Honor Among Thieves || Book Two

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Chapter One

Tortuga

The boisterous hum of conversation filled the ironically named Faithful Bride as a colorful host of characters gathered within to share stories and drink their troubles away with the finest smuggled rum around, while women in brightly colored dresses moved from table to table in hopes of selling their services for the night, and a self-proclaimed bard recited old sea chanties on a makeshift stage fashioned out of a burned table.

With no law but the Code, it truly was a pirate's dream.

Tonight, however, something was different. There was something amiss, a feeling of tension and unease in the air that was not lost on an old sea dog by the name of One-Eyed Sam.

He was practically immune to the effects of alcohol, probably because he had drank since he came out of the womb, and as far as he could tell, he was the only sober soul in this hellhole (he did not come here for pleasure, you see, but because it was the only place he could scrounge together a meal and bed for free while his crew laid by; his namesake along with the fact that he was partially deaf and had a twisted leg made him a rather undesirable prospect as a crewman, and the fact that he was up in his years meant that he likely had a "wet noodle" as the girls called it, meant the soiled doves paid him little mind).

He saw, with his one glassy eye, the barkeep continually steal anxious glances toward the open door as if he were expecting someone or something. Perhaps he was expecting a friend to come collect his debts. Perhaps his wife had found out he was being sweet on that brunette with the big rack. Or maybe it was the Redcoats. Maybe he was secretly a spy working with the Crown so that--

A pirate, most likely a captain, swaggered through the doorway with a handful of men in tow. They were a grimy and unkempt lot, appearing as if they had already enjoyed the night's pleasures at a tavern down the road.

Sam strained to hear what the captain said as he plopped down in front of the bar, purposely knocking a drink out of a young lad's hand in the process. "How goes the barkeepin' business, Gregory?"

"You know you're not welcome here." The barkeep answered flatly, sitting the glass he was wiping aside. The man sneered and snatched the drink from the bloke next to him. "I can go wherever I please, thank you very much, but I won't be here long. Just passin' through."

Gregory glowered at him a moment before he resumed cleaning the glass. "Rumor has it that there's a hefty price on your head, Jake."

"Of course there is!" The latter exclaimed with a chuckle, taking a swig out of his ill-gotten mug. "I've got bounties from here to Timbuktu!"

"Aye, but things ain't like they used to be. What I hear," Gregory sat the glass aside and leaned forward on the bar, glancing at a shadowy figure advancing through the crowd, "there's someone on the sea takin' the law into their own hands, a woman."

"Bah!" Jake slammed the mug down so hard that the contents spilled over the sides. "Seraphina Drake? She's just an old sailor's tale! Even if she were real, I doubt she'd have the guts to--"

"An old sailor's tale, hmm?"

A woman sat on the stool next to him, a droopy hood concealing all but her  plump lips. "Is that what they're saying about me these days?"

Jake eyed her warily. "Who are you?"

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that." She cooed, looking down at her jeweled fingers. "Tales and stories conjured up by a bunch of superstitious pirates shouldn't be given any creedence, should they?"

His eyes narrowed as he craned his neck in an attempt to see through the shadows cast by her hood. "Show yourself."

"Jake Calloway, captain of the Sinner's Pride. 'Big Jake'." She uttered, ignoring his command. "Do you remember a girl by the name of Geraldine Walker? Freckles, flaming red hair?"