‘WhereamI?’ the man asked, his words bleeding into one long slur of a sound. ‘This isn’t Habersham’s house.’
‘It is, it is,’ hissed a one-armed man who drew him deeper into the tavern, much to the amusement of his cohort. ‘You haven’t been in this room before, that’s all. This spot here is only for friends.’
‘Only the most entertaining company,’ agreed a loud voice from the back corner of the room.
His black hat and black coat rendered him almost invisible, the torchlight only reflecting the gold coin he flicked up and down on the back of his knuckles.
‘Will you sup with us, John Stiles, or are you too fine to drink with we friends of Habersham?’
The assembled all roared with laughter.
‘I’ll drink,’ the first man said, loosening his blue coat. As soon as the final button was undone, it slipped off his shoulders, passing from person to person until it disappeared through the door.
‘Don’t worry about me,’ he said, trying to disguise a hiccup with a belch. ‘I can drink with the best of them.’
‘Unlucky for you then,’ the man in black replied. ‘We’re the worst of them.’
When he stood and stepped into the light, I saw the marks on his face. Five deep red gashes on his left cheek. Scratch marks. But not from a supernatural being. Those wounds had been inflicted by a woman.
‘What do you think of this?’ he asked, handing John Stiles the gold coin. ‘Ever seen anything like it?’
‘Coin’s a coin,’ Stiles replied blindly without looking at the token in his hand. ‘Where’s the gin?’
‘We’re rum drinkers,’ grunted the man in black, taking the coin and slipping it into Stiles’s pocket. ‘And so are you from now on.’
In one swift move, he produced a club from behind his back and slugged John Stiles in the back of the head. I let out a terrified gasp and the menu I was holding slipped from my fingers and floated to the floor, disappearing into thin air before it could meet the flagstones beneath my feet. Stiles tottered forwards as the room cheered, several men rising at once to hoist his unconscious body above their heads and carry him from the room. I dodged out of their way before they could pass straight through, the leader yanking the previously stuck door wide open, and all of them singing an ugly song as they marched down a long sloping tunnel that led off into the darkness.
‘You all saw, Stiles took my gold,’ announced the man inblack as he took his seat at the table. ‘He works for me now. Everyone back to the ship, we raise anchor at dawn.’
Despite a chorus of moans, every man in the room stood, reluctantly following John Stiles and the rest of their shipmates through the door and down the tunnel.
‘And next time his father tries to cheat me at cards, he’ll think twice,’ the man grunted into his silver flagon, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.
‘Only there won’t be a next time.’
It was a promise and a threat, spoken by a woman I hadn’t seen enter the room. She stood tall in a blue brocade gown, heavily embroidered with bronze thread. Her green eyes burned and long, fiery red hair spilled down her back.
‘Back for more already?’
The pirate stood, slamming his flagon on the table and moving into the light, his huge body primed to intimidate. The blood on the woman’s right hand was as red as her hair, her nails sharp but broken and, I realized, a perfect match for the gouges on his face.
‘No man lays his hands on me and walks away,’ she said, raising her bloody hand to make a fist. ‘You’ve done enough damage here, Laffitte. Few will mourn your end.’
He stalked towards her, murder in his black eyes.
‘And fewer still will know how you met yours.’
He knocked a table out of his way, lunging towards her. His body took up too much space in the room, crossing the floor in less than one stride, but the woman didn’t care. She didn’t need to be bigger or faster or stronger than him. She squeezed her fist tightly until drops of blood, hers and his, mingled together and fell to the floor. Without laying a hand on him, she held him exactly where he was, wide-eyed and ashen-faced.
‘Witch!’
The accusation dragged itself out of him as he grabbed at his throat, bubbles of spit issuing from his mouth.
‘I’ll have you burned at the stake,’ he said, gargling the words as he choked on his own blood. ‘I’ll have your bones ground to dust.’
‘No, I don’t think you will.’
The woman squeezed her fist so tight her knuckles turned white and the man fell to his knees, slumping face-first and striking the flagstones.
