Dead Man's Kiss

by Jennifer Bray-Weber

  She fought so hard for this journey, and finally won. Now she wanted Valeryn.

  The tavern door slammed open, the loud crash breaking the connection. Several men hopped to their feet. The late afternoon sunlight slanted through the dim room as a silhouette filled the doorway.

  “Capt’n!”

  “Cocklyn.” Valeryn steadied his draw on his pistol at his hip. “What is it?”

  “Trouble. With Henri and the maid. Come quick!”

  CHAPTER 9

  They hurried down the dusty path to the chandler not far away. Catalina could barely keep up with the men, her slippers not meant for the uneven ground. Why had she even brought the red silk shoes on the journey? You know why. You could never deny your attraction to that which brings you trouble. Damn him!

  “Claude is refusin’ to sell to us,” Cocklyn said.

  “Ridiculous,” Valeryn said. “He will sell to us. We must replenish our stores.”

  Cocklyn shrugged. “Somethin’ got into ’im. Rattlin’ ’bout us bein’ wanted men.”

  Valeryn shook his head. “Claude is loyal to the brethren.”

  “Aye. Well, no more. Henri is all in fits. Threatenin’ him. And the maid, she’s spoutin’ off Spanish like a crazy witch. Somebody’s gonna get hurt.”

  “No one’s going to get hurt.”

  Valeryn seemed so sure of himself. But he didn’t know Nalda. Not when she was truly mad. She could slice a man in two with just her words, followed by a good aim. Catalina had witnessed her maid firsthand pummel a fisherman after he accidentally stumbled upon them on the beach when Catalina had been diving in the tide pools naked, cataloging sea urchins. Her ears still burned from the tongue lashing she received, and Catalina was never allowed to swim in the tide pools again.

  “Claude’s got a long-arm.”

  Valeryn glanced over his shoulder at Catalina. Aye, she heard Cocklyn. “Gather any crewman who’s willing,” Valeryn said. “The rest need to stay aboard. Have Benito clear the ship and make ready to sail. Handsomely, now!”

  “Aye, Capt’n.”

  “Take Miss Montoya with you.”

  “No.” She would not go with Benito.

  “You will be safe on the ship. Go.”

  Catalina ground to a stop. “No. Not without Nalda.”

  Valeryn let out an aggravated sigh. “Heed this, woman. You and Nalda will immediately head to the ship.”

  Catalina didn’t like the sound of that. He was planning something. Something that could end badly, even though he declared no one would get hurt.

  Cocklyn’s nod accompanied a knowing smile. “Be returnin’ in a quarter glass.”

  “Sooner, mate.”

  Off down the bend the lanky man trotted, toward the harbor bathed now in the golden rays of the setting sun.

  Valeryn, again, made haste to the chandler. Outside the large double doors, he stopped and turned to Catalina. “You will gather your maid and quickly take your leave. Are we clear?”

  She had no intentions of laying witness to peril. Never mind her curiosity was stronger than her intentions. How would Valeryn handle this unexpected obstacle?

  A noise crashed inside. Yelling, followed by another crash. A man burst through the door, stumbling so, he nearly fell upon his face in the dirt. Valeryn drew his flintlock and swung open the door.

  A porcelain plate lay in pieces at Nalda’s feet, and she was poised with another one, ready to either smash it to the ground or sling it at the chandler who smartly kept a barrel separating himself and the maid. Unfortunately the barrel wasn’t adequate coverage for both Nalda and Henri. Claude swung his long-arm back and forth at the two.

  Henri, on the opposite side of the room from Nalda, violently shook his walking stick, his blue beard bows quivering. “Claude, ya no good bastard! Ima gonna ram my cane up yer—”

  “Whoa, there, Henri,” Valeryn said. “Stand down.”

  “Stand down? Ain’t gonna stand down. Ain’t no way. Damn traitor.”

  Valeryn gave Catalina a pointed look meant for her to obey his earlier command. She was a little slow to respond, taking up position with Nalda and then struggling to loosen the old woman’s grip on the plate. “Miss Montoya. See your way back to the ship.”

  “Certainly.” She looked to Nalda and raised an eyebrow, not struggling as hard over the plate as a moment ago. Nalda’s own eyes narrowed, her grip tightening so her knuckles turned white as linen. The old maid wasn’t leaving either.

  The captain put away his pistol. “Put down your piece, Claude, and tell me your trouble.”

  “Captain Barone, you must leave. I no do business with you.”

  “Why’s that, friend?” He strode up the middle of the store, stopping beside the storekeeper, and leaning against a table filled with bolts of bleached canvas.

  Claude raise his gun higher. “I can’t be associatin’ with you.”

  “We’ve always treated you well, have we not?” Though there was a light tone to his voice, his smile had a menacing tilt.

  Claude nervously switched his weight, pressing close to the barrel, using it to shield him from Valeryn. Once he realized he was exposed to Nalda, he switched back. Poor fellow was a fox cornered by snarling hounds.

  “Please, Captain. You must leave.”

  “I’m afraid not, Claude. You see, I need your help.” Metal scraped as Valeryn slowly pulled his cutlass from his scabbard. “We need beans, flour, salted meat, chickens…”

  “I cannot help.” Claude’s voice cracked, the long-arm shaking his wide stare upon the blade catching the light of the overhead lanterns.

  Valeryn’s finger pressed upon the sword’s tip. “Are you sure about that, mate?” he said, twirling the blade on his fingertip.

  Catalina found his perilous movements captivating. His control, his confidence, his intimidation, was a dangerous aphrodisiac. So unlike that of her tío, the audiencia, even the soldiers she’d had the good fortune of meeting. And unquestionably of any captain she knew.

  The storekeeper’s brow crinkled in desperate pleading. “I must respectfully ask you again to leave.”

  Valeryn shoved off the table and sauntered directly across to another table, this one holding cloth bags filled to bursting. “Why do you want us gone so badly? Does this Hébert have you by your ballocks?

  Claude looked all around him, as if searching for someone. “I do not know who you speak of.”

  “Methinks it must be true,” Valeryn said. “Why else would you deny a member of the brethren his business? What’s he got on you?”

  Claude shook his head so much, Catalina thought he might rattle his brains.

  “Come now, Claude. I’ve never known you to be mute.” Valeryn toyed with a bag’s drawstring. “Never mind. Your woes are not mine.

  “Henri, grab what you need. Claude, here, won’t give us any trouble, will ya, friend?”

  Henri toddled to the back of the room. “I’ve had ’bout enough of this foolishness,” he mumbled.

  “No!” Claude regained a grain of courage. Catalina figured the man must have some backbone, given his occupation.

  Nalda threw another plate to the floor. Claude flinched, and...did he whimper? “Tell that crazy woman to stop breaking my plates! Merde! Michel!”

  Quite suddenly, a boy of no more than three and ten darted from behind the counter and fled out the door. Valeryn made no move to stop the boy, but his gaze fixed upon Henri. Henri’s scowl sank lower and he nodded. An unspoken agreement passed between them and Henri disappeared to the back room. Valeryn pointedly pinned the storekeeper with a stern, but reprimanding frown. Catalina bent to whisper in Nalda’s ear. The old woman should prepare to make a run for it.

  “Tsk,” Valeryn said.

  “Indeed, Captain. But you must go. Now.”

  “Verily. But we need supplies. You understand.”

  Henri returned with a small coop with two hens inside and a bottle protruding from his trouser pocket. He set the coop near the door, opened the
bottle, and took a swig as he toddled to the back once more.

  Claude reached an arm outward, as if he wistfully longed to have his products returned. “I cannot sell to you, Barone. Any of you.”

  “Given that we are pirates?” Valeryn sneered. “Maybe a little persuasion is needed.” Valeryn stabbed a bag with his cutlass. Sugar poured from the ripped seam, gathering in a growing heap at his feet.

  “Please, Captain, no!” Claude stepped from behind the sanctuary of his barrel only to be driven back with a hurling plate crashing against the wall mere inches from his head.

  Valeryn stepped in the fine granulated pile and moved down the aisle, knocking random jars and supplies off the shelves. “My coin not good enough for you, Claude?” He stabbed another bag, beans spilled and scattered on the floor. “You would deny the brethren now? Thumbing your nose after exchanges of fair pay and promises to protect you?”

  “They will be here soon. ’Tis not my choice,” Claude cried.

  “As such, you have left me none.” The statement hung heavy in the tension—a death shroud blanketing the room. He flung a handful of coins to the floor. They rolled in every which direction.

  Pother and confusion shuttered in Claude’s wild eyes.

  “For the goods and damage,” Valeryn explained.

  With a cold stare unlike anything Catalina had seen before, Valeryn addressed her. “To the ship. Now.”

  Catalina scooped up the chicken coop by its handle and grabbed Nalda’s wrist, dragging her from the store. They fled to the docks, passing along the way Cocklyn, Big John and many other Amalia men. She coughed on the dust kicked up as they sped past, every one of them armed. Fear constricted her chest. The pirates were loose.

  At the pier, she searched for a boat to take them to the ship. There were boats, all right, just none with someone at the oars.

  The pop from a gun cracked through the air. Catalina spun around to the scene playing out at the end of the road. Henri was stuffing his spent flintlock into the back of his trousers, and waddling down the road to the harbor, a sack under his arm. A group of men ran toward the store from the left side of the chandler, Amalia men rolling and hauling goods from the right. Big John and Cocklyn fought oncoming attackers. The echoes of their swords clashing reached Catalina in stark finality. This wasn’t an exercise in swordsmanship. Those men were fighting until either side surrendered, or, more likely, death. The knot forming in her gut pitched.

  A man appeared beside them, his stench of body odor and fish not far behind. Patches of red, white, and brown bristles upon his jowls had gone unshaven for too many days. “What’s actin’?” he said.

  “A riot,” she answered.

  “Riot, ya say…” Jagged, yellow teeth peeked from beneath his chapped lips.

  She looked past him in the direction he came. Two other fellows were tossing nets out of their tiny boat onto the sandy beach. “Please, sir. Could you see us to our ship, just there.”

  The man tossed his fishing rod to the ground, ignoring her plea. “’Tis a riot, lads,” he called to his friends.

  “Well, no. Not a riot, exactly.”

  Henri, out of breath and as agitated as an angry bee, tottered past. “Ya told ’em it was a riot?”

  The fishermen hopped excitedly from their vessel. Long strides through the sands and large gully knives in their hands alarmed Catalina. Nalda clutched tightly to her arm. Catalina had a made another terrible blunder.

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Let’s get ours, lads!” The men headed toward the row of buildings fronting the small harbor. As they went, more and more men joined them. Oh, merida.

  Another pop drew her attention back to the fight in front of the chandler. Valeryn swung two swords around him, effortlessly, so it seemed, blocking the advances of his foe. Blocking… Why was he not thrusting? Several opportunities to do away with his enemy passed. Why wasn’t he striking them down?

  Glass shattered. A scream splintered through the chaotic noise.

  “Come on, lassies.” Henri chunked his sack and cane into the fishermen’s boat.

  Catalina stowed the coop and helped Nalda inside.

  “Push us off,” Henri ordered. She shoved, but the vessel wouldn’t budge.

  “Blast it! Put your back into it.”

  Together, she and Henri dislodged the boat. While Henri hopped inside, Catalina lost her silk slipper in the wet sand of the surf for the effort.

  “My shoe!”

  “Get in the boat, woman.”

  She dug around in the sludge until she found it. The boat having drifted further out forced her to wade knee-deep. With her dress absorbing the salt water, she had to jump to get enough of her body over the side of the vessel. The edge dug into her stomach, but with no small amount of grunting, she made it inside.

  Chickens and Henri squawked. “Yer gonna tip us!”

  Nalda grabbed Henri’s cane and smacked him with it.

  “Belay, ya shrew!”

  As they rowed back to the ship, the fighting on shore continued. Some of the crew had already made it down to the piers and were loading barrels and sacks into boats. How much more would they get? Where was Valeryn? She could no longer spot him among the melee. Wait… Who...Was that…Fraco?

  CHAPTER 10

  ’Twas all very good exercise. It had been awhile since Valeryn had sparred last. His muscles working, straining, the burn reminding him he was alive. His heart pounded, his breaths drawn deep, his grunts boisterous. Yes, alive...but dead. Still, he had a mission and his ribs had begun to ache. The fighting had lost the amusement. Not without any real bloodshed. How easy ’twould be to run his blade through either one of the fellas he fought, to see their blood spill upon the dusty ground.

  But ’twas not to be. Not this time. He could not wage a war with this Hébert and the innocent people on the island. To do so, would jeopardize the brethren’s allies, a ripple effect across the Caribbean. And without his entire crew and beloved Rissa? Unthinkable. Suicidal. Not while he had a certain beautiful Spanish flower in his charge.

  The door to the chandler’s store flew open. Claude came tumbling out, tripping over his own feet. He crab-crawled backwards away from the barrel of his own long-arm pointed right at him from the doorway. Out stepped Fraco.

  What the hell?

  The stock of the gun was tucked under Fraco’s good arm, his finger on the trigger. A sack was slung across his left shoulder. “My gratitude for the dried peas, señor.”

  How in the devil had he disarmed Claude?

  A lackey had run up to Fraco’s right. In one impressive motion, Fraco twisted to drop the long-gun’s barrel into his mangled hand long enough grasp it with his good hand and smash the barrel into his oncoming adversary. The stunned man’s head jerked back, giving Fraco that added second to crush the gun’s butt to his temple, crumbling him to the ground.

  Fraco looked to Valeryn. “Should we head back to the ship, Capitán?”

  Dumbfounded more than he cared to admit, Valeryn nodded. He dispatched the two men harassing him like damned mosquitoes and he and Fraco sprinted down to the beach. Those not holding back attackers loaded crates and sacks into boats. Two lads wrangled a goat off the pier into a waiting jolly.

  A riot down the waterfront waged. Fisticuffs escalated, terrified women and children ran for cover, one small building was ablaze, the fire spreading across the thatched roof. How did all of this happen? Not that he minded raiding. But his men would not have done this. The Spanish lackeys were too yellow.

  He glanced at Fraco, a smile upon his face. Did he have a hand in this? And how the fuck did he escape? Valeryn had the blasted key in his pocket. He had laid eyes on him this morning before he left for shore. What the bloody hell was going on?

  Valeryn drew his pistol and flung himself into the remaining fray to join Big John, ordering the few crewmen left to get back to the ship. Within moments, he and Big John had dispersed the scuffle and were sitting in a boat with Fraco, two S
paniards, and a goat. Christ.

  “Parlor tricks? Is that what you are about, Montoya?” He bore a hard stare into Fraco. But the lad was too arrogant to squirm under the scrutiny.

  “Do I surprise you, Capitán?”

  “I’ve seen the unrelenting strength of a woman evade a Navy fleet, the sniveling weakness of a decorated commodore, the cruelty of a man of God, and the benevolence of a murderer. I can even testify to the dead walking among the living. The brawling abilities of a lame conceit do not surprise me.”

  Fraco’s smug grin faltered.

  The goat, its eerie white eyes wild with fear, jerked at the rope around its neck. Skittish, it tried to free itself from the two men holding it in place, pitching the boat.

  “Still that animal, ya fools,” Valeryn ordered.

  One drew tighter on the rope, the other wrapped his arms around its torso. Valeryn shook his head at the pathetic attempt to control the goat.

  “None denying,” Valeryn continued, turning back to Fraco, “it took me a while to figure you out.”

  “And what is it you figured out?”

  “That it was you all along.”

  “Oh?”

  “Your special skill your father said you to have. Your power of persuasion no doubt with a heavy dose of bribery. I wonder how many opportunities you have had to hone such talent.”

  “Bribery? I’m insulted.”

  Valeryn had an itch to wipe that self-satisfied look off his mug. “You would have me believe you had help.”

  Fraco shrugged. “And why not? My dear prima was willing to take the blame.”

  It burned Valeryn to know that Catalina’s cousin would gladly see her take the fall for him. Manipulate her, presumably using her ambitions against her. He would have a chat with the lass to discover the reason she would allow it. She didn’t seem easy to hold sway over and she didn’t show favor toward Fraco. What did she gain by protecting him?

  He is her family. She is on a ship full of men, strangers, pirates. Of course she’d protect him. Protect him to protect herself.

  “You care so little for her?” Valeryn said.