Chapter 13
For a full week following Tilton’s dismissal, everything was fairly calm, if one discounted all the general complications of having Devlin and Zeus haunting the house, and Dora acting as jittery as a bug in a hot skillet. With the help of the employees Eden had kept on—those who had been more loyal to her father than to Tilton—and the men Devlin supplied from his own crew, the warehouse was running quite smoothly. In just a few short days, business was already improving, and Eden could not believe the increase in profits now that Tilton no longer had his fingers in the cash pot.
She’d scarcely drawn her first tentative sigh of relief, almost daring to hope her troubles were finally at an end, when she entered the warehouse office one morning to find it in a shambles. So suddenly did she stop, as if turned to stone, that Devlin, who entered just behind her, almost sent her careening onto her face. Together they stood staring in dismay.
Whoever had ransacked the room had done a thorough job of it. Ledgers were strewn about the floor, pages ripped out and shredded. Not a cupboard or drawer had been left untouched, the contents thrown willy-nilly. Even her desk had been desecrated, the beautiful walnut finish now sporting numerous deep scars, as if someone had slashed it time and again with a knife. Likewise, her father’s chair was no more than a pile of kindling, the leather seat sliced to ribbons and the stuffing pulled out.
Devlin had never seen Eden cry. He’d seen her sad, worried, angry, happy, even frightened—but he’d not seen her shed so much as a single tear. Now she gave a hoarse little cry, turned her face into his chest as if to shut out the sight of the devastation, and clung to him like a kitten to a tree limb. Enfolded in his arms, her slight body trembled so that he wondered how it stayed intact. With each deep sob, her shoulders heaved, and within minutes her tears had soaked his shirt through.
She wept as if her heart were breaking, and Devlin felt so sorry for her that his own heart ached for her. Never having had much experience or patience with weeping women, he was at a loss as to how best to comfort her. Awkwardly, he brought a hand up to stroke her head, and crooned to her, “Sweetling, don’t cry. It can all be set to rights again.”
“N-not Papa’s chair!” she wailed.
Devlin winced, not knowing what to say. Over the top of her head, he viewed the remains of the chair and had to concur. It was, indeed, beyond repair. Still, he had to say something to make her stop sobbing. “I could try to find someone to rebuild it,” he offered lamely.
“No.” She sniffled. Her face was flattened against his chest, her words muffled and watery as she added, “It wouldn’t be the same.”
He sighed, then grimaced slightly as she rubbed her nose back and forth over the front of his shirt. Blast it all, he was going to have to launder his shirt again, and it was about two threads shy of being a rag now. “Tell me what I can do to make you stop crying,” he said, ready to promise almost anything.
Her reply surprised him. It was the last thing he expected to hear her say. “Teach me to curse.”
On a half-laugh, he asked, “What?”
‘Teach me to curse,” she repeated past a quivery hiccup. “You once said you would, and I could use a few good curses more than anything else just now, because if I don’t get rid of some of this rage building up inside of me, I’ll surely burst.” She pulled back far enough to turn red-rimmed eyes and a cherry nose up to meet his wondering gaze. “If you were standing in my shoes at this minute, what would be the first words off your tongue?”
“Son of a ...” The words dwindled off.
She raised a delicate brow in query. “Go on with it. Son of a what?”
He couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t teach her that particular word. “Bear,” he offered. “Son of a bear.”
She gave him a disbelieving frown. “Somehow that doesn’t sound right. What else?”
“Damnation.”
She nodded. “That will do nicely. Let’s hear another.”
“Hellfire.” He hoped she stopped adding to her list soon, because he was already running low on his list of milder curses, and he was loath to teach her the more scalding ones.
Eden was not to be put off that easily. “Yet another, if you please.”
‘Tarnation?”
‘Try again, Devlin. A really good one this time.” “Jackass. Horse’s bum. Crupper.”
‘Too tame,” she insisted with a shake of her head.
“Blarst it all, Eden! A lady shouldn’t say such things, and I’ll be double-damned if I—”
“Just one more, and I promise I’ll be satisfied.”
“Gadzooks.”
“Gadzooks?” she echoed. “What sort of word is that? Did you make it up? I’ll bet ’tis not a curse at all.”
“Would you really care to wager on it, duchess? After all, I’m the one teaching this lesson.”
“Then what does it mean?” she challenged.
“ ’Tis an oath sworn by the nails driven into Christ’s hands at the Crucifixion.”
‘Truly? You swear it?”
“By everything that’s holy. And as you have pointed out repeatedly, I am well versed in Biblical fact.”
She still wasn’t sure she believed him, given the teasing twinkle in his eye, but she decided to grant him the benefit of the doubt. Besides, it was a wondrously unusual word, and worthy of being put to good use.
As she turned to view the ruin of her office, she tried it on for size. “Gadzooks! How I would love to catch the person responsible for this deed and hang him by his ...” Here she paused to wrinkle her brow in concentration. “What is it you would hang him by, Devlin, were you me?”
“His ears, sweetling,” he supplied with a long-suffering grin. “Most definitely by his ears.”
Dora got her new spectacles from the doctor, which meant that she began seeing things even more clearly than before, things she wasn’t supposed to observe. Every so often she would pop into a room and catch an invisible Devlin with a spoon or cup halfway to his mouth. Or worse yet, witness a chicken leg suspended in midair.
At first she simply shook her head and said nothing, lest Jane and Eden think she’d gone daft after all. But when she twice caught Devlin stealing kisses from Eden, only to have him disappear from view a second later, she finally complained, shakily and with pitiful hope clearly written on her face, that the doctor must have given her the wrong prescription for her eyeglasses. Feeling guilty, but still unwilling to confide their secret to their flighty servant, Eden and Jane agreed that the physician probably had made an error. That, or Dora simply had to give herself time to become accustomed to the strength of the new lenses.
Meanwhile, Devlin was still plotting to get Eden into his bed. When all else failed, he decided to play on her sympathy. At breakfast one morning, he began coughing and sneezing and complaining of a sore throat.
Though his forehead felt cool to her touch, Eden suggested with a frown of concern, “Perhaps you should see the doctor, Devlin.”
“Nay. I’ll not go wagging into his office with you at my side, like a sniveling lad needing his mama along for courage. You are not the only person with a reputation to uphold, sweetling, and I’ll not have it bandied about town that I was too much a coward to seek a doctor by myself, which we both know is impossible at this point.”
“Shall I get him to come here, then?”
“And stand hovering at my bedside all the while? I think not.”
“Well, then, why don’t you go upstairs and lie down for a while?” Jane suggested. “More than likely, ’tis just a sniffle. I’ll send Eden up in a bit with some broth for you, and mayhap a poultice for your throat.”
Which was precisely what Devlin had hoped when he’d devised this scheme.
A short time later, he lay lurking in his sickbed, the sheet pulled up to his chin, and wearing absolutely nothing but hard, hot flesh beneath it. He tried his best to curb the wolfish smile which kept curving his mouth as he awaited Eden’s imminent arrival. Soon she would discover that the only ailments he suffered were pangs of acute desire. And the only cure required was her sweet body thrashing beneath his, her moans of longing matching his, her hands caressing his feverish body— soothing, or exciting, everything but his brow.
Upon hearing her tread in the hallway outside his room, Devlin gave a pitiful moan, in the advent that Eden might already suspect his devious trickery. The doorknob turned, and Devlin held his breath. Just as the door swung open, Zeus let loose with a loud squawk.
An even louder, human shriek echoed the hawk’s. Devlin bolted upright in bed and stared in disbelief as Dora tossed an armful of linens into the air and tore off down the hall as if demons were fast on her heels, screaming at the top of her lungs.
He’d scarcely managed to leap from his bed and don his breeches when Eden entered the room. She took one hard look at his sheepish face, long enough to accurately determine the state of his health and his obvious guilt, and launched into a hushed tirade, no less effective for its lack of volume.
“You snake! You scheming worm! Now see what you’ve done? Dora is downstairs, quaking and screeching about ghosts! And if we don’t quiet her soon, the entire town is going to be alerted. Blast your randy hide!” She tossed the onion plaster into his face and, while he was still trying to peel his way clear of the soggy, smelly hank of cloth, she upended the bowl of broth on his head. “I wish you truly were sick. For a hoax such as this, you deserve to cock up your toes!”
Fortunately, Jane was able to calm Dora sufficiently. As it happened, the servant had suffered a knock to the head the day before, when a large pot had come tumbling off a high kitchen shelf. Jane suggested that Dora’s hallucinations were a result of the blow. This the woman reluctantly conceded as possible, though she continued to mutter about ghosts and haunted houses for long afterward, claiming she would never, under any circumstances, enter that upstairs guest room again.
Thereafter, they could hardly encourage her to venture to the upper level of the house to clean any of the bedrooms unless she was accompanied by Jane or Eden. It took a costly bolt of silk from Devlin’s pilfered treasure before mother and daughter forgave him for his part in this inconvenience.
Just when it seemed that Charles Town was ready to put aside all reservations about Devlin, and forget the fact that he was a pirate as well as a partner in the Winters Warehouse, four brigand ships, with upwards of four hundred rowdy cutthroats, sailed into port and promptly began to terrorize the town. The attacking horde of marauders swept through the streets like an angry swarm of riled wasps, armed to the teeth and destroying everything in its path. Within hours, a large section of the town nearest the dock was reduced to a shambles, all shipping trade brought to a jolting halt beneath this unforeseen assault. Throngs of drunken, sword-wielding raiders pillaged at will, ransacking and burning businesses. In their mad frenzy, they ravaged, maimed, or slaughtered anyone or anything not wise enough or fast enough to flee, while the citizens of Charles Town recoiled in abject terror.
Word of this terrifying onslaught spread like wildfire, and within minutes of the attack Devlin and Nate were being apprised of the situation by their mates. “’Tis that devil Blackbeard and his crew,” one fellow informed them. “Along with others who’ve joined up with him for a time. Looks as if they mean to sack the entire town and leave it smolderin’ in their wake.”
This was not heartening news to Devlin’s ears, for Edward Teach, better known as Blackbeard, was a crazed, murdering bastard who through his ruthless antics was continually earning all pirates a much worse reputation than the majority of them deserved. Numerous of the more civilized brigands of the day limited their attacks to merchant vessels, opposing pirates, or galleons filled with New World treasures headed for Europe; they did not generally prey on passenger ships or common townsfolk in their search for wealth, nor menace and maim indiscriminately. Not so the infamous Blackbeard. His very name struck terror in many a heart, for he had well earned his notoriety as one of the most ferocious and bloodthirsty pirates known to mankind.
With a shake of his head, Devlin gave an agitated sigh. “Damn the man! Why did he have to attack Charles Town now, when I was finally gaining some favor with the townsfolk here? He is going to destroy every bit of goodwill Eden and I have managed to garner.”
“Aye,” Nate concurred, “and with the number of men under his command, there’s little we can do to stop him.”
“Methinks we need to hie ourselves down to the docks and investigate the matter further,” Devlin suggested. “Mayhap there is something Teach wants, something which would appease him enough to make him cease his rampaging and seek his sport elsewhere.”
With that in mind, the men stopped by the house long enough to warn Eden and Jane to stay safely ensconced behind locked doors and shuttered windows. “I’m leaving a couple of my men on watch outside as added protection,” Devlin told them, “but if anyone tries to break into the house—”
“We’ll shoot first and ask questions later,” Jane finished for him.
“Ye do that, Janie girl,” Nate said with a chuckle, giving her a quick buss on the lips. “We’ll collect the bodies later, along with any bounty they might have oh their heads. Jest be mighty careful and make certain yer aim is true. This be a scurvy bunch o’ bilge rats Blackbeard has gathered about him.”
As accustomed as Devlin and Nate were to pirate raids and the mayhem that usually resulted, they were sickened by the sight that met them when they reached the docks. At least a dozen hapless victims lay injured or dying in the streets, their bodies riddled with wounds. Dead animals, including carcasses from a local butcher shop, littered their path. The stench of rum and blood was everywhere.
Several shops were aflame, the fires untended and raging, threatening bordering establishment..,. Drunken pirates chased about in all directions, looting and shouting and fighting even among themselves. As Devlin watched, a young lady managed to escape her would-be rapists, while they pummeled one another to see who would ravage her first. From a nearby brothel, panicked screams revealed that even those women willing to sell their favors were not safe this day, and would not be paid for what was being taken so violently.
Amidst this ongoing melee, Teach was still ridiculously easy to spot. Standing a half foot taller than the average man, he towered above the crowd like a huge, bellowing giant. His shaggy black mane and the bushy beard that had earned him his name were braided into a multitude of long, spike-like plaits and decorated with pieces of brightly colored ribbon. Oddly, this unsightly coiffure served to make him appear all the more fierce, like some demented demon from hell. The mere sight of this scowling hulk was enough to send any prudent person running in the opposite direction. And if additional intimidation was required, Blackbeard had been known to twine bits of candle into his beard and light them, making his hair appear to be ablaze, the better to inspire fear in an opponent.
Their weapons in hand, Nate and Devlin waded into the fray, readily insinuating themselves into the confusion. While Nate concentrated on gathering information from lesser pirates, Devlin invisibly sidled closer to Teach, eavesdropping on the man’s conversation. He soon learned that Blackbeard and his unholy troops had by now succeeded in plundering several ships in Charles Town Harbor. Not satisfied merely to steal goods, disrupt trade, and create havoc, they had taken a number of the passengers hostage, including several women and children. In exchange for these hostages, Teach was demanding that the town send him a chest of medicine for his sick crewmen. He threatened to sever the heads of his prisoners and deliver them to the governor if his demands were not met.
So that’s his game, Devlin thought darkly. A bout of revelry and ransacking for his men, some booty into the bargain, and medicine as the final reward from terrorized citizens eager to see the last of him. Devlin also knew that, in accordance with Blackbeard’s murderous code, if innocent people were sacrificed in the process, so much the better. Teach would relish every moment of tormenting his helpless prisoners, and gleefully kill them afterward.
The man was an ogre, completely without conscience, and Charles Town was in a panic to be rid of him. Their hackles raised, all their old antagonism toward pirates immediately reborn, the frightened people demanded revenge. They wanted the governor to do something. Now. Before more lives could be forfeit, or more of their hard-earned livelihood destroyed.
But Governor Johnson decided to take the matter under advisement before acting, stating that he did not want to make any rash decisions which might put the town in further peril. In the interim, Blackbeard and his pirates were running amok through the town, parading boldly through the streets arid terrorizing one and all. More innocent bystanders were abducted and taken aboard Blackbeard’s ship.
During this time Devlin received unwelcome news of his own. Several of his crewmen came hurrying to him with reports of his old enemy, Captain Swift. “He still be alive, Cap’n,” one man declared. “Talk is he was in the Tortugas a while back.”
Nate, too, had heard this latest supposition. “A number of Blackbeard’s men claim to have seen him. ’Twould appear maroonin’ the bloody bastard didn’t rid us of him for good and all, Dev.”
“More’s the pity,” Devlin mused. “I’d hoped he was dead. And for all we know for sure, he might be, since these latest tales of him are naught but rumor.”
“Mayhap, but if they be true, ye know he’ll come lookin’ fer us, sooner or later,” Nate predicted. “’Specially if Teach’s men tell him where to find us.”
“I hope they do. ’Twould save us the trouble of having to run him to ground,” Devlin responded with a contemplative smile.
“Then we’re not goin’ after him?”
“Nay. Not now, at least. I’ve promised Eden my help with Tilton and Finster, and we’ll not be leaving Charles Town until I’ve rid her of their menace. With luck, by the time that deed is accomplished, my visibility will have returned to normal as well. Then we’ll be after Swift, if he’s still alive, and if he hasn’t found us first. Either way, the next time we meet, his blood will stain my sword.”
Meanwhile, Blackbeard’s terrible antics were creating dismay and concern for everyone, Eden included. “Can’t you do something, Devlin?” she asked, turning immense, pleading turquoise eyes on him.
He shook his head at her naivete. “What would you suggest, Eden? I have fewer than forty men. Shall I pit them against four hundred? The odds would not be in our favor.”
“But you know him, don’t you? You are in the same business, so to speak. Couldn’t you talk with him, pirate to pirate? Make him see reason?”
“There is no reasoning with the man. Plainly put, he’s insane.”
“That being the case, do you think he will honor his word and release the hostages unharmed if he gets the medicine he wants?” she questioned further, sympathetic tears turning her eyes to glistening jewels. “Or will he murder them anyway?”
“I cannot say, Eden. There is no determining what the man might do. He derives diabolical pleasure from terrorizing others, is famous for his unpredictable temper, is quick to the trigger or the sword, thrives on bloodshed, and is absolutely fearless.”
An odd look crossed her features, one Devlin could not immediately read. “Is he truly? Fearless, I mean? Is he also as superstitious as the usual sailor, despite the fact that he’s holding women aboard his ship even as I speak?”
“What is going through that devious female mind of yours?” Devlin asked, a frown drawing his golden brows together.
She offered him a gamine smile, a look of pure mischief about her. “Well, I was thinking our fierce Blackbeard might be uncommonly afraid of ghosts,” she suggested lightly. “Now, if a certain phantom pirate I know were to approach him, mayhap whisper a few dire threats into his ear, he’d be liable to reconsider his demands, would he not?”
Devlin’s white teeth flashed in an answering grin as he doffed an imaginary hat at her. “Aye. He just might at that, duchess.”
In the wee hours of the following morning, enshrouded by the black mist of predawn, Devlin rowed himself out to Blackbeard’s ship. So dark was it that he had little fear of being seen by anyone—rather, of having anyone see the dinghy rowing itself out into the harbor, and he was careful to make as little noise as possible. Blackbeard’s crew was so confident of their superiority, so blatantly arrogant, that they had left the boarding ladder hanging over the ship’s side. Devlin climbed aboard without ever having to wet the soles of his boots.
He swaggered past several men on the main deck, none of whom took any notice. Not that he’d thought they might. From the lay of the ship, he quickly calculated the most reasonable place to find Blackbeard’s quarters. Then, instead of choosing that route, he took the hatchway leading into the bowels of the vessel.
Just as he’d suspected, he found the prisoners, at least a fair number of them, locked in a single barred cell in the hold. A lone sentry guarded them, or would have, if he’d been awake. It was child’s play for Devlin to rap the sleeping man over the head with the butt of his flintlock and slip the keys from his belt. It was slightly more difficult to unlock the cell door without waking any of the hostages, but he managed this also. As the door swung open with a loud squeak of rusted hinges, they stirred drowsily. Suddenly, one fellow gave a disbelieving gasp and cried out softly, “Look! The door’s open!”
“Saints be! We’re saved!” another exclaimed.
Rousing their mates, they started hesitantly toward the open doorway. “Do ye think ’tis a trap, so they can slay us and claim we were trying to escape?” someone hissed.
“I don’t care if ’tis,” a woman said. “I’d rather die trying to swim to shore than here in this stinking hole.”
“What of the others? How can we go without them?”
“We have yet to be gone ourselves,” another hastened to point out. “And we’d better be about leaving before someone comes and we lose our best chance to do so.”
A second woman piped up in a frightened whisper. “I can’t swim! Neither can most of the children.”
Devlin wanted to tell them about the dinghy, and about the half dozen men on deck they would have to elude, but he was forced to silence.
As if the fellow had read his mind, a hostage suggested, “If luck is with us, we’ll find a rowboat. If not, hold onto someone who can swim. Now hush, for surely they have someone standing guard above.” Assuming the role of leader, the man began ushering people from the cell. “Keep the children quiet and try to stay in the shadows.” Devlin followed them on deck, his sword in hand, ready to defend them if need be. Somehow they made it to the ladder and over the side undetected, the adults carrying the children. Once assured that they had found the dinghy and could row themselves safely to shore, he left them, cursing the fact that he had not thought to tow another dinghy behind the first, for now he could not free any other hostages he might happen to find unless they were strong swimmers. He estimated he’d saved fewer than half of those reported to be aboard, but there was no help for it now, unless he could manage to frighten Blackbeard into releasing the rest.
As silent as a wraith, Devlin made his way to Black-beard’s quarters. The door was barred from the inside, but he made quick work of that problem, the blade of his longknife sliding-effortlessly through the crack and shifting the latch aside. Without a sound, he crept toward the bed, where Blackbeard lay blissfully unaware, snoring loudly.
Devlin had to hold back a laugh as he perched on the edge of the pirate’s bed and croaked out in his best imitation of a wavering, ghostly voice, “Teach! Edward Teach! Awaken, you scurvy arse!”
Blackbeard awoke with a start, reaching immediately for his cutlass. In the inky darkness of the room, Devlin could scarcely view the man’s movements, but he managed to see well enough to bring the point of his knife against Blackbeard’s throat. In the process, Devlin inadvertently sliced off a thick strand of braided beard. Again, he had to choke back a chuckle as he imagined Blackbeard’s ire when he realized that his precious beard had been mutilated. Still holding the burly pirate at bay with his knife, Devlin slid the loose skein of beard beneath his shirt, where it would remain undetected for the time being. Then, with the toe of his boot, he kicked Teach’s cutlass beneath the bed, out of reach.
“Who ... what?” the man stammered in confusion.
“Teach! Listen to me,” Devlin told him in the eeriest, wobbliest tone he could manage. “I have come to warn you to leave Charles Town.”
“Who ... who’s there? Show yerself, by damn!” Once more, Blackbeard tried to arm himself against his unknown attacker, snaking a hand toward the pistol atop the stand at his bedside, only to feel strong fingers clamp about his wrist, holding his hand shy of the gun. The knife point pricked sharply at his throat, following the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed reflexively.
Devlin thought he felt Blackbeard’s arm tremble slightly. “Your weapons will do you no good, Blackbeard. Not against the likes of me,” he prophesied with an evil hiss.
“Who are ye?” There was a distinct note of panic in Teach’s voice now, and Devlin could have crowed with delight.
“I am the Phantom of Fate! Your fate, Edward Teach!”
“Ye’re a lying sack o’—”
“Tsk, tsk,” Devlin chided mildly, even as he gave the man’s wrist a wrench hearty enough that Blackbeard released an involuntary groan. “However, since you seem reluctant to believe me, I will allow you to light a candle. Then we’ll see who is the liar, and who is not.” The tinderbox seemed to float into Teach’s hand.
It took several tries before Blackbeard could accomplish the simple task, so shaken was he by now. But his original fright was paltry compared to that which crossed his hairy features when he had the candle lit and still beheld no one in the room with him. And all the while, he felt those fingers about his wrist!
“Where are ye, ye devil?” he roared, his famously fearsome gaze searching his quarters. He nearly leapt from his skin as Devlin replied with an awful chuckle, “No need to shout. I’m right here.”
Incapable of more than a hoarse whisper at this juncture, Blackbeard asked fearfully, “Wha-what do ye want?”
Devlin could not resist the temptation. He tried, for all of a heartbeat, then answered in his most terrifying voice, “I want your soul. You named me the Devil, and quite correctly. I want your soul for my amusement.”
“Why?”
Devlin’s demonic laugh raised gooseflesh over Black-beard’s skin. “Because ’tis mine, for all the evil you have done, and now I am here to claim it for all eternity.”
Amazingly, Teach was still coherent enough to argue the point. “Nay, Devil. I’m yet young, with many a year left to me, and plenty of fight in this body.”
“You dare to gainsay me, mortal?” Devlin crooned nastily. “To deny me that which is rightfully mine to take at any time I deem proper?” He let the question lie between them, unanswered, for just a moment before continuing in a considering tone. “Then again, perhaps I could wait a bit. There’s no hurry. After all, a year to you is as a blink of the eye to me. However, if I were to grant you a reprieve, I would have something in return for my benevolence.”
“What might that be?” Blackbeard asked hesitantly. “That you set your hostages free, unharmed, and leave Charles Town forthwith. And never set foot or anchor in this place again.”
Blackbeard pondered but a moment. “Aye. But I need those medicines.”
“Then take them, by all means, but should you harm one hair upon the head of any of your prisoners, I shall prepare the hottest coals of hell for your immediate arrival.”
Again Blackbeard looked confused. “What sort of Devil are ye, that ye would want to keep these priggish maggots from harm? I’d think ye’d dance a jig if I cut ’em to ribbons and fed ’em to the fishes.”
For just a moment Devlin was at a loss, but his quick mind came to his rescue. “Nay, Teach. There are those among them who will go on to do my will and my work here in Charles Town, and I need no interference from you. Either you abide by my decree, or suffer the consequences. And think not to defy me, pirate, for there is no way you can escape my wrath.”
Slowly, cautiously, Devlin eased from the bed as he spoke, hoping his words would hold Blackbeard’s attention, even as he lowered the man’s hand and gently let loose of it. “Before I go, tell me the whereabouts of Captain Swift.”
“I don’t know where he is, and I care less. Ye should know better than I.”
Realizing his error, Devlin added hastily, “No matter, Teach. I’ll find him, just as I did you. You,” he repeated softly, a faint echo shadowing his words as he backed soundlessly toward the door. “You.”
He let his voice become weaker, fading into nothing by the time he opened the door and sprinted through it. He was out of the passageway and onto the deck before he heard ’s roar trailing after him. As he leapt to the ship’s rail, he caught a glimpse of Teach’s huge, naked, apelike body lumbering into the open, pistol in hand. '
Devlin spared but a moment of regret for the soaking his boots were about to take, and one last, gloating laugh for Blackbeard. Then, before the pirate could decide where to aim his shot, Devlin launched himself into an arcing dive and plunged below the murky waters of Charles Town Bay.