Page 127 of The Sea Witch
“The golden key to the fail-safe—it’s a damned carving knife.”
Ben watched with Alys as Lambert cut into another hunk of roasted meat. Servants carried the slices to waiting guests, and additional staff brought out more platters bearing meat waiting to be carved.
“There’s no end to the parade of food requiring Lambert’s attention,” Alys observed grimly.
“People have to sleep at some point,” Ben said.
“Or pass out.” She eyed the casks of drink being rolled out to serve thirsty pirates.
“We’ll have to outlast them.” Ben turned away to feign interest in the music. He grabbed two tankards, handing one to Alys, and they both took distracted sips as they scanned the large chamber.
A cluster of pirates gathered around a dancer. They clapped and called out encouragement as she whirled. The men ranged in age, but judging by their weathered skin, all of them had been on the sea for a long while, and they tipped their chins in silent greeting as Ben and Alys joined them in watching the dancer.
“Tanner.” A pirate with thick sideburns gave a wary nod to Alys.
“Blue John,” she answered.
When the other pirates looked to Ben, he said, “Bloody Ben Prowse.”
A few of the pirates eyed the markings on his neck and chest, still vivid after kissing Alys, but no one commented on them.
“That there be Stagfoot Reeder,” Blue John said, gesturing to another buccaneer, who also nodded at Ben. Continuing around the circle, Blue John went on, “He be Fred Fowler. Esteban Jimenez. Louis Dupont.”
Careful to keep his expression smooth, Ben took a sip of ale. “The same Dupont that sailed with Captain Tarrier?”
“Don’t know Tarrier,” the Frenchman replied.
“Shame, that,” Ben said with regret. “I would’ve congratulated you for raiding the HMSValiantwith Tarrier.”
Speaking the name of his father’s ship in the presence of these pirates tasted acrid, so Ben took another drink of ale.
“Not me, confrère.” Dupont’s gaze remained on the dancer. “Nor Tarrier.”
“They talk nothing but respect in Maricaibo and Cartageña of Tarrier,” Alys said.
“He engaged theValiant,” Ben said, doing his best to sound offhand. “Killed her captain.”
Dupont continued to watch the dancer as she kicked and twirled. “Whoever Tarrier is, he didn’t battle theValiant. No pirate did.”
Coldness crept down Ben’s spine.
“No way to know that for certain,” Alys said.
Dupont snorted. “The captain of theValiant, Priestley, I think was his name? A name that struck fear into every member of the Brethren of the Coast. If any pirate killed him, they would’ve spread that tale from one end of the sea to the other. No one’s said a word of it.”
“Perhaps they’re afraid,” Ben suggested. “That the navy will come after them if Priestley’s death was pinned on them.”
“Ami,” Dupont said, his lips curled, “I don’t know about the waters you’ve sailed, but here in the Caribbean, hiding our kills isn’t how things are done. This was, what, five years ago?”
Ben pretended to consider the matter. “April,” he said after a moment, and then, “1714, or so I’d heard.”
“I was sailing my ship toward the north coast of Jamaica.” Dupont scratched his chin in thought. “TheValiantwas heading there, too. But when my crow’s nest spotted theJupitersailing to the same heading, we turned tail.”
“No one sails against theJupiter, and their leviathan,” Blue John said darkly. “Not if they want to live. Poor bloody Fontaine.”
The other pirates muttered in agreement.
“A ship of hell, theJupiter,” Fowler chimed in. “Should’ve called it thePluto.”
