Chapter Eleven
Darkness crept throughthe winding streets of Tortoluga like a cat prowling along narrow castle passageways. Lanterns swung on posts outside bustling establishments. Drunkards toppled into the streets, a tankard in one hand and a whore clinging to the other, perhaps two.
It took all of Celeste’s strength not to stare at the spectacle before her. She had expected a ribald display of debauchery, but nothing had prepared her for the stench of unwashed bodies and sour ale, as well as the unmistakable aroma of sex.
She wrinkled her nose, ducking her head lower to hide her face behind the brim of her hat. With her blonde locks twisted up beneath the tricorn and the large cloak shielding her body, she blended into the crowd.
A crowd that parted as they approached, but not because of her station.
They moved for the infamous Captain Hook.
He was a commanding presence wherever he went, whether on the deck of his ship amongst his crew or in the seedy tavern where she’d found him. The captain’s reputation preceded him.
Celeste saw it in the eyes of the men they passed. As well as those of the women, who eyed the captain with pure lust. The evidence was painted as thick as their makeup as they tugged their bodices lower, whistling and calling his name.
She tugged her cloak tighter, trying to blend into his shadow. Perhaps it would have been wiser for her to stay on the ship, out of sight.
But the captain’s request had brought her ashore, into this pit of depravity.
Steeling herself with a firm reminder this was to save her sister, Celeste continued, uncertain of her true purpose on this mission.
“Where are we going?” she murmured.
“Mind your instructions and leave the rest to me.” He smiled, but his tone held an edge, sharp and dangerous.
They trekked along, following the winding hillside to a narrow ledge above the sea. Nearly on the precipice sat a tavern, its second story swaying in the moonlit sky. She spied the sign over the door and swallowed a squeak of protest.
The Devil’s Heel.
Saints, what kind of place was this? It looked as though it would collapse with even the slightest breeze from the sea. She seized a brief glimpse over the dark water and the harbor below. Her hand shot out to grab the captain’s sleeve as she swayed toward the cliff’s edge.
“Careful.” He snapped, pulling her toward the building, toward himself. “Whatever you see inside, say nothing. Whatever you hear, say less.” He pressed something sturdy into her palm. “If you must use it, do not hesitate.”
Celeste admired the carved bone handle and the silver blade the width of her hand. She carefully stowed it beneath her cloak, sliding it into the folds of a scarf tied around her corseted waist.
“Why are we here?” she asked, her voice unsteady.
“I must speak with someone.” He rested his hand on the door latch.
“Who?” Curiosity gnawed at her.
“The Mapmaker.”
“The—”
She sucked a breath between her teeth when he pressed two fingers to her lips.
“Aye, little star. The Mapmaker.”
“But I already told you I could get you through the caverns.”
“You did, but I require a little security before I charge into a tempest unprepared.”
“What makes you think he will give you anything?”
“I will not be the one who makes the request.” The captain’s eyes glittered in the moonlight.
“You brought me here to bargain with the Mapmaker?” Celeste scoffed. “You’re mad.”
“Aye, as is he...or so the tales tell.” He pushed open the door. “Shall we find out together?”
Celeste bit back a retort as light spilled out over the threshold and the captain stepped inside the tavern. She followed, unsure what his plan actually encompassed. Her agreement was that she would show him the way into the caverns and to the vault. Why did he need the Mapmaker?
Straightening her spine, she attempted to emulate the captain’s confident swagger. A few curious onlookers watched from their tables, but the laughter and chatter continued as they wandered through the tavern. If anyone caught scent of her ruse, all would be lost. Head down, she followed, trying not to gag on the overwhelming stink of patrons around her.
When they reached the far corner, Celeste stopped short, nearly running into the captain. A candle flickered on a table where a lone occupant sat with a tankard in his hand.
“Captain Hook,” a wizened voice crackled. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“You know me?” Hook asked.
“Everyone knows Captain James Hook, son of Admiral Tiberius Hook.” The old man chuckled. “A pirate of legend.”
Celeste could not tell if the man was complimenting father or son, but she bit her tongue and listened, soaking in every word, as though it were a coveted revelation.
“I have come to ask a boon of you, Mapmaker.”
The man set his tankard down, and candlelight flickered across him as he lifted his head.
Celeste stifled a gasp.
His face had been sliced from jaw to hairline. A dense puckered scar bisected his left eye and was covered by a patch. His right eye narrowed on Captain Hook, the dark orb searching, assessing, weighing his measure.
He said nothing for a long moment. “A boon?” His gaze drifted to her. “And what do you offer for payment, boy?”
“Tell him.” Hook nudged her.
Panic gripped her. She opened her mouth once, twice, before anything emerged, sounding more like a piglet grunt than actual words.
Celeste cleared her throat and tried again.
“What do you require?” The question managed to cross her lips in a coherent manner.
“What have you brought me?” The old man’s brows lifted. “Show your face.”
Celeste tipped her head back and removed her hat, allowing her golden hair to tumble free. She met his gaze, but fear skittered along her spine. This was not how it was supposed to go. Hook stood at ease by her side, regardless of her impromptu revelation.
“Princess Celeste,” The Mapmaker murmured with awe, slowly rising from his seat before the admiration in his eye turned to dread. “Cover your head.”
She pulled her hair up and placed the tricorn over it once more. He reached out a hand and she took it.
“What in the devil are you doing with him?” The Mapmaker gestured to the captain.
“Desperation often drives us to acts of madness.” She sank down onto the bench beside him.
“The princess came to me for help.” The captain clenched his jaw. “In exchange, she has offered me a handsome reward.”
“Has something happened to my beloved Nevarro?” the Mapmaker asked.
Celeste met the captain’s burning gaze, silently pleading for him to let her speak. With a nod, he relented. She turned to the old man.
“My father was killed by his brother.” She kept her voice low, but emotion tainted the words. “He has taken my sister prisoner and poisoned the kingdom against me.”
“How, child?”
“He spun lies, telling the people I plotted my father’s murder to steal his throne.” She clenched her hands into fists. “He has them convinced I have kidnapped my sister and am willing to kill again to take the crown.”
The old man’s muttered curses echoed around her. “And you went to a pirate for help?”
“I had nowhere else to turn.” She shrugged a shoulder. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Aye, much seems like a good idea at the time,” Captain Hook added, crossing his arms.
“Why come to me?” The Mapmaker stroked his jaw with weathered fingers.
“We require a map of the caverns beneath the castle,” the captain said in a steady voice.
“You intend to return to Port Royale?” The Mapmaker shook his head. “I will not be complicit in your deaths.”
“Please. I beg of you.” Celeste rested her hand on her heart. “I must save my sister and take back the kingdom. If I fail to root out my uncle’s evil, it will consume everything.”
The Mapmaker blinked twice before swearing. He rubbed his hand over the stubble on his jaw as if deep in thought. Finally, he spoke. “I shall do it, but under one condition.”
“Anything,” Hook promised.
“Upon your return to Nevarro, clear my name.” His eye watered. “Let me go home.”
“Agreed.” Celeste spoke for her kingdom, for her people. If the Mapmaker could return her to her sister, perhaps she could reclaim her home. The plan unfolded in her mind, but she quickly shoved it aside, focusing instead on the old man before her.
“I shall fetch the map.” The old man stood, hobbling to the stairs. “Wait here.”
After he disappeared, Hook relaxed and turned to her with a lopsided grin. “Perhaps I was too quick to silence you.”
She rose from her seat. “Most are.”
“Let me buy you a drink.” He nudged her. “Join me at the bar.”
She followed him, ignoring the tender feeling slowly unfurling in her chest. There was nothing to like about the captain. Not a single thing. Except, perhaps, his smile. Maybe his charm...when he used it. And his kiss. Definitely his kiss.
Celeste shook off the fanciful thoughts and focused on keeping her wits about her. Soon they would have the map and be off. Simple.
Hook ordered two tankards and placed a coin on the bar. The barkeep, a burly man with shaggy red hair, took the coin and retreated. When he returned, he placed the drinks down with a slosh before departing once more.
“To quick wit.” He lifted the ale and drank deep.
Celeste sipped the beverage, ignoring the sour taste and the way it filled her nose and her head with unpleasant memories. The last time she’d imbibed anything with barley, she had allowed one of the guards to put his mouth upon her...it had been quite disappointing.
“Well now, if it isn’t the handsome Hook.” A shrill feminine voice dug into her skull. A painted woman dressed in vibrant pink appeared at Hook’s side, trailing a finger across his broad chest. “You promised you would show me a good time when you returned to Tortoluga.” She pouted her overcolored lips.
“Looks like you’ve already had a good time tonight,” Celeste muttered under her breath.
“Who asked you?” the wench screeched, whirling on her, one fist drawn back.
Celeste barely registered what was happening before the woman’s fist collided with her face, knocking her back. Her hat flew off, her hair tumbling down her back. Warmth smeared across her fingertips as she wiped her nose. Blood stained them.
“A woman?” the whore shrieked as Celeste straightened to face her. “You brought this bitch into my house?”
“Rosy—” Hook protested, but his voice was drowned by the growling hellcat facing them.
The woman pulled a dagger from beneath her skirts and lunged forward. Celeste pushed herself out of the way, barely dodging the attack. She tossed her cloak aside to free her movement. Instinct drove her, but she refrained from drawing the blade at her hip.
Hook had told her if she drew it, she’d better use it. If she killed the patroness of this establishment, she would be no better than the pirates who frequented it. Instead, she braced herself for the next blow.
When it came, Celeste grabbed the woman’s wrist and twisted until her blade dropped to the ground. She pinned the woman’s arm behind her back and held Rosy fast.
“I am not your enemy.”
“You aren’t welcome here!” Rosy spat. She pulled and Celeste relinquished her hold.
Rosy caught herself on the bar and turned, eyes blazing with hatred. “Get out.”
“Not until I get what I came for.”
The wild-eyed wench rushed forward again. The glint of light off the blade came too late, and Celeste groaned when it slid across her arm.
She spun away, and Rosy caught herself, turning to drive the dagger into her back.
Celeste pulled her own weapon and caught the woman by the throat, the blade pressing against sensitive skin. “Drop it.”
The dagger clattered to the ground. Rosy’s wide eyes held hers, still burning with anger and indignation.
“Here.” The Mapmaker appeared beside her. “Go. I will take care of her.”
“My thanks, sir.” Celeste sheathed her blade and grabbed her hat from the floor. Dusting the top, she spied Hook over the brim, smiling.
He lifted his tankard in salute, then finished his ale.
After they departed, the rush from her altercation slowly ebbed. As they made their way down the hillside, Celeste gripped her wounded arm and hissed. Pain radiated through her shoulder. Damn that wench.
Hook remained silent as they returned to the ship. She clenched the map tightly in her fist, hiding it beneath her cloak. Whatever the reason for this adventure, it surely was not worth being killed by one of Hook’s former lovers. She glowered at him.
What did it matter to her how many lovers he’d had? She did not care. Their agreement was a transaction. A means to an end. Once this was over, she would watch his sails disappear on the horizon and breathe a sigh of relief.
Then, why in the blazes did she feel this strange possessiveness when it came to the insufferable pirate? Damn him.