Gayle removed the weapon with one deft movement of her wrist and began to clean her fingernails casually with the blade’s tip, leaving it visible during their conversation. “That’s when we come to the other thing I have to show you.”
She nodded at Caruthers, who produced a golden snuffbox and sat it on the table before Magee. He ran his hands over the etched gold, which had Santiago’s name ostentatiously engraved into the lid. “’Tis a beauty, sure,” he grumbled. “But anyone could have—”
“Open it,” Caruthers commanded.
Magee cautiously did so, and the real proof lay inside—Santiago’s signet ring, still encircling his severed finger. He cackled brazenly, displaying a mouth full of brown nubs that Celia acknowledged was exactly how she had expected his teeth to look. Magee pulled the finger out in delight, and Celia gasped and flinched, startled at the spectacle. Magee kissed the fingertip in triumph. “You have yourself a deal, girly.”
“Good,” she replied calmly. “I need one more thing from you.”
“What’s that?”
“Some information. I’m told a slaver by the name of Captain Red McQueen came through here not too long ago. His ship’s called the Pleiades.” Magee seemed too elated with his newly acquired appendage to focus on what Gayle was saying, and he didn’t respond. “This bloke may have brought his own whores to town,” she added.
“Ah,” he finally said. “I know the fella you speak of. He was through here but two days ago, and he did have a pack o’ whores with him—on his ship, no less.” He obviously expected Gayle and Celia to share his outrage, then realized these women were probably from a ship as well, apparently oblivious to their damage to good seafaring men and their vessels. He dropped that subject.
“Did he say where he was headed?” Celia asked.
“I didn’t see or talk to the sailor, but I heard tell he’s holed up over in Kingston waiting for his next load of slaves to haul back to England. He’s taken over The Seven Spirits Inn, from what I’m told.”
“Taken it over?” Abernathy asked.
“Aye. He’s payin’ the owner a tidy sum for all the rooms and the right to come and go as he pleases. He’s moved his whores into the rooms to service his crew, they say.”
“I understand,” Gayle mumbled, finally sheathing her dagger. She glanced at Celia, Abernathy, and Caruthers. “Seven Spirits it is, then.”
Chapter Eleven
“’Tain’t fuckin’ right,” the grimy little man spat. “Those ruddy bastards have been at those whores for a good day and a half.” He shuffled back to patrol the other side of the main deck of the Pleiades, but continued to rant. “We ain’t had so much as a quick feel.”
“Hold your wretched tongue,” his shipmate replied. “Cap’n Red said he’d send men to relieve us, and he will. I’m sick of your bloody whining.”
The shorter guard spun around quickly. “Whining? I just want what’s bloody well due me. You don’t think we’ve been left high and dry here, while the officers roger those whores all the livelong day? You’re dafter than I thought, mate.”
The taller, trimmer guard glared at him in disgust. “And you’ve no bloody discipline. If you’d leave your cullions alone for a fuckin’ minute, mate, maybe you could forget about those whores long enough to do your bloody job.”
“Sod off.” He ambled along the deck “It’s not right to go without like this,” he muttered. “Goes against bloody nature, it does.”
There was a loud splash and he whirled around, snapping his head from side to side.
“Mate?” he called hesitantly. “You there?” He hurried back to where his argumentative colleague had stood just a few seconds prior. “Hello? Where are ya, you fucker?”
His brow furrowed and he turned again to glance behind him, and in so doing, he moved his body directly onto the extended blade of Molly’s very sharp cutlass.
“Lose something?”
His face contorted after she drove the steel completely through his chest and out the other side between his shoulder blades.
He didn’t speak, and after he gave a last violent shudder she removed her weapon from him by placing her foot on his abdomen and pushing against him as hard as she could. The inertia sent his lifeless body over the rail and it landed gracelessly in the water.
She caught the eye of both Nichols and Dowd, and the latter motioned that they should head below deck. They did so silently, listening for signs of both the crew’s whereabouts and their number.
Molly held up her hands to signal the rest of them to stay back and then slowly descended the steps below deck, holding her cutlass securely. A dozen or so pirates sat around a table, most so drunk they couldn’t even hold their heads up fully.
A few turned toward her as she stopped at the foot of the stairs and stared at them.
“What’s this, now?” one of them said. “Looks like we got ourselves a slut for the takin’, fellas.”
Another stood and ogled her hungrily. “Bring that sweet cunny over here, darlin’.”
Molly slowly broke into a menacing smile. “Why don’t you come take it?”
*
James lay across his bunk trying to read A Field Guide to Tropical Diseases, but his heart simply wasn’t in it. Normally, the description of swelling limbs filled with vile fluids would thrill him, but today he kept thinking about his sister Anne.
What if the captain and her crew were too late?
What if she had been sexually defiled?
What if Celia and the captain had been right and Anne really was in that whorehouse because she was seeking a doxy herself?
All of those options made him wince, and he didn’t know which of the three he liked least.
He tried to force his mind back to where it belonged and read aloud about pus. The passage did little to settle him.
A knock came from his cabin door.
“Aye?” he asked as he opened it.
Before him stood Celia, with a small trunk in her hands. “This is for you,” she explained, offering him the chest.
“Here, let me take that.” He set it on his bunk. “What is it?”
Celia stepped over the threshold. “Medical supplies that the captain obtained in port.”
“Ah, good show,” he said stiffly. He popped the latch. Inside were bottles of powders, assorted salves, and bandages. “She’s quite thoughtful, our captain.” He began to remove the bandages and roll them individually.
Celia picked one up also, wanting to assist him. “Let’s hope they won’t be needed tonight,” she muttered softly.
“Is the captain a foolish woman? You know her better than I. Does she take unnecessary risks?”
“I haven’t known her to be foolish.” Celia clenched her jaw. “After all, she’s never pretended to be a rooster, or something of that nature.”
James frowned. “A what?”
“And even if she had, it certainly wouldn’t have been necessary to tell her about it afterward. No. Just let it come back in small embarrassing snippets, right?”
He cleared his throat nervously. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re on about.”
She was instantly self-conscious. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you’re very worried about your sister.”
“I am.”
“You probably wish you had been able to join the battle party,” she observed, continuing to roll bandages.
“Good heavens, no. That’s no place for me, I’m afraid. I’d very likely run myself through with my own sword.”
“How very troublesome.”
“Quite.” He glanced at her work with the bandages. “You are rather good at that, you know.”
“I’ve done this before. My fiancé is a doctor.”
“The devil, you say. Where is this fiancé of yours?”
“Back in Florida, gutless poltroon that he is.”
“Do not malign the gutless, miss,” he quipped. “We are not all a bad lot.”
“You cannot be completely gutless, Do
ctor. After all, you dropped everything to come find your sister. Now look at you—a surgeon aboard a pirate vessel. You’re waist deep in romance and adventure.”
He quickly surveyed his quarters in distaste. “Hmm. Quite.”
“Not really your cup of tea, is it?”
He shook his head, digging deeper into the contents of the trunk and sorting through the medicines. “I’m completely miserable.” He appraised her. “This type of existence seems to agree with you more than it does with me.”
“Oddly enough, I believe it does. This is the most excitement I’ve ever had. If you strung together all the moments before I boarded this ship that I thought were exciting, their sum total would be but an instant—like a lightning flash.”
“But too much lightning can kill you. A life of security and predictability should not be diminished.”
“Nor should it be overstated,” she added pointedly.
He squinted at her as though unable to figure her out. “You are peculiarly refreshing, miss. Have you perhaps reconsidered dining with me?”
“I would not be able to eat tonight, I fear.” She dropped her eyes. “Not until the battle party returns and everyone is out of harm’s way.”
He nodded somberly. “I do pray Anne is unscathed and the captain is able to commission her safe return.”
“She seems a very cunning and daring woman, our captain. I am certain your sister is in the very best of hands, Doctor.”
She again bit back her fear that something ghastly might happen to Gayle and she would be miles away here on the ship—powerless to help her.
*
Gayle finished her quiet surveillance of The Seven Spirits Inn and returned to the small group of crewmen waiting in the distance under the cover of large shrubs. She motioned to Abernathy, pointing at the guard outside the front door of the inn.
“There’s that fat bloke,” she whispered, “and another at the back door. The rest of them must be inside.”
“That doesn’t sound too tricky,” Abernathy whispered back.
“You got a ladder?” She checked to make sure the guard hadn’t discovered their presence, but he still seemed oblivious to them.
“Aye.”
“Then be ready, my good man. Watch, and learn.” She emerged from the shrubbery dressed in a fine lilac gown, then pulled the already plunging bustline down even farther, to enable her voluptuous breasts an apt and notable presentation.
She sauntered up to the fleshy guard at the front door, who was busily digging in one of his nostrils with his pinky. She tried to blink this vile vision from her eyes, but it wouldn’t disappear.
When he finally noticed her, he removed his finger and ogled her lecherously. “Well, ain’t you a lovely li’l slice of finger pie.”
“I might be,” she answered in a husky voice. “I need a man, something fierce.”
“I got what ya need, dearie,” he murmured, lunging for her.
“I’ll just bet you do,” she sidestepped him, “but not out here.” She bored a hole into his eyes with her steamy gaze, grabbed the hand that had not been digging in his nose, and pulled him toward her. “Come with me.”
He was astonished that a sex-starved nymph had dropped from the heavens right where he stood. And he had thought only mermaids answered wishes like this.
Suddenly, they were so far from the inn he could see no light at all. He reached out to grab the beauty by the waist and was disappointed that not only did she somehow evade him, but that in the very next instant a thunderous sound crashed and his head seemed to split open.
As the ground rushed to meet him, he completely lost consciousness.
*
Inside The Seven Spirits Inn, Captain Red McQueen—a large brute of a man—sat at a table, drinking rum straight from the bottle. His name obviously referred to his hair color, and he sported a thick orange mustache and beard that contained small souvenirs from the last several meals he had enjoyed.
His linen shirt, brightly stained from numerous random spills, hung loosely from his torso as he listened to a fiddle player, clapping to the rapid beat of the music.
Next to him sat Anne Keegan, bored with this revelry. Going into that whorehouse had been the worst mistake of her life. What she had hoped would be an opportunity to pass some pleasurable time with a lovely and willing courtesan had turned into many horrid and degrading weeks of abduction and sexual exhibitionism.
When the captain’s men had burst into the brothel where she had stopped, they had simply assumed that she was also a whore. Luckily, she had been able thus far to avoid actually having sex with any of the crewmembers by informing the captain that she preferred the company of women. Now anytime the captain directed, she had to have sex with one of the whores—and he got to watch.
She supposed this wasn’t a completely unbearable situation, as it was certainly better than being raped or killed, but it wasn’t exactly gratifying. In fact, the captain made so much noise and carried on so lewdly while he watched, she found it increasingly difficult to pretend he wasn’t in the room—which made it a challenge for her to arrive at her happy moment. Nonetheless, she somehow always managed.
Captain McQueen took another swig from his bottle of rum, then belched loudly. “Dance, lassie,” he instructed Anne, motioning with the bottle.
“I’m not much of a dancer,” she lied.
He set the bottle down and clapped to the fiddle music again. “You think I give a wicked shit? Dance.”
“I would think you would want to observe someone more skilled.”
“What I want to see, if you must know,” he explained with a slight slur, “is your bloody tits properly jostled. So go on. Get up and shake ’em, or I’ll cut the fuckin’ things off and shake ’em myself.”
Anne frowned and looked about self-consciously at several other crewmen in the inn. “Can I just shake them for you here at the table?”
The captain seemed as though he might contemplate this offer, when in strode a beautiful redheaded woman in a low-cut lilac gown. She glanced about the room, and when her eyes settled on McQueen, the corners of her mouth rose slightly.
“Great jumpin’ Jesus,” he called, clearly pleased with her countenance, yet puzzled by her arrival. “Who are you, lassie?”
Gayle seductively strolled over to his table and stopped, instantly certain that the petite blonde next to him was James’s sister—so strongly did she resemble him. “The name is Gayle,” she said provocatively. “And who are you?”
“The hell with who I am,” he spat, rising to his feet. “Who let you in here?”
“I told that nice fellow outside the door that I was meeting my beloved here, and he let me come right inside and wait. He said something about getting a drink. Are you having a party?”
McQueen stared lewdly, obviously thinking that his guard had procured him another pretty girl to fill to the brim with his seed. “Aye, and a fine party it is,” he declared. “Come and have a seat here with me while we wait for your beloved.”
Gayle feigned delight as she did so.
“Want a taste?” He waved his rum under her nose.
“Might I get my own?”
He laughed drunkenly and waved to the man at the bar, who appeared only moments later with a new bottle of rum and a glass. Gayle pulled the cork out with her teeth and poured herself a shot, downing it quickly to steel her nerves. She nodded toward the blonde and smiled. “And is this your lovely wife?” she asked McQueen.
The woman looked horrified and McQueen laughed. “No bloody chance o’ that.”
Gayle rested her chin on her hand and poured herself another drink. “And why is that?”
“She likes rogerin’ women even more than I do,” he proclaimed, drinking another few swallows of his spirits.
Gayle was amused. “Is that because she fancies ladies a bit too much? Or because you don’t fancy them enough?”
Now the blonde laughed and McQueen scowled. “What the fuck does that mean? I’m
all man, sweetie.” He thumped his chest to convey the requisite virility.
“So I see.” Gayle peeked again at the woman, who was studying her lustily. She should have bet money on this one, she mused. Her sexual orientation was like an ancient riddle Gayle had deciphered.
Question: When is a woman in a whorehouse not a whore?
Answer: When she’s bedding a whore.
“And what are we celebrating?” Gayle watched the blonde’s eyes fixed on her arresting bustline.
“Your arrival. I’m Anne,” she said in a throaty timbre.
Gayle met her suggestive gaze, and it scorched her. She refilled Anne’s glass with rum from her bottle. “Then have a drink on me.”
As McQueen watched her and Anne, Gayle knew that, even as tipsy as he was, he could feel the sexual pulse that coursed through them like lightning. He was probably wondering why the blonde didn’t see the power and the glory of the magnificent cock, as the rest of these whores did.
Anne drank the rum in one gulp, then held out the glass to Gayle for a refill.
“Aren’t you worried you’ll get sotted?” Gayle refilled Anne’s glass anyhow.
“I have no problem holding my liquor.”
“One of the few bloody things she’ll hold willingly,” McQueen groused. He picked up a long clay pipe on the table and turned it over, lightly rapping it against his palm to shake the old ash free.
Gayle chuckled at the inebriated man’s obvious disdain. “Here, let me do that for you.” She took the pipe from him and scooped up a wad of tobacco that lay on the table. Expertly, she loaded the pipe and stood, heading to the fireplace at the far end of the room. She grasped a long wick from beside the fire and lit the tobacco in the pipe, drawing in the smoke and alternately expelling it. Tossing the wick casually into the fireplace, she returned to the table and sat. She inhaled one last breath of smoke, then opened her mouth to form a circle and blew a large smoke ring into the air.
The Sublime and Spirited Voyage of Original Sin Page 10