Pirate Code Read Online Free PDF Page B

rocking the boat wildly. No ordinary wave; the claws of the Queen of the Deep.
    ~ He is not yours, ~ Tiola repeated with adamant finality, the words spoken in her mind as she raised a shield of protection around herself and the crew. She should have done that immediately she had felt the ominous presence of Tethys. This damned headache was slowing her reactions, muddling her concentration and judgement!
    ~ He is mine, Tethys. Accept it. ~
    ~ I ssh…shall not. I ssh…shall not. ~
    ~ Then you must fight me for him. But remember, those with the greed or death-wanting of the Dark Power cannot win easily over those of the White Craft. ~
    Another wave rolled beneath the boat tilting it to starboard, the oarsmen, glancing uneasily over their shoulders, cursing as they fought to keep it steady.
    “ Merde! What a night!” Rue called to Tiola as he struggled with the tiller. “Damn the fool; ‘e will make your situation worse.”
    “Tell him that,” Tiola answered, brushing aside a sodden lock of hair from her face, wishing she could as easily brush aside the foreboding coursing through her like a drowning tidal wave.
    “ Oui , I will be telling ‘im,“ Rue promised, not realising beyond her annoyance with Jesamiah there was anything wrong. “Do not doubt it ma chère, I will be telling ‘im!”
    Tiola shrugged aside the oppressive illusion of fear. There was little Tethys could do to permanently harm one of the White Craft, but Jesamiah was human, he could die. Although, if she was honest, at this precise moment Tiola felt inclined to kill him herself.
    ~ Where are you Jesamiah? Do not dare tell me you have played the part of an idiot! ~
    She sent the thought to the harbour towards the taverns and accompanying brothels lining the narrow alleys, and to the ramshackle scatter of huts that made up the pirate slums of Nassau. Received nothing back.
    He either had not heard or had closed his mind to her. He had the knowing of how to do it now, how to consciously erect a shield against the words she sent into his mind, and how to silence his own thoughts against her probing.
    Gazing towards the fort, a suspicious feeling that Jesamiah was in trouble nibbled at Tiola’s mind. She turned to look back at the rain-blurred form of the Sea Witch shifting moodily uncomfortable. The ship wanted the soothing presence of her consort, of Jesamiah. A ship was a thing made from oak trees that had once grown in a forest and had spread their branches upwards to embrace the sky; had thrust their roots downwards to grapple the rich, dark, earth. Sea Witch remembered the echoes of once being alive, and possessed a soul, of sorts. In her own way, lived for her beloved Captain, and pined for him when he was not aboard.
    The gig pulled past the lichen-covered walls of the fort; much of the place was dilapidated, the outer, northward side more a cracked and disintegrating ruin than solid brick; the inner tower crumbling. Only this part overlooking the harbour was intact, the six huge cannon, poking their vicious snouts through the upper battlements, in prime condition.
    As were the cells, the dungeons below ground. They were dirty, damp, full of filth, vermin, insects, rats and rot, but they were secure. The inch-thick outer doors were of solid oak, the locks new and oiled. A succession of corrupt governors had stored their portion of looted treasure in those dungeons. Only Governor Rogers used the place as it ought to be used; for drunks beyond ability of keeping the peace, and for miscreants. And idiots.
    ~ Where are you Jesamiah? ~
    She received a sheepish, apologetic answer.
    ~ In gaol, sweetheart. ~
    Her audible oath startled Rue’s eyebrows into raised surprise. An expletive even he, a sailor from the age of ten years old, had not heard before.
    “Up oars,” he called, and the gig bumped gently against the jetty, Tiola already standing, her skirt hitched in one hand to above her knees, the other reaching for the iron rails of a weed-covered