Chapter 18
My body moved much faster than my rational mind. “No!” I screamed, running at the man and knocking the pistol from his hand. It slid underneath a table.
I hadn’t thought about his sword, though. The arm holding it wrapped around me and the sword pressed against my neck. “You’re as spirited as you are pretty,” he said against my ear. His breath smelled foul and I wanted to push him away, but the press of his sword prevented that particular motion.
“Stop!” Mr. Ashby said to the man, holding out two hands as if trying to reach me.
His voice was firm, and yet I detected a level of panic in his tone I did not know he could conjure.
“Let her go!” He beckoned, hoping the pirate would give me up.
His focus was fully on the sword to my neck, and I could see him calculating all probabilities in his mind.
Patrice held up her pistol. “Let her go!”
The man laughed. “What makes you think you can order me around? Put it down, or she dies.”
I struggled, but only for a second before the blade bit into my flesh. I could feel a trickle of blood roll down my throat. Patrice put her pistol down quickly and held up her hands, terrified for my life.
The pirate chuckled. “That’s a good girl.
” He pressed his nose into my cheek. “Come on, lovely. I’ll take you back to my ship after we dispatch this crew.
” He chuckled and then began pulling me up the hatch by my hair.
I shrieked at the pain in my scalp. Mr. Ashby tried to follow, but the pirate kicked him squarely in the face.
I wouldn’t have been surprised if he broke Mr. Ashby’s nose.
We got up to the top and he pulled me through the hatch along with him.
As soon as I got to my feet, I began running, but another man grabbed me by the arm and threw me to the deck. His boot pressed into my wrist and I cried out, trapped.
“What do we have here, Roddam?” the man holding down my wrist said wickedly.
“Hey, that’s my tribute,” my captor, Roddam, retorted.
“I’m sure the captain would like a moment with her first. Don’t waste her before he gets a piece.”
“Let me go, you scoundrels!” I yelled with venom.
They both laughed, but Roddam scowled at the man holding me down before setting his sword at his opponent. Apparently there was no honor among pirates, as well as thieves.
The other pirate snarled at Roddam. “What are you doing, Roddy? You gonna kill your comrade?”
“I just might, if you don’t give the girl to me.”
Just then, a shot went off and Roddam dropped to the deck.
Behind him stood Mr. Ashby with a smoking gun and Patrice beside him.
The other pirate stepped away from my wrist to attack and I got up immediately, taking out my pistol and shooting him before he got close to Mr. Ashby or Patrice.
The sound of the shot rang in my ears and thrummed in my chest. Watching the man fall made my hand shake as I lowered my pistol.
My friends ran to me and I took Patrice’s hand to clutch it tightly.
“Are you all right?” I asked Mr. Ashby, seeing his bloody face where the pirate had kicked him.
He wiped his nose with his sleeve and nodded as if it were nothing. Then he looked past me and squinted as if trying to decipher something.
“Captain Corsaire,” Mr. Ashby said, his voice laced with dread.
I followed his gaze. On the ship next to us—the pirate ship we’d seen in the distance days ago—a man with a large black hat and a thick beard was pointing a sword at someone who looked very much like Graham.
He seemed to be protecting a cowering woman at his back.
Two other pirates joined the first and began fighting him.
He was outnumbered, and it didn’t seem like anyone was coming to his or the woman’s rescue.
“Graham!” I breathed.
Before looking back at Mr. Ashby for agreement or permission, I let go of Patrice and raced to the gangplanks to cross over. “Elsie!” Mr. Ashby called to me.
I still had one shot left. I would make use of it.
When I reached Graham, I took aim at the pirate captain, the one who’d taken Graham from me twice.
He saw me and took out his own gun. I fired, but it missed him and I had to throw myself down to the deck to dodge his own shot.
Captain Corsaire laughed loudly. “Good show! Now try to dodge this one!” he called to me.
“You better aim this way, Jacque, or I’ll knock that silly cap right off your head!
” someone said to Captain Corsaire’s right.
A regal, elderly man pointed a rifle at the pirate captain.
He fired, and that large hat really did come right off.
The pirate put his hands on his head in shock and embarrassment, then lifted his gun to the other man.
I would have laughed had I not been terrified.
The captain’s attention was fully taken by the other man, so I got to my feet and looked around to find Graham.
I made brief eye contact with him as he fought off two men, a large pirate who had a hefty sword that could have chopped him in half with one swing, and another smaller one who still seemed plenty menacing.
“Take her and get below, lass!” Graham called to me through gritted teeth while gesturing to the woman behind him. I could see now that she was middle-aged, possibly older. She was crying pitifully now.
He was still in an uneven fight, though.
I put my useless gun in my pocket and then picked up a fallen sword from the deck, rushing to the pirate on his left.
It was a mite heavier than the fencing swords I was accustomed to, but I lifted it with much effort.
The flat part of the sword came down on his back and stunned him.
He turned to see me and hideous anger flashed in his eyes as he began charging me.
My breath came in ragged gasps. I was in no state for a fight, having been starved for days.
But I swung my sword at him again, and this time he blocked it with his own.
He was backing me toward the side of the ship, and I pushed against his sword with all my quickly waning strength, but his strength won out and my back was bending over the railing. I let out a panicked scream.
Then, as a last resort, I lifted a leg and kicked him with all my might in the most sensitive spot possible, my dress-trousers coming in handy again by keeping my legs free from constraints.
He fell backward and landed hard. I stood there for a moment, proud of myself, but feeling dizziness begin to cloud my vision.
I had to find Graham again. When I got back to him, I saw that Mr. Ashby had joined him and they were fighting side by side, taking on the large pirate he had been fighting before.
Patrice was then at my side. “Ye should stop running away from me, Miss. I cannae protect ye if ye keep leaving me.”
Before I could respond, another pirate came out of nowhere and used a large club to hit Patrice on the back.
She went down and I cried her name before trying to kick the man in the same spot as the other.
It had worked well enough then. The club barely missed me, but considering I had to avoid it and was feeling weaker by the moment, my aim failed.
I rolled on the deck, trying to get away from him, then clumsily picked up a sword and pointed it at him, my back to the gunwale and my arms shaking.
He raised his club and I almost closed my eyes with terrified resignation.
Then a female battle cry sounded, and the man dropped his club as his eyes rolled back in his head.
He fell to the deck, right at my feet. I looked up to see the woman from the Maelstrom breathing heavily, cutlass in hand.
She gave me a nod and then turned back to the battle.
Who was that incredible woman? I didn’t have time to dwell on my admiration for her.
I rushed to Patrice, who was rising from the deck.
Graham was at our side then. I breathed a sigh of relief to see him.
He had the crying woman with him as she clung to his arm.
“We need to go,” he said. He took hold of my arm and pulled me toward the gangplank.
Patrice’s hand was securely in mine and she was pulled along, too.
We made it back to the hatch and Graham told us to get down below again. I looked around him. “Where is Mr. Ashby?” I should not have assumed he followed us. Anything could have happened.
“Just get down there,” Graham said roughly. “And take her with you.” He pushed the woman toward me. I met his eyes and saw he was in pain. I was too busy worrying about Mr. Ashby to inquire after his injury, and I tried not to question what that meant about my feelings toward either one of them.
“Where is he?” I said again, more urgently. When he didn’t answer, I let go of Patrice and pushed Graham aside. I ran to the gangplank and crossed it, searching the place we had just been. There was no sign of him anywhere.
Then a body collided with mine. Arms crushed me and hands pressed my head into a sturdy shoulder. After days together on a cramped dingy, the scent of his sweat was immediately recognizable. I wrapped my arms around Mr. Ashby’s middle.
“I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered into my hair.
I hit his back with a closed fist, despite the joy I felt in knowing he was safe. “You too.”
He pulled back enough to look into my face.
I saw his blue eyes filled with an urgent emotion I couldn’t put into words.
There was no time to process that look. There was so much going on around us.
I took his hand and ran over the gangplank one last time.
Patrice was waiting by the hatch with the woman, panic-stricken.
Graham lifted the hatch and ushered us inside.
When we reached the deck, the hatch dropped shut and Graham was not with us.
I took hold of the handrail to go after him, but Mr. Ashby held on to me, shaking his head. “Patrice needs you here,” he said quietly.
I looked at her and saw how she stumbled from pain. He was right; I couldn’t leave my friend when she was in such a state. I looked into his eyes. “Don’t leave us,” I pleaded.
“I’ll be right here,” he said.
Before we knew it, the Maelstrom was in motion, and from the view out the porthole, I could see that we had already left the other two ships behind us. The Maelstrom certainly was swift.
“Jane!” an unfamiliar male voice said from the hatch. He came down and the woman ran into his arms without hesitation.
The man came over to us and bowed. “Thank you for taking care of my wife. I don’t know how to repay you,” he said in a thick German accent. He was a tall man with very honest eyes. Without knowing anything about him, I would assume he was trustworthy and kind simply from those eyes.
“Thankfully, you made it out safely as well,” I said to him.
“Because of Captain Whitmore.” He glanced at his wife and they both nodded.
“Do you know the captain?” I asked him.
He nodded. “I’ve known him for a few months now, but only through post. He seems very well connected in St. Kitts.
He warned me of the privateers, but I didn’t expect him to come rescue us personally.
We were just trying to avoid them, but they came upon us too quickly and the passenger ship we were on didn’t have enough time to prepare the meager guns they had…
” He frowned. “I’m afraid that the captain of our ship didn’t make it. ”
“Thank heaven for Captain Whitmore,” the woman said breathlessly. “We were almost parted from each other in this mortal life.” She was holding her husband’s face with the kind of worry only a woman in love could replicate.
And yet, the urgency in Mr. Ashby’s movements rivaled hers as he stood and reached out to inspect my neck where the pirate’s blade had cut me, tracing a finger over the thin line.
I winced at his touch, the wound still tender.
His expression was a mixture of despair and rage.
I pulled his hands away from me, holding them lightly. “I’m all right,” I assured him.
He nodded silently, then pulled his hands from mine and sat down again. “How did Captain Whitmore know you’d be targeted by the pirates?” he asked the husband, almost as if he meant to distract himself from my injury.
The man sighed. “Because I am the bishop called to the Cayon Mission on St. Kitts, and it seems the pirates target protestants. My name is Henry Weiss.”
“Just the man we’ve been looking for,” a man said from behind Mr. Weiss.
He was short but stocky and had quiet footsteps, which was why he had remained unnoticed until he spoke.
His nose was long and pointed, as if it was made to stick into people’s affairs.
His eyes were full of intrigue, though they were small and not remarkable from a distance.
He had sustained multiple injuries, it seemed.
He was bleeding on his forehead, arm, and leg.
“Our pirate friends tend to target U.S. ships—bad blood between the French and the Americans, you see. So we have been lying in wait for a few days now. It was poor luck that they happened upon you before we did. Ol’ Pirate Jacque doesn’t take kindly to thriving, honest businesses or protestant missionaries. ”
“Captain Corsaire,” Mr. Ashby growled. My mind went to his cruel laugh and large hat that had flown off his head after a shot from a rifle. Who had that other man been?
“My name is Jimmy Knox, actually. But you can call me Whisper.” He flashed a smile, then spoke to Mr. Ashby’s comment in earnest. “How do you know Ol’ Jacque’s name?
” Whisper—what a strange name—said. He sat, then ripped a strip of cloth from his shirt to tie around the wound on his leg.
I wondered if he should call for the surgeon instead.
Mr. Ashby curled his fist on the table. “He was the one who destroyed our ships and ruined our business.” He turned to me. “He was the one Graham went after.”
“And he’s the one who nearly killed Slate, too. We found him a bloody mess in the streets of Basseterre,” Whisper told us.
My protectiveness snapped to attention. “Who is this Captain Corsaire, exactly?”
The man spoke with the kind of simmering fury that stoked rebellions.
“He is the captain of the ship we just fought. He and his crew are a scourge on the West Indies, St. Kitts and Nevis specifically. They are the last of Napoleon’s letters of marque, so everything they do is piratical in nature.
He’s gained control of the Leeway Islands, bribing and threatening the government as he sees fit.
He destroys lives and livelihoods smuggling everything from gold to human beings.
We are the only ship in the Caribbean besides the American and Royal Navies who oppose him, and we happen to be sponsored by the same person who funds the mission. Mrs. Mary Bowers.”