there’d obviously been a fight. All the valuable treasure was gone; there wasn’t a gem or a scrap of gold aboard, although we found silver and other coins. But the strangest thing of all,” and he held up a finger for all to focus on his words, “was that we found casks of brandy and rum, small and large, all untouched. Now I ask you, what sort of pirate would leave strong spirits like that?”
“Shadowman pirates,” I answered. “Men neither alive nor dead, who drink the blood of men like wine. Captain Cholula told me about them before I got away from her.”
All eyes turned on me as Captain Voorhees said, “I think an explanation of what exactly happened tonight is in order, ya? Especially since Master Gomez says the fault is yours that we are heading toward Tortuga, instead of the safer route to Campeche.”
His words stung me like hornets. “It’s not my fault this happened,” I yelped, stabbing a finger at Master Gomez. “It was his greed that started us down this path.”
Master Gomez’s face turned a choleric red. “Insolent boy; your grandfather would whip you if he heard you speak in such a manner.”
“He’s dead,” I snarled at him, savagely wiping away the tears trying to gather in my eyes. “Gran-Pere and Belle-M’ere both died by the hand of your man Seth.”
Master Gomez’s face went from choleric to a deathly pale as a woman’s voice spoke from the back. “I believe the tale should be told in full, but first, the lad should be fed.” The crowd of men gave way as she added, “Giving strength to dragon-spirits is hungry work.”
I stared at the woman as she approached. She was willowy slender, with raven dark hair caught up in a silver net behind her head, and a face more fair than any I’d ever seen. She wore a blue dress that left her shoulders bare to the cool night air, its embroidered sleeves and hem as frayed as the blue shoes on her feet. She held a bottle of dark glass in her hand. Behind her the old woman, dressed in a matronly gown of grey fabric, frowned fiercely at us. “Young man,” the old woman said, “before she spins you some pretty tale, let me introduce my niece, Selene Vargas, courtesan of the pleasure palaces of Venice. Were I you, I would stay as far from her treacherous wiles as I could.”
Selene merely laughed as she glided towards me. “My aunt has come with me on this trip to see my virtue remains intact.” The old woman made a disgusted sound as Selene stopped beside me. “I was the courtesan to a member of the high council of Venice, who had several Dragons in his service. So I know something of them. Are you hungry?”
I admitted I was, and in short order Selene had me sitting on a barrel up on the aft deck with a bowl of porridge, mixed in with pieces of salt pork, which I ate along with one of my oat-cakes. A small crowd assembled around us, many of the faces hidden behind the ones in front as Master Gomez began the tale. He told it in a way that skirted the truth, making his selling of the African woman with the black pox more an error than a deliberate act. Meanwhile Selene had gotten one of the younger sailors, a man a few years older than I with sandy blond hair, to get her clear and blue Venetian wineglass from her cabin, and open the bottle for her. She poured and took a sip, but then handed me the glass for us to share as I finished eating.
It was Italian wine, red as blood and full of fruit. It tasted like nothing I’d ever had before, and despite the food it quickly went to my head as I began to tell my tale to the crowd around me. Had the wine not tasted so good I would’ve been more cautious, but Selene was generous with the glass, and when she began asking me for details about the night’s events I felt honor-bound to answer them without skirting the truth, as I’d learned to do since I couldn’t lie. When I reached the part where I’d returned to the shoppe I pulled no blows but gave them all the details, ending with
“Shadowman pirates,” I answered. “Men neither alive nor dead, who drink the blood of men like wine. Captain Cholula told me about them before I got away from her.”
All eyes turned on me as Captain Voorhees said, “I think an explanation of what exactly happened tonight is in order, ya? Especially since Master Gomez says the fault is yours that we are heading toward Tortuga, instead of the safer route to Campeche.”
His words stung me like hornets. “It’s not my fault this happened,” I yelped, stabbing a finger at Master Gomez. “It was his greed that started us down this path.”
Master Gomez’s face turned a choleric red. “Insolent boy; your grandfather would whip you if he heard you speak in such a manner.”
“He’s dead,” I snarled at him, savagely wiping away the tears trying to gather in my eyes. “Gran-Pere and Belle-M’ere both died by the hand of your man Seth.”
Master Gomez’s face went from choleric to a deathly pale as a woman’s voice spoke from the back. “I believe the tale should be told in full, but first, the lad should be fed.” The crowd of men gave way as she added, “Giving strength to dragon-spirits is hungry work.”
I stared at the woman as she approached. She was willowy slender, with raven dark hair caught up in a silver net behind her head, and a face more fair than any I’d ever seen. She wore a blue dress that left her shoulders bare to the cool night air, its embroidered sleeves and hem as frayed as the blue shoes on her feet. She held a bottle of dark glass in her hand. Behind her the old woman, dressed in a matronly gown of grey fabric, frowned fiercely at us. “Young man,” the old woman said, “before she spins you some pretty tale, let me introduce my niece, Selene Vargas, courtesan of the pleasure palaces of Venice. Were I you, I would stay as far from her treacherous wiles as I could.”
Selene merely laughed as she glided towards me. “My aunt has come with me on this trip to see my virtue remains intact.” The old woman made a disgusted sound as Selene stopped beside me. “I was the courtesan to a member of the high council of Venice, who had several Dragons in his service. So I know something of them. Are you hungry?”
I admitted I was, and in short order Selene had me sitting on a barrel up on the aft deck with a bowl of porridge, mixed in with pieces of salt pork, which I ate along with one of my oat-cakes. A small crowd assembled around us, many of the faces hidden behind the ones in front as Master Gomez began the tale. He told it in a way that skirted the truth, making his selling of the African woman with the black pox more an error than a deliberate act. Meanwhile Selene had gotten one of the younger sailors, a man a few years older than I with sandy blond hair, to get her clear and blue Venetian wineglass from her cabin, and open the bottle for her. She poured and took a sip, but then handed me the glass for us to share as I finished eating.
It was Italian wine, red as blood and full of fruit. It tasted like nothing I’d ever had before, and despite the food it quickly went to my head as I began to tell my tale to the crowd around me. Had the wine not tasted so good I would’ve been more cautious, but Selene was generous with the glass, and when she began asking me for details about the night’s events I felt honor-bound to answer them without skirting the truth, as I’d learned to do since I couldn’t lie. When I reached the part where I’d returned to the shoppe I pulled no blows but gave them all the details, ending with
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