Joelle took a step toward him. Smithy halted her by pushing her temple with his pistol.
Damn it. Ricker prayed she’d heed just how close she was to having her brains spilled and not do something foolish. Though at this point, every move was foolish.
She ignored Smithy, her grievance directed solely at Leviathan. “You thought Watson would forge an alliance with you. Your arrogance has left me speechless.”
“We both get what we want.”
“That is not entirely true, either,” said Watson.
He cleared the distance between himself and Joelle. The captain opened her jacket, rummaging through her pockets. Ricker moved a step but the soldiers lifted their guns higher. When Watson didn’t find what he was looking for, he patted around her waist and bust.
“Give it to me, Captain Quint, or I’ll retrieve it myself.”
Joelle snarled, reaching into her corset.
Watson’s stare remained locked with hers, and his mouth twitched into a cavalier smile. She lifted away a tightly folded piece of paper between her two fingers.
“And now I have this,” he said, taking the missive.
So Joelle had succeeded in finding the letter. Damn, she was good. Ricker was once again impressed.
Leviathan sneered. “What’s that?”
“Correspondence on the Spanish fleet’s intent to intervene on British affairs in Gibraltar,” Joelle said. “The Mariposa captain you murdered when you captured his ship was commissioned by the Crown to act as an emissary.”
Leviathan harrumphed. ’twas clear he was trying to make sense of how he could benefit from the new information.
Joelle still had not broken the affixed stare at Watson. “How’d you find out about the correspondence?”
“Lesser men are easily persuaded.” Watson’s eyes flitted to the man holding the gun to Joelle’s head.
Smithy sputtered. “His soldiers nabbed me in Tortola after our meeting. ’Pologies, Quint.”
Ricker didn’t know the snip, but he sensed the apology was sincere. That didn’t lessen the urge to pummel the dolt.
“You’re a dead man, Smithy.” Valeryn sneered.
Smithy frantically shook his head. “He was gonna hang me from the yardarm and target shoot at me. He threatened to arrest me mother, too, if I didn’t tell him about Lord English and our meetin’, if I didn’t help track ya.”
“Lord English? What’s this about?” Leviathan demanded.
Something wasn’t right. Ricker would swear there was recognition of the name in Leviathan’s tone. Seemed there were many secrets left to reveal. Whether Valeryn noticed, he couldn’t tell. The first mate had a death grip eye-locked on Smithy.
Joelle didn’t seem to notice either. She laughed. “You are a clever one, aren’t you, Watson. What a grand achievement.” She spread her arms out wide. “You’ll rise to the rank of commodore for certain.”
Watson’s prideful smirk broadened. “’Tis true. I’ve got the notorious Captain Quint, a wretched Barbary Coast menace, some eighty pirates, and the intelligence. A good catch, indeed.”
Several soldiers hitched their muskets higher, making no mistake that everyone—whether of the Rissa or the Mariposa—was a target.
Leviathan snorted. “To think, I planned to kill you along with Quint the moment you stepped outside. ’twas going to be a glorious massacre.”
“It still may be yet,” Watson quipped.
“You bloody Brits,” Leviathan spat, “so arrogant, so bloody superior.”
“With good reason,” Watson replied.
“You haven’t captured us yet,” Valeryn said.
“Haven’t I?” Watson said.
A soldier shoved Valeryn in his back with his musket, punctuating the obvious.
Joelle slid her attention between Valeryn and Ricker. Ricker lifted his eyebrows, making it clear with a subtle nod they had something planned. She was scarily attuned to the gravity of their circumstance. She’d follow their lead. How far remained to be seen. And that worried him. They had to get out of there alive, if only so that he could kiss her once more.
They were at a disadvantage, to be sure. But not for long.
Valeryn, his hands raised as the soldier prodded him again, grinned at Ricker. “Pour it on, mate.”
Ricker put his hands into his pockets. His fingers curled over the round metal object. This deadlock had come to an end.
An explosion outside resonated from the bay, followed quickly by another, and another.
What the hell?
Bewildered looks were traded throughout the room. Watson nodded to a soldier closest to the entrance. The man cautiously cracked the door open and peered out, and then swung it open wide.
“The Expedition is under attack!”
Bemused, Leviathan smirked. “Right on time. Ah, Captain Watson. Where’s your superiority now? Did ya perhaps lose it when you thought I wouldn’t anticipate ya turning on me? Tsk.”
Joelle’s eyes darted among Ricker, Valeryn, Sam and the other Rissa lads. Just like a true captain, making a mental note of where they all stood. ’twas a similar act Ricker had seen of Black Sam. Keep an eye lifted on your mates as well as your enemies to execute the best possible battle or escape. Ricker, too, glanced about. The fellows knew what to do. ’twas a matter of synchronizing.
“You fool,” Watson snarled. “You won’t leave here alive. None of you will!”
In that moment, Leviathan’s men rushed the soldiers. Muskets discharged, pops and spent gunpowder filled the space. The entire tavern was once again in an uproar of fighting.
Valeryn imparted special treatment for the fellow who jabbed him in the back. And Ricker easily took out the soldier behind him. He reached back into his pocket and pulled out a stinkpot.
“Sam!” he called.
Sam spun around with a soldier’s head locked under one arm and a Mariposa pirate locked under the other. He acknowledged Ricker, slammed the two men’s skulls together, then pulled out his own stinkpot.
They lit their weapons.
Everything was happening so quickly. Joelle and Leviathan were in a close struggle for the blunderbuss. Watson had a pistol aimed at the duo. Valeryn rushed Watson, lunging up and bringing his fist down into a crushing blow just as the captain looked over.
The stinkpot’s fuse was almost gone. Ricker covered his mouth with a handkerchief and tossed the stinkpot into the center of the tavern. Within seconds, fog, nauseating and thick, billowed into the room. His eyes teared and he crouched to the floor, scrambling for Joelle. She and Leviathan were on the floor too. Leviathan had won purchase of the gun. He had rolled her to her back and aimed.
“No!” The scream lodged in Ricker’s throat.
Joelle ripped a knife from her waistband, arching a swing up, slicing across Leviathan’s gut. ’twas a mere flesh wound, but enough to cause him to peel back.
Ricker kicked Leviathan’s face and shoved the arse off of her. Leviathan—hands to his nose, blood seeping through his fingers—rolled to his back, rocking, trying to recoup from the strike. Joelle scampered to her knees and retrieved her box from Leviathan’s pouch under his coat. She patted through his pockets and extracted the bag of coins, as well.
Ricker grabbed her by the elbow and together they stole out of the tavern and down the back alley.
“Wait!” Smithy fell out of the back door. “He’ll kill me. Please. Take me with you. Have mercy!”
“You may not have mercy with me, either,” Joelle said. “But you may take your chances.”
She was a better man than Ricker. He’d have left the sorry cad behind.
Smithy took one glance over his shoulder and raced to catch up with them.
They tore down the street, joining the rest of the Rissa crew at the piers. One of their longboats was already halfway to the ship.
Valeryn pulled his pistol on Smithy. “What’s this?” he spat.
Smithy halted to a dead stop, fear stamped across his face as he glanced back at
Joelle, who casually strolled the last few steps to the edge of the dock.
“Stand down, V.”
Valeryn flicked his wrist, pointing the gun up, and snarled.
Ricker looked back to the tavern. Watson stepped away from nasty smoke wafting out of the door. He made some sort of command, pointing to his ship still under attack. Soldiers, coughing, hacking, jogged down to the docks. From behind the inn, Leviathan and his men fled in the opposite direction, then spurred off to the left.
“Where the hell is he going?” Joelle asked.
“He’s cutting across the swath of jungle to Pirate’s Bay,” Ricker replied. “My guess is he’s going to meet the Mariposa there.”
Even as they spoke, Leviathan’s ship was easing out of the bay.
“Come on!” Valeryn extended his hand for Joelle to climb into the longboat.
Ricker quickly followed. They pushed off just as the boots of Watson’s men clopped onto the wooden pier.
Within moments, Ricker helped Valeryn secure the longboat to Rissa. Jack, the cabin boy armed with an impressive musketoon almost too big for him, ushered Smithy below deck and out of the way, likely to be chained in the bilge.
“We’re going after Leviathan,” Joelle announced to the crew.
Though they had what they came for, no one argued. ’twas the pirate way. ’twas personal.
Her men expected no less.
* * *
’Twasn’t long before they rounded the bend into Pirate’s Bay and Mariposa was heading their way. Joelle’s gaze landed upon Sloan working the sails.
Would he understand? She had to see this through, even if it put everyone on board at risk. If she didn’t, Leviathan would keep coming, keep trying to destroy everything she loved. By thunder if that didn’t include Sloan.
Joelle let her mark land upon Valeryn giving her orders to be ready with the guns. He understood. He understood everything about her, mostly. He’d follow her to the pits of hell. She couldn’t deny she loved him for it.
No. Neither of her men were safe.
This ended now.
She took a deep breath to deflect the realization, the implications of her decision.
“Willie! Force Mariposa to lean hard into her starboard.”
“That desperate trick won’t work a second time, Jo.” Valeryn joined her as she jumped down from the quarterdeck.
“No trick, V. I have a plan this time.
“Ricker.” She called Sloan over. “Prove again your skill with rigging. You and Willie work together to make sure Leviathan makes the hard bank.”
He chuckled, an adorable smirk quirked one side of his mouth. “Of course, Captain.”
“Barker.” She waved over another crewman. “Have the long-arms brought up.”
Barker hustled off to grab the box of muskets.
“Sam. You and Dawson mount up the swivel guns. Lively now.” Sam nodded and left to do his duty.
She turned to Valeryn. “You, Sam and Dawson will man the swivels.”
“Jo,” Valeryn warned. “We’re not boarding Leviathan’s ship.”
“No.” She turned her attention to the master gunner. “Branson. Aim the guns just at water level between the fore and main masts. When she rises at least two feet above the water, give her all rounds. Blast a hole in her. We shoot before we pass, before they can fire upon us.”
“Aye, Capt’n,” Branson said.
“We won’t have much time,” Joelle added. “Mariposa’s belly is full of tar and gunpowder. If our guns don’t cause her to explode, we’ll need all our firepower, including the swivel guns, aimed inside that hole before she fills with water.”
If this worked, Mariposa wouldn’t be in position to return fire. Not at the angle when Joelle would call her command.
“Anyone with a free hand, grab a long-arm,” Joelle shouted.
Henri toddled past the fire-arm box and snatched up a musket. His brightly red beard bows were neatly tied and a lively smirk loosened the wrinkles on his mug. “What’s our aim, Capt’n?”
“Play your flute, Henri. We could use a lively tune.”
“Not this time, Quint.” He loaded the muzzle of his long-arm. “I’m a mite crabby since I been sober. Shootin’ a sprat or two ought ta make me feel better.”
“All right, then. You and I will pick off anyone who tries to bring down Valeryn, Sam and Dawson.”
The Mariposa gained her speed. Once again, Rissa and her enemy closed their distance. Not headlong as previously, but just close enough.
Joelle could feel Leviathan’s loathsome leer upon her even before she spotted him with his spyglass. She could hardly contain her grin. No matter the outcome, no matter if her plan went horribly wrong, this would be the end between them. She felt it coursing through her veins, clotting in her bones.
The ships skipped across the smooth waters toward one another. “This is it,” she called. “We’ve just one shot. Steady... Steady...”
The Mariposa banked a hard right, exposing her hull, her vulnerable spot.
“Fire!”
Rissa shuddered as her artillery belched her rounds. Chunks of Mariposa’s hull obliterated, followed by tiny explosions just inside the gaping hole.
“Fire!” She commanded again. A barrage of grapeshot from the swivel guns unloaded into the yawning breach flooding with water.
Joelle caught a glimpse of Leviathan rushing to the railing, James on his heels. Rage erupted across his marred face. He looked down at the damage and back up to impale Joelle with furious hate.
Suddenly, the Mariposa jolted with a series of explosions. Fireballs and black smoke roiled skyward. Planking and shards, flaming projectiles, bodies and fiery trails of sparks spewed in every direction.
Joelle turned to the helm. “Get us out of here!”
Willie steered Rissa away, back into the open, welcoming sea.
Mariposa, alone in a picturesque cove, caved into her flaming decks with one final blast. Fast slipping beneath the waves, fire chased up the remaining mast until the water snuffed it out at the pole’s tip. Pockets of smoldering debris floated atop the watery grave. A demise in a grand, almost tragic, fashion.
An appropriate end for Leviathan.
Cheers rang out. The crew was joyous, pumping fists into the air. Henri retrieved his broken flute from his vest and played a sprightly tune. Valeryn rushed to Joelle and scooped her into a playful embrace. She laughed, holding him by his shoulders as he spun her around and around. “You did it, Jo! You did it.”
Could it be so? She had the letter, and more importantly, her father’s map. And she’d soundly defeated Leviathan. He would no longer hunt her. Not even in her dreams. Never again. ’twas over.
Emotions bubbled up and threatened to overwhelm her. Such a feminine thing. She laughed in spite of herself and threw her arms around his neck for a tight hug. When she pulled back, Valeryn kissed her.
Chapter Fifteen
Commodore Crowe smoothed his hand over the letter again. The ink where the paper had been folded was smudged from being wet. Otherwise, the words were legible, the wax seal mostly intact.
Joelle brushed a wrinkle in the lap of her lavender gown and waited. Rissa sailed into Tortola mid-morning. She had sent Smithy back to his mother, but not without a stern warning. The cockroach had fallen out of their favor and Valeryn made it clear what he’d do to Smithy should he cross the brethren again. The lad probably had to change his trousers when he had gotten home. She smiled at the thought.
Joelle had taken the time to soak in a tub at The Paladin’s Inn—washing away the remnants of sweat, gunpowder and onion. Christ, would she ever be rid of the lingering smell?
With meeting the commodore in mind at Pigeon House, his command post and home, she didn’t want to diminish her prevalence with him by smelling offensive and looking like a mangy wharf dog. She piled her hair on her head and let the waves naturally curl down to her bare shoulders. From experience, Joelle knew men would find her less threatening dress
ed as a lady rather than as a ship’s captain. How wrong they were. Not just in the mastery of feminine wiles, but also considering how many weapons she concealed under her gown.
The commodore laced his fingers together and leaned his arms upon his desk. His pale eyes scrutinized Joelle sitting across from him and slid to Watson in the chair beside her.
“’Tis highly unorthodox,” the commodore said. “I’m not sure what to make of it.”
“To which part?” Joelle asked. “The Spanish armada’s intent on Gibraltar? The unlikely commission agreed upon with your Lord English? Or perhaps the irony that I sit at your desk alongside the captain who prowls my waters?” She smiled, tilting her chin down and straightening her back a fraction more.
The implication being the obvious—Watson still hadn’t captured her. And here she sat in a cushioned chair at the gilded desk of the commodore—a free woman.
Watson shifted in his seat. If he so much as twitched an eyelid, that tight mask he wore would shatter like mud baking in the sun.
“Yes, well, Lord English is a resourceful one. I’m surprised he didn’t handle this himself, with his own vassals,” the commodore muttered. “I certainly wasn’t expecting you, Miss Quint. Never mind. What makes you think I will not have you arrested now?”
Watson smirked, a bit too prematurely, in her opinion.
“I’ve committed no crime, Commodore. Permit me to say without injury, you and I both know how invaluable my ilk can be to your illicit activities. You don’t want to start a war with the Caribbean brethren.” She looked pointedly at Watson. “’Tis a waste of firepower and lives. Dare I say, you’d lose key players in your ring of intelligence as they’d not take the side of the crown.”
Crowe pulled out a loose sheet of paper from his drawer and began feverishly writing a letter of his own. The white ruffles of his sleeve rasped against the page.
“This détente has opened my eyes to some important conceptions,” he said without looking up, “including the dereliction of a commanding officer. So it seems my recourse is clear.”
“Sir,” Watson began his arguments, but Crowe silenced him with the wave of his hand.
“You are lucky I have not relieved you of your station, Captain. Consider your tongue or I shall change my mind.”
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