I awoke with the sun nearly at the day’s apex to find the Howler curled up at my side, her arm draped across my chest. Garlic had kept vigil and was sitting next to my head. I was well practiced at the art of slinking out of a woman’s bed and made my way to the spring for fresh water, harvesting some fruit on the way back. When I got to my camp, the Howler was lying in her own bed, and neither one of us chose to mention her sleepwalking.
“I got us some fresh fruit and water,” I said, handing half of what I had collected to her. “It is a short trek to the body I found that might be your quarry.”
“Thank you,” the Howler replied. It seemed she did have some manners after all. “We don’t have much time. My ship will be rendezvousing with me in the morning. Which begs the question—how am I going to explain to my English crew that I am consorting with a Spaniard?”
I laughed to myself. Consorting with her would need no explanation from any man. “That is an easy one,” I said. “I am a mercenary sent from your father to help you. I have been following you the whole time.” I paused while she considered this, then said in my best Cockney accent. “Sirius Sinister, at your service.”
She was taken aback for a moment, then laughed. “Now that is a good pirate name if I ever heard one!”
We finished eating quickly and, with Garlic trailing us, made our way to where I had discovered the decapitated corpse. He was exactly where I had left him, his bony skull still resting in his hands, grinning eerily at us. “Do you know this to be the minion?” I asked. “Someone or something wanted to make sure he couldn’t do any talking.”
The Howler stared at him for a moment and then bent to rifle through his clothes, but found nothing other than a few stray maggots. “This is the man,” she said. “I recognize those foppish clothes even after a few weeks in the jungle.”
I peered at the man’s neck and noted his spine had been severed cleanly with one swift blow. “No mortal can kill like that,” I said. “He was meeting someone here, and once that meeting was over, so was his life.”
The Howler began searching frantically around the body. I did not know what she was looking for, and clearly neither did she. She screamed in frustration. “There has to be something,” she said. She grabbed the skull, and made to throw it into the jungle.
“Wait,” I said, grabbing her arm and eliciting a growl of anger from her. “You obviously have not dealt with goblins much. His head was left in his hands, and before I took it, his sword leaned neatly against the tree. They are sending you a message.”
“My sister’s life is no game,” the Howler said, slamming the skull into my open palm.
I nodded slowly, “Well, it is to them. If they can humiliate you, eventually torture and kill you, and make a deal netting them lots of gold in the process, it doesn’t get any better for the horde. Now then . . .”
I replaced the sword where I had found it and dropped the skull neatly into the waiting corpse’s fingers. I stepped back and viewed the scene with a different tack than when I first found it. Something was nagging at me about the corpse, and then it hit me. “Where are his boots?”
The Howler shrugged, “What difference does that make? The goblins probably took them. Or he took them off. So what?”
“He wasn’t killed here. He was put here for you to find. The skull in the hands, well, that is just an assassin’s sense of humor. The sword is the key.”
The sword was pointing west, if I had replaced it in the proper spot, and I knew I had. “Come on,” I said, and set off west through the jungle. I could see faint traces of where the minion had been dragged, and on one rock underneath a bush, there was the familiar stain of dried blood. Definitely mortal blood by the smell of it. Soon, we came into a clearing with another natural spring. A pair of boots stood propped up in the sand. I read the signs of what was a very brief struggle. The minion had come up to the spring and removed his boots to cool his feet. The moment he set foot in the spring, something had come out of the water and decapitated him. I could still see the dent in the sand where his head landed.
“This was not a meeting,” I said. “This was an assassination.” I caught a glimpse of something glinting in the sunlight in the clear shallow water of the spring. But before I could investigate, the Howler had gone over to the minion’s boots and peered inside. Carefully, she went to reach down into the boot, but I caught her hand before she did. She looked at me quizzically, not mad but deferring to my assassin’s expertise. I pointed at a needle halfway down the leather, barely glinting in the sun. “Goblins, remember?” I said. “I don’t know what poison that needle is tipped with, but I don’t think you want to find out.”
The Howler’s eyes grew wide at her near escape, and this time she took a stick and fished out of the bottom of the boot a tress of blonde hair identical to her own. “Cornelia,” she said.
I nodded. “They want you to know she is still alive. Now, the question is, where is she being held?”
The Howler grabbed the other boot, inspected it, and more carefully this time, pulled out a kerchief. “This is not hers,” she said. “This has the crest of the governor of Santo Domingo on it. That is it! She is being held in the governor’s house in Santo Domingo.”
“No,” I said. “Your impetuousness precedes you. A trap lies set for you in Santo Domingo, but she is not there.”
The Howler stood, angry and a little frustrated, and folded her arms across her chest and glared at me. “Well then, Sirius Sinister, if you think you are so brilliant, where is she?”
I decided two things at that moment. One, I definitely liked the name Sirius Sinister, and two, I found her pouty look to be quite fetching. Not answering her, I strode into the water, thrust my hand under the surface of the spring into the cool white sand, and brought up a shiny gold necklace. “Now, if you are going to swing your sword so bloody hard as to lop off a head,” I said, “you have to make sure you don’t leave evidence of who you just murdered.” I pointed to the sand. “The head bounced there, and this necklace got caught on the blade for a moment and then was deposited behind the killer on his follow-through. He never even looked back in the spring. He poisoned the boot, and set his trap for you and your men. Then, just grabbed the head and the body of the minion and headed east to the tree. That is mighty sloppy work, if I do say so myself.”
I peered at the necklace. “This is a badge of membership to something called the Gallows Club. Do you know where or what that is? Because that is where you will find Cornelia.”
“The Gallows Club is a social club composed of the wealthy merchants, royalty, and such in Port Royal, which is the capital city in Jamaica,” she answered. “That does make sense. It is a perfect place for goblins, and Aztec priest-kings. Port Royal used to be a haven for privateers, but now slaving, sugar plantations, and English money reign supreme.”
I tossed the necklace to her. “Your ship will be here in the morning, and then we are off to Port Royal. I suggest we change our ship colors from privateer to merchant, or we will be real members of the Gallows Club.”
We walked back to camp, and I felt hunger growing within me. All the overcooked rabbits had me hungering for some more substantial meat. I left the Howler at the camp, excusing myself to forage for a deer and to think. Garlic came with me and always enjoyed a hunt, that one did. I did not know what I was getting myself and Garlic into with the Howler. There was that whole business with her lying to me about who she was.
Part of me still doubted her story about Cornelia and the Moon of Madrid, and that part of me wanted to backtrack to where I had hid the dugout and leave her and Saona Island long behind. But the image of her standing all distraught and pouty by the spring earlier in the day popped into my mind. The Howler needed me, regardless of her story, and as I crept silently through the jungle, I knew I was not leaving the island without her. I heard a crack in the underbrush far ahead, and Garlic and I froze instant
ly. We saw through the trees a red moon, low on the horizon. It cast a beautiful scarlet hue across the jungle, bathing the deer up ahead in a lovely shade of blood. We attacked silently and quickly, and dinner was soon ours for the eating.
Garlic and I returned to the camp, our kill draped over my shoulders, and the Howler grinned in anticipation of the feast. She deferred to me as I quickly got some venison steaks roasting nicely over the fire. One thing she was not lying about was being a city girl since she displayed no knowledge of properly dressing and carving a kill. As we ate, the moon grew big and full in the sky with nary a star in sight. It was a breathtaking sight to behold.
But there were other sights for me to behold at dinner, as the Howler had removed her ever-present black jacket, and rolled up her shirtsleeves to display tan, lithe arms. She had tied her hair back, and her eyes sparkled enchantingly in the moonlight. The Howler had uncharacteristically taken a seat next to me as we ate, and when she handed me fruit or water, her hand held contact with mine for a little longer than was necessary. When we finished eating, I looked over and noticed Garlic’s white fur was stained completely crimson with the blood of the deer. She was a voracious little hunter. We would be traveling by ship tomorrow, and neither she nor I looked presentable with our recent bloodlust so evident on our clothes. The Howler did not seem bothered by our appearance, but her mortal crew would surely be less than welcoming.
I rose to my feet and stretched. The Howler followed my every move. “I am going to dispose of the carcasses and see if I can get Garlic’s fur back to her normal shade of white,” I said.
“Do you need any help?” she said.
“Thank you, but no,” I replied. “We will be back in shortly.”
Garlic and I set out for the far side of the island, where we deposited the deer carcasses in a copse of trees. As soon as we were out of sight, the island’s scavengers would have a hearty meal on us, and none of the deer would go to waste. We then headed straight for the beach, and I stripped off all my clothes, dropped them on the shore, and waded into the surf. I was an excellent swimmer from my days on Sa Dragonera, and Garlic joined me in chasing minnows for a while. I came out of the water clean as could be and gave my clothes the same treatment. We made our way to a freshwater pool downstream from our drinking source and dunked ourselves and my clothes in the freshwater to remove the salt. Garlic came out of the water and shook herself dry. My clothes did not have that same ability, and I hung them on some branches, retreated to the pool, and waded in up to my thighs, enjoying the refreshing feel of the water. The Howler would have to fend for herself at our camp since this was likely my last time to focus my thoughts and energies on the mission ahead.
“It’s nice,” the Howler said, standing in the sand at the edge of the pool. “It looks lovely.”
I looked back over my shoulder and realized she was talking about my bare rear end and not the water. “Yes, quite refreshing,” I replied, barely suppressing a grin.
“Do you mind if I come in?” she said, pulling out her hair tie, and shaking her blonde mane loose.
I shrugged and turned slightly toward her. “If you would like to . . .”
“I would,” she replied, and pulled off her boots. I turned all the way around now, and watched intently as she removed her shirt—and pants. She had my full attention now, and I could not take my eyes off her as her underclothing dropped to the sand. She sauntered into the water, her full hips and ample breasts illuminated by the moonlight. She was lean and incredibly muscular as was her kind, but as my burgeoning manhood agreed—she was all woman.
The Howler came into my embrace, and our lips met hungrily. She pulled away for a moment and looked downward. “You were not lying, Mr. Sinister,” she said, putting her hands on me. “This is indeed a weighty proposition to handle.”
I had always been rather generous in that respect, but now, in my first encounter with a woman since my days in Hell, it appeared that Persephone really did make things grow. “Well, if you are not up to the task . . .” I started to say, but her lips quickly covered mine, and we thrashed the water with our passion. She mounted me, wrapping her legs around me right there in the water, and I realized that the Howler was a perfectly fitting name for this lively werewolf. Again and again her body tensed with her pleasure, and I could feel the bite of her fingernails on my back and hear the slow drip of blood into the water. Not that it concerned me at that moment, as I could feel my own pleasure begin to build. She sensed it was coming and writhed even harder, taking all I gave her in one tremendous thrust before we collapsed exhausted into the water, spent with our exertions, and drunk with the pleasure of the moment.
We woke to the morning sun and the call of voices echoing from the shore. Garlic had appeared out of nowhere and stood at my side, a low growl emanating from her throat. I looked at the Howler and cracked a knowing smile, but she returned only a blank gaze, hurriedly pulling on her clothing and setting her hair back in a tight bun. Whatever passion had ruled her under last night’s full moon had departed, and she was back to the business at hand. Still naked, I lingered for a moment, watching her dress, and was rewarded with an angry glare. “Get dressed,” the Howler said. “My ship is here, and explaining a naked vampire to my men is not going to start the voyage to Port Royal on the best footing.”
“All right then,” I said. “Last night was something wasn’t it, though?”
The Howler did not make eye contact. “Something indeed,” she said, and walked off toward the beach.
I looked at Garlic quizzically. “Well, she certainly seemed to be enjoying herself last night,” I said, feeling the skin tightening in my shoulders where the Howler’s passion wounds were healing. Garlic ignored me, moving directly in front of me. She sensed danger was afoot, and I dressed in a second and retrieved my sword. “Okay, Garlic,” I said. “Playtime is apparently over. Let’s meet some pirates, shall we?”
I came out onto the beach and saw the Howler with her sword drawn in a standoff with three burly members of her crew. “What is this?” I said, breaking into a sprint. “It seems our girl has a little mutiny on her hands.” As I ran, I saw a skiff pulled up high on the shore, and the Howler’s well-armed sloop anchored off shore.
The pirates seemed surprised as Garlic and I were upon them before they even saw us coming. “What is the problem here, mates?” I asked, taking quick stock of our foes. The leader in the middle was a shifty-eyed fellow with a big belly, who stood favoring a right leg that had been injured in some fashion. He held his sword clumsily and was not a threat. The other two were a different story. Both men were lean and rangy, and held their swords a little too expertly for mere pirates. They had been classically trained in the blade and stood as light on their feet as acrobats. Each bore tattoos on their left forearms that I recognized instantly marked them as members of a prestigious mortal assassin’s guild. They eyed me warily, recognizing my true nature.
When the silence continued, I addressed the Howler. “Captain,” I said to her. “The crew appears to need a little discipline. Shall I take care of it for you? I can start with Big Belly Bart here first.”
The man I had dubbed Big Belly Bart spat at me. “I’m going to eat your little dog for breakfast,” he said.
Garlic lunged forward, and nipped his Achilles tendon, dropping him to the sand in a crying, sobbing heap. The assassins were stunned at the dog’s speed and at their inability to react. They stepped back cautiously.
The Howler smiled coldly, looking down at the big man struggling to his feet. “It seems it is you that are the breakfast, Mr. James Sullivan.”
Sullivan fell back to the sand and implored his mates to help him. “Don’t just stand there,” he cried. “Help me.”
I took this opportunity to get the Howler’s ear as they struggled to pull Big Belly Bart to his feet. “Why the mutiny?”
She shrugged. “They say they have a new first ma
te and captain, and I am not in charge anymore.”
“That makes absolutely no sense,” I said. “They would never have come back to get you if that was the case.”
“Unless,” she said, “the crew told them that I knew where to find an astoundingly valuable treasure like the Moon of Madrid.”
“Ah, good old-fashioned greed,” I said. “We could kill these fops now, but your sloop would be long gone before we could get the dugout and lay chase. What do you say we go meet the new master of your boat?”
The Howler hesitated for a moment, weighing the choices. “You are right,” she said. “We have to get to Port Royal and the Gallows Club.”
“Just follow my lead,” I said to her, turning to the pirates. Big Belly Bart had an arm draped over each of the assassins, hindering any move they wanted to make. Garlic licked her fangs, hungrily eyeing Big Belly Bart’s other leg. “Garlic,” I said, “if these men make one move toward us on the boat, rip their throats out, okay?”
Garlic yelped her assent, and wagged her tail happily as she ran to and fro. “Now then,” I said to the pirates, “drop your swords, and help Big Belly Bart to the skiff. We would like to meet your captain and first mate.”
One of the assassins stared at me in shock. “Who are you?” he asked.
I laughed. “You don’t know?” I said. “I am Sirius Sinister, the soon-to-be new first mate of your ship.”
The two assassins helped the limping Big Belly Bart into the skiff. I assessed his wound as he moved and realized that Garlic had not crippled him. The bleeding had stopped, and by the look of his pudgy face, Big Belly Bart was managing his pain. He sat down in the boat and glared at Garlic, who snarled back and faked a lunge at him, causing him to fall into the boat. Big Belly Bart pulled himself up, and the look on his face was pure hatred as he stared at the prancing Maltese. Garlic was very pleased with herself.
Big Belly Bart was clearly now plotting how to turn this situation against us. But as the assassins rowed us back to the Howler’s ship, the three men grew quiet and subdued. Then I sensed it, as did the Howler and Garlic.
My Ex-Wife Said Go to Hell Page 11