Devil's Prize

by Samuel Edwards

  "Your father and my uncle are happy men tonight. I've left the army sooner than either of them dreamed possible, and I've been forced to enter their business under conditions I can't refuse. It was inevitable that all this would happen, I suppose, but the circumstances leave a great deal to be desired. For a man who wanted a promotion, I sure went about getting it the wrong way. Anyway, you're getting what you've wanted."

  "There are times," Prudence said, "when I think you don't know me at all. I'd have been ashamed if you'd behaved differently. It's true that I've wanted you to join the business, but I know how much your promotion meant to you, and I'm sorry you won't be getting it. But I'm proud of you, all the same!"

  They kissed, and for a little while they forgot the sand dripping through the thin waist of the hour glass that stood on the mantle. All of their past intimacies seemed to envelope them, and Ethan felt suffused by the familiar warmth of Prudence's soft but supple body. Finally they drew apart, and as they faced each other shakily, Ethan saw that Prudence's eyes were misty.

  "You'll marry me when I come back," he said, and it was a flat statement, not a question.

  "I'd marry you now, if there were only time," she replied passionately. "Ethan, I wouldn't care if you were a fugitive and never dared to show your face in New York again! I wouldn't care what happened—as long as we could be together. I'd even be willing to strike out into the wilderness somewhere beyond Fort Schenectady—and I'd help you clear our land."

  He laughed, and his voice was husky as he reached for her again. "I really believe you'd do it. I don't know that I can promise you very much, Prue—except myself. You have me, and you'll have me always. I swear to you that while I'm gone I won't even do so much as look at another girl."

  "It never occurred to me that you would, darling." She lifted her face to his laughingly, and when he embraced her she clung to him.

  There was no one in the world as loyal or devoted as Prudence, Ethan knew, and he swore to himself that he would be worthy of her trust. But he could not waste his last minutes on mere words; he kissed her again and again, sometimes savagely, sometimes tenderly, and for a little while life seemed almost complete. Then Talbot Courtney's warning cough sounded from the foot of the staircase, and they had to face the realities of parting. Prudence was dry-eyed as they bade each other farewell, and Ethan left the house quickly, not wanting to prolong the actual moment of hurt and tension.

  He climbed into the little carriage, and it rumbled off toward the wharves, taking him to the brig Saru. It was as well for his peace of mind that he did not know that Prudence watched him from the window of her bedchamber until he disappeared from sight, or that she spent the rest of the night weeping.

  Five

  THE Saru came to life shortly after dawn, and Ethan, who was already wide awake, was anxious to go out onto the deck for his last, long look at New York. His cabin depressed him, and he wondered how any man could find satisfaction in a life at sea, where his "home" consisted of a tiny, bare cubicle furnished only with a narrow bed set into a bulkhead. It was useless to resent his fate, he knew; his own folly was responsible, and he had to accept conditions as they existed. He was starting a new life, and it would be the better part of wisdom to put the past behind him so he could devote his full attention to the tasks ahead.

  It was one thing to know what he must do but a different matter entirely to put those thoughts into practice, and he felt a wrench as he opened his sea chest and packed away the uniform he was no longer entitled to wear. For the first time in his adult life he dressed in civilian clothes, conceiving an instant dislike for his new coat of dull yellow damask, his black wool breeches and yellow silk hose. The ruffled white linen cravat and cuffs annoyed him, and only when he buckled on his sword did he enjoy some measure of relief. Although he was unsure of shipboard etiquette, he had always carried a sword on land, and he saw no reason not to do the same at sea.

  When he came out onto the deck of the brig sailors were swarming over the lines, hauling crates of merchandise into the hold and scrubbing the quarterdeck with holystones. Everyone seemed too busy to take any notice of him, and he wandered to the prow, where the carved and gilded figure of a nude girl extended over the water, her arms outstretched. As he glanced at it a sturdily built man in a blue suit and gold-braided tricorn hat appeared at his elbow and remarked casually, "I've yet to see the man who doesn't respond to Sam. A remarkable likeness, if I do say so. All I need to do is look at that little statue myself and I go back to thirty years ago in the Indies." He sighed, then smiled. "You're Master Ethan Wade?"

  "Your servant, sir." It was the first time Ethan had been addressed by a title other than his military one.

  "Matthew Humphrey, master of the Saru. Welcome aboard, and join me in a bite of breakfast, if you don't mind eating on the quarterdeck. I like to keep an eye on what's going on when we're about to leave a port."

  Ethan accepted the invitation, and as they walked together to the quarterdeck he asked, "How soon do you propose to sail?"

  The brig's captain squinted at the sky and faced into the breeze for a moment. "In an hour's time."

  "I'm expecting a messenger with some documents for me." Ethan thought it wiser not to mention that two thousand pounds was to be delivered to him. He himself had never seen that much money at one time, and he doubted that Humphrey had, either.

  "For your sake I hope he arrives in time," the master declared. "But if he comes from Robert Wade you need have no fears. I've done business with your uncle for twenty-three years, and I've never known a more reliable man."

  The wives and sweethearts of several members of the crew were clustered on the wharf, waving to their men on board and exchanging final shouted words with them, but Ethan paid no attention to the group until he saw them move aside to make room for a familiar figure in black, followed by a servant carrying a small chest. Jedediah Moulton was the messenger, and in the chest must be the money that was to be paid to Marinus Boline. Ethan hurried down to the aft deck to meet his uncle's chief clerk; he was relieved that Moulton had come at last, but in almost the same breath he told himself that he would tolerate none of the fellow's dreary sermonizing.

  "Well, Jed," he said sharply, "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever get here."

  "I'm always on time," the little man replied primly. He ordered the servant to take the wooden chest below and then glanced apprehensively around the vessel.

  "Ajin I correct in assuming that the chest you've brought contains the funds with which Courtney and Wade are supplying me?"

  "Certainly not!" Jed smiled patronizingly. "Men of substance don't conduct their transactions with great piles of silver like freebooters." Again his glance flickered around the ship. "I wonder if there are many freebooters still roaming about the West Indian Sea?"

  "I neither know nor care." Ethan was growing impatient. "Where—"

  "Surely a merchantman like this must take precautionary measures to protect herself against attack."

  "She does. If you'll look toward the stem—back there—you'll see two six-pounder cannons. And there's a little three-pounder near the prow. Now, if I've satisfied you that money which doesn't belong to you in the first place is going to be safe, where is it?"

  "Men of substance carry money belts, and I happen to be wearing one now." Jed touched his middle with thin, white fingers for reassurance. "The funds are distributed in twenty-guinea gold pieces. And of course I have sufficient to pay for necessary expenses on the journey as well."

  "I'll relieve you of the burden," Ethan said, noting from the increased activity of the sailors that the Saru was about to weigh anchor. "I'm sure that even gold coins must be heavy for someone built like a twig."

  Moulton backed away, then raised his head defiantly. "The belt is very comfortable."

  "Will you give me that money, or must I take it from you? As you well know, I've got to have it if I'm to complete my deal in St. Pierre!"

  "You shall have it at the ap
propriate time, but I will not give it to you now," Jed said firmly. "Naturally Master Wade and Master Courtney have no faith in the stability of a wild bull who lets his emotions rule his head. And so they've entrusted the funds to my care."

  "You're—coming to Martinique with me?" Ethan cried. "I don't deserve this."

  "If it weren't for the extra funds I'm going to receive to help me take care of my sister, nothing would have persuaded me to accompany you," Jed replied with stiff dignity. "I can assure you that I look forward to the relationship with even less pleasure than you do. But there seems to be no choice for either of us. I tried to persuade Master Wade to let me make this voyage alone, since I could easily complete the mission myself. But even a wise man has his blind spots, I'm afraid."

  "If I'd known I'd have you around my neck, I'd have refused to have any part in the whole venture," Ethan said gloomily, turning on his heel and walking to the port rail. If he could only hold onto this feeling of annoyance, he thought, it might ease his pain when the brig sailed out of the harbor and carried him far from his love, his honor and the one life that had ever meant anything to him.

  The Saru rode serenely through placid midsummer seas as she moved past the coast of Virginia, the Carolina colonies and Spanish Florida. By unspoken consent Ethan and Jedediah Moulton spent as little time in each other's company as they could, a state which was not too difficult to achieve. Ethan dined with the Saru's master ahnost every night, finding himself enthralled by Humphrey's tales of wild adventure in the West Indies of his youth. That era, the captain insisted, was gone forever, and the Indies had become respectable, but his graphic accounts of life in the islands made Ethan eager to see them. Port Royal, once the most depraved city in the Western world, had been rebuilt since a devastating earthquake had destroyed her a quarter of a century before. She was now almost as tame as the new town of Kingston which was growing out of the Jamaican jungles a few miles away. Boucaniers, outlaws who had roasted the meat of wild cattle on His-paniola, no longer made that island the headquarters of their nefarious trade. The Spaniards were now cultivating sugar cane in fields where pirate loot had been stored a scant decade ago.

  Since a portion of the Saru's cargo was destined for Jamaica, Ethan would have an opportunity to roam Port Royal for himself, and he looked forward to seeing the town whose most famous citizen had once been Sir Henry Morgan. But the edge was removed from his eagerness when the Blue Mountains of Jamaica appeared on the horizon and he was forced to go to Jed for funds to see him through the twenty-four hours that he would spend ashore. Pursing his lips, Jed had handed him ten shillings and had coldly informed him that the sum was more than sufficient to provide him with his meals, mild entertainment and a bed at an inn if he wished to sleep on dry land. As Ethan's alternative was to do without, he took the money, went ashore and wandered aimlessly around the blazing hot streets of Port Royal.

  Most of the buildings were one-and two-story frame houses, and here and there could be seen crumbling ruins, which Ethan guessed had been caused by the terrible earthquake. A few well-dressed gentlemen, probably local merchants, sauntered in and out of offices and shops, and here and there could be seen ragged natives who either carried baskets of produce on their heads or sat in the dust at the side of the road trying to sell their vegetables. The general atmosphere of the place was one of sleepy decay, and the only real activity was centered in the taverns. There were scores of them, ranging from dingy and dilapidated one-room wooden shacks to ornate houses featuring outdoor gardens as well as more conventional eating and drinking rooms.

  Most of them were doing a thriving business, which perplexed Ethan until he realized that virtually all of the customers were sailors, members of the crew of the Sam and of five other merchantmen anchored in the harbor. There was apparently a naval vessel nearby, too, for scores of seamen wearing the King's uniform were also in evidence. Port Royal was making a valiant attempt to cling to her tarnished reputation for wickedness, and Ethan thought that he had never seen so many trollops gathered in one community.

  The sound of shrill feminine laughter floated out of every inn, and no street lacked its quota of women who paraded up and down in their tawdry finery. There were blondes from northern Europe, sultry Spaniards and the mulatto daughters of African slaves and local planters, but most of them looked tired and seedy, and, to Ethan, rather pathetic. Like the fabled cities of antiquity, he told himself. Port Royal was largely a myth.

  Only one girl seemed to have either beauty or vitality. A tall, sinuous wench with long, reddish-gold hair that had been bleached by the sun, she might have been attractive had she not displayed her charms so blatantly. Ethan grinned and wondered what Prudence would say if she could see her. The girl's dress of flimsy yellow silk was carelessly ripped low between her breasts and was pulled down over her shoulders; her skirt was looped up and pinned with a red hibiscus flower on one hip, showing a flame-red petticoat slit almost to the knee in front. Another hibiscus was in her hair, matching the red of her high-heeled slippers, and as a finishing touch she wore outlandish earrings of silver decorated with green enamel. Ethan estimated that each was at least four inches long.

  The wench was immediately aware of his interest and smiled at him invitingly, but he shook his head as he pushed past her. His sense of loneliness increased, and when he finally saw a tavern in which several officers from the merchantmen were lounging, he went in and took a table. He was served a plentiful but rather tasteless dinner consisting of some sort of wild fowl and several unusual local vegetables which made a dazzling array in greens, reds and yellows. Ethan ate without appetite and thought that what Captain Humphrey had told him was true: tropical foods were attractive to the eye but dull to the palate. He paid his bill and walked back into the street.

  The High Street was Port Royal's principal thoroughfare, and he followed it for several squares, then turned off onto a narrower road that led to the wharves near the old fort. He was deep in thought, and although he heard the noises of a commotion somewhere, the sounds did not really penetrate his consciousness until he stood parallel to the open door of a small, ramshackle inn. A woman was screeching, and Ethan heard her cry, "He promised me two gold guineas. Make him pay me! Make him pay me!"

  She chanted the words over and over, and Ethan glancing inside, saw the young wench whom he had thought fairly attractive. Her fists were clenched and she seemed very angry, but there was a false note to her anguish. He paused and peered inside.

  Three burly men stood on the far side of the room, threatening someone who was cowering behind a table. One of the brutes, apparently the proprietor, was in his shirtsleeves and brandished a long knife; the other two, who wore sailors' clothes, held heavy clubs. The owner of the place waved his knife menacingly and pointed it at his victim, whom Ethan could not see plainly. "Pay her!" the man roared.

  Ethan shrugged, smiled cynically and started to move on, when he heard a plaintive, "All I did was to ask her to join me in a glass of wine." The voice belonged to Jedediah Moulton.

  Stepping quickly inside, Ethan planted his feet wide apart. "What's going on here?" he demanded.

  The girl stopped screaming and eyed him speculatively, and the men who threatened Jed glared at him. "Get out!" the proprietor said.

  "Mind your own business or you'll get what's coming to him," one of the others added.

  Ethan ignored them as he asked quietly, "What seems to be the trouble, Jed?"

  "They're trying to rob me, Ethan!" the little man said, 'his voice tremulous. "They tricked me. They—"

  "Oh, so he's a friend of yours, is he?" The proprietor reached for a jar of rum on a nearby table and heaved it across the room at Ethan, who sidestepped neatly and paid no heed as the crockery crashed and splintered.

  "Up where I come from," Ethan said quietly, "that would be considered a hostile reception. Come along, Jed. These people don't seem to want us around."

  One of the sailors, a man with a thick mustache and shaggy hair, to
ok a fresh grip on his club. "He ain't going nowhere, and neither are you. Not on your own feet, anyways."

  Ethan drew his sword and laughed. He was being offered an outlet for his frustration and boredom, and he seized it eagerly. "There are usually two sides to every question, and it so happens I disagree with you," he said softly.

  He watched the sailor closely, and as the man started to raise his club the sword darted out and caught him in the arm. The club dropped to the ground as the man howled, and Ethan whirled out of the path of the second sailor. As the man's club smashed into the wall behind him, Ethan leaped into the center of the room. The club wielder leaped forward again.

  At that moment Ethan's glance caught the proprietor balancing a knife carefully in the palm of his hand as he prepared to throw it. This was a dangerous comer, and Ethan knew it; if he mortally wounded any of these men, he would be hauled into court on a murder charge and would probably be hanged. But unless he protected himself, these men would probably kill him.

  At that instant Jedediah Moulton became a man of action for the first time in his life. Emboldened by Ethan's help, he picked up a chair, moved behind the proprietor and brought it down on the man's head. A similar blow struck by a man of greater strength would have been lethal, but Jed's gesture was sufficient for the immediate purposes and the owner of the inn groaned and dropped to the floor.

  The first man had fled leaving Ethan only the club-swinger to face. Laughing, he flicked his sword out to remove the man's stocking cap, then neatly cut the buttons from his pea jacket. This demonstration of skill was sufficient; the club clattered to the floor, and the seaman vanished into the street. Ethan sheathed his sword. "Congratulations on your aim, Jed," he said, grinning. "It came in handy."