Death Whispers 28: A Privateer's Gambit

Aug 4, 1722. Brewed Gambit Alchemy Shop, Kingston, Jamaica. Brewing up plans and skullduggery…

Author’s Note: Death Whispers of the Etherwave is a serialized fiction story that is a part of Legends of the Privateers. Each chapter will appear weekly.

Missed a chapter? (or ‘Episode’ if you like!) Well, never you worry, as we’re only just getting started! The full list of chapters will appears here!

Transformed by the cataclysm of 1712, Doctor Pedro Sangre and his four courageous privateer companions confront mysterious and evil forces that plague innocent people. Together, they grapple with uncanny forces and myths come to life, risking everything to preserve peace and set right what has gone wrong.

Previously: Cannons ripped the sky as the Rising Eel took aim at the Silk Duchess. Worn, battered, but defiant, Pedro, Elara, Lysander and crew pulled together. Not just to give Captain Storm and the Rising Eel a hard black eye, but to forge a narrow escape for Kingston. An escape to buy themselves time to regroup, rest, and plan their next moves…

Aug 4, 1722. Brewed Gambit Alchemy Shop, Kingston, Jamaica. Brewing up plans and skullduggery…

I wasn’t laughing two days later as I started brewing for the day.

“Even my aches have aches,” I murmured. “If any of them would just stay in one place twice in a row, I’d attack them with liniment.”

They didn’t, so I didn’t. Instead, I rolled up my sleeves, brushed off my rumpled vest, then focused on the work and what needed to be done.

Bright morning sunlight filtered through yellow stained windows. Occasional dust motes danced with steam while light spread from wall to brown weathered wall. My dark wood and gray tile worktable, once clear, was thick with papers, my journal, inkwell, and a wide collection of ingredients.

White-tan spindly roots, bright petals, metal shavings and more stood guard in jars. Light floral scents mingled with earthy notes of cinnamon, dirt, and more dubious dried ingredients. Some even originated from a graveyard.

“This has to be it,” I murmured, rewriting previous measurements in my journal. “The color and consistency look right, and even the stain experiments agree.”

I rubbed tired eyes, then studied the boiling pots and alchemy still in my fireplace.

Memories of cannon fire echoed in my mind, along with Lucas’ snide speech back in Westmere. I stood my mental ground, running calculations again to reproduce parts of Lucas’ necrotic potion. At least the parts I needed, and not poison myself in the process.

So far, I’d not been attacked by these potions yet, or at least, not today. Fortunately, Elara had made sure I wasn’t alone while I worked. I also suspected some ulterior motives, such as making sure I didn’t run off and do something rash. Well, do something rash again, anyway.

A blue-trimmed white cup filled with steaming tea appeared in a soft clatter by my elbow on the worktable. Next to it was a white porcelain plate with a warm buttered biscuit. Scents of soothing lemongrass drifted lazily from the cup.

“I have a tea serving set?” I asked, with an astonished expression at both the teacup and plate.

“Yes,” Primrose Stewart replied in a matter-of-fact tone. “In that disheveled pantry where you hid them.”

Today, the young woman’s hair was pulled up into the same no-nonsense chestnut bun she wore while working in Joshua Argall’s bookshop. She wore a white cotton apron over her soft, spring-green dress. The apron was already stained by the odd potion ingredient.

“Now, drink up, and eat your biscuit, Doctor.” She stepped back, then shot me a sharp look, shaking a finger at me. “Also! Drink that graveyard syrup medicine of yours. Captain’s orders.”

“Of course, Señorita. Thank you,” I replied with a thin smile.

With a nod, Primrose dusted her hands on the apron, then hurried away. I just knew she was about to attack some cluttered section of my shop until it surrendered.

“It’s like watching a typhoon of organization blow through,” I murmured.

After another sip of tea, I glanced at the bubbling pots and hot copper alchemy still in the fireplace. Scents of stale lime, abused lavender, and something that wanted to be cinnamon and pine hovered in the air.

“Good enough,” I decided, pulling over a tan cotton stretch of cloth. “Time for a stain test.”

I heard Primrose return before I saw her, boots clipping efficiently across the wooden plank floors. This time, she was armed with a leather-bound ledger, long feather duster, and a face of proper iron nerve. Never in my life had I met anyone who wielded ledgers with such military precision.

Quickly, I took a wide-eyed sip of tea to bolster my resolve.

“You missed a dose,” she said firmly.

The ledger landed on the worktable with a thump. She flipped through the dated entries before tapping her finger on yesterday’s date. Then she fixed me in place with a narrowed frown.

“I just noticed a potion bottle missing from the drying rack, Doctor. You’re doing exactly what Captain Blackwater warned me you’d do,” she declared in a flat voice.

“Hm,” I said weakly in my defense. “What?”

She ignored me.

“Please tell me you’ve saved some of that new batch for yourself? That it isn’t just for your…” she wiggled a hand at the boiling pots “… experiment?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose.

“Cure and Bait, Señorita.” A sigh fell out of me to the floor. “A stable cure for Garvin Hall, and bait for a very bad man.”

Her expression didn’t waver one inch, so I gave in first.

“Señorita…” I began, trying not to roll my eyes or let aches and fatigue talk for me.

“Primrose is fine,” she replied evenly.

“Yes, Primrose,” I corrected. “I promise I’ve saved some for me. That’s what is in the smaller pot tucked next to the still. I didn’t take yesterday’s dose because I was distracted over getting the measurements correct for young Garvin.” Then I shrugged with my best, innocent smile. “We doctors make horrible patients.”

She slowly raised an eyebrow at me without a word. So, I reached over to a nearby shelf that hadn’t been invaded in the name of organization, and grabbed yesterday’s glass bottle of graveyard syrup. I pulled the cork, downing the green elixir in one drink.

After a customary grimace over the flavor of despair and toad sweat, I corked the bottle. Primrose scooped it up the instant I set it down. After that, she marked the date and time in the ledger.

“I’ll scrub that and put it with the others to dry,” she replied briskly.

I shook my head, glancing around my shop.

Despite my complaints, it looked better. My shop was the most presentable it had been in, well, for at least a year.

“Primrose? If I may? I know Elara… Captain Blackwater… arranged for you to be here, making sure I didn’t get up to mischief.”

She dusted her hands on her apron again, then inclined her head.

“Yes, true. Why?”

I raised my eyebrows as I leaned against a nearby chair.

“Even you must admit, your current employer has been a bit… dubious… in his business arrangements?” I replied carefully. “Such as his brother murdering people, the shop attack and all? So, I was wondering, what would you say to giving your notice to Joshua Argall, then take up full-time employment here? Work as my assistant?”

For a second she stiffened, then faltered.

“I…” Primrose glanced down and made a valiant pretense to check her notes. “Well, that is…”

“A proper position,” I repeated. “Employment. Not watching me like a hawk to make sure I don’t experiment on myself.”

I waved a hand at my alchemy shop.

“We can even do a trial run,” I offered with a smile, tilting my head slightly.

“You organize this shop better than I could, and haven’t turned up your nose at even the most dubious ingredients in the pantry. To be honest, you’re probably twice as capable as I am in keeping this place, and myself, from burning to a crisp.”

Primrose frowned, concern and concentration mixed across her face.

“Doctor, I’m not an alchemist,” she blurted out before losing her words.

I waved a hand at the objection.

“Primrose, you know what work I do as a privateer with Elara, Lysander, and the others. There are times I need to be away from here for days. If you were here, I wouldn’t have to close the shop. You could take orders, and I’d teach you how to make the more routine potions people ask for.”

The young lady was quiet for a long moment, staring at her ledger, before she replied.

“The bookshop isn’t safe,” she admitted softly. “Wasn’t entirely before, but then really wasn’t safe at all.”

Her brown eyes locked onto my hand, where the tattoos glimmered eerily.

“You’ve your own monsters here, Doctor, but I feel more confident about facing those, if they appear.”

Seconds crawled by until the air felt thick with anticipation. Finally, she thrust out a hand to me.

“You have a deal, Doctor. I’ll send notice to Mr. Argall, telling him I resign for safety reasons. He honestly didn’t need much of my help, anyway.” She cleared her throat while we shook hands. “But if this shop burns, I’m billing you for my ledgers.”

I laughed so hard my ribs hurt.

“Fair terms, Señorita. Welcome aboard.”

Primrose squinted suspiciously at the bubbling pots, then back to me.

“Doctor?”

“Yes?”

Her voice dropped a note, almost like admitting heresy.

“This plan of yours… this ‘bait’?” she shook her head. “It sounds like madness. What’s your real plan? If you lure Lucas Argall out with the potion, then what? Didn’t he nearly kill you before?”

I leaned over and brushed a hand over the boiling liquid, wafting the scents to me. The lime had mostly devoured the lavender, but the cinnamon was still lying in wait to hug the remains in an unholy embrace.

“Honestly? It’s a bit of a privateer’s gambit,” I admitted. “He desperately wanted me to help him with an addled scheme to ‘kill death’. If he murders me, I can’t help him. But I know he’s not above killing anyone else.”

I leaned back against the chair, giving the ceiling a pensive expression.

“So, we spread word about the cure for Garvin. Kingston’s city watch will keep the boy and his family safe, and really, I don’t want to bring that monster here. His pet pirates have caused enough problems.”

We both gave the last few piles of broken glass in the shop a perturbed glare. Primrose had swept those up, but not taken the remains to the nearby glassworks.

“Yes. I’ve noticed they tend to make trouble,” she said dryly.

I smirked.

“So, instead, we lure him to a different place,” I explained. “Yesterday, Elara offered me a warehouse she uses occasionally. The idea is to set the potion bait there, ready for the taking. Which I’m almost positive Lucas Argall will send Captain Storm and his crew to steal.”

Primrose narrowed her eyes. I could almost see her thoughts churning.

“That sounds risky,” she said uneasily, fiddling with her ledger. “You could lose his trail. Is there a way to follow these crates? Boxes?”

I nodded and crossed my arms.

“Yes, a few. Elara has some enchanted dust she uses that helps Lysander track cargo if it’s stolen. That will be on there,” I said. “More than that, we’ll have several eyes watching anything leaving that warehouse.”

Primrose nodded sagely.

“I see,” she admitted. “The pirates will have to use longboats, or barges, won’t they? They can’t use their actual ship, because people would notice and raise the alarm. But Captain Blackwater’s ship is anchored here at Kingston.”

“True! Despite the fact that the Silk Duchess needs repairs, we can still outpace a barge or longboat,” I replied with a grin before my expression faltered.

“But this isn’t foolproof. Lucas is trying to pull together a staggering amount of power for a ritual. It’s part of why he’s murdering people.”

I shook my head with a sigh.

“We’ll have to move quickly once the potions are stolen. I’m convinced Lucas’ condition is in the way of his ritual. He needs the cure, and we can’t let him take it, or complete the ritual. But the pirates will take the cure to where Lucas is, which I suspect is where this ritual needs to happen.”

“Why not use a fake potion?” Primrose asked wisely.

“It’ll be partially a fake,” I admitted. “Just enough of a cure that it might work for Lucas and pass inspection as enchanted.”

“Also, so long as he’s distracted with this ‘cure’,” I continued, “that will give us time to catch Captain Storm and the rest off guard.” I gave her a tired shrug. “Time enough to get at the Codex Luminari and destroy it once and for all. That Codex is the root of the problem. Rip that out, the rest should wither.”

“How?” she asked.

“I’m not positive yet,” I admitted, glancing at my potions in progress. “But I’ve an interesting idea…”

It was also a dangerous idea that I wasn’t too sure anyone would agree with. But first, we needed to set that trap.

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Hoist the Colors is a work of pure, unabashed fiction. Actually, when it's not swinging off the rigging, or shivering some timbers, it's rather shy and retiring. Did I mention it enjoys baking? Names of characters, places, events, organizations and locations are all creations of the author’s imagination for this fictitious setting. So he really is all to blame here.

Any resemblance to persons living, dead, shoved overboard, or reanimated is coincidental. The opinions expressed are those of the characters and should not be confused with the author's, since the characters and the author tend to disagree a lot.