Why would there be such a commotion over the sighting of a ship? Weren't ships common enough? After all, this was the Atlantic.
Suddenly tired of my cabin, I sat up. My head reeled. I gritted my teeth and climbed out of my bunk, slipping on my breeches and a cotton shirt and vest. After hurriedly braiding my hair in a queue and then pulling on my stockings and silver-buckled shoes, I donned my cocked hat and staggered onto the upper deck. My eyes watered in the freshening breeze.
The rising sun shattered the cloud-studded sky with rays of yellow and orange. Halfway between the sun and the horizon, sails floated like the wings of a bird in flight. Below, a dark hull aimed toward us like a dagger.
“Look lively now, lads!” bellowed the captain through his speaking trumpet.
Sailors ran around me, their bare feet slapping the deck. One burly man knocked into me, scarcely apologizing as he ran by. I suddenly felt awkward. Stupid. Only fourteen years of age, average height, with soft muscles and pale skin, no doubt reeking like a rat in a cellar. I was in their way, knowing nothing of what they were doing. Hundreds of hempen ropes snaked this way and that. How in the devil do they know which one to pull?
“Ready! Ready! Ease down the helm!”
I spied my father on the quarterdeck. I began to make my way toward him but then hesitated, remembering his expression of hurt the day before. But, I told myself, it was my duty as a good and faithful son to tell him of his bewitching. Now, perhaps, he will see Faith for what she is. He will return to Boston and get rid of her.
With that thought, I squared my shoulders, climbed the com-panionway and joined my father at the rail. “What is it?” I hoped he would say we were turning around and going home.
“You must be feeling better.”
“I am,” I replied, realizing I was feeling better, even though the Gray Pearl now rolled heavily through the swells. “What is it?” I asked again.
He handed me his spyglass.
It took me a moment to find her. A solitary three-masted ship headed our way, yards straining to every stitch of canvas.
“Could be nothing,” my father was saying, “but she changed course to intercept once she spotted us. I told the captain to alter course and keep our distance.”
“Why?” I lowered the glass, noticing my father's hands as he gripped the rail. His knuckles were white, and it looked as if he might snap the rail in half.
Then he was staring at me oddly. Sweat dotted his upper lip. “If anything happens, Daniel, promise me you'll look after Faith.”
My knees felt weak. Something was not right, something my father was not telling me.
“Promise me, Daniel,” he said again.
How could I make such a promise? I despised Faith. But then again, how could I refuse? I loved my father. “I promise,” I said, pretending to mean it. I raised the glass and looked out to sea, feeling a sudden urge to apologize, to say I was sorry for calling Faith a witch. But I could not. I would not. Instead, I asked, “Are they pirates?”
“Pray they are not, Daniel. For the love of God, pray they are not.”
The other ship drew nearer throughout the day. My father told me that the wind favored her, and to go below and look after Faith, that they would soon be upon us, for better or for worse. I was angry to be sent below. I started to tell my father that I was a child no longer, but I remembered my promise and bit my tongue.
When we had first boarded the ship in Boston, the captain had given his cabin to my father and Faith. (It was only right, seeing as my father owned the ship and was very important, besides.) Now Faith lay on the bed in the captain's cabin, her pregnancy as yet scarcely noticeable. Her skin looked green. While I stood in the doorway, she groaned, rolled over, and retched into a bucket.
I slumped into a chair with a sigh. All of the excitement would be happening on deck while I played nursemaid. And I was feeling sick again. My father was right. Being belowdecks was bad for the head. Even worse was listening to someone else be sick. I clenched my teeth.
Half an hour …
An hour …
Again the running of feet. Commands barked through the trumpet. A slight change in course.
A nearby boom!
My heart lurched. Cannon! So it is pirates! It has to be! Why else would someone fire upon a merchant ship?
Then it seemed everyone was running and yelling at once— a thunder of feet above my head. I could not tell what was happening. Were we preparing to fire our cannon? Were the pirates aboard and attacking us all? Meanwhile, Faith was sitting up, reaching for me. “What's happening? Daniel, oh dear God, what's happening? My husband—my dear husband—”
Another boom.
Whump!
A crunch of wood.
“Dear God! Daniel! Tell me what's—” But before Faith could finish her sentence, she was vomiting again.
And then I heard them. The pirates. A clash of screams pierced the air, mixed with a screeching wail of trumpets, violins, drums, flutes. Hair prickled on the back of my neck. Panicked, I glanced about the captain's quarters. I needed some sort of weapon to defend us.
The captain's desk. I opened it. Logbook, papers, quills, ink pots, maps …
The screams were beside us now. The ships collided with a crunch, throwing me to my knees. The Gray Pearl leaned slightly, her timbers groaning. I tasted fear, my heart wild as a galloping horse.
“Daniel!” Faith had crawled out of bed and now clutched my arm. “Pray tell me. I must know.”
“It's—it's pirates.” I continued rifling madly through the desk. There. A dagger of some kind, rusted and bent. It would have to do. I stuffed it in the waist of my breeches.
So there we stood, Faith and I, waiting. Listening to the shrieks and the thumps and the explosions. Watching the door. Dreading when it would smash open and a huge pirate would fill the gap. I glanced at her, wondering if I looked as scared as she did. Her hair was wild. The whites showed all around her pink-rimmed eyes. Tears hovered. Her chest heaved with panting.
Suddenly I felt sorry for her, witch or not. I would not want to be a woman when pirates attacked. For that matter, I would not want to be a boy either. Much as I hated to admit it, in that moment I was very much a boy—a frightened fourteen-year-old boy with a bent dagger in his waistband.
Suddenly everything turned quiet. Deathly quiet.
Then I smelled it. The stench of smoke. The nightmare of every sailor. My voice shook, “The ship is afire. We can't stay down here or we'll burn alive.”
She nodded. A tear slid down her cheek.
I said a quick prayer as we left the cabin, her hand locked in mine.
aith and I stumbled onto the upper deck. The smoke was thick and black. I coughed and gagged, pulling Faith along. Behind us was the roar of fire.
I could not see where I was going; I knew only that we had to get off the ship. But the Gray Pearl appeared deserted. Where is everybody? “Father!” My voice choked.
Then I heard voices ahead. A grunt of pain. “This way” I said to Faith, hurrying in the direction of the voices. The smoke began to thin. I picked my way past the mainmast, then past the main hatch. We stepped out of the swirling smoke and into a nightmare.
A band of pirates surrounded my father. I could see him kneeling in the center. As I watched, frozen with horror, one of the pirates placed his pistol to the back of my father's head and pulled the trigger.
My father jerked, then fell in a heap.
Faith screamed.
I realized that I too was screaming. “Father!” That I was running toward the pirates, dagger in my hand, screaming, screaming. They turned in surprise, as if not knowing anyone else was aboard. Hands grabbed me. I think I cut one of them; I'm not sure. I was flailing. Screaming and flailing.
“Father!”
He lay in a pool of blood, his wig blown away.
“Father!”
They pinned me down. I could no longer move. Still screaming …
Screaming…
&
nbsp; One of them calling my name. Over and over again.
“Daniel… Daniel, my boy …”
And I knew no more.
I wanted to stay in the darkness forever. A numbing darkness that knew no pain. A darkness that remembered only sitting on my father's lap, listening to the whispers, treasures locked in my hand.
Whenever the light threatened, I fled to the comfort of darkness, pulling it over me like a blanket. For with the light came knowledge. And I did not want to know. Not now. Not ever.
I don't know how long I stayed in the darkness. A few hours. A day. A week. It seemed only a moment. It seemed forever.
Then it was gone, like the tide receding, leaving me stranded.
And I was back in the light…
I lay on a bed in a cabin. A single candle's flame shone from a hanging lantern. It swayed with the movement of the ship. I knew immediately that I was not aboard the Gray Pearl. If I had been, I would have been dead, and I was not. Sadly, I was not. For wherever the Gray Pearl was, ashes scattered across the ocean, there also was my father. I longed to be with him. To have him back. To be anywhere except where I was now.
Beneath the lantern sat a man. He was the man who had pulled the trigger and killed my father. He was tall—even though he was sitting in the chair, I could tell that. He smoked a long pipe, and his hands were rough, callused, crisscrossed with scars. Grime edged his fingernails. His hair was plaited, bound with a strip of leather. He had a long, pale face, and as he smoked he watched me, his eyes pools of black in the candlelight. “You are awake,” he said softly.
I said nothing, remembering.
“Hungry?” He pointed to a platter heaped with food. Steam rose in wispy curls. I smelled meat and spices and saw biscuits piled on the side.
I would have liked to turn away from the food. But he was right. I was hungry. Since boarding the Gray Pearl in Boston, I had vomited almost everything I had eaten. My stomach now felt like a cave. My limbs shook and my mouth watered. Slowly, I rose from the bed and sat at the table as far away from him as I could. I pulled the platter toward me and ate with my fingers. It burned my fingers and mouth, but I did not care.
“Something to drink?” He must have taken my silence for a yes, because he filled a goblet with a golden liquid. “It will make you feel better.” He pushed it toward me across the table.
It was rum. Fumes swirled up my nose, and my eyes welled with tears. It burned my throat. I choked and gasped, and droplets flew. But I didn't care, and drank again.
He smiled. His teeth were straight, even, and white—a beautiful smile. It was unsettling, and so I looked away, swallowing.
“You always had a hearty appetite, Daniel, my boy.”
I chewed louder, wishing to drown out the sound of his voice, wishing he would go away. For a while I ate in silence, the rum's warmth spreading through my body like blood dropped in water.
“You've grown.” His voice was smooth, silklike. How I had always loved his voice.
I stuffed more food in my mouth and shut my eyes, stomach burning, wondering if I still had my dagger.
“I'm sorry. Really, I am. Forgive me, Daniel.”
I opened my eyes and stared at him, stupidly. My head spun just a little. My mouth was stuffed with food. And then I began to laugh. It was a hysterical laugh, shrill and crazy-sounding. It burst out of me like poison. Food spilled out of my mouth and plopped onto my chest. I bumped my goblet with my elbow. Rum spread over the table and onto my lap. The goblet rolled to the floor with a clatter.
He stood, looking exactly as I remembered him. He moved toward the door, and then paused before opening it. “I did not know you were aboard. Believe me. It was the last thing I wanted you to see.” Then he left, shutting the door behind him.
For a moment I just sat there, staring at the door, rum puddling on my lap. Suddenly I stood, roared, and hurled the platter at the door, laughing even harder when it splattered into a thousand million pieces of food. Ashes scattered across the ocean. I crawled among the bits of biscuits and beef, popping them into my mouth, laughing all the while.
Josiah Black is sorry. That's very funny.
My father had taught me to pray when I was very young. He'd showed me how to kneel beside my bed, how to fold my hands. Together we had prayed.
So I prayed now. I knelt beside the bed. I prayed for rescue, for death, for my father. I clasped my locket between my hands— my locket with my mother's likeness—and prayed she would beseech God on my behalf.
When I finally finished with “Amen,” I waited for the heavens to answer me, for I was in desperate need. I had been betrayed by a man whom I had trusted. A man whom I had loved. A man who was a thief, a liar, a murderer. And not just an ordinary murderer, but a murderer of his friend. For my father had surely been Josiah's friend—as I had been. Now we both had been betrayed.
In the ship-creaking silence of the night, I clutched the bedcovers. It was horrible, this silence. Why have I been left all alone? Why? Why? Why? With a cry of rage, I pounded my bed with my fists. Curse you, Josiah Black! Curse you forever! I swear to you upon my father's grave that I will see you hang!
Then I began a most wretched weeping of a kind I'd never known before.
And during that time of weeping, I remembered.
Faith.
What has happened to her?
t was no wonder Father's merchant ship the Gray Pearl had been captured by the pirate ship Tempest Galley. At 124 feet long, with twenty-six cannon and eight swivel guns mounted on her rails, the Tempest Galley had enough sail power to reach fourteen knots. That was as powerful and fast as a fifth-rate naval warship. Even with her sweeps alone—she had forty-six long oars— the vessel could reach three knots.
I knew many of the pirates aboard the Tempest Galley—not all, but many. There were, I think, 150 of them. I knew maybe thirty They were the men who had visited my father's house so many times. Murderers, all of them. I despised them now, especially Josiah. I would not rest until I saw him hanged for piracy and murder.
One of the pirates told me that we were sailing around Africa to the Red Sea—“going on the Round,” as they called it. He said the Red Sea teemed with ships laden with treasure, that finding treasure ships was as easy as dropping a bucket of pitch. They were off to make their fortunes, to bathe in jewels.
Of treasure, of jewels, I cared nothing. I cared only to get off the ship. But they ignored me when I demanded to be let off. One even said to jump overboard and swim if I wanted ashore that badly. They were off to become rich, and no one was going to stop them, not even little Daniel Markham.
Then, of course, there was Faith. I could not just leave her.
That first night, I had climbed on a chair and unhooked the lantern from the ceiling. I'd crept from my cabin, not overly careful to be quiet because a ship under sail makes all kinds of groaning and creaking and sloshing sounds.
Faith's cabin was the first I tried. I didn't let myself think of what would happen should it turn out to be the sleeping nest of a pirate. I was too tired to care. I just opened the door and peered in.
She was awake. She lay on the bed, blankets pulled to her nose, eyes saucers of fright. “Who is it?”
“It's me. Daniel.”
“Daniel!” There was a rustle of clothing, and then she was beside me. Even in the dim lantern light I saw the splotches on her face. Her nose ran. Her eyes leaked. Everything about her was red and watery. “Daniel, oh, Daniel. Thank God you're not dead.” So saying, she wrapped her arms around me, dropped her head on my shoulder, and sobbed.
That was the first night. After that, I'd taken a blanket and moved out of Josiah's cabin. Each night since, I'd slept in the hold. It was uncomfortable and swarmed with rats, but I would rather share my quarters with a rat than with Josiah.
On the third night, I was frightened. Faith's bedclothes were spotted with blood, and she seemed unnaturally pale. On this night, she didn't even weep. She merely lay there like a statue, eyes dr
y and unblinking.
“Faith!” I cried, rubbing her hand.
She did not answer me.
“Faith!”
It was strange. I no longer hated Faith. While having to defend her against pirates, while seeing her so scared, all my thoughts of witches seemed ridiculous. Even though she was not my mother and never would be, she was my father's wife— rather, his widow. He had loved her. And I had promised to protect her and care for her if anything happened to him, even though I didn't mean it at the time. Now that he was dead, I vowed to keep my promise.
I will not let Faith die.
I rubbed her hand, feeling helpless as a ship in stays, yet at the same time knowing what I must do. I had to convince Josiah Black to sail to port.
So, in the early morning, I went to Josiah.
I flung open the door to his cabin and marched in. Josiah— Captain Josiah, that is—lay atop his covers, his clothing unbuttoned and wrinkled, his shoes not even pulled off. Whiskers shadowed his face. His eyelids fluttered open. I waited until he focused on me, then announced, “My father's wife is dying. And it's all your fault.”
He blinked a leaden blink, ran his tongue over cracked lips, and then tried to heave himself to his feet. A bottle clattered away, and he fell back. “Help me, Daniel, my boy.”
But I did not. I stood with my arms crossed, hating him.
“You know,” he said as he struggled to his feet, “I used to know a child who was kindhearted and who would help a poor man in distress.”
I said nothing.
“Tis a pity.” Josiah stumbled out the doorway, lurching from side to side. Outside Faith's cabin door, he paused to button and smooth his waistcoat and breeches, then rapped lightly and entered. “Goodwife Markham. 'Tis I, Josiah Black, come to see to your well-being.” And he latched the door behind him.
I waited, knowing that surely Josiah had to realize that Faith needed help. Anyone with sixpence of sense would know she might die unless she was taken ashore. This ship was no place for a lady, especially a lady with child.
“Well?” I said when Josiah finally emerged. “Are you going to port, or are you going to let her die?”
Voyage of Plunder Page 2
