The Siren's Song (16 page)

Joelle picked through the costumes as Gilly recounted everything that had happened since Hyde was killed. Everything but certain intimate details. The woman didn’t need to know about her
arrangement
with Thayer. Nor how he made her feel. Nor how he now hated her. No, she kept those tidbits to herself.

“A bit of a muck you’ve gotten mired in,” Joelle said, her back to Gilly. “How’d you plan to get out of it?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’ll wait for the right moment to flee.”

“Do you think that anyone here would help hide you away from Diaz? They don’t call him Machete because he has a fondness for knives. Well, he does, but more so because the man is without a conscience and slaughters those who oppose him. He’s been known to kill simply because it suits his mood.”

Gilly stopped brushing her hair midstroke. “M-Machete?” Her imagination ran rampant. Panic advanced from the corners of her composure. What kind of man took pleasure in murdering people with a machete? Abel, Mather, now Diaz. She was beginning to think she would never be safe from danger again.

Joelle turned. “You look as if you swallowed a bad oyster. Ah, don’t fret, love. I’ll help you.”

“But Machete.”

Joelle smiled. “I’ve no cause to be frightened of Machete. We have mutual interests in the trade industry that keeps me mindful of his practices. He’s a murderer, yes, but a rather foreseeable one.” She held up a blue dress and matching arabesque stomacher. “Ah, this one is perfect. It’ll really bring out those charming eyes of yours. I can see why Drake took cotton to you.”

Drake!
Joelle could warn Thayer of the ambush! “Mather has put a price on Thayer’s head. You could go to him and warn him before he leaves the ship.”

“No.” Joelle held the frock up to Gilly. “I think this will fit nicely.”

“No?” Gilly was aghast Joelle wouldn’t warn him. “You won’t help him?”

“He’ll be fine.”

“But he’ll be killed,” Gilly shrilled.

“One can hope. Maybe Valeryn will get his due, too.” She tilted her head still looking thoughtfully at the dress. “The sleeves may hang too low. Hmm. It’ll have to do.”

Chapter Fourteen

The garrisons guarding the mouth of the Bay of Havana loomed atop the cliffs. Cannons which hadn’t been used in some three years sat perched in their carriages. Drake had no doubt that they were kept clean and ready for firing. And not solely because of the British. He smirked, remembering why the guns were last fired. The ship he had captained, the
Widow Maker,
had barely made it out to sea. The brief upheaval of the people and Governor de Barca’s untimely death was still fresh in the minds of those in power.

Silently, the
Rissa
passed into the bay. The crew was silent, too, as if making too much noise would arouse the sleeping dogs and alert the Spanish military they had returned. It was that way each time they sailed into Havana. All of the men who were with him on the
Widow Maker
called it suicide, taunting death, by coming back here time and again. All but Valeryn. His best mate enjoyed poking death with a stick, stirring it up and outsmarting it at every turn. In truth, death would catch them one day. Just not today.

Returning to Havana for a businessman such as himself took little forethought. Here, Drake got the best prices for the goods they salvaged, better than the conscientious Bahamians. It was easier and often more profitable than capturing a prize at sea. Though he claimed loyalty to no country, Havana was his home and he loved her.

Willie sailed the
Rissa
around to anchor between two merchants. The position offered protection from gunfire and a straight route back out to sea. Drake instructed the men to be armed and ready to sail at all times. Stay close to the docks and don’t get lost in their cups. Not until they had Henri back.

Retrieving him would be easy. That slop bucket
Alligator
sat within a hail at the quay. Lynch, the fat bastard, was so predictable, docking his ship so he didn’t have to struggle with climbing in and out of a longboat.

“You were right, Capt’n,” Sam said. “T’ey did come to ’Avana.”

“Lynch knew this is where I planned to head. Whether Mather has Miss McCoy is irrelevant. We’d come for Henri and this is where they would find the best chance to destroy me.”

But Gilly wasn’t irrelevant to him. Drake promised her sanctuary from Mather. He failed. He would find her and give her the refuge she deserved. Once safe, he would disappear from her life. She would be free to forget all about him. And then he would shoulder another curse as he would never be able to forget about her.

Sam rowed Drake, Valeryn and two other lads to the pier.

“What are your plans to get Henri back?” Valeryn asked.

“We’ll ask politely. If that doesn’t do it, cut them into pound pieces, we will.”

“Ho!” Valeryn cheered. “Here’s to a rude tongue.”

Movement stirred out the corner of Drake’s eye. He snatched at his gulley knife and slung it toward a stack of crates. A miscreant pointing a flintlock at them stumbled from the shadows. He looked down at the blade stuck into his chest, and tried to take aim before folding to the ground.

“One o’ Lynch’s men?” Sam asked.

Drake stood over the man and retrieved his knife. “He’s Spanish. A local.”

A shot rang out. Wood from a crate splintered, raining shards on the group. Their flintlocks drawn, Drake and his men searched for the bullet’s source. Valeryn pulled off a shot, hitting his mark. The man, grabbing at his thigh, hurriedly hobbled for his life. Sam began to follow, but Drake stayed him.

“Let him go. Barker, Dawson, you two scour the docks for witless vermin. We’ve a bounty on us and I can’t be having such distraction.”

Drake scanned the quay, assessing hiding places for assassins.

“Lynch didn’t do this,” Valeryn said.

“No. Mather did.” Drake tucked his knife back under his belt. “Come. Let us retrieve Henri. Then we go hunting. I have a heart to cleave asunder.”

* * *

Drake strode up the plank to the
Alligator,
raising his pistol as Lynch ducked out of the hatch door of the ship’s interior. Valeryn and Sam pulled their weapons on Lynch’s cohorts.

“Where’s Henri and the girl?” Drake demanded.

“I thought I heard gunfire. Good day to ya, Drake.” Lynch’s cheery tone did not reflect the surprise on his mug.

“You’ve done something most unwise, Lynch.”

“That I have, lad.” His eyes traveled the length of the pistol until they met with Drake’s. “Not for takin’ the lass, mind ya. I’d do it again if I had the chance. She’s a pullet worth mauraudin’ a
pirate
for.”

“You honor me.”

“If you call bein’ listed in the service of the devil an honor,” Lynch retorted. “Alas, my blunder came by trustin’ that traitorous thrice-damned villain, Mather. The bastard hoodwinked me, he did.”

“Explain.”

“He’s plannin’ to sell off your doxy. Wants her to sing for a man they called Diaz.”

Drake felt as if someone smashed a battering ram into his gut. Mather intended to sell his woman to his most hated enemy, Machete.

“Heaven almighty,” Valeryn said.

“As motivation, I’m to bring Henri. Mather’s threatened to kill him if she didn’t win over this fella.”

Lynch reached to move Drake’s pistol from his face, apparently thinking they’d gone beyond the immediate precipice. Drake shook his head, a warning not to touch his gun. Lynch wisely yielded.

“Fool me once, but I ain’t goin’ to be fooled twice. That bastard’ll put a price on me head, too, as soon as I’m done doin’ his biddin’.”

“Doesn’t look good for you, Lynch.”

“Nay, and that’s why I was releasin’ your squab barbecue and settin’ sail.” He waved over at the hatch. Jamison swung open the door and out hobbled Henri, grumbling and grousing with every step.

“What took ya fellas so long?” Henri scolded. “Did ya get lost, ya ungrateful tarry-breeks?”

Drake stifled a smile and nodded to Sam who threw the crusty crab a flask of rum. For an old man, Henri was quite spry catching the flask in midair.

“I’m leavin’ this fight to you, Drake,” Lynch said. “They’re at El Trovador
.
You’ll need ta hurry. She’s to sing in a half glass.”

“You and I, we can settle our differences another day,” Drake said. He removed his pistol from Lynch’s face. The conch visibly relaxed.

“I look forward to it.”

Drake and his men disembarked the
Alligator,
all the while listening to Henri grumble about thieving chickens.

“That lass is a real gem, Drake,” Henri added. “We can’t be lettin’ her down.”

Drake had thought of little else since he left Gilly crying in her bed three nights ago. The guilt corroding his black heart hurt, physically hurt. It was purely selfish, but he had to ease the pain gnawing away at his sanity. He had to rescue Gilly and set her free so he could go on about his miserable life again.

“We won’t, Henri, but you’re too hurt to help.” He held up a hand as Henri began to protest. “Don’t argue. There’s a fresh jug of bumbo waiting for you on board.”

Henri lit up. “Bumbo? That sweet rum will have me dancin’ a jig by t’night!”

“Sam, help Henri to the ship,” Drake said. “Wait for us there.

* * *

Drake and Valeryn walked to the tavern without incident. ’Twas good. Drake couldn’t afford the delay of dispatching another assassin. As expected, the popular Trovador had many customers. Every one of them had their attention focused on the woman with the angelic voice.

Gilly took his breath away. She glowed brighter than the torch lights illuminating the stage. The blue gown she wore shimmered more beautifully than the morning light skipping across the turquoise sea. Golden ringlets cascaded down her shoulders, resting on the rise and fall of her bosom as she sang. The lithe sway of her hips and graceful turns of her wrists could bring the gods to their knees.

Granting her mesmerizing performance, he didn’t fail to notice her purple bag still hung from her wrist.

Her beauty was beyond compare, and with her rich voice, Machete would certainly pay Mather’s price. He scanned the crowd until he spied Machete and Mather. They sat at a table off to the side of the stage surrounded by cronies. Drake cracked his knuckles. The need to rush the stage and sweep her away scratched against his advisable reasoning.

Gilly’s song ended and the tavern erupted in applause. A surprised, somewhat shy smile beamed from Gilly, as if she had never been greeted with such gaiety from an audience.

There was that unexpected, rare feeling again—pride. Drake swelled with pride for his songbird. If only he could hold her in his arms and kiss those sweet lips.

“Another! Another!”

Machete stood at his table encouraging Gilly to sing more. She looked to her right to someone offstage, nodded and began again, this time with a livelier tune.

Drake elbowed Valeryn. “There’s Quint, behind the curtain.” Captain Joelle Quint poked her head around the heavy drape and studied the room.

“Uh-oh. Do you think she’s still angry at us?”

“More you than I, brother,” Drake said.

Once she spotted them, she didn’t break her stare. In fact, he could have sworn she tossed daggers at them with her eyes.

“I don’t think either of us is safe, Drake.”

Quint ducked back behind the curtain. “What is she up to?”

“Planning our deaths, no doubt,” Valeryn muttered.

He couldn’t be concerned with Quint or her retaliations. Not while Gilly’s well-being was at stake. Machete had a superior grin on his ugly mug and he tapped his hand on his knee along to Gilly’s song. The bastard was enjoying her way too much.

“Let’s go join our would-be business associates.”

Valeryn nodded. “Trouble. We just can’t deny you.”

That was one reason why V was his best mate. He loved a good feud just as much as Drake. Together, they fought their enemies back to back, anticipating each other’s moves without ever uttering a word. Besting their foes often came quick.

They walked the perimeter of the room. Machete and Mather sat with their backs to them, and three of Machete’s men stood on guard beside the table. All had their eyes on Gilly. That lumbering offal of Mather’s must be near Gilly for Drake couldn’t locate him. ’Twould be tricky, but Drake planned to taunt Machete with his chandelier. Anger him by flaunting his expensive French furnishings and forcing him into making a deal with Drake. Machete would be enraged and so busy arranging Drake’s demise, he would forget all about Mather and Gilly. And if Mather used Gilly against Drake, which he most certainly would, well then things would get ugly and blood would spill.

Drake nodded to Bobadilla as they walked past.

“
Evite toda pelea,
Señor Drake,” the barkeep said.

Why was it every tavern owner thought Drake would start a fight?
“Haré todo lo posible, amigo.”

Valeryn chuckled. “Somehow I don’t think trying your best will keep us from a fight.”

“I’m afraid you’re right. But Bobadilla doesn’t need to be privy.”

A swarthy brute stepped directly in Drake’s path. “If it ain’t the distinguished Capt’n Drake and his scurvy knave.”

Drake sensed Valeryn tense and a low growl rumbled from his friend. The two men stared hard at one another and the air seemed to crackle with the tension. “How goes it, Sancho?” Drake said.

“Yes, Sancho, how goes it?” Valeryn’s tone was steeped in hatred.

Captain Quint’s first mate crossed his arms over the bulk of his chest. “Ya got a bounty on ya.”

“We all do, don’t we?”

“Capt’n Jo wants ya to leave.”

“That’s not going to happen, now is it? You know it and Quint knows it.” Drake tipped his chin toward the stage. “What’s she up to, Sancho? What’s she doing with the girl?”

“I ain’t tellin’. But I will say she’s pretty damned sore at ya. Ya should’ve never deceived her, the both of ya.”

It had been a truly wicked act, but one born of opportunity. Captain Quint was to meet with a Dutch merchant about tracking down one of his ships whose crew had mutinied. Valeryn had Quint occupied in her bed and Drake stole the commission out from under her. It may have been a dirty trick on his part, but not Valeryn’s. Valeryn and Quint were lovers, had been for years. Valeryn had merely failed to tell her Drake intended to take her assignment. He didn’t blame her for seeking vengeance.

“’Twas only business,” Drake said. “She would have done the same had she met with the chance.”

“I’d collect the bounty on ya if Capt’n Jo would let me.”

“Have you finally managed to tup your captain, Sancho?” Valeryn bit out his words like poison. “Oh wait, she didn’t turn to you for comfort like you had hoped once she swore me off, did she? All those times you stood by her. All these years of doing her bidding, and she still won’t wrap her legs around you.” Sancho slowly uncrossed his arms, his hands balling into fists.

“Valeryn,” Drake warned.

“You won’t ever have her, ya swine.” Valeryn smiled. “But I will again. I will.”

Sancho struck Valeryn in the jaw, knocking him back a pace. Valeryn worked his chin and laughed before charging into the brute. They went down in a torrent of flying fists. Each man matched the other blow for blow.

Within moments, the entire tavern focused on the fighting men. Time seemed to slow as Drake locked eyes with Gilly. She faltered in voice, but like a bona fide performer, continued her song. A storm of emotion flashed across her face. Hurt? Hope? Fear? He wanted to rush to the stage and cradle her in his arms. Aye. That was what he would do. He took a step forward. Valeryn hopped up from the floor in front of him and Sancho followed. Blood pooled from Valeryn’s mouth and the cut above his left eye. Sancho fared no better as his now askew nose dripped with blood. Yet that didn’t deter the lads from pummeling one another.

Machete and Mather stood. Neither expressed happiness to see Drake. Machete pointed a finger at him, sending two of his cronies Drake’s way. The next moments unfolded in a whirlwind of action. Quint darted from her hidden spot, snatching Gilly’s arm in an attempt to make a getaway. Mather pulled his pistol on the women, barking at them to stop. His face lurched in an angry twitch and he pressed his gun into Gilly’s side. Machete joined him, speaking wildly with his hands. Turk then appeared at a side door holding it open. Machete wrapped his dirty hand around Gilly’s arm and tugged her along.