Cassandra's Pirate (The Atlantis Series)

by Candace Smith

  “Shut up, Dupree. This is between LeSeure and me.” Schindler kept his glare on Vincent. “You never fired a single fucking round.”

  Vincent shrugged. “Guess they were just more naturally intimidated by me.”

  “Fuck you, LeSeure. They were intimidated by the thought of Damien Astier’s anger if they put a hole in your damn boat,” Schindler replied.

  “You’re most likely right on that one.” Vincent lifted his glass in acknowledgment and tipped it down his throat. “Perhaps you should have stolen a better ride.” He ducked when Schindler’s metal tankard flew towards his head. The humiliated Captain stormed from the tavern after collecting the pot and shooting a nasty look at Franklin and Quincy.

  As Pascal turned, Vincent brushed the sweeping feather away from his face. “Watch your draft, Pascal. Don’t make me regret not giving him the damn thing.”

  “Sorry, Vincent.” Pascal reached up to make sure the colorful feather was sweeping rakishly towards the back of his hat.

  “The sea witch is ready, Captain LeSeure.” The barkeep twisted his hands. “If you don’t mind me asking, take it easy on her. We never got her fixed up right.” He cringed at the pirate’s glare. “She still works, Captain. It’s just after she got so dried up, she didn’t quite hydrate up the same.”

  “My balls are ready to explode and rip through the hull of Schindler’s wreck. As long as the witch is good for a fuck, I don’t give a damn how hydrated she is.” Vincent slammed the rest of his brandy, relishing the burn. “You want seconds, Pascal?”

  “Um, can’t be no seconds, Captain. Not without re-hydrating her again,” the tavern keeper replied.

  Vincent stopped in midstride and turned to the man. “Exactly how long can I keep her out of water?”

  Oh, shit. “I figured you was in need, Captain LeSeure, so I figured she has enough in her to last for you.”

  “How fucking long?” Vincent demanded.

  “Five minutes out of the tank,” the barkeeper whispered, and thumbed his forehead.

  “It’ll take her that long to split legs,” Vincent thundered.

  The barkeep smiled nervously. “No, no, Captain LeSeure. See, that’s part of what won’t fix up. She don’t melt back to a fin in the water, and that’s why we’re having trouble getting her to hydrate.”

  “Fucking android shit,” Vincent muttered. He walked through the curtain into the darkened back room.

  In the corner, a young man stood beside the large metal tank. His eyes were the size of saucers and he stared at the pirate. “Captain, I kept her good and wet ’til the last minute.” Jimmy figured he would have to throw the tip. Captain LeSeure was usually generous, but Jimmy decided he would count himself lucky to make it out of this alive. He moved aside when the pirate approached the tank. “I been fillin’ her tub with fresh seawater three times a day.”

  Vincent watched the young man’s fingers sift through the floating hair. Shit. He probably fancies himself her hero. “Her fin don’t join?” There were scales on her legs and her toes were webbed. Patches of shining fish skin covered her torso below the waist, but between her legs was clear. He nodded towards the young man’s hand wound through the long floating locks. “She doesn’t feel that, you know.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Captain. I told Mr. Mallory she’d been dry-docked too long, but you always pay so good he told me to keep my mouth shut or I’d be gutting fish for a month.” Jimmy looked up at the pirate. “I want to thank you, Captain, for getting her back in the tank so fast and not telling Mr. Mallory how I froze up.” When he had seen his beautiful sea witch begin to wither, Jimmy’s muscles seized in terror and pain.

  Vincent shrugged. “Long as she can still be fucked, Jimmy. That’s what counts.”

  “You was banned for three months, though.” The young man continued to sift through the damaged mermaid’s hair. “Should have been my punishment.”

  “I only stayed gone for two. And if anyone should have taken blame, it should have been that greedy barkeep.” Vincent stared through the water at the wide blue eyes. The witch did not blink and always had a surprised look on her face that he found disturbing. He had heard the newer models were much more realistic when put to dry land, but like real women they were protected for the Royalty on Espedene. “Think she’ll last longer if we keep the top half in the tank?”

  Jimmy looked down at her. “Might work. No one’s ever tried it that way.” He grinned up at the Captain. “Of course, you’ll sure know if she’s needing water.”

  Vincent winced at the thought of his last episode. Towards the end he had felt like he was sawing against sandpaper. The abrasive burning skin took a week to quit aching. “Damn straight I’ll know.”

  Vincent untied his sash and dropped his breeches. For such a quick toss he did not bother to remove his boots or pull his pants off. No half-hour leisurely stroll through her cavern this time. He helped Jimmy lift her out of the tank, and Jimmy continued to stroke her hair. There were no scales on her bottom, and he slapped the round globes each time his legs banged into the rough scales on her thighs.

  “Oh, fuck. Oh fuckin’ right.” Vincent wrapped his hands around her hips and yanked her against his groin. It was only a few minutes before he could feel her drying rapidly, and he quickly pulled out.

  He helped Jimmy lift the sea witch back into the tank. Vincent was tying the sash around his waist when he heard the distant clanging of warning. Without saying a word, he tossed the boy a coin and strode out of the room.

  “Thank you, Captain.” Jimmy had not expected the tip after the last horrifying experience. He looked down at his floating witch and imagined her gulping mouth was smiling at him. After glancing at the curtain leading to the tavern, he slid out of his clothes and climbed into the tank. He sank down to his neck, put an arm around her, and rested her head on his chest.

  Vincent emerged from the back room and tossed money onto the bar. He slammed another shot and turned to leave with Pascal.

  “You owe me another tilla for the toss with the sea witch, Captain.”

  Vincent walked back to the tavern keeper and grabbed the collar of his shirt. “You’re lucky I don’t have you floating in the tank with her. I was dry fucking her last time, and that means you knew damn well she wasn’t hydrated enough for a round.”

  Greed was the only emotion that could overcome the man’s fear of the pirate. “You got your toss. You owe me my money.”

  “Try to collect, you weasel.” Vincent snapped his arm straight and released the man’s collar, tossing him against the back wall. “Come on, Pascal, before Harlan decides to be Captain.”

  When Vincent approached his schooner, he saw Mudeye sweeping his cutlass through the air to ward off Schindler and two of his men. “Sorry, Captain. I didn’t ring you until he started calling in his crew.”

  “You stole my berth,” Schindler hissed.

  “I assumed that wreck was waiting to be hauled to sea. I just helped the process along.” Vincent pushed between the two crewmen and stood beside Mudeye. Harlan, Johnny, and Bison joined Pascal on the dock. “On board, men. It seems our short visit is over.”

  “Aye, Captain.” The men bullied by Schindler with Pascal behind them so the Captain did not reach for his feather.

  Schindler was not stupid enough to take on Vincent’s crew. “Calls us even for the canvas, LeSeure.”

  Vincent watched the last line released and they pushed off the dock. He leaned down, lifted the reclaimed curled sail, and smiled at the cursing Captain while the Floralinda Sunset slowly drifted the passage to open sea.

  With the sails unfurled and the sea quiet and empty, Mudeye manned the helm and watched the crew disappear below deck. As they made their way to their cabins, they joked about their time in Romagis and how the Captain fucked with Schindler. Pascal walked below, leaving Vincent staring out on the water and stroking his beard.

  Vincent pushed off the railing and turned towards the helm. “To the fortress, Mudeye. Call o
ut if you see sails.”

  “Aye, Captain. Get your rest. Perhaps tomorrow we’ll catch a battle.”

  “A good thought to leave me with,” Vincent replied. Below deck, the cabins were quiet. He closed the door to his quarters and stretched out on his cot. Reaching behind his head, he untied his bandana and curled it in his fist. He held it up to his nose and imagined he could still smell Sandra’s scent. It had been more than ten years, and the day he stole the schooner. It was also the last time he had had a real woman.

  Vincent woke to pounding on the cabin door. An excited voice called out, “Sails, Captain. Mudeye says she’s a frigate.”

  A few minutes later, Vincent stood on the bow of his schooner gazing across the waves at the sails in the distance. Even without the spyglass, he saw the white uniform of the Admiral standing on the bow of the frigate and staring back at him. Amidst the damp salty tendrils of his dark beard and mustache, one corner of Vincent’s mouth lifted. His schooner could outrun the frigate, but his crew was restless and they could use a good fight.

  The pirate stepped back from the bow, rolling up his sleeves to keep them from catching in the cannon when it kicked. He would leave guiding the schooner to Johnny and Pascal. Vincent preferred to man the guns against this enemy. It was personal. His dark eyes swept the small deck, noting Mudeye and Harlan already positioned by guns and Bison checking the tension in ropes holding cannons in place. Chattered curses of excitement and wagers passed between the crew. They were bored from weeks of sailing and searching for islands.

  “Aye, it’s the Redemption, men, and she’ll be returning our fire.” Vincent watched the color drain from Pascal’s face. Other battleships would fire on their schooner in warning, but only this frigate would risk an actual strike. Vincent took his place as the vessels slowed.

  The crews’ voices quieted and they anticipated their Captain’s orders, quite literally looking up to him. Even for a Fiver, at six foot five Vincent was tall. Most of the Fivertown men stood six foot and were lean with taut muscles roping their arms. None on board came close to Vincent’s powerful physique and strength, not that they would challenge him for leadership.

  “Right. Ready the cannons, boys. It’s to the fortress after our victory.” Vincent stared at his gun, smoothing his palm down the length of the heavy barrel. Soon, it would be blistering hot. He smiled at the excited voices once more filling the air around him. Vincent searched the deck of the frigate across from him, and he found the Admiral standing by the ship’s wheel.

  Across the water, Damien stared back at him. Vincent sensed the man’s hatred, and he knew it was mixed with admiration and the Admiral’s own anticipation of battle. Frankly, there was nothing else for Damien to do, other than scour the Aquadea Sea in search of the pirate. Vincent soothed any recriminations he held about stealing the schooner years ago when he decided the theft gave Damien a reason to sail and saved Lorena from incarceration in the castle.

  Vincent watched the Admiral standing at the helm in his crisp white uniform. From a strange sort of courtesy and ritual both men observed, Vincent waited for Damien to raise his arm. He sliced it down, cutting through the air in time with the booming of the frigate’s first cannon.

  Vincent’s signal was quite different. He turned in time to watch Pascal drop to the deck, and chuckled at the predictable fear filling his friend’s pale features. Vincent winked at Mudeye and lit the fuse to his gun. Years ago, Vincent had convinced all but Mudeye that Pascal was listening to the bilge beneath decks to determine if they received a shot below the waterline. Since then, as the first cannon balls flew, no one remarked when Pascal dropped to the deck on his mission to protect them.

  “Oh, shit… oh, shit… oh, shit.” The thunder of the guns drowned out the voices of the crew. Pascal lay flat and scrambled across the deck. At the sound of another volley of booming cannon fire, his eyes squeezed shut and he waited for splintering wood to rain down on him. “Oh, shit.” His shaking hand reached towards his head and he thanked the seas his feather was secure.

  Across the deck, Vincent loaded another round into his gun. He turned at the sound of Pascal crawling behind him, and stroked one of the long twin braids nestled in his beard. Sea spray from the frigate’s missing rounds soaked Vincent’s clothes and plastered his long black hair against his face. “Back to the wheel, Pascal, and steer us clear of this fight,” he called over the uproar.

  For regular sailing, Pascal was good company, but the man made no pretense that he was more comfortable with his boots planted on dry ground. Unfortunately, Pascal did not learn this until after he threw in his lot as a First Realm citizen to sail with the pirates. Although he was terrified of cannon fire, Vincent declared there was no braver soul to stand beside him on land in hand battle. While Pascal seemed oddly complacent with the cramped, damp quarters on the schooner, it was the anxiety of possible battle he despised. It fueled his desire to remain on land, which was rather a hindrance for a man who sought adventure on a planet comprised of ninety percent ocean and only two large landmasses.

  Vincent smiled when Pascal managed to rise to a shaky crawl and shuffle towards the safety of the stern. Through the turmoil, his black eyes searched across the waves for the Churning Redemption. The frigate was a wreck of split wood, with nasty jagged holes ripped through the sides and scarring destruction where the pirates’ cannon balls blasted through the railing and skidded across the deck. Vincent eyed his mark and lit the fuse to end the fight. He moved to the side, covering his ears as the heavy iron cannon belched and flew three feet back on the deck.

  There was a loud crack of splitting wood, and Vincent stood to look over the railing. A slow smile creased his beard and he turned towards the stern, where Pascal was on his stomach and clutching the wheel. Johnny crouched next to him, and he rose to his feet and laughed. “You got her main rigging, Captain. The Churning Redemption looks like a fighting whore with her knickers and skirts wrapped around her legs.”

  “Aye, Johnny. She’s had enough for today,” Vincent agreed. The men knew without asking that their Captain would not sink the ship. And with three times as many men on board than their small crew, looting for the prize was impractical. Vincent stormed across the deck, issuing orders to put things right. As usual, they had taken no major hits. Damien would never risk destroying the schooner. He wanted to return both it and the pirate to Espedene. Vincent walked to the stern to gather Pascal.

  Pascal pulled himself up and straightened his dripping lapels. Surveying the deck, he noted the damage was not nearly as severe as he had thought it would be from the sounds he was hearing with his ear against the planks. Pascal looked over the railing and glared in defiance at Damien Astier’s mangled ship. The Floralinda Sunset skipped over the water, leaving the damaged frigate in its wake.

  Pascal could see the Admiral shaking his fist at them, and he raised his hands, cupping his mouth. “That’s it. Run you cowards,” Pascal called over the waves. He ignored the fact that it was their pirate schooner making a hasty retreat while the Churning Redemption continued to fire.

  Vincent placed his hand on Pascal’s shoulder. “Turn the helm over to Johnny.” Pascal released his grip on the wheel and followed the Captain down to his quarters.

  Aboard the crippled Churning Redemption, Damien stood at the railing glaring at his daughter’s dowry escaping yet again. His small chin drew back and he stared across the waves, picturing Vincent celebrating his victory in this latest battle.

  A uniformed guard snapped to attention and water sprayed from his sleeve. “Do we follow, Admiral Astier?”

  “No, we don’t follow, you moron. With only our two small masts, we would be bait fish chasing a shark.” Damien winced at a threatening creaking sound. He took a step back as one of his two remaining pillars snapped and crashed by his feet. “Get this mess cleaned up and set sail to Espedene for repairs.” Shit, set sail. With only one mast remaining, it will take us a week. He glared at the back of the Floralinda Sunset sailing towa
rds the safety of their fortress.

  If it had been just the ship, Damien might have been able to squelch his hatred for Vincent years ago. The damn pirate had compromised his daughter’s reputation. Not that the harlot had been innocent, but she had managed to maintain a somewhat respectable status by keeping her skirts down in public and engaging in discreet liaisons.

  With Vincent sailing around the seas of Aquadea in Lorena’s schooner… the damn ship I had built for her dowry… Damien had become a continual butt of jokes every time he returned to Espedene without it. The sight of the faded swirling letters on the back of the vessel as the pirates made their escape was an irritating reminder Vincent had swindled him.

  Add to that, Damien was forced to put up with Lorena’s disagreeable nature for another five years, only to find himself stuck with a morose and overpriced son in law. The Second Realm soldier held no promise of acquiring even a minor position in the First Realm. Ashton was now King, and if Vincent had not swindled his daughter, Lorena would be Queen.

  Damien stared towards the unbroken horizon. The pirates had sailed out of sight an hour ago. His mind churned for redemption from his endless plight, stirring his burning obsession that led to the renaming of his frigate. If only he could manage to capture the Floralinda Sunset and deliver the pirate to the King.