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

by P. S. Bartlett

  “Blacksnake,” they said in unison.

  “Doesn’t this all seem just a little suspicious to you?” asked Keara.

  “How so?” Miranda asked with a lowered brow.

  “What are the odds that the Blue Diamond would get sacked twenty miles out, just out of sight of land no less, and miraculously, Ivory—if it is, in fact, Ivory—would end up in Blacksnake’s camp?”

  “Wait, are you saying you believe Blacksnake’s men attacked the Blue Diamond and then searched for Ivory when they didn’t find her in the water? That isn’t even possible is it? I mean, why bother searching for her at all?” Cass commented, looking at Roberts for an answer.

  “I doubt it. According to the crew, the Blue Diamond was attacked on the Wednesday when Ivory sailed, and she wasn’t found until four days later. I mean, nothing is impossible, but it doesn’t sound to me as if he’s behind the attack. I just don’t see him wasting the time to find her. However, I could be wrong.”

  “Well, whatever the case, we have a fairly good idea of where she is, but why hasn’t she returned yet?” Keara asked.

  “Four days in a longboat with no food or water and not a drop of rain? She was most likely near death. The point is, we’re not enemies of Blacksnake’s, so why would he…” Miranda commented.

  “We’re not friends, either. None of us have even seen him. Not to mention, we’re nothing to him. Our little fleet compared to his? We’re like a fly in his soup,” Keara stated.

  Cass leaned over the map and said, “Exactly, Ke. Ever had a fly in your soup? It can certainly ruin your supper.”

  “So, what do we do?” asked Miranda.

  “You said it yourself, we’re not his enemies. Let’s ready the Carolina Cutlass and crew and take a little trip over to Kingston to pay a visit to Captain Carbonale,” Cass said, rolling the maps and handing them to Roberts.

  As they’d done since that morning in Charles Towne, they raised their glasses to each other and downed their drinks. Keara sent Roberts to round up the crew.

  * * * *

  At first light, they tendered out to their small sloop, the Carolina Cutlass, and set sail. With a good wind, they crossed the bay to Kingston in record time. She was a small, but sturdy, sloop and was one of three vessels in Ivory’s fleet. She was used for short trips to merchant towns to sell plunder, or purchase and trade for supplies. Cass brought a crew of twenty, as well as Miranda, but left Keara behind to mind the colony.

  “Willy, are you certain Blacksnake’s camp is west of the town?” Cass asked her bosun, who knew this island better than anyone aboard, and who’d also lived there the longest.

  “Aye, I’ll take ye to his doorstep, if ye like.”

  “That won’t be necessary. Just get us about fifty yards off shore and point to it,” Cass said, pulling the spyglass from her belt and placing it to her open eye.

  Miranda walked over and stood beside her. “Aren’t you even the least bit concerned he’s expecting us, and as such, may not give us a warm reception?” she asked.

  “First of all, I know a few things about the Captain. Number one, he prefers not to be addressed as Blacksnake—he prefers only to be called that in battle, and only by his enemies. Second, he was a privateer up until about a year ago, and still has many connections in England and America. Although he no longer shares his plunder with either, he fancies his books, his fine taste in art, and favors what he believes to be his unmatched intelligence of the courses of the best merchant ships to the blatant violence of blind attacks.”

  “You’ve really done your research,” Miranda noted.

  “You can’t hope to beat a man unless you know his weaknesses. Besides, we have a friend in common.”

  “Do you think Ivory knows all this?”

  “No. That’s my job.”

  Willy whistled to Cass and pointed. From where they sat at those fifty yards out, Cass again looked through the spyglass and spotted the house. The Carolina Cutlass weighed anchor, and Cass took two crewman and Miranda in the longboat to shore.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Miranda whispered.

  “I suppose you’ll just have to trust me,” Cass answered, checking her pistol and securing her dirk. “Please, Mir, let me take the lead, and you just look pleasant and unimposing. I’ll get us out alive.”

  “Well I hope so, because we have company,” Miranda said and checked her weapons as well.

  Coming towards them were two small boats with two men each. They rowed towards each other until one boat was on either side of the longboat, and one of the men called out to them, “State yer name and business!”

  “Cass Randall to see Captain Carbonale.”

  “Is he expectin’ ye?”

  “Obviously not, sir, since you’re here to greet me. I’d like to have a word with him about my cousin, Captain Ivory Shepard of the Blue Diamond. She’s been missing for a week now, either in the bay, or she may have drifted out to sea. We don’t know. And you are…?”

  “Hung over. What might Cap’n Carbonale know of this Ivory?”

  “Well, sir, you have twice the ships we have—well, even more-so now— and we hoped perhaps one of your ships may have come upon her and saved her. We seek information, and offer a reward for her safe return.”

  “Follow us ta’ shore, and I’ll see if the Cap’n is receivin’ guests today, Madame Randall,” the man said with a seated bow, causing the rest of his crew to burst into laughter. Cass rolled her eyes at Miranda and motioned to her own crew to follow the boats to shore.

  “You handled that well,” Miranda whispered with a smile and a wink.

  “Very funny. At least they didn’t shoot us.”

  Once ashore, Cass, Willy, and Miranda stepped out of the boat and followed Carbonale’s men to the front of the house. “Wait here,” said the outspoken man who, once standing, measured no more than five feet five if he was an inch, and about a foot thick around the middle—mostly muscle. He walked with a limp and wore a bandana atop what Cass surmised was a bald head.

  The house was impressive. It had a wide veranda on the front, set high above the beach with a wide set of steps that climbed up from the sand. From the water you could see the large French windows and doors that opened to the outside and the lovely landscape of plants and flowers. There were two sets of tables and chairs covered by a canopy, obviously for entertaining.

  A few minutes later, the man emerged from the veranda doors and descended the steps down to the sand. “Funny enough, he said he’ll see ye. He said ta’ take a stroll ta’ the pub and grab yerselves a bite ta’ eat and come back in an hour,” he said mockingly.

  “An hour?” Miranda barked, slamming her hands on her hips.

  “Excuse my cousin, sir, but why in an hour? Can he not just tell us now if he’s seen Ivory?”

  “I didn’t ask. I told him two ladies were here ta’ see ‘em, and he said he’d speak ta’ ye in an hour, and that’s that,” the man shouted up at Cass and walked away a few feet. Then, he turned back and added, “The Shark Skin’s that-a-way!” as he pointed east from the house to a dirt road leading back into a cluster buildings.

  “Looks like we’re taking a walk, then,” Miranda remarked, gathering her skirt as she kicked off her shoes.

  “Really, Miranda?”

  “I can’t walk in sand with my shoes on,” she answered, picking them up and shaking them out.

  The Shark Skin Pub was but a few minutes’ walk, and the sound of rowdy men and the loud laughter of loose and entertaining women led the way. There was lively music playing, and the smell of fried fish was thick in the air. Willy leapt ahead and offered to enter first, just to check things out before allowing Cass and Miranda inside.

  “Seriously, Willy, I’m certain we can handle ourselves,” Cass said as he dashed into her path.

  “Sorry, ma’am. Old habits die hard,” he commented, backing away from the door and waving her in with a bow. Cass stepped one foot inside the open door and was hit square
in the chest with a tankard full of ale. She gasped and pulled back, her eyes fixed on the ruddy face of a drunken man, caught up in a reel. “Sorry, me lady. I seem ta’ have gotten a wee bit carried away!” he shouted above the music, which came to an instant halt when Miranda’s pistol pressed into his temple.

  “Not in here, ye don’t,” said Carbonale’s man with the bandana on his head, as his pistol pressed into the neatly woven curls at the back of Miranda’s head—they’d obviously been followed.

  “We’ve been here ten minutes, and I’ve already had a bath and stopped the band. I’d say that’s a hell of a welcome. The man said he was sorry, Mir,” Cass said, pulling a handkerchief from her purse and wiping her bosom and bodice. “Mir? Put the pistol away, please, and let’s get a drink.”

  Miranda slowly lowered her gun, as did Carbonale’s man. “Sorry, miss. Rules are rules.”

  She tucked her pistol into her waist band, and as she turned to him she straightened her large bosom in her bodice and pinched her cheeks. “No hard feelings—Mister…Hung-Over was it?” she asked as she pursed her lips and leaned over him, filling his eyes with her plump, rosy flesh.

  “Buy ye a drink?” he asked with a grin.

  “I thought you’d never ask,” she said with a wink and spun around, headed for the bar.

  The man followed behind Miranda and swept a stool clean for her to sit. He was fixed on her ample offerings for the duration of their conversation—which was fine with her. She prided herself on gathering a great deal of information without ever making eye contact with her quarries. Her adversary, who only moments before pressed a gun barrel into her crimson locks, was now interested only in running his hands through them, on his way to her toes.

  Cass sat a few stools away chatting with Willy and turned on his nod to observe Miranda at work. Miranda’s wiles were never wasted, and Cass smiled when she turned back to Willy, who lowered his head and chuckled. “Sorry, ma’am, but that woman’s assets could sink the whole Royal Navy, I’d wager.”

  “One more, please,” Cass said to the bartender and then turned back to Willy. “Close, but no. She has, however, nearly taken down an entire pirate crew. But that’s a long story for another day.” They both broke into laughter as Cass sat fanning at her soiled clothes.

  “There’s fish and rice if’n yer hungry,” the bartender said as he poured Cass another glass of rum.

  “No thank you, just the rum for me.” She turned to Willy and asked, “Why don’t you eat? It may be a long night.”

  Willy ordered his meal and found an empty seat at one of the tables as Cass picked up her drink and walked to Miranda. Cass covered her smile as the now hopelessly enamored ruffian’s cheeks glowed with joy while Miranda tickled his stubbled chin.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything, cousin,” Cass remarked as she walked around behind Miranda and leaned her forearm lightly on her cousin’s shoulder.

  “Oh, not at all, love. Sandy and I were just getting to know each other better. Isn’t that right, Sandy?”

  “Sandy…is that short for something?” Cass asked, taking a swig from her cup.

  After a long pause and a nudge from Miranda, he finally answered, “No, miss, it’s me nickname. Me real name be just plain old John,” he said, never looking away from his daydream.

  “Plain, my foot! Why, there isn’t a thing plain about you,” Miranda exclaimed, taking the aforementioned appendage and gently poking Sandy in the shin.

  “Easy now, Miranda. You wouldn’t want him to follow us home, now would you?” Cass whispered.

  “Sandy’s quite chatty when you get to know him. I think he’d tell me where they keep the gold for a nipple slip,” she whispered back.

  “They can keep their gold, and you keep yours as well—that is, unless you’re falling for him and hoping for a little slip of something, too?” Cass giggled and smiled at the poor pile of mush, who now leaned against the bar for support.

  Miranda turned and slapped Cass’s arm off her shoulder and threw her a look of disgust. “That’s just mean.”

  “How so?” Cass asked with a laugh through her teeth, trying to keep their conversation private so as not to alert, or distract, poor Sandy from his wooing.

  “Love is not an option. Besides,” she continued as she leaned in to reach for a handful of nuts in a bowl on the bar just past Sandy’s shoulder, deliberately brushing the soft bulge of her left breast against his sandpaper cheek.

  “You were saying?” Cass asked.

  “…his kind is incredibly grateful.” She winked and popped a peanut in her mouth.

  Chapter Six

  Ivory tapped on the locked door and said, “Roman? Are you there?”

  “Yes, Madame,” he answered, turning the key in the lock and opening the door as Ivory backed away. She noticed Roman was armed, which he hadn’t been prior to her attempt on Carbonale’s life at breakfast. He wore a pistol in his sash, and his right hand rested on it as he spoke.

  “Is the Captain free? I’d like to speak to him before dinner, if I may.”

  “He’s expecting guests within the hour, Madame. Perhaps once they’ve gone. I’ll inform him of your request. Is there anything else?”

  “Yes, would there be anything stronger than water in this house?”

  “The Captain has requested there be no alcohol.”

  “Not even just a little bit?” Ivory asked, pinching her thumb and forefinger together in the air.

  Roman backed out of the room and closed the door, leaving Ivory pressed against it. She turned and laid her back on the warm wood and stared around the room, searching for any weakness or means of escape. Her attempts to engage Roman and Zara were failures. She contemplated taking the bed apart and attacking the next person to enter the room with a bed post, or even the chair, but realized the attempt would be futile against a gun or sword. Besides, she was still weak and prone to light-headedness with any exertion. She slid down the door in her satin robe and pulled her knees to her chest. For a few moments, she gave up.

  “Madame? I have something for you to eat,” she heard Zara say through the door. Ivory pushed herself to her feet and again backed away from the door.

  “Thank you. As you know, my breakfast didn’t go down very well.”

  “I brought you fruit and some chicken and rice. I wasn’t sure what you like to eat, but the Captain requested we bring you anything you want,” Zara said, setting the silver tray down on the dresser.

  “I’d like a gun and my blade, please.” Ivory smiled, picking up a slice of pineapple and popping it in her mouth.

  “Sorry, Madame, but those are not on the menu.” Zara gave Ivory a look of disbelief and sighed. She gathered herself together, bowed, and turned for the door when Ivory shouted, “Wait! Please…wait. I heard the Captain is having guests. It’s so lonely in here. Perhaps you can tell me who he’s expecting?”

  “I’m afraid I do not know. I was told only to sweep the veranda and prepare it for several guests. That’s all I know.” Zara turned back to Ivory, lowered her head and looked up. “I swear.”

  “I understand.”

  Zara reached for the doorknob, and Ivory spoke to her one last time. “You know what he plans to do with me, don’t you? He’s taking me to Nassau to turn me over to the authorities. I’m to be tried for taking a ship full of British cargo. There’s a very good chance I’ll be hanged.”

  “Yes, Madame. I’m to bring you clothes and prepare a bath for you this evening before dinner. You sail tomorrow at first light.” Zara opened the door and hurried out, closing it hard.

  Ivory pushed another piece of pineapple into her mouth carefully, so as not to let the juice burn her still tender lips. She looked at herself in the mirror and pulled the robe tightly around her. She leaned in closely at her reflection and pulled her hair back away from her face, gaining a closer look at the lines and dryness of her cheeks, and the thin layer of skin now starting to peel away at her hairline and her nose. She hoped Zara would bri
ng more of her magic balm when she returned.

  * * * *

  “Master Green, there are three of them, you say?”

  “Yes, Captain—two women and a crewman.”

  “Two women? I suppose these are two of the notorious four,” Carbonale remarked, straightening the cuffs of his deep blue velvet surcoat. He drew a loud breath through his nostrils and then removed the coat and placed it back on the rack.

  “Yes—Madame Cassandra Randall and Madame Miranda Shepard; both are cousins to Madame Ivory Shepard.”

  Carbonale had foregone his usual brocade doublet and cravat. Instead, he had chosen a plain white linen shirt open to mid-chest, and he adorned his neck with several gold rope chains. The longest chain was pulled taut by the weight of a seated golden cat with large emerald eyes that nestled itself snuggly in the soft sprays of dark hair, deep in the valley between his chest muscles. He opened the jewelry box on his dresser and lifted his rings from the red velvet lining, sliding them one by one over his thick, smooth fingers and twisting them slightly until they sat just right.

  “What say you, Master Green?” he turned while holding a large plumed hat, as Green stood with his shoulders back and his hands folded over his groin.

  “I know nothing of hats, Captain, but I can tell you it is a very hot day. I suggest either choose a hat to shade you or no hat at all, and allow your head to breathe.” Green smiled.

  “Alphonse, you are quite possibly the wisest man I know.” Carbonale turned back to his mirror and poked and twisted his long dark curls. He poured a small amount of yet another of Zara’s amazing creations on his hands and swiped it back and forth over his head, careful not to catch a ring in his ringlets. The scent was fresh, yet masculine, and he breathed it in with his eyes closed when he brought his hands to his face in a steeple.