Pirate Wolf Trilogy (75 page)

“We have no
intentions of declaring war,” Gabriel said, the words so exactingly
polite they were obviously meant to bait the recipient. “We’ll
settle for cutting out a few of the fat treasure ships when the
plate fleet leaves Havana next month.”

“You cannot do
that,” Varian said wearily. “You will never come out of it
alive.”

Gabriel tipped
his head. “Zounds, Jolly. You could at least have picked a lover
who had more faith in our abilities.”

“I have an
incredible amount of faith,” Varian said. “But I also happen to
know the fleet that is scheduled to leave Havana in four weeks time
is no ordinary fleet. There has been a drastic shift of power
within the Spanish government and many high ranking officials have
been recalled home. There are going to be an inordinate number of
ships making the crossing—double, treble the number of usual
vessels, and not all of them merchant ships.”

“What are you
talking about?” Juliet asked.

“As you
undoubtedly already know, it was commonplace fifty years ago for
Spain to send fleets of a hundred ships or more back and forth
across the Atlantic. Over the past couple of decades, those numbers
have been drastically reduced, in part because the fleets simply
are not as profitable as they once were. The mines are playing out
and they have to search farther inland for their gold and silver.
Slaves die and have to be replaced, or they rebel and burn out the
towns. Easily half the cargo comes overland from the Manilla fleet,
which has its own route between Panama and the Far East.”

“You are not
telling us anything we do not already know,” Juliet said, buckling
her belt with an impatient slap of leather on leather.

“Then you also
know that the single massive flota was reduced out of necessity to
two much smaller treasure convoys—the Tierra Firme fleet, which
arrives in Havana in late April and the Nuevo España fleet, which
arrives in late summer. Both fleets are escorted from Cadiz to
Havana by galleons which merely take on water and provisions before
immediately turning around to escort the departing fleets back
home. In an average year, it may be that thirty merchantmen arrive,
fill their holds with treasure and depart six months later,
escorted by fifteen or so armed galleons.”

“Closer to
twenty,” Juliet said dryly. “I could impress you with their names,
if you like, their tonnage, weaponry... ?”

“I can
appreciate that your information is very good, but are you aware
that once every decade or so, there is a noticeable overlap, when
ships of an arriving fleet remain in port longer than they should,
or require repairs, or are impeded by weather? Some that are due to
depart in April, for instance, are delayed until the September
flota and visa versa.”

Juliet arched
her eyebrows. “And? What of it?”

“The last time
it happened, there were seventy-five ships in the flota that sailed
from Havana.”

“Are you saying
it is going to happen again?” Gabriel asked, all traces of
indifference erased from his voice.

“I am saying it
is indeed going to happen again,” Varian agreed, “but in even
greater numbers. Between our government’s sources in Seville and
dispatches intercepted for the Spanish Ambassador in London, it
would appear there will be closer to one hundred treasure ships—the
sum of three overlapping fleets—gathering in Havana to make the
crossing home.”

“One hundred
ships?” Gabriel whistled softly. “We knew there was more activity
than normal on the shipping lanes, but... ”

Juliet looked
at Gabriel. “The reports we had from the Dutchman, Van Neuk, said
there were an unusual number of ships anchored off Maracaibo. His
exact words, I believe, were that he came close to pissing down
both legs when he stumbled over a dozen galleons tucked behind a
tiny leeward island that was normally used for trading with
smugglers. He made away with all haste, but he said the patrols
were thicker than he had ever seen them before.”

“It doesn’t
prove anything,” Gabriel said. “Van Neuk is blowhard. If he said he
saw a dozen ships, it was likely closer to three or four.” He
looked hard at Varian. “And if we have reason to doubt him, why
should we believe you?”

“Because I have
nothing to gain—or lose—by lying to you.”

“Except your
life, of course,” Gabriel pointed out.

Juliet
waved a hand at her brother to hush him. “I am still at a loss as
to why you think this would persuade us
not
to attack the plate fleet. If anything, your
information would draw the brethren to the fleet like sharks in a
feeding frenzy.”

“
I am
telling you, because along with the extra merchantmen, they are
also adding several squads of warships to the
guardia
. According to
our
sources, they are withdrawing more than half the ships of
the India Guards to supplement the normal escort fleet back across
the Atlantic. That would add roughly another thirty warships to the
guardia, none less than four hundred tons. They will be filled to
the gunwales with cannons and soldiers, and their only intent will
be to kill.”

“How do you
know all of this?”

“You forget, I
am not a duke by nature, only by the laws of primogeniture. I have
been in the military for nine years, including three as Captain of
the King’s Royal Guard. What you may not know, and what could very
easily get me killed if it were to become common knowledge, is that
when I inherited the title and all the trappings that went with it,
I did not resign my post in the army. I may have traded the uniform
and gold braid for lavender velvet and silver lace, but only
because it made it that much easier to travel freely around
Europe.”

“You were a
spy?”

“I prefer to
say that I was in Seville to study the fencing techniques of
Alejandro de Caranca, one of the most renowned masters in Seville.
Among his other devotees were several high ranking officials in the
government, including the admiralty. They are a boastful lot when
they face a supposedly foppish Englishman in the circle.”

“And that is
why the king thought you were so well suited to come here? Because
you had a measure of success loosening the tongues of a few
duelling Spaniards?”

“Actually... I
volunteered for the task. In a further search for truth, were you
to press the point of a blade to my throat, I might even admit that
I wanted to embark on one last adventure before my life became
cluttered with rents and politics, though if you repeat that in
front of Beacom, I shall deny it to my last breath.”

Juliet smiled
crookedly. “It would seem you got more adventure than you bargained
for.”

“More indeed,”
Gabriel murmured dryly. “He can return home now and brag that he
has fucked the daughter of the pirate wolf.”

Varian’s
patience was already on the edge and the sneer in Gabriel’s voice
gave it the final push. His fist came forward with the power and
speed of an iron hammer, the punch catching Dante under the chin,
cracking his head back and lifting him off his feet with the force.
He followed immediately with a second blow to the midsection, then
a third that landed just below the breastbone and knocked Dante
back toward the edge of the pool. The younger man staggered upright
and his hand went immediately to his sword. The sound of steel
sliding out of the sheath sent Varian stepping back, but only to
lean over and snatch Juliet’s blade off the moss.

“You don’t want
to do this,” he warned.

“You don’t know
what I want to do,” Gabriel replied, wiping a smear of blood off
his lip.

The sound of
the two blades slashing together shivered off the damp walls and
sent Juliet leaping prudently to one side. She knew her brother’s
skill, suspected the duke’s, and although she kept a hand close to
the hilt of her dagger, she backed away and watched the two circle
each other like cocks in a ring.

Gabriel moved
cautiously away from the soft edge of the pool, his sword arm
extended full and unwavering. Varian had a slight advantage in
height and build, but Gabriel was solid muscle and sinew beneath
the elegant clothing, and his skill far exceeded that of his burly
brother. There was genuine pleasure in his smile, as he brought the
fight to Varian St. Clare in several blindingly swift parries, his
blade cutting through the air in a series of silver flashes.

The stone walls
rang with each echo as the swords crossed, touched, slid, and
slivered together. The two men clashed without a break in stride or
rhythm, each forward step brusque and efficient, each paced retreat
calculated to draw the opponent here or there by intent. The ground
was soft in places, the moss slippery underfoot, and once, when a
lunge was overextended, the sword bit into rock and sprayed chipped
fragments onto the ground.

They came
together, swords high and crossed, both men grimacing with the
exertion and the knowledge that they were more evenly matched than
either had suspected. Steel slid in a shrill scraping protest, then
parted when Varian caught Dante’s blade and whirled it with a
stirring motion, nearly wrenching it from his grasp. Startled,
Gabriel recovered quickly and spun nimbly to the left, reversing
into a counterattack that sent the duke splashing into knee deep
water. There was also a fresh cut on his cheek, barely more than a
nick, but when his hand came away, it was slick with blood.

He stood there
staring down at his fingers so long, Gabriel glanced at Juliet and
grinned. He heard the hiss of steel beside his ear and realized his
mistake, too late to prevent a thick lock of dark hair from being
sliced away from his temple. Outraged, Gabriel vaulted into another
attack to avenge the insult. It was answered by a blur of blur of
slashing metal, the thrusts coming so fast and furious, he was
driven well back into the darkest shadows of the cave.

Juliet tracked
their movements by the sound of grunting and slashing. At one point
Gabriel made a gazelle-like leap from one stalagmite to another and
balanced a moment on one booted foot while he parried and thrusted
and engaged Varian in a breathless exchange of ripostes before
vaulting onto level ground again.

“By God, you’ve
a worthy arm, man!” he cried. “I would not have guessed it of a
lace-necked nobleman.”

Varian bared
his teeth. “I’m glad you approve. And now will you listen to me
when I say I am not here with your sister to earn the right to
brag? It was never my intention to do so; it was never a thought in
my mind.”

“Never? Not
once?” Gabriel scoffed openly. “Your intentions were noble,
virtuous, and honorable? And you were not the smallest part
relieved just then when she refused to marry you?”

Varian’s guard
dropped, just for an instant, but it was long enough for Gabriel to
launch himself across the bank. It was his fist, not his sword,
that smacked into Varian’s jaw, spinning him around, sending him
out over the ledge and into the iridescent water.

Gabriel watched
him sink to the bottom, then turned to Juliet with a triumphant
grin—a grin that ended in a yelp as his ankles were hooked and he
found himself hauled off balance and dragged backwards into the
pool.

Juliet saw the
horrendous splash and the huge cloud of white silt that was churned
up as they touched the bottom together.

In God’s name,
she thought as she moved closer to the edge, but they were still
fighting. The pull and drag of the water was slowing their
movements, but the blades were flashing, fists were striking at one
another in a graceful underwater ballet before they both ran out of
air and were forced to the surface.

The two dark
heads rose in a font of bubbles and glittering droplets. Varian
hung there for a few treads but Gabriel turned and swam for
shallower water. He emerged, dripping and laughing, then stood
doubled over at the waist while he fought to catch his breath.

Varian slogged
into knee deep water behind him, the sword still clenched warily in
his fist.

“A draw,”
Gabriel gasped. “It must be declared a draw, sir, for I would hate
to have to run you through after such a fine display.”

“Only if you
will concede my motives were not what you thought.”

Gabriel prodded
gingerly at his jawline, moving his chin to and fro to ensure it
still functioned properly. “I will concede you have a sweet fist. I
damn near bit off my tongue. As for the other, proof of your
motives is not owed to me.”

Both men
glanced into the shadows where they had last seen Juliet, but she
was gone.

CHAPTER
FOURTEEN

Varian slapped
the side of his neck, killing one of the tiny buzzards that was
gnawing at his flesh. As irksome as the insects had been on the
climb up to the summit, the sun was well down in the western sky
and they were like cannibals now, swarming around his head and
shoulders in a dark cloud.

Juliet had not
waited for them and the path Gabriel took back led around the
eastern slope, taking them past several batteries of black,
long-snouted cannon. There were two men posted at each emplacement
but that, Dante casually explained, could increase within minutes
to half a hundred at the ringing of the alarm bell.

Once they were
past the guns and making their way along the ledge that ran
parallel to the channel, the vegetation thickened considerably.
Through the palms and tangled vines of oleander Varian caught
glimpses of the water, noting that they were still fairly high up
the side of the sheer wall. Here, the view and the perspective were
much different than from the deck of a ship passing through, for he
could see where the path widened frequently into terraces where men
with muskets could stand in the camouflaged gallery and shoot down
on any vessel that made it past the cannon emplacements. Looking
down into water that was clear as gin, he could also see where
thick cables had been woven into nets and rested flat on the
bottom. On a signal, they could be drawn up and fixed tight to
stanchions on either side of the passage, trapping any intruders in
the middle.