“Finally found a woman to match your blade, eh oh Jacky?”
As the laughter came to a natural end, Jack spoke again. “She’ll be my second in command. As much your captain as I.”
The light and airy mood on deck transformed to weighted as crooked smiles turned to downcast frowns. Russian Jack sensed it, too. He rested one hand gently on the jeweled grip of his cutlass. “I know it’s been said bad luck follows ships with women on board.” He looked down at me. “But I disagree. Aboard The Black Otter, we make our own luck.”
A few men began to growl. Apparently, they figured I’d marry Jack and stay in port.
“If any has a problem with this, best tell me now.”
He studied each face. My flickering smile faded.
Jack’s face transformed from ruggedly handsome to that of a stony killer. Something inside me lurched.
“Niet. If you don’t speak up now, I’ll show no quarter when you do.”
The silence, punctuated with salt water slaps against the hull, was deafening. I stared at Jack as fear crashed against itself in the deepest part of my stomach.
After what felt like an eternity, his face softened. “That’s what I figured. Now that I don’t have to kill anyone, let’s have a round of introductions.”
I exhaled hard and looked at the crew.
My crew.
There were six of them. Each would easily blend in to the poorest of the poorhouses in London. It must have shown on my face.
Russian Jack laughed. “They may look bedraggled and hopeless in the eyes of a woman such as yourself. But be warned. These men are the most fierce and cunning, and loyal, upon the sea.”
I nodded. Jack rested one hand on my back and pointed to a large, unsmiling black man with the other.
“Red, this is The Poison Lightning. We took a slave ship off the Ivory Coast. All the Africans headed for slavery were eager to get off The Black Otter when we got them back to the coast of Africa. All except him.”
Manners a distant memory, I stared into the deep, glittering eyes of the bald African. For a fleeting instant, I thought I saw lightning flash there. I blinked, then it was gone.
Unsure of proper protocol, I extended my hand like a man. “It’s a pleasure, Mister—Lightning?”
His dark, flawless face didn’t change expression. He simply stared at me. Through me. With my hand still outstretched, I shivered and glanced at Jack, who chuckled.
“No mister needed. He has no name, just The Poison Lightning. Some who sail the seas believe that if they touch a woman, they lose their ability to do magic or tell the future. The Poison Lightning here is one such man.”
I lowered my hand in awkward jerks. Still, the man with skin like milk and coffee stared at me as though he meant to pluck my very soul from between my bones.
There are no rules here. At least none that I know. I’ll make my own.
I stared back, just as hard as he stared at me, and studied his eyes. There were no more flashes, but glittered they did with what some might take to be pure hatred. The longer I stared, the more I figured hate to be as foreign to The Poison Lightning as this entire pirating empire was to me.
“Poison Lightning,” I whispered, effectively breaking the tense silence. “How did you get your name?”
He didn’t speak, but Jack did. “The night we took the slave ship, a storm whipped up from nowhere, without warning. Lightning seemed to be centered over us on the slave ship. Once everyone was loaded onto The Black Otter, a coward of a headhunter tried to charge me. He’d been hiding, you see, and waiting. A bolt of lightning took his life before he could take mine and sunk the ship.”
Jack pulled up his black, billowy shirt and revealed his muscled stomach. A scar peeked out from under the shirt and disappeared into his trousers. “Lightning was close.”
My mouth fell open.
“The Poison Lightning claims to have sent the storm.”
I looked back at the man who would never be a slave.
He nodded an infinitesimal nod.
“To meet you today, is truly a pleasure.”
Finally, his dark face cracked into a series of planes as his lips tilted into a makeshift smile. He shifted his glance to Russian Jack and nodded again, almost imperceptibly. Almost.
Never having spoken a word, The Poison Lightning turned and swaggered to the main mast and began to climb the rigging as easily as I might climb a set of stairs.
“Tommy, meet Redella. But we get to call her Red,” Jack said as the next man stepped up to us.
I stared at the short, squat man that had appeared before me and recognized him at once.
“I appreciate you not relieving me of my head back there.” I touched my cheek and forced a smile.
“No hard feelings, me hopes.”
His voice was high pitched and musical. I stifled a smile. “None at all.”
Hair curled from over the top of his torn shirt, which had been stitched together from various pieces of fabric. He smoothed at his black hair that had thinned in several places on his head. His chubby belly peeked out from under the too-short shirt, or perhaps his britches simply weren’t pulled up as far as they should be. “Tommy Tew, Miss, the son of Thomas Tew. Perhaps ye recognize the name?”
Before I could tell him that yes, I had in fact seen wanted posters of a buccaneer by the name of Thomas Tew along the streets of London, he continued.
