No Quarter: Wenches - Volume 3

By MJL Evans and GM O'Connor

Released for the first time with illustrations!

Series Description:

Ye be warned - this series contains sexual situations, drug usage, foul language, crude humor, and beaky parrots.

In 1689, Atia Crisp finds herself imprisoned in the wickedest city on earth, Port Royal, Jamaica, while the refugees from Strangewayes’s plantation in the Blue Mountains are on the run and seeking a new home, deep in the Caribbean. Captain Jean-Paul la Roche must get them to safety and find a way to liberate the woman he loves while waging a war against the English with the pirate Laurens de Graaf.

While besieged people suffer and starve, a group of women form a secret and illegal society deep from within the bowels of the city called: WENCH. A network that deals with smugglers, merchants, cutthroats and thieves. Dragged into the struggle for supremacy of the Caribbean, the women are divided and find themselves engulfed in bloodshed. The pirates of Port Royal and former enemies may be their only hope of escape.

Hell hath no fury like a cross wench!

• Language: English
• Publisher: MJL Evans
• Release date: Jan 14, 2017
• ISBN: 9781988616070

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 - Wenches

Volume 3

By MJL Evans and GM O’Connor

NO QUARTER SERIES COPYRIGHT @ 2014

No Quarter: Wenches COPYRIGHT @ 2017 MJL Evans and GM O’Connor

ISBN: 978-1-988616-07-0

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.

Gambit

Cayman Brac Island sat nestled within a blanket of sea mist, while the stars above faded. A predawn glow silhouetted the spiky leaves and clusters of thick brush that surrounded the Blarney Stone Inn and Tavern. The horses in the stable were resting, and the structure of stone and wood kept out the caiman alligators. The light of a candle faintly glowed in one of the guest rooms.

Theodore Binge knew the sound of a pistol when it fired. He froze on the spot, avoiding the creaky floorboard. The commotion came from downstairs, near the tavern keeper’s chambers. Bartolomeo Portuguese is dead, Binge thought. Thereafter came the quick, guttural cry of the barmaid, and then silence.

Binge slid on a black velvet vest that concealed small, sharp knives within the lining. He loaded a shot into both his pistols and secured them in a belt. The door to his stepdaughters’ bedroom opened, and Gertrude emerged.

What’s happening? That was a pistol, wasn’t it?

You couldn’t be more right. Binge glanced out the window to see pirates infiltrating the small village. Get dressed fast, and wake Henrietta! She’d sleep through a tempest.

Who could it be? Gertrude asked.

It sure as hell ain’t Father Christmas. You two go out the back and get Pénombre ready.

Gertrude slipped back to her room. Henrietta, wake up! We must go!

A faint tapping came from the window.

Binge aimed his pistol, and Snapper raised his arms.

Binge opened the window.

Bart’s dead, Snapper said. There’s pirates coming this way.

Gertrude and Henrietta materialized, bags in hand. Binge had schooled them well in being prepared for when hell broke loose.

I’d love to stay and help. Binge waved his stepdaughters to the window. But I have a terrible aversion to conflict.

I’ll hold ’em off while you get the women out, Snapper volunteered.

I’m glad we see eye to eye.

Henrietta climbed out. Who’s attacking?

Does it matter? Binge helped Gertrude out onto a rickety balcony.

Snapper climbed inside with his pistols pointed at the door.

Binge guided the women to a ladder, which they climbed down, pausing in the shadows. He peered around the corner of the inn, where a pirate guarded the tavern entrance. Keeping to the darkness, they darted to the stable, where they crawled through a loose panel at the back to arrive in one of the horse stalls.

Binge halted at the sight of a pirate lighting a pipe beside his horse, Pénombre, at the furthest stall. Binge aimed the pistol; a shot pierced the pirate in the back of the head, and he dropped to the ground.

Let’s move! Binge lunged for Pénombre, who was already hitched with leather straps. After securing the cart, Gertrude and Henrietta leapt onto the driver’s bench, while Binge opened the stable door. Drive it like ya stole it, Gerty! Binge jumped on, his weapons ready.

The horse took off, skimming by the group of pirates who’d been alerted to their escape. Binge knew the ginger-haired cutthroat as Bleedin Art’s first mate. Shots were fired at the wagon, and the pirates gave chase.

Perspiration trickling down his dark brow, Binge fired back, having Henrietta reload as they went.

Head for the north road, Binge advised.

Where will we go? Henrietta asked.

I’ll tell ya when we get there.

One of the pirates aimed a musket, and a loud blast came, followed by smoke and a scream from Gertrude. Binge turned just in time to catch Henrietta before she fell backwards. Bloody holes appeared on her back and front. Reflexively, Binge took aim and fired a shot into the shoulder of the ginger cutthroat.

Gertrude wailed as they trundled down a bumpy path towards the road. Binge grabbed the reins, and they traded positions. Gertrude cradled her sister’s body. No, don’t go!

Go, Pénombre, go! Binge drove the cart faster.

The morning sun dazzled the lagoon’s surface, while caiman alligators basked before breakfast. Wind whispered in the trees, sending a shiver up Binge’s spine. Three months had been too long to linger on Cayman Brac. They had fled Port Royal after he assisted Dr. Strangewayes in poisoning local slavers and liberating slaves. Binge had crossed the wrong people and, most importantly, had made the critical error of underestimating the pirate Bleedin Art. And now Henrietta had paid the price with her life.

They were from Port Royal, weren’t they? Gertrude asked eventually, draping a blanket over her sister.

Bleedin Art’s men, Binge said. I’m so sorry, Gerty.

You had to get involved. She sniffed hard. Where will we go?

I know where there’s a boat. I’ll take us to the Gardens of the Queen.

To live with pirates?

No, to be as far away from Port Royal as possible.

Gertrude stroked her sister’s golden hair. Not soon enough.

Binge drove in silence, leading them off road along a hidden lane within the bushes. Art’s men undoubtedly were not far behind. As they meandered through the trees, the sea came into view, as did a fisherman’s wharf, several bungalows, and a small sloop.

Binge waved to the handful of fishermen who had kept an eye on his vessel.

Gertrude looked up. You have a ship?

"That’s Gambit; she’ll get us where we need to go. Binge pulled up next to the wharf. Let’s get Henrietta aboard." Together they lifted her aboard before returning for their bags.

What about Pénombre? Gertrude wondered. We can’t leave him here.

I gotta stall on board. Binge released the cart. I ain’t going nowhere without him.

When Binge untied the ship, he pushed off using an oar. Once the sails were unfurled, the wind took them. It would only be a day’s journey to a place called Jardines de la Reina, a chain of islands within the southern part of Cuba. It was a pirate hideout belonging to Laurens de Graaf. There, he and Gertrude would be safe within the maze of shallow cays and jagged rocks.

Councilman John White slipped the heavy white wig off his head and rubbed his stubble. Half of the King’s House lay in ruin beneath his feet. He’d seen it all before, especially when the Spanish used to attack on a regular basis. Only this time, their acting lieutenant governor and his staff had been blown to fragments—during New Year’s celebrations, no less. He stood outside, surveying the damage in the early morning light.

The entire wing must be torn down and a new foundation laid, the carpenter said.

White shrugged. Board it up. We haven’t the funds to fix it.

This is the King’s House, the city engineer, Bill Chitty, argued. It should be fixed. You’ll just have to come up with the funds, Captain White.

Oh, I’m Captain White again, am I, Mr. Chitty? White’s eyes narrowed.

Commodore Chuck Talbot arrived, flicking his long hair back. Reporting, sir.

Right in the nick of time, Chuck. Something wrong with your hair? White asked.

Is it true the city is under martial law?

Until the situation is under control, yes.

Where’s the acting lieutenant governor?

Good question, Chuck. White checked the bottom of his shoes. Why don’t you have a look around for him?

A city guard arrived. Sir, we found the gold tip of a walking stick on the beach at the far side of town.

It might have washed in, Chitty said.

The guard shook his head. Nay, it was smoldering and embedded in the body of a drunkard.

That does sound like Piper’s walking stick, White agreed.