AMBER WAKE: Gabriel Falling (The Razor's Adventures Pirate Tales) Read online

  AMBER WAKE

  Gabriel Falling

  The Razor’s Adventures

  Pirate Tales

  P.S. BARTLETT

  RONOVAN HESTER

  AMBER WAKE

  By

  P.S. Bartlett

  Ronovan Hester

  Copyright © P.S. Bartlett and Ronovan Hester 2016

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher and/or authors.

  Dedication

  I dedicate this book to anyone who ever stood up for anything they thought was wrong in the world. The rebels, the fighters and the freedom seekers.

  I also dedicate it to those wonderful people who have supported me, encouraged me and selflessly given up their time and energy to beta read, host me on their blog or follow my journey in the shadows. Without all of them, I doubt you’d be reading this book right now.

  Last but not least, thank you Ronovan Hester for bringing me a wonderful story and allowing me to assist you in bringing it to life.

  I’d also like to acknowledge my friend and colleague, author extraordinaire, Cristi Taijeron. Again you have not failed me. Again, through your imagination and our telephone sessions plotting battles, romance and bloody mayhem, you have fed my addiction through your passion and enthusiasm to assist me in creating a world I can wrap myself up in and dream away on a moonlit night at sea.

  P.S. Bartlett

  Dedication

  I dedicate this book to my son for giving me the purpose to wake up each day and move forward with my dreams instead of giving up when life threw me for a loop.

  Ronovan Hester

  One

  “Gabriel, there’s trouble brewing upstairs,” Miles Jacobs said, taking an empty chair at the corner table of the tavern. When I observed my lieutenant’s set jaw and clenched teeth, I immediately appreciated the seriousness of his words. My eyes followed his to the steps at the opposite end of the tavern, passing over the crowded room of Royal Navy men and local seamen. There was only one nature of affairs to be found at the top of those stairs and it was never the prudent sort.

  “Are any of our crew involved?”

  “Not that I am aware of, but Admiral Hawthorne is,” Miles answered.

  The mention of the name of such a pious member of London society snapped my attention fully to the big Scotsman, Miles, and I leaned to his ear and asked, “Are you certain?”

  “I’ll forgive my captain’s momentary lapse of sanity in questioning his first lieutenant and lifelong friend,” Miles said with a raised brow. “But it would seem the Admiral’s lovely wife is engaged upstairs, and the Admiral has followed her here to capture her in the act of said engagement.” His expression of feigned insult slid quickly into a devilish smile that appeared to be bursting with anticipation.

  The possibility of a deadly outcome in this situation began to hush the hall, and anxious expectation rose thick in the atmosphere of the room. However absurd this situation was, it was beyond even Miles’s ability to indulge in the pleasure of being present for such a scene. The reality of an admiral’s wife spending time in a room normally occupied by whores was as humorously awkward as any scenario either of us had witnessed of late.

  “Perhaps we’d make better use of our time elsewhere,” Miles said as he stood. I rose to follow him, when the commotion on the stairs stopped us like an unseen wall. A young, dark-haired man leapt down the stairs, his coat in one hand and his open shirt flapping in his wake as he fled the roars of the wrathful man close behind him. I easily identified the young man as Maddox Carbonale, a young lieutenant we’d only yesterday acquired from another ship. His assignment to my patrol galley came with a reputation that I’d been left to sort out—as well as his less-than-obedient temperament.

  I’d been repeatedly blessed of late with what the navy labelled as problem seamen and I hadn’t yet had the honor of a formal introduction with this obvious miscreant. According to my command, I was adept at handling hard-heads. I knew better. My men weren’t hard-heads—they were loyal and rugged. I never had to worry about my back. They were rough around the edges, perhaps, but disobedient, never. That was until now.

  “Hold that bastard!” Admiral Hawthorne ordered. He made his way down the stairs one at a time, clutching at the railing for support. His face was puffed-up and as red as a drunken Irishman with an empty wages packet. He was sweating and panting as if he, too, was running for his life.

  A group of Royal Navy men obeyed the admiral’s order without question and scrambled after the fleeing man. The object of their pursuit fought them, tossing each one off as they struggled repeatedly to seize him. However, it wasn’t long before several of them at last wrapped him up and wrestled the stealthy young man to the ground. Knowing of my lieutenant’s lust for a good scrap, my hand was pressed hard against Miles’s chest until, at the conclusion of this spectacle, he turned to me and said, “I wasn’t going to hurt anyone…much.”

  “We need to determine the full nature of this incident before we unwisely jump into such a delicate situation. What decent woman would involve herself in such an indiscretion, unless it was of her own device? Not to mention the fact that I cannot for my life understand why we should even care.”

  “We are in the audience, and it would be rude not to give the players our full attention. Besides, I didn’t say who that ‘anyone’ I was going to hurt was,” Miles said from the corner of his mouth.

  “Make your way around the other side with care,” I said, and he nodded and began an easy journey through the now vacant part of the tavern. Everyone still sober enough to stand was pressed closely together to see what would happen next. The stench of beer and body odor assaulted me as I moved roughly through the gathered mob.

  “I am going to blast your balls off for this, boy,” Admiral Hawthorne slurred, spraying his words. He waved his pistol and moved closer to the fit young man now standing and secured tightly by the arms and shoulders, yet continuing to twist and wrestle to free himself from the Admiral’s men. Admiral Hawthorne labored step-by-step towards the restrained target of his angst, until he lost his footing and stumbled to the tavern floor.

  Throughout his entire ordeal, the handsome young man neither spoke nor showed a speck of fear, even as one of the men snatched a handful of his unruly black hair and jerked his head back while two other sailors helped the Admiral to his feet.

  A low, rolling groan flowed through the crowd as Admiral Hawthorne appeared to be making good on his threat. He raised his pistol and pointed it in the general direction of the man’s groin, scattering the gawking mob. It appeared almost everyone feared the chance of being caught by a misdirected shot from the shaky hand of the maddened admiral.

  “Hold, Admiral,” I said, stepping forward, which hushed the nattering crowd.

  Hawthorne turned toward me with a squint. “Captain Wallace? This is none of your concern. It would serve you well to remain clear of the matter.” He turned to take aim again, and I held back my retort in regards to my own welfare. However, having no interest in bloodshed, I spoke anyway. “Sir, the young man is unarmed and being held against his will.
There has been no trial. This will not go well, sir, not even for you.” As I spoke, I spied Miles still carefully moving throughout the crowd, until he was directly behind one of the Admiral’s men who was holding tightly onto the young man.

  Admiral Hawthorne took two tottering steps and his rotund body was pressed hard against mine as he barked up at me. “You dare to presume how my actions will be received, boy?”

  “Just offering a bit of direction in a storm, Admiral. To murder a man in this manner will surely bring grave consequences, sir. There is no honor or dignity in murdering a restrained and unarmed man.” The stench of hard liquor on his hot breath seared my nostrils as he blew his words at me, causing me to lean back from his face. The room fell silent as every man now stood quietly awaiting the admiral’s rebuttal, which did not come. Then, I watched as all eyes and ears turned to the stairs and the delicate footsteps descending them. To say the Lady Hawthorne was brave would be a great understatement; to say she was beautiful would be pointless.

  “Agatha, I told you to stay—”

  “Be quiet, Jeremiah,” the young Agatha Hawthorne said to her husband. “Ordering me around as if I were one of your crew has never worked for you, nor will it…ever!” she said and turned her gaze to the handsome, dark-haired prisoner, who’d ceased his relentless efforts to free himself as their eyes met.

  “Agatha—” The Admiral said in an attempt to draw her attention, as well as his embarrassment, away from the young man’s bright green eyes, but she didn’t waver.

  “Maddox, I do hope we meet again. If not, I doubt I will find another lover that has your appetites.” She twirled a long, loose curl with the fingers of her left hand and slid the fingernails of her right down the flesh of his exposed chest. She turned gracefully away from him at the shoulders, gazing back one last time before finally cutting a path through the crowd as she walked away. Her expensive scent followed her through the musky tavern, until her dazzling blue eyes acknowledged my presence. “Captain Wallace,” she said and nodded.

  Everyone watched as she drifted carefree from the tavern, leaving lustful thoughts and in her wake, revenge.

  “Die, you wife-thieving scum,” Hawthorne growled as he lunged forward.

  “No, Admiral!” I shouted, grabbing his arm as his gun discharged into the floor. At the same time, Maddox made his most daring escape move yet; he kicked up with both feet in the air. Taking his captors unawares, he leveraged his body weight to pull them down on top of him, causing them to let go while creating a havoc of scattering sailors and gawkers.

  “The lothario has killed the Admiral!” I looked to the source of that cry, and across the room was the first lieutenant of Admiral Hawthorne, ever-present and ever-protective. He was pale as moonlight and trembling like the last leaf in autumn.

  I glanced at Miles and nodded to Maddox. Miles nodded in return.

  “Admiral Hawthorne,” I said, still holding onto his arm, but now I was completely bearing his weight. I looked at him in horror to find a dagger had somehow been buried deeply in his chest during the chaos. My assumption was the dagger had been meant for Maddox.

  “Help me sit, Gabriel,” the Admiral groaned as he lowered himself into a chair, and I held tightly onto him to keep him from falling. “Pull it out. I don’t want to die stuck like some wild boar on a hunt.”

  The Admiral’s shirt and waistcoat were already saturated with blood. I knew from experience that removing the blade would cause a red river to spring forth, but the choice of a quick death was his to make.

  “Grab his shoulders!” I called to Miles as the others gathered around. “Someone hold his legs. On three.” My chest tightened and pushed every breath in me outward like a gale. Then, I counted.

  The wet sucking sound as his flesh reluctantly released the blade caused some of the men to retch and groan. Admiral Hawthorne’s blanched white face was now glazed over with perspiration. Over his ragged breaths, he murmured, “My nightmares . . . have always been…of dying by stabbing…but I never thought…it would be over some society-arranged marriage, young piece of . . .”

  The Admiral slumped in his chair and was gone.

  Two

  I awoke to the single shot of the rogue’s salute. As if my fate weren’t already sealed, hearing that shot fired during colours was more than enough to forewarn me of the day that had been laid out for when I arrived to court.

  “It is the determination of this court that, regardless of supposed good intentions, Captain Gabriel Wallace played a significant role in the death of Admiral Hawthorne, by restraining the use of his arm and rendering him unable to defend himself,” Admiral “Round”, as I had come to recognize him during the month-long court-martial proceedings, said. His girth surpassed his height so much that he found need to stretch his arms and roll forward to reach the desk in front of him. “Therefore, you will be removed from the service of the Royal Navy and shall no longer receive benefits associated with a member thereof.”

  The courtroom, which was normally minimally occupied for such a proceeding, was filled to crushing capacity due to the sensational nature of the case. As the verdict was read, there were several audible gasps of shock, none of which mattered nor affected my disdain for such a travesty. I was more entertained by the floating particles of dust caught in the beams of sunlight shining through the chamber’s windows than any decision they might have read. Throughout the trial, the dust never settled, and in my heart and mind, it quite possibly never would.

  The final verdict had never been in doubt from the very beginning—at least to me. Admiral Jeremiah Hawthorne had been well-connected and respected, not only in the Royal Navy but also in London society, as his family was in finance and banking for generations.

  His death by stabbing was a low and common thing, and having occurred in a tavern, and a sailors’ pub at that, made it all the more scandalous. Those involved in the case had kept quiet as to the specifics when in public. Nonetheless, the report had spread and the circumstances skewed beyond reality. The proceedings had become the mainstay topic on every wagging tongue throughout London, from daily tea times to gossip over nightly pub fodder.

  “Your loyal service to the Crown has been taken into consideration. Hence, imprisonment shall not serve as your punishment,” Admiral “Stick” said. “Have you anything you wish to say at this time, Mister Wallace?”

  Having been addressed solely by my given name and not titled as I had been for now as long as I could remember, it struck me foremost not to answer. Then, a moment later, the importance of the title I’d worn heavily throughout these proceedings fell away.

  “Thank you and good day.” Removing the powdered wig which signified the rank of captain aboard a ship of the Royal Navy gave air to the short, damp red hair underneath and I placed it on the stand of the defendant’s box. Never would I suffer such an imbecilic creation again. Feeling the time to exit had come, I turned and saw Miles ready at the door.

  “Wallace, are we to understand that this is your final statement in the matter?”

  I turned back to meet the bulging eyes of Admiral “Bugger”. “There is nothing more to say.” Admiral Chambers, a close confidant of Admiral Hawthorne, leered at me. I imagined he wished I were sentenced to swing alongside the mutineers and pirates at the execution dock. Of those present, I believed he felt the loss of the Admiral the most. His foul expression was one of hatred and disgust. I’d felt the depth of his searing desire for revenge throughout the proceedings, but now I held his gaze, leaving him empty-handed, as he no longer held any power over me.

  For a final time, his face reddened in anger as I dared challenge him with my unwavering gaze. The large, barrel-chested, much-feared Chambers of Hell, had set his own self ablaze, and I fanned the flames with a slight smile and a bow as I made my exit. Miles closed the door on my career with a click of finality.

  “Gabriel, what’re our plans now?” Miles asked.

  “You are to continue your career, perhaps as the new capta
in of the Majesty’s Venture, and I shall take a slow walk home. Any word on that philandering deserter, Carbonale?”

  The big Scotsman laughed. “First, there’s not enough gold in the coffers of the Pope’s privy to make me a captain…as we both know,” he stated with a smile. “Those days are long buried. As for the young lieutenant, I cannot say.” Suddenly, the laugh left his eyes. “I never wanted to be a captain anyway. I certainly haven’t that particular kind of diplomacy. You know better than to try and send me off as if you haven’t a care. We’re friends. I know you. Where you go, I go. Now, stop this folly and tell me, what’s next? I know there’s somethin’ brewin’ in that head a’ yours.”

  I smiled at the predictable, matter-of-fact manner of my lifelong friend. “Home, for the moment. The sorting out of my life here in London has already been taken care of. There are but a few final things to be handled with care. As to the whereabouts of Carbonale, to hear you say you cannot say actually says more than if you’d blown your guts—which, by the way, I have no interest in after all. Forget I even inquired. My concerns are selfish and to be perfectly honest, if I never see that curly black head of his again, it will be too soon.”

  Miles nodded. As my closest and oldest friend, he knew better than anyone the aspects of my life that needed careful handling. “Then you are leaving London?” he asked. His raised brow and inquiring eyes signaled the wheels that I knew began to spin in his head. “I’ll be taking care of a few things myself, then. First of all, I’ll be burning this woman’s fluff,” he said as he whipped off his powdered wig. We parted ways at the end of the street with a vibrant handshake, and I carried on for home.

  The “woman’s fluff” had always been an embarrassment to Miles. He once said being forced to wear the fake hairpiece was almost like wearing shackles. Based on my knowledge of the man, I doubted he was disappointed with the outcome of the trial and welcomed his release from all of the shackles he’d worn beneath that wig.