Day Dreamer (10 page)

“I’ve nothing to say.” He looked over the man’s head, concentrating on the horizon. After another long pause, the pirate moved on.

When Captain Dundee reached the end of the line of prisoners, he started back in the same manner, strutting like a peacock until he reached Thompson again. “I ain’t the most patient of men. Jimmy’s dead and one of you is going to pay. Who’s gonna own up to the deed?”

Not one of the prisoners moved. Cord was afraid Edward had stopped breathing and for want of air would pitch face forward.

“One of you did it,” Dundee shouted, pacing back along the grim assemblage. “One of you is going to die for it.”

“This is uncalled for, sir,” Thompson said. “Your man died in a fair fight after you attacked us. We have surrendered.”

Dundee whirled around, strutted back to the captain of the
Adelaide
and barked, “Shut up. I’m in charge here.”

Cord wondered how Dundee had won control over the rest of his rough-looking crew. All of them were taller, if not broader, than Dundee, all were more sinister in appearance, and yet all of them stood with pistols and cutlasses at the ready, waiting to move on his orders.

Dundee stopped in front of Cord once more.

“You …”

“Are you talking to me?” Cord looked down his nose at the man. It was a considerable distance.

“I don’t like your looks …”

“I don’t like the way you smell,” Cord said without hesitation. “And your wardrobe leaves a lot to be desired.”

“Take him,” Dundee said, pointing at Cord. Before Cord could draw another breath, a pirate with flaming red hair that hung past his shoulder blades and biceps as thick as smoked hams was hauling him across the deck.

Celine was certain that if she didn’t crawl out of the cupboard in the next few minutes she might never walk again. It had been deathly quiet for a while now, the ruckus having died down just after she pulled the cupboard door shut behind her. There was no sound but shifting timbers and waves lapping against the hull. The ship did not seem to be moving at all. Everyone had gone silent—or they were all dead.

She took a deep breath, then slowly opened the cupboard door. With a bit of awkward maneuvering, she pulled her head and shoulders out by resting her weight on her hands, palms down on the deck. She could see through the open pantry door that the saloon was empty.

Celine walked her hands along the floor until she finally extracted herself from the cupboard, stifling a groan as she stretched out her cramped legs. By the time she got to her knees she was certain she would never walk again, but a moment or two later she was on her feet, stumbling through the door. She stood beside the dining table long enough to let her legs become reaccustomed to her weight.

She was sure she could hear someone shouting from somewhere near the fore castle. Her feet were bare, she was still wearing the none-too-fresh nightgown and her hair stuck out a foot around her head, snarled beyond any quick repair. She headed out the double doors and onto the main deck.

The sun was so bright she had to squint and shield her eyes with her hand as she stepped out of the saloon. She nearly stumbled headlong over a coil of rope, righted herself and then gaped at the scene before her.

Captain Thompson and his crew, Foster and Edward and three other gentlemen she had seen strolling the main deck were lined up against the starboard rail like so many trussed ducks at the market. Standing guard over them was a band of disreputable-looking, scroungy men.

She realized with a start that Cord had not been in error when he said the ship was under
pirate
attack. Although pirates had once frequently strolled the streets of New Orleans, she had personally never seen one before; still, there was no doubt in her mind that each and every one of the assorted brigands standing guard over the passengers and crew of the
Adelaide
aptly fit the description. Not only were they brandishing all manner of frightening weapons, but they sported an abundance of tattoos, gold rings and beards.

It soon became abundantly clear that each and every one of them had witnessed her untimely appearance. They all stared at her as if seeing an apparition, and a few of them even crossed themselves. As she started to back away, intent on taking refuge in the saloon again, a shout came from near the forward mast.

“Kujo. Get her!”

Celine’s attention was immediately drawn to the man who had bellowed. He was short, far shorter than she, outlandishly outfitted in brilliant yellow silk and purple satin. Sunlight glinted off gold chains layered around his neck. He was pointing at her and glaring, his jowls aquiver, his complexion mottled with a hue close to that of his pants.

As Celine stood frozen to the spot, a bare-chested black pirate in a crimson turban with a matching cummerbund around his waist was making his way toward her. She looked left and right. With no alternative but to jump into the sea, she decided she would rather see what fate had in store for her here.

The black pirate’s long legs ate up the deck. She braced herself, ready to run, half expecting him to grab her and bind her hands as the pirates had those of the other prisoners. He did nothing of the sort; indeed, he made a point of not touching her at all. He stood over her with his arms folded across his chest and indicated with a nod that she walk toward the squat pirate, who was now shaking with rage.

To give them less of a spectacle, she was forced to clutch her nightgown in place. It wasn’t until she was halfway across the deck that she noticed Cord standing not far away from the little man who was shouting commands. Cord’s hands were tied behind his back and a noose was settled around his neck, but neither of these encumbrances prevented him from glaring furiously at her.

For a man who was about to die, he appeared more intent on finding a way to murder her than on saving himself.

“It weren’t wise not to tell me you had a woman aboard, Thompson,” the pirate captain yelled at Isaac Thompson as Celine drew near.

“You never asked, Captain Dundee,” Thompson shouted back.

Celine never took her eyes off Cord.

“I thought I told you to stay below.” Cord ground out the words, ignoring everyone around them, friend and foe alike.

“Who is she?” Captain Dundee demanded. Without waiting for an answer, he shouted at Celine, “Who are you?”

Before she could answer, the black pirate spoke up in a kind of pidgin English. “Not good fo’ you, dis one. Dis be de one will curse you.”

“Shut up!” Dundee ordered.

If Kujo was affected at all by Dundee’s fury, he gave no sign. “She got the looks of a
jumbie
about her. Dem eyes. See trew you. See trew me, trew time and back.
Jumbie
, she is, dat sure.” Kujo crossed his arms over his chest and kept his distance from her.

His words startled Celine. This African, who undoubtedly possessed some mysterious talent of his own, had somehow divined that she had a gift.

His words did more than startle Captain Dundee—they struck terror in him. The pirate leader was now standing stock still, staring at Celine as if he were facing the very jaws of hell.

Cord struggled against the rope around his wrists but could not so much as budge his hands. He had resigned himself to his fate, certain that his life had been cursed from beginning to end. He was never going to see St. Stephen again, never going to get home to walk along the shore or dive beneath the turquoise waves. He would not live long enough to find one moment of peace or to forgive himself for Alex’s death. He was not even going to have time to bed his wife.

Those had been his thoughts before Celine had stumbled on deck, her skin a ghastly greenish white, her hair sticking out like a dozen hummingbird’s nests pressed together, her eyes wild. She looked for all the world exactly like a ghost—the
jumbie
the pirate Kujo claimed she was. The sight of her had nearly scared the purple satin pants off Captain Dundee. Cord was close enough to discern that the man was trembling more from fear than anger. Fear had a distinct smell about it.

Tied up like a goose on the way to Christmas dinner, Cord knew that any attempt to help Celine was out of the question. All he could do was watch as Dundee questioned her.

The pirate’s voice had gone up a good octave. “What are you doing aboard this ship?”

“Traveling to St. Stephen.” She faced him squarely. Even she was forced to look down at the man. The only outward sign of her nervousness was the way she kept her hands clamped tight on the neckline of her nightgown. She did not so much as glance in Cord’s direction, nor did she give any indication that they were in any way connected.

Across the bow Captain Thompson protested, but no one paid any attention. Celine lost her footing, lurched forward and grabbed Dundee for support. As she clutched the man’s upper arm, her color faded until she was white as one of the sails luffing overhead. She appeared to fall into a trance. Her eyes were unfocused, as if she were gazing at something no one else saw. Dundee sputtered and clawed her loose, shoved her back and put a good three feet between them. He was sweating profusely, the thick coils of his plump neck ringed with dirt that streaked his collar.

“Stay away from me …”

“I’m the one.” Celine spoke so softly Cord had to strain to hear. “I’m the one you have feared for half a lifetime.”

Dundee shook more violently, fighting to maintain control. His gaze whipped about the ship. Cord was afraid Dundee was going to lash out at Celine, and struggled with his bonds.

She continued speaking softly, furtively to Dundee. “Long ago, a fortune-teller told you a woman would be your downfall, that you would die because you would wrong her and she would then curse you. Your whole life you have held yourself away from women because she told you that one day you would meet a woman who would call a dreaded curse upon your head.
I
am that woman.”

The way Celine was staring at Dundee frightened even Cord. He half expected the pirate captain to run screaming over the side. Even the forbidding Kujo shifted nervously and cautiously backed farther away from Celine.

“Take her! Throw her to the sharks!” Dundee screeched in panic while Celine continued to stare through him. Cord was wringing wet with sweat. She had pushed too far. He would be forced to stand by helplessly while she was tossed overboard and drowned. Beside him, Edward whimpered.

“You have wronged me, Captain Dundee, and now you’ll pay.” There was strength and fury in her voice. “This man”—Celine pointed at Cord—“is my husband. You were about to hang him, were you not?”

“Cut him loose!” Dundee ordered. “For the love of Christ, somebody cut him loose!” When no one moved to obey, Dundee pulled a long saber out of the scabbard at his side, stretched up on tiptoe and sliced the rope above Cord’s head.

For the first time since Alex’s death Cord found himself glad to be alive.

“You think that will appease me?” Celine threw back her head, grabbed her hair with both hands and laughed the wild haunted laugh of one demented. Then she pointed at Dundee.

“You are cursed, Captain Dundee, cursed to die a wretched death more terrible than any mind can conjure. You will die at sea in a terrible storm. Your bloated corpse will be fish bait.”

“No! No!” Dundee was no longer shouting. He stared unseeing at Celine and shook his head from side to side. The emerald earbob in his left ear glinted in the sunlight. He continued to clutch the deadly saber. Celine had pushed Dundee too far. She was within range of his saber and, much to Cord’s dismay and disbelief, she would not shut up.

“You will meet your fate this very day …”

“No!”

“Yes! There is nothing that can be done to save you …”

Cord watched Dundee flinch, saw his eyes narrow into slits in his round face. Overwhelming fear was about to become anger fueled by a sense of inevitability. Cord had to warn her that the man believed he had nothing to lose.

“Celine …,” he tried.

She never glanced Cord’s way. “Nothing will save you now, Captain.”

Dundee raised his saber.

Celine raised her voice. “Unless …”

Dundee hesitated, watching her closely. His fear was back, but it was coupled with desperation.

“What would you have me do?”

“Take your crew and leave this ship and everyone aboard it unharmed.”

“And you’ll remove the curse?” He held the saber at the ready.

Celine shrugged and shook her head. “Even I cannot change what fate has decreed. Only you can do that, Captain Dundee. Only you.”

“How?”

“Give up your pirate’s life and do only good.”

“I don’t want to die,” he moaned.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath. Her tone held a note of resignation and inevitability.

“We all die, Dundee. But you won’t die today, nor will your death be as miserable as the one you’ll deserve if you continue down this path of murder and mayhem.”

His hands still bound, Cord watched helplessly as Dundee stared at Celine and alternately clenched and unclenched the hilt of his saber. Celine still looked more like an apparition than a seasick young woman, but she stood calm in the face of the pirate’s deliberation.

“You say I’ve got to change?”

“Definitely.”

This idea seemed to pain him more than the threat of death. He cast aside his fear to question her. “How do I know you speak the truth?”

“Because I know things about you no one else could possibly know.”

He cocked his head. “Prove it.”

Celine stared up at the sky. As if she had summoned the wind, the sagging sails luffed. The ships, anchored and lashed together, strained against one another. The slight breeze ruffled the streaming ends of her hair. The hem of her gown billowed around her slim ankles. She used the change in the elements to heighten the drama. Holding her hands stretched out before her, she let the breeze thread through her fingers.

“One day, when you were a small child, your mother took you to a county fair in Cornwall. You ate a pasty that had gone bad and nearly died. You had a puppy you loved dearly. You called him King. Your mother’s name was … Mary. There’s not another living soul on this side of the sea who knows these things.”