Then, a crash, and I caught my balance.
“She’s jettisoning her cargo,” Little said, and I glanced up at our newly unfurled blood-red flag—La Jolie Rouge—that shouted our intentions across the sea: Your blood will be spilled. Ask no quarter, none will be granted.
The three-master hardened up and Tarr followed, both decks a heaving mass of men hauling brace and sheet to bring the sails to their new set. We were stealing her wind; she was trying to shake us, but it would take a magician—or a devil—to shake Tarr off her wake.
More barrels littered the waves ahead. I was concerned over their contents until I realized they floated; they were unlikely to be enough to hole our bow on collision.
At a shouted command from below, Little and I readied ourselves for the battle. Our bow cannon fired—a warning shot, well over their bow—a nice illustration that they were well within our range.
I glanced down, but could not see Magdalena. Good, at the very least she’s heeded my words. Although I doubted she would remain in safety.
The crew had left sheets and braces to gather at the larboard rail, slamming their blades against the wood and chanting their promises of death and blood. I shivered; even viewed from this ship it was a terrifying spectacle and sound. Each man dripped arms. Pistols draped around necks, knives in hand and sheathed in sashes, plus all manner of deadly instruments found on deck: spikes, clubs and slings.
I glanced back over to the other deck. They were ready to fight, and for a moment I felt sorry for them. They were sailors not warriors, they stood not a chance.
I shifted my gaze to the deck below me and gritted my teeth. There she was, standing just below the hatch. Difficult to see from on deck, but clear to my eyes and Little’s. Magdalena.
Chapter 27
The doomed ship fired on us, so close her ball could not miss, and our starboard side exploded into vicious splinters. I winced, seeing blood, but none of my crewmates fell; their wounds not serious enough to keep them from the fight and spoils.
I glanced aft at Magdalena, but she had ducked below out of danger.
“Sharpe.”
I muttered an apology to Little, already on his third musket; took aim, lost myself in the sway of the ships and fired, felling one of the gunners.
Edelweiss lurched to larboard as her starboard guns fired simultaneously, and both Little and I cursed. I dropped my recently fired musket as I grabbed for a handhold and Little’s shot flew wild.
As the smoke cleared, our men cheered and boarded the stricken ship in a relentless wave of destruction and death. The partridge shot from our cannon had decimated the crew, and the remainder were outnumbered by at least three to one.
Our muskets emptied, Little and I made our own way to the prize deck, swinging and sliding through the rigging of both ships. I fired a pistol to fell one man waiting for us on deck then, as I landed, an enemy sailor raised his blade to swipe and I stared at him, eyes wide with terror. I did not have time to draw my own cutlass.
A musket ball hit his temple and bounced off, but the impact had been enough to distract him; I drew my blade and sliced his throat. I looked over to Edelweiss and saw Magdalena load her sling with another ball and launch it. She glanced over at me and I grinned. Thank God she had joined the fight; she had saved my life.
I pulled my attention back to this deck, now slick with blood. The fight was nearly won, but I spotted one man before me knock Peters to the deck, blood gushing into a puddle around him. The man then raised his pistol and my heart leapt to my throat; he had Uncle Richard in his sights. I jumped at him, my fist connecting with his temple, and he fell overboard. I looked across at Magdalena in triumph, only to recoil from the look of horror on her face.
Chapter 28
I turned my attention back to the melee on deck. I didn’t have time to worry about Magdalena at the moment.
A shot came from above and I looked up, then cursed. One of the sharpshooters was still up there, loading another musket.
I took my second pistol—I had two draped around my neck on a silk sash—took careful aim and fired, just as he lifted his eyes from his gun and spotted me. He jerked to the side in panic, then toppled off the maintop platform. His musket clattered harmlessly to the deck, but his quick reflexes had saved the man himself. He’d caught hold of one of the footropes at the top of the mainsail—the ropes on which the topmen stood when handing the sails.
He swung from one to the next until he reached the outside edge, then with a final swing he let go and plummeted into the waves, feet first.
I shook my head in disbelief, I would much prefer death or maiming by steel and lead than by shark and water.
A blur on the edge of my vision shocked me back to my current situation. I had been so busy contemplating the death of the Spanish sharpshooter, I had nearly invited my own.
I brought my hand, still clutching my pistol, up quickly to block a blow from a blade, then parried with my own cutlass and fought off the Spanish sailor. I was well-practiced with a blade by now, and dealt with him quickly. I looked around for my next opponent, then paused, puzzled. The few men who were left standing were voluntarily jumping from the rails. I knew our flag promised no quarter, but in my experience, men still begged for it rather than leap to the terrors of the deep.
I broke into a run to have a look over the side and cursed. There was a boat, into which half a dozen men were scrambling. I grabbed my pistols to reload them, aimed and shot. Aimed and shot again, but to no avail; they were now too far away, even for my marksmanship.
“Sharpe, well done, my boy.” Tarr clapped me on the back and I turned to him with a smile. “That bastard nearly had me,” he added.
“He won’t be causing any more trouble now, Captain.”
“Hah, only for the sharks, lad, eh?”
“Hope so, Captain,” I said, pointing at the boat.
“Damn and blast it! No survivors. No Spanish bastards left to go bleating to their king with tales!”
“Not a lot we can do about it now, Captain,” I said. “They’re out of range of small arms.”
Tarr glanced at the cold cannon shackled in place. “No ball or powder—they didn’t prepare the starboard guns, and Edelweiss can’t shoot for fear of sinking the prize.” He shook his head and looked over the two ships. “We can’t give chase, Edelweiss is taking on water and we’ve a lot of work to do to clear all our gear and stow it aboard this one. Then we’ve to get the prize shipshape again after the fight.”
“What about Edelweiss?
Tarr shrugged. “You’re standing on her decks. Sea’ll reclaim the old one, welcome to your new home, boy.”
“You’re naming her Edelweiss, too?”
“Aye, sailors know to fear that name, makes no sense to lose it, boy.” He clapped me on the back again and I grimaced. I hated it when he called me boy.
He made to move away, then hesitated. “I saw that woman on deck.”
“Aye.”
“She’s a good shot with a sling.”
“Aye, she is that,” I said, proud of Magdalena’s skill, even though it had naught to do with me. “She saved my life.”
Tarr nodded. “That’s good, boy, but I don’t want to see her on deck in a fight again. It’s bad luck.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but shut it again at his glare. He pointed to the longboat, now hidden intermittently by the swell. “There’s the proof of it, boy.”
“But—”
“I don’t want to hear it. Your life wouldn’t have been at risk if you hadn’t been distracted by her. And they wouldn’t have got away neither. She’s bad luck.”
I gritted my teeth in frustration, but knew my uncle well enough to know further argument would be futile.
“Right, you mangy curs, welcome aboard the Edelweiss. Get them bodies off our new decks and overboard, and start swaying our cargo across. The old tub’s going down, I want everything shiny or useful salved. Get to it!”
The men cheered, t
heir blood still up from the battle, and ran to do my uncle’s bidding.
I went in search of Magdalena.
Chapter 29
I quietly closed the cabin door behind me. Magdalena had the gallery of windows flung wide and stood with her back to me, staring out to sea. I took a deep breath, not knowing what to say. How will she react to the brutality she’s witnessed today? I remembered the look of hatred on her face the last time I’d glimpsed her on deck. She had saved my life, but taken another in doing so. Does she blame me for making her a killer?
I walked up to her and put my hands on her shoulders. “Magdalena—”
She whirled round before I could utter another word, her nails scraping my cheek, and I stepped back in shock, putting one hand to my face and holding the other out to fend her off.
“Blast you, woman! What the blazes do you think you’re doing?”
“You killed him, you bastard. You killed him.”
“What? Who?” I asked, bewildered as much by the words as the English profanity from this Spanish señorita. In the past eight months she had exhibited only a basic grasp of English, now she seemed fluent in all aspects of the language.
“Leo. My fiancée, you killed him.”
I regarded her in incomprehension. What madness is this? She raised her arm to strike again and I grasped her wrist, pulled her close so she had no room to kick, and grabbed hold of her other wrist. “What are you talking about?”
“Leo! Remember I told you about him? He sailed for my father. He must be the captain of his own ship now. He was the man you knocked overboard.”
“The one who had a pistol aimed at my uncle?”
She nodded, tears flowing so freely she could no longer talk. She sagged in my grasp and I gently lifted her and carried her to the cot against the starboard bulkhead.
She lifted her hands to her face and sobbed. “You killed Leo.” The words came out between sobs, unconnected yet creating a terrible truth.
I sat and wrapped my arms around her and held her close. “I’m sorry, Magdalena, I had no idea who he was. He was just a man trying to kill my uncle. I acted to save my uncle’s life, just as you acted to save mine.”
“That’s not true though, is it? You attacked that ship, Leo’s ship. He’d be alive if you and your blasted uncle hadn’t coveted his ship and my papá’s cargo!”
“This is what you wanted, Magdalena. Excitement and adventure, remember?”
She glared at me, but I was saved from the ferocity of her reply by Little, who burst through the cabin door.
“Whatcha doing in here? The ship’s going down. Get your gear stowed and over to the new ’un, quick sharp!”
He rushed off without waiting for a reply and left the cabin door swinging. It was only then I realized the urgency of the shouts outside and the frenetic activity as stores and belongings were hauled topside. I rushed to my feet and had a quick look out over the stern; we were definitely low in the water and the deck beneath my feet listed.
I hurried back to Magdalena and pulled her to her feet, then pulled out a couple of seachests. “Hurry, put everything in these.” We had both accumulated myriad possessions over the months: clothing, gold, trinkets and the like. “We’ve no time for tears now, we need to get off this ship.”
Still sniffing, Magdalena did as she was told; her instinct for her wellbeing was greater than her grief, and I dragged both chests to the hatch ready to be swayed topside. I kept a tight grip of Magdalena’s waist and ignored the odd smirk. Although we shared a cabin, my presence there was as guard rather than lover; not that anyone aboard believed that.
I pushed her up the ladder and led the way to the starboard rail. Planks had been braced to bridge the gap between the two vessels and we crossed over to our new home.
The new Edelweiss was much larger than the old, and the cabins were on the top deck. I smiled; the airs would be far less noxious than those below.
I opened one of the doors to find my uncle standing in the center of a cabin filled with seachests, charts, weapons and all manner of detritus.
He grunted. “There you are. Get that infernal woman,” he stared at Magdalena behind me as he spoke, “stowed in yonder cabin. And keep her out of the way whilst we sort the ships out.” He pushed past me, glared at Magdalena again, and strode down the deck, shouting orders as we went.
“What’s got his goat?” Magdalena asked. I stared at her and she met my gaze, her face void of expression.
I led the way to the second cabin and ushered her in, grasped her arms, walked her to the cot and pushed her down to a sitting position, then stood in front of her, hands on my hips as I regarded her. She raised her eyebrows in question.
“What’s got his goat?” I asked.
“Yes, why is he so unfriendly all of a sudden? Even more than usual, I mean.”
I ignored her question. “Magdalena, you are Spanish. In all the time I’ve known you, since you first came aboard, your English has been basic, to say the least. And now you’re using expressions such as ‘got his goat’. What is happening here?”
She shrugged and said nothing.
“No, that won’t wash anymore. You clearly have a far better command of English than you have led me to believe.”
She shrugged again. “Yes, my English is good. But I am alone here—a woman aboard a ship, unwanted by most. Well, unwanted in the way I want to be wanted. Unfortunately I am only wanted in the way I do not want to be wanted.”
I stared at her, trying to decipher all the ‘wanteds’ and still trying to assimilate the fact that this woman, with whom I had lived in close quarters for months and had only conversed in broken English in all that time, was now uttering tongue twisters that, after a little consideration, I realized made perfect sense.
She continued, and I suspected she was amused by my confoundment.
“These men are hunters. You are a hunter. You all regard me as prey.”
I found my voice. “I do not regard you as prey.”
“Yes you do. You regard me as their prey.”
I opened my mouth, then shut it again. Now she was beating me in debate.
“I know what it is to hunt, I hunted the jungle around Panama City as a child with my slingshot. I know prey has to use every advantage at its disposal to outwit a hunter. Understanding the crew’s words when they think me ignorant is one of my advantages.”
I nodded in understanding, I had done similar when I first joined the ship.
“Please do not destroy my advantage, Henry.”
I shook my head. “Your secret is safe with me. But how did you learn?”
“Leo.” Her voice hitched with repressed sobs, but she took a deep breath and continued. “His mamá was English. She insisted on teaching him her language and he paid more attention if I was there. She would bribe me with treats—fruits, sweetmeats and the like—so that I would join him rather than taunting him by gaming outside the window.” She smiled at the memory. Though silent tears dripped down her face, I did not think she was aware of them. I sat on the cot beside her and rubbed her back.
“Then it became our secret language. Nobody else in Panama could speak it and we drove the other children wild by talking in English. They never found our favorite berry patches, or den. All our secret places were safe.”
“And now you’re hiding your English to be safe.”
She shrugged and smiled. “Excitement and adventure.” Her face fell. “And now Leo’s dead. I always thought he would be there, you know, when I went home. I always thought we would meet again.”
“I’m so sorry, Magdalena. If I had known . . .” I tailed off in the knowledge that I would still have killed him to save the life of my uncle. She rested her head on my shoulder and I put my arm around her properly and lifted my free arm so I completely encircled her in my embrace. I held her tight, her tears soaking my shirt.
She jerked away and I started to apologize, but she interrupted. “You didn’t answer my question.”
&
nbsp; “What question?”
“The captain, what’s got his goat?”
I smiled again at the coarse English phrase spoken in Magdalena’s breathy Spanish accent, then frowned as I considered my answer.
He has . . . superstitions. He believes women bring bad fortune to a ship.”
She grimaced, but I ignored it; she would have to get used to that attitude, and I was surprised she hadn’t already done so, what with listening to the crew’s unguarded conversations. “We are not officially at war with Spain at present, we should leave no survivors to tell of our attacks, but today a boat got away. He blames you for being aboard.”
“A boat got away?”
I nodded.
“So Leo, he may still live?”
I looked into her eyes and thought about my answer, whether to give her hope or dash it, then decided on the gentlemanly thing to do and nodded. “Aye, he may still live.”
Chapter 30
“You lie.” She spat the words.
I rubbed my face with my hands then shrugged. “You know as well as I do he was injured when he went into the water. The boat got away much later—he would have drowned by then. I’m sorry.”
She broke into sobs again, then slapped my face, hard.
“Don’t lie to me, don’t lie to me. It’s bad enough you killed him, don’t lie about it too!”
I grabbed her arms, yet again restraining her, my patience exhausted. I opened my mouth to berate her. This was a privateer ship. We attacked Spanish interests, and anyone else we fancied, if we thought we could get away with it. But instead of words, my head bent and I pressed my lips to hers. She tried to push me away, then her attempts grew feeble, her lips parted and she returned my kiss.
When we finally broke for air, I started to speak, but she placed her finger to my lips, hushing me. It was just as well, I had no idea what I wanted to say.
I bent my head again and sought out her mouth, her tongue with my own. The kiss was gentle at first, then grew urgent once again. The emotion we had both experienced this day: the battle; the grief; the guilt; it all merged into one. We shared each other’s senses and everything melted into a want, a need for each other.
The Valkyrie Series: The First Fleet - (Books 1-3) Look Sharpe!, Ill Wind & Dead Reckoning: Caribbean Pirate Adventure Page 8