“It is?”
“It is.”
“Oh.” Jonathan swallowed, still looking a bit unsure. “Well, then. I apologize for that, I suppose.”
“Apology accepted.” Rina took another sip of her ale.
Jonathan still appeared to be trying to figure out what had just happened. After a moment, he said quietly, “Flora is a friend. Nothing more.”
Rina shrugged. “It’s none of my business.”
He hesitated briefly before reaching across the table to brush a fleeting touch across the back of her hand. “I wanted you to know.”
She met his gaze, trying to read his intent. She was lost when it came to Jonathan, in a constant state of confusion and want. And right when she thought she had figured out where she stood, he would do something like this, knocking her off balance yet again.
“Thank you,” she said.
Jonathan opened his mouth to say something more, but a loud squawk and a flutter of red feathers interrupted. The parrot that had apparently been hiding in the rafters landed on Jonathan’s shoulder with a loud, “Bloody hell!”
Rina’s mouth dropped open. “That man forgot his parrot!”
“Apparently so,” Jonathan said distastefully, waving a hand toward the bird. “Go on now!” he hissed. The parrot flapped his wings a bit but ignored him.
“I think it likes you.” Rina grinned, more than a little amused by Jonathan’s discomfort.
“Well, I don’t like him,” he muttered. “Can you get it off me?”
“What? Are you afraid of a little bird?”
“I simply don’t want to hurt it.” He tried again, unsuccessfully, to shoo it away.
“Well, I think we should keep it.” Rina snagged a half-eaten roll from an abandoned plate and offered it to the parrot. It blinked at her curiously for a moment, then bent to peck at the bread.
“We’re not keeping it.”
“Why not? Every pirate ship needs a parrot.”
“Where on earth did you get such a ridiculous notion?”
Rina shrugged. “Everybody knows that.” She smiled at the parrot. “What’s your name, pretty bird?”
The parrot squawked. “Pretty bird! Pretty bird!”
Jonathan glared. “It doesn’t need a name. It’s not a pet, and we’re not keeping it.” He shook his shoulder to dislodge the bird, but it just looked at him with steady black eyes. “Bloody hell,” he muttered.
“New friend, Jonathan?” Pearl appeared at the table, fully dressed this time in a yellow cotton gown, her flaming hair artfully arranged on her head. She motioned to Sam, who dragged another table over, then took a seat next to Sarina. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said, tipping her head toward Jonathan. “You know how these boys are.” She winked and Rina flushed.
“I don’t . . . I mean . . . we’re not . . .”
Pearl looked from her to Jonathan and back again. “No? But I thought for certain—“ She waved a hand. “Never mind. So, tell me, Jonathan, when did you become such a bird enthusiast?”
“I’m not,” he said grumpily, slouching forward on the table. “Damned thing won’t go away.”
“Go away!” the parrot echoed.
“Exactly!” Jonathan shouted. The bird whistled and set to preening its feathers.
Max returned and sat down next to Sam, smiling when Flora came by with another round of ale. His eyes widened slightly at the sight of the parrot, and he shot a questioning glance at Rina.
“I’m thinking of calling him Blackbeard,” she said.
“Absolutely not!” Jonathan snapped.
“Hmm.” Max rubbed his chin. “How about Captain Kidd?”
“Oh, I like that,” Pearl said.
“We’re not naming the bird after a bloody pirate!” Jonathan rubbed his hands over his face, and the bird squawked, “Bloody pirate!”
“Anne Bonny?” Sam offered. At everyone’s curious looks, he added, “It might be a girl, and she’s the only female pirate I know of.”
“There are female pirates?” Rina asked, eyes wide.
“Aye,” Jonathan muttered. “One or two.”
She considered that for a long moment, looking into her mug thoughtfully.
The name debate continued until the front door of the tavern opened, and a boyish-faced man clutching a burlap sack walked in.
Pearl stiffened. “That’s Hayward,” she said, effectively cutting off all parrot talk for the moment. He spotted her and nodded slightly, making his way across the room.
She stood as the boy approached, instructing her girls not to disturb them before leading the group down the hallway, past the kitchen to a storage room at the back. The boy glanced over his shoulder before following them into the room, hovering inside the doorway.
“This ‘im?” he asked, jerking his head toward Jonathan.
Pearl nodded. “Do you have the box?”
Hayward checked over his shoulder again before reaching into the bag and pulling out a small wooden box. He placed it on a barrel, both hands resting on the top as his fingers tapped nervously.
“If it’s all the same to ye,” he said. “I’ll take my coin and be going.”
“If it’s all the same to you,” Jonathan replied, “I’ll be seeing the box before you see any coin.”
Hayward hesitated only a moment before he sighed heavily, shoving a hand through his messy hair and sliding the box toward him. Jonathan picked it up and examined it carefully. It was smaller than he’d expected—about the length and breadth of his hand and as thick as it was wide—and expertly carved out of several different types of wood. The pieces fit together tightly, smooth and polished in an intricate mosaic, with no apparent lid—no hinges or latches of any kind.
“How do you open it?” Jonathan asked.
Hayward shrugged and leaned against the wall. “Dunno. Fellow I got it from said it was some kind of puzzle box, but he didn’t know how to open it either.”
“And what fellow was that?”
Hayward’s gaze hardened. “Didn’t get to be the man who can get things by tellin’ everyone how I get those things.” He glanced at Pearl. “Can I go now?”
She and Jonathan exchanged a significant look, and Jonathan reached into his pocket to withdraw a pouch of coins and tossed it to Hayward. The boy shook it once, listening to the tinkle with a satisfied smile before tucking it into his coat pocket and leaving the room with a curt nod.
Jonathan studied the box a bit longer, tapping it thoughtfully, before passing it around to the others.
“I suggest a rock,” Sam suggested. “Just smash the damned thing.”
Rina rolled her eyes. “Let me see it,” she said. With a shrug, he handed her the box, and she slid her fingers over the polished surface.
“I’ve seen a box like this before,” she murmured, half to herself, as she prodded the box in various places. “It’s just a matter of finding the right spot—“ She pressed a rectangular section and it slid out easily. “Ha!” she shouted as the others gathered close, eager to get a peek. She pried at another piece that flipped up, revealing a rectangular section that pivoted on an axis, locking into place with a quiet snick. After that, it was a matter of sliding sections out, then back again—until the box split in two in Sarina’s hands, revealing a shallow drawer in the bottom.
Rina grinned. “I did it!”
“Well done, Smith,” Jonathan said, patting her on the shoulder and reaching into the drawer to pull out a folded-up piece of paper.
“Is that it?” Max asked, as Jonathan carefully unfolded it.
“Aye,” Jonathan breathed. He looked up, waving them back. “Let me put it on the barrel.”
They gathered around as he smoothed the creases on the map, frowning at the torn edge.
“It doesn’t say much,” Max noted, running a finger along the edge of a land mass. “This could be any place.”
“An island, obviously,” Sam added, “but which one?”
Jonathan grunted noncommittally. �
��This area looks familiar,” he replied, pointing to another spot. “I’m not certain, though.”
“Jonathan, do you see that? At the bottom?” Rina pointed to a small drawing some distance off the coast of whatever island they were looking at. “Is that what I think it is?”
Jonathan picked up the map to scrutinize the sketch more closely. It wasn’t complete—part was torn off with the other half of the map—but there was enough for him to recognize the shape of a misshapen disk with two holes, one large, one smaller. Along the edge of the disk, some numbers: 43, 14, 6.
“Bloody hell,” Jonathan murmured.
“What is it?” Pearl asked.
“The coin.”
“What coin?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Jonathan hastily folded the map. “We need to get back to the ship. I think—“
A low laugh cut Jonathan off mid-sentence, and as one, the group turned toward the doorway leading to the tavern. A dark-haired man dressed all in black leaned against the jamb, a satisfied smirk on his face.
“Barton,” Jonathan hissed, sliding the map into his pocket. “Kane still has you doing his dirty work, I see.” He reached for his sword.
“Ah ah ah.” Barton waved a finger back and forth tauntingly and nodded toward the back door. It swung open, and James came through, flanked by two more men, a pistol pointed at his head. Blood dripped from a cut on his cheek, and he winced as they shoved him into the room.
“I’m sorry,” he said, spitting blood onto the floor. “Didn’t see them coming until it was too late.”
Barton pushed away from the door and stepped toward them. “Yes, your friend here has good instincts. Thought he was onto us for a while there. Unfortunately, he was no match for my men.” At Jonathan’s glare, he added, “I have more outside, in case you should get an itch to fight your way out of this.”
“How did you find us?” Jonathan asked.
“You can’t expect me to give away all our secrets, can you?”
“Where is Kane?”
Barton leered. “Oh, he’ll find you when the time is right, Jack. I think you’re beginning to realize that he’s always one step ahead of you.” He pulled out a pistol and pointed it at Rina’s chest. “Sorry about this, miss. It’s nothing personal.” He turned back to Jonathan. “I’ll be having that map, now.” With a cheerful smile, he added, “And I’d thank you all to have a seat. You’re going to be here for a while.”
Rina twisted her wrists, trying to no avail to loosen the ropes tight around them. The scarf tied across her mouth chafed at her skin, and as she looked to her left, she could see Jonathan dealing with the same situation.
Barton had bound and gagged them all, then made them sit back-to-back in a circle and tied all of their wrists together. He’d smacked the map against his palm and slipped it in his pocket with a grin.
“You’re lucky Kane said not to touch you . . . yet,” he’d said, leaning over the captain. “Until we meet again, Jack.” With that, he and his men had left the room, securing both doors and leaving Jonathan fuming.
They were all angry, but Rina had never seen Jonathan so furious. And that was saying a lot.
The room was quiet except for the shuffling of clothing as they fought to free themselves, and the occasional grunt muffled by the gags. She was surprised that he’d only tied them up and left, half expecting him to kill them all.
More games, she supposed. She was beginning to understand that Kane really liked his games.
The bastard.
The door to the main room opened, and they turned as one, all shouting through their gags.
“Miss Pearl? I know you said not to interrupt, but there’s a man—“ Flora stopped in the doorway, eyes wide. “Good lord!”
Pearl grunted something, eyes flashing, and Flora hurried into the room and removed her gag.
“Cut us loose,” Pearl ordered. “Hurry.”
Flora grabbed the dagger from Max’s belt and sliced through the ropes. Within minutes, they were free, rubbing their wrists as they vowed revenge. Jonathan stalked through the tavern, the others following close behind.
“I’m sorry, Jonathan,” Pearl said, lingering in the doorway.
“It’s not your fault. Thank you for your aid.”
She nodded, and Sam pulled her into a quick but passionate kiss before whispering a goodbye. She stood on the porch, watching as they hurried back toward the ship.
Jonathan turned to Sam. “You and Ceron go through the town. Get all the men back to the ship. Now.”
He nodded grimly and the two men rushed down the street.
“What are we going to do?” Rina asked as they headed toward the path to the cove. “Go after the map?”
“No. Kane’s already well under way, I’m sure.”
“What then?”
“I remember now why that section of the map looked familiar,” he said, shoving aside some brush as they all but ran down the path. “I know where he’s heading.”
“You do?” Max asked. Jonathan nodded curtly.
Rina’s stomach flipped with a combination of anxiety and excitement. “Are we going to stop him?”
Jonathan’s lips quirked. “No, we’re not going to stop him,” he said. “But we are going to beat him.”
As they emerged from the trees, a squawk and a flurry of red feathers burst from the branches overhead, and the parrot landed heavily on Jonathan’s shoulder.
“Bloody hell!” he shouted, swatting at the bird.
It flapped, hovering above his head for a moment before coming to rest on his other shoulder and screeching, “Bloody hell! Bloody hell!”
Despite their current situation, Rina laughed. “You’re a bad influence on that bird,” she said. Jonathan glared at her and turned to stalk toward the ship.
The parrot squawked, “Pretty bird!”
“How about Barbarossa?” Max offered as they hurried after Jonathan. “I think that’s an excellent name for a parrot.”
“We’re not naming the bloody parrot!”
The bird repeated, “Barbarossa! Barbarossa!” for the next half an hour as they set sail after Kane.
The crew took that as an approval.
Commodore Lucius Stanton was not a happy man. He stood at the bow of the Intrepid, glaring unseeingly at the crashing waves, the wind forcing him to hold his hat in his fist, strands of blond hair escaping his queue to flutter about his face. He blew them aside with annoyance.
Blasted Tremayne had outsmarted him yet again.
He’d followed the dinghy, of course, and had been close enough when it landed to see the face of the man wearing the captain’s hat and coat through his spyglass.
Close enough to see the man had two good eyes.
“Damn him,” the commodore muttered, recalling the cocky salute the man had offered before disappearing into the undergrowth. Stanton had no doubt he would have been long gone by the time he could get ashore and make chase.
Not that he cared to. No, the man was a lackey, nothing more. Tremayne was the prize.
“Sir?” Lieutenant Cameron stepped tentatively to his side, hat in hand.
“Any word?” Stanton asked gruffly.
Cameron cleared his throat. “Not of Tremayne, no, sir. Sorry. But we have received a report that the Abaddon’s Curse has left Hispaniola, apparently bound for Tortuga.”
Stanton grunted, shrugging his shoulders. “Hardly news, Cameron. It’s a pirate port.” Tortuga was an aggravation to the Crown. Although he knew pirates frequented the island, it was nearly impossible to catch them there. He suspected the locals aided in their escape, somehow able to spot Crown ships approaching in time to alert the criminals. They also were notoriously close-lipped, pleading ignorance when questioned, or simply disappearing into the woodwork until Stanton or his contemporaries left the island.
He’d come to accept that it was a safe haven for Tremayne and his kind, and generally not worth the effort.
“That’s not all, sir,” Cameron
added, pulling the commodore from his thoughts. “The Enchanted Lady is apparently sailing with them.”
Stanton turned to him in surprise. “Renard? Are you certain?”
“They were seen in close company.” No one would sail close to the Curse unless they were allied somehow. It was only asking to be boarded.
“Why would he sail with Kane?” Stanton mused. He hadn’t spoken with the Lady’s captain since he’d rescued him after Tremayne’s attack, but had been under the impression that Renard was trying to establish a legitimate trade.
Perhaps he was wrong.
Abruptly, Stanton turned to pace across the deck, Cameron at his heels. “So Kane and Renard are both heading to Tortuga. Together for some reason.” There was no love lost for Tremayne when it came to Mattias Renard. And it was common knowledge that Tremayne and Kane had a longtime feud. Could the two have joined forces?
“Tremayne was sailing south as well,” he muttered, half to himself. Could the captain of the Arrow have the same destination in mind? And if so, why? He supposed it could all be coincidence. They all frequented the same waters but generally tried to avoid each other unless . . .
Unless they were planning an assault.
But, Stanton wondered, who was doing the planning? Kane? Tremayne?
“Sir?” Cameron shifted on his feet, watching his commanding officer warily. “Do you have orders?”
Stanton rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. If Kane and Tremayne were bound to finally battle each other, it could work in his favor. He’d long ago tired of the heat and crudeness of the islands, longing to return to the civility of England. He’d clung to the idea of capturing Tremayne to ensure a promotion—perhaps a command in Port Royal or Antigua, or even on the mainland, away from ships and hardtack and bloody goddamned pirates.
But to remove them both at one fell swoop? Such a thing had never before seemed possible. If Kane were to remove Tremayne—or vice versa—and Stanton was nearby, ready with chains for the survivors?
Well, it could mean far more than a promotion. It could mean everything—gold, lands, perhaps even a title.
And leaving these bloody islands to return to London a hero.
“Sir?” Cameron repeated. Stanton smiled, visions of luxury dancing in his head.
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