Free Wake of the Bloody Angel by Alex Bledsoe Page A

Wendell Marteen. The last I heard of him, he tried to captain a ship of his own off the Fussell Islands, but he was considered bad luck for surviving the Bloody Angel ’s sinking.”
    The initials, at least, matched those of the sole survivor mentioned in the official Watchorn records. “Bad luck for surviving?”
    “Sailors are a superstitious lot, and their superstitions don’t always make sense. I assumed that was why he made up the tale that the Bloody Angel had been deliberately scuttled. Time, I think, has given the lie to that story. After all, if Black Edward were still alive, could he truly sit on a treasure of that magnitude for twenty years?”
    “Where can I find Marteen?”
    He shrugged. “I’m not in the loop, as they say. No doubt many things have changed since my incarceration. For all I know, he rots in one of the cells below us. That would be ironic, wouldn’t it? If that’s not the case, I would look in the Southern Ocean, where the pirates are common. He never struck me as the type to explore new horizons.”
    “All right. Thanks.” Then I held out the treasure that had made him cooperate: a lock of Jane Argo’s hair.
    The net caught his fingers as he slowly reached through the bars. He took the curl from my outstretched hand. He stepped back, carefully maneuvered the lock through the netting, and held it close to his good eye. “Well, I’ll be damned. Thank you, Mr. LaCrosse.”
    “My pleasure. And actually, I do have one more question.”
    He continued to gaze at the lock of hair. “And it is—?”
    “They say you killed a guard for no reason. Is that true?”
    He broke his attention away from the curl. “What? No, not at all. I had a reason.”
    “What was it?”
    “He talked about my mother.” Then he smiled.
    I had to fight surprisingly hard not to as well. “Any message for Jane?”
    He looked at me with that one crystal-clear eye, and for an instant I glimpsed the ice-cold consciousness behind it. I was really glad I didn’t have to face him across swords. I wondered how Jane had managed to do it.
    “Yes,” he said at last. “Tell her . . . ‘Someday.’ ”
    “ ‘Someday.’ A threat?”
    “A date.”
    I nodded, and yanked the rope twice. Hawk said, “Fair wind and following seas to you,” and turned away from the window before I lowered out of sight.
     
     
    DESCENDING through the mist was like leaving some alien place where evil gods lived and returning to the normal world. I stepped out of the basket and leaned against the wall. My heart felt like it was searching for a space between my ribs big enough to jump through.
    Jane said, “So did he tell us—?”
    Without looking, I held up my hand. I wasn’t up to the challenge of Jane’s jocularity.
    “Sorry,” she said. “When you’re ready.”
    At last my brain stopped swimming, and the clammy feeling faded. I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, then faced everyone. The guards who’d been on basket-lifting detail didn’t meet my eyes. The warden’s expression was unreadable, but Jane gave me a surprisingly sympathetic smile. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
    “No,” I said, “just a monster.”
    “So did he help you?”
    “Yeah. We have a name. Wendell Marteen. Hawk says he was Edward Tew’s quartermaster, and survived the sinking of the Bloody Angel, ” I said. “If he’s still around—”
    “He is,” the warden said.
    “Don’t tell me he’s here,” I said.
    “No, but it’s funny you should mention that. He just returned to the active list about a year ago.”
    “Queen Remy has a list of wanted pirates,” Jane explained. “They consider it a badge of honor to be on it. Probably not the effect Remy had in mind.”
    “Probably not.” I turned to the warden. “You said he’s ‘just returned’?”
    “Yes. Nobody had heard a peep out of him for over a decade, and now suddenly he’s back. Took at least three cargo ships in the Southern Ocean off Fussell.”
    The