Devil's Ballast

by Meg Caddy

  ‘Why does he care? I’ll die either way.’

  Read’s lips curved. ‘Captain Barnet likes things to be done in the proper fashion,’ he said. ‘If you are to die, you will die by the law. He will not have his men made murderers.’

  ‘And he trusts you not to kill me?’

  Read shrugged. ‘The captain knows I have a hatred of cowards,’ he said. ‘I would not kill a skinny boy with a bad leg. If your leg was healed and you had more meat to your bones, I would untie you and face you on the beach with pistols.’

  I forced a laugh. ‘You would lose.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m a damn good shot. You’ve seen that.’

  He looked amused. ‘You are an arrogant little fellow, aren’t you?’

  ‘I have reason to be.’ I shuffled my shoulders against the wood at my back, trying to get comfortable. I was playing for time, trying to work out what sort of a man Read was. Soon enough I’d need to piss. Fine if I could use the heads but I suspected I wouldn’t be given the privilege. There was a bucket in the corner and sooner or later I’d have to drop my trousers and go there. I had a feeling that particular situation would raise some questions. I doubted I would have much privacy even when we reached Cuba.

  I didn’t want to tell Read what I was. That was too much knowledge for a man to hold over my head. Decent as he seemed, all that separated any man from evil was opportunity and stiff nerves. That even applied to Calico, I told myself, though he had never hurt me. He’d had every opportunity and instead he’d…

  I couldn’t deliberate forever. Could I seduce Read? Perhaps. I figured a sailor would be an easy mark, alone at sea as they were for such long stretches of time. If nothing else it would buy me time.

  Calico’s face flashed through my mind. Those blue eyes. Hurt; angry.

  ‘Get out of my head,’ I muttered.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’ I used the wall of the brig to pull myself to my feet. My knee was still badly bruised but the binding had done some good and I could put a little weight on it now. I curled my fingers around the bars at the door and stared out at Read.

  Annie. Do you love me?

  Ah, Calico. I came to sea with you, didn’t I?

  ‘Do you want to hear a secret?’ I asked Read.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Come here.’

  Read tipped his head back and laughed. The sound was unexpected, light, warm. ‘You must take me for a fool. I like your boldness, little fellow, but I will not let you strangle me or put out my eyes, or whatever it is you plan.’

  ‘If I did any of those things I’d be dead long before Jamaica,’ I said. ‘I just don’t want to be heard by anyone else.’

  He picked up his stool and dragged it a few inches closer, still staying well clear of the bars.

  I kept my voice low. ‘I lied to your captain,’ I said. ‘My name is not Ned Fletcher.’

  His expression did not change but he leaned forward. ‘I guessed as much.’

  I stiffened but before I could ask what he meant a sharp sound rang out from the deck. A yelp. Read’s eyes narrowed but he stayed seated. Another sound and this time I identified it as the crack of a lash against flesh. A curse was bitten off by another blow.

  ‘Our captain is fond of floggings,’ Read murmured. ‘As you may find out for yourself.’

  ‘What did you mean, you guessed as much?’

  ‘Only a fool would give his real name.’ But I wondered if there was more to it than that. I didn’t like the sharpness of his gaze. The silence between us was only broken by the wet sound of the lash on flesh.

  ‘I need to piss,’ I said at last. ‘Turn around.’

  Read snorted. ‘A shy pirate?’

  ‘It’s one thing in front of your shipmates and another in a cell in front of a guard. Turn around or I won’t be able to go.’

  ‘Odd little fellow.’ But to my relief he turned around anyway and sat with his back to me. I used the bucket and put it aside, dragging my breeches up and lacing them.

  ‘So what is it?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m done, you can turn around now. What is what?’

  ‘If your name isn’t Ned Fletcher, what is it?’

  I shrugged. ‘Only a fool would give his real name.’

  A smile flashed across Read’s face.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘You may survive yet.’

  12

  BARNET

  It was no great victory to capture some cabin boy, Barnet supposed. But even the most insignificant of men had a part to play. If nothing else he would have the boy tortured for information that might lead to the capture of the rest of his crew; perhaps others, since pirates were social creatures, forever consorting and conspiring with men of their ilk. The cabin boy was defiant now but Barnet wagered a few broken fingers and the threat of a hanging would loosen his tongue.

  He sat in his cabin, going through the charts. Fifteen of his men had gone across to the Kingston to sail her in their wake. They would make port in Cuba and deposit the Kingston, along with the cabin boy. He would let the crew loose for a few days and take the extra time to careen the Albion. In his pursuit of the pirates he had neglected the upkeep of his vessel. Once that was rectified, he would take his own crew out to sea once more, seeking John Rackham and his people.

  The women, screaming. Constance—

  Barnet slowed. The memory had come upon him like a breaking wave, icy and sudden. A warm spot of pain moved behind his eyes and crept across his skull. The long chase was catching up with him. He would be glad of the rest in Cuba. Glad of fresh food, and sleep.

  Constance—

  Barnet finished going through the charts and stored them carefully in wooden cylinders with wax caps; charts were of great value and he had paid handsomely for these. He took off his coat and pinned his sleeves up at the elbow. He was not a man who enjoyed violence, but he conceded its necessity.

  He went below to the brig, where Martin Read was perched on a stool with his feet propped against the bars. He swung them down and stood as Barnet approached.

  ‘Captain,’ he said.

  ‘Open the brig,’ Barnet ordered.

  The prisoner scrambled to his feet. A skinny boy of about fourteen, with pointed features and impish green eyes. His hair would have been bright red if it wasn’t darkened by dirt. Barnet felt contempt rise in him. Just another filthy pirate. Godless. Defiant. Murderous.

  He was not, ordinarily, a man who enjoyed violence. He suspected this might be an exception.

  13

  BONNY

  Barnet was going to hurt me. He had shed his stiff jacket and rolled his sleeves up. Since I had been put in the brig my mind had conjured all manner of glinting torture devices but Barnet’s clenched fists reminded me a man does not need much imagination to inflict pain, and fear rolled through me unchecked.

  Read came to the door of the brig. I backed away to the far side of the cell. What would Read do if I rushed Barnet? I looked over at the tall sailor. He avoided my gaze as he fiddled with the lock.

  ‘Hurry up, man,’ Barnet snapped.

  ‘The lock is stiff, sir,’ Read said. ‘The salt.’

  ‘Stand out of the way.’ Barnet shouldered past Read and turned the key in the lock. It seemed to offer him no resistance.

  Read stood away and met my gaze, his face grave. No. I couldn’t expect any help from him. If he tried to intervene he would suffer the consequences, and it wouldn’t do me any good. If the situation had been reversed, if he had been on our ship, would I have stayed Calico’s hand? Of course not.

  Barnet stepped into the brig. I could stand but I didn’t trust my leg to take much if it came to a fight.

  What did I have? What could I use?

  As he reached forward I ducked under his arm and tried to go for the door. My knee buckled. I wasn’t fast enough. He grabbed me. Air hissed in and out between my teeth. My body was coiled, expecting a blow, ready for the pain.

  ‘
Sir.’

  ‘What?’ Barnet’s voice was a tight snarl and I realised how much he wanted to hurt me. Old Dad was right about this man. His hatred of pirates was gut-deep.

  What did I have? What could I use?

  ‘Sir, I think you should reconsider.’

  My first instinct was to jam my elbow into Barnet’s gut and take the opportunity to run for it, but I knew I wouldn’t get far. I looked at Read. His dark eyes were steady.

  ‘Tell him,’ he said. ‘Tell the captain what you are.’

  He knew.

  Perhaps he had known from the beginning.

  What did I have? What could I use? Only what I was.

  ‘I’m not a boy,’ I said. My voice cracked. It was so strange to speak this out loud, to admit it to anyone except Calico. ‘I’m a woman.’

  Barnet’s grip slackened on my arm. I pulled free and stumbled back a few steps. My hands were shaking. I hated myself for being so afraid.

  ‘A woman?’ Barnet hissed. His hand tightened on me again and he whipped around to face Read. ‘You knew?’

  ‘I suspected, sir. When she asked me to turn so she could…’ He coughed. ‘I suspected.’

  The pirate hunter’s face twisted. ‘Then you are Anne Bonny,’ he said.

  I caught my breath.

  My name.

  How did they know my name?

  Barnet shook me until my teeth knocked together and when he released me I almost fell against the bars. I caught them. Steadied myself. Barnet slammed the door of the brig closed. His eyes were hard and angry. For now, some corrupted sense of chivalry kept him from hurting me.

  ‘So, you’ve heard of me.’ I tried to keep my tone flippant. It would have worked if I could have caught my breath, but I was still giddy from the shaking.

  ‘You will stay in this brig until we reach Cuba,’ Barnet snarled, as if I hadn’t spoken. ‘There, you will face justice. If the courts see fit, Anne Bonny, you will still hang. And if not, I will see you returned to your husband with a lesson that will dog you until the end of your sorry days.’

  The world around me was so quiet, so still. If Barnet was waiting for a reaction, I could not give him one. I just stood there, frozen, until he growled in disgust and turned on his heel. His boots clipped against the wooden planks. The sound echoed.

  I had been running from my husband for months. And now, it seemed, I was sailing right into his grasp.

  ‘I met your husband, you know.’

  Read’s words came to me as if through water. I had forgotten he was even there. I didn’t remember sitting down but I had to look up to see his face.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I met your husband.’ He pulled up his stool and took a seat again. ‘Back in Jamaica.’

  I wanted to say something sharp but couldn’t call anything to mind. Memories of James Bonny slowed and weighed me down. I set my jaw.

  Read’s tone was neutral. ‘Did he hurt you?’

  A laugh bubbled up in my throat and I leaned my brow against the wall of the brig and kept laughing until my lungs hurt. By the time I ran out of breath my head was spinning. I pushed back my hair and raised my eyes to Read.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I thought as much.’ He rested his elbows on his knees. ‘Why did you marry him?’

  ‘Why do you care?’

  He frowned but didn’t answer.

  ‘He wasn’t always a brute,’ I said at last. ‘He was quite charming, once. Talked about freedom. Brought me gifts. A knife, a pistol. How did you know I was a woman?’

  He shrugged. ‘A guess, mostly. I knew there was a red-headed Irish woman on Rackham’s ship. I was surprised the captain did not see it for himself. Perhaps he expected your disguise to be less convincing.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell him straight away? What do you get out of this, Read?’

  He took some hardtack out of his pocket, dusted it off, and started trying to chip little bits off with his teeth.

  ‘Call it a whim,’ he said at last. ‘I have my own views on Captain Barnet.’

  ‘Why did you join?’

  A strange look passed over his face. ‘I was out of work after the war. For a while I ran an inn. But such a life was not meant for me, and so I came to the sea. I sailed when I was a boy, and the pay is sufficient.’

  ‘You were a soldier?’ On any other day I wouldn’t have been interested in my captor’s life, but I really didn’t want to think about my husband. I clung to the distraction.

  ‘In Flanders. The good Charles Habsburg had the gall to die without an heir. Half of Europe entered the struggle.’

  ‘Did your side win?’

  ‘It was a war.’ His lips tipped. ‘No one wins.’

  ‘Mister Read?’

  The voice belonged to a scrawny boy coming down the companionway. He had a black eye and no shirt but when he saw Read his face split into a wide grin. He dropped onto the planks next to the man and handed him a mug. He couldn’t have been older than ten.

  ‘No more coffee,’ he said, ‘but the bumbo is good.’ A hot drink of rum, water, sugar and nutmeg. Calico always added lime as well.

  ‘Thank you, Oliver.’ Read handed the boy another hardtack from his pocket. They sat dipping the biscuits into the mug. The normalcy of the scene helped to shake away the shadow of James Bonny. I forced myself to edge forward and wrap my fingers about the bars of the brig. I wasn’t hungry but I knew I needed my strength.

  ‘Feel like sharing?’ I asked.

  The boy glanced at me, then looked at Read. Read shrugged and dug around in his pocket for another biscuit. He passed it through the bars to me.

  ‘How many of those do you have?’ the boy asked.

  Read just winked and held out the mug to me. The bumbo warmed my stomach. I wondered, briefly, whether there was any way I could upend it onto Read, scald him, and somehow get to the keys. But where would I go? Besides, he was the only thing keeping the crew from me. I dipped the hardtack, soaking it so it had a little flavour and didn’t break my teeth. The food was enough to restore some of my spirit.

  ‘The captain said you’re a woman,’ Oliver blurted out at last. News got around fast.

  Read, with the mug at his lips, snorted and spilled some. ‘God’s blood, Oliver.’

  ‘Your captain’s right,’ I said.

  ‘That mean you don’t get hung?’

  Read nudged the boy, who looked indignant. ‘What? She’s a prisoner, we don’t get to ask her questions?’

  ‘Hanged,’ I said. I wasn’t bothered by the query.

  Oliver blinked at me. ‘Well? Do you get hanged, then?’

  ‘Women can get hanged just as much as men.’ I shrugged. ‘If they try me, and convict me, I’ll go to the gallows.’

  ‘They won’t convict you though. Because you’re a woman.’

  ‘They might.’ I could probably wriggle out of the piracy charges, but it was damning that I had left my husband for Calico. It was bitter to know that even now my fate was bound to my husband’s.

  ‘Don’t you care?’

  ‘There are worse things than execution. If the choice is between a hanging and going back to my husband, I’ll dance the hempen jig with a wide smile on my face.’

  Read turned his steady gaze to me and did not say a word. There was no way of telling what was going through his mind.

  I didn’t have to be up on the deck to know when we arrived in Havana. I could feel it in the shift of the waters around us, hear it in the sounds of the gulls and the vendors on the docks. I was almost grateful. I was dirty and greasy. The baby in my belly was still upsetting my innards and the brig stank of vomit, though Read had been decent enough to bring me fresh water each day, and Oliver had changed the buckets every time it was needed. If Read thought it odd that my stomach rebelled so often he didn’t say so. I grew accustomed to his watchful quiet and to Oliver’s curious chatter.

  I was a mouthy little shit on the Ranger. But now I tried to follow Read’s example. I had to focus on what came ah
ead.

  I had options. I couldn’t let my fear of James Bonny cloud my mind. There was still a lot of time and distance between the Albion and the trial. I would have to take any opportunity for escape. Try to make my way to Calico’s friends, the Cunninghams. Have the baby, leave it with them, go back to sea.

  If I didn’t escape before the trial I could plead my belly. A pregnant woman couldn’t be hanged—it was seen as tantamount to murder—so I’d get a stay of execution until the baby was born. Another seven months or so. Plenty of time to work on the guards and find a way out.

  ‘We’ll be docked soon,’ Read said, coming down to the brig after his off-shift. Oliver, half-asleep on the stool, jerked upright and tried to look alert. He skirted around Read and scrambled up the companionway, presumably to get a good look at the port of Havana as we approached. Read came to the door of the brig and studied me.

  ‘Thinking about how much you’ll miss me?’ I asked.

  He did not smile. ‘The captain will not risk taking you down the docks himself,’ he said. ‘He believes you are likely to cause some form of disturbance.’

  ‘I wonder why.’

  ‘He will bring soldiers. They will come onto the ship and take you away.’

  I stood and went to the bars. His fingers were wrapped around them. I set my hands just below his and brought my face closer.

  ‘They will take you to trial. To the gallows, or back to your husband.’

  ‘Yes.’ Every muscle in my body was tense. Was he going to help me?

  ‘Read!’ someone called from above. ‘Come get your pay!’

  He rapped the bars twice, and went to the upper decks. I watched him go. Tall, broad-shouldered, his stride easy and long. Was he wiping me from his mind? I’d had the strangest feeling he was almost about to throw his lot in with me.

  I paced the length of the brig. I didn’t have to bend as much as the other men at this level but I still had to bow my head as I walked back and forth.

  There were always options.

  My mind was made up by the time Read returned with a purse at his hip. I would tell him I was with child. He was a decent man, and decent men couldn’t resist a woman in distress. It might tip him the rest of the way, might sway him in favour of helping me to escape.