Cutlass

by T. M. Franklin

  “Are you One-Eyed—“ At Jonathan’s low growl, Abernathy’s words cut off. He tugged at his collar. “Are you C-Captain Tremayne?” he asked instead, his words barely a whisper.

  Jonathan crossed his arms over his chest, a menacing glare burning into the man.

  “Perhaps.”

  The shopkeeper rushed to the front door and quickly locked it before pulling the shades down over the front window.

  “What are you on about?” Jonathan asked, losing patience.

  “Mayhap he’s a bit daft?” Hutchins offered through the side of his mouth. “Had an aunt like that once. Believed she was the Queen of England.”

  Jonathan shrugged but watched the man carefully as he returned to them, stepping behind the counter to open a drawer.

  “He said you’d be coming,” he told Jonathan, mopping his face with his handkerchief and leaving a streak of blue on his upper lip.

  “Who?”

  “Said his name was Kane.” The man all but shuddered when he said the name. “Rather intimidating chap.”

  The group of pirates groaned, watching the captain for his reaction. His anger was apparent in his dark gaze, the clench of his jaw. He reached across the counter and grabbed the shopkeeper’s lapel. “What did he want?” he asked through his teeth, slow and deadly.

  Abernathy gulped. “He was after a cup. I don’t know why. ‘Twasn’t anything of significant value—“

  “What of the cup?” Jonathan shook him slightly when he took too long to answer.

  “He took it,” Abernathy replied, eyes wide with fear. “Paid me handsomely and asked me to give you a message when you arrived.”

  “Jonathan,” Sarina said quietly, reaching for his arm.

  Jonathan tore his gaze from the shopkeeper and focused on her.

  “It isn’t his fault,” she said.

  He stared at her for a long moment, then with a heavy sigh, Jonathan uncurled his fingers, releasing the man. The cup was gone. Kane had it. But Sarina was right. His anger should not be aimed at an innocent man.

  Abernathy smoothed his coat, then his nonexistent hair. “He asked me to give you a message,” he said again.

  Jonathan nodded, rubbing the tense muscles at the back of his neck. “What message?”

  The man fumbled through the open drawer for a moment, and Jonathan felt his patience slipping away yet again.

  “It’s in here somewhere,” he muttered, pulling out a pile of papers. “I didn’t really expect you to come. Didn’t know when you might, if you did—“

  “Bloody hell, man!” Max exclaimed. “Just find the blasted message, will you?”

  The man’s hands trembled, but he held up a square of parchment victoriously. “Here it is!” He handed it to Jonathan with a wide grin, his hand remaining extended as Jonathan took the note from him. Jonathan eyed the man’s palm distastefully, and Abernathy’s fingers twitched as he began to pull it back. But the captain nodded at Max, who pulled a coin from his pocket and tossed it to the shopkeeper.

  “Thank you for your assistance,” Jonathan said before turning on his heel to head for the door, not missing Abernathy’s fallen expression. Obviously, he had either hoped for a greater reward or at least to find out what the message contained. Jonathan examined the parchment. It was still sealed, a blob of wax imprinted with the K of Kane’s signet ring yet intact over the edge of the paper. Fortunate thing, that. Jonathan would have hated to have to kill the shopkeeper for being nosy.

  He ran his finger over the seal, an inadvertent shiver rippling through him at the touch. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen the symbol, pressed into blood-red wax, that instance forever imprinted on his memory. A similar note, lying next to his mother’s bloodied form. His father’s fingers trembling as he broke the seal, reading the one-line missive with a blank expression. The parchment fluttering to the floor, only to be retrieved by a grief-stricken Jonathan once his father walked aimlessly out of the room.

  Innocents are harmed when I am kept from what I desire.

  His father had answered Jonathan’s questions with single words, uttered in shock, colored with pain and numbness.

  Yes.

  No.

  Kane.

  Kane.

  Kane.

  The name forever emblazoned on his heart, giving him purpose . . . giving him meaning. He’d taken the journal then, interceding when his father threatened to throw it into the fire, vowing his vengeance as Sebastian’s shoulders slumped in defeat and shame.

  He had eventually burned the note, however, unable to look at it without seeing his mother’s broken body in his mind.

  Kane had left other notes along the way, always taunting, goading . . . daring him to stop or to continue in his quest.

  When Kane had retrieved half of the map: It seems you are falling behind in this little game, Jack. Perhaps it is time you retire to more leisurely pursuits?

  When Jonathan lay recovering from the wounds he’d inflicted: I bide my time until we meet again.

  When Jonathan stole the cutlass: Well played, Tremayne. But this is far from over.

  His fingers gripped the latest message as the crew emerged into the sunshine, walking toward the edge of town and—hopefully—their hidden horses. Jonathan kept his stride quick and purposeful, anxious to get back to the ship now that their search had proven fruitless. They mounted the horses in silence, setting off toward the shoreline at a gallop. Once they reached the place where the dinghy was hidden, they released the horses with a shout and a slap to the rump, and the men dragged the little boat to the water.

  Jonathan stood off by himself, staring down yet again at that blood-red seal.

  Sarina approached him tentatively. “Aren’t you going to read it?”

  “I already know what it says.”

  “How?”

  “Because they’re always the same,” he spat. “That bastard is always a step ahead of me, and he likes to drive home that fact.” He handed the parchment to Sarina. “See for yourself.”

  Sarina reached for the paper and slid her finger under the edge to break the seal.

  “The cup is mine. Yet again, I prove victorious,” she read. “You may bear the title of Captain, Jack, but you are no pirate. Why not surrender to failure before your crew is destroyed by your ill-fated attempts at revenge?”

  She looked up at him. “Mighty full of himself, isn’t he?”

  Jonathan snorted, taken by surprise at her comment and how—somehow—it alleviated his frustration and anger. He glanced down to find her watching him closely, eyes twinkling. Reaching for the message, he crumpled it up and shoved it in his coat pocket.

  “Aye, Smith. That he is,” he replied with a smirk. “I’d say it’s about time we put that bastard in his place, though, don’t you?”

  Sarina gripped her sword, her face turning grave and determined. “Aye, Captain,” she said. “It’s about time.”

  The landing party made its way back to the ship without incident, but Crawley sought out Jonathan as soon as they stepped on the deck.

  “Cap’n, we’ve received a message,” he said urgently, “from Tortuga.”

  Jonathan’s jaw tensed. “Baines!” he shouted. When the first mate looked at him, he gestured toward his quarters meaningfully, and the three set off together, Rina trailing behind, trying to go unnoticed lest she be excluded from the conversation.

  “How long ago?” Jonathan asked.

  “Not long,” Crawley replied. “It was relayed from our contact in Savannah.”

  “I hope you thanked him for the horses,” Jonathan said wryly.

  Crawley nodded as the little group made its way into the captain’s quarters. Jonathan lifted an eyebrow at Rina but made no effort to keep her out of the room, simply closing the door behind her and taking a seat behind his desk.

  “We’ve word from Pearl,” he told Max.

  “Who’s Pearl?” Rina asked.

  Max turned to her. “A friend in Tortuga.”

  �
��Tortuga?”

  Jonathan leaned back in his chair. “It’s a haven for businessmen of our sort,” he said with a slight grin. “Pearl often provides . . .” He searched for the right word. “Entertainment, when we’re in port.”

  Rina tilted her head, searching for the hidden meaning. “What type of entertainment?”

  Jonathan crossed his arms over his chest, biting the corner of his lip. “Various types.”

  She opened her mouth to pursue the point, but Jonathan waved a hand in dismissal. “At any rate, she also supplies information that sometimes proves useful.”

  “How did you get a message from so far away?” she asked.

  Jonathan sighed in frustration, obviously wanting to get on with business, so Max interjected.

  “We’ve contacts all through the islands, and up the coast of the mainland,” he explained. “Using lanterns at night, or mirrors reflecting sunlight during the day, they can pass along simple messages. Sometimes it’s a warning to avoid a certain area—if Crown ships have been spotted, for example. Or, in this case, I predict, that we need to go somewhere.”

  “Indeed,” Jonathan murmured, turning to Crawley expectantly.

  “Five flashes, then three,” he said. Sarina turned to Jonathan for a translation.

  “Pearl’s signal,” he explained.

  “Yes,” Crawley replied. “Then two . . . four . . . two.”

  “Come.”

  “Then, one I didn’t recognize,” Crawley continued with a frown. “Six . . . three . . . three.”

  Jonathan stiffened. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes. The message repeated several times.” Crawley shifted uncomfortably. “What does it mean?”

  The captain sat thoughtfully for a moment, elbow braced on the arm of his chair, finger on his lips.

  “It means we’re setting sail for Tortuga,” he said finally. “See to it, then your bed, Crawley. Baines will be up shortly to take the wheel.”

  “Aye, Cap’n,” the quartermaster replied, leaving the room to fulfill his duties. Jonathan sat back in his chair, a satisfied smile on his lips.

  “What was that all about?” Max asked. “What does six, three, three mean?”

  “It means Pearl has word of the box.”

  “The box?” Rina interrupted. “You mean the box with the map? The one Charlotte mentioned?”

  “Aye.”

  “But how did she get it?” She crossed the room, pacing excitedly. “Where did she find it? Did she see the map?”

  Max laughed. “It’s a rather simple form of communication, Rina,” he said. “Not one for detailed information.”

  She collapsed into a chair. “How frustrating!”

  “Well, we’ll get the answers soon enough,” Jonathan said, right as an urgent knocking sounded at the door. “Enter!”

  Crawley poked his head in. “Cap’n, you’re needed on deck. A Crown ship approaches.”

  Jonathan was on his feet before he finished talking, pushing past him through the door. “Stanton?”

  “Can’t tell for certain, but could be.”

  Rina followed behind him as Jonathan emerged on deck, pulling his spyglass from his pocket. “Full sail!” he barked, Max quickly relaying the order. The men sped to obey, and once again she was awed by the coordinated effort to get the ship underway.

  Jonathan squinted, peering through the glass at the approaching ship, still a speck in the distance. “It’s Stanton all right,” he said.

  “How can you tell?” she asked, raising a hand to block the sunlight.

  Snapping the spyglass shut, he stalked to the wheel. “I can tell.

  “Move it, men, Stanton’s on our stern!” he bellowed as they hoisted sails, the wind filling them to bursting. “Avast! Ready the cannons! He’ll not catch us easily, but if he does, we’ll be ready for him!”

  Max watched the men with a critical eye. “The Arrow is faster than the Intrepid,” he said. “Stanton won’t catch us.”

  Jonathan frowned, his fingers tight on the wheel. “No, but he’ll follow us all the way to Tortuga.”

  “We can’t let that happen.”

  “No.”

  Rina watched the interchange silently. When neither spoke again, she asked, “So what’s to be done, then?”

  They exchanged a significant look. “There’s only one thing,” Max began.

  “No,” Jonathan said gruffly. “We’ll let him follow, then evade him in the Bahamas. He won’t be able to maneuver as quickly as us once we reach the islands.”

  Max glanced in the direction of the approaching ship warily. “A diversion would ensure our escape.”

  “What kind of diversion?” Rina asked.

  “No,” Jonathan said stubbornly. “I’ll not throw one of my men to the wolves.”

  “Jenkins is strong and fast.”

  At that, the man in question appeared, as if out of nowhere. “I can do it, Cap’n,” he offered.

  “I didn’t ask,” Jonathan muttered.

  “No, sir. I believe I volunteered.”

  “Ready yourself,” Max said hastily. “We won’t be able to stop to drop the dinghy—“

  “Belay that!” Jonathan bellowed.

  Jenkins straightened. “Cap’n, I can give you the time you need to get to Tortuga, and Stanton will be none the wiser.” At Jonathan’s skeptical look, he added with a smug grin, “The commodore won’t catch me. He won’t even come close.”

  Jonathan studied him for a moment, then nodded grimly, slipping out of his coat and hat. “Take Thomas and Allegheny. They’re strong rowers and quick on their feet. If there’s trouble, relay a message to Tortuga.”

  “Aye, Captain.” He put on the coat, then the hat, tugging it low over his eyes.

  “We’ll return for you.”

  “Or we’ll find our way to you.” Jenkins grinned. “I’m quite resourceful, ye know.”

  Jonathan nodded, clapping the man on the shoulder. “I’m well aware. Just be careful. Don’t let Stanton get his bloody hooks into you.”

  “Not a chance, Cap’n.” With that, he hurried off to find the other men.

  “Ready the dinghy abaft!” Jonathan shouted, and a group of crewmen raced to pull the little boat over the side, repositioning it toward the stern of the ship. They began to lower it over the side by a pair of ropes tied at its bow and stern. When Jenkins reappeared with two large crewmen Rina assumed were Thomas and Allegheny, Jonathan nodded once, then shouted. “Heave to! Mind the yard arm!”

  Sarina watched in awe as he spun the wheel, men ducking nimbly as the sails swung wildly across the deck. The ship slowed as they headed into the wind, and with a shout, the men lowered the dinghy to the water, keeping hold of the ropes to keep it from floating away. Jenkins and the other two men climbed over the gunwale, clambering down the rope ladder and into the dinghy. With a shout, the men released the ropes, and the dinghy bobbed away in the Arrow’s wake. With another shout, Jonathan spun the wheel again, and the ship sped up, heading south yet again.

  It all took less than a minute.

  “That was . . .” Rina looked up at Jonathan, wide-eyed.

  “Impressive?” he offered, with a rather self-satisfied smile.

  She snorted. “I was going to say insane,” she said. “Did you just launch a dinghy full of men off a moving ship?”

  Jonathan shrugged, his hand resting lightly on the wheel. “No time to stop.”

  She glanced back at Jenkins sitting in the bow of the dinghy, Thomas and Allegheny rowing side by side. In Jonathan’s coat and hat, he could easily be mistaken for the captain.

  “You think Stanton will follow them?” she asked doubtfully.

  “He won’t run the risk that it could be me,” he replied. “He’s doubtlessly aware that I’ve been spending some time on the mainland, and if he suspects I’ve left the ship, he won’t be able to resist the chance to catch me. By the time he realizes the truth, we’ll be well into the islands.”

  “Will Jenkins be all right?�
�

  “Aye,” Jonathan replied, but tension showed in the clench of his jaw, and she knew he was worried. “None of us are inexperienced when it comes to evading the law.”

  Rina wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her or himself. “Well, he is a pirate, after all,” she said loftily. “You are a slippery lot.”

  He smirked at her. “Aye. That we are.”

  She turned to face the wind, her hair blowing loose around her face. “There’s something I don’t understand,” she said after a while. “Why did Charlotte send us to Savannah if we had no chance of finding the cup?”

  Jonathan glanced over his shoulder, keeping an eye on Stanton as he piloted the ship. “We had a chance,” he said. “Charlotte can only see the future based on the path we are on at that particular moment. It’s possible Kane hadn’t decided to go to Savannah yet, or perhaps something happened to speed Stanton’s arrival in South Carolina. Any one thing could have changed the path we were on, making us miss our opportunity to beat Kane to the cup.”

  Sarina considered that, her mind whirling at the possibilities—the infinite consequences of every action. “It’s rather complicated, isn’t it?”

  He laughed. “I suppose you could say that.”

  They stood in companionable silence, the ship rocking beneath their feet. Rina was highly aware of Jonathan beside her, his masculine form braced against the wind, his long hair the only part of him giving it quarter. He was quite a sight, she had to admit—a figure from a story book. Not a hero, exactly, but not quite a villain either.

  “So, tell me about this Pearl,” she said after a while, fighting to keep from appearing too curious.

  “Pearl?” Jonathan grinned at her, his eye twinkling merrily. “Oh, Smith. You’re going to love her.”

  On board his ship, docked in the waters off Nassau, Kane the Merciless gulped down a tankard of rum, holding it out to be refilled with an absent wave of his hand. His cabin boy rushed forward to pour the rum carefully, then Kane set the tankard on the table before him, dismissing the boy with a jerk of his head. Finally alone, he stood and moved to the locked chest against the wall. He unlocked it with the key he kept on a chain around his neck and drew out a cloth-wrapped item before returning to his chair.