Pirate Wolf Trilogy (118 page)

Eva shuddered, having seen some of the
handiwork of ship's doctors, most of whom would sooner take a leg
off than set a broken bone.

The candle flickered as another volley from
the guns juddered through the ship's hull. Something caught a spark
from the light and Eva glanced over to the shelf where an
assortment of the sailmaker's tools, including spare needles and
thick bobbins of thread were kept.

"There," she said, pointing. "Find me the
smallest needle and the finest width of thread. Then I’ll need
something to tear up to use as bandaging. And water. I need to
clear away the blood to see what I'm doing."

The crewman jerked his head once to
acknowledge the orders. He quickly found a needle and a length of
coarse black twine which he plucked apart into several thinner
threads. He shouted at someone out in the companionway, and a pan
of water appeared alongside his own filthy shirt, hastily
removed.

Eva knealt over the wounded sailor. She had
thought him to be blessedly unconscious, but as a lock of her hair
brushed across his cheek, his eyes opened. His throat worked for a
moment, as if he wanted to speak, but in the next, his brother was
holding a flask to his lips and the effort to swallow the rum took
precedence.

"There now, Alf, ye're goin' to be jest
fine. The mermaid is goin' ter fix ye up good as new."

A bit of the rum spluttered over Alf's lips
and his eyes rolled back in his head.

"Bring the light closer," Eva ordered,
hoping her hand would stop shaking long enough to thread the
needle. She had watched wounds being stitched many a time, but had
never actually done it herself. A nurse had joked that it was just
like sewing a seam, but cloth did not bleed and punching a needle
through flesh was not as easy as sliding it through cloth.

Using yet another thunderous eruption from
the guns to cover the way her fingers were shaking, Eva bade the
crewman to hold his hand down on the wound while she threaded the
needle. Her grip was slippery with blood and she had to try three
times before she was successful. By then the doorway was crowded
with onlookers and more were whispering out in the
companionway.

If she was wrong about the life vein, if her
hand shook too badly to execute the stitches, or if the wound
continued to bleed and the man died... she would undoubtedly be
blamed and Gabriel Dante's protection would end in a rush of
choking sea water.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

When the fighting commenced, Gabriel pushed
all thoughts of Eva Chandler out of his mind. He remained in
command on the quarterdeck with shots flying overhead and clouds of
sulphurous smoke burning his eyes and throat. Stubs and Rowly were
like wild men, shouting orders and encouragement. As much as the
smoke worked in their favor, it was a hindrance as well. They could
hear the shots coming back at them, but had no idea where the iron
would strike until the ball whistled out of the smoke and shattered
through wood and flesh.

Men were in the yards, set to unfurl the
sails in order to catch any breeze that might arise. Gabriel was
reluctant to give the order until the last possible moment, for the
added drag caused by the huge sheets of canvas would make harder
work for the oarsmen. Instead, he passed the command to the tow
boats to tack sharply to the west hoping to confuse the Spaniard's
gunners.

Gabriel heard a particularly loud scream
approaching and dove onto the deck as a shot slashed by overhead,
so close he felt the heat of it on his face. It blasted through the
binnacle and smashed through the rail, streaking straight down the
middle of the ship and exploding across the forecastle deck. Shards
of flaming cinders rained down on the heads of the crew, and men
worked frantically with buckets of sea water to douse any fires
before they could spread.

Smaller crews worked the swivel guns as the
ship turned and the culverins became ineffective. They launched
sangrenel shot—more pouches full of nails and razor-sharp metal.
These were aimed and fired blind through the smoke until Dante
called a halt, knowing the Spaniards would start to use the muzzle
flashes to target their position.

With a thick wall of smoke
behind them and the tantalizing safety of the fog bank ahead,
the
Endurance
was
dragged through the water, widening the gap between them and the
galleons. The Spaniards continued to fire, the air vibrating with
each thunderous volley, but their shots were starting to go wild,
striking mostly water and sending up gouts of spray. It was far too
premature to celebrate, but every oar's length they gained gave
Gabriel another spark of hope that they'd broken free.

"By God, it might actually work," he
muttered to Stubs.

"Ye didn't think it would?"

"Hell, no. I figured we'd be holed before we
even moved."

Stubs swabbed a streak of blood off his
cheek with his three partial fingers and scowled. "Well I'm glad ye
kept that bit o' cheer to yerself until now."

Dante grinned and clapped the quartermaster
on his shoulder after which he demanded absolute silence on deck.
Shots continued to streak out of the smoky darkness searching for
them, but apart from one or two lucky strikes, the Spaniard's
efforts were wasted.

In under an hour they were well away into
the fog bank, where Dante ordered another course change. He did not
think Muertraigo would go to the massive effort to follow him into
the fog, but he was taking no chances. The Spanish pirate would
likely expect him to head straight south down the Tongue to avoid
the hazard of the barrier reef, but Gabriel swung the ship in a
wide arc and headed directly toward Espiritu Santu. He knew there
were currents closer to land that would give the oarsmen some
relief. There were also dozens of islets and atolls where a ship
could hide... assuming they did not lose their keel crossing the
wide reef. He put men on lines sounding out the depth every five
minutes and more men in the yards to alert them to any breaks in
the fog.

With the fighting hopefully behind them, his
thoughts turned to the damages and the wounded. There was debris on
deck that had to be cleared, guns to be swabbed and checked for
heat stress. There were two dead and several dozen wounded to be
taken care of—an astonishing low casualty rate, which Gabriel
accepted gratefully. The rudder had taken a hit and he already had
men in the water, clinging to the side by ropes, making repairs.
Spare yards and rigging lines were being hoisted and bolted into
place, replacing those that had been shot away.

The fog was as thick as Cook's burgoo, and
Dante had lost all sense of distance and direction after the
Spaniards had stopped firing. The depth beneath the keel had
changed drastically, reading less than three fathom in places, but
he knew there were cracks in the reef that would allow a ship to
hopefully pass through unmolested.

He just had to find one.

Another full hour passed before Gabriel saw
Eduardo scampering past with a bucket of water and halted him.

“You can go below and fetch Mistress
Chandler from wherever you put her. Tell her it is safe to come up
on deck now.”

Eduardo wiped a smudge of grime off his brow
and shook his head. “She isn’t where I put her, Cap’n. She’s in the
surgery.”

Dante felt a cold clutch of fear in his
chest. He did not hear the rest of what Eduardo was saying; he
leaped down the steps from the quarterdeck and pushed through the
hatchway, which was still crowded with crewmen. He bullied his way
through the crush, descending another level to the orlop deck, then
snarled a path clear to the cabin in the rear.

There he stopped, the light from within
bathing his face in a dull yellowish glow. Not knowing what to
expect, or what had happened to put Eva in the surgery, he had one
hand on the butt of his pistol, the other on the hilt of his sword.
Douglas Podd was standing at one end of the oak slab that served as
an operating table, a cup of rum in his hand.

Eva was at the other, concentrating closely
on the wound she was tending on a man's arm. Her shirt was soiled
and bloodied, her face gleamed with sweat. Her hair was tied back
at the nape but slender curls had worked free in the heat and
humidity of the airless cabin. She murmured something to the man
whose arm she was stitching and… God strike all the saints from
heaven if the lout was not blushing.

"Do I dare ask what the devil is going on
here?" Dante asked, arching an eyebrow.

Podd glanced over, belched, and waved the
near-empty rum jug. "I been told she 'as a lighter touch. Been told
they'd ruther wait an hour fer the mermaid to stitch 'em up as 'ave
me do it."

Eva glanced up and blew a puff of breath to
dislodge a curl that had fallen over her cheek. "I was of no use
hiding away in a sail locker, Captain. I offered to help Master
Podd and he accepted."

Podd nodded and grinned. "'Aven't 'eard so
much as a squeak of an argumentation out o' any of the men either.
Specially the Kowall lads, over yon."

He pointed to the two brothers seated on a
narrow berth against the wall. Alf's throat was bandaged and his
eyes were glazed from the amount of rum Podd had been generously
distributing, but it was Ferg who lifted his panniken in a
toast.

"She saved me brother,
Cap'n. 'Ee was dead sure as I'm sittin' 'ere. Doc Podd said as 'ow
'ee should 'ave been…
would’ve
been if she 'adn't touched 'is neck an' stoppered
the blood.”

“Healin’ hands, she has, Captain," Podd
declared. “Healin’ hands.”

Before Eva could object, Ferg called for a
rousing toast to "The Mermaid!" which was instantly echoed by a
dozen others.

Shaking her head, Eva wiped her hands on the
cloth she had tied around her waist and used the back of her hand
to brush the sweat off her face, leaving a clean streak through the
grime on her forehead. "Is it over, then? Have we won?"

"We outshot and outfoxed the bastard," Dante
murmured, feeling somewhat off-balance again. "So it is over, yes.
For the time being, anyway."

She smiled as the men gave another cheer,
but then her eyes flicked over his face, chest, and arms.

"Are you hurt, Captain? You have blood on
your doublet."

He followed her worried glance to his
shoulder. "No. No, I am intact. Stubs said you were in the surgery
and I thought... well... I thought the worst rather than the
best."

Podd was roaring for another toast and
hoisted the bottle, having to tilt back to catch the last few
drops. He tipped too far and, with one arm windmilling, crashed
over like a felled log onto the floor. The Kowall twins leaned
forward to look, chuckled together, and settled back again.

Dante had not taken his eyes off Eva. He saw
her laugh along with the twins... along with the rest of the men
who were watching and listening from the corridor, and he realized
she had won them over. The 'jinx' was now the 'Mermaid' with the
soft touch and healing hands, and he suspected he would hear no
more grumbling about tossing her overboard.

He turned to go and she stopped him again.
"Captain Dante...?"

He paused and glanced back.

"I do thank you for your concern."

His mouth curved at the corner and he
offered a small, but elegantly executed bow before disappearing
back into the darkness of the companionway.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Dante did not immediately return to the
quarterdeck. Curiosity lured him to his cabin instead. The boards
were down over the gallery windows to block the light and he lit a
lamp, setting it on his desk as he studied the chart that showed
the best details of the reefs and chasms flanking the islands of
Espiritu Santu. The north and southern sections were solid, but the
midsection was comprised of hundreds of little islets and atolls,
as if some giant hand had dropped the island and the middle had
shattered into pieces. Those pieces formed a maze with channels
that ended in solid rock, stretches of sand and mangrove swamps,
making it impractical as well as hazardous to navigate in daylight,
let alone blinded by fog and darkness.

Gabriel's mother had
charted some of the coastline and inlets but there had simply been
too many to do them all. And until the morning sun burned away the
fog, he had no idea if the
Endurance
was close to land or
sitting on the shelf of a reef, or if they had gone in a huge
circle and would find themselves laying a hundred yards off the
beam of one of the galleons.

Dante spread the chart flat and ran his
finger over the broken midsection of Espiritu Santu.

His own experience with the islands was
sorely lacking. But he had heard about the sandy estuaries, the
tidal swamps, the deep blue holes, and enormous caverns formed in
the limestone rock.

He poured a goblet of rum and sat back in
his chair, mulling over the events of the previous day and
night.

Pigeon Cay was a three day sail south. If
this bloody calm lifted, Gabriel could make for the Cay and return
with more ships and more men. No doubt his father would be eager to
contribute to the demise of the man who had cost his wife her
arm.

On the other hand, if a
ship the size of the
Nuestro Santisimo
Victorio
had disappeared into one of the
bights and remained undiscovered for the past twenty years, there
was an equally fair chance Muertraigo and his galleons could be
swallowed into the maze of inlets and passages and not be found
either.

Could he risk letting the bastard get
away?

He took a sip of rum and continued to stare
at the chart, letting his eyes drift closed… for just a moment.