The Blue Diamond (The Razor's Edge Book 1)

by P. S. Bartlett

  “Loyalty by way of fear of torture and death is not loyalty.”

  “I’ll have it anyway I can get it in this, shall we say, business. Besides, without a code and consequences, there can be no order, correct? I’d never harm either of them, but they know only what they’ve witnessed.” He smiled, still stroking the cat.

  “So, start over then. I’m waiting.”

  The captain stood and placed Lasher down in the chair. He crossed the room slowly and leaned back, resting his hands behind him on the empty dresser. “Captain Maddox Carbonale—gentleman of fortune,” he bowed and said. “Pleased to make your acquaintance Madame…Razor.”

  “Blacksnake!” she hissed.

  “Aye, but that’s just a label. You’re familiar with labels, I’m sure,” he remarked with a frown. “I am as most define me; a refined, educated and above all, fair and reasonable man, but…”

  “But you’re also a ruthless, selfish pirate of the worst sort. I must admit though, of all of the hands I could have fallen into while in this condition, I could have surely done much worse.” Ivory covered herself completely as she squirmed and looked away.

  “It’s extremely enlightened of you to acknowledge my courteousness under the circumstances. However, knowing who I am, you can’t possibly believe I’ve taken you under my roof out of the kindness of my heart.”

  “Oh, so there is a heart beneath all of that velvet and lace?”

  “Very amusing, Madame. Yes, it pumps my blood, but it certainly doesn’t motivate my objectives. I try to never do anything out of kindness or through the whims of the heart.” He strolled about the room and continued, “This…this forsaken world in which we choose to exist won’t allow kindness. Of course, back in England, or even in America, you may find unselfish acts, delicacies, and even the occasional unexpected favor. However, we’ve both been at sea and sand long enough to know such gentleness could never survive…here.”

  Carbonale had strolled his way to her bedside and leaned slightly over her, jabbing his deep green eyes into her now fully expanded irises. Her empty stomach rumbled, awkwardly breaking the few moments of silence during which they’d stared at each other. He straightened his back, clasping his hands behind him.

  “Are you quite finished?” she asked, pulling her eyes away and to the right.

  “You’ll be provided with a meal shortly. Now why don’t you try again with that drink of water and we’ll chat later?” he suggested, retrieving Lasher from the chair and walking to the door.

  “Bastard…” Ivory mumbled, turning away.

  “I assure you I am completely legitimate. Although, perhaps my mother and father, God rest their souls, may have claimed I was switched at birth, had I not been the only child born under my roof that day. Oh, and by the way,” he added with a wink and a slight upturn at the corners of his mouth, “you’re quite lovely when you sleep, regardless of the scars, blisters, and snoring.”

  “You’re disgusting,” she growled.

  “Disgusting? You read me completely wrong. I find it a necessity to know my guests completely, Madame. I can assure you, although I do find you attractive physically, I have no desire to bed you. I prefer my ladies to be, well, ladies. Physically you are a bit thin, but a fine female specimen nonetheless. However, I’d fear you’re hiding your…how shall I say… your manhood somewhere, and that, my dear, is something in which I have absolutely no interest.”

  “If I’m as worthless as you describe, then what do you want with me?” she asked through her teeth.

  “I do not believe I used the term ‘worthless.’ You are absolutely not worthless. Until later, Madame.” He chuckled, refilling her goblet, and pulling Lasher close. He bowed to her and closed the door.

  * * * *

  Ivory’s memory was returning, and with it the images of her beloved Blue Diamond being raked to bits by two sloops with at least ten cannons each. It had taken two ships to take down the Blue Diamond …but why? These were obviously pirate manned, and she had neither crossed nor interfered with any of her fellows in months. She wondered if there was a grudge against her, but pushed that idea from her mind, knowing with confidence that neither she nor any of her fellow associates of the trade had any unsettled disagreements.

  She had just pulled out that morning from port, and had yet to even set her course, when she and her crew found themselves being pursued by the two sloops. Within four hours, they were on her. She was loaded down with food and weaponry as she expected their journey to be at least a month before reaching their charted target in the gulf. Too heavy to outrun them, she had to stand and fight. The more she recalled this one-sided clash, the faster the water went down. “Black flags, ears of a cat,” she whispered. Her last memory before succumbing to dehydration and exhaustion aboard the longboat was that of waiting as she hung from the side of it, out of sight of her attackers. Her only luck had been the bottle of rum one of her crew had stashed in the boat.

  The oddity of it all was that they had no desire to capture the Blue Diamond, which made absolutely no sense. There was no call to surrender. The ship was a pearl among stones in the Caribbean. She was a British merchant ship Ivory had taken off the coast of Florida. With her two shares of the cargo, Ivory had her brought ashore near Port Royal nearly three months before and careened. Additionally, she had the quarter deck lowered and all but the captain’s the deck cabins removed, and had additional gun ports cut. However, even those were no defense against the two sloops.

  When she went into the water as the sun sat mere inches from the horizon, she could hear her crew shouting and calling out for one another as they drifted off on planks of wood and barrels, clinging to life. One by one, they were plucked from the water and captured as she watched, helplessly hanging on for her own life and drifting away. With no way to save them, she saved herself in hopes of avenging this unprovoked act of what she could only deem to be envy.

  She rowed southeast, back to Port Royal, for hours, but by the evening of the next day land was still nowhere in sight. She was thankful, however, that neither were the sloops. She assumed they thought she’d perished. She believed her crew was taken aboard to endure a brutal interrogation, ending in a bloody death after such a vicious and unprovoked bashing. All of these memories, and imagining the agony and suffering of her crew, combined with the loss of her ship, was making her head heavy, and her promised dinner had yet to arrive. Thankfully, as she again lay back, Zara entered the room with a tray.

  “You must be starving, Madame,” she said as she set the tray down on the dresser and then propped Ivory up on her pillows.

  “My head is aching. Have you any rum?”

  “You need water, Madame, not rum. Your head pounds because you need to eat.”

  “You’re not from around here, are you Zara?”

  “My father was French and my mother was his half-white Jamaican maid. I am originally from the island, Madame. However, I spent several years as a child in France, when my father took us with him to work in his home there, for his family.”

  “His family?” Ivory asked as Zara placed the tray on her lap.

  “Yes, Madame. He was not cruel, nor did he disrespect my mother and me. Our life was different, but certainly not worse than it was here.”

  “I suppose that depends on your definition of cruel. You were educated there, I suppose? You certainly have neither the accent nor mannerisms of native Jamaicans.”

  “Yes, I went to school. Sadly, my father died when I was ten. His wife, of course, having known all along whom we were, put us on the first ship back to Kingston.”

  “Do you mind if I ask how old you are?”

  “Fifteen this past March, Madame. Now, you eat and drink all of the water in the pitcher. I’ll return in a little while to collect everything.”

  Zara bowed and turned to leave when Ivory spoke again, “Zara, wait…what happened to your mother?”

  “She died, too,” was all Zara said as she closed the door.

  Cha
pter Three

  “Good morning, Madame,” Zara said quietly upon entering the room.

  “Morning?”

  “Yes, Madame. I came back to collect your tray last night, and you were asleep. The Captain instructed me not to wake you.”

  Ivory sat up with some difficulty and pulled the sheet up over her half-exposed body and rubbed at her eyes. “Will you tell the Captain I wish to speak with him as soon as possible?”

  “He’s waiting for you in the dining room. I’ve brought you a robe and shoes. If you’d like a moment to wash, I’ve also brought you a basin and soap. I can wait outside if you’d prefer.”

  Ivory tossed off the sheet and waved Zara away, but the girl walked to the bed and took her hand to support her as she tried to stand. Ivory slid her stiffened lower limbs across the bed, and they fell over the side as Zara pulled her up to sit.

  “Perhaps I should stay until the blood remembers where your feet are.”

  After several attempts, Ivory stood, leaning on Zara to balance herself. She managed to take a few carefully placed steps until they finally reached the dresser. Zara lifted the robe and guided Ivory into it, buttoning and tying it closed.

  “Let me help you, Madame,” Zara said, pouring the water from the pitcher into the basin and dipping the washcloth into the water.

  “Do you have a comb?” Ivory asked, leaning on the dresser with one hand and patting at her face with the other. The cloth slid over her skin as the second application of Zara’s miracle potion was picked up and wiped away. “You coated me again as I slept, didn’t you?”

  “I did. You slept like the dead, but you are looking much better already.”

  Zara pulled the chair to the dresser and nodded at Ivory to sit so she could comb her hair. She pulled the pins that still held some of Ivory’s hair up and, section by section, she combed through it until it lay in long, flaxen waves down her back. Without words, Zara opened the jar and dabbed the balm on Ivory’s cheeks, chin, and forehead and motioned for her to massage it over her face. Then, she did the same with Ivory’s neck, chest, and forearms. Zara picked up the comb and pulled the cotton waves across Ivory’s head into a long braid down her right side. Finally, she tied it with a red ribbon at the end.

  “I must have drunk enough water. I need to…go.”

  Zara walked to the other side of the bed and pulled a porcelain chamber pot from beneath it, showed it to Ivory, and sat it back down. “I’m sure you are able to do this yourself, Madame.” She smiled. “I’ll wait for you outside the door and take you to breakfast.”

  Once relieved, Ivory slipped on the shoes and walked to the door.

  * * * *

  “There you are, Madame. I’ve been waiting for you,” Carbonale said as he stood and seated Ivory to his left.

  “Only you and I this morning?”

  “This is my home. I live here alone when I’m not doing business,” he replied, waving his arm left to right.

  “Where is your crew?”

  Carbonale laughed and poured Ivory a glass of sweet flavored orange liquid. “They are where they are. They are my crew, not my children. When I am ready to sail, then they are where they need to be.”

  “What is this?” she asked, holding up the glass.

  “One of Zara’s amazing concoctions. It is nectar pressed from several of the fruits of the island. I’m sure you’ll find it quite delicious, Madame.”

  “Ivory—call me Ivory. Madame does not suit me, and I’ve heard it quite enough.”

  “Apologies…Ivory. You spoke of respect, so naturally I believed…”

  “Listen to me, Carbonale… or Blacksnake… or whatever you prefer. It isn’t that I do not appreciate your unusual form of hospitality, but I have a business of my own to run. I’m grateful that you’ve spared my life; honor among thieves and all that. However, I’d appreciate my clothes and a horse. I’ll pay you for your trouble. You can trust me,” Ivory said, the blood having now not only found her feet but her head and tongue as well.

  “Have I mentioned how absolutely lovely you look this morning, Ivory?” He smiled with spite.

  “Have I mentioned that I don’t give a damn what you think of me?”

  “What a pity. Now, see? You’ve gone and ruined a perfectly civilized breakfast, and just when we were starting to get to know each other.”

  Before Carbonale could finish spreading jam on his bread, Ivory snatched the knife from his hand and pointed it at his throat. He leaned far back in his chair, smiling as she thrust her hand into his black satin sash, digging for her blade. His hands were spread out in the air at the sides of his head, but his eyes were fixed on hers as she explored beneath the wrap until she’d reached his more private area. He spread his thighs apart to allow her further access—the smile never leaving his face.

  “Where is it?” she demanded.

  “Why should I tell you? It’s far more entertaining for you to search for it.”

  Ivory stopped and glared at him, having found no humor in his words.

  “You don’t think I’m foolish enough to carry it with me, do you?” he laughed, which only angered her more, causing her to press the dull instrument into the flesh of his gullet until the skin folded around it. “So much for respect, I see,” he garbled.

  “Respect is earned, Blacksnake. Holding me prisoner under the guise that I’m a guest, and withholding my weapon, is a poor demonstration of hospitality.”

  Carbonale rolled his eyes away from hers quickly, as if he’d heard someone approaching. She, too, glanced away in that split second. He grabbed her wrist in his left hand and pulled the knife free with his right, tossing it across the table. Then, he snatched her by both wrists as she fought against him and pulled her down between his spread thighs, wrapping her up and holding her there as Roman and the giant who’d pulled her from the longboat entered the room.

  “Is everything alright, Captain?” Roman asked. “Master Green is here to see you.”

  “As you can see, I’m having breakfast with the lady,” he said and then whispered to Ivory, “Green can snap you in half. All I have to do is say the word. Now be a good captain and take your seat. I’ll try to forget that you just tried to end me.”

  Ivory relaxed in his grasp and pulled her now disheveled robe closed with her hands as she stood and returned to her seat. Again, she heard that familiar voice, and when she met the man’s eyes, the knowing was there and a hard scowl covered her face. However, besides the acknowledgement in his eyes, Green didn’t flinch.

  “Yes, Master Green. What may I do for you, sir?”

  “We have gained some intelligence that may interest you. I’ll be at the Shark Skin in an hour. Come and have a drink, and we can discuss this opportunity.”

  “Thank you, Master Green. I’ll see you then.”

  Roman bowed and led Quartermaster Green from the room as Ivory sat quietly fuming in her chair, covered in perspiration with her neatly braided hair now unraveled and falling loose at her shoulder. She reached for the glass of fruit juices, and Carbonale again clamped onto her wrist, pulling her arm flat against the table.

  “Where did you find that one?” she asked as her body struggled against him.

  “That’s none of your concern, and please, Ivory, don’t try that again. I believed you more refined than that. Despite your reputation, I had given you the credit I thought a woman of your distinction deserved. I’ve now read you wrong. I don’t like being wrong.”

  “I’ll try not to cry for your misguided judgment, Blacksnake,” she growled, looking up at him. “Now, release me so that I may finish my breakfast.” She jerked her arm away and straightened herself in her chair.

  “Please, call me Captain Carbonale, or even Maddox. Only my enemies call me Blacksnake, and although you did only moments ago make an attempt on my life, I have no desire to make you my enemy—or kill you.”

  “Oh, reawy?” she asked with a mouthful of dry bread.

  “Here, allow me,” he said taking the br
ead from her hand, retrieving the knife and covering it with a slather of jam.

  Ivory picked up her glass, swallowing its contents in one long drink, and then snatched the now sweetened bread from his hand. “Well? Are you going to explain that statement…Maddox?”

  He placed the knife down slowly to his right as he leaned in towards her and said, “You’re of absolutely no value to me dead.”

  “My value is out there,” she stated, pointing her spoon towards the open doors that led out to his veranda overlooking the beach, and then leaned back and stretched, taking a long, deep breath. “Can you smell that, Captain? That’s the sea, and that’s where I belong. Not sitting here in a satin robe making civil conversation with you—no offense, of course,” she remarked, rolling her eyes.

  “Aye, but you are mistaken, love,” he said, sitting back in his chair and raising his fine china cup to his lips for a sip of English tea.

  “Oh, I’m afraid not. I’ve quite a lot to tend to—although those who have noticed my obvious absence may think me gone to Davey Jones’s Locker. They’ve most likely heard what happened to the Blue Diamond, but like you I have men…and women… depending on me. You really must understand, Maddox.” She’d taken on a tone of nonchalant, yet matter-of-fact reasoning, and she believed by appealing to Carbonale’s sense of duty and his own need to make a living that he’d see she made perfect sense and let her go. “All I need are clothes, a horse, and my weapon, and I’ll be out of your hair before you return from your meeting.” She closed her argument with a wide smile and her cheeks full of fried eggs and then went back to work on her breakfast.

  “You really don’t know… do you?” he asked, leaning back in his chair and crossing his now closed thighs.

  “Know what?” she asked, never looking up from her plate.

  “You’ve a hefty bounty on your head. That ship you took possession of, the one you prized and modified and paraded across the Caribbean for months? The British merchant company you stole it from has put a bounty of fifty thousand pounds on your pretty little cotton top, and I intend to collect that bounty.”