Patriot (A Jack Sigler Continuum Novella) by Jeremy Robinson, J. Kent Holloway Read Free Book Online Page B

that unnerved her the most. Though he was far advanced in years, he had a spirit about him stronger than any of the younger men on the crew. And a wisdom that might just see through her ruse, if she wasn’t more vigilant around him. On the other hand, he continued to show her nothing but the utmost kindness—not out of fear or desire, as with the other sailors, but from something more akin to respect. And it was this that worried her more than anything else. “This would allow us to sail around the storm, and avoid a possible catastrophe. As it stands, if our course changes even slightly, Lanme Wa’s crew could overtake us in minutes, and all would be lost anyway.”
    She glanced back to the stern, catching a brief glimpse of square sails, just as the bow swept up over a swell, and then the pirate ship was gone from view once more. She already knew what she was going to do, but she needed to continue the charade for as long as she could. Truth was, there was no magical incantation to revive the immortal pirate. No spell, potion or ritual. Her grandmother was right. He would wake up when it was time for him to wake up, and not a minute later or sooner. The question was whether or not she could hasten his timetable, and to do what she had in mind would require a great deal of risk. If she failed, Captain Reardon and Finkle would have no further need of her. She would surely be cast overboard for failure to live up to her end of the bargain. That would definitely put the nails to her carefully laid plans, and she would have none of it. This would simply have to work.
    “Very well,” she said, nodding to the crate. “Remove him, and place him on da deck.”
    Reardon instructed his men to do as she said, and within minutes, the mummified pirate was sprawled across the tar-covered planks. She knelt down beside him, reached into her medicine bag and withdrew a bottle of red dye she’d concocted from a variety of tropical flowers on the islands she most frequented. Opening the bottle, she dipped her index finger into the warm, sticky liquid.
    “Remove his shirt.”
    The sailors stared at her in horror. Two of them took a step back.
    “You two.” Captain Reardon pointed to the two who had backed away. “Thanks for volunteerin’, lads. Get to it.”
    Scrunching up their noses in disgust, the two sailors shuffled forward, bent down, and began the repulsive task of cutting away the pirate’s linen shirt. Surprisingly, the shirt was relatively dry, and clean—save for a healthy coating of dust. It was not at all covered in the viscous bodily fluids of a corpse desiccated over time. Still, one sailor’s mouth clamped shut and swelled with nausea, before he dashed over to the rail, vomiting over the side. His partner finished the task, and Asherah shooed him away before inscribing a series of symbols over Lanme Wa’s upper torso with her dye-covered finger. The symbols were meaningless, of course. Simply for show. But no one on board the Mark would know that. When she was satisfied with her work, she looked up at the captain. “Now is da time you’ll be needin’ to trust me. Trust me more than you have so far.”
    “What? What do you need me to do?”
    She looked down into Lanme Wa’s pruned, cloudy eyes, closed his flaking eyelids and frowned. “You be needin’ to keelhaul him.”
    “Keelhaul!” Finkle blurted. “Are you mad, woman? The reason you’re here is to revive him—if possible. Not kill him.”
    “It da only way, cher .”
    “But even if keelhauling him doesn’t tear him apart, those waters are crawling with sharks.”
    “Aye,” Reardon agreed. “Needles just saw a school of hammerheads about two miles to the south. In his condition, they’ll be drawn to him like flies to molasses.”
    Asherah shook her head. “I’m sorry. It truly be da only way. He be needin’ da salt and water of life to revive him bones. Without dat, he just a shriveled up corpse on da deck of dis ship.”
    “Captain, I