Captain Garreth scowled at his crew and sneered at their cowering. They were clustered close together on the dock, their eyes darting between him and his ship, the Merry Devil. At this late hour, they ought to be on that ship. Each and every one looked ready to soil themselves or flee. Garreth’s reddening face and rising voice made some flinch and others cringe away from him. “What d’you mean the spirit o’ John Silver is on board and demandin’ I return his journal?”
“It’s jus’ like we said Cap’n.” Matilda spoke up, her voice tight with restraint. At barely five feet tall, she was the smallest bosun Garreth had ever sailed with, but more than once the Reaver captain had watched her hurl men three times her weight across a tavern, street, or deck. Now, however, she stood before him sweating as if feverish, except her brown face had a distinct pallor untouched by flush. “We heard a noise down in the hold, went to investigate, and there was a flash—”
Riley cut her off. “Fires From Hell itself! From Davey Jones’ Locker!” The lad was young, new to the crew, and very excitable, but for once no one was silencing him. Some nodded in agreement.
Garreth dragged a palm down his face and took a deep breath. “Riley.” His voice started as a low guttural growl and rose in volume with each word. “There are no flames in Davey! Jones’! LOCKER! Damned fool. Alla ya! Buncher lily livered fools! Thar ain’t no such thing as spirits without a body. Undead, aye, plenty o’ those on the Sea of Dreams, but I’ve sailed these waters nigh on thirty years, and I ain’t yet heard of a ghost outside a drunken fool’s story. Never mind seen one.”
“But Captain. . .” Matilda’s protest died on her lips, though she didn’t drop her gaze as he glowered at her.
“Enough. I heard yer fool’s tales once already.” Garreth’s coarse low voice took on a mocking falsetto. “‘It’s the spirit o’ Long John Silver Cap’n. ‘E wants his journal Cap’n!’” He dropped the falsetto. “Great roaring green flames shrieking throughout the hold and extinguishing every lantern, ya said! Does that ship look like it’s on fire?!” Garreth jabbed a finger at the Merry Devil bobbing peacefully beside the moonlit dock. Only the lanterns above deck remained alight. “Are you lot cold-blooded Reavers or rot-brained Bilge Rats!?”
The crew squirmed under this verbal assault. Even Matilda was unable to meet his fierce gaze at that moment. “Pathetic. The whole lotta ya! Outta my way. I’ll deal with this ‘spirit’ meself.”
Leaving his half-panicked crew behind, Garreth strode up the gangplank to the Merry Devil’s deck, muttering to himself as he went. “Never a bead o’ sweat facin’ a skele galleon. No limp spines fightin’ off a full crew of the cursed undead. No, not then, but one hint of a ghost, and they all go yellow on me. Bah. Bunch o’ fools.” Feigning more confidence than he felt, he bellowed to bolster his nerve. “Ain’t no such thing as ghosts!”
Reaching the main mast’s base, Garreth paused, his dark eyes sweeping up and down the silent deck. A cool breeze swept through the salty night air. Above fluttered a flag with a laughing horned skull. Timbers creaked quietly at his heavy slow stride. Bright light from a full moon gleamed off dark gently lapping waves.
“Well? Where’s the spirit that’s got you all actin’ as spineless as a buncher jellyfish eh? You hear me spirit!? Show yourself!” Garreth stalked toward the prow with its rattling figurehead of a caged skeleton. He had captured the creature years ago by luck more than intent. Pace steady, Garreth circled back toward the stern taunting the spirit as he went. “Shy now spirit? You were bold enough to spook those fools I call a crew!”
“Goooo . . .” a voice moaned hauntingly from below. Instincts honed by years of pirating had Garreth’s clockwork pistol out and searching for a target before he could stop himself.
“There’s no such thing as a damned ghost, and I’m not going anywhere,” Garreth growled as he eyed the stairs leading down into the dark hold. The ‘spirit’ had extinguished every lantern with its strange green flames, according to his trembling crew. “This is my ship damn you, and the Red Blade of the Reavers runs from no one and nothing! D’ya hear me spirit?!? Nothing and no one!”
As he railed, Garreth took up a bright deck lantern in one hand, holstered his pistol, then drew Mercy’s Kiss from her sheath. Even in moonlight, there was no mistaking the hellish crimson hue of that legendary blade. Shoving his whispering fears away, Garreth marched down into the pitch-black belly of the ship.
“Know what I think ‘spirit’?” He spat the word as his lantern’s flame offered a paltry illumination of the large, well-stocked hold. “I think yer some landlubber with a fancy trick or two and a knack fer throwin’ yer voice. I think,” Garreth savored his next growling words, “I’m goin’ teh kill you slow for spoilin’ my first evenin’ at port in three months.”
Garreth’s threats were more than an expression of his anger. They were a calculated attack on his trespasser’s nerves, as were the heavy thudding steps with which he moved to begin his search. Green fires blossomed through the air, enveloping Garreth and his lantern, then vanished just as quickly. “Anu’s Mercy!” He cursed at the spectral flames, then cursed again at his now dark lantern.
A croaking shrill voice followed Garreth’s retreat back to the moonlit stairs. “I don’t want you, Reaver.” It sounded as if it was right in front of him, and he hurled the lantern in that direction. Metal rattled against wood as it rolled noisily to a stop. Again that rasping voice rose from shadow, this time from behind him, beyond the stairs. “I want my journal.” Garreth spun, searching for a source as he took a single reflexive step away from the deck stairs. From behind again, closer than before, it spoke in a harsh whisper. “My journal or your soul, pirate.”
Again Garreth whirled around, putting his back to the stairs once more as he slashed at empty air and black shadows. In his retreat toward the moonlight, his boot’s heel caught the edge of the first step, and he fell hard. A mad cackle filled the hold, stoking his anger as his cheeks burned with wounded pride. When the thing spoke again, it sounded as if it were whispering right into his ear. “Choose.” Heat and color drained from his face in a heartbeat as his blood ran cold.
Garreth cursed as he swung his blade again. Again Mercy’s Kiss struck nothing, but he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Swift as a bullet, the trespasser’s figure was little more than a flicker of movement, a shadow among shadows. It vanished amid the crates and barrels of supplies retreating further into the darkness, but that little hint was all Garreth needed to finally dismiss his nagging fear that maybe it really was a ghost.
“Quick thing aren’t you. And stealthy. I’ll give you that, but yer no spirit. A spirit wouldn’t need to hide from me in the shadows. A spirit wouldn’t need to retreat from Mercy’s Kiss.” Garreth got back to his feet as he spoke. John Silver’s journal had been in his possession over a month now. This was no vengeful spirit of a pirate legend. “Crew! Get down here, and help me search the hold! It’s no damn spirit! It’s a thief!”
The thief let out a blood-curdling keen and wailed. “I am no mortal thief Red Blade of the Reavers! I will have my journal back or have my revenge on you and any soul who sets foot on this ship!”
Garreth shuddered at that shriek. It elicited a primitive urge to run, and he growled as he shoved the feeling away. “Quit yer keenin’ thief. You’re clever. I’ll grant that for scarin’ them into stayin’ put wit’ a threat like that. Begs the question though, don’t it. Why’s someone so clever doin’ somethin’ as stupid as tryin’ to steal from the likes o’ me.”
“I am—” The haunting protest was cut short.
“Belay that spirit nonsense! There’s no doubt in my mind now that you’re flesh and blood, same as me. So talk! It’s your best chance of walking off this ship alive.” It was no chance at all, not really, but luring this trespasser out was a more efficient means of ending this confrontation than trying to hunt through the shadowy hold alone for someone so stealthy and quick.
“Alive. Really?” Sarcasm dripped from a voice no longer shrill and rasping, but low and feminine. The first word sounded almost directly in front of him, but the second came from far behind.
“Fine little trick, throwin’ yer voice around like that, and I don’t blame ya fer doubtin’ me, but do ya really have any other options? Sure, you might open a gunport hatch. Might seem a good idea, jumpin’ out that way, but those latches are tough to open. And noisy. Heh. I’ll wager ya can’t throw the sound of them around as easy as you do that voice o’ yers.”
“A wager you’d win. Captain.” There was almost a reverential tone in that title.
“So talk. Let’s start with your name.” Though he created the appearance of relaxing his posture at the foot of the stairs, Garreth remained alert, blade ready.
“. . . It’s Elisa.”
“Elisa. Pretty name. I knew an Elisa once. Fiery woman.” For a moment, his thoughts drifted back to the young lass and her stubborn refusals of his advances.
“It was my mother’s name.” Elisa’s voice pulled him back from bright memories to the shadowy present.
“Was it now?” Squint as he might against the shadows cloaking every cannon, crate, and barrel, the darkness remained as stubbornly impenetrable to Garreth as the woman in his memory.
“She told me stories about you and my father, and your crew. Your adventures.” Again that hint of reverence, of hero-worship, this time unmistakable.
Garreth grinned in genuine pleasure even as he considered how to turn such feelings to his advantage. “Then ya know me well. Well enough, I’d imagine, teh know yer not leavin’ this ship alive wit’out my blessin’.” After a moment’s consideration, he relaxed his posture further, leaning against a floor-to-deck support beam that was part of the stairs. With an air of idleness, he studied the moonlight gleaming off the flat of Mercy’s Kiss and angled the blade slowly to sweep the faint little ruddy beam about the hold. It revealed nothing except a confirmation his eyes were nearly adjusted to the gloom.
“I know you.” Cold anger clung to each word. “I know you cheat at cards. I know you claimed to love my mother.” Garreth bristled at her implication, but he held his tongue. It was a bitter reminder of his failure and of the man whom Elly had chosen over him, his former first mate Gideon. “I know it was you who gave my father his moniker, Gutrot Gideon. I know you don’t keep your word unless there’s something in it for you.” Her voice had settled in front of him, as if they were standing face to face in the little patch of moonlight though she remained well hidden. “And, I know my father died because of you.”
Garreth bristled and squared his broad shoulders as he came up out of his feigned posture. “His Death Weren’t MY Fault! I did Everything I could to save Gideon! I put down a mutiny tryin’ to save him!” Guilt and loss fueled his wrath. “I kept my word to Elly!”
Hot breaths raised and dropped his deep chest in a swift rhythm. She had never spoken to him again after her husband’s death. Elly. The bitter sorrow wrapped up in her memory doused his anger. “I told her, I tried. I did everything I could. I never lied to her. Never.”
“Perhaps . . .” There was the slimmest measure of acceptance in that one word. “Regardless, I need that journal. Will you give it to me? Repayment for the precious lives lost because of your failure?”
For a moment sorrow and disbelief were all Garreth knew. “Lives? Elly . . . she . . . ” Of course she’s dead. It had been over fifteen years since Gideon’s death. Drowning in memories and emotions he had not felt in a decade, Garreth almost gave the offer serious consideration. Almost.
Gold and glory reasserted their grip on his soul as he pushed away the question of how the woman he’d loved had died. How didn’t matter. She was gone. “Nay. Tha’s a dirty card teh play even by my low standards. Yeh ought to be ashamed to use the memory of yer parents like that.”
“They’re dead because of you. I doubt they’d take offense.” Elisa snapped from the sheltering shadows.
“Nay! I don’t accept that!” Once more Garreth’s bellowing voice filled the hold. “I did everything I could! If you want teh blame somebody, blame the damned naval officer what sunk his ship!”
“I blame both of you!” It was the loudest Garreth had heard from her since she’d stopped pretending to be a ghost. Green flames blossomed anew, lighting the black hold with a sickle hue before vanishing once more. Garreth cursed and shut his eyes too late as he swung blindly to defend the staircase, but she made no escape attempt. She had spoiled his vision from adjusting to the dark.
“Blasted girl!” Garreth cursed as he rubbed the spots from his eyes between blinks. “I’m not givin’ ya the damned journal, but I will let ya leave alive, for your dear mother’s memory, and your father’s. He was a good man, a fine pirate, and the best friend I e’er had.” As he made the offer, Garreth sheathed Mercy’s Kiss at his hip.
“Not good enough. Lord Blue won’t accept failure.”
“I gave that scurvy pompous Bilge Rat a price.” Garreth sneered.
“5,000 bars of gold. A ridiculous price.” Elisa snapped. “There isn’t that much gold on the whole island!” Stubborn as her mother, Garreth thought. He didn’t relish the idea, but his gut was telling him this was going to come to violence sooner or later. He preferred sooner and on his terms if possible.
Amusement mingled with bravado and greed in Garreth’s answer. “Aye. A ridiculous price, because I’d no intention o’ sellin’ it. I mean teh have that treasure fer meself. Blue’s more of a fool than I thought, thinkin’ I’d leave somethin’ so precious lyin’ around on me ship where any good thief might find it.” He patted a hidden pocket on the inside of his coat. A ruse. The Journal was locked away in a hidden hatch in his quarters.
Waves lapped at the ship and, try as he might, Garreth could not hear her footsteps though her voice came clear enough from somewhere ahead of him. “You have it on you? Well, that makes this easy then. Fighting’s not my first choice, but I can fight when I have to.” Anticipation, almost eagerness, made Garreth suspect this was not an entirely accurate claim. That, and how well he’d known both her parents.
Garreth smirked as he drew Mercy’s Kiss once more. “Ha ha haa! You can fight can you?! But, can you win, my stealthy lass?” Even if her confidence is not empty arrogance, Garreth thought, she’s young, and the young are easily baited, riled, and bested. “I’m not called the Red Blade o’ the Reavers just because of Mercy’s color—”
Out from the shadows in front of him, Elisa lunged forward her speed catching him by surprise despite him expecting an attack. For an instant, he caught sight of her in the moonlight. From head to toe she was dressed in black, a thin dark strip of veil obscured her eyes, and her long, straight sword was coated in a dark substance to hide the gleaming length.
Garreth grunted as he swept her blade aside with a hasty parry. Metal rang against metal. Before he could counter attack, she vanished, retreating back into the deeper shadows. “Lunge and retreat?! Is that yer plan?” He spat as if disgusted by the tactic, but in truth he appreciated the pragmatism and cleverness of it. This woman was playing to her strengths: speed and stealth. Had she not spoiled his adjusting vision with those green flames once more, he might have pursued her into the darkness. Instead, he remained close to the stairs, bathed in a small pool of moonlight and surrounded by black shadows.
Elisa’s tone was mocking, not yet taking his bait. “Are you really complaining because I won’t fight you fair? Pirate.” She spat the last word from somewhere off to Garreth’s right.
This sort of banter—how many times had he and Gideon sparred with words as well as blades? There was bitter joy in the recollection, but he could not savor it now. Instead he answered her with a jovial tone. “Hahhaha! Complaining? Not at all.”
No hint of movement betrayed Elisa until she stepped under the moonlight. This time, she struck from his right, the same direction her voice had come from. She was no longer bothering to throw her voice. Mercy’s Kiss flew upward in a parry struggling to match her speed. Garreth growled and slashed in a downward stroke, but it whistled harmlessly through the air, too slow to prevent his opponent’s swift retreat.
Garreth cursed in frustration. She might as well be invisible for all that he could see when she stepped out of his little moonlit arena. “You’re not going to win this fight just lunging out of one shadow and into another, little girl,” he snarled, and inwardly winced. He was supposed to be riling her up, not the other way around!
Silence broken only by creaking timbers and lapping waves laid siege to Garreth’s ears as he strained for any hint of movement, any small sound or shifting shadow. “I can dance wit’ ya all night, if that’s ‘ow you want it girl.” He shifted his stance in a slow semicircle with his back to the stairs. Silence. “Yer tryin’ my patience lass. My goodwill toward yer parents will only stretch so far.” Nothing. She was giving him no hints this time where her attack would come from.
Instinct alone sent him in a swift turn. Keen red metal forced Elisa’s blackened steel deep into the wooden support post. Garreth grinned, thinking her stuck. His grin vanished when she pulled her weapon free into a rough slash that forced Mercy’s Kiss far to one side. There was no way to parry from that position as she reversed her swing, angling to slice his throat wide.
However, the Reaver captain had been brawling and fighting longer than the young thief had been drawing breath. He didn’t need to parry with Mercy’s Kiss. With his free hand, he launched a vicious uppercut that caught Elisa squarely under her chin. She fell backward stunned. Sturdy wooden boards knocked the wind out of her.
Grinning in victory, Garreth pursued finally leaving the moonlit stairs unguarded. A swift kick sent Elisa’s weapon skittering across the floorboards as Mercy’s Kiss found her throat through thick layers of black cloth. A heavy boot on her chest was added for good measure. “Not bad fer a youngster,” he drawled thoughtfully as his heart slowed. “If I’d been a little slower or you a little more experienced . . . well. I’ll admit it. Why not? I’d be the one on the floor, and I’d be dead . . .” The reality of it made him pause for a moment despite his cavalier tone, and he tugged off Elisa’s head wrap only to regret his curiosity a moment later.
She had the same red curls as her namesake. Though they were tightly braided at present, Garreth was certain they were a glorious mane of color when loosed. His mouth felt suddenly dry as he stared down at her freckled face. “Tell me something Elly—” He bit the name back, correcting it swiftly. “Elisa. Why’re you working fer the likes o’ Lord Blue?”
“Blue has my sister,” Elisa grunted. Her hands clutched at the ankle of his tall sturdy boot in a vain effort to ease the pressure on her chest. She had Gideon’s strong straight nose and his wide mouth and thin lips, but the eyes were entirely from her mother.
As Garreth rambled, he tried to gather his wits. “Does he now? Fancy that. Yer father never told me he had a second child.” Unbidden, a memory of Elly holding her baby girl filled his mind. Elly’s baby girl . . . this woman, whose throat he had a blade to, but he withdrew Mercy only a fraction as he fought off unfamiliar waves of emotion. This woman was not that baby girl anymore, and she was every bit as dangerous as her father had been, but without his love or loyalty toward Garreth.
“She’s my half sister. Both of our mothers are dead.” Elisa growled.
“That lyin’—” Garreth cut himself off and took a deep breath. “I’ll ’ave to ‘ave a few words wit’ yer pa after I’ve met my end. Yer both orphans then, and Blue took an interest in ya?” He studied her as she struggled to breathe, and he tried not to let the ship’s movement affect the weight he was putting on her. “Not ‘ard to see why. Yer good wit’ that blade. Quick on yer feet, clever enough to fool a ship o’ experienced pirates, and to top it all off, yer stealthier than a cat creepin’ up on a mouse. Tell me, young Miss Elisa . . . what would you say to double crossing Lord Blue?” A plan was coming together in Garreth’s mind.
“He has my sister!” Elisa strained to free herself, but a prick from Mercy’s Kiss halted her efforts.
“Aye. You said that before. What if ’e didn’t ’ave yer sister?” At that question, Elisa’s frown made Garreth smirk a little as he eased a fraction of his weight off her.
Her chest rose sharply as she sucked in a small breath. “Are you . . . offering to help me free her?” Even in the faint silvery light, he could see some of the strain ease from her face.
“Aye, but it’s no charity. I’ve me own interests in that Bilge Rat’s fortress of a house. Blue has something I need, so ya can trust me word on the offer.”
“The Serpent’s Fang.” Slowly, Elisa let go of his ankle, and in return Garreth eased his weight off until his boot was simply resting on her chest.
“Aye. The Serpent’s Fang, the key to John Silver’s hidden vault.” Dreams of treasure and glory made Garreth grin broadly. “The key to the greatest treasure hoard ever gathered in all the world. You got the idea now, yeah?”
“You’ll help me free Rose if I help you get the Fang.” Elisa’s reply was hesitant and heavy with distrust, but the flicker of hope in her eyes was unmistakable. Elly had looked at him like that when he’d promised to look after Gideon.
It wasn’t easy to stop his voice cracking, but somehow Garreth kept his tone easy and confident. “Tha’s right. Some of my crew will get yer sister loose. Rescuin’ her will be a fine distraction. And, while Blue is off chasin’ them, or at least a good few of his guards are, you’ll ‘elp me get inside. I’ll take both of ya wit’ me and far enough Blue won’t bother chasin’ ya down. So. Do we ’ave a deal?” Stepping back to let her up, Garreth offered Elisa his hand.
For a moment she simply stared at him, her gaze flicking from his hand to his face. Garreth was certain she was weighing the risk to herself and her sister against the chance for freedom. Maybe even she was remembering some of the stories her mother had told her. Then, she grasped his rough hand in her gloved one. “Aye Captain. We have a deal.”
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