Page 11 of The Sea Witch
“You’ll have to choke down your distaste for the navy using monsters,” Warne continued. “Wiser minds than yours have taken my counsel into consideration. There will soon be more beasts added to our arsenal.”
Ben wiped his face clean of expression, even though this was the first he’d heard of this scheme. How much could he trust what Warne said? But if the mage spoke the truth... God help whoever crossed the navy’s path. And God help the poor beasts that were forced to kill on command.
The longboat rowed on, the goal to put in at a small distance from the St. Gertrude harbor with a complement of marines. This would give them an element of surprise as they entered the town. Admiral Strickland had ordered that theJupiterwould sail around the island and position itself near the low cliffs that edged the island’s only town once the ambush on land had been executed.
Though Ben made certain to keep his expression stoic, his pulse was a hurricane. Soon he’d be in the largest gathering ofpirates since New Providence in the Bahamas had restored law and order.
“Playing nursemaid to a sailing master.” Oliver shot Ben a scowl. “Look at you, shaking like a virgin on her wedding night.” He leveled his finger at Ben. “Mind what you said to the admiral, Priestley. You stay in the back and you don’t get underfoot. Or killed.”
“I can assure you on the former,” Ben said with as much calm as he could summon, “and will do my best on the latter.”
Oliver looked away, muttering under his breath.
Ben checked his pistols. Both were primed and loaded. He partially unsheathed his cutlass, and then his dagger.
“First combat?” one of the marines asked, not unkindly. At Ben’s quick nod, the marine said, “Staying in one place’ll get you a boucan knife to the belly or a truncheon to the back of the head. Guts and brains a-spattered everywhere.”
“I’ve seen the effects of close fighting.” Still, Ben gingerly touched the back of his head, then his fingers drummed across his churning stomach.
“From a distance. Ain’t the same when you’re in it. Be quick on your feet, and no lingering. That’s how you survive the skirmish.”
Ben gave the marine another nod, even as coldness spread throughout his limbs.
“I heard that the witch pirate Captain Alys Tanner might be there,” one of the rowers noted. “They say she’s a withered crone with dried dugs down to her knees.”
“I heard she’s got a face like an eel and files her teeth so she’s got a shark mouth,” another seaman ventured. “An’ she cuts off men’s bollocks an’ swallows ’em down like oysters as part of her magic spells.”
“Quiet,” snapped Oliver, “and put your backs into your oars or I’ll give you all thirty lashes.”
The men silenced, and Warne smirked.
Ben pressed his lips tight. Strickland insisted flogging was the best way to maintain discipline. Though punishment was typically done by the boatswain’s mate on other ships, on theJupiter, Oliver himself carried out the admiral’s orders. The first mate wore a vicious little smile whenever he cut bloody stripes across the men’s backs with a cat-o’-nine-tails. Warne gathered up the spilled drops of blood for use in potions.
The longboat neared the inlet, and once they were close enough, several of the seamen jumped out and dragged the boat onto the beach. Oliver, Ben, Warne, and the marines clambered out of the small vessel.
Ben staggered as he waded toward the beach. Not long now until he’d be actually facing off against pirates.
Water foamed around his ankles, trying to pull him back into the sea. He struggled against the tug of the water.
“Look lively, Priestley,” Oliver snapped.
Ben pushed onto the sand and joined the others as they scrambled up a sloping hill. A fringe of spiny palm trees stood in whispering sentry, but there were no villagers to witness their ascent.
A pale thin shape flickered at the edge of the trees. Ben whirled, cutlass out. Only palms swayed in the slight breeze, their fronds taunting as they bent in the wind.
The marines chuckled as Ben sheepishly sheathed his blade.
“Be chary, Priestley.” Oliver shook his head. “You’ll gut one of our own men before even clapping eyes on a pirate.”
“Aye,” Ben said, then added at the lieutenant’s hard stare, “sir.”
They emerged on the edge of the town, where the dilapidated timbered buildings were more scattered apart. At once, people nearby spotted them and hastened away or darted into structures, slamming doors behind them. Though St. Gertrude was known as a pirate haven, where law had little weight, no one wanted to be caught in any potential crossfire.
“Word is that pirate captains are all gathered at someplace called the Wig and Merkin,” Ben said to Oliver and Warne.
The officers strode in the direction of the tavern, and Ben quickly followed. They passed cluttered shops filled with stolen merchandise, and shabby doss-houses where those that didn’t run away lolled on porches or catcalled from open windows.
“We ought to approach it from the side,” Ben said to Oliver’s back. “Not through the front door.”
