Chance the Winds of Fortune (29 page)

Dante continued to sit before the fire long after Mackay had left, frowning slightly while he pondered his guest's words. He knew the gauntlet had been thrown down, and he also knew that the captain of the
Annie Jeanne
was seldom carried off the field of contest.

“Something amiss. I can smell it a mile off,” Kirby remarked glumly as he approached his captain.

Dante glanced over at his steward; his lips twitched when he noticed the hastily sponged breeches and shirt. “I suspect you are downwind of yourself,” Dante commented wryly, his nostrils flaring slightly as he sniffed the brandy fumes emanating from Houston Kirby. “I wouldn't breathe too deeply, you could get drunk standing right where you are.”

“Reckon I'm sober enough to catch me an orange tomcat,” Kirby said, glancing quickly about the room in the hope of sighting his prey.

“I'd think you and Jamaica would get along better than you do, since you both have an instinctive dislike for the captain of the
Annie Jeanne
,” Dante remarked to the bristling little steward. “Jamaica growled at the jolly captain, not to mention hissing at him.”

“Hissed at Bertie Mackay, did he?” Kirby said, his stance a little less aggressive. “Hmmmm, well, I always did say the cat wasn't stupid. Aye, he can smell a rat the same as I can.”

“Yes, I believe you are correct, Kirby,” Dante agreed. “Bertie Mackay is not to be trusted. I do believe I've just been warned not to try to get the
Sea Dragon
's treasure.”

Kirby sucked in his breath. “He didn't believe the story about the Dutch merchantman?”

“No, but then I didn't think he would. In his place, I wouldn't have either. He saw through our little ploy, but it was not solely for his benefit that I used it. I wanted to get the rest of that pack of dogs off our trail, which we did succeed in doing,” Dante said reflectively. He was remembering how he'd hated having to lie to the crew of the
Sea Dragon
, but there had been no other way to keep secret the true location of the Spanish galleon. Since there were so many men on board who were given to loose tongues when drunk and carousing in port, Dante had recognized that the only way to assure their uncontested search for the sunken ship—as well as an unaccosted retrieval of its treasure, should there be one, and a safe voyage home for the
Sea Dragon
—was to deceive the crew. If they thought they had failed in their quest for the treasure, then other prospective fortune-hunters would believe the falsehood as well. As it was, it had been no easy feat to outsail the flotilla of cutthroats, jackals, and desperate men that had followed the
Sea Dragon
with the overly optimistic hope that an accommodating Dante Leighton would lead them to the treasure. Had they known the captain of the
Sea Dragon
's thoughts, they could have relaxed, for Dante had every intention of allowing some of those hearties to arrive on the scene—but not until the
Sea Dragon
intended them to.

Dante suspected that Longacres knew the truth, for the coxswain had caught a good glimpse of the treasure map while the
Sea Dragon
was at anchor off Trinidad. Longacres had sailed the Caribbean since he'd been a lad younger than Conny Brady, and as a cabin boy he'd crewed aboard a pirate ship. He'd already seen far too many maps of sunken treasure to have his reasoning blinded by uncontrollable excitement, and he'd carefully studied the map in that brief glance he'd had of it. Since then, Dante had caught the weathered old sailor sending him speculative glances every so often. He seemed to be biding his time patiently, while keeping a watchful eye on his captain.

Alastair Marlowe, on the other hand, had been in on the truth since the beginning, for the supercargo had known about the sunken Dutch merchantman for many years now. They had discovered it together, quite by accident, while searching for safe, convenient coves in the Bahamas where the
Sea Dragon
could lie at anchor and make repairs should a sudden storm cause them damage—or if there were too many Union Jacks coloring the horizon.

The
Sea Dragon
had been anchored in a lagoon of clear turquoise water on the leeward side of a small, uninhabited island. After exploring the palmetto-studded islet for fresh water, he and Alastair had been rowing back toward the
Sea Dragon
when, just around a small headland, they spied beneath the gig's bow a faded figurehead nestled among the coral. Looking deeper into the watery depths, they had seen the wreck of a ship resting on the sandy bottom.

Alastair had stripped down to his breeches and dived overboard. Deep in the tranquil waters below, his pale figure had wavered strangely as he explored the wreck. Even from his position in the stern of the gig, Dante could see that the ship lying on the bottom was a seventeenth-century vessel, with much of her imposing sterncastle still intact. Several bronze cannons, half-buried in the shifting sands of the ocean floor, were scattered about the ship's rotted hull.

Gasping for air, Alastair had surfaced and tossed several discolored items into the gig; then he'd climbed aboard with an assisting hand from Dante. Barely taking the time to fill his lungs, he retrieved his treasure from the floor of the boat, grinning widely, held it out for Dante's inspection. The West Indian sun beat down relentlessly on the handful of corroded silver
dubbelstuivers
and a rusty sword hilt—the only booty the wreck of the Dutch merchantman had been willing to part with.

The useless sword hilt had been returned to its watery grave, while the Dutch coins, at Dante's insistence, found their way into Alastair's pocket, as his just reward for making the find. No more was said or thought about the Dutch merchantman—at least until recently, when the merchantman had proven to be the answer to their difficulties.

Dante smiled now, remembering how he and Alastair had been put to the test when they'd had to draw another, duplicate map of the one in his possession. On it, they made a slight change in the location of the
X
. A small detail, but one that would lead the
Sea Dragon
a little southeast of the original location, directly into that cove where the Dutch merchantman was peacefully sleeping. Had they been caught out in their deception, Dante knew that he and Alastair would have been hard pressed to explain—if, indeed, they were given time to.

At first, upon finding the sunken ship, the crew of the
Sea Dragon
was ecstatic; then, after sending several men who could swim into the water, they had become downcast with the news that the ship was no treasure galleon. They hadn't had much time to commiserate, though, because around the headland had come several rival smugglers, their purpose clear as they fired several warning shots from their guns.

But Dante, unlike most of the crew, had not been caught off guard. His orders were given, the hemp anchor cable was severed, which freed the
Sea Dragon
from her mooring, and the lightly furled sails were cut loose to catch the wind. The
Sea Dragon
made her escape safely, leaving the Dutch merchantman and its unprofitable cargo to be fought over by the duped, would-be pirates.

As the
Sea Dragon
had sailed away, they'd heard the roar of several more rounds of cannon-fire. Dante had wondered which of the scavengers would be unlucky enough to join the Dutch merchantman on the bottom of the cove.

As far as most people in Charles Town were concerned, that had been the end of the
Sea Dragon
's quest for sunken treasure; yet, just northwest of the Bahamas, somewhere in a scattering of small islands, sandbars, and jagged coral, there might be a sunken Spanish galleon with a cargo of treasure chests filled with enough pieces of eight to make a thousand fortunes.

“Wanted in on our treasure, did he?” Kirby's harshly uttered words cut through Dante's reflections.

Dante's lips quirked slightly, for there had never been any point in trying to keep a secret from the little steward. As far as Houston Kirby was concerned, there was no such thing as a secret. With little or no trouble at all, he could root out the secret of a matronly widow's age, a feat few could lay claim to accomplishing.

“Either Bertie Mackay is to become a partner, or”—Dante paused meaningfully—“the captain and crew of the
Sea Dragon
will never get a chance to spend any of that treasure.”

“Why, the blackguard,” Kirby muttered, still embarrassed for having looked the fool in front of that swine Bertie Mackay. “Who does he think he is, anyway?” the little steward demanded belligerently.

“He happens to be a man who does not make idle threats. Nor is he a man who takes kindly to another man getting the better of him,” Dante stated, knowing the captain of the
Annie Jeanne
as well as any man could.

“What's he planning on doin'?” Kirby asked, some of his anger fading after he heard the seriousness in his captain's voice.

Dante remained silent for a moment as he puzzled over Kirby's question, the flickering light in the fireplace playing across his unreadable features. “The captain of the
Annie Jeanne
is planning to join ranks in a rather uneasy alliance with several other captains who, most likely, harbor some grudge against me and would not mind settling a few old scores.”

“Aye, Captain, we've made our share of enemies over the years, that we have,” Kirby agreed with a sinking of spirits, for he knew that his captain's extraordinary good fortunes, as well as his ruthless pursuit of them, had encouraged little besides jealousy and resentment in less fortunate men.

Dante Leighton was not a man to be crossed, for he could be a cruel and pitiless enemy, a man he would not care to be on the wrong side of, Kirby thought, remembering men foolish enough to have betrayed the captain of the
Sea Dragon
. As a privateer and smuggler, Dante had more than proven himself a match for any man. His rivals knew this and accorded him the proper respect, for none of them, no matter how fearless, was reckless enough to want to cross bows with him. However, if several of them joined ranks like the captain said, well… He didn't even want to speculate on that, because they just might have the chance to catch the
Sea Dragon
after everybody else had failed.

Kirby frowned thoughtfully as he stared at his captain; concern for the
Sea Dragon
's master was uppermost in his mind as he thought about the dangerous predicament they would surely find themselves in if they went searching for that sunken Spanish galleon. Kirby gnawed at his lower lip, wondering if he dared to voice his thoughts. Even though he knew that he could get away with far more than most men could where Dante was concerned, there was still, even for him, a point beyond which it was wisest not to step. He had served Dante Leighton loyally throughout the years, watching, sometimes helplessly, as the young Marquis of Jacqobi grew into a hardened, vengeful man, who had only one goal in life—which was to seek retribution against the man who had destroyed his family.

Kirby shook his head, for he could well understand the captain's feelings. Dante Leighton's mother, Elayne, had been a fine, beautiful woman, which perhaps was where the tragedy lay, for she had been so exquisite that everybody had loved her, some unwisely so.

Aye, he too hated the bastard who had contributed to the marchioness's tragic death, for he had served the Leighton family before the captain's mother had married into it; he'd even had the privilege of being born at Merdraco Castle, so his loyalties to the family, and to its only heir, ran deep. A longing for Merdraco was as much in his blood as it was in the captain's, and he wanted to spill the blood of that bastard as much as the captain did. But the bloodlust hadn't completely clouded his vision, as it had Dante's, and he knew that he might be the only one who could restrain the murderous intentions of the last Marquis of Jacqobi.

“Cap'n,” began Kirby awkwardly. “M'lord,” he tried again, liking the sound of that better, “I was just wondering if perhaps it might not be wiser to let the treasure, if indeed there is one, which I doubt, rest in peace in the deep. 'Tisn't worth gettin' ourselves killed for, m'lord. Reckon the odds be a bit high this time,” Kirby concluded, on what he hoped was a persuasive note. He was quickly disabused of that idea, however, as he caught the sardonic gleam in the captain's eye.

“Do you indeed, Kirby?” Dante inquired softly, his steely-eyed glance reminding the little steward more than ever of the captain's grandfather, an implacable old man who'd ruled Merdraco with an iron hand for close to half a century. He could still recall, too vividly for his peace of mind, standing with shaking knees before the old marquis, while those same pale gray eyes as his grandson's burned a hole through him.

“I suspect, Kirby,” Dante Leighton continued, a slight smile curving his lips, “that you actually fear that there
will
be a treasure to be found. I do not think you have truly lost faith in my abilities to sail the
Sea Dragon
out of danger, but fear more”—he paused as his eyes met the steward's—“what shall happen afterwards.”

Kirby lowered his bushy eyebrows, effectively hiding the expression in his eyes. Pursing his lips, he said, “Reckon we can only wait and see what happens. Might not be as either of us expect it to.”

“But whatever it comes to, I can count on you,” Dante stated, knowing full well he had Houston Kirby's loyalty, even if his steward sometimes disapproved of his actions.

“Aye, you know you can, Captain,” Kirby replied. “For you and Merdraco, and for the marchioness, I'd follow you into hell, m'lord. Which is where I expect we're headed. Besides,” Kirby added with a wry grin, looking over his shoulder as if someone might be standing behind him, “the old marquis wouldn't let me rest in peace if I let you get into trouble.”