Taste of the Devil (22 page)

They were too late.

Creaze had already snatched the package and set sail.

Tyler’s nostrils flared in annoyance. It had been difficult enough to secure the item initially; he should have known that blighter Creaze would try to undermine him! In a way, he was surprised; he didn’t think the slimy goat had it in him especially after he had warned the bastard against crossing him.

Lion’s ancestral ring had no value to anyone but the Lion. Creaze was foolishly going to try to leverage his position with one of the most fearsome pirates on the seas.

Now there would be a price to pay.

Tyler could give two figs about Creaze– the blackhearted slaver deserved whatever he got– but he did care about the Lion. He had given his word that he would safeguard the heirloom.

The Panther ground his teeth together. Creaze had better start looking over his shoulder because he was coming for him.

Cappy cleared his throat. “The lads did manage to find out something else, sir.”

“What?” he snapped.

“One of the dockworkers overheard Creaze’s crew saying they were heading back to port London for supplies before they picked up their usual cargo and crossed the Atlantic.” Cappy spit over the ship's rail. “Y’

know what his ‘usual’ cargo is– He’s a filthy trafficker, he is. Can’t stands him and his ilk. D’ ye think we could catch ‘im?”

A nasty smile spread across the pirate captain’s face. “Oh, I think we could give it a try.” He shouted out a command to his sailingmaster on the quarterdeck.

“Hallows, set a course back to Londontown, full sail.”

“Aye, aye, Capt’n!” The crew cheered and immediately began scurrying across the decks as the ship turned to the wind. A well-trained lot, they went about their jobs with streamlined efficiency. It was what kept them alive time after time.

If he figured it just right, he had a chance to catch up with Creaze after he outfitted in London. The wily trafficker wouldn’t hang around port any longer than he had to– not with a potential cargo waiting on him. “We’ll intercept that scurvy chum bucket before he reaches the open lanes of the Atlantic, mark my words,” he promised his quartermaster.

Cappy gave a mostly toothless grin. “I likes that, Capt’n. Never cared for that one. I think it is time Creaze met me Betsy.” The old pirate withdrew his cutlass.

“Betsy, let me introduce you to Creaze,” he slashed the air.

A couple of sailors, swinging in the rigging above laughed heartily.

“Invite him to dance, Betsy,” one hollered down.

“Aye, take him in yer lovin’ embrace,” yelled the other.

The crew on deck roared with laughter.

Their captain chuckled dryly. “T’would be a pretty sight.”

Cappy smacked a kiss on the flat of the blade before returning it to its scabbard. “Arrgh, it would.”

“Y’ hear that, Mr. Hallows?” The Panther called out.

“Betsy has a rendezvous; make haste!”

Hallows covered his heart with a palm. “Aye, being of a romantic nature meself, I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of such a fine love affair.” The crew guffawed.

The captain swept off his kerchief, giving a courtly bow to the ‘lovely’ Betsy as the Chameleon sailed back out to open sea.

* * *

A full moon lit their way the night they spotted Creaze’s ship.

Tyler snickered as he stood near the helm, feet spread, hands on hips, as the wind ruffled his hair, lifting strands in the breeze.

The Chameleon was a brigantine that had been redesigned to carry four extra canons, bringing its total number to fourteen. It also carried several twenty-four-pound carronades and two nine pounder guns along with a crew of sixty-five bloodthirsty men. Tyler preferred the brigantine to other ships. Unlike most pirates his aim was not to take a swift prize and run; it was to engage and sink his opponent.

They were pirates that sailed on a true fighting ship.

He was very familiar with the routes Creaze preferred, having secretly tagged his ship out of London on two separate occasions on other matters.

The Abernathy was just reaching open shipping lanes outside the channel. If the Chameleon had been a shade slower (or Pratt hadn’t given him the letter when he did) he may have had to hunt down the slaver all the way to West Indies. He made a mental note to reward Pratt for his good service.

Ordinarily, Tyler would have waited until the moon set to attack under cover of complete darkness. In this case, it would not be necessary. Like all slimes, Creaze was a coward. If he could not send others to do his dirty work, he would not be willing to take much of a risk. The Lion’s ring wasn’t worth dying for; Creaze would never take on the Chameleon and her crew.

Tyler knew that they would board the Abernathy without a fight.

Standing atop the quarterdeck, he watched his prey through a spyglass. “Steady as she goes, Mr. Hallows.”

“Aye, Capt’n.”

The Chameleon’s crew awaited the signal to board with bated breath, hoping there would at least be a little bit of mayhem for all their trouble. Perhaps a nice slice or two.

“Can we at least lop off a few ears, Cap’n?” Hack put in a plea. “Just as a by-your-leave gesture of good will?”

The Panther arched a brow at the crewman. “I’ll assess the situation.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm.

They do owe us something for the trouble they’ve caused us... ”

Low murmuring ensued, the tone agreeing with their fine captain.

Tyler carefully observed the Abernathy through the lens. Appearances to the contrary, it was always best to have a care.

Especially when it came to a backstabber like Creaze.

“She may run a bit when we strike our colors. Be prepared, Cappy.”

“Me and Betsy are always prepared, sir.” Cappy patted his scabbard. “’Tis how we grow old together.”

“Indeed.”

“Wind is changing a bit, Capt’n,” Hallows muttered.

“Raise the lateen sails,” Tyler ordered.

Several crew members scurried up the rigging to unfurl the sails.

“We’re gaining on him, Capt’n.” Cappy raised his own spyglass.

“Strike the colors, Cappy.”

Cappy grinned a toothless grin. This was his favorite part of a raid, when the excitement of a good ransacking kissed the air. “Strike the mark of the Panther!” he called out.

The Chameleon’s version of the jolly roger was hoisted:

a skeletal cat’s claw amid cross bones on a blood red background.

No need to be silent now. The crew gave a bloodthirsty yell as the ship surged forward after its prey.

* * *

As Tyler predicted, the Abernathy was boarded with neither blade nor pistol lifted.

He had not even fired a warning shot; his jolly roger had been enough to instill prudence in the trafficker.

Grappling hooks were thrown, and the Panther and his men vaulted onto the deck of the other ship.

The Panther landed right before Creaze, who had come onto the main deck to nervously await the pirate's arrival.

“P-Panther, this is a surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

The cutlass left its scabbard in seamless coordination with the pirate’s boots hitting the wooden planks of the deck. “My good friend, Creaze.”

The Panther held the blade right to the slaver’s throat. The rest of his men followed, poised for battle.

“Now, now, Capt’n.” Creaze held his hands up. “No need to get yourself in an uproar. I was just helping you out, I was.”

The man at least had sufficient survival instincts to not pretend ignorance. “Helping me, is it, then?”

Creaze swallowed. Carefully. The blade was resting snugly against his bobbing Adam’s apple. “Aye. I gots what yer want. Take it! I’ll give y’ no trouble.”

Slash spit on the deck, disappointed that there was to be no disagreement over the matter. “Bah!” What was a proper raid without a little spilt blood? “Might as well have stayed in the hold liquefying my innards on some grog,” he groused to Hack.

“Aye, the Captain appears a mite let down too. It’s a real shame he won’t have to run the man through.

What a bugger that stinkin’ Creaze is!”

“Good of you to so easily relinquish what you should never have had in the first place, Creaze.” The Panther smiled at the picaroon.

Creaze started to smile back, and even attempted a nod, when the Panther’s pale eyes glowed eerily at him in the moonlight. His expression stilled, half-baked.

“I thought I made myself perfectly clear when we met at that tavern, Willie. What part did you not understand?”

The Panther’s deadly tone sent chills skipping down Creaze’s back. He nervously ran his finger around his collar. “I-I was going to split the spoils with you, Panther. God’s teeth, I’d never cut you out of that.”

“And tell me... Why would I believe that?”

The pirate’s low, silky voice totally unnerved Creaze. “Be-because I know you’d hunt me down and kill me if I did aught else?”

“Correct.”

Keeping his blade tightly pressed to the man’s neck the infamous pirate captain paced slowly in front of the slaver. “So what makes you think I won’t kill you either way?” He flicked the blade, slightly nicking the skin. A bead of blood welled up.

Creaze began to sweat profusely.

“C’mon, now, you’d not kill your old friend, Willie.

Remember, I was the one what warned you when y’

were in bad trouble that time back in Barbados. Y’ got away with yer hide intact, didn’t ya?”

Only because in warning him, Tyler was able to save Creaze’s neck as well. It was not the first time he had reminded Tyler of the occasion. He viewed the slaver suspiciously through half-lowered lids.

Finally making his mind up, he dropped the blade slightly. “Consider that card played.”

“Warning taken.” Creaze gingerly pushed the sharp blade further away with his index finger. “Eh, come have a drink of grog, Panther. Willie will fix ye up.”

Tyler had no intentions of drinking with the man.

And his patience was wearing thin. “Where is it?”

Creaze sighed. “It’s in me cabin, in the trunk by the window.”

Tyler turned on his boot heel.

“Panther.”

Tyler glanced at him over his shoulder.

“Leave me other ‘cargo’ be, if you will. It’s got nothing to do with this and I got plans fer it.” He gave the pirate a shark-like grin.

Thinking he probably had a doxy on board, the Panther snorted, disgusted. “I want only the package.

I have no interest in anything else.”

He would soon rue that statement.

Chapter Twenty

The first indication that all was not well came with the pounding of footsteps.

Ginny awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of sailors running to and fro over the decks.

Throwing back the covers, she dashed to the porthole. Standing on tiptoe, she peeked outside.

A large, black ship was silhouetted by the moon’s glow. It rode upon the waves right next to them.

Opening the porthole slightly, she heard men above scrabbling across the deck. Cries of “pirates!”

And “the Panther!” floated down to her.

Ginny clutched her nightrail, horrified.

This couldn’t be happening! There were pirates out there? They were being boarded by the dreaded Panther?

She gazed up just in time to see a swashbuckling figure arc through the air to land on the deck above.

Good lord, they were done for! She had to warn Mabel!

Ginny ran to the tiny room which connected to hers by way of a small door. She flung the door open only to discover that Mabel was not in the cabin. Where was she?!

Sometimes the older woman had trouble sleeping and liked to walk at night. She often did this in the hallways of their house in the early hours; the poor woman had probably been on deck when the fiends attacked. Oh, Mabel, please be safe.

There was a commotion on deck. Heavy footsteps were coming her way...

Frantically, she looked for a place to hide.

Unfortunately, Captain Creaze’s cabin was extremely sparse. There wasn’t anywhere to go.

Thinking quickly, she dived into bed and pulled the heavy counterpanes around and over her, bunching the material up into mounds. Then she scooted as deep as she could into the bedding. It was foolish to hide under the bedcovers, she knew; but it was her only option.

Perhaps the night would aid her, and she would not be noticed; the lantern did not throw off too much light.

The door crashed open as a booted foot kicked it in.

Someone strode purposefully into the room.

Slithering down to the middle of the bed, she carefully peeked out from under the edge of the blanket, trying not to shake with fear.

A pirate stood in the center of the room.

Tall and well-built; he cut quite a dashing figure in the flickering lantern light. A wicked looking sword hung from his side, and a pistol was tucked into his waistband.

There was a bandana tied around his forehead.

Dark, wavy hair flowed down his back, and a few thin braids trailed over each shoulder. Ginny squinted in the low light. Something was tied to the ends of those braids...

She shuddered as she recalled Lord Gingridge’s description: “... hair... flows down his back... some of it in narrow braids... and at the ends of those braids are...

human bones...”

Ginny trembled, terrified.

It was the deadly Panther, himself!

She covered her mouth before a squeak of fear could issue forth.

The man strode purposely across the room. Stopping in front of the porthole he bent before the small trunk on the floor. It was not one of hers; it belonged to Captain Creaze. Using the hilt of his sword, the marauder hacked the lock off with one powerful swipe.

He seemed to be looking for something in particular–

he didn’t ransack the entire trunk.

She knew he found what he was looking for when he gave a small grunt of satisfaction. Something clothwrapped?

He opened the bundle and seemed satisfied with the contents.

He stood and pivoted to leave the cabin.

Moonlight streamed in from the porthole outlining his face. For an instant, the pirate’s features were perfectly captured in silhouette before shading back into relief.