Blacksouls Page 5

  Teach frowned as he altered their course a point and a half to the south. Daniel had been one of the livelier crew members and had had a penchant for jokes. “If we don’t make port soon, I fear we won’t have anyone left.” The supplies on the Deliverance were alarmingly low. One of the cannonballs had pierced the side of the ship, destroying valuable barrels of water for cooking and brandy for drinking, as well as their supply of salted beef.

  John’s eyes searched the horizon. “We can’t be that far off. It shouldn’t take us more than a few days to get there.”

  Drawing a deep breath, Teach nodded. It had already been three days since the attack, but to him it felt like twice that amount. “So long as we don’t encounter any storms . . .” His voice trailed off. They both knew the unpredictability of the seas.

  “We could always stop at one of the first islands we see. There are enough trees to repair the damage, an’ fresh water shouldn’t be too difficult to find.”

  “We can’t do that with the injured,” Teach said. “They need more help than any of us can provide and that help can only be found in Nassau. Any delay could cost more men their lives.” Teach had given their options serious thought. If there weren’t any wounded, he would be tempted to repair the ship and try to sell off what cargo they still had to the highest bidder. He could buy a smaller vessel to continue his search for Anne. But that was too risky and too many things could go wrong. The Providence was bound for Nassau, and Teach needed to get there as quickly as possible.

  “You should get some rest. I can take over for now,” John offered.

  “I think I’ll have another go at the chest,” Teach said. He still hadn’t found Anne’s chest of coins and wondered where Captain Murrell could have hidden it.

  “Have you asked Peter? I reckon he’d have an idea of where it is.”

  “Peter hasn’t spoken since the attack.”

  “Should we beat a call to quarters? That would draw him out an’ the coward couldn’t hide.”

  Teach shook his head, reaching automatically for the leather cords around his neck. Captain Murrell had been fond of the practice of beating the drums and causing the men to scurry and gather on deck. He’d said it was to practice in the event of an attack, but a lot of good that had done him. The minute those ships had appeared, Murrell had practically wet himself. “No, there’s no need. Let the men rest. I’ll find Peter and ask him myself.”

  “Do you think he’ll cause trouble for us when we get to Nassau?”

  Teach had wondered the same thing. “It will be his word against ours. If he does charge me with mutiny, it will be on him to provide enough evidence to support his claim.”

  John scoffed. “He’ll get no support from me or the crew. Don’t you worry none, Teach. We’ll get through this. And we’ll find Anne as well. Things will work out. Mark my words.”

  Grateful for his friend’s optimistic presence, Teach remembered another talk he’d had with John in the captain’s cabin of the Deliverance back in Bristol. Someone had accused Teach of piracy, and John had vowed then he would do everything in his power to make sure nothing happened to Teach.

  “You’re a good friend, John. I’m lucky to know you.”

  “Me and the crew feel the same about you. Now go find that chest.”

  Teach made his way down the stairs to the weather deck, where the wounded were spread out, reminding Teach of pieces of leather drying under the sun. One of the men called to Teach as he passed and Teach knelt beside him. “Are you thirsty?” Teach asked, grabbing a nearby jug filled with brandy. The water had turned brackish in the heat, and they had been forced to dilute the brandy with it, to extend their supply.

  The man clutched Teach’s wrist and sipped greedily from the mug. “The pain. I need something for the pain,” the man choked out, once he’d swallowed.

  “As soon as we get to port, I’ll make sure you get something for the pain.”

  With a solemn nod, the man closed his eyes, his chest expanding with each labored breath. Wishing there was something more he could do, but knowing he couldn’t do a thing until they reached land, Teach stood with a muttered oath. The men had fought valiantly. They didn’t deserve to suffer like this.

  Heading in the direction of the captain’s cabin, he threw open the door, only to stop short when he saw Peter already there, taking some papers from the desk and stuffing them in the pocket of his waistcoat. In Peter’s left hand was Teach’s copy of Dampier’s book. Peter looked up, startled, and his face turned a furious shade of red.

  “What are you doing here?” Teach demanded, his temper already frayed.

  “Nothing.”

  Teach’s eyes narrowed at the sullen expression on Peter’s face. “Then why are you taking those papers? They don’t belong to you.”

  “They don’t belong to you, either. The only reason you’re captain is because you disobeyed Murrell’s orders.”

  It was just as Teach had feared. If they managed to reach port, Peter would be trouble. Teach would have to tread carefully, so as not to anger him further. Teach spoke calmly, even though his every muscle clenched in anticipation of giving Peter a thorough thrashing.

  “Despite what you think, I didn’t want Murrell to die like that.”

  “But you did want him to die,” Peter sneered.

  True. Grinding his teeth, Teach barely managed to stay in one spot. The desire to drive his fist into Peter’s smug countenance was overwhelming. “Get out.”

  For a moment, Peter didn’t move.

  “Leave the book,” Teach said.

  Flushing angrily, Peter threw the book on the floor before stalking toward the door.

  “The papers as well.”

  “I think I’ll keep—” Peter cried out as his back hit the wall, Teach’s arm pressing against his windpipe.

  Teach ripped the papers out of Peter’s pocket. The cargo list of the Deliverance. “Why were you taking these?”

  Peter didn’t answer and Teach increased the pressure on his throat.

  “I asked what you what you were doing with these?”

  “I’ll see you hang before I answer to you,” Peter choked out, his eyes bulging from lack of air. “Once we get to port, you’ll be charged with mutiny.”

  Teach brought his face close, his jaw clenched. “A dead man tells no tales.”

  “Is everything all right?” John asked from the door.

  “Fine,” Teach ground out. Although Peter hadn’t answered his question, Teach knew what Peter had planned, and it made Teach sick to realize he’d had the same thought. He tried to tell himself that his desire to sell the cargo was different from Peter’s. Peter simply wanted to sell it for his own personal gain, whereas Teach hoped to pay his men and continue his search for Anne.

  Slowly, Teach loosened his hold. Peter gasped and jerked out of reach. Backing out of the room, Peter stumbled down the hallway before the sound of his footsteps disappeared.

  John gave a low whistle. “What was that all about?”

  Teach held up the cargo list. “This.”

  “What did he want with that? Did you ask him to check what was lost during the fight?”

  “No. I think he was hoping to sell some of it when we reach port.”

  “How? Merchants are expecting their goods. They paid for their transport.”

  Teach didn’t want to tell John that he’d contemplated doing exactly what Peter had considered. Yes, the Deliverance was well-known and recognizable, but there were always people willing to bend the rules or break the law in order to make a profit. It was only a question of finding them. And Teach figured breaking the rules was worth it in order to pay his crew and find Anne.

  “Keep an eye on Peter,” Teach said, sitting in the chair behind the desk.

  “Aye, Captain.” John turned to leave, but hesitated. “Before I forget, I wanted to tell you that we lost another water barrel. The cooper discovered too late that there was a hole in it.”

  With a sigh of resignation
, Teach shook his head. “Cut the water rations in half.”

  John nodded and closed the door quietly behind him.

  CHAPTER 7

  Anne

  A sheen of sweat coated Anne’s skin, and for a half moment she wondered if her sore muscles and tight skin were the result of some illness she’d caught. Surely if she closed her eyes again, she’d awaken to find herself still in Bristol in Drummond’s house. Her dream had been so vivid, so real.

  Teach, with his dark hair and vibrant green eyes, was a figment of a fevered imagination. But as Anne rested her wrist across her eyes, blocking out the sun, she realized that Margery would never have allowed her to sleep till the sky was full bright.

  Anne sat up, the heat oppressive in the strange room. She was alone. Everything came rushing back. Leaving England and sailing on the nightmare that was the Providence. Arriving in Nassau, the loud and crowded streets. The man falling with a knife embedded in his chest. Her surroundings were surreal, and she felt completely out of her element. But this was no dream.

  Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she spied a small tub filled with water. A clean chemise, blouse, and skirt had all been laid out for her.

  With a grimace, Anne shed every last stitch of clothing, tempted to set a flame to the salt-encrusted material. As she bathed, she marveled that she hadn’t heard anyone enter or leave the room. Where was Cara?

  After weeks on board the ship, Anne had finally slept deeply. She shuddered as she scrubbed the grime from her skin, grateful for the cool, fresh water and floral-scented soap. She washed her hair with the pitcher of water from the nightstand. Using a blackwood brush to comb through her thick waves, she quickly braided her hair and left it hanging down her back. She looked at her tattered and rotting shoes and decided to leave them behind. Padding barefoot across the courtyard, the packed dirt beneath her feet was warm from the heat of the afternoon sun.

  In the kitchen, Anne discovered Alastair and Beth sitting together at the worn wooden table. Once when Anne was little and couldn’t sleep, she’d crept down to the kitchen and discovered her parents in a similar scenario. The rest of the household had slept, but Anne would never forget that image of her parents, one of the rare occasions she’d seen them together. At the time, she hadn’t understood their whispered discussions or shared smiles. It wasn’t until she’d shared similar moments with Teach that she fully grasped their meaning.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Anne said, hesitating in the doorway.

  Alastair stood, but still held on to Beth’s hand. “You’re not interrupting. Did you rest well?”

  Beth got to her feet and moved toward the fire. She dished something out of the pot that hung there and motioned for Anne to sit down. “Come have some conch stew.”

  Anne’s mother had told her about the large shellfish that lived in the shallow waters surrounding the islands. Anne’s stomach reacted to the scent of the rich broth and her mouth watered. “Thank you,” she said, sliding gratefully onto the stool Alastair provided for her. She’d been so exhausted, she hadn’t given much thought to food, but now that she’d rested, she realized just how hungry she was. She took a tentative bite of the sweet white meat and spicy broth. It was delicious.

  “Where’s Cara?” Anne asked.

  “She’s working in the tavern,” Alastair said, leaning against the table beside Beth.

  Anne flushed guiltily and began to rise, but Alastair stopped her. “There’s no need for you to rush out there. It’s early yet and doesn’t get busy until the evening. Take your time and eat.”

  “But I don’t want to be a burd—”

  “You’re not a burden. And you’ll be pleased to know that Governor Webb said he’d send out two ships for the Deliverance.”

  Relieved at his words, Anne wondered how long would it take for the ships to be ready. She sincerely hoped it wasn’t too late. “The captain was a coward not to stay to help.”

  Alastair nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps. But he did what he thought was best at the time.”

  Anne said nothing as she ate. She’d never forget the feeling of desperation and helplessness as the Providence had sailed away, leaving the Deliverance on its own. If Teach had figured out her note and sailed on his father’s ship like he’d planned, that meant the fate of the Deliverance was Teach’s fate as well.

  A loud laugh sounded from the tavern, accompanied by the call for another round of drinks. Anne wondered how Cara was faring. She herself didn’t relish the thought of working amongst the rowdy patrons.

  Beth placed a tankard in front of her. “This is the juice from a pineapple. Have you ever tried it?”

  “No, never.” Anne took a sip, surprised by the vibrant flavor. It had a sweet taste with a hint of tartness. “Thank you,” Anne said, feeling refreshed after she swallowed the last drop.

  Beth smiled and refilled the tankard. “We can’t have you collapsing on your first day here, now can we?”

  “Is it always like this?” Anne asked, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. Her blouse already stuck to her skin, and beads of perspiration rolled down her face.

  Alastair nodded. “Mostly. When the winds come, it will cool off a bit. If you aren’t used to the warmth, it can be overwhelming.”

  “How can anyone possibly cook in this heat?”

  “We all have to eat. But people mostly come to The Laughing Fox to drink. Only a few ever require any meals,” Beth said.

  Alastair and Beth watched Anne take another spoonful of the stew.

  “Coyle told me what you’ve been through. So you know this merchant, Richard Drummond, do you?” Alastair asked.

  “Yes,” Anne said.

  “And he’s the one who sent you away?”

  Anne’s throat closed around her response, remembering the scene at the Drummond household when Drummond had told her to leave. She swallowed, her eyes meeting Alastair’s. “Yes.”

  “The devil hang him. I don’t know the man, but he had no right sending a girl off on a ship by herself. What kind of irresponsible—”

  “Al, let the poor girl eat. Can’t you see how thin she is? We can discuss this later,” Beth murmured.

  Anne laid her spoon down. “No, it’s fine. I appreciate your kindness.” Glancing between Beth and Alastair, Anne drew a deep breath. Unsure exactly how much Coyle had said, Anne decided it would be best to be forthright from the start. “My father’s name was Andrew Barrett. He was an English merchant. My mother worked for him in his household, but she came from the island of Curaçao.”

  Beth and Alastair remained silent.

  “If it isn’t too much to ask, I’d like to send word to my father’s solicitor in Bristol. I left before I was able to tell him of my whereabouts. Once I hear back from him, I’ll be able to move on.”

  “Aye, Coyle told me you hoped to find some of your mother’s family. Do you know where they might be?”

  Anne mentioned the name of the village on the island of Curaçao.

  “I’ll send someone to inquire after them for you.” Alastair exchanged a glance with Beth. “Although if we’re being honest, I should warn you not to hold out much hope.”

  “I’m aware it might be difficult—”

  Beth interrupted Anne, her expression kind. “It’s not just about finding them, Anne. I don’t mean to be cruel, but . . . how long had it been since your mother had any contact with them?”

  Anne’s chest tightened. She couldn’t quite remember the last time her mother had told her about any of her relatives. Anne had an uncle somewhere as well as her mother’s cousins, but when was the last time either of her parents had mentioned them? Had it been four years? Or five? What had become of them?

  Andrew Barrett had always promised to take Anne to her mother’s island, but he’d been a wealthy white merchant. His life was privileged and he knew no restrictions. The reality for Anne and her mother was quite different.

  After Anne’s mother had died and Anne had arrive
d in the Drummond household, she’d never felt so alone and out of place. She’d clung to the stories of her mother’s people like a lifeline, feeling a tie to her roots. Now, in the harsh reality of day, Anne had to face facts. It was quite possible none of her family members were alive.

  Beth cleared her throat. “I don’t know what life was like for you in England, but you should know that here in the islands, it’s hard and often brutal. Most people don’t hold respect for a person of color, whether bond or free. They believe we have no rights. Or opinions. To them, we’re expendable, something to be bartered or bought. I’m sure you noticed Benjamin’s scars.”

  Anne nodded dully.

  “He’s one of the lucky ones. He escaped from a plantation in Jamaica where he attended the stables.”

  “How did he get here?” Anne asked.

  “He hid on a ship. Alastair found him one morning at the docks and offered him a job.”

  Alastair drew in a deep breath. “He was stolen from his home by the foulest and cruelest of men. Brought to a strange land where he was beaten and starved and held in the same rank as horses and cattle.” Alastair shook his head. “It’s barbaric. Nobody deserves to be treated like that.”

  Anne couldn’t begin to imagine the terror Benjamin must have felt. Forced to withstand torture that she wouldn’t wish on her worst enemy. The fact that he’d actually survived and escaped such circumstances spoke about his strength and spirit. It made her view her own situation in a much different light.

  Back in England, she’d been scorned and reviled, but not to the extent that Alastair was describing. She’d heard stories about slavery, but had found it difficult to conceive that anyone would ever feel a sense of ownership over another human being. “My father made a trip to the islands sound wonderful. Adventurous. I always thought I could find my family members.” But wouldn’t her mother have had the same hopes and dreams? To return to them? To share her culture and history with others?

  Beth covered Anne’s hand with her own. “I’m sorry. But you should prepare yourself for the worst.”

  “That’s not to say that you have no future here,” Alastair said quickly.