Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Callista Montmayne, Captain of The Sea Devil, closed her cabin door and leaned against it with a sigh. They were barely underway, yet she was tired already.

Heaving herself off the door, she walked across to her father’s chair, seated behind the large mahogany desk that took up a good proportion of her private cabin, and sank down into its cushioned comfort. Technically it was her chair now, but she was so accustomed to thinking of it as her fathers... She reached for the decanter of whisky and poured herself a generous tot into a matching cut crystal glass.

“We’re going to get him Papa!” she murmured raising her glass in silent toast to the portrait of the late Caruso Montmayne that took pride of place on the wall opposite the desk. He was a handsome man, showing his half Italian heritage in his colouring and the cast of his features. Colouring he hadn’t passed onto his daughter with her guinea gold hair and turquoise blue eyes.

The only sign of her Italian blood was in the golden tan of her fair skin, where it had been exposed to the weather. A society lady would be horrified by the colour, but Callista was rather proud of her tan, it enabled her to be out in the sun and not burn, unlike some of the other English women, whose pink and white skin suffered terribly from the harsh weather on board a ship.

Her father’s skin had been deeply tanned from being out in all weathers and his liquid dark eyes, curly dark hair and cheeky smile had won him many hearts; even if it failed to secure the one, he really wanted.

The events of the last twelve months crowded in on her, and she fought back the tears that clogged her throat and stung her eyelids. Damn it all to hell I don’t have time for weeping! That is weakness. And if there was one thing her father had taught her it was how not to be weak.

But the memories persisted. She would never forget the moment Perez struck her father, aboard the Esperanza just outside of Port Royal, Jamaica a year ago.

“Papa!”screamed Callista, as Perez’ blade flashed forward and stabbed her father in the belly. Caruso Montmayne staggered with a cry, his sabre dropping from his hand to the deck as he clutched at the growing red stain on his shirt.

Perez smiled, his dark eyes dancing to see his enemy bleeding out on his deck. “Not so cocksure now, Montmayne!”

Caruso spat at him, gasping for breath. “This isn’t over Perez! You will pay for what you did to Jeanette!”

Perez bared his teeth, “she was never yours to take. Vai p’à puta que te pariu!”

“She was never yours to kill!” gasped Caruso, staggering.

Mick Harper, hard-pressed by two of Perez’ men, fought like a demon and dispatched them with two bloody strikes of his sword. Sweat dripped through his greying hair as he turned towards Caruso.

Callista dodged the blow aimed at her head and went in low, taking out her opponent with a stab to the groin with her knife, that brought him to the deck howling, blood running down his leg.

“To me!” she called, pulling two of their men, Baines and Oliver, to cover their retreat. A black man with a peg leg, clubbed one of the men trying to stop her, and Callista ran to her father as Mick reached him on the other side, propping him up with his shoulder beneath Caruso’s arm and clutching him round the waist.

“Retreat!” bellowed Callista to their men, taking her father’s other side as they half carried him from the deck of the Esperanza to the Sea Devil.

“Cast off, head for Port Royal!” yelled Callista to the men as she and Mick propelled her father towards the captain’s cabin on the lower deck. Her heart thudded hard in her chest, fear swirling through her body like a swarm of bees, making her limbs shake. Papa! Papa! Don’t die! Don’t leave me!

Behind her, the last of their men still alive, made it back to the deck of the Sea Devil, the man with the peg-leg among them, as the Bosun unlashed the two vessels and the Cox’n spun the wheel to catch the wind.

The damaged Sea Devil lurched away from the larger vessel, while the riggers unfurled the jib, and a number of the crew went below to bail out the bilges and repair the holes to the hull.

In the captain’s cabin, Callista held her father’s hand as he struggled to breathe through the pain. He lay in the bunk bed, and she sat along-side of him. Mick stood at the foot. Behind her shoulder the doctor spoke.

“I’m sorry, there is nothing I can do. The bowel has been struck, you won’t last the night, Captain.”

Caruso nodded. “Callista!” he grimaced with pain and fought for breath.

“Yes Papa!” Callista blinked her eyes against the tears that threatened.

“The Sea Devil is yours. You’ll take good care of her.”

“Aye Captain,” she swallowed tears. Her throat ached and her heart was breaking.

“Mick!” Caruso coughed, his face blanching with pain. “You’ll look after my girl!”

“I will.” Mick wiped tears off his cheeks.

Caruso transferred his dark gaze back to his daughter. “You’ll make Perez pay, girl! You’ll wreck holy vengeance on him for your mother’s sake, promise me?”

“I promise papa, I promise!” A sob escaped Callista’s throat.

“No tears!” he admonished. “That’s weakness and you’re not weak. You’re a Montmayne. Remember that!”

She nodded, her voice deserting her.

Caruso sank back into the pillows, his eyes closing and his breathing becoming more ragged. She held his hand tight in both of hers and listened to each laboured breath until there were no more.

As the life left him, his face froze and the tears she had been fighting broke free. Putting her head down on the bed she sobbed. The pain in her chest was unbearable. She felt Mick’s hand on her back and heard his quiet sobs.

Callista and Mick appeared on deck as the Sea Devil drew into Port Royal and dropped anchor. Most of the men were gathered beneath the main mast and Mr James Oliver, the Bosun was addressing them. It was clear the news of her father’s demise had spread.

The black man with the peg leg, who had come to her rescue on the Esperanza stood off to the side, watching what was going on. He was one of the slaves from the Esperanza. They had managed to free a few of them before they were overwhelmed by Perez men, but this man was the only one who had made it onto the Sea Devil.

Oliver had served as her father’s bosun for two years, he and Rob Baines were friends and had joined the crew at the same time. Oliver was older by a couple of years.

“We’ll take the vote gentlemen!” said Oliver over the hubbub of chatter from the men. “All those in favour-”

Callista strode across the deck, cutting him off. With her father’s admonition to be strong ringing in her ears, she pushed aside her grief. She had moments to shore up her position on the ship. “Oliver! What are you doing?”

“Taking the vote Cal, with the captain dead -”

“My father left the ship and the captaincy to me.”

“You may own the ship girl, but you can’t be captain.” Oliver looked amused, which pushed up Callista’s hackles.

“Why not?” she asked silky smooth, fingering her dagger.

Oliver looked around. “Because this is a pirate ship, my lovely and despite appearances, you’re a woman!” A laugh from the crew greeted this.

Callista felt Mick behind her, and she put out a hand to stay him. She had to win this battle herself.

“We will put it to a vote,” she said, glancing at Rob who hadn’t said anything. Will he support me, or is he as bad as the rest?

“Be my guest!” said Oliver with a smirk she itched to wipe off his face.

She turned to face the men, her heart thumping hard in her chest. Sweat slicked her back and she felt sick. “You all know me, many of you have sailed with me for years. You know my father. This ship is mine. I grew up on this vessel, from child to adult. The fact I’m a woman makes no difference. I can fight as well as any of you, I know the rigging like the back of my hand and every inch of this ship. I can sail her, rig her and navigate her better than most of you.

“We have a job to do to get her refitted and go after Perez again. But we can do it. We lost ten good men today, not counting my father. We can get that black-hearted scoundrel and make him pay for what he did!” her throat threatened to close over, but she pushed through. No weakness Cal!

“We can win the prize of the Esperanza, free the slaves and get the prize money the British High Admiralty promised my father. Who’s with me?” she said.

Silence greeted this battle cry. She looked from face to familiar face, and most of them dropped their eyes. Finally, a voice from the back said, “We’re with you Cal, for Caruso’s sake.”

A few ayes followed this statement.

“And who’s for ditching this dumb plan and going after some real bounty? There’s some sweet money to be made in the opium trade out of Canton.” Oliver turned his head, meeting the eyes of many.

“So, let’s put it to the vote,” he went on. “Canton and me as your Captain, or Perez and girly here as your captain?” He looked round the deck confidently. “Who’s with me?”

There was a moment of stillness as the men shifted, looking sideways at each other. Then hands began to go up. You didn’t need to count to see there was more than two thirds of the crew in support of Oliver and his scheme.

“Wait!” said Rob stepping forward, and Callista’s heart turned over with relief. “There’s another option. We’ll go after Perez under my captaincy.”

What? Callista rounded on him glaring. He smiled. “It’s the only way Cal, they won’t accept a woman at the helm.”

Tears stung her eyelids at this betrayal, but she refused to let them flow. “Oliver!” she bellowed turning her back on Rob Baines, she’d deal with him later. “I invoke right of trial by combat! Winner takes the helm!”

“You want me to fight him for you Cal?” asked Rob behind her.

She rounded on him and spat. “No, you piece of shit! I’ll fight him myself.” She turned back to the men and held their gazes. “And every damned one of you if I have to! This is my god-damned ship!”

Oliver smiled and waved at the outbreak of chatter. “It’s fine gentlemen, I’ll fight you Cal, happy to. Swords, knives, fists? What’s your pleasure?” the suggestive note on the last word provoked a chuckle from the crowd.

“Cal for god’s sake!” said Mick softly behind her. She waved him off and squared up to Oliver.

“Knives,” she said, flipping her wicked little silver dagger in her fingers, the sun glinting off the gems in its hilt.

“Knives it is,” said Oliver with a smile, producing a knife that was bigger and plainer than hers but just as deadly sharp.

The men formed a ring around them as they circled each other and Callista made some rapid assessments of her best plan of attack. She needed to act fast and effectively, any long-drawn-out contest would be in Oliver’s favour, he was bigger and stronger than her. She needed to use her speed and agility to win and win fast. And put the fear of God into them.

He lunged, and she dodged, rolling and springing to her feet, she stepped forward and struck upwards between his legs before he had any idea what she was about to do.

He screamed as her knife bit into his groin. She knocked him flat to the deck with her shoulder and straddled him shouting, “Mick hold his arms!” Mick leaped forward and pinned the writhing man under her to the deck, with a knee in the chest and his arms wrenched above his head and locked in an iron grip.

Slashing Oliver’s trousers, she bared his bleeding groin and with her knife poised she said through gritted teeth, “this is for daring to think you can take my ship!” She sliced a piece of his inner thigh with her knife, praying no one would spot the subterfuge. Oliver screamed and blood spurted everywhere, hot and metallic on her face, shirt, breeches and hands. She held up her trophy, her fist closed around the piece of flesh, blood running down her arm.

“That is what will happen to you if you try to take my ship! You lose your cods!”

The men recoiled, edging backwards away from her as she stood, brandishing the counterfeit cods in one bloodied hand.

She grinned like a maniac. “Anyone want to challenge me now?”

The men all muttered, backing away.

“You?” she rounded on Rob, who to his credit stood his ground, but swallowed visibly.

“Cal-”

She shook her head. “This is my god-damned ship! You sail on her, you sail under me! Got it?”

There were some mutters and then the men began shifting away from her, edging towards the rails. One by one, and then in twos and threes, they began clambering over the sides and dropping into the water, swimming for the shore. The doctor, who had appeared at some point during the fight, was on the deck, trying to staunch the blood from Oliver’s groin. God, will he give me away?

“You’ll hang for this Callista Montmayne! “He muttered. “It’s murder.”

“Only if he dies,” she snapped. “Staunch his wound, we’ll put him ashore in the pinnace. “You can go with him, make sure he doesn’t die.”

“I’ll do my best, but you’ve gone too far now.” He glared at her; his greying eyebrows creased in a frown. She blinked with relief. He didn’t mean to give her away.

The black rage that had consumed her was ebbing, leaving an itchy staleness in her blood and sickness in her gut. She looked around. The deck was empty except for Mick, the black man, the doctor, Oliver and Rob Baines. She was still clutching the piece of flesh in her hand. Sticky with blood. She went to the rail and threw it overboard, symbolic if nothing else. She stood a moment swallowing the bile that rose in her throat, her heart still racing.

Then she tore off her bloodied clothes and standing on the rail, she dived into the water to rinse off the blood. The salt stung, but it also refreshed her. She dunked her head under, washing off her crime and her blind fury. She was a captain now and no-one would cross her after this.

She climbed back up the rope ladder onto the deck where Mick and Rob were preparing to lower the pinnace into the water, preparatory to getting Oliver into it with the doctor. She left them to it and stalked below to her father’s cabin where he still lay. She closed the door and slid to the floor naked and wet, and the sobs tore from her throat, rising to a howl of anguish before eventually fading to soft hiccoughs.

Rob Baines foundher a little while later, dressed in a loose robe, her wet hair hanging round her shoulders, sitting in her father’s chair drinking whisky from the decanter.

She looked up as he came in and looked away.

“The men have all gone,” he said stopping a couple of feet from her.

“But not you?” her voice was raw, husky from her crying fit.

“I came to say goodbye. No man will serve under you after that Cal.”

“Mick won’t leave me.”

“Harper’s an old man. What are you going to do with no crew except a drunkard and a cripple?”

“Not your problem!” she responded sharply.

“No, it isn’t.” He turned away. He turned back. “For what it’s worth, I’d’ve fought him for you.”

“Yes, and taken the ship from me. No thank you!”

“We could’ve sailed it together.”

She shook her head and took another swig of the whisky.

“You’re truly the She Devil they call you. Goodbye Cal.”

He turned for the door and for a mad minute she wanted to call him back and confess she’d staged the whole thing. She hadn’t cut off Oliver’s balls and tossed them in the sea. She’d just staged it to scare the bejeesus out of them.

She swallowed the impulse. Fuck you, Rob Baines!

He left and closed the door behind him. She picked up a glass and threw it at the door. “Fuck you, Rob Baines!” she yelled! Her throat was tight with unshed tears, but she swallowed them down. No more crying. It is weakness and I am a Montmayne.

Callista shrugged off the memory.The events of the past year had made her more determined than ever. The pain of her father’s death and its bloody aftermath had made her stronger, not weaker, but it didn’t do to dwell on it.

Propping her booted feet on the desk and tipped up her glass, she savoured the fiery sting and warmth of the single malt tipple she had acquired while in port. A little bit of luxury. She didn’t allow herself much, mindful of equity in front of the crew. And besides until they got their next prize, things were tight. Especially with all these extra mouths to feed and the repairs she’d had to pay for in port prior to leaving, to say nothing of what she would have to fork out for the slaves once they freed them. Fucking Perez will pay! For everything!

She had just taken her second sip into her mouth to hold and savour when, a knock at the door made her swallow and groan. What now?

“Come!” she called, loud enough to be heard through the wood panelling of the door.

Mick ‘Angel’ Harper entered and closed the door quietly. She had known this man all her life. He was her father’s best friend, they served together in the British Navy until they jumped ship and embraced a career privateering.

“Well, are you satisfied with the haul?” he asked moving towards the desk and taking the chair opposite.

“Time will tell. We got some good finds, but the women knew what to target. What we needed.”

“Furness is going to be trouble.”

She nodded. “Probably. But I can handle him.”

“He’ll sow discontent among the men, you need someone to counteract him. Someone charismatic the men will follow, otherwise the loudest voice will win out, and that is Furness. They’re already calling him Fury, you know.”

“That so? Hm.” She rubbed her face wearily. “Anyone in mind for the counter measure?”

“The Irish lad.”

“He’s hardly a lad.” she protested, her cheeks flushing unaccountably.

“He’s got the charm and the confidence, once the sickness wears off.”

“Possibly. He certainly thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”

“He took a shine to you.”

“He did not!” She took her boots off the desk and sat up. For some reason her heart skidded, and she felt hot and uncomfortable.

Angel just looked at her and she groaned. “He didn’t!”

‘If you say so.”

She shook her head, rising and pacing to the windows along the stern that gave light to her cabin. The sun was streaming in, the weather so far was delightful, but Callista knew from experience it could change in a heartbeat. Storms and strong winds coming up out of nowhere, or even worse, no wind at all leaving them becalmed for days.

She swung around to face him and paced back, her rolling gate accommodating the slight pitch of the deck easily and unconsciously. “We have most roles filled. That hulking blacksmith was a good find. What is his name?”

“Neil McTavish. They’re already calling him Blockheid.”

She smiled. “For his size or the thickness of his skull?”

“Both, I should think. He’s young, he’ll weather it.” He went on “the better find was Coats. Mrs Harwood does her best, but an experienced gunner of Lieutenant Coats calibre will be invaluable if we get into a firefight.”

She nodded her agreement and changed the subject, noting the dark circles under his eyes. “You’re still the oldest of the crew, Mick, are you tired?”

“I’m always tired. I’ll not hang up my sextant till I see you sorted. This business with Perez...”

“He’ll pay I swear. I promised Papa.”

He nodded. “And I promised your father I’d see you safe. You’re mad as a cage full of cats Callista, but I’ll give you one thing, you’ve your father’s courage.”

She turned away to the windows, her throat tightening. If I did, I wouldn’t be so damned terrified! But she wasn’t about to admit that to anyone!

“Thanks Mick, that means a lot coming from the man whose seen me at my worst.”

“I’ve also seen you at your best Cal. Caruso believed in you. And I do too. We’ll get Perez and this motley crew of yours will help us do it.”

“Get out Mick before I disgrace myself!” she said past the lump in her throat. His hand on her shoulder briefly squeezed, and she listened to him leave. Damn and blast what is wrong with me today?

She wiped the tears on her cheeks with her cuff and sniffed.