Victoria Janssen - The Duke and the Pirate Queen

It was rather exhilarating, being swung into the air and into a boat, rowed for a distance, then lifted much higher and swung across to what he assumed was Seaflower ‘s deck, more exhilarating because he couldn’t see, move his limbs or balance himself in any way. He had to give over control completely. Imena was delightfully devious. He’d chosen even better than he’d imagined.

The sailors manhandled his carpet down a set of shallow stairs, which told him they were beneath the captain’s cabin. He remembered the low-ceilinged space there. Temporary bulkheads could be erected at different intervals. It was sometimes used for passengers, sometimes for cargo, and at present smelled strongly of mangosteens and farm animals, who were kept below. His carpet was carried into a space that felt smaller, a temporary cabin perhaps, and set on the deck. The sailors departed in a hurry. The door shut and a chain rattled. They did not leave a light.

He wondered how long Imena would be, and if waiting was part of the game. He didn’t think he was intended to remain rolled in a carpet until her return; or if he was, he didn’t intend to behave, as the pressure of fabric against his face was beginning to irritate him. He shifted his weight, struggled and rolled to one side then the other. The folds of the carpet loosened. He persevered, and was soon free.

The cabin was small, only just long enough for his outstretched body, the ceiling too low for him to stand without stooping. There was no bunk or chair, butsomeone had provided a pair of loose trousers, a blanket and a spread towel that held a large jug of water, a loaf of bread, several oranges and a waxed-paper package of soft cheese, which he identified by smell and by the faint light filtering through tiny cracks between the boards of the temporary bulkhead. His searching fingers soon found an enameled box, as well: candied balsam, probably from the same shipment as the box he’d given to Diamanta. The food indicated his wait might be lengthy, and they didn’t intend to stint on him while he was aboard. He was grateful someone had thought to leave a chamber pot, as well.

It was a good thing Imena had told Sylvie where he was. He pushed the towel with the food into the corner and spread the carpet as far as it would go, folding the edges under so one end made a sort of pillow. He leaned back against it, pulled the blanket over himself and in moments was asleep.

Imena shoved her hastily scribbled transcript of the conversation she’d heard into Sylvie’s hands. “So there is a woman involved, but I wasn’t able to tell how, or what, her intentions might be.”

Sylvie made a face. “Where His Grace is concerned, she might be any one of dozens. Including you, Captain Leung.”

“It is not me,” Imena said sternly. “You will take care of this? At least until it’s safe for us to return?”

Solemn and cold, Sylvie nodded. “You may take refuge with Madame Camille if needed.”

“I don’t want to put Her Grace in jeopardy, as well. Her position is still precarious, isn’t it?”

“The Duke’s Council is growing used to her,” Sylvie said. Then she grinned. “You will take good care of His Grace?” The tone of her voice made it clear she meant the words pruriently.

Imena stared down her nose at the smaller woman. “I have to go now if we’re to catch the tide.”

A cat was meowing loudly.

Maxime woke, unsure at first what had changed. The cabin was cooler than before, and he’d dislodged his blanket. An enormous ginger tomcat had probably helped; it was sleeping behind his knees. He groped for the blanket, found it, then froze with his hand full of wool. He smelled the sea. Not the docks, but the sea. He vaulted to his feet amid feline protest. The gentle sway beneath his feet was not a ship docked, or even a ship at anchor, but one in motion, fleeing before the wind and propelled by a good tide.

“Fuck!” Maxime tried the door—fastened closed by a chain passed through bolts—then banged on the bulkhead. “Imena! Captain!”

His fist rang hollowly. He could hear it echoing across the empty deck. She hadn’t loaded cargo. Of course not. She’d hardly had time. Half her crew would have been enjoying shore leave. What was she about, heading out to sea under such circumstances? He would have been happy to entertain her in port. Why had she taken him to sea? Perhaps they hadn’t gone far?

“Captain!”

No response. In fact, not even a rush of sailors’ feet toward his door. He rubbed his sore fist and listened; he could hear feet pattering on the main deck above, distant shouting, the loud creaking of wood, the heavy hum of rope and the snap of sail. From below, he heard the grunting of pigs, chickens gabbling, a goat’s bleat and the plaintive lowing of a milk cow.

Being ignored was more frustrating than he could have imagined. He paced the narrow room, faster and faster. He was no longer in the mood for sexual games or sex, unless it was the quick-and-hard kind. What was she doing? Testing him?

If she kept him out here too long, he’d miss the king’s next envoy. And what of all the business that would await him this morning?

He might not want to deal with any of that, but he wanted it to be his choice if he did not.

After pacing off the worst of his anger, he put his back to the bulkhead and slid to the deck. It was too bad he didn’t have those legal texts with him; if he missed the envoy, he would need all the references he could get to keep in Julien’s good graces. But he had nothing in here, not even a treatise on sailing. He would just have to wait until someone came to his door. Then he’d beat Imena at her own game.

But first, he was going to put on some trousers.

“Captain!” Chetri called. “Sail approaching.”

Imena, who’d been about to go below and speak to Maxime, cursed. “Norris, take the spyglass and see if you can identify it.”

“Aye, Captain.” She scampered up the rigging, barely touching the ropes with her feet.

Chetri said, for her ears alone, “Looks like one of the king’s cutters.”

“Fuck him with a bowsprit,” she said. “I don’t think it’s a courtesy visit.”

“Do you think they’d take His Grace by force?”

Imena took a deep breath and concentrated on the clean salty breeze that brushed her face and scalp. As always, sea air calmed her. She was in command here, not just of the ship, but of herself. “The duchess Camille told me that King Julien is a reasonable man, but I don’t know what her definition of reasonable might be, after she lived with that insane husband of hers for so many years, while he wreaked havoc on the duchy.” She added, “I would have thought a reasonable king would have removed the man from power himself, not left it to Camille to take care of.”

“Who knows how royalty thinks?” Chetri asked. “Her Grace Camille seems a woman of good judgment in many ways, so perhaps she’s right about her king.”

“I believe she trusts him, but … whether this cutter is the king’s doing, or that of the men I heard at the Squid, or just coincidence, I can’t take the risk.”

“There won’t be any accidents on Seaflower,” Chetri said. He touched the long knife at his side.

“It’s best if they’re not allowed to board.”

Norris slid down the ropes and landed almost at Imena’s feet. “A royal cutter,” she said. “No signals flying.”

Chetri said, “They’ll have seen us by now, and it’s no secret you’re His Grace’s captain.”

Flee or bluff? Fleeing was more suspicious. The fewer suspicions about Maxime’s whereabouts, the safer he would be.

“We let them approach, and we bluff,” she said. “On no account does anyone from that cutter go below.”