No Quarter: Dominium - Volume 6: No Quarter: Dominium, #6

By MJL Evans and GM O'Connor

Released for the first time with illustrations!

 

Volume 6 of 6 marks the thrilling conclusion of the Dominium series. Danger looms over Dr. Strangewayes's Plantation when tension between the English and French becomes a reality. Plantation residents, including Atia Crisp and Capitaine la Roche, must prepare to find a new home before the battle for Jamaica begins.

Series Description: 

Ye All Are Warned – be gone if you abhor sex, foul language, crude humor, and beaky parrots.

1689 Port Royal, Jamaica. Atia Crisp and her sister Livia are shipwrecked and sold into slavery. They are separated and Atia is used as a pawn in a deadly card game at the Swiftsure Tavern until she is liberated by sugar merchant Capitaine la Roche. They take refuge at Cherry Red's Boutique (brothel) and meet up with allies including the medication loving Dr. Strangewayes. 

Capitaine la Roche (also known as the pirate, Gator Gar), has a past stained with blood and grief. La Roche works with a network of friends and allies including local strumpet, Cherry Banks, Theodore Binge the card shark and the kindly, Dr. Strangewayes. Soon after Atia and la Roche are ushered away to safety after a mysterious outbreak of scarlet fever wreaks havoc on the city. 

Within the luxuriant tropical confines of Dr. Strangewayes's plantation at the foothills of the Blue Mountains, bonds of friendship are formed and the fierce love between Atia and Capitaine la Roche becomes absolute. 

However, nowhere is safe as spies seek out both Atia and la Roche for the bounties on their heads. 

Neither of them can escape the shadows of their former lives. Their journey leads them to an inevitable conflict that threatens their world, but inches them closer towards freedom.

• Language: English
• Publisher: MJL Evans
• Release date: Nov 22, 2015
• ISBN: 9780994874429

MJL Evans

MJL Evans is an Indie Author/Publisher and co-author of the 6-part series, No Quarter: Dominium. Future endeavours include co-authoring the books No Quarter: WENCH and No Quarter: The Dirge. She also hopes to have her books translated in various languages including French.MJL Evans is also a writer of romance and relationship articles featured in publications like Monday Magazine in November 2004 and again in February 2006, she writes fiction, historical fiction, erotica and humour. Published in the November 2014 issue of Flash Fiction Magazine, Red Dragon is vibrant piece of micro-fiction that delves into Victoria BC in the 1860s, when it was the opium capital of the New World.A native of Victoria, British Columbia, MJL Evans studied English at Victoria School of Writing and Camosun College. Not only is she passionate about her written expression, she is enthusiastic about her visual art masterpieces she has created over the past 20 years and has over 60 paintings to her credit. MJL Evans is also a lover of film, independent, foreign, and cult. Her favorites include: Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Nymphomaniac, Secret Window, The Brood, Le Pacte des loups, Mesrine: L'Instinct De Mort and many others.

Book preview

No Quarter - Dominium

Volume 6

By MJL Evans and GM O’Connor

NO QUARTER SERIES COPYRIGHT @ 2014

No Quarter: Dominium COPYRIGHT @ 2015 MJL Evans and GM O’Connor

ISBN: 978-0-9948744-2-9

Artwork: GM O’Connor

E-Book Production: MJL Evans

All rights are reserved to the authors. No part of this ebook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

About the Authors

MJL EVANS wanted to be a writer since she was ten years old and in 2014, she finally got her act together and pursued her dream. She is the author of No Quarter: Dominium and No Quarter: Wenches. A huge fan of Monty Python, Red Dwarf, and other BBC shows, her time is devoted to acrylic, oil and watercolor painting, catering to her two senior cats and of course, writing.

You can connect with MJL Evans on Twitter at @artistmjlevans or [e-mail]

GM O’CONNOR is a huge movie fan, writer and visual artist. A lover of sci-fi and history, half his brain lives in the 17th century while the other half sails perpetually through space. He is the author of No Quarter: Dominium and No Quarter: Wenches. He hopes to one day bring the No Quarter Series to film and/or graphic novel format.

You can connect with GM O’Connor on Twitter at @gm_oconnor or [e-mail]

CHAPTER ONE

The Blarney Stone

THUNDER BOOMED AND silvery black storm clouds covered Cayman Brac Island. Lightning bolts charged the sky. Theodore Binge watched the harbor from his carriage, reluctant to get out. It had been a fortnight since he and his two stepdaughters, Henrietta and Gertrude, left Port Royal. They were staying at the cottage by the lake on the outskirts of the Brac.

Tonight, with the looming storm, Binge had decided they would stay at the Blarney Stone Inn and Tavern. There would be plenty of company and provisions if needed. In any case, Henrietta and Gertrude had tired of waking up each morning to small caiman alligators hanging about on the front porch.

Binge pulled the hood of his rain cloak tighter around his head. Royal Rook’s ship, Diamond Dog, bobbed violently in the tide. Binge saw quartermaster Tiny McAllister and sailing master Quinton Winter braving the elements to double-fasten her down. Just beyond, near the larger dock, a tall schooner of gray and light blue bounded into the harbor. Binge recognized Laurens de Graaf’s Cometa. Things were going to get interesting tonight.

Binge helped the ladies down from the carriage. Go on up; this is gonna be a good one. He gave them each a quick peck on the cheek.

Don’t be long. Gertrude latched onto her sister’s arm before they ran to the tavern.

Don’t be long? Binge said. But it’s my best quality! He unhooked the horse and led him into a stall. Binge patted Pénombre dry and fluffed up the hay. After fetching clean water and dispensing squares of sugarloaf, his horse was ready for bed. Sweet dreams, Pénombre. I’ll be back to check on you.

Binge shivered along the path to the tavern. Bart better have a fire going!

Along the way he recognized a newcomer who was emerging from a small, beat-up fishing boat. Mason Sleemans, Governor Dewar’s advisor, trudged along the dock. I didn’t ask for first class, but some class would have been nice! Sleemans complained to the boat’s captain.

The Blarney Stone Tavern was crowded and dirty compared to the Swiftsure back in Port Royal, but the booze was abundant, the billiard board new, and the fireplace ablaze. Spanish musicians played guitars as patrons clapped along.

Permission, Capt’n Bart? Binge wiped his boots on a wicker mat.

Granted, Theodore. Come in and be welcome. Bartolomeo Portuguese was like a weather-beaten rock, badly scarred and blind in one eye; this never dampened his spirits however, nor did he ever water down the spirits. For the past twenty years he had run the tavern successfully after retiring from the pirate life. Bartolomeo was one of the founding fathers of the Brethren of the Coast. What’ll it be?

Two bottles of brandy for the ladies, to go.

Gertrude and Henrietta warmed themselves by the fire.

Aye, Bartolomeo said.

Aye! squawked Checkmate the Mascarene parrot, perched behind the bar.

Binge took the bottles over. I’ll just say hello for a few minutes and be right back.

Gertrude picked up her brandy. Just meet us upstairs when you’re done.

Don’t be too late, Henrietta said.

Binge kissed each of them before they vanished up the staircase. I won’t. Don’t get cold, now. He went to the table where Tiny and Winter warmed themselves with tankards of ale, joined by Snapper with his rum.

Miracles never cease, Tiny began. They let you stay?

Snapper clumsily mixed cards. Deal ya in, then?

Sure. One hand for old times’ sake! Binge swiped the deck to give the cards a proper shuffle. Say, there’s a light on in the captain’s cabin.

Tiny nodded. He’s weathering the storm with Katie.

Good to see him bouncing back, Binge said.

Depends on what angle yer looking from, Tiny replied.

The back door burst open and rain blew into the tavern. Binge recognized the new arrivals, Marie-Anne Dominique du Pres and her six-year-old daughter Marie Marguerite, called Yvonne. Marie-Anne was married to Poilu le Grande, leader of the Freebooters.

Close the damn door! Bartolomeo said.

Checkmate screeched, Close the damn door!

Marie-Anne shut the door and took off her coat. Her long chestnut hair was a tangled mess. She moved to a table near the fireplace. Yvonne followed and produced a box of tobacco.

"Dry as a bone, Maman."

Good. Roll a lot. Teeze going to be a long night. Marie-Anne adjusted her loose corset. Not too tight.

"Oui, Maman."

"Brandywine, Capitaine Bartolomeo, s’il vous plait. Marie-Anne glanced around and noticed Binge. Monsieur Theodore, they allow you out? Miracles never cease. I should join these strong men for a drink. My husband is out at sea."

Bartolomeo brought her a couple of bottles.

I think that’s my cue to leave, Binge said.

Why? Snapper grinned. Got ya worried, does she?

You could say that. She’s what gamblers call bad odds.

Marie-Anne eyed him up, pushing her hair over her shoulder and lifting up her cleavage.

She seems to want ya, Tiny said.

Binge pretended not to notice her. Well, two’s my limit. Besides, she don’t go anywhere without the dwarf.

Did you give her the signals? Winter asked.

I don’t know. Binge raised an eyebrow. But I’m getting some awfully strange ones back.

Her trouble is that she goes into heat every time her man goes out to sea, Snapper said.

And he ain’t someone you want mad at you. Remember, I’m allergic to violence. Gives me a rash.

Snapper shrugged. I may have compounded things for ya when I told her you took a fancy to her.

You’re jesting, right? Binge’s eyes widened. Why would you go and say a thing like that? He wanted to lop his own head off, but it would be a waste of a good cravat.

You was making eyes at her. I saw it.

Shit! Yer blaming the compass for pointing north? Binge shifted his chair as Marie-Anne sauntered over to sit with him. "Bonjour, Marie-Anne. Liking the weather?"

She put her foot on Binge’s chair. Oui, I do. I have always liked storms. A high-pitched laugh escaped her crimson-stained lips. Katie – have you seen her?

Tiny pointed to the docks. Out riding the waves.

Marie-Anne slid a bottle over to Binge. Have a drink on me.

Binge felt his face heat up. "Why, merci, so kind of you. If my stepdaughters walk in now, they’ll beat me to death."

So, what brought you back to le Brac?

I just hitched a ride.

Marie-Anne leaned forward, her breasts straining against her corset. That is not what I heard. They say it was you who saved Katie and brought her ’ere. And they say it was you who killed Coggshall, but they say all kinds of t’ings, don’t they?

Oui, don’t they? Binge responded awkwardly.

"Excusez-moi." Marie-Anne left for another table.

Binge glared at Snapper. Your mother left you on a beach, didn’t she?

Winter grinned. Welcome back to ze Brac, Monsieur Theodore!

Tell me, how is it that you’ve been with two women for years and yet you have no children? Trouble with the old mast? Snapper guffawed.

Binge laughed. You only wish. No, my beauties and I aren’t inclined to have children right now, so I do the responsible thing.

What? Snapper smirked. They savor the old maypole?

I never speak of my ladies in such a way, but you get the idea. Binge shuffled the cards. Straight up?

The door to the tavern opened and another gust of wind and rain blew in. Mason Sleemans, soaked through and miserable, entered. Binge’s interest was piqued.

Close the damn door! Checkmate squawked.

Oh, sorry. Sleemans shut it.

You know him? Tiny asked.

Nay. Thought maybe it was Rook.

Sleemans tried in vain to shake the excessive water onto the wicker mat before wandering to the bar, picking fish scales off his clothes.

"What’s your business here, compadre? I didn’t hear you get permission?" Bartolomeo began.

I’m solicitor for Lord Longbone of Lancashire from Eleuthera. I’m seeking Captain Bart, Sleemans replied.

Aye, Bartolomeo gave a dry laugh. From Lord Longbone of Lancashire, what do you want with Capt’n Bart?

I’m to order a wormwood wine and frog’s legs. But honestly, the frog legs will make me sick.

Rank amateur. What’s your name?

Ben Dover from Eleuthera, Sleemans said reluctantly.

Bartolomeo shook his head and motioned the barmaid. Take over here. He opened a section of the bar counter to let Sleemans in. Follow me, Ben Dover from Eleuthera.

Sleemans followed and was handed a towel before being led into a private room.

He seems important, Snapper said.

Binge passed the deck to Tiny. He was wearing fish scales. Nature calls. Besides, I promised the horse I’d check on him. I’ll check for Rook’s light on my way.

Would ya? Tiny scooped up his winnings.

You gents go ahead and get cocksure. I’ll be back in a spell. Binge darted past Marie-Anne, catching a wink before stopping at the bar. Another round for the table on me. Cheers erupted as Binge vanished behind a curtained area. Following a corridor to a pantry, he found a spot where he could hear the goings-on in the private room.

You can assure Lord Longbone he has the support of the Brethren of the Coast, Bartolomeo pledged.

Laurens is right off our shore, Sleemans said.

Right you are, Binge thought.

And what of the Capitaine? He was on Jamaica. The French already have St. Kitts, Sleemans continued.

They can have St. Kitts, Bartolomeo deliberated. I tell you, any captain who moves against Jamaica is an enemy of the Brethren and is fair game. If it be true, the Capitaine has no exemption.

What about payment? Sleemans pressed. How do we hire the men?

It’s best we just send ya the bill.

Binge crept back along the corridor. He took his coat from the cloakroom and headed outside. More spindrift blew through the tavern.

Close the damn door, Checkmate said.

Binge slammed it shut and followed the path to the stable. A light came from Diamond Dog and shadows swayed in the window. They need me in there like I need a hole in the head. He pushed forward; his face slapped by the storm. Grasping the door to the stable, Binge slipped inside.

Pénombre bleated.

Easy, it’s just a storm. It’s been a year for them. Binge sensed the presence of someone in the stable with him. A dark figure with a feathered hat stepped out of a stall, stiletto in hand. Binge readied the throwing knives concealed in his sleeves. Should I be nervous?

The figure stepped into the dim lantern light.

I don’t know. Laurens de Graaf put his blade away. Did you stick it in Marie-Anne?

No.

Then you got nothing to worry about.

Binge retracted his knives. He’d been passing intelligence to Laurens since the late seventies. Glad you could make it.

Anything for the Capitaine. Where the hell is he?

Binge took a note from his inner pocket and handed it over. On Jamaica, wondering where the hell everyone else is.

I told him not to go near that island alone, but you know him. Laurens