Pirate Wolf Trilogy (49 page)

Juliet raised
both pistols aiming them squarely at the captain’s chest.

Crisp did
likewise, grinning wide over a minimum of uneven front teeth. “Ah,
but it’s a clever lass who knows her enemies so well.”

In a louder
voice, he addressed the two Spaniards. “Now then, what manner of
foolery do we have here? Should we be thankin’ ye kindly for actin’
so quick to gather yer important papers together? Or should we be
thinkin’ ye’re eager to hide something ye’d rather we didn’t
see?”

The captain was
heavy-set, with a girth as round as a barrel and legs the size of
tree trunks squeezed into stockings so tight the seams were
strained. His face was red, running with sweat that dripped onto
the top of the desk as he started muttering under his breath to his
first officer.

Crisp scowled,
for he knew only enough coarse Spanish to tell an enemy to drop his
weapon or the sharks would be feeding on his spleen.

It was
Juliet who smiled and said in soft, perfectly accented Castilian,
“And if he should indeed take one step toward the gallery door with
the intent of throwing that sack overboard,
Señor
Capitán-General
, I shall
blow the top of his head off. His first,” she added, shifting the
aim of her guns to make her meaning clear. “Then yours, of
course.”

The captain
looked over, startled by her fluency, and another droplet of sour
sweat fell on the desk. He bore one small bruise on his forehead,
the flesh an angry blue, and it was to this blow Juliet credited
his blinking dullness for he did nothing but continue to stare. The
officer by his side was a soldier, however, not merely a posturing
figurehead. He stiffened with indignation, so much so the
reflections of sunlight from the broken gallery windows cut briefly
through the shadows beneath the rim of his helmet.

His eyes were
small and close-set, black as empty sockets. Rage tightened his
lips to a thin line as he responded to Juliet in equally excellent
English. “You dare issue your paltry threats! Do you know to whom
you speak with such crude impertinence?”

“I have no
doubt you feel obliged to enlighten me.”

His voice was a
mere hiss of sound. “You have the effrontery to stand before Don
Diego Flores Cinquanto de Aquayo.”

“
Aquayo,”
she murmured. Juliet searched her memory for the name—mentally
giving thanks to the taskmaster who had drummed into her the
importance of knowing every ship that patrolled the Caribbee—and
came up with a match. “Then this must be the
Santo
Domingo
.”

She tried
to keep her voice level, her breathing even but she could feel the
sudden pounding of blood in her temples. She could also hear the
involuntary catch in Nathan’s throat and guessed that he had almost
swallowed the glutinous wad of tobacco leaves he customarily chewed
during an engagement. The
Santo Domingo
was one of the largest and finest warships in His Catholic
Majesty’s fleet in Nuevo España. At eight hundred tons, mounting
fifty-two heavy guns, she had been touted to be both invincible and
unsinkable. Moreover, at last count, she had been credited with the
capture or sinking of at least fourteen privateers from three
nations who hunted along the Spanish shipping lanes.

“You are a long
way from Vera Cruz,” Juliet said calmly. “I would have thought,
after you escorted the new Viceroy from Hispaniola to San Juan de
Ulloa, you would have remained to help celebrate his
appointment.”

“You are very
well informed,” said Aquayo, gasping for breath—or belief.

Juliet
tipped her head to acknowledge the compliment. “We pay very high
bribes to your port officials to ensure it is so. As for my
threats, señor
maestre
—” Juliet
switched her focus back to the military commander as she caught his
hand inching toward the butt of a pistol that was partly hidden in
the debris on the desk— “I can promise you they are not the least
paltry, for at this close range, I expect the shot would remove the
greater half of your skull even if my aim wavered by a twitch or
two.”

“An’ that’s
never happened in all the years I’ve known her,” Crisp warned
dryly. “So unless ye want to insult yer captain-general more by
having yer brains splashed all over his fine gold braid, I suggest
ye set the sack down slowly an’ step carefully to one side.”

The officer’s
coal black eyes narrowed and Juliet could see him weighing the odds
of his reaching the gun and surviving long enough to fire it. He
wore the thin moustache and pointed beard favored by the Spanish
nobility, yet the fact his rank had been earned through military
service and not by royal appointment like his captain, suggested
there was some illegitimate taint in his bloodlines somewhere.

“
You must
be the one they call
la rosa de hierro
,” he murmured. “The iron rose.”

“
My ship
is the
Iron
Rose
, señor. Those
aboard her call me Captain.”

“
I will
call you
puta
,” he spat,
“and it will give me great pleasure one day to spread your legs and
encourage my soldiers to repay you for the trouble you have caused
today.”

Juliet pursed
her lips to give the insult the consideration it merited. “I am
sure their efforts would bore me, señor, as do yours.”

“Spoken like a
true whore-bitch. Just like your mother before you.”

Juliet’s
expression did not change, but her eyes turned as cold as frost, a
sight known to raise the hackles of those aware of their own
mortality.

“You know my
mother, señor?”

A smirk
spread slowly across his face. “We are also well informed,
puta
, although
the reputation of Isabeau Dante—a whore of such magnitude—comes
without cost.”

The Spaniard’s
grin was still full of insolence and arrogance as Juliet adjusted
the aim of the pistols, gave the triggers a quick caress, and
blinked through the delayed ignition of gunpowder. Both wheel-locks
spun and fired simultaneously, the result of the twin explosions
causing Aquayo to cross his arms over his head and drop to the
floor with a scream.

“
An
insult to me is one thing, señor
maestre
,” she said evenly, watching the army officer stagger back
against the bulkhead in shock. “But an insult to my dear mother...
well... that is quite another.”

~~~

With the
logs and manifests sent safely back to the
Iron Rose
, Juliet accompanied Crisp on board the English
carrack to assess the damage. In truth, there was not much left to
assess, for her masts were gone, her rails were little more than
jagged spikes, and what timbers remained intact on the upper deck
would not do so for long in light of the fires that raged from
above and below. Dead and pieces of the dead were strewn
everywhere, lying in rivulets of blood that flowed to and fro
across the planking with the motion of the ship.

“How long
before she goes down?” Juliet asked softly.

“She’s drinkin’
the sea faster than any ten pumps could spew it out. Nog’s checkin’
now, but he thinks she’s been holed below the waterline. Looks to
me like the Spaniards weren’t in the mood to take her back to
Havana. Or to leave any witnesses behind.”

Juliet nodded
grimly. “Target practise. For their gunners as well as their
musketeers. How many survivors do you estimate?”

“I counted less
than forty who can stand on their own,” he said. “Only two of those
appear to be officers. There’s another score an’ a half with minor
wounds, but easily twice that number who’ll be dead if we try to
move them. I’ve not made a count of the Spaniards yet, but I’d say
we accounted ourselves well. We’ve less than a dozen injured an’
only one death.”

“Who?”

“Billy Crab.
Caught a musket ball in the brain.”

Red hair, a lot
of freckles. Juliet knew every member of the crew well enough to
take each loss personally.

“Who is in
command here?” Crisp asked, raising his voice to be heard above the
whoosh and crackle of burning fires.

“I must assume
I am.” One of the two officers Crisp had already identified limped
forward through the smoke. He was young, perhaps five and twenty,
but it was obvious he was no stranger to combat. His face, handsome
enough on the one side, bore telling scars on the other. A melted
plate of stretched, shiny flesh distorted the entire left side of
his face from above the temple to below the starched line of his
collar. The ear was a curled mass of pink skin and his cheek, when
he spoke, was stiffened by the scar tissue, setting his mouth at an
odd cant.

Juliet, who had
seen far more hideous disfigurements over the years, was not as
concerned with the officer’s appearance as she was with his
character. The galleon was a huge and cumbersome ship, and would be
difficult to sail without the help of the English seamen.

The officer
instinctively addressed Nathan, pulling himself together for the
makings of a salute. “Lieutenant John Beck, His Majesty’s Royal
Navy.”

“What ship?”
Crisp asked.

“
The
Argus
, under the
former command of Captain Angus Macleod, God rest his
soul.”

“Might we ask
what ye did to piss off the Spaniard?”

Beck’s
nostrils flared with indignation. “We did nothing, sir. We are a
courier ship, bound for New Providence; we carry a minimum of
cargo. We did absolutely nothing to invite their interest or
provoke their attack. We came through the storm and she was there,
riding the edge of the horizon. She saw us and gave chase, then the
next thing we knew ... ” He tensed and wiped at a persistent
trickle of blood that was flowing over his eye. When he blinked it
clear, he studied Crisp’s casual canvas trousers, the loose white
shirt and double leather bandoliers that held an assortment of
pistols and knives. “Might
we
venture to surmise you are not in the king’s service,
sir?”

“
Ye might
venture it, aye. But if ye’re thinkin’ our cap’n flies the
jolie
rouge
, ye’d be mistaken
again, for a pyrate would have let the Spaniard sink ye then moved
in to pick over the bones.”

The words were
hardly reassuring but Beck was gracious nonetheless. “I should like
to take this opportunity to extend the heartfelt gratitude of
myself and the crew, and indeed the crown, for coming forth against
such odds and at such terrible risk to the safety of your own ship
and crew. I stand humbled and in awe of your captain, whom I
sincerely hope I shall have the honor of meeting forthwith.”

Crisp shifted
the wad of tobacco he was chewing from one cheek to the other. “Ye
can have the honor now, if ye like. Lieutenant... Beck, was it?” He
gave a half turn and held a hand out toward Juliet. “Cap’n
Dante.”

Beck’s gaze
seemed to take a moment to shift from Crisp to the tall slender
figure standing beside him. Dark reddish hair was gathered back
into a thick plait and covered by a blue bandana. The face beneath
was streaked with grime, a shirt that had once been white was
stained with blood and black powder. Wide leather crossbelts slung
over the shoulders housed an arsenal of pistols, daggers, pouches
for powder and shot, and while the shirt was loose-fitting and
could have hidden anything beneath, the breeches were moleskin and
molded snugly to hips and legs that were suddenly all too obviously
feminine.

“Good God, sir.
You’re a woman.”

“The last time
I looked, aye, I was,” Juliet said, reserving her smile.

“A female
captain? Of a privateer?”

Juliet crossed
her arms over her chest and responded to the redundancies with a
fine Dante glare.

Beck swallowed
his astonishment and drew himself sharply to attention. “First
Lieutenant Jonathan Grenville Beck, His Majesty’s Royal Navy. At
your service, Captain Dan... Dan... ” His chin came trembling down
as his jaw gaped again. “...Dante?” he whispered. “Surely not...
the Black Swan?”

Juliet blew out
a wry sigh and glanced at Crisp. “Really, this is too much. First I
am mistaken for an iron rose, now a black swan. Are my features
truly so vague and obscure?”

Nathan Crisp
cocked an eyebrow. “Ye would benefit from a good scrub, aye.”

“Please,” Beck
interjected. “I... I meant no offense. Isabeau Dante’s name is well
known throughout the fleet. Indeed, it is almost as legendary as
that of—” he stopped again, but there was apparently not enough
strength left in his body to absorb this most final and
overwhelming shock. “You... would not happen to be any relation to
the privateer, Simon Dante... would you?”

He almost
looked as though he wished she would answer in the negative, but of
course, that was not possible.

“He is my
father.”

“Your... ?
Oh... my... good... God.”

The lieutenant
swayed through a rush of light-headedness as all the blood appeared
to drain out of his face. Crisp clapped him stoutly on the
shoulder.

“
Bah, she
isn’t half so frightening as all that, lad. Leastwise not unless ye
prick her temper. Many a man on board the
Rose
can show ye the blisters to swear to
that.”

Over a
frosty glare intended to curb Crisp’s humor, Juliet indicated the
deck with a tilt of her head. “You should see to your men, Mr.
Beck. Your ship is sinking and they need to be removed from
the
Argus
at
once.”