Pirate Wolf Trilogy (92 page)

“If they choose
to run, it will be fine odds for our friends farther north.”

“Aye,
they’ll’ve heard our thunder an’ they’ll know the storm is on the
way.” Nathan winked at Varian as he said this, then chuckled.
“Mayhap, if the galleons are all swallowed into the shoals an’
vanish without a trace, the Spaniards will start thinkin’ there be
mysterious powers at work in these waters.”

It was a good
jest and won a smile from Varian, who truth be told, would not be
struck to his soul with disappointment if the fleet decided to cut
their losses and move on. Eight warships and twenty-three
merchantmen: Juliet had said it so calmly, as if facing their
combined firepower would be like stroll down Mayfair on a sunny
afternoon.

The thought
left him wondering, not for the first time over the past weeks,
what his mother’s reaction would be if he were to stroll anywhere
in London, indeed in all of England, with Juliet Dante on his arm.
For a certainty the staunch-lipped matriarch would drop into a
swoon that would require an entire nest of scorched feathers to
restore her senses. He could also envision the expressions on the
faces of his friends and acquaintances when he recounted how he met
his ravishing pirate wench, how he had stood by her side on the
deck of a tall ship and watched those silvery eyes dare the entire
Spanish treasure fleet to come feel the heat of her guns.

Unfortunately he could only see one of those silvery eyes
himself, for the other was still fastened to the spyglass.
Something in her expression had changed. Her jaw was rigid, her
lips were pressed into a thin white line, and despite the warmth of
her tan, the blood was draining from her face, leaving her skin a
sickly yellow. She was no longer looking at the
almirante
, challenging it to sally forth. Her
unblinking stare was fixed on a pair of ships near the rear of the
pack.

She reached
out, grabbing empty air before she was able to snatch hold of
Crisp’s arm.

“What is it,
lass? What do ye see? Is it more company coming, then?”

She couldn’t
answer. She could not even lower her glass to look at him and
Nathan snapped his own brass and leather glass open, holding it to
his eye again.

Varian scanned
the distant line of ships but saw nothing with the naked eye that
would explain Juliet’s frozen expression. The galleons had
definitely huddled closer together though there were still a few
stragglers riding well off the starboard flank.

Crisp swore and
lowered the glass, squinting out at the water a moment before he
raised the glass and leaned forward over the rail as if it would
bring him that much closer.

He gasped,
sucked the air into his lungs a moment, then released it on an
explosive curse.

“
Jesus
wept,” he hissed. “It’s Cap’n Gabriel’s ship. It’s the
Valor
. And she’s
sailing under a Spanish flag”

~~~

Gabriel stuck
the end of his tongue into the socket at the back of his mouth and
toyed with the empty space. It was the only part of him that was
able to move. The ropes around his wrists and ankles pretty well
assured he could not get up and walk around, nor even wipe at the
blood that had crusted over his eye. And if he raised his head, the
bastards would know he was conscious again and the beating would
resume.

It had
taken the efforts of two warships and four pataches to finally
drive him ashore off Havana, and while he would gladly have fought
to the death, as would all of his men, it would have been an
arrogant waste of good lives. Jonas and the
Tribute
were away and clear—he surely would have heard the
Spaniard’s boasting if they were not—and if Gabriel knew anything
at all about his brother, it was that he was as persistent as a
mongrel. He would not allow his little brother to be shackled in
chains and bound to oars in a slave galley. Moreover, when Jonas
told their father what had happened... damnation, but he could
almost feel sorry for these Spanish bastards.

All but
one.

Gabriel
had recognized him at once from Juliet’s description. The narrow,
hawk-like face, the dead black eyes, the missing earlobes. He
surmised the bastard must have been important, or had a great deal
of influence, or had simply shown he was vicious enough to deserve
the privilege of “questioning” the prisoners, for he had not only
been among the first to come on board the captured
Valor
, he had
subsequently assumed command.

Capitán
Cristobal Nufio Espinosa y Recalde.

The name, like
the pain from the myriad of bruises his henchman had battered onto
his body, throbbed through his head like a religious chant. That
and kill the bastard, crush the bastard, choke the bastard.

Just give me
one chance at the bastard. One small opening.

It was
apparent they had decided the
Valor
was not too badly damaged to be of some use to them back in
Spain. Gabriel could hear sawing and hammering, and part of him was
pleased his ship was being repaired. Another part hoped they were
good carpenters, for it became quickly obvious their sailors did
not know how to handle so much power and response from the helm.
They were accustomed to sails that were square-rigged, set in
configurations that were fixed. The Spaniards had little or no
knowledge of how to adjust the sheets fore and aft to catch the
best draught of wind and that was why, after one near collision
with another galleon, the
Valor
had been relegated to a position outside the orderly
vee.

Gabriel was
being held belowdecks in what had been his quartermaster’s small
cabin. The door had been smashed off it’s hinges and there was only
a chair nailed to the centre of the floor. There was always at
least one guard posted in the outer passageway, but more often two,
as if they still considered him, trussed and battered, a dangerous
threat.

You bastards
have no idea.

When Recalde
came to visit he brought a lamp, but otherwise it was gray and
murky, the only source of light an eight by eight inch porthole
with the hatch partly closed. The air was thick with particles of
floating dust, and because they had kept him bound hand and foot to
the chair for two days without relief, the smell of his own blood
and urine was a constant incentive to stay alive, to wait for that
one unguarded moment.

He could only
imagine what he must look like. The first day they had stripped him
down to his linens, searching for any weapons he might have hidden
in his clothes, and never bothered to dress him again. Two days and
several interrogations later, skin that was not splattered with
blood was bruised a dark blue. He had a cut over his eye they took
particular pleasure in re-opening on the first punch of each
session. There was another on his cheek, and he knew his lips were
a swollen mass of splits and scabs. He hadn’t been able to feel his
feet or hands or even wiggle his fingers since the day before; the
ropes were bound tight to ensure there was no possibility of him
working them loose and for all he knew, his fingers had turned
black and fallen off. He had very little hearing in his left ear,
but couldn’t tell if it was a result of the beatings or because it
was just full of congealed blood. The right side was still
functioning. Enough for him to hear the cannonading early that
morning. Enough to hear the more recent volleys that had brought
Recalde striding into the cabin and soiling his own gloves by
dealing him a blow to the jaw that genuinely knocked him out for a
few minutes.

He opened his
good eye a crack, wondering if the Spaniard was still there. He was
quiet as a python and had fooled Gabriel before.

The thought was
barely finished when his hair was grabbed and his head jerked
upright. The grunt that escaped his lips was not feigned, for each
time the bastard pulled him up by the hair, it felt as though his
entire scalp was about to rip off.

“I see you have
come back to us, señor Dante,” Recalde said in clear English. “Ah
ah.” He held up a warning finger. “If you spit at me again, I shall
instruct Jorge to cut out your tongue.”

Gabriel rolled
his eyeball in Jorge’s direction. A massive, ugly brute, he would
have made Lucifer look like a delicate princeling. His fists were
the size of sledge hammers, his shoulders resembled a series of
powder barrels strapped together, the muscles bulging in hard,
round shapes. Most of the damage on Gabriel’s body had been
accomplished by bored slaps and lightweight punches and Dante had
no burning desire to see what the leviathan could do with a
blade.

Recalde
released the clutch of hair, pleased to see the comprehension in
the wolf cub’s eyes. “A wise decision.”

Gabriel started
to let his head sink forward again, but stopped when he saw
Recalde’s gloved fist move as if to snatch back the fistful of
hair.

“I am not a man
who believes in coincidences.” Recalde leaned down so that his
breath bathed Gabriel’s face with the smell of garlic. “It was no
coincidence we caught you and your brother scouting Havana. It was
no coincidence our ships have been under recent attack off the
coast of Hispaniola. Nor was it a coincidence—albeit both ambushes
were brilliantly executed—that our fleet has come under attack
twice today.”

He straightened
and clasped his hands behind his back. “It is no wonder your family
has a reputation for audacity. Had this infernal ship sailed
faster, I would have been able to stop this latest travesty before
two more of our fine vessels were lured to their doom.”

“You should
have put me at the helm,” Gabriel croaked. “I would gladly have
sped you right into the heart of the fray.”

Jorge
took an ominous step forward, but Recalde held up a hand. “No. No,
the offer is a generous one, and I accept. You may indeed go
topside, señor Dante. In fact, your crew is there already, waiting
for you to join them, to lead them as we go forth to meet the
infamous
pirata
lobo
. Jorge,
untie the gentleman. Careful of his hands, they are so swollen the
skin might burst if the blade slips the smallest
degree.”

Gabriel did not
feel the knife parting the ropes. Moreover his hands and feet fell
like leaden weights the moment they were free, and he was fairly
certain he would not be able to stand on his own.

Recalde
signalled to a pair of guards who were waiting out in the
passageway. All bustle and efficiency, they hastened into the
cabin, taking Gabriel up under each arm and dragging him out
between them. They hauled him up the ladderway, his feet slapping
the steps like wooden blocks, and when they reached the deck, they
paused a moment to allow Recalde to climb ahead of them to the
quarterdeck.

By then,
Gabriel’s horror was such that his battered eye cracked open of
it’s own accord. His gasp of outraged disbelief came out sounding
more like a cry and drew equally helpless cries of rage from his
crewmen when they saw the broken condition of their gallant
captain.

Each
member of the
Valor’s
crew was
stripped to the waist, bound hand and foot to the shrouds, to the
rails, forming a shield of human flesh around the upper
deck.

Gabriel was
taken up to the quarterdeck where his arms and legs were similarly
bound, spread-eagled, to the rat lines in plain view of anyone with
a spyglass. He started shouting profanities before the ropes were
applied, as did his men, and when the din became more annoying than
amusing, Recalde nodded to several of his soldiers, who started
savagely lashing the naked backs, shoulders, bellies of the bound
men. They whipped and lashed until they were drenched with sweat,
spattered with blood, and the din had been reduced to whimpered
curses.

“
Now
then.” Recalde stood on the quarterdeck behind Gabriel. “I am sure
your family would like to see that you are alive and...
reasonably
unharmed for the moment. Shall
we go and pay them that visit now? I am particularly anxious to
renew my acquaintance with your sister,” he murmured, reaching up
to touch a mutilated ear. “As I recall I made a promise to her at
our last meeting and I know my entire crew is looking forward to
honoring it. Jorge first, I think. The poor fellow’s prick is so
big, even the whores are terrified of him, but I think
la rosa de
hierro
would be eager to
accommodate him if she thought it might save your life. What do you
think, señor Dante? Does she value your life enough to sacrifice
her own?”

“Go to hell,”
Gabriel snarled. “Go straight to bloody hell.”

Recalde
sighed and nodded to Jorge, who lifted a bucket full of the salted
brine used to preserve meat and threw it over Gabriel’s head and
body. Some splashed the man hanging next to him, whose back had
been slashed by a whip, and he let loose such a scream it set all
one hundred and twenty of the
Valor’s
bound crewman quivering in the lines.

Gabriel
had made no sound. Every muscle, every sinew in his body remained
clenched through the inconceivable agony of brine seeping into his
open wounds. Just when he thought he might be able to open his eyes
and breathe again, he heard the order to put on all sail and felt
the
Valor
leap
forward with a response. They were breaking away from the fleet and
heading straight for the cays. Moreover, they were not going forth
alone. Following in their wake were three of the biggest warships
in the fleet, their gun ports open, their decks cleared for
action.