Cast In Dark Waters

"Let's be off then."

They checked their weapons and mounted the stairs, climbing steadily but without rushing. In this darkness, even with the moon bright above, all it would take was one misstep to send their skulls cracking. The night itself seemed to pluck and draw at them as they rose. She estimated the ascent at a good quarter of a mile at least. She was amazed by how smooth the stonework was. It must have taken a thousand men ten years to chisel it all to completion. The steep angle winded both of them, and twice while looking out at the silhouette of the San Muy Malo anchored in the gleaming sea, she suffered a brief bout of vertigo. Welsh's strong hand steadied her each time even while he clutched at the cold rugged rock for purchase.

"I suppose they don't frolic in the ocean much, these lovers," she said. "It'd take them a week to get to the beach."

"There's bound to be other passages through the volcanic channels," Welsh told her. "Escape tunnels and burrows, plenty of nooks fer loot. A rope and winch system so he can draw up his plunder though deep-cut shafts."

"Let's hope, leastways. It'd be much easier for us to find one of those routes than having to walk all the way back down."

"Maybe he's got some of those virgins tucked away as well."

"You live on hope, old man."

"One needs to at my age."

Nearing the top of this bizarre temple-if that's what it truly was-they heard the first sounds of night birds and smelled rich soil and flowers in bloom. The fronds and palms caught the wind and cool air wafted through Crimson's hair. She hadn't realized how sweaty she'd grown on the ascent. Moon-traced darkness offered a hint of movement in the jungle. They sat and rested for a handful of minutes. No sign of the two armed guards supposedly on watch.

"Look out for traps," Welsh whispered.

They hurried forward along a thinly-cut trail, drawing their cutlasses and listening for any human sound. The jungle growth stoppered the moonlight and occasionally they were forced to feel their way blindly, slashing at vines and brush. Crimson heard the chitter of monkeys and felt a pang under her heart. Tyree had kept a capuchin for a time, named Mendicantino-little beggar. She opened the satchel wider and felt the ash wood on top within easy reach.

"Shhh," Welsh said.

"What?"

"A noise. Stand ready, girl."

"Always."

She almost spoke her husband's name. And then they heard a cry: human and horrified, straight ahead.

"Faster, goat."

"Towards that, yer thinkin'?"

"I've not come this far to meet up with only a corpse."

He let out a grunt. "Haven't you now?" he asked.

"Follow me and fasten your gob."

Lashed and slapped by the heavy undergrowth, they followed the sparse path that vanished in places. They had to keep chopping through bush and branch until they found their way again. Crimson pushed on through clouds of mosquitoes, trying not to slip in spots still muddy from recent rains. Welsh wheezed and huffed behind her. He'd replaced his cutlass and held only his dagger now. Good, he was better with a short blade, and it wouldn't tire him so much to carry it through the jungle.

"Torches," he said.

"I see no light."

"I smell the tallow."

He was right. As they crept through the brush they came to a clearing of land where the village itself lay like a growth upon the granite face of an unknown god. Two dying torches illuminated the area. Huts made of bamboo, stone, vine, foliage and fronds ringed a huge spit where, Crimson guessed, communal meetings were held. Rain barrels of drinking water were lined up on the south side of the semi-circle while two rusted cannons resided on the north. There must have been hidden tunnels with hoists of some kind for Villaine's men to bring up the large guns.

"Not much stench from any latrine," Welsh told her. "If Villaine has either buccaneers or savages with him, they're not many."

"A lazy lot. No one's scraped the cannons down to keep them clean. Hedrick said they were probably bunglers."

"No sadder sight than a shiftless pirate resting on his treasure chest. I'm thinkin' we ought to lighten some of their load."

The village appeared deserted. No movement or sound of any kind within. But still there persisted a sinister sense that something unspeakable had happened here-a plague or slaughter. She could almost feel Tyree's chilled lips on hers and she fought to keep her concentration. "Let's check the huts."

"Careful."

The first seven bungalows were empty. The pirates had apparently shacked with some of the native women-pots, blankets, seashell combs and colorful cloths sat out in the open upon beddings and warped wood furniture. Gunpowder too wet to be of any use lay in uncapped barrels. Some haughty jewelry and wooden boxes of coins were in plain sight. Villaine's crew was treated so well they didn't even bother to hide their spoils from one another.

"Odd company, these privateers," Welsh said.

"Agreed."

"If it's a battle they had, they weren't expectin' it."

"Not most of them, leastways."