The Rogue’s Prize (6 page)

away.”

Frink’s eyes narrowed as he

pondered Ollie’s unpardonable mistake,

interrupting the madman. Percy held his

breath, for he had seen that look and felt

the resulting effects of the man’s anger

before.

“That old crone didn’t seem

affected,” Frink stated matter-of-factly.

“That badger’s not as frail as this

one,” Ollie replied.

Frink backhanded Ollie in a fit of

explosive rage. “You bloody wastrel!

That is the last time you’ll interrupt me!”

Ollie clenched his fists. Frink

raised his cutlass, prepared to strike.

Percy warned Ollie off and stepped

forward. “Ollie had nothing to do with

this. I hit the girl, Captain. You heard her

scream. If there’s one thing I can’t stand,

it’s a blithering woman.”

Frink turned on him, stared hard,

and then growled a curse. The captain

would find no fault with his actions. In

fact, he expected Frink to applaud them.

The captain howled with demented

laughter. “That be the difference

between us, Sexton. I like a woman to

squirm and beg. You’ve always been

won over with soft-spoken words and

promises. Today, spawn, you’ve won

me respect.”

Turning toward his men, Frink

yelled above the din to men who

clamored to fight off the last of the

Octavia
’s crew. Fire burned on the bow,

lighting up the night, casting Frink in

sinister contrast to those who struggled

to survive. Wood snapped and crackled,

increasing the expectancy of everyone

present.

“You know’d the law when you

signed, Sexton,” Frink reminded him.

“Your disobedience has cost me on

more than one account. You’re a damn

good pirate, one with an insatiable

appetite I’ve yet to see quenched. And,”

he added, “you’re a man who’s outlasted

his turn more than once with the cat.”

Frink sneered as if that one act of

defiance irritated him. Then he raised

his cutlass high. Warily, Percy eyed

Frink, prepared to act should the captain

attack.

A cacophony of voices rent the

night,

some

bloodcurdling,

some

victorious. Sounds of shattering glass

and busted wood echoed in the air as

men tossed provisions to and from the

Octavia
to their ship, the
Striker
. Percy

held no illusions. Frink was a frayed

rope ready to snap. Like a male bird

preening for a mate, the fiend paced left,

then right. A captain’s life became

forfeit if his authority ever came into

question. Frink, better than any other,

knew how tenuous his position as

captain could be if he did not face down

any threat to his command, when it was

made. And Percy had always been

viewed as a threat.

“She looks a wee bit small. Pretty,

too. Were you fighting over her?” he

asked.

“Would it make a difference?”

Percy answered. “She wanted nothing to

do with either of us.”

Frink smiled a wicked purposeful

warning. “No? I suppose not. This one is

made of finer stuff than we’ve ever seen.

Will she survive? No matter. These

women never do. So to say whether or

not your attempts to bed her before me

were worth it or not, well … we shall

never know.”

Pure evil, Frink raised his cutlass

again to anyone who would listen.

“Captain Collins forfeited all rights to

parlay by aiming his guns at our ship!”

The
Striker
’s crew gathered around

Collins. Percy knew the only thing on the

minds of these men was the booty in the

Octavia
’s hull. No matter what occurred

next, they would not be denied their

share.

Frink pivoted on his heel and

pointed his cutlass at Percy’s neck.

“You’ll rue the day your mother

spawned you, Sexton. I should have had

you pickled for your insolence the first

day I laid eyes on you. This isn’t the first

time you’ve tried to steal me wench, nor

the last, I wager,” he added. Scratching

his wiry-haired chin, Frink stared at

Constance

pensively,

then

leaned

forward and lowered his voice. “You’re

a good man in a fight, but you’ve got a

bleeding heart. I was looking forward to

having the wench watch me conclude me

business with Captain Collins.”

Spinning around, Frink moved

quickly past Collins. One look proved

t he
Octavia
’s captain was seated and

helpless, a revolting sight to the most

stalwart stomach.

“What do you say, Collins?” Frink

bellowed. “That fair piece you carried

aboard might miss our little fun, but that

doesn’t mean we can’t conclude our

business, does it, men?”

A grand “hoorah” ignited the

crowd.

Captain

Collins

harrumphed.

“You’re despicable!”

A pirate smacked Collins over the

head, opening a new wound. Frink

shouted, encouraging his men, waving

his arms about like a thrashing squid.

Riotous laughter echoed about them.

Percy scanned the crowd of misbegotten

souls, finding two, four, ten men waiting

for his signal. He shook his head.

Patience.
Timing was everything.

Frink slashed his cutlass through

the air as he paced in front of Collins’s

unconscious form. Then, changing tactic,

he whirred the blade past Percy’s head.

Percy didn’t flinch. Thanks to

training he’d received within Nelson’s

Tea, his reflexes were on continuous

alert. He knew the minute Constance

began to regain consciousness. When she

stirred, he sheltered her face in the crook

of his arm so she wouldn’t be exposed to

Collins’s humiliating treatment.

“Be still,” he whispered, “if you

want to live.”

Catching the movement, Frink

shouted. “Bring the girl!”

Percy took a hesitant step forward.

Every second Constance came to being

fully awake increased her odds of

getting killed.

“Set her down. If she wakes up, I

want her to see what happens to those

who oppose me,” Frink ordered.

Percy laid Constance on the ground.

“Do not move,” he warned her.

Her eyes flickered open. Those

startling green eyes locked with his.

Smoke blanketed their feet from the

residue of battle. Dangerous minutes

ticked by, until Collins squirmed,

drawing the captain’s attention. Captain

Collins’s eyes narrowed upon Frink and

then slowly shifted to Percy. It was

obvious the man was in immeasurable

pain. His fixed stare willed Percy not to

break Nelson’s code, though Percy had

already scanned the crowd, looking for

ways to save the merchantman’s life.

When my time comes, make sure I

go out like a man.
He could never forget

Collins’s last request, even if he tried.

Collins’s face contorted. “Kill me

and be done with it!” he yelled.

Frink could not know Collins was

directing this last request to Percy.

“You’ll make a pretty death of it,

yet, Collins!” Frink exclaimed, grabbing

Constance by the arm.

Now wide awake, Constance

squealed and shrank away.

“You see,” Frink said, pulling her

to her feet. “We make hell worth living.”

Giving his captive a shake, he added,

“And if this be hell, I want to enjoy

every last minute of it!”

Frink jerked Constance forward

and planted a forceful kiss upon her lips.

She gagged beneath his assault. When he

released her, she screamed. Enraged, the

captain smacked her face and twitched

his nose. Bowing, he offered his men a

salute.

“The lady and I bid you adieu.

Perhaps my crew can be persuaded to

put you out of your misery, Collins.”

Percy clenched his fists. His worst

fears confirmed, he watched Frink out of

the corner of his eye, as the man dragged

Constance over to the hatch of the cargo

hold. There, the wretch tore at her wrap,

struggled with her thrashing limbs, and

fumbled with his pants. Percy’s gaze

scanned the crowd, and then settled upon

Guffald, a member of Nelson’s Tea,

lying unconscious, face up a short

distance away. If he hadn’t been hard-

pressed to check out the bowels of the

Octavia
and, hadn’t been detained by

saving Danbury’s niece, he might have

been able to help the man. Instantly alert,

he watched two pirates pour oil over

Guffald’s body in preparation to set him

aflame. Not another moment could be

wasted. His gaze flicked over his crew.

All he had to do was give the signal.

Celeste’s silhouette flashed before

him, but her image was dissected by

Constance’s terrified scream. The time

had come. Percy pulled out his

blunderbuss and aimed the pistol at the

man about to torch Guffald. He pulled

the trigger. Smoke filled the air as the

powerful slug hit the man and sent him

reeling backward, until the torch

disappeared as the man vanished over

the
Octavia
’s railing.

He shouted to Ollie. “Tend Guffald.

Jacko,” he said, turning toward his first

mate, “follow me.”

“Make ready!” he yelled to his

men.

One by one, his men raced into

action,

drawing

dirks,

cutlasses,

marlinspikes, and axes against Frink’s

crew. Mutiny swept man to man. What

was left of Collins’s crew jumped into

the fray. Percy rushed up to Collins.

“Save her,” Collins panted. “Don’t

let any harm come to Lady Constance!”

Percy nodded. He ordered Jacko to

aid Collins, and then hastened toward

the cargo hatch. Dodging debris, he

stepped out of the way just in time to

avoid a collapsing mast. Up ahead, Frink

loitered just beyond his reach.

“Hold,” Percy shouted, stepping in

to confront his nemesis.

Frink’s head snapped up. His

sudden mistake cost him as Constance

shoved her knee into his half-exposed

crotch. Bowing down with pain, the

captain cursed. Percy rushed forward to

grab Constance’s arm and pull her to his

side, but Frink miraculously regained his

balance and jerked Constance back.

“Not so fast,” he bellowed.

Squaring his eyes at Percy, he spat, “I’ll

be blown, you turncoat! I should’ve

known you’d turn your back on me!”

“Hand over the girl!”

Percy held his cutlass high, aiming

the broad tip at Frink’s heart, allowing

his gaze but a second or two to linger on

Constance to ensure that she was

unharmed. Shaken but uninjured, she

appeared to be going into shock. He

watched in horror as she stumbled

closer to the edge of the hatch to escape

the silver blade upheld in Frink’s fist.

“Take her from me, if you can,”

Frink challenged.

Constance whimpered. Percy had

no other choice. He’d have to go through

Frink to reach her. With fencing prowess

unmatched, he had no doubt as to his

odds. But a cutlass was a hacking blade.

Should he wield the final blow, all

connection to Frink and his benefactor

would be destroyed, ending his quest to

bring Celeste’s killer to justice.

Rumbling as if Poseidon tore at the

Octavia
’s hull, the merchantman’s

wooden shell began to crack. Glass

shattered. The deck heaved. Time was

running out.

“Look out!” Percy cried as the deck

collapsed, plunging Constance through

the hatch.

Frink’s eyes took on demonic light

and he grinned wickedly. “Looks like

you’re too late to save the wench,” he

baited. “But if you dare to try, you’ll

have to go through me first.”

Forward thrusting with vicious

tenacity, the captain engaged Percy in a

duel of clashing steel.

“You’ve preyed upon the innocent

for the last time,” Percy said.

“Give it your best, boy!”