Free The Devil's Fire by Matt Tomerlin Page A

dancing shadows along the walls, forging a diversity of frightening beasts and demons.
    Griffith shook his head. He gave superstition no quarter. Sleep played cruel tricks on the mind, and none had ever been realized upon waking. His crew, however, were notorious for indulging irrational fears, from multi-tentacled sea serpents to homicidal mermaids that spirited a man to the bottom of the sea and feasted on him whole, starting with his cock.
    The familiar sound of feet pummeling the main deck seeped into the room through slits in the walls. It was a soothing sound that told him everything was all right. The world had not ended while he slept. His ship had not been claimed by a fiery demon.
    He stood from his chair and stretched with a great yawn. He didn't feel as rested as usual and his back ached from the uncomfortable angle at which he had settled into the chair. He rubbed his eyes for a good long while until he was certain the lids would remain parted.
    He shuffled toward the bed. The plate of food on the bedside table remained untouched. The girl hadn't shifted an inch since the previous night. He checked to make sure her stomach was still moving. It was.
    He went to his wardrobe and changed into a fresh pair of clothes. He had a difficult time removing his shirt, for it clung to his skin. When he turned the garment over he discovered that the entire backside was soaked with sweat.
     
    For a larger man, the windingly narrow pathways between barrels and crates would have been impossible to navigate. The hold was the most expansive space below decks, but the cramped cargo made the room seem claustrophobic.
    It was an ugly place. A square beam of the sun's morning light seeped in via the open hatch; an impenetrable white glare untainted by the surrounding gloom of the shadowy wooden interior. The air was a putrid mélange of rotting wood, tarred hemp, gunpowder, spirits, and animals both living and dead. For Griffith, the smell signified achievement. He thought not of the hold's stench, but of the luscious aroma of vegetables on his future plantation; a future purchased with the treasures and goods he stacked here.
    He continued along the slim path until he came to a brown chest that had been plundered from
Lady Katherine
. The chest was the length of a human body, resembling a coffin, and was carved with an intricate floral pattern. He hefted the lid. It arched with a creak that echoed throughout the hold. Several neatly folded London dresses were stacked within. He plucked the topmost dress and spread it out before him. The satin was colored a bright cherry pink that he imagined would extravagantly match Katherine Lindsay's hair. He refolded the garb, though not as neatly as it had been folded when he had discovered it. He unfolded it and tried again, with less success. He sighed and gave it one last try, and was marginally satisfied with the results. He decided that would have to do and tucked the dress under his arm. He gathered a few more dresses from the stack, careful to keep them folded, and closed the chest's lid.
    On his way out he came across a sack filled with kitchenware. He emptied the bag of its contents and stuffed the dresses inside, not wanting the crew to spy him bearing such potentially controversial items.
    Griffith hurried back to his cabin. He knew little of feminine ways, but had frequently heard that material possessions, such as expensive dresses, were chief among their priorities. The girl would delight in discovering that she had not been parted from her wardrobe.
    It was commonly known to any pirate worth his salt that a woman married not for love of the man, but for love of his riches. Griffith was certain that Thomas Lindsay had made a respectable fortune from his business as a merchant shipper, but he doubted that Lindsay would have seen in a lifetime what
Harbinger
acquired from a month's plunder.
    In the girl's mind, her husband's untimely death was undoubtedly a tragedy. She had probably