Sailing by Carina's Star, page 38
“How dare you talk to Commodore Delacroix that way? He’s a better man than you could ever imagine being!” Jerome shouts, apparently not caring that anyone might hear him on the ship, where very few secrets have a long lifespan once they’re spoken aloud. “I went hungry plenty as a child, and I didn’t turn into a pirate because of it like my damned father. I got myself out.” Jerome breathes hard, red flooding his cheeks after the outburst. He looks surprised, as if he has not said those words aloud in years to anyone, or perhaps ever. “You stole René from his family, and you will give him back. Do you hear me?”
“Nicholas,” Delacroix chides softly, moving like he might reach across the desk for Jerome’s hand, but thinks better of it in front of Danso. “Let’s—”
The voices of men on the deck cut him off mid-sentence.
“Two ships!” one calls out. “One frigate and one sloop!”
A minute later there’s an urgent knocking at the door, and the first lieutenant opens it without Jerome’s word.
“Sir,” Anderson says, looking pale, “two ships are approaching.”
“Colors?” Jerome asks.
“Pirates,” Anderson clarifies. “They’ve already raised the black. They’re about an hour from us, coming north-northeast from Cuba and Saint-Domingue, it looks like. They have the weather gage, sir. They’ll catch us, no doubt about it. They weren’t going full sail at first, but then they spotted us. It’s one sloop and one frigate.”
Sloop? That, Danso knows, must be Robins. With the Misericorde wounded, Abeni must have brought the Saiph, otherwise they couldn’t have made the time they did. It isn’t a long voyage from where they were caught back to Nassau, but his beloved ship would have been too slow with both the cargo and the injuries. If Abeni is here, did she bring René, Frantz, and Auden? No. She wouldn’t.
She might.
At least there are two ships against one. Yes. That is something.
“Smart,” Delacroix muses. “I think the quartermaster might have been waiting for us. This route is the fastest back to Kingston, rather than sailing the long way around Cuba. She guessed we might have to make repairs and would risk going this way rather than taking more time.”
“Call all hands on deck,” Jerome says, throwing Delacroix a bewildered look. “Ready the guns, but do not fire until you hear my explicit command. I need to get this ship back to Kingston in reasonable shape. I’m certain they’ll come in on both sides, so station men on all ends.”
“I second the command not to fire unless they do so first.” Michel taps his fingers on his knee over and over again before standing up, his posture tense. “If my son and Frantz are on that ship, I’d like to speak to them and avoid a fight if at all possible. Let’s talk to the pirates. Send up the signal for parlay.”
Danso’s stomach sinks. Dammit. Dammit. He told Abeni not to come. He practically begged her not to in the fraction of a second they had together.
Jerome pulls Danso out of his chair. A manic, too-wide grin splits Jerome’s face, sending chills down Danso’s spine.
Jerome might have been caught out in the open ocean, but he’s also getting what he came for.
He’s drawn out the Saiph.
Jerome seizes the chain connecting the manacles around Danso’s wrists and tugs him forward. “Your quartermaster has come after me just like I knew she would. Let’s go see who else is with her, shall we?
Danso doesn’t answer, and he hopes his whole world isn’t about to crumble beneath him again, because he’s not sure he’ll survive it.
Chapter 10
The Saiph.
“They’ve seen our flag, no doubt,” René says, lowering his spyglass. “I expect we’ve surprised them. From the direction they’re coming from, they must have had to stop in Charles Town for repairs like you said. Your plan was a good one.”
Abeni smiles tightly at him, her gaze landing on the Chase. Soon, they’ll catch up. She’s ready to catch up, and she isn’t, all at once.
“We’ll get him back, Abeni.” René touches the small, u-shaped gold hoop he wears in his right ear—an old sailor’s protection against drowning. “I’ve learned so much from both of you. I know we can do this. That you can do this.”
Some loose tendrils of René’s wavy fair hair blow in the wind, most of it collected in a ribbon at the back of his neck.
“Thank you for letting me come,” he continues. “It was the right thing.”
“Resorting to flattery, are we?” Abeni asks, a joke cutting through her anxiety. She looks across the deck at Eli, who blows her a kiss. She sends one back.
A half-smile slides onto René’s face, and his earnestness makes Abeni want to cry again. “Only to the truth. I know you can do it. You are stronger in your beliefs than Jerome or my father could ever imagine being. And you are just as clever.” René goes about putting on his scarf, making sure to tuck his hair beneath it.
Abeni puts a hand on René’s arm. “Are you all right?”
René glances over at the wheel where Frantz stands with Auden. “If they see us, they see us,” he answers, some trepidation spilling into the confidence of a moment ago. “I used to fear seeing them again. A part of me still does, but if showing myself helps you and Danso? It’s worth it. No regrets.”
Abeni kisses his cheek. “You are a brave man, René Delacroix.”
He pulls her into a tight hug before heading over to Frantz and Auden, the three of them as close as they’ve always been. The portrait from the Delacroix house appears in Abeni’s mind’s eye, the one she saw when Astra pulled them into the drawing room. She recalls how a small René tried not to smile for the sake of the pose, but she could tell he wanted to. That night seems so long ago now. She never forgot that little boy in the painting, and it seems like fate that he’s with her now.
They come upon the Chase after an hour. The naval crew signals something, though they don’t strike colors. She calls out for René’s code book, copied from Danso’s. She doesn’t have to flip far, because the code she’s looking for is on the second page, and not one she’s ever seen before in real life.
Parlay.
She grins.
She’s caught them unawares, and with the wind on their side.
If they want to talk, she’ll talk.
The black flag whips in the blustery breeze as Abeni stands at the rail, the helmsman on Robins’ sloop turning to port as the Misericorde turns to starboard. Frantz calls out something from his place at the wheel, drawing Abeni’s attention, and she can’t help but recall the words she spoke to Chantal before they left.
I will bring him back to you, my friend, Abeni promised, grasping Chantal’s shaking hand snug in her own. I will.
She has to make good on that. She must.
René signals that they’re ready, and Abeni takes a breath.
“The vanguard will board immediately as soon as we’re on them!” she shouts. “The rest of you stay back unless called for, but be ready should something start up. Captain Robins is on standby. Follow Flora if I send my signal to begin.”
Some of the men echo the orders down the ship, and Flora herself steps up, her presence settling Abeni’s raging, chaotic thoughts. She has to think. She has to be clear-headed. She has to get Danso back. Eli and Marc have left some of their men in charge of the guns, joining the vanguard to help Abeni with her tactic for escaping. Marc is whispering something into Eli’s ear, making him smile.
Turns out, powder flasks are handy things, and she’s never been opposed to a few explosions to create a distraction.
“Do your mother a favor and be careful, all right?” Abeni asks, her voice tremulous. “I’ll signal to you should things get nasty.”
Flora gives her a smile. “I’ll do my best to stay safe, Mama.”
“I taught you too well with that dirk. My mistake, I think. Should have kept you from the weapons so I couldn’t let you fight,” Abeni teases, drawing out a laugh from Flora. “Tell the helmsman to maneuver around toward their stern if something starts up. Rake them. We should be able to do it.”
Flora gives her mother’s hands one last squeeze while Abeni contemplates the rest of the vanguard going aboard the Chase. More men than usual are included so that the crowd might mask René, Frantz, and Auden, who are part of it. “Go get Papa back. I’ll take care of the Saiph.”
Abeni presses a kiss to the side of Flora’s head.
Then, she runs.
If they can just get away with Danso, Abeni will call this a victory. She dusts off her tan trousers as she crosses the gangplank and steps onto the Chase. If things go south, they’ll have to maneuver away to make the best use of their cannons, though Robins is a short distance away on the Chase’s other side, close and in good range to fire if Flora signals him from the Saiph. Abeni’s boots make the wood creak when she strides past the men who came over with her, walking up to the front of the group and heading directly toward Jerome and Commodore Delacroix. Her brown coat with the gold buttons, the coat Ebele gave her long ago, flutters in the wind.
Damn Jerome for ripping the collar. She’ll have to have Tiena or Chantal take a look when there’s time.
Danso stands with his wrists and ankles shackled, a hastily wrapped bandage tied around his thigh. His skin is ashen and sweaty and tinged gray around the edges, his eyes bloodshot. She does one last subtle sweep for René, Frantz, and Auden before coming to a halt, able to spot them by their coats, though the crew closes rank around René in particular, hiding that bright red from view until it’s time. The men remaining on the Saiph and Robins’ sloop have their faces uncovered, while everyone on the Chase with her wears a scarf. She hopes that perhaps Jerome and Delacroix might search around for René among the uncovered faces of the pirates in the crowd and draw the wrong conclusion—that he isn’t here. It may be impossible for the secret to live any longer, but she had to try.
No one starts a scuffle, but tension hangs in the air. The members of the vanguard stand behind her, all the naval officers gathered behind Jerome and Delacroix. Everyone’s hands are on their weapons, but no one is drawing. Jahni’s near the front of the crowd, and despite the face covering, Abeni thinks he looks truly murderous for the first time in all the years she’s known him.
Jerome scowls when she reaches him. “Of course. The pirate brigade come to save their fearless leader.”
His black eyebrows furrow together, the slate gray eyes sparkling with malice. He’s taller than she remembers—the same height as René but a good deal broader, and he has two inches on Danso. He’s certainly more imposing than he was when he was younger. She barely had time to think of any of this when she was fighting him a few days ago. Still, his voice holds a hint of surprise in it, surprise that she caught them before he could get back to Kingston.
Sweat drips down onto Abeni’s yellow neckerchief. Jerome searches the crowd before turning back to her like she might be a particularly irritating house fly.
“You brought your consort ship with you, I see,” he says. “And recruited Robins’ to help, when he should have been swinging months ago.”
“What did you do to him?” Abeni asks, ignoring Jerome’s comment and letting herself glance at Danso, who has a cut near his temple crusted with freshly dried blood.
Commodore Delacroix finally speaks. He’s far more moderate. Calmer. Less derisive. “Some of Captain Jerome’s men acted out of turn, which neither he or I sanctioned. A surgeon saw to Captain Danso’s leg.”
Abeni looks at Michel Delacroix. At Astra’s husband. At René’s father and Frantz’s so-called guardian. In all the chaos of the fight, she didn’t really have a chance to consider this man she knows so much about. What does he know about her, other than stories he might have heard, stories half-buried in myth? Today is the time for that myth. Today is the time to show them that the stories aren’t for naught.
To show them that she is a part of those stories just as much as Danso.
“You must not have a very good surgeon.” Abeni points at Danso’s leg, residual blood seeping through the bandage. “You pretending to be kind to me won’t work, Commodore Delacroix.”
Delacroix raises both his hands with a smile that isn’t a smile at all, but a mask he’s learned to wear. “We’re just here to talk, madam. Hence the parlay.”
“Hmm.” Abeni steps closer, her hand tightening on her flintlock. “You don’t usually parlay with pirates, do you?”
“No.” Delacroix surveys the crowd like Jerome did, and Danso watches him, in turn. “But I know when I am at a disadvantage.”
“Well,” Abeni says, “release Danso to me, and we’ll be on our way. No harm done. We’ll both live to fight each other another day.”
Jerome smirks, and Abeni wants to slap it right off his face.
“Really?” he asks. “And why would you just cut and run, with your advantage?
She leans as close to his face as she dares. “Fair trade.”
Jerome chuckles with dark amusement. “That’s not why.”
Delacroix and Danso share the same concerned expression as the anger froths up between her and Jerome, threatening to explode. Everything around them is threatening to explode. They won’t get out of here without some sort of scrape.
“Why then, Captain Jerome?” she asks, hoping she sounds as bored as she feels with his nonsense. “Elaborate.”
“He’s here, isn’t he?” Jerome’s whisper snakes into the air, full of furious anticipation. He searches around the crowd again, his eyes over-bright with twisted glee. “Come out, René! The game’s up.”
“Nicholas,” Delacroix whispers, “I don’t see him.”
Jerome looks over at Delacroix, and Abeni’s never seen him so soft before, the flash of mania vanishing when he regains control of himself.
“He is. I know he is, sir. I won’t let them fool us into thinking otherwise.”
“Returning to the matter at hand,” Abeni cuts in. “You will release Danso. Now.”
“Or what?” Jerome asks, his words tangled up in a snarl. Abeni has to give him his due for not cowering in fear at the sight of two pirate ships surrounding his own, but she needs to make him fear her. Not just Danso. Her.
She finally draws her pistol and cocks it, pointing it directly at Jerome. Delacroix makes a noise of protest, but Jerome only raises his hands, still with that godforsaken smirk on his face.
“I don’t think I need to make myself any clearer.” Her heart races as she speaks, but her hand stays steady. She is no longer a slave, and Jerome is no longer a young East India sailor threatening to take away the only memento she had left of her daughter. No. Her chosen family surrounds her, the strength she always possessed amplified by their presence. “Release him, Captain Jerome. I won’t ask a second time. Resist, and Captain Robins will open fire.”
Jerome stares at her, but he doesn’t move. Abeni trains her eyes on his cutlass, and the moment she sees his hand inch toward it she places the pistol directly against his chest.
“Care to keep going?” she whispers in his ear.
Jerome breathes in, though he doesn’t answer. He is not as easily frightened as the nasty merchant captains they make a point to steal from, but he is afraid. Abeni can’t say she doesn’t enjoy the sight.
“Hmm,” she says, removing the pistol from his chest once she has his full attention, opting to walk around him—slowly—instead.
“Mark my words.” Jerome finally speaks, biting out the next sentence. “You will regret crossing us.”
Abeni puts the pistol at Jerome’s back. “I assure you that if you don’t release Danso, you will be the one who regrets crossing me.”
Jerome’s snide, sneering laughter echoes into the silence around them. “I thought your crew preferred to do no harm.”
“That’s not always possible. You deserve what you get,” Abeni growls, and it is these words, more than any others, that make Jerome stiffen and fall quiet. “I’m not interested in any kind of lecture. Release Danso. Now.”
Jerome pauses, his jaw so tight that Abeni practically sees him clenching his teeth. He locks eyes with Delacroix, both of them making a silent calculation of their odds.
Jerome shoves Danso forward.
Abeni removes her pistol from Jerome’s back, going around him and immediately to Danso’s side. She grasps Danso’s coat sleeve in one hand, several of her nearby crew pointing their pistols at Jerome and Delacroix.
“Remove the irons,” Abeni spits. “Now, Captain Jerome.”
“Abeni,” Danso whispers, but she won’t have it.
“I said now.”
“Figure that part out yourself, if you’re so damned clever.”
“Nicholas,” Delacroix warns.
Jerome’s about to answer when a scuffle breaks out behind him. Abeni holds tighter to Danso’s sleeve, spotting several naval officers gathered around someone on the other side of the deck.
“Go to the Saiph,” Abeni whispers in Danso’s ear, afraid that whatever chaos is about to happen will be enough to land Danso back in Jerome’s hands. She doesn’t want anything else to hurt him, especially with his leg already injured. “Go now.”
“Abeni, I can’t—” A multitude of emotions pass across Danso’s face, and she names each of them in her head. Anxiety. Love. Anger. Desperation.
“It’s not a request, Ajani.”
He needs to listen to her right now. Why is he so damned stubborn?
“I can’t leave you. I—”
The sound of someone’s voice, a familiar voice, makes Abeni turn back toward the scuffle.
What she sees sends her heart crashing to the deck: Eli, surrounded by naval sailors, at least five pistols, and a cutlass. He must have lit the match to set the powder flask off, that tiny noise alerting the naval sailors around him.
Jerome tears his attention away from her, redirecting it toward Eli instead.
“What’s going on over there?” he calls out.
He starts making his way over.
And she can’t do anything about it. She can’t help Eli and get Danso back to the Misericorde.
