It was a wonderful relief to dip her spoon back into the bowl and capture another mouthful of the broth. She barely drew breath as she spooned every last drop of it into her mouth. The black bread was as tasty as the broth. She tore it into pieces, and used it to mop up every lingering smear of soup from the side of the bowl.
“Will you look at that, Jamie?” the cook said. “The new ones are always the worst, aren’t they?”
Grace looked up curiously, her tongue wiping the last droplets of soup from the sides of her mouth. The new ones. The new what? She was about to ask when she felt a sudden, overwhelming sense of tiredness. The cook and the boy in front of her became a blur. As her eyes clamped shut, she felt the spoon drop from her hand. It clattered on the floor, but the sound seemed far away in the distance. She fell backward but landed, thankfully, in a waiting pair of arms. After that, she relaxed into a deep, comfortable sleep.
23
ACTION STATIONS
Connor and Bart took the second sitting of lunch. They were both ravenous after their morning’s labors and tucked into mountainous portions of ocean pie, mashed sweet potatoes, and steamed seaweed. The seaweed was not only chewy, but tasted kind of nasty, and Connor pushed it to the side of his plate. “It’s full of minerals,” Bart told him, spooning an extra portion onto his own plate. “Great for building lean muscle.” Connor tried another bite. It was like eating rubber shavings.
As Bart lit a cigarette and went to fetch them both some tea, Connor let out a yawn. It had been a long morning and he was ready for a siesta. Looking around the mess hall, he could see the other pirates were in a similar frame of mind. A few had dozed off at the table and were lying on the benches or else slumped back against their neighbor. One unlucky soul had evidently been overcome by weariness during his meal and fallen headfirst into his mashed potatoes. Connor smiled — he was tired, but he wasn’t that tired.
Suddenly, a loud bell clanged. Connor jumped out of his seat. The bell clanged again. Pirates, who a moment ago had been snoring loudly, stirred into life and ran out of the mess hall, completely alert, swords jostling at their waists. All, that is, except the one laggard whose face was buried in his lunch.
“Come on, buddy, look lively.”
Bart thrust an enamel mug, brimming with tea, into Connor’s hand.
“Bring it with you,” he said.
“Where are we going?” Connor asked.
“Up to the main deck,” Bart cried over the din. “Captain’s briefing.”
“Captain’s briefing?”
“You’ll see. Come on, get a move on. I want a good seat.”
The deck was filling up fast as Connor and Bart got there. Nevertheless, Bart managed to weave his way through the crowd and Connor followed in his wake. This was no mean feat, carrying a mug of tea, and Connor received more than one irate glance as he slopped hot tea on another pirate’s jacket or over his boots. Somehow, they made it right to the front of the crowd. Connor sat down cross-legged and found himself at the feet of Captain Wrathe, who was deep in conversation with Cutlass Cate. Scrimshaw, Connor noticed, was circled around the captain’s arm and appeared to be closely following Cate’s words. Behind her, a large blackboard was propped on an easel and, as she talked to the captain, Cate’s handflew across the board, leaving a blur of intricate chalk marks.
Finally, the bell clanged again. Cheng Li arrived on deck, looking rather harassed.
“Why wasn’t I told about this?” she snapped at Cutlass Cate, who shrugged and turned back to her blackboard.
“Captain Wrathe, I must speak with you,” Cheng Li said.
But the captain was having none of it. “After the briefing, Mistress Li,” Connor heard him say.
“But, Captain, I really —”
“After the briefing.” There was steel in his voice.
Connor could see that relations between Captain Wrathe and his deputy were worsening every day. No wonder Cheng Li gave anyone who crossed her path a tongue-lashing. Her power on the ship appeared to be challenged at every turn. It didn’t help that the pirates regarded Cutlass Cate with such natural respect and affection that anyone would think she was the deputy.
Captain Wrathe turned to face the expectant audience. “Okay. Is everybody here?”
“Aye, Captain,” came the cry from a few of the pirates. As roll calls went, thought Connor, it was far from thorough.
“And is everybody in the mood to get filthy rich?” asked the captain.
This time, there were rather more “ayes.”
“Excellent, excellent,” said Captain Wrathe, his eyes sparkling as brightly as the sapphires he wore on his fingers.
“Well, my friends, word has reached us of a ship that has lately departed from Puerto Paraiso, laden — I say LADEN — with fine treasures.”
Captain Wrathe’s attention appeared distracted for a moment by the late arrival of one of his men.
“Sorry I’m late, Cap’n.”
A gawky pirate, his face half covered in mashed potato, squeezed into the space next to Bart.
“That’s all right, Young Bobby,” said Captain Wrathe. “You just finish your lunch now, eh?”
There was a ricochet of laughter from the crew, but Captain Wrathe silenced it with a raise of his hand.
“As I say, this ship is heading up the coast. It seems that one of the richest dandies of Puerto Paraiso is shipping off some of his finest treasures to his summer house.”
“Ooh, his summer house! That’s posh!” cried one pirate.
“It is, Mister Joshua, isn’t it?” answered Captain Wrathe, clearly amused. “I say ‘house,’ but really it’s more like a palace.”
Connor was enjoying himself. He liked the way Captain Wrathe joked around with his crew. It was rather like watching a pantomime.
“Now, which of you fellows is up for a lark?” the captain asked.
“Aye, Captain.”
“I’m sorry,” said the captain, raising a hand to his ear, “I’m a little hard of hearing.”
“AYE!” roared the pirates. Connor joined in the cry loudly. Captain Wrathe heard him and gave him a wink. Scrimshaw also appeared to look Connor right in the eye. It still unnerved him to be monitored by the snake.
“Marvelous,” Captain Wrathe continued. “Well, by our calculations, the way their ship is sailing, we can catch it by teatime, board it, and be home with its booty in time for supper. You hear that, Bobby? In time for supper!”
Bobby, who was licking the mashed potato off his face, nodded enthusiastically.
“Is everybody in?” Captain Wrathe cried.
“Aye, Captain,” the crowd roared once more.
But there was one voice that did not join in.
“Captain, a question.”
“Yes, Mistress Li.”
“Is this ship actually sailing in our sea lane? Puerto Paraiso is a way away.”
“We’ve discussed this before, Mistress Li. I don’t care for this notion of pirate captains being allocated sea lanes. If I see a ship of treasure sailing nearby, then why should I let another captain grab it?”
“Here, here!” came a hearty call from the crowd.
Cheng Li shook her head. “With the utmost respect, Captain Wrathe, there are regulations laid down by the Pirate Federation . . .”
Molucco Wrathe mimed a yawn, provoking a good deal of laughter in the crowd.
“I realize that you find this a boring topic, Captain, but — again, with utmost respect — I am the one who has to clean up the mess after we flagrantly ignore these regulations.”
“I’m sorry that it affects you so.”
“It affects all of us,” Cheng Li said, her voice snapping. “If we enter another ship’s sea lane, then we not only flout the rules of the sea, we invite attack from the pirates who we insult by trespassing into their waters.”
“All right,” Captain Wrathe said calmly. “All right, Mistress Li. Your point is fair. And The Diablo is a democracy. Let’s put this to a vote. A
ll those who feel we should let this treasure ship go, out of respect to our pirate comrades, say ‘aye.’”
There was silence on the deck. Connor winced to see Cheng Li humiliated so. He could only imagine the rage she was feeling inside. He knew it would find its way out at some time and he hoped he wouldn’t be close by when it did.
Captain Wrathe continued remorselessly. “Now, all those in favor of taking the treasure and taking our chances . . .”
This time, there was a deafening response. Connor felt the deckboards resound with the noise. His heart beat fast and he felt a tingle all along his spine. He looked from Captain Wrathe to Bart, who had joined in the cheers spreading like wildfire across the deck. Connor looked over his shoulder and saw the sea of pirates chanting, hands raised in support of the captain.
“I think you have your answer, Mistress Li,” Captain Wrathe said.
“Yes,” she said, without granting him the courtesy of the formal greeting. Connor wondered if Captain Wrathe would bring her up on this, but he let it pass.
“I do hope you will feel able to still fight with us, Mistress Li. You are one of our more brutal attackers and I have no doubt we shall want you at the heart of this raid.”
“I am deputy captain of The Diablo,” Cheng Li said icily. “Of course, I will honor my duty.”
“Tickety-boo,” Captain Wrathe said, “tickety-boo. And now let’s have a word or two on strategy from my esteemed colleague Miss Catherine Morgan, known more commonly in these parts as Cutlass Cate.”
Captain Wrathe stepped back and Cate came forward. Two other pirates sprung from the crowd to wheel forward the blackboard.
“Okay, guys,” said Cate, as businesslike as ever, a stick of blue chalk in her hand. “Today we’ll be working as three teams in a 4-8-8 formation. You know the ropes . . .”
She turned to the blackboard and made crosses with the blue chalk over her initial drawing, which Connor now saw resembled a deck, seen from above.
“Our intelligence tells us the target ship is a standard galleon. After we send out the cannon fire, forward teams will enter here, here, and here. Joshua, Lukas, Bartholomew . . . you’ll lead with the other broadsworders. Do your stuff. I want to see the rigging cut to pieces when the rapier bearers make the deck.”
Her chalk swept over the board, circling over the crosses she’d made earlier.
“Rapier teams, you know who you are. We’ll follow in tightly. Watch your forwards and keep pace with them. I don’t want an inch between you, you understand. As they open up the space, you seize it. I want that crew defeated before they even realize what’s going on. That’s the key to bringing back the treasure. Now . . .”
Cate turned away from the blackboard to face the crew square on. Her expression was grave.
“I want minimal bloodshed. This is about booty, not body count. Some of us have been getting a little overeager out there. Javier? De Cloux? Rein it in, boys, you understand? There’s more skill in a sword that doesn’t return with blood on its tip.”
Connor was relieved, and a little surprised. After Cate’s words during his sword-fighting lesson, he’d come away with the impression that blood and guts were all in a day’s work for her and the rest of the crew.
“Wise words, Cate,” said Captain Wrathe, stepping back into the fray. “And I hope you all listened well. It’s up to you experienced pirates to set a good example for the new recruits.”
The men fell silent, thinking on Cate and the captain’s words.
“And now,” said Captain Wrathe, smiling again, “make sure your swords are oiled and ready. Set the sails to the west and prepare yourselves for battle! Prepare for sweet riches. If you do well — and I know you shall — I can promise you a night of delight, over yonder at Ma Kettle’s Tavern.”
At these words, a vast whoop arose from the crowd. The pirates began dispersing as quickly as they’d arrived.
Bart stepped forward to talk to Cate. Cheng Li stormed off, saying nothing. Connor found himself facing Captain Wrathe.
“This boy needs a sword, Cate,” said the captain.
He winked at Connor again, slapped Bart on the back, and strode off to ready the ship for attack.
Cate and Bart turned to Connor.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Cate asked.
Connor shrugged.
“He’s ready,” Bart said.
On his way back to his cabin, Connor came across Cheng Li, staring out to sea, looking the very picture of dejection. He hesitated. He was nervous to approach her but he felt he owed her some support. Captain Wrathe had rather cruelly humiliated her in front of the pirates, further weakening her already dwindling authority over them. Cheng Li could be arrogant and imperious but it was she, after all, who had saved Connor from death. And, although she often had a strange way of showing it, he knew that she cared about him.
“Hello,” he said.
She looked up at him. In her face, he usually saw the taut mask of the warrior. Now she looked more like a young girl. Captain Wrathe had stripped her not only of her authority but of her fight — her fire.
“Well, did you enjoy the show?” she asked bitterly.
“Not really,” he said, shaking his head. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she said, looking at him curiously. “Of course I am. I’m used to Molucco Wrathe’s antics, even if that was a bit more extreme than usual. It’s flattering, really.”
“Flattering?” Connor didn’t understand.
“He must be very threatened by me, don’t you think, to attempt to put me down like that. You see, my young friend, he knows that while he may have the morons among this crew cheering his every syllable, I have real power behind me.”
“What do you mean?” Connor asked her.
“The world of piracy is changing, boy, and men like Molucco Wrathe are going to be left behind. Being a pirate is a jolly romp for them. People like me — people who get things done, people with connections — we’re the future.”
Connor was surprised to hear her talk in quite such terms, but he supposed that after Captain Wrathe’s behavior, Cheng Li’s allegiance had been sorely tested. Perhaps he was the only one she felt she could vent to like this.
“There’s a much bigger world of piracy than what you see on this ship, boy. The Diablo is — forgive the expression — merely a drop in the ocean. There will come a time, and it is not so very far away, when the Molucco Wrathes of this world will be sidelined. Then you’ll see some excitement. Then you’ll see a brave new dawn of piracy.”
Cheng Li appeared to have roused herself back to something of her customary feistiness. Connor was flattered that she had included him in her vision of the future. But his feelings of warmth did not last long.
“Well, I can’t stand here talking to you all afternoon, boy. These katanas need oiling for the raid.”
With that, she turned and strode across the deck. Cheng Li certainly had guts. Even the humiliation she’d been subjected to had not removed her drive. If anything, it had made her even stronger and more fearsome. Connor watched the twin blades jostling on her back. He remembered Cate imploring the pirates not to inflict wounds for the sake of it. Somehow, he rather doubted that Mistress Li would be paying much attention to that. Woe betide the man or woman who came into conflict with her today.
24
THE NIGHTFALL BELL
“Jamie, where ARE you? Jamie!”
Grace had been woken by more pleasant alarms in her time, but there was no doubting the effectiveness of the cook’s shrill cries. She opened her eyes and was instantly propelled back into the steam and heat and ceaseless clatter of the galley. She was lying on the floor in the corner, a starchy tablecloth covering her as a makeshift sheet.
The cook was noisily checking pans, lifting lids and slamming them down like a drummer with a confident but erratic sense of rhythm. Jamie appeared to have disappeared again.
“Where are you, my boy? I’ve only got the one pair of h
ands, haven’t I? Oh, it’s just too much for a woman of my age!”
“Can I help you?” Grace asked, clambering to her feet and folding up the linen tablecloth along its deep creases.
“You?” The cook stopped dead in her tracks. “That’s a little irregular. I could do with the help, but no, you need to rest and build up your strength.”
Grace shook her head. “I feel great, thanks. I don’t know what was in that soup, but I’m full of energy.”
The cook smiled at her. “Thank you, missy, I’m glad to hear it. Very well, I shan’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Just don’t expect me to reveal any of my secret ingredients, eh?” She waved a spatula at Grace in a far from threatening manner.
“Absolutely,” Grace said. “Now, where shall I start?”
“Well, these carrots need slicing and dicing, for starters.”
Grace looked at the mountain of carrots, more than she had ever seen even at the harbor market. Undeterred, she grabbed a handful and set them down on a chopping board.
“That’s very good,” the cook said, watching Grace start work. “Just the right size, too. You are an unexpected blessing, aren’t you?”
As the cook rushed over to tend to the rest of her dishes, Grace busied herself with the carrots. She’d always enjoyed the repetitive aspects of cooking — finding that it gave her a sense of calm and control, especially when such feelings were in short supply elsewhere. She was reminded of suppertime back at the lighthouse when her dad used to prepare feasts for the three of them, and she and Connor would help out with the chopping and stirring and, best of all, tasting.
“How you doing there?”
A beaming face appeared on the other side of the counter. It was not the cook but the elusive Jamie.
“I’m fine,” Grace said.
“You’re a quick worker,” he said, throwing a slice of carrot into his mouth.
Grace shrugged. “The last thing I expected to find on this ship was a kitchen.”
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