The Kraken's Mirror Read online

  “You feeling better, Captain?” she giggled.

  He hated women who stifled their laughter and seemed to consider a high-pitched titter an appropriate response. He patted her shoulder, deciding not to attempt conversation with her. She’d served her purpose. Her services took the edge off his hunger, though not by much. He rolled off her and tossed her a small bag of coins, dismissing her. His eyes drooped and sleep beckoned.

  But the moment his eyes closed, the stranger’s visage glowed on his eyelids. There she was again, still lodged in his brain. The same place she’d been for the last eight hours—ever since he woke up that morning. Her face—eyes bright, though weary—hinting at some loss. Nice shade of brown, like her short hair. Shorter than he’d ever seen most women wear their hair. Hell, most men for that! A wild mix of brown and grays. She wouldn’t giggle.

  He liked her lips. Hell, he loved them. The thought of that soft mouth against his set him on fire. A slight tilt at the left side betrayed some humor. He wondered what she sounded like when she laughed.

  When he opened his eyes, his cock swelled once more. It was no use. Sleep wasn’t on his agenda, and the whore was gone, happy with her payment. He slid a hand down and stroked his prick. Damn, who was she, and how the hell was he going to get her out of his head?

  Chapter Two

  Emily started when someone ran into her leg. The sound of a dropped bottle brought out the scold in her. Great, some drunk kicking her…awake. She’d fallen asleep?

  “What?” A man’s shadow loomed above her.

  “Do you mind?” Emily rolled her eyes and rubbed at her calf.

  He squatted, sweeping a large hat aside to study her. She met his eyes and glanced at the container rolling away from her thigh. She reached for it. “Yours, I assume?”

  “Yes, thank you.” He took it from her, shook it, and tossed it aside. “Empty, anyway.”

  “Don’t leave it, you twit! Haven’t you ever heard of recycling?” She struggled to her feet, taking his offered hand. He was a gentleman, at least, and took her weight without complaint. She could appreciate that, even if he didn’t seem to care about the environment. She stalked to where the bottle now rested against a wooden wall. Picking it up, she looked around for a trashcan, preferably one that separated recyclable materials.

  He stood next to her. “Pardon me, Lady. What are you looking for?”

  “A trashcan,” she replied. Gazing about, she whistled. “They did a nice job over here. I didn’t notice when I sat to…uh…relax. What time is it? I didn’t miss the band, did I?”

  “Your pardon, the band? What band?”

  “The musicians! For the stage? Damn, I don’t believe I fell asleep. Shit.” She shook her head, tucked the empty bottle under her arm, and bent to collect her bag.

  “Musicians? You’re looking for musicians! I can help you with that. Here, let me have the bottle, since it’s valuable to you. I’ll take it back to Sam—he can reuse it if he wants.” He held out his arm. “Allow me to escort you. The best music is found at the Barmy Cock. I am Captain Michael March, at your service. I do hope you are uninjured.”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” She shivered. “I should have known it would get chilly once the sun set.”

  “Please!” He gallantly slid out of a soft captain’s coat and placed it over her shoulders. She was dealing with a real player who took the role of gallant seriously. With a grin, Emily kept in character. “Call me Lady Pawes, Captain March.”

  “Oh, Michael, please. Or even Mick. Lady Pawes? You like to take your time?” He smiled at her. They were close to the same height. He had her beat, but not by much. The faint light gave the impression of black hair, long and held back in a ponytail. A short beard and stylish mustache completed his pirate persona. He set his hat back atop his head before offering her his arm.

  “Oh, no, not that sort of pause.” She halted abruptly when they turned onto a street. A real street—not the grassy lanes she’d traveled earlier that day. “They transform the fair for the evening?”

  He tilted his head at her with the question. “I’m not certain what you’re asking.”

  She wasn’t supposed to notice changes to the grounds? She sighed, probably not. If she was going to participate, she needed to just accept that these pirates took their roles quite seriously. He led her to a lit doorway—a riotous sound spilled out to greet them.

  “But here we are! This is the Barmy Cock. The crew is meeting me here later, but please be my guest until they join us.” He led her through a ragged set of doors into an actual room, not a temporary fabric booth. They brought their own tavern! What a grand bit of theatrics. A long bar took up one side, and Emily was tickled to see the number of bottles and brands on display. Her type of tavern!

  Three hours later, she found herself standing behind that lovely length of wood, next to a giant of a man. Sammy worked serving drinks, but once she’d advised him on how to mix what she liked to call a rum sunset—since it ran counter to a tequila sunrise—he invited her to join him.

  Mick’s crew joined the growing crowd. Emily felt right at home as Sam handed her the bottles she couldn’t reach, and she mixed, blended, laughed and totally reveled in playing pirate bartender. Somehow, the reality of Mick’s officers consisting of only women didn’t surprise her. She didn’t blink to discover that he was a captain, but not the captain of this particular band of sailors. He was the type to let a woman make assumptions regarding his importance.

  Mick’s motley group gathered at one side of the bar, attempting to convince her to drink with them. When the band started playing, Sam lifted her over the bar and insisted she join the rest in enjoying the music. “None are gonna want anything fancy while there’s dancing. Go, enjoy the music!”

  But dancing was thirsty work, and by the time the band played their closing number, Emily was thoroughly soused. She bent down to pick up her pack and fell. Sliding over to rest her head on the legs of a barstool, she decided to sleep. Screw it—she’d stay until morning.

  She vaguely heard the argument going on above her. Sweet that they were concerned about her. The trip out to their ship telescoped to nothing more than being helped to a hammock.

  Chapter Three

  After waking from a troubled sleep the next morning, he walked deep into town. The unknown woman haunted his night. His time on the island was limited by his curse, but he enjoyed walking on solid ground, no matter the duration. The residents greeted him cordially enough, but he knew that warmth would turn to chill if he overstayed his welcome. By noon, thirst drove him into a tavern he seldom visited. The Barmy Cock was too bright and cheerful for him normally, though he always made sure a bottle of rum from an exotic port arrived for their shelves after every voyage. A sort of toll, since Sam ran the bartender’s union.

  The residents, the tavern keepers, the whores and shopkeepers all knew him. He was a famous man. “Hey, Captain Alan, come try the new drink!” Sam beckoned him to the bar and held out a tall glass filled with a dark-orange tinted fluid.

  He scowled at it before he took it and held it up to the light. “Seems a bit…colorful.”

  “Aye, but she knew how to use the rum you sent last visit. She called it a rum sunset, and it’s tasty.” Sam beamed at him.

  With a grimace, the captain took a sip. Another. He tilted his head at it, trying to figure out what he tasted.

  “Good, ain’t it?” Sam snickered. “A bunch of the boys tried fancy drinks the entire evening.”

  “You hire a new bartender?” He held out the glass. “Another.”

  “No, she came in with Mick and got a little bossy. I thought to quiet her up, put her behind the bar….”

  “Put Sam to shame, she did.” Sally, Sam’s wife, slid up next to him. “Short thing, but feisty. Held her own with them.”

  “Did Captain Jezebel see her with Mick? If she did, that’s the last of the wench. The woman does not tolerate doxies. Pity—this is good.”

  “He introduced her to th
e whole gang. Tink took a real liking to her. When Mick’s captain gave her the eye, the new woman literally laughed at the idea of dallying with Mick. Jezebel let her be, once that were clear.” Sam took the empty away and brought out a plain bottle with a shot glass.

  He smiled to himself. Yes, they knew him well. “I didn’t see the Cursed Quill this morning. They leave last night?”

  “You know Jezzie. She’s not going to take a chance on Mick doing something stupid and risk your curse striking. She likely saw the Immortal and left early. I think they took Pawes with them,” Sally said.

  “New crew member? Pawes?”

  “That was the name she claimed. I think she was shanghaied. They carried her out of here, clean passed out.” Sam shook his head. “Pity, I would have hired her. I made sure she got her share of the tips, though.”

  “You’re an honorable man. Jezebel wouldn’t steal anyone. Now, I…I would chain her to the bar if she walked into a place I owned. But I have a reputation to uphold.” He filled the shot glass and downed it in one gulp.

  “She weren’t shanghaied. She had nowhere to stay. Sure, they’ll see her somewhere safe.” Sally smacked her husband’s arm. “I may ask the union to keep an eye out for her, and make sure if word comes of her needing a job, we get first chance at hiring her.”

  “No place to stay? She new?” He glanced around the bar. “What does this girl look like?” he asked almost absently, making conversation. A girl who mixed concoctions like that might be interesting to meet.

  “She weren’t a girl. A woman. Short, nicely rounded. Really short hair, sorta spiky…interesting face.” Sam polished up the bar, but the captain froze, his shot glass poised at his lips.

  “A mature woman?”

  “I’d call her that,” Sally replied. “I liked her hair. It would certainly be easy to tend to. Most practical. What do you think? Would this work on me?” She held out a large napkin. “I did this sketch from memory.”

  He carefully set the shot glass down, untouched, and took the napkin. He pretended to study the haircut as if sizing Sally up for one like it. But, he was staring at a drawing of the woman who’d been haunting his thoughts. She’d been here the night before, while he’d been wasting time on some sweet-faced whore.

  He set the napkin down as if it burned him. “You ought to do one of yourself with the hairstyle, Sally. I can’t see it from this.”

  “You’re right!” She grinned at him and set about badgering Sam for another of their precious linen napkins to draw on.

  Neither noticed him carefully fold the other drawing and tuck it into his coat. He left a few minutes later. He wondered where they had sailed to…and what it would take to find them.

  ***

  Emily woke up with her head pounding. “Fuck….”

  “Well, that is what it sounded like. Good dreams?” A familiar sounding voice interrupted her moaning. Perhaps from the night before? Some blonde beanpole with a totally inappropriate name.

  “What?” She raised her heavy head and eyed the top of a blonde head to her right. When she twisted, the hammock swayed, making her belly swirl unhappily. Tink sat on the floor, going through the contents of her pack. Yes, Tink, that was her name. “Hey! Oh, shit!” Emily put a hand over her mouth.

  “Yeah, don’t throw up on me. Behind you, on that stool, there’s a hangover remedy. Shut up and drink it. Trust me, it will help.”

  Slowly, Emily turned her head the other way to see the stool. And a mug of something still steaming sat upon it. Her hand trembled as she reached for the remedy. She knew from past experience that moving slowly was the best way to avoid nausea. She tried to sit up and floundered, but a steady hand from Tink gripped the netting of the hammock and held it still insuring the drink didn’t spill.

  She’d slept in a hammock?

  Inhaling gently, Emily closed her eyes. “It smells good.”

  “It is good, and it will do the trick. Mama Lu’s cures work. Drink it, Pawes.”

  Pawes? Oh, yeah. She’d given her bartender name. Tom used to call her Crewperson Pawes when they played at pirate, a reference to the ring of paw prints on her right bicep applied when she was eighteen, in memory of Magic, her dog. When she met Tom Pawes, it fit twice—seemed like fate.

  She never yet found a hangover cure worth much, but she’d try anything once. It was years since she’d drunk enough to earn one. Halfway through the remedy, she realized the headache was fading. When she drained the last drops, her stomach settled. She set the empty mug back down on the stool. “I’m impressed—and get out of my stuff.”

  “Trying to find some clue to where you live.” She held up a driver’s license. “Emily, or Pawes if you like, you’re a long way from home. You found a portal, didn’t you?”

  “A what?” Emily slowly maneuvered herself to one side of the hammock and sat up.

  Tink tossed the card back in the pack and handed the bag to Emily. “How else did you get to Tortuga?”

  “Tortuga? Listen, I went to the pirate festival yesterday. Today is…where am I?” Emily looked around the low-ceilinged room. “And why is this room moving?”

  “Well, because we’re at sea. I didn’t intend to steal you away. Once we were back on the ship last night, I had command—Jezz and Mick being busy in their cabin. She sure liked your rum sunsets. Put her in a real sweet mood. I spied Silvestri’s ship and knew the best course was to get out before Mick fucked up.”

  Emily stared at the woman who was still sitting cross-legged on the floor. Slender to the point of too thin and very tall, from what she recalled of the night before. With a talent for cursing. Why they called her Tink was beyond comprehension.

  Turning her head, Emily gazed at a small square of bright light. She slid off the hammock and slowly approached it. What it framed made her heart stutter. The sea, not the murky, deep blue of the Pacific, but the clear, turquoise blue of the Caribbean. She’d been there and recognized the hue. She reached out a hand, hoping to find a window or a screen, but instead she felt the spray of the sea on her fingertips.

  She fell back on her butt, accepting that she was on a ship. Moaning, she turned to Tink. “What the fuck! What sort of nasty trick is this? How the hell did you get me here? And why? I’m not worth that much!”

  “Yeah, but you make some mean drinks.” Tink uncoiled from the floor—no, the deck. She stooped to avoid the rafters at her head, gazing over at Emily. “Listen, you found a portal. I don’t know where or how…I’d guess at this festival you mentioned. Don’t get your panties in a knot about it. Portals are actually fairly common back in Tortuga. We’ll find it for you and get you back, if that is what you really want to do. Most people who find a portal arrive where they actually have reason to be.”

  “I have reason to be in San Francisco today!” Emily refused to believe what this strange woman said.

  “Well, instead you’re aboard the Cursed Quill, sailing the Caribbean, and it’s 1697. But be cool—it’s not like you think. Come, let me show you the head.”

  By the time her tour of the Cursed Quill was done, Emily was convinced she’d lost it. They possessed a shower and a modern kitchen, along with a clever flush toilet that Tink said composted. A good-looking sailor walked by her with an iPod strapped to his arm. Yet, there was no doubt they were in the Caribbean, and to all outward appearances, the ship was a period sloop.

  Tom also dreamed of sailing and spent long hours building models. She knew ships from years of his talking about them. No real pirate ship would have this many modern conveniences, unless it were one of those tourist excursion ships. That had to be it.

  But after crawling over the lower decks and finding no engine of any sort, she gave up. Either she was indeed insane, or a group of pirate enthusiasts took the game too far, and she was the captive of a group of completely mad re-enactors. She started searching for hidden cameras. Was it a reality show? Shanghaied by Pirates?

  Three days later, she stopped looking for any other explanation. She d
ined with the women she’d met at the festival bar, meals she knew no period ship would serve. Mick tried to describe the situation to her and only confused her further.

  It was Captain Jezebel who finally explained it in a fashion she almost believed.

  “The best I can figure…Tortuga, this Tortuga, fell through a sort of time tunnel. It’s the center of this universe. And everything that is lost or thrown away finds its way here. Like the island of lost toys in the Christmas movie…?”

  Emily nodded. “Okay. People and iPods and refrigerators?”

  Jezebel shrugged. “Inventions that got lost or never happened. Hey, I’m not a scientist. I suffered misery in my own world, then fell here thirty years ago and made myself at home. Most of the crew can tell a similar story.”

  “Not me, I wasn’t…too miserable.” Emily sighed. “Hell.”

  “Yeah, hell. Think about it. We’ll get you back to Tortuga, and you can look for the portal you fell through and decide to stay or go back. You want to stay? We’ll find work for you. We make out pretty good, raiding the occasional Spanish ship. The Spanish here carry a lot of booty and very few weapons. The French merchants beg to be robbed. I swear they line up for it—easy pickings.” Jezebel held out the bottle they’d been sharing. “Or stay on Tortuga and work as a bartender. You’re good at that. But there’s real benefit to being part of this crew, as you’ll find out.”

  The captain looked away, and Emily figured there were still secrets not being shared. Fine, she’d wait. Or not. When she got home, she’d have a wild story to tell, about the hallucination she suffered at the pirate festival.

  Her ass hurt and she shifted, looking for a more comfortable position before replying. “I still think I’m totally bonkers, but when I was younger, I read some fantasy where things like this happened. So, I’m going to wait and see. If I’m crazy, I’ll embrace it and enjoy the pleasant aspects.” She claimed the bottle and took a swig. “I’m sure I’ll meet the unpleasant, eventually.”