Chapter 25 A Love Lost in Time #2
The throng halted beneath the Sentinel like a black wave, a cursing, spitting mass of fury and disgust. The click of a dozen musket hammers peppered the air as his men cocked their weapons.
Caleb raised his voice until it cut through the din. “What do you want?”
A man stepped forward, the scowl on his face as deep as the scar running from his forehead to his chin.
Moonlight gleamed off the bald spot atop his crown while strings of greasy locks hung past his shoulder.
Pistols and knives clustered on a leather baldric that did little to hide the threadbare shirt beneath.
He spat out his words with the certainty of a man speaking for others.
“Ye and yer crew are under arrest. Come wit’ us, or we’ll set yer ship afire and watch her sink into the bay.”
“On what charge?” Caleb called.
“Witchcraft and sorcery,” the man brayed.
“An’ casting curses upon our fair town,” another man added. And the horde answered like wolves baying at the moon.
“There is no devilry aboard this ship. Who sent you?” Though Caleb already knew.
“We come on our own. We’ve seen enough of your magic and witchery. The whole lot o’ ye should be burned, along with yer ship. Devil’s work it be. Sure as I am Sam Miner, constable of Marigot!”
Memories rose, close and ugly, of another time, not long past, when the same accusations had driven Caleb and his family from hearth and home. Then, the threats had been words. Tonight the air smelled of tinder and blood.
With the miracle of the rain cloud alight in his spirit, Caleb lifted up a silent prayer. Lord, I pray, answer me this night. In Your mercy, save us. Surely the Almighty hadn’t rescued him from Montverre only to have him die, along with his crew, in a fiery furnace?
Caleb looked over his men. Twenty to their fifty. Should the mob rush to board them, his crew could thin their ranks but not hold the ship, not when more than half his men lay below with fevers.
Thunder and Flame! Of all the times for his men to fall ill. And God to be silent.
Caleb gripped the railing and lifted up a prayer so small it might as well have been a pebble tossed into a storm, “You have my word,” he called to the constable below, “we will set sail as soon as the wind stirs.”
“Not good enough! The only way to rid the world of the devil’s ship is to burn her.”
“Ayes” fired into the air. Along with a single torch. Yellow and red flames streaked an arc across the night sky, landing on the deck.
Caleb spun. “Keg, douse that!” The master gunner snatched a bucket of slops and flung it. The flame sputtered and faded, hissing into the night.
“That’s yer final warning!” the constable crowed. “Down ’ere, face a trial, or fire will convict an’ burn ye where ye stand.”
The soft rustle of skirts and breath of lavender told him Desi had come above.
His mouth went dry at the sight of her; a pale face in the torchlight, eyes alight with fear and a fierce sort of trust. A look passed between them—more than affection, an unsaid pact—and the urgency of it made his chest ache.
Caleb moved his gaze from the lady to Alden. He would not see her harmed. Or any of his crew. Fingers cold in the pocket of his waistcoat, he fished out the Ring and slid it on his finger. The metal fit like a promise, a warm comfort unfurled beneath his skin, familiar, intimate, dangerous.
“Nay, Captain.” Alden’s grip closed on Caleb’s wrist. “Pray. Don’t use the devil’s power. ’Tis what has brought us to this. Pray, my friend. Pray to a God who has more power than a vile trinket.”
“What do you think I’ve been doing?” Caleb jerked his hand free. “If God doesn’t answer soon, our fate is already written.”
Alden grimaced. “It always brings a curse, Captain.”
For a heartbeat the world stilled. The sea’s lap fell silent, the mob’s roar dulled. The Ring thrummed like a heart against Caleb’s palm, a pulse of heat that made the hairs along his forearm stand. The salt air sharpened as if the night itself had leaned in to watch what he would do next.
Flames cut like knives through the dark.
Two more torches flew through the air, one tumbling toward Brandt, and Caleb lunged, shoving the old surgeon aside with a shoulder that sent him sprawling.
The torch thudded a foot from Brandt’s cheek.
Stripping off his coat, Alden beat the blaze into a wet, cursing mess.
Liam ground the other into the planks with his heel.
A thunderous roar broke the night sky, and Caleb glanced over the railing. The savage mob, mad and blind with courage borne of numbers, swarmed the rope ladder, claws and fists and knife-points catching at the rail.
His men levelled weapons, muzzles and blades glinting.
“Don’t fire unless you must!” Caleb snapped, his voice hard as a cutlass. “Shove them back!” Taking Desi’s hand, he moved her behind the quarterdeck bulk, where the shadows might hide her.
Heads and torches bobbed above the rail. Alden, Liam and the rest met them with butts of muskets and backs of cutlasses. Screams ripped across the quay as some of the townsmen tumbled, striking the dock with wet, hateful sounds.
“Enough!” Caleb held up his hand. The jewel in the Ring caught the torchlight and answered with a pale inner shimmer—no flame, but a cold steady glow that seemed to drink the night. For a moment, the world narrowed to a quick cadence of breath.
Alden pushed through the press, his face a storm of anger and warning.
“Strong wind, come!” Caleb called before his quartermaster could stop him.
Men still scrambled up the rope ladder like ants driven by a scent. One by one, his men shoved them back. Yet still more came. Soon they’d be overrun.
But then a breath, fine as a whisper, stirred Caleb’s hair and cooled the sweat on his brow. He glanced up. A slender breeze ruffled the canvas; the foretopsail fluttered, then filled, and the rigging began to sing.
Caleb smiled. “Lay aloft and loose all sails!” he roared, his voice snapping commands into the night. Men leapt into the shrouds and along the yardarms, their hands and boots finding purchase as the canvas billowed above them.
Liam’s look—surprise, half belief—met Caleb’s for a blink, then both men shouted further orders as the Sentinel strained at her moorings.
“By the lines!” Caleb barked. “Cast off!” Men scrambled to release the lines from the dock.
And still the mob came.
The lowered sails snapped like drumheads as the wind took them. The hull eased from the quay, her planks and timbers creaking like an old man standing after a long sleep.
Torches still flew. One found its mark. The others fell into the bay.
Grabbing a bucket, Liam launched its contents onto the flame. Steamy vapor rose.
Caleb dashed for the railing. Inky black sea stretched between ship and dock. Four men still clung to the rope ladder, climbing with knives between their gritted teeth. Freeing his blade, Caleb slammed the pommel down on the first man’s skull. Howling, he pitched backward into the dark sea.
Another torch arced through the night sky. It snagged the shrouds and spit flame up the ratlines. Ripping off his doublet, Caleb leapt into the ratlines and scrambled above. Should the lines be set ablaze, the canvas was next.
A heavy gust filled both fore and mainsails, and the Sentinel heeled to larboard, blocks shrieking and yards groaning as men fought the running rigging. Caleb clung to the hemp with fingers stung by salt and smoke, smothering the flame with his coat until it died with a choking sigh.
A pistol cracked—a single sharp report that set his nerves ringing.
Sliding down the backstay to the deck, Caleb sought the source.
Brandt swung his cane like a cudgel and flattened a man who climbed over the bulwarks, smoking pistol in hand.
The fellow tumbled and vanished into the bay as the doctor continued his assault on the few remaining enemies.
Alden stood amidships, face ashen in the lantern light.
Surely, he wasn’t still angry Caleb had used the Ring.
His eyes rolled briefly toward Caleb—a mixture of accusation, fear, and something like awe—and then he blinked, stumbled once as though the sea had knocked his knees, and crumpled toward the deck.
Time narrowed to the single, dreadful drop. Brandt and Liam still fought as torches spat and the wind keened in the rigging…
But Alden’s fall was a bell-clang in Caleb’s chest.
He lunged for him, catching him as he slumped, the world tilting with his weight. Alden’s breaths were shallow, like a man half-awakened with a feverish dream.
The jewel on the Ring pulsed against his finger. Ice tugged at the base of Caleb’s throat as if something unseen had taken measure and left a cost in the ledger. He buried the thought under the clamor of battle and the thunder of canvas, but it sat there, a small, undeniable ache.
Desi dropped to her knees, skirts tangling about her, and pressed trembling hands against Alden’s waistcoat. Crimson spread beneath her fingers, warm and wet, the color stark in the lamplight.
“He’s been shot!” Her voice split the air, sharp with terror.
Blood raced from Caleb’s heart. Nay! “Doc!” He dropped beside him, helpless rage choking his voice.
Alden turned his head, lips curling in a ghost of a grin. “Did I not tell you that Ring is cursed?” The words rasped like wind through a broken shutter.
“Out of my way! Out of my way!” Brandt shoved forward, cane clattering as he knelt. He pushed Desi’s hands aside, felt for a pulse, and then pulled back the blood-soaked waistcoat, cursing under his breath.
Desi staggered to her feet, tears glistening as she met Caleb’s eyes.
He closed his hand over the Ring—hot, fiendish, dangerous. The night hummed with the scent of tar and the sting of blood, and somewhere in the mayhem, in the madness, a whisper of payment demanded and perhaps, just perhaps… paid.
“Rot and Ruin! Blast this thing!” Tearing off the Ring, Caleb clenched it until the edges bit his flesh. “Not this, Lord. Not this. Punish me, not him!”
Brandt snapped for two men. They lifted Alden with care, bearing him below as the surgeon hobbled after, muttering oaths half-medical, half-prayer.
“How bad?” Caleb demanded, the words hot in his throat.
Pausing, Brandt shook his head, eyes shadowed. “I’ll know more when I’ve worked on him. Leave him to me.”
Nodding, Caleb fisted his hands, feeling the pinch of the relic against his palm.
He marched to the railing, the sea black and restless.
Across the dark waters, the town’s lanterns dwindled to pinpricks, the horde on the dock melted into the night.
How he longed to hurl the cursed Ring into the abyss and be done with it forever.
But he’d made a vow to his father.
Ayida slipped into the shadows beside the quarterdeck, her dark gaze slithering his way.
Ignoring her, he did his best to force down the rage boiling through him. But it surged anyway. Rage at himself. Rage at the trinket…at heaven’s silence.
Desi’s touch came soft upon his arm, an anchor in the storm.
“Take this foul thing,” he muttered, thrusting the Ring toward her. “Hide it. Bury it where I’ll never find it. Where no man can.”
She nodded, extending a trembling hand. “It’s not your fault, Caleb. But, yes I will.” The gold slipped from his palm into hers, landing on red stains that shouted his guilt. Alden’s blood.
“Oh, Lord,” Caleb whispered into the night breeze, “let him live.”
The air shifted. Nay, rippled. The night itself shuddered as if an unseen veil had torn. A faint, unearthly chime trembled through the rigging. Caleb turned sharply to Desi.
She stared at the Ring in her hand, eyes wide yet blinking. Color drained from her cheeks, turning pink flesh into ash, as if the relic leeched the life from her soul. She looked at him, bewildered, afraid.
“Desi!” He reached for her.
Her body wavered, her edges dissolving into mist. One moment her features sharpened, the next they faded like smoke in the wind.
As if knowing what must be done, she flung her hand open. The Ring struck the planks with a hollow, otherworldly clang.
And then, she was gone.