Cast In Dark Waters by Tom Piccirilli, Ed Gorman Page A

They sat and rested for a handful of minutes. No sign of the two armed guards supposedly on watch.
    "Look out for traps," Welsh whispered.
    They hurried forward along a thinly-cut trail, drawing their cutlasses and listening for any human sound. The jungle growth stoppered the moonlight and occasionally they were forced to feel their way blindly, slashing at vines and brush. Crimson heard the chitter of monkeys and felt a pang under her heart. Tyree had kept a capuchin for a time, named Mendicantino —little beggar. She opened the satchel wider and felt the ash wood on top within easy reach.
    " Shhh ," Welsh said.
    "What?"
    "A noise. Stand ready, girl."
    "Always."
    She almost spoke her husband's name. And then they heard a cry: human and horrified, straight ahead.
    "Faster, goat."
    "Towards that, yer thinkin '?"
    "I've not come this far to meet up with only a corpse."
    He let out a grunt. "Haven't you now?" he asked.
    "Follow me and fasten your gob."
    Lashed and slapped by the heavy undergrowth, they followed the sparse path that vanished in places. They had to keep chopping through bush and branch until they found their way again. Crimson pushed on through clouds of mosquitoes, trying not to slip in spots still muddy from recent rains. Welsh wheezed and huffed behind her. He'd replaced his cutlass and held only his dagger now. Good, he was better with a short blade, and it wouldn't tire him so much to carry it through the jungle.
    "Torches," he said.
    "I see no light."
    "I smell the tallow."
    He was right. As they crept through the brush they came to a clearing of land where the village itself lay like a growth upon the granite face of an unknown god. Two dying torches illuminated the area. Huts made of bamboo, stone, vine, foliage and fronds ringed a huge spit where, Crimson guessed, communal meetings were held. Rain barrels of drinking water were lined up on the south side of the semi-circle while two rusted cannons resided on the north. There must have been hidden tunnels with hoists of some kind for Villaine's men to bring up the large guns.
    "Not much stench from any latrine," Welsh told her. "If Villaine has either buccaneers or savages with him, they're not many."
    "A lazy lot. No one's scraped the cannons down to keep them clean. Hedrick said they were probably bunglers."
    "No sadder sight than a shiftless pirate resting on his treasure chest. I'm thinkin ' we ought to lighten some of their load."
    The village appeared deserted. No movement or sound of any kind within. But still there persisted a sinister sense that something unspeakable had happened here—a plague or slaughter. She could almost feel Tyree's chilled lips on hers and she fought to keep her concentration. "Let's check the huts."
    "Careful."
    The first seven bungalows were empty. The pirates had apparently shacked with some of the native women—pots, blankets, seashell combs and colorful cloths sat out in the open upon beddings and warped wood furniture. Gunpowder too wet to be of any use lay in uncapped barrels. Some haughty jewelry and wooden boxes of coins were in plain sight. Villaine's crew was treated so well they didn't even bother to hide their spoils from one another.
    "Odd company, these privateers," Welsh said.
    "Agreed."
    "If it's a battle they had, they weren't expectin ' it."
    "Not most of them, leastways."
    They were leaving the seventh but when they heard the unmistakable sound of a woman weeping. It seemed to come from a bungalow on the far side of the circle. Crimson quickly strode across the common area but Welsh tugged at her sleeve. "Caution, girl."
    "Hush."
    She jerked free and yanked her flintlock from her sash. With a deep breath, she used the edge of her sword to toss back the piece of dark cotton cloth used as a curtain in the doorway. Her eyes had no time to focus before a shot exploded and Welsh's forceful arm smacked her to the ground even as he flung himself aside.
    Another wail rose, this time one of immense and undying