Deadmen Walking Page 2

  She cleared her throat and met the captain’s gaze levelly. “I was told that you’re Captain Bane?”

  Without confirming it, the one she was sure was he brushed his thumb over his bottom lip. “Why do you seek the good captain?”

  “I was told that he … or you, rather, were part of the salvage for the Plate Fleet that went down?”

  His mate stood and, with his sword, forced her to step back. “We know nothing of what you speak.”

  Too late, she realized that they probably mistook her for one of the king’s pirate hunters who’d been tasked with going after the raiders of the sunken ships and their cargos. “It’s not what you’re thinking. Me brother was on one of the ships.”

  Bane reached out to touch the man’s hand and force the point of his companion’s sword toward the floor. “And?”

  “I was told he went down with his ship.” She choked on her tears that threatened to overwhelm her. Ever since she’d heard about her brother’s fate, she’d been unable to cope. Unable to breathe. Not after all the two of them had been through together. “Please. I have to know the truth.”

  The wigged man spoke with a degree of sympathy in his voice. “Only one ship made it out.”

  “Aye,” she whispered. “The Griffon. He wasn’t on that one. His ship was the San Miguel. He was the captain of it … Patrick Jack.”

  Bane’s gaze softened. “Sorry. The captain didn’t make it out.”

  As they began to ignore her, it angered her to be dismissed so casually, and Cameron stepped forward again. “If what you say is true, then can you explain this to me.” She tossed the bit of salvage that had been delivered to her door with a note from her brother.

  It skidded across the table to land beneath the candle in front of Bane.

  He and his companions froze for a full minute as she held her breath, waiting.

  It was a worthless trinket that made no sense whatsoever. A strange bit of a charm designed in the shape of an ornate cup, with a pair of wings rising over the rim and a stake with ribbons that fell from the bottom of it. And marked with a fleur-de-lis in the center of its bowl. While it was pretty enough, she had no idea why her brother would have sent such to her. Why he would even bother.

  Never mind anyone else. It would be all kinds of cruel were it a hoax.

  The captain scowled at the necklace charm, but made no move to touch it. “Is this supposed to mean something to me?”

  She shrugged. “No idea.” Slowly, she approached the table and held out the note that had been wrapped and sealed around the item. “This was what he used to hold it and send it to me.”

  Bane took the crumpled parchment from her hand and read it. The letter was simple and heartbreaking. One she’d committed to memory.

  Cam,

  Forgive me for leaving you as I have. Know that me loyalty is with you. Always. Listen not to anyone. Keep your weather eye to the horizon and this to your bosom. Tell no one that you have it. Not even Lettice. Trust none at your back.

  Ever yours,

  P.J.

  With a gruff countenance, Bane returned it to her. Again without touching her or the necklace charm. “And so what’s the first thing you do with this?” he mocked.

  He was right. She’d done exactly what her brother had instructed her not to do—she’d handed it over to someone she didn’t know. “True, but I have to find me brother, sir.” She turned the letter around and pointed to the top of it. “Note the date. It’s months after they went down, and he supposedly drowned by all accounts. Yet if he drowned, how did he send it to me?”

  A peculiar light flickered in Bane’s dark eyes. One that made them appear almost red in the candlelight. Surely an optical illusion of some kind. “Who told you to come here?”

  “A witch-woman named Menyara. She said that you’d be able to help me find me brother.”

  He let out a fetid curse under his breath. It was so foul and guttural that it caused the man on his left to snap to his feet and step away from him, as if fearing an imminent attack of some sort from his captain.

  “Who’s Menyara?” the man asked.

  A tic started in Bane’s jaw. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answered, Will. And pray to your God that you never meet that bitch.” With a dark, deadly grimace, he finally took her trinket into his hand to examine it more closely.

  His expression unreadable, Bane met her gaze. “Did she see this?”

  “Nay. Only the letter.”

  “Why did you show it to me, then?”

  “I … I’m not sure.”

  He flipped the trinket through his fingers several times while Will slowly returned to his seat.

  “What are you thinking, Captain?” the one in the wig asked.

  “All kinds of folly.” He paused to meet the man’s curious gaze. “I commend her to you, Mr. Meers. Take her to the ship.”

  “Beg pardon?” He scowled fiercely. “What she be this?”

  The captain screwed his face up at him. “Are you dafter than a doornail, son? Our little Cameron Jack here be a lass as sure as I be your devil’s bastard seed.”

  Both of his companions gaped at him, then her.

  And she returned their slack-jawed stares without blinking or flinching. “How did you know that?” No one could ever tell she was female whenever she disguised herself as a lad. It was a ploy she’d been using ever since her parents had orphaned them when she was a small girl. A ruse Patrick had insisted on to keep her safe from harm, and under his nose so that he could watch after her.

  Bane scoffed as he reached for his ale. “Never try to fool the devil, love. I can see right through you. Besides, no man has an ass that fine. If he did, he’d serve to be changing my religion on certain things.” He took a deep drink, then inclined his head to his companion. “See her to the ship, Bart.”

  Bart hesitated. “Are you sure about that?”

  “Aye, and settle her in private quarters for now. Make sure the others know to leave her in peace or face my full wrath.”

  Bart saluted him. “Aye, sir.”

  “And Mr. Meers?”

  He paused to look back with an arched brow.

  “I expect on my arrival to the ship to find the lass as virginal after parting your company as she is on leaving mine right now.”

  Bart let out an irritated growl. “I hate you, Bane. You live only to suck all the joy out of me death, don’t you?”

  He snorted. “Pray that joy is the only thing I ever strive to divest from you, my friend. The day I seek greater entertainment than that is the day you should live in absolute terror of.”

  “Duly noted, and me testicles have adequately shriveled back into me body so as to pose positively no threat whatsoever to the fair maiden in boy’s clothing.”

  “Good man.”

  “Eunuch, you mean.”

  “And well you should remain, lest I make that condition a permanent one.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  Terrified by the thought of being alone with them and their crew, but too desperate to let her fear interfere with her need to find her brother, Cameron reached for her letter and medallion, praying with everything she had that this wasn’t a mistake.

  Please God, protect me.

  Swallowing in nervous apprehension, she nodded, tucked away her possessions, then followed the captain’s mate.

  Devyl sat back to watch them leave. He cut his gaze toward his quartermaster. “What?” he snapped at Will.

  “As I value me own testicles … not saying a single word, Captain. Just sitting here, nursing me rum.” He held it up pointedly before he took a swig.

  Devyl snorted at him. “Hope you find more courage than that for the task we have ahead of us.”

  “No fear there. Have more than me fair share. But you forget that I’ve seen you in a fight. And I’m neither fool nor drunk enough to think I can take you. Besides, you cheat and bite.”

  Those words pulled a rare laugh from Devyl. It was one of the reasons why he’d chosen Will as his quartermaster. Unlike the rest of his crew, Will was unflappable and bolder than he should be. He maintained his composure, good nature, and calm rationale under even the most harrowing of events. And he did so with a biting sense of sarcasm and gallows humor.

  More than that, Will was as courageous as stated. Courage mitigated only by a sound ability to reason and measure the merits of confrontation.

  Aye, William Death was one of the best men Devyl had ever fought with. It would be an honor to die by his side instead of the way Devyl had been gutted before.…

  “Permission to speak freely, Captain?”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned back to pin a sinister glare on Will. “If you’ve the backbone for it. Go on.…”

  “Just wondering what mind you have to be bringing a human on board our bewitched ship.”

  “Did you get a look at what her brother sent her?”

  “The meaningless bauble?”

  Devyl scoffed. “And you’re the one who claims to be the faithful religious man between us.”

  “Meaning?”

  “That bauble, as you claim it, Mr. Death—”

  “Deeth,” Will corrected under his breath. It was ever his pet peeve that they didn’t pronounce his name with a long e as opposed to the way it was spelled. Though why his ancestor had chosen to be so antagonistic with either the spelling or pronunciation was anyone’s guess.

  “Death,” Devyl repeated incorrectly, as he was ever a cantankerous bastard, “is from the sword of St. Michael.”

  “Which one?”

  He reached to flip at the silver medallion that hung off a leather cord Will had wound about his left wrist. “That winged bastard creature you believe protects and watches over you.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I. But until I do, I thought it prudent to put her under our guard lest something foul decide to make her its next supper.”

  “And if that something foul proves to be a member of our crew?”

  Devyl allowed his eyes to flash to their natural red state. “They would have a bad day, indeed.… My mood, however, would be vastly improved by their act of blatant stupidity that would result in my natural retaliatory act of extreme and unholy violence.”

  And speaking of …

  The hairs on the back of his neck rose as he felt the hand of unsavory evil prowling toward the tavern.

  Scowling, Will glanced about. “Do you feel that?”

  “Aye. It’s come ashore as I said it would.” And headed for the largest gathering of victims … just as Devyl had also predicted.

  Meanwhile, the humans in the tavern went on, oblivious to the malignant force that was headed for them.

  Devyl rose, intending to keep them in their ignorance. But he only made it halfway to the door before it opened and three plat-eyes came in, wearing the skin of regular sailors.

  Will pulled up short behind him. “Sailors from the downed fleet?” he whispered in Devyl’s ear.

  Devyl gave a subtle nod as he debated how best to deal with the unholy bastards who’d come to feast on the innocent and take their souls back to feed their mistress. Part of being a bound Hellchaser was to let no one know that neither he nor Will had come to battle these demons.

  Unfortunately, the plat-eyes didn’t have a Code they were tied to. They passed an evil grin to one another, then went on a vicious attack that resulted in the three humans closest to them being ripped to shreds.

  Utter chaos exploded as the humans sought cover and escape.

  Devyl cursed as he was forced against the wall by the tidal wave of terrified humans who were hysterical over being trapped inside by inhuman predators. With their preternatural abilities, the plat-eyes had sealed the door so that no one could flee them.

  They thought to feast tonight.

  Groaning and shoving at a drunken male who was trying to reach a window, Will made it back to his side. “What do we do, sir? I can’t get near them for the crowd.”

  Devyl pulled his coat off with a flourish, then handed it to his quartermaster. “Have I ever said how much I detest the sound of screaming humanity?”

  “Really? Rumor has it, it was once your most cherished melody.”

  Hitting the release for his sling bow, Devyl passed an annoyed grimace to him. “Nay, the sweetest music to my ears has always been the death gurgle of an enemy slain at my feet as he gasps his last breath.” Completely calm, he loaded the small bolt and released it straight into the skull of the nearest plat-eye.

  The beast fell back and exploded into a black cloud.

  Stunned, the other two turned to gape at Devyl. Then they must have realized who and what they faced.

  Their eyes widened in unison before they shifted into wolf form and ran for the door.

  But Devyl’s power was greater than theirs and he held them inside.

  Will grinned. “That got their attention, Captain.”

  As soon as the plat-eyes realized they couldn’t escape, they shifted into their true hideous demonic bodies. Then they each split into three more beasts to attack.

  Will cursed. “Vulnerable spot?”

  “Between the eyes. Decapitation.” Devyl caught the first one to reach him and twisted his head off. “But it won’t kill them.”

  “Pardon?” Will visibly paled.

  He took out two more before he turned to face the man. “Creatures of vengeance and lapdogs. These are shadow manifestations.” He caught a fourth one with his knife and drove it straight through its skull. “To kill them for good, we have to find the bodies they assumed when they entered this realm and destroy them.”

  Will growled before he drew his sword and dispatched the one that came at his back. “I hate me job, Captain.”

  Devyl finished off the last, then quickly spread a compound of yew, salt, and ground jasper over the doorframe. That would keep more plat-eyes from coming inside to prey here again.

  Will retrieved Devyl’s coat and rushed to join him as the crowd began to realize the danger had passed. Now, they wanted answers neither of them was at liberty to give. And before the crowd could compose themselves further, Devyl and Will made a fast exit.

  Outside the tavern, the moon had turned an eerie bloodred, and clouds hung thick in the sky, making it even darker.

  Handing the coat to Devyl, Will grimaced. “So those are not the beasts we seek either?”

  Devyl shook his head as he shrugged his coat on. “They’re merely servants.”

  Will winced. “In our last few months together, I have seen unbelievable things that appear to have been spat out of hell itself. And I can’t help but wonder just what exactly does the Carian Gate hold back from this world, if we haven’t seen it yet?”

  Fastening his cuff, Devyl met his worried stare with a knowing smirk. “The most corrupt, horrifying evil that ever gurgled up from the farting arse of the cosmos.”

  “Lucifer?”

  He snorted and clapped Will on the back. “We should be so lucky. Nay, Mr. Death … what’s coming up from the sea makes Lucifer look like a petulant, harmless child.”

  Will crossed himself. “What exactly is it, then?”

  Devyl sobered at the memory as a wave of bitterness and fury washed over him and burned him to the core of his blackened and withered soul. “In short, Mr. Death … my ex-wife.”

  2

  Cameron had to struggle to keep up with Bart’s long, forceful strides that she was beginning to suspect he did apurpose just to wind her. “So how long have you served on Captain Bane’s crew?”

  He cursed her under his breath.

  Again.

  Honestly, she was beginning to develop a mental disorder over it. And an extreme case of paranoia.

  “How many of these questions do you plan to assault me with, lass?”

  “I know not. But I should like to have an answer to at least one of them … eventually. And before I die of frustration from it.”

  He ground his teeth so furiously that she could actually hear them gnashing together. “Would it perchance stop this aggravating deluge?”

  “Might quell it some.”

  Clasping his hands behind his back, Bart slowed as they finally approached the docks and gave her a sideways glare. While not as breathtaking as the captain, he was exceptionally handsome with those piercing eyes. “All of us are new to the ill-tempered captain’s company.

  He assembled our crew a few months ago.”

  “What happened to his old crew?”

  The moonlight cast spooky shadows over his sharp features, turning them sinister and cold. “There are many questions that are best left unasked, my lady. And that particular one definitely tops the list.”

  Perhaps, but it wasn’t in her nature to let things rest. “Did pirates kill them?”

  He gave her a sardonic smile.

  “They say he ate them.”

  Cameron jumped as a thickly accented French voice came out of the shadows next to her. With an undignified squeak, she rushed to the other side of Bart, who laughed at her actions.

  “Leave off the lass, Roach. Captain’s orders.”

  “Lass?”

  “Roach?” she asked in perfect synchronization with his question as the man stepped into the light so that she could see that he was a few years older than Bart. And quite a bit shorter.

  Nowhere near as fashionable in his dress, he had a simple linen cap and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, held there by a bit of leather cord. And while he had a neckerchief, the collar of his shirt had been left unbuttoned and open so that the cloth was wound about his neck and not his shirt. His brown gloves were as worn as the dark red waistcoat he left unbuttoned. But the most curious thing was the whip he had around his tan-colored breeches in place of a belt.

  Nor did he carry a sword. Rather, he had a baldric that secured a small double-headed hand-axe to his left hip. And now that he was closer, she realized he had flesh-colored vambraces.…

  Nay, not vambraces. They were cleverly disguised dagger sheaths, which was why his shirt was tied up at the sleeves. That allowed him access to the hilts that were on the inside of his forearm and tucked into the crook of his elbow.

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