. She shoved the mirror back at the governor’s wife.
“I mean, your lips are a little big,” Maybell noted. “But there’s nothing you can do about that.”
Ebba glared at her. Why did everyone always say that? Her lips were fine.
Lady Maybell spun around the room, yapping away.
If there was enough room in a chamber to spin around, the chamber was far too big. But Maybell spun. And if there were ten Maybells, Davy Jones forbid, each of them would have space to do the same. Even wearing tent-sized dresses. Never had she seen such poncy grandeur as when the carriage deposited them at the front entrance an hour ago. She’d lost her speech for a full thirty seconds. Columned halls with marble flooring. White statues and gilded frames of barely clad women, draped with transparent white cloth. Exotic birds in ornate cages. Silver patterned wallpaper and tinkling piano music. The place was as foreign to her as any she’d seen in her life.
Maybell’s chambers were just the same, but full of pungent flowers and cushioned seats. Dresses made of yards of fabric—more than all of Ebba’s clothes put together—lay tossed haphazardly over a patterned trifold screen. Her jewelry—gold, rubies, emeralds and pearls—sparkled in a tangled array across her vanity. The opulence told her the governor’s wife was born into riches.
. . . So much wealth, with so little grog between her ears. And yet these people were never more dangerous. She had to get to her fathers. They had to get away from Maltu.
“Are ye the daughter of someone rich or what?” Ebba asked out of genuine curiosity.
Lady Maybell batted her eyelashes. “My father is Baronet of Pewtershire. One of the well-to-do Baronets in Exosia, if you know what I mean.”
She didn’t. Ebba folded her arms, cocking a hip out. Honestly, if she came from somewhere with a name like that, she might’ve turned out as a Maybell, too. “That makes sense.”
“You are too kind.” Maybell’s face turned thoughtful. “You know, you look quite savage in that getup. I am of a mind to dress you up, and, depending on how you look, I might even take you to dinner with me.” Her eyebrows rose as she waited for Ebba’s gleeful response. When it didn’t come, Maybell said, “We have a very special guest tonight.”
“The prince.”
A wrinkle appeared between her brows. “Yes, how could you have guessed?”
Ebba sighed, the woman’s foolishness grated on her last nerve. She didn’t have time for dress-ups and a snobby dinner with the son of King Montcroix. Every pirate hated the king. She’d be more inclined to spit in the prince’s eye than to rub shoulders with him. “I be tired, Lady Maybell. Is there somewhere close by to caulk?”
“Caulk?”
She looked at the ceiling and assembled the scraps of her tattered temper. “To sleep.” She’d sneak out. Maybe luck would help her along the way and gift her a few weapons.
There was no answer, and Ebba locked eyes with Maybell in time to see a sudden shrewd expression there. Ebba’s heart thudded as Maybell drifted closer.
“You don’t fool me, Mistress Fairisles.” She studied her closely. “You don’t fool me for a second.”
Blimey, what a time for her to be clever. She swallowed. “Lady Maybell, I—”
“You secretly want to come, but you’re worried about your appearance.” She clapped her hands. “Okay, okay. You pulled my arm, I’ll take you along.”
This woman . . . was senseless.
“I’d be worried, too, if I were meeting Prince Caspian for the first time.” Maybell bopped Ebba on the nose with her fan. Ebba clutched at her injured nose in agony, eyes streaming as the lady resumed her damned spinning. Maybell arrived in that manner at the trifold screen and began sifting through her extensive wardrobe, chucking dresses of all colors over the screen. “First, we need to dress you up so you don’t stand out.”
The words caught Ebba’s attention through the white-hot agony and she dropped her hands to look between her pirate garb and the colorful dresses on the marbled ground.
Ebba-Viva Fairisles: Immortal Plunder (Pirates of Felicity Book 1) Page 4