Wake of the Bloody Angel

Chapter Twenty-six

Wendell Marteen screamed in true, pure terror. There was no secondary emotion, like anger or frustration. It was the kind of scream that gave nightmares to the people who heard it, as their imaginations tried to conjure the source. I knew the source, and it still sent chills through me.

I left my cabin just as the guard snapped awake and jumped to his feet. He looked around, blinking in confusion. “What was that?”

“Your prisoner,” I said.

“Oh, crap,” he said, and preceded me into the dayroom. Marteen’s demeanor was entirely, completely different. All the arrogance and defensiveness were gone, replaced by the kind of gallows terror you see only in men who know they are about to die. “Please, don’t kill me,” he whimpered when he saw us, his words rushing out all at once. “I’ll tell you anything, I’ll take you to Black Edward, just please, don’t kill me, I’ll do anything you want, please, I don’t want to die.”

Clift burst into the room, followed by Jane. Others gathered just outside, all summoned by the unearthly shriek. “What’s going on?” the captain demanded.

Marteen bent forward, bowing in as much supplication as his bonds allowed. “Please, Captain Clift, don’t let them take me, I’ll help you, I’ll gladly go to Remy’s prison, just don’t let me die!”

Clift looked at me; I shrugged.

“He was alone in here when he screamed, Cap’n,” the guard volunteered. “Mr. LaCrosse came in with me.”

“I’ll tell you where Edward Tew is,” Marteen said in a tiny voice. “I’ll tell you where his trea sure is, just don’t let me die. Please, promise me you won’t kill me.”

Clift quickly closed the door on the watchers. He glared down at Marteen and demanded, “What do you think will happen if I do?”

Marteen stopped talking, and for a moment, I was afraid he’d even stopped breathing. Then he sagged against his ropes and began to cry. It was oddly touching, and I was annoyed at the sympathy I suddenly felt for the guy.

Jane looked questioningly at me. I touched my lips and winked, a signal that I’d fill her in later. She nodded slightly in acknowledgment, then pushed in front of Clift and snarled at Marteen, “All right, prove you mean what you say. What heading should we take?”

“Southwest,” Marteen said through tears. “Straight due southwest. Bring me a map, and I’ll show you. We’re about eight days away. It’s an island with a pair of mountains, and a long sandy peninsula on one end.”

“And Black Edward is there?” she pressed.

“Yes, I swear. Now, please, promise you won’t kill me.”

Clift smacked him on the side of the head. “I will if you don’t stop blubbering.”

Marteen immediately fell silent. His lower lip trembled like a child’s, and tears cut through the dirt on his face.

Clift then turned his full authority on the guard. “Your name is Carrisimo, right?”

“Yes, sir,” he said, standing straight.

“You heard what this worm-riddled piss pot said about Black Edward Tew’s treasure, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

Clift stepped nose to nose with the younger man. “You breathe a word of that to anyone other than the people in this room, and I’ll have your balls for castanets, understand?”

Carrisimo gulped. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now cut him loose, but don’t take your eyes off him.” Clift went the short distance into his cabin.

As Carrisimo followed his orders, Jane sidled up to me and said, “What the hell did you do?”

“Nothing, I wasn’t even in here.”

“Bullshit, I know that smug look of yours.”

Before I could say anything else, Clift returned with a handful of maps. Marteen was rubbing his wrists where the ropes had bitten into them. Clift unrolled one map, held it in front of Marteen, and said, “Show me.”

Marteen unhesitatingly pointed to a tiny dot among a cluster of other dots. “Here. He’s here.”

“Now show me on this map,” Clift said, switching them quickly. Marteen immediately pointed out the same island. Clift made him do it twice more on two additional maps before he was satisfied that Marteen wasn’t making the whole thing up. “How long has he been there?”

Marteen laughed ironically. “Twenty years. For the last fifteen, you couldn’t get him on a ship again if you chained him up and had a whole brigade to drag him.”

“Why?” I asked.

Marteen looked at me, swallowed hard, and pointed at Jane. “Because Black Edward has that thing she said you and Captain Clift have. A conscience. He was so horrified by what he did to secure his treasure that he swore never to sail again.”

“What did he do?” I asked.

“He sank his own ship, with all his crew on board,” Jane said. “After he took the treasure off. Didn’t he?”

Marteen nodded.

At dawn, the Bloody Angel left for Blefuscola with a hold full of chained prisoners and about a third of the Red Cow ’s crew to mind them. It said something that our ship didn’t seem significantly less crowded. We then returned to the monster’s vessel, which waited in the sunrise as innocent as a child opening a birthday present.

“Bring Marteen up here,” Clift said. “I want the son of a bitch to see this.”

We smelled him before he appeared. He’d been manacled again, and Carrisimo escorted him with a knife to his back. He moved heavily, like the life had already gone out of him. He watched impassively as the ship’s largest ballista was positioned and the bowstring was winched back. The head of the bolt was lit, and when the fire was burning well, the gunner shot it over to the monster’s ship. It struck the middle of the empty deck and stuck there, the flames slowly catching. Two more bolts joined it, and a fourth was being prepared when Clift said, “That’ll do it.”

And it did. The ship was fully aflame now, and all at once, the monster’s tentacles burst from the water and tried to somehow fight the fire. Big bursts of water came from the creature’s siphons. It snuffed some of the blaze, but by then, the hull was compromised.

With one last desperate effort, the monster rolled the ship belly-up, trying to use its own pulpy weight to drive the burning vessel into the water. We saw how it was attached to the bottom: the huge round head was encased in a net, fastened to the hull so that the animal’s mouth was forced against the hatch. The ship sank, taking the monster with it, and leaving only a roiling sea of foam, black ink, and blue monster blood.

“And now,” Clift said, “head southeast, Mr. Greaves.”

Greaves, promoted to quartermaster since Seaton’s death, said, “Aye, sir.” He walked the length of the deck, calling orders up to sailors in the riggings.

Clift turned to Marteen. “I don’t have to tell you what will happen if you’re lying to me. I don’t care if the biggest ambush in world history is waiting for us, I assure you: You’ll die first.”

“It’s no trick,” Marteen said listlessly.

“Who’s on the island besides Tew?”

“Just a few sailors. The ones too old or sick to be of use. Most of them came with me.”

“Uh-huh.” Clift didn’t believe Marteen, and I didn’t blame him. “Well, I want my cabin back. Mr. Dawson!”

The ship’s carpenter came running up and saluted. He had forearms as muscular as some men’s legs. “Yes, sir.”

“Build a cage big enough to hold this gentleman. We’re going to hang him off the stern until he airs out a little.”

“Yes, sir,” Dawson repeated. He bent at the waist, touched the tips of one finger to the deck at Marteen’s toes, and reached the other arm straight up, measuring the pirate’s height. “Have it for you this afternoon, sir,” he said before he rushed off.

“Tie him to the mainmast until then,” Clift said to Carrisimo. “And keep an eye on him. Your health is directly tied to his.”

“Yes, sir,” Carrisimo said.

Clift strode off, and Jane took advantage of the moment to pull me to the rail. “Okay, talk. What did you do?”

I didn’t want to keep things from my partner, especially after berating her for doing the same thing. “Just between us, right?”

“Sure.”

“I sicced a ghost on him.”

She stared at me. Then in a whisper, she said, “You mean there really was a ghost?”

I nodded. “You saw him, too. When you were delirious. The little blond cabin boy.”

She let out a long, low breath. “Fuck me.”

I had nothing to say to that, so I added, “And you saw his friend, the little girl.”

“You said I hallucinated her.”

“I thought you had. I hadn’t seen her yet. She said she was killed by Marteen’s monster.”

“She spoke to you?”

I nodded.

Jane shook her head. “Does this sort of thing happen to you a lot, LaCrosse?”

I recalled a freakish little man who’d been kept alive by magic for over five hundred years. “More often than you’d think.”

That night, we had dinner in Clift’s cabin. There was still a lingering hint of Marteen in the air, but Avencrole the cook had put together a suitably pungent dinner to cover it. The main course was a fertilized chicken egg cooked and eaten in the shell, known as the “treat with feet.”

As we ate, Clift said, “We need to clear the air about the treasure.”

“Yeah,” Jane said.

I said, “I told both of you, if we find it, I have no interest in it. You two can have it.”

“Will you sign something to that effect?” Clift pressed.

I was still tired and sore from the battle yesterday, and the experience with the ghosts last night, and this was the final straw. I stood and slammed my fist on the table, rattling the dishes. “Yes, I’ll sign anything if it means you two will stop asking about it. In case you’ve forgotten it, you both work for me right now. I’d appreciate a little more diligence in that and a little less counting imaginary gold pieces in your head.” I threw my napkin on my plate, as petty a gesture as it sounds, and slammed the dayroom’s door behind me as I went on deck.

There, the night wind cooled me off and I immediately regretted losing my temper. It was a sign of how exhausted I must actually be, and I decided to have Suhonen moved back to his hammock. After all, having room to stretch his legs hadn’t appreciably sped up his recovery.

Then it occurred to me that I hadn’t asked Marteen about the poxbinder. Certainly he’d know what it was for, and at this point, he’d probably tell me more than I ever wanted to know about it. I found Celia Zandry in charge for the night shift and said, “Can I get a couple of strong backs to pull Marteen’s cage up? I need to ask him something.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Does the captain know about it?”

Despite everything, I felt a flash of anger, which I did my best to choke down. “He doesn’t. If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll go tell him.” I was careful not to say, go ask him.

“No, I suppose it’s all right, you being the paymaster and all.” She sent three sailors with me, and they wound up the winch that pulled Marteen’s cage up from where it hung. The boom holding it creaked under its weight.

When it rose into the light from the deck lanterns, though, it was immediately clear Marteen was dead. He slumped in the floor of the cage, one arm hanging out through the wooden slats. I grabbed the cage with my good arm, swung it over the deck, and by the time it landed with a thud, I had the lock off and the door open.

I dragged Marteen out. There wasn’t a mark on him, just a look of absolute terror on his face. Flies already clustered around his wide-open eyes.

“Son of a bitch,” I muttered. The news spread in whispers through the crew.

Clift appeared from below, followed by Jane. He pushed through the crowd and knelt beside Marteen. “What happened?” he demanded.

“I wanted to ask him some more questions,” I said wearily. “He was dead when he came up.”

Clift examined him as well, and like me found no sign of injury. “That stinking bastard,” he seethed.

“He wasn’t a young man,” I said. “And he was terrified. Maybe his heart just gave out.”

Clift got to his feet. “Well, he’s no good to us anymore. Throw him over the side.”

Two of the men who’d helped lift the cage did as Clift instructed. The splash as Marteen’s body hit the dark water was barely audible on deck. Clift kicked the cage in frustration.

“I sure hope he wasn’t joking about that island,” he snarled. “For everyone’s sake, but especially yours, Mr. LaCrosse.” Then he turned and marched off.

Jane came close and said, “You’re doing a real good job of pissing off the people you should want on your side.”

“You mean the ones that are only interested in treasure?”

Jane looked around to see if anyone had overheard the T-word.

I rolled my eyes. “You’re a piece of work, Jane.”

I turned, and Suhonen stood right behind me, towering over me as always. I jumped. So did most of the others on deck; somehow the gigantic sailor had slipped up on all of us. He wore only a loincloth and the bandages around his chest.

“We need a new piss barrel, I overflowed this one,” he said. “How long was I out? Did I miss anything?”

I looked up at him and began to laugh. So did Jane. After a moment, so did Suhonen. It spread to everyone. And by the time we finished, I wasn’t angry anymore, just eager to finally reach the island and confront the other Edward.

Alex Bledsoe

Wake of the Bloody Angel chapter TWENTY-SEVEN

Eighteen days later, I stood with Jane and Captain Clift at the bow, staring ahead through fog so thick, it was like pastry frosting. The cool damp felt nice after the tropical sun, but it also had us on edge-we wanted to find Marteen’s island, but not by crashing into it.

We found the archipelago he’d indicated on the map, but we’d hit it at the far southern tip. The first island was big, and fires told us it was occupied. The one Marteen specified was in the middle of the group, so we thought we’d have no trouble locating it. We passed all the others, and knew Marteen’s should be next, slightly to the west. Then the fog closed in. We sat at anchor for four days until it lifted enough for us to get our bearings, but it was only yanking our anchor chain. Now we were wrapped in it, sailing at a crawl, and everyone was on edge.

“No bottom at twenty!” someone called from amidships, where he constantly played out a knotted line. If the sea floor started to rise, it meant land was near. Usually.

“This is inconvenient,” Clift said. Then he called up to the lookout, “Anything?”

“Nearly got decapitated by a seagull who looked as lost as we are,” Estella called back.

“We’re not lost,” Clift said. “We’re exactly on course; we just can’t see where we’re going.” He turned to me and said more quietly, “I’d have bet Marteen was too scared to lie to us, but now I’m not so sure. Think he plotted us into a trap?”

“How could he?” Jane said. “He sent us to a real island. It was on all your maps. Everything else was accurate.”

“It was an island, maybe not the island,” Clift said. “Maybe he sent us to an island always cloaked in fog, with a ship’s graveyard waiting for us.”

“He thought he’d be along for the ride,” I pointed out.

“Might have been worth his own death to ensure ours,” Clift said.

“No,” I said with certainty. “He would not have done that.”

“Let’s have some optimism, gentlemen,” Jane said. “I think it’s just bad weather.”

Clift nodded. “And bad timing.”

I looked back, where the fog was so thick, it hid the ship’s stern. There was very little wind, and we bounced over wave crests instead of slicing through them. Men lined all the rails, watching as intently as Clift, as if they, too, bore responsibility for the ship’s safety. The faces I could make out were serious, even a little frightened, with none of the jocularity they displayed even in the middle of a fight. I wondered where in the haze I’d find Duncan Tew; knowing we closed in on his hated father must weigh on him at least as much as the weather.

Suddenly the lookout cried, “Voices ahead!”

Jane looked at me. “Voices?” she repeated.

I heard it, too. It sounded like the crowd in a castle’s great hall after the wine started to flow. There had to be at least a hundred people talking all at once to make that much noise. I tried to catch some of the words, but I didn’t recognize the language.

I heard swords, knives, and cutlasses being drawn all around me.

“A few people left behind, my ass,” Jane said. “The little dung beetle did send us into a trap.”

“Steady, lads,” Clift said. He had not moved or reacted. “Don’t cut off your shipmate’s head in your eagerness.”

“It sounds like quite a crowd,” Jane said.

“Well,” Greaves said casually, “we may not know what we’re about to face, but then again, neither do they. Shall I summon Mr. Dancer?”

“Not yet,” Clift said. “We know it’s a bunch of people-we don’t know if they mean us harm. Steady, lads,” he repeated.

“Bottom at twenty!” the sailor amidships suddenly called. I felt movement through the deck as the rest of the crew scrambled into action. Sails were drawn up to slow us, and everyone without an actual task crowded around us to watch for land, and for whoever waited to greet us.

“I lost my sword to that overgrown squid,” Jane said.

“I’ve lost two,” I said. “I gave you a new one.”

“A toothpick,” Jane snapped dismissively. “I need something big enough for a full-grown woman.”

“Try this,” Suhonen said from behind me. I jumped, as always. The big man handed Jane a huge sword that I would’ve needed two hands to swing. She handled it easily with one.

“Nice,” she said with genuine appreciation. “Where’s it from?”

“No idea. Claimed it off a guy last year. He didn’t need it anymore. The balance is good for such a big blade.”

“I’ll say. But what will you use?”

He gestured at his waist, where he carried two normal swords in scabbards, one on each hip.

“You’re okay with two?” Jane asked.

He nodded, then smiled and winked at her. “Actually, there’s three. But the third one might startle you.”

She laughed in delight and experimentally swung the new sword. A couple of sailors had to jump back out of the way.

“Fog’s breaking ahead!” the lookout called. “Land ho! Really ho!”

“Look!” someone beside me practically shrieked.

We followed his outstretched arm and pointing finger. Two huge shapes emerged from the fog, gathering details as they did so, dark gray in the haze. The blue sky behind the island made these twin mountains stand out plainly. By the time we could see the jungle greenery that covered the two mountains, the fog bank was entirely behind us. Directly ahead lay a wide, gently sloping peninsula with a white sand beach, just as Marteen described.

“Drop anchor!” Clift called, and we heard the heavy splash followed by the chain’s rattle as it played out. When it hit bottom, the ship lurched slightly as it stopped.

We saw no one. Yet the voices continued, louder than before.

“There’s your welcome party,” Clift said, and pointed at several huge offshore rocks. They were covered with nesting seabirds, all squawking loudly in an uncanny imitation of drunken human revelry. Without the fog to mask it, the scent of accumulated bird dung reached us as well.

“Smells like a couple of parties I’ve been to, all right,” Jane said with a laugh. “Not on deserted islands, though.”

“It’s not too deserted,” Suhonen said. “Someone lives here.”

Clustered along the beach was a complex shantytown of small huts. As the fog dissipated, we made out gardens, pens for animals, and what looked like a small well located beside a common walkway. The dwellings were made of rocks mortared together with mud; roofs were mats of vines over old pieces of sail canvas. Pieces of ships poked out of various structures, as if the builders had cannibalized whatever vessels brought them here.

A long dock stretched out past the low tide mark. Three small boats were tied there, bobbing in the waves.

“No cooking fires,” Jane said about the dead chimneys. “No animals in the pens. This place is deserted.”

“I don’t think we can tell that looking from the safety of the forecastle,” Clift said.

“No,” I agreed. I looked at Jane. “Is your leg up to it?”

She threw her crutch overboard, winked, and said, “Try and stop me.”

“I think I’m ready, too,” Suhonen said.

Skurnick appeared from behind him. “I told him he’s not strong enough yet. You’re not a barrel, son. We can’t just plug the holes and pour more blood into you. Your body needs time to make it.”

“I’ve got a lot left,” Suhonen said. “And I’m as strong as I need to be, like always.” Then, more softly, he added, “I need to win a fight, okay?”

Clift looked at Skurnick. “I could use him. But I won’t go against your recommendation. It’s your call.” When Suhonen started to protest, Clift silenced him with a glare.

Skurnick sighed. “What the hell. If he says he’s up to it, maybe he is. Might be the best medicine.”

Suhonen smiled. “Thanks, sawbones.”

“You can thank me by not needing my attention again,” Skurnick said dryly.

Clift said, “Get a boat ready. I’m going, so is Mr. LaCrosse, so are Captain Argo and Suhonen. I want two other volunteers.”

“Try to keep me away,” Duncan Tew said as he stepped forward. He clenched his sword tightly in his hand, and the blade reflected sunlight onto his grim face.

Clift shook his head and pushed the sword blade until it pointed safely down at the deck. “Sorry, Mr. Smith. You’ve done great work so far, but I need a more experienced sword arm.”

I said, “He’ll do. I’ll vouch for him.”

Clift’s eyebrows rose, not so much that I’d stood up for Duncan, but that I’d contradicted the captain on deck. That was a no-no in any organi zation. I quickly added, “With your permission, of course.”

“Glad to know I still have some authority,” Clift muttered. “All right, you’re in. One more. Who’ll it be?”

A squat fellow with a barrel chest and arms that hung almost to his knees said, “I’ll come along.”

Clift looked at the man dubiously. “You’re volunteering, Dietz?”

He nodded at Suhonen. “I’m the only man on the ship who can beat him at arm wrestling.”

“And that’s only when he’s drunk,” Clift said. “But all right, you’re in. Mr. Greaves, is our boat ready?”

“Aye,” the new quartermaster said.

Clift gestured grandly at the ladder hung over the side. “Gentlemen, lady-shall we get our feet dry?”

The beach was silent except for the distant birds and steady crash of waves against the sand. We tied up beside the other boats, none of which showed any sign of recent use. If Marteen was right, and most everyone in the village had been aboard the Bloody Angel, then we were safe enough. He’d said that the ones left behind would be the sick, old, and/or infirm, but I wasn’t prepared to concede that.

We stopped at the foot of the dock, looking at the buildings and the jungle beyond them. Here the whoosh of waves on the beach drowned out most of the birds’ cacophony. A few hovered overhead, hoping we’d drop something edible.

“A pirate haven,” Jane said. “I’ve seen these on other islands. When regular ports are too dangerous for them, they just set up their own. They take supplies from the ships they capture, and kidnap girls to serve their other needs. No rules, no laws, no gods.”

“No soap,” I added.

“You and your hygiene issues,” she shot back.

“Marteen did say I’d never make it as a pirate.”

“He also said someone would be here,” Clift said. “I don’t see anyone. Who would these people be, anyway? Black Edward’s original crew all drowned, didn’t they?”

No one, least of all me, had an answer for that.

“Which house does Black Edward live in?” Duncan asked. “None of these,” I said.

Jane nodded. “No, these shanties are for sailors, not captains. The lord of the manor doesn’t dwell among his serfs.”

“We’ll still check these houses and see if anyone’s hiding,” Clift said. “Make lots of noise. I don’t want to lose anyone to a misunderstanding.”

As we walked up the sand, my legs tried to convince me that I was still on the ship’s rolling deck. I knew it would happen after all this time at sea, but I hoped it would wear off soon.

I estimated fifty dwellings made up the settlement, most no bigger than my cabin on the Cow. The ground between them was a mix of dirt and sand, and the marks of hundreds of footsteps had been set into the sun-baked soil when it was wet following the last storm. My own boots barely left a scuff.

I opened the door to the first hut. It wasn’t really a door, just a woven straw mat attached to the doorframe by rope loops. The smell made me wince. I peeked inside and waited for my eyes to adjust to the dimness.

It was a one-room dwelling, with space for a single bed, a stove, and a sea chest in the corner. Shelves went up one wall and held souvenirs of the owner’s life, mostly knickknacks from various ships. The room was trashed as if someone had gone on a mad search through it. I suppose the men left behind might’ve gotten drunk and done this, but it was impressive destruction for sailors Marteen had described as too old and sick to serve on the Bloody Angel.

An unmistakable rust-colored smear on the wall got my attention. Someone had bled here, and recently enough that the stain was still faintly sticky.

I stepped back to the door, tried to banish my preconceptions and take a fresh, open-minded look at the hut. Two things struck me as odd. One was that the damage was confined to the floor, and rose no higher than my waist. The shelves below that line were knocked aside and their contents scattered; above it, they were intact.

The other odd thing was the clean square spot on one wall above the damage line, where a picture had clearly hung until recently. It was nowhere amongst the debris.

I moved down the line to the next dwelling. The second hut had identical damage, down to the missing picture from the wall. And the third. But in that one, I found something else: a ship’s bell, still highly polished as if it were a treasure and carefully displayed on a high shelf. Engraved on it were the words BLOODIE ANGELLE. It was the first actual confirmation that Marteen had told the truth.

I emerged at the same time Jane did from across the way. She said, “Every place I’ve checked has been trashed, but low to the ground, like drunk midgets had come through. I found some bloodstains, too. And there’s a space on the wall where someone took down a picture.”

“Same here,” Suhonen said as he rejoined us.

“And me,” Clift agreed.

“And me,” Duncan said.

“Likewise,” I said.

We all looked at Dietz. He said guiltily, “I, uh… didn’t notice.”

“Go back and check,” Clift said. As Dietz skulked away like a guilty child, he added, “And put back anything in your pockets. We’re not pirates anymore, remember that.” To the rest of us, he said, “What else did you find?”

“I found an old bell from the Bloody Angel, ” I said. “But no signs of life or bodies,” Jane said. “And not enough blood to indicate a real fight.” She shook her head. “Man, this stench will stick with me. Who lives like that?”

“Pirates,” Clift said.

“We never did,” she insisted.

“I think your memory is turning rosier with time,” he said.

Dietz returned. “Yep, there was a picture missing in every house. Why would somebody take them?”

“We don’t know that anyone took them,” I corrected. “We just know they’re not there.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Dietz said dryly. “Here in the tropics, the art migrates this time of year.”

“We’re migrating, too,” Clift said. “Let’s see what else the island’s got for us.”

A triangular pile of stones, like a cairn, stood at the edge of the jungle. It marked the head of a trail that led off into the thick growth. I dismantled the rocks to see if anything was hidden inside. There was not; it was a mere marker. I glanced at the trail, a dark tunnel into the thick forest of the interior.

“If Black Edward lives here,” I said, “it’s probably at the other end of this.”

“I don’t see any smoke coming from the interior,” Suhonen pointed out.

“If he’s spotted the Cow, I doubt he’s cooking us dinner,” Jane said.

“Unless we’re the main course,” Dietz said. “Man in desperate enough straits isn’t picky about his table fare.”

“Given everything else we have to worry about, Dietz, I’d appreciate it if you’d stop looking for new things,” Clift said. Then he strode off down the trail, the rest of us following.