The Spicy Tales of Peril Group presents…
The Perils of Lianni
By Dana Bowman, Jeb, and Jeanne Thorne
Chapter the First
Jeanne-Marie Magdelena de la Croix, Mistress of the dread vessel Red Rover -- known to her friends and lovers as "Spicy Jeanne" and to her legion of foes as "La Chienne du Diable" -- stood on the prow of her ship and stared out at the inviting alabaster expanse of beach. Beyond it lay the whole of Africa, dark and forboding. She had made a couple of journeys to this place since joining in the trafficking of human lives, but this would be her first foray into the land's black heart. It would be easy to die there, she mused.
After a moment she shook her dark locks and waved her fugue away. It is easy to die everywhere, and it would be a long time yet before Jeanne gave the devil his due. She turned and shouted to the first mate, "Are the longboats loaded, Mister Stuart?"
"Aye, Cap'n," he called back. "Ready for you to give the word."
She nodded and stepped off the prow, her bootheels thudding on the deck as she made her way aft. She was dressed in her best this morning -- white shirt, black pantaloons, red sash, her high boots and sword-belt polished. Not exactly ladylike, but then Jeanne was no lady. She had worn trousers every day of her life since winning her place in her late father's crew by killing his favorite bosun in single combat, and nothing on this earth would ever get her into a dress again. Still, one did not greet La Dona in less than one's formals, and the expedition at hand could not begin without an audience with the lady Spaniard.
Jeanne made her way past the crew, who were readying themselves for the trip. One of the hands spoke up in passing, "Hotter than Hell, Cap'n."
She flashed him a grin. "When we get to Hell, Mister Grenache, we'll look back on this day as if it were Christmas. Now buck up." Grenache returned her smile and went back to work. The easy rapport between Mistress and crew would have deceived the casual listener who did not know that the men of the Red Rover were among the most bloodthirsty gang of pirates and murderers ever to menace the open seas between Gibraltar and Macao. There was not a man among them who would not hang by order of a dozen governments, and Jeanne was their undisputed leader. The older crewmen had sailed with her father and saw in her the same potent mixture of shrewdness and fearlessness. The younger mates respected her unerring ability to obtain spoils and plunder. There were some who had balked at serving under a woman, and some who had dared to challenge her -- entire schools of fish had no doubt grown fat on their carcasses.
Jeanne's hand rested on the hilt of her cutlass as she approached Jeb, her eyes traveling over his muscular form as he barked orders to the bosuns, and she sighed inwardly. Now there's a man to make a woman weak, she thought, recalling their one and only coupling for the millionth time, then banishing the thought. She despised weakness, especially in herself, and had countless times taken that spite out on the wracked bodies of men and women in brothels across the maritime. The insatiable cruelty of La Chienne was known on land as well as on sea...
"The ship is yours, Mister Stuart. While I meet with La Dona, start sending the boats ashore. I want us on our way upriver while the sun is still high."
"Aye, Cap'n," he nodded, eyes bright as they looked down into hers. "We'll meet you at the mouth of the river, ready and raring to go. It's not every day one goes hunting for a goddess."
Jeanne grunted. "There is but one God, and He and I are done with each other. Whomever this golden wench is, she's just a woman."
Jeb raised an eyebrow. "I have come to learn that there is no such thing as 'just a woman.'"
"Point taken," Jeanne smiled wickedly. "Should she prove to be anything more, however, I shall take great pleasure in cutting her down to size."
Jeb Stuart leaned back against the crate of tackle, and watched Jeanne-Marie's lithe form descend to the small rowboat. In the near distance, across the expanse of blue water and white sand, he could see the sunbaked walls of the Viceroy's mansion, now the home of the beautiful Dona Angela Villanueva, widow of the last Viceroy.
Of course, she hadn't been a widow when the Red Rover had first put in here, two years ago. Back then she'd been a lusty little wanton, trapped in marriage to a titled bureaucrat, a man grey both inside and out, and had turned the appearance of the somewhat rough-hewn "privateers" at her court into an opportunity to feed the carnal appetites her husband ignored, sometimes in the most daringly indiscreet ways. More than once, in fact, Jeb Stuart had toyed with the idea of asking his captain to compare notes, but always thought better of it.
In fact, for five years now, Stuart had made it a point not to let conversations with his captain stray to intimate matters of any nature. On those rare occasions when she seemed to wish to discuss the aftermath of their first meeting, he always found chores to be done elsewhere. What his captain made of his evident indifference, he did not attempt to guess. He knew that it was hardly indifference, though -- a man would have to be stone to be indifferent to constant proximity to that woman -- it was simple prudence. In the first place, of course, it would be dangerous for any man aboard to be seen as the captain's favorite, even the First Mate. That sort of resentment could lead to him being mocked as the captain's "kept man,” or even earn him a shiv in the night from a disgruntled shipmate.
At the heart of his decision, though, he knew, was the captain herself. Quite simply, to trust the affections of that beautiful hellion would have been about as prudent as allowing a black widow spider to nest in his beard. It might have been days… weeks… maybe even months, but he knew that sooner or later she'd find her affection for him to be a weakness that could no longer be tolerated, and she'd do what she could to get rid of it -- and probably him along into the bargain.
No, better to keep to himself, grow rich under the command of the ruthless sea-bitch, and take his pleasure from among the women -- white, black, brown, yellow -- that made an unending parade in Jeanne-Marie's slave coffle. He was discreet about it -- no point in rubbing the captain's nose in it. He had his suspicions, though, that more than one of the pretty things he'd slaked his lust on could have told him some interesting things about the captain, if he'd chosen to ask.
Putting that thought behind him, he got up and went to supervise the last of the preparations for the expedition into the interior. After all, they had a Golden Goddess to find!
#
"Your… guest is here, my lady."
Dona Angela Villenueva nodded, distractedly, at the servant, dismissing him. She stepped to the window, and gazed out at the huge black ship, riding low in the harbor. She saw small boats being unloaded and readied, and the tiny dots that were men running up and down, making their preparations to journey inland again.
Jeanne-Marie.
It had been months since the pirate's last visit. If she closed her eyes, Dona Angela could still picture it: the room strewn with the finery that had been ripped from her pale, tiny form; the tall, proud female figure that stood naked and laughing above the kneeling Angela; the strong hands that had taken her, used her, brought her to places within herself that she had never dreamed existed…
Of course there had been other nights, too… other trips into the darkness of herself, other voyages of sexual discovery… some just as satisfying in their way. But the nights spent under Jeanne-Marie's domination left a mark on her, deep and disquieting. It was not that she suspected the pirate of a loose tongue (and she felt herself flush at the picture that thought produced in her mind!), but still, it was one thing for a young woman -- and now a widow -- to pleasure herself with young men of the court, or other lusty fellows. But to have another woman… do things to her, and such things… should there ever be even any hint of that, she could see her schemes collapsing like a house of cards. She was so close now, so close to consolidating all the power her husband had once had, and more -- dared she risk all that?
And now, Jeanne-Marie was here, to renew their "arrangements". What that meant downstairs in her study, of course, was the usual "blind eye" turned to the pirate's activities, in return for a share of the wealth. What that would mean later, in the dark of night, Dona Angela could barely guess at…
She looked out the window at the masts of the Red Rover rocking lightly in the afternoon stillness, and suddenly she knew. A smile of relief crossed her face. She need give up neither gold nor carnal delights. There was another way.
And still smiling, she turned from the window, smoothed a palm over her tightly pulled-back black hair, and went downstairs to greet her visitor.
#
She lay in the darkness for a long time...until the first rays of the sun slowly brought her out of the dim recesses of her mind, and she rose, breathing deeply and steadily. The long-legged blonde reached down, picked up her top and drew it around herself, hefting her heavy breasts into the brief garment. She looked down at herself...her body glistened with sweat, and she had the undeniable urge to bathe. She slipped from the hut and moved lithely into the jungle, to the nearby waterfall, the sacred pool where only Lianni, the Golden One, was permitted to swim.
With a cry of joy, the young beauty dived into the cool, still water, feeling her breath momentarily taken away. She surfaced, laughing spontaneously, and swam strongly to the opposite bank, the exercise and the water erasing all memories of the night before. Lianni sighed and luxuriated in the pool, allowing herself the luxury of relaxing.
Her pleasure was short-lived.
"Golden One!"...she spun in the water as she heard Zaba's voice, and spun in the water. He stood on the bank and his urgency was apparent. Dana swam to him and his hand reached down to help pull her from the pool. She looked into his eyes and saw the concern.
Zaba was the chief of the Macumbas, a position he had earned not because of his age, for he was only 2 years older than Lianni, but rather because of his strength, bravery and intelligence, the combination of which set him above his fellow warriors. He had been devoted to the Jungle Girl from the moment she had been carried into the village, and for years had taught her the ways of the tribe and the demands of the warrior. The tribe's gradual elevation of Lianni to the position of Goddess and protector had prevented the inevitable coupling of the two....she was inviolate and always would be. No one ever spoke again of how she had arrived in the village, and to the Macumbas much of their strength derived from their Goddess's fabled virginity.
"What is it, Zaba?"
“White devils, Golden One. They have been seen two days from here on the river, heading our way."
"How many?"
The huge warrior shook his head. "The report was unclear..."
Lianni looked up at him. “I need to go down river to see for myself. You should prepare the warriors and wait for my return. I fear we may have to fight once again to defend ourselves."
Zaba nodded. "You will be safe on your own?" She smiled softly at him, wanting to lay her hand on his muscular chest, but resisting the urge. “You doubt the ability of your Goddess to take care of herself?" He smiled back, his heart aching for the extraordinary young woman before him. "No, Lianni, I doubt nothing where you are concerned."
She smiled again. "Good. Now prepare the men. I'll work my way down river for a day, perhaps two. As soon as I locate the white devils and measure their strength, I will return and we will prepare the ambush." Her wet body gleamed sensually in the early morning light. She looked deeply into his eyes. “Farewell, Zaba."
"Farewell, Golden One."
He watched as the voluptuous blonde turned on her heels and swiftly disappeared into the jungle towards the mighty river, from whence all danger would appear. He knew she was as skilled as any warrior, yet he alone dared to think of her as a superbly, sensually vulnerable woman, and he knew only too well that the day may yet come when the Golden One would be tested to her very limits.
#
The crew of the Red Rover had ranged the globe from the pirate kingdoms of Jamaica and Hispaniola to the flesh-markets of Tripoli and Bangkok, as familiar with the most blazing climes as any man-jack who'd ever crossed the Equator in a dead calm. But this was different, a stifling humidity that felt like a weight on the chest with every breath, that made every movement a Herculean effort. As she stood in the center of the lead boat and stared ahead at the vast expanse of river surrounded by dense jungle, Jeanne knew with certainly that this must be what Jonah felt like inside the gullet of the whale.
It had been three days since her audience with Dona Angela in the Viceroy's mansion, when that sultry, aristocratic wench had related the rumors and legends surrounding the Golden Goddess that had spread along the river to her. Already they had passed the wreckage of boats marked with the name of the slave ship Barataria. There were no bodies in evidence, those unfortunates having long since been meals for the endless variety of carnivores that populated this primal land, but it confirmed the report that something -- or someone -- did not countenance the presence of interlopers here. The broken and splintered boats remained as a silent but powerful warning to all who might venture this far into the jungle.
Other, more hesitant souls might have heeded the harbinger and turned back, but Jeanne had surveyed the wreckage with jaw clenched and dark eyes blazing with determination. If this be truly the work of the so-called Jungle Goddess, she mused, then let her take my measure.
The hard expression on her face had not abated since, nor had the hellish heat sapped her resolve in the slightest. Beneath the bandanna that kept her hair and perspiration out of her eyes, she scanned the rising banks on either side for signs of life beyond the occasional family of tree-monkeys or the coils of some great serpent in an overhanging branch. She listened intently to the chittering and cackling of birds for any sounds of movement in the thick brush. Glancing back at the long line of boats, three filled with men rowing as quietly as possible -- they were all experienced predators -- she knew that in the last boat Jeb was doing the same. Though all of them were utterly out of their natural environment, they would not be caught unawares by beast nor man -- nor Goddess. Still, Jeanne's fingers stole to the hilt of her cutlass and the butt of her pistol, hanging low on her hips, more than once.
Pulling a cloth from her boot, Jeanne ran it over the back of her neck, across the areas of chest and midriff exposed by knotting the tails of her blouse beneath her breasts, mopping at the sheen of perspiration on her tanned skin. As she bent to tuck the rag back into her boot-top, she suddenly froze. Her hand shot up in a silent command and all oars stopped at once. She straightened slowly, again peering intently into the flora, guided by an instinct that bordered on the unearthly and a feeling as certain as the pounding of her heart.
They were being watched.
#
Lianni moved swiftly through the jungle, keeping the river always in sight and to her left. This was when the Jungle Girl felt at her best -- free, wild, confident, queen of her domain, completely in command of her unique environment. She prepared plans in her mind as she made good time, covering miles in a short period, sometimes using the strong vines that hung like ropes from the jungle ceiling to catapult her through the trees high above the ground.
The golden-bodied female approached a bend in the river and suddenly froze. She heard them even before she saw them and pitched forward onto the ground, hidden by the dense foliage, peering carefully between the bushes. Her eyes widened with shock as she saw the three boats heaving into view, and her eyes narrowed at the sight of the beautiful young raven-haired woman who stood confidently in the middle of the first, intensely searching the jungle. The Jungle Girl knew instantly that this was a danger of the highest order -- no such party had ever penetrated this far up river. They were only hours from the Macumba village, and they were heavily armed with all the deadly weapons of their kind, weapons that would easily decimate her beloved tribe if they were ever allowed the opportunity to use them.
The boats drew level with Lianni's hiding place, and her eyes fixed on the woman standing in the boat. She saw the gleam of sweat on the beauty's chest and belly, and sensed the power that lay within her. Lianni knew without a doubt that this woman was the leader of these invaders, just as she commanded the Macumbas. She knew the woman was the key to the tribe's salvation or destruction. And she knew also that she had to buy her warriors more time. As the boats glided past her, the golden-haired girl rose slowly to her knees, unstrung the bow from around her neck, and reached for an arrow in the leather quiver strapped to her back. Fitting it to the bowstring, she drew it back, judging the distance, waiting, anticipating, her target the pirate queen who stood so imperiously in the boat. Lianni released the arrow, heard the twang as it shot rapidly through the air.
As the shaft sped forward with unerring accuracy, the lead boat struck a submerged log. It shuddered and Jeanne-Marie de la Croix stumbled forward slightly, and the arrow meant for the area between her shoulder blades hit her left shoulder instead, but with such force that it propelled the beautiful brunette forward with a cry. Hands clutched at her, pulled her backwards, preventing her at the last second from pitching into the fast-flowing river.
Lianni cursed as she saw the miss. She bounded to her feet and disappeared into the dense jungle, running with a new sense of urgency towards the village and praying that Zaba and his warriors were prepared for what was to come. Time had been bought. Soon, these swine would learn the consequences of invading the jungle of the Golden Goddess.