by Steve Goble
Oakes paused. “Most, being afraid, keep their distance and spur their horses when they pass our grounds. But not all. Suffice it to say that there are spies and prowlers who creep across my property, blaming me for this odd death or that odd vanishment, and intending to do me mischief. I will not have it. Part of your duty will be to see that no one interrupts my work or interferes in any way. Do you understand?”
“Aye,” Spider said, Odin nodding beside him.
Oakes inhaled deeply and turned to Fawkes. “We’ve seen no further sign of this fool Wilson?”
“Not since we chased him off,” Fawkes said. “But he may well return, and you’ve many acres to guard.”
The fat man paced, quietly, and stared into the fire for a while. Finally, he turned to Spider.
“There is a man named Wilson who blames me for the death of his son. Twice he has come on these grounds, intending to do me harm. I have work for a carpenter, as you noticed, and one who can fight serves me doubly well. I will give you and Odin an opportunity.”
“Aye,” Spider said, with Odin nodding. “Thank you, sir.”
“Mister Fawkes will tell you your pay, and we can provide you some additional clothing. You both look like tavern dregs who have traveled long and hard. I’ll give you your weapons back, and you can patrol the grounds. Learn the faces of my men here, and if you should see anyone you do not recognize prowling about, I want them captured or killed. Can you do that?”
“I am not accustomed to take men alive,” Odin said, “but I suppose I can try my hand at that. Ha!”
“You will be posted outside, and you will answer to Mister Fawkes. He will tell you what is needed, what is to be done. Spider John, you shall be posted in similar fashion for now. We shall see about repairs to the home later. Mister Fawkes . . .”
“Aye, sir.”
“Give these men their weapons, and their orders.”
“Sir,” Spider said, “we’ve walked a long way, on little food.”
“The men will eat soon,” Oakes said. “and so shall you.”
Oakes strode toward the door but paused there before exiting. “Fawkes, if these men make you nervous in any way, or show the slightest sign of working on behalf of Wilson or anyone else . . .”
“I’ll present to you a gift of their balls, in a pretty crystal goblet, sir.” Fawkes grinned.
“I do not require their testicles, Mister Fawkes,” the fat man snarled. “And I may have a use for them alive, well, the young one, anyway, even if they prove to be spies.”
“Aye, sir.”
16
Mrs. Fitch’s meat pies, porridge, and bread proved filling, and Spider puffed away at a refreshed pipe. Fawkes and his men, about a half-dozen of them, had hovered close by throughout the meal, crowding the kitchen and leaving no opportunity for Spider and Odin to talk privately. Stingo, who apparently had not returned to patrol and who seemed a bit drunk now, cast suspicious glances at Spider.
Odin glared at the man. “Are you not supposed to be back on the road?”
“Are you in charge?”
Fawkes rapped the table with a calloused knuckle. “Get back on the road, Stingo.”
“Aye.” The man’s eyes never left Odin’s face as he crossed the kitchen to leave.
Spider’s mind was itching with questions.
Was Hob one of the hired men here? The boy was young and strong and dearly loved a good fight, and so might fit in well with this rough crew. The job rather lacked the appeal of the high seas, though, and Hob’s head was stuffed with longing for pirate gold and glory. Spider doubted the fool would willingly trade a life on the Spanish Main beside the beautiful Anne Bonny for a billet here with Ambrose Oakes.
But willingness might not enter into it, he thought. From what Spider had learned so far, Hob and the other smugglers had been taken captive, not hired. Did Oakes need men so badly that he gathered them via press gangs, much as the Admiralty swept the taverns of Plymouth to round up sailing men for Naval duty, their wishes be damned?
If that were true, then Hob might well be somewhere on the grounds, doing his duty or seeking escape. Or he might already have fled; the lad had a daring nature, and if he was determined to escape he would not dawdle.
Hob also was reckless, though. Had he already attempted escape, and failed? Was he lying now within one of those fresh graves?
Mrs. Fitch passed out cups, and the men passed a bottle around. Spider filled his and was glad to discover it was strong whisky.
“No water today, lads,” Fawkes said. “A bit of a nice welcome for our new mates. Ahoy!”
They all drank together, and Spider’s eyes followed the bottle to the cabinet where Mrs. Fitch tucked it away. Spider was trying to drink less—alcohol had bedeviled him in the past, and he wanted to keep his wits about him—but the whisky had helped to settle his mind and he thought a bit more settling might not be a bad thing.
Outside, a ship’s bell clanged.
“Well, then,” Fawkes said. “Let us relieve our mates on the watch. Odin, your station is the main gate. Stay near it, but out of sight. If anyone should come through, confront them. If they make you suspicious, detain them and raise an alarm. Men will come to your aid. Should you meet any of our own coming off watch, the byword is ‘lamb.’ They will know it if they are ours. The proper reply is ‘wolf.’ Do you have it?”
“Aye.” Odin checked his weapons and headed out the door. Spider moved to follow, but Fawkes clapped him on the shoulder.
“You, Spider John, shall have the south wall. Patrol it, east and west, and take note of passersby and lingerers. If anyone climbs over, hold them. Shoot them, if need be. Raise an alarm if you are outnumbered or otherwise need aid. You heard the bywords.”
“Aye,” Spider answered, trying to hide his disappointment. He had much to discuss with Odin.
“But I promised you a libation, did I not? And you shall have it.” He opened the cabinet, took out the bottle and filled Spider’s cup, then his own. “To Bent Thomas and poor Lamia.”
“Aye.”
“You still crying every night over a woman in Nantucket, John?”
“I still aim to get back there, aye,” he answered. “And to my son. Wondering if he may be taller than me by now.”
“Most men are,” Fawkes quipped.
“Little Johnny is not yet a man. He was still in Em’s arms when last I saw him. He would not know me if he saw me.” Spider was feeling the whisky now.
Fawkes poured him some more and watched him drink it. “So you did not come here looking for me.”
“No,” Spider said. “No reason to do that.”
“No one hired you?”
“Just you and Oakes.”
“Hmmm.” Fawkes drank deeply. “It has been a long time.”
“That peg on your leg, that is not the one I made for you.”
“I fell off a ratline and broke that one,” Fawkes laughed.
“That one you have now is in poor shape. Big cracks. I can make you another.”
“Duty first. Go patrol your wall.”
“Aye.” He rose and felt the whisky a bit more.
Spider did not like his posting. He desperately wanted to discuss things with Odin, but he understood why Fawkes would separate them. If he could not stand watch with his shipmate, he would have preferred a station in or near the house so he might look for Hob. Patrolling a damned wall would make that impossible.
He would have to bide his time. Spider stepped out of the kitchen and hurried off at a quick pace, but Odin’s hiss soon arrested him. The old man was hiding behind a stout tree.
“Here, Spider,” Odin said, tossing a leather flask. “A fellow named Ira might be wondering where that went.”
“Obliged,” Spider said, tucking the flask under his belt. “Why aren’t you at your post?”
“I am making sure Half-Jim doesn’t kill you.”
“He didn’t. He’s suspicious, though, I think.”
“Don’t drink it
all too fast,” Odin said, turning to go. Spider headed off to his own station.
Soon, he realized Stingo was following. Spider turned to face him. “Your friend gave you a flask. Will you share?”
“I can spare you a swig, I reckon.” He tossed the flask to Stingo, who took a healthy drink and handed it back.
“Thanks, mate.”
“You are supposed to be on the road.”
Stingo grinned. “Half-Jim does not know everything that goes on here.” The man stumbled forward. “And he doesn’t need to, does he?”
“I reckon not,” Spider said.
“Good. Some advice to heed,” Stingo said, slurring. “Don’t go upstairs.”
“Why?”
“Just don’t,” Stingo said. Then he laughed. “I am sick of digging.”
The man spun, nearly falling, and staggered away, laughing. Spider stared at the upper floors. “Don’t fret, Hob. If that is where you are, I’m coming.” He resumed his course.
The lowering sun threw long oak shadows across the grass. Spider paused beside a thick tree and looked back at the house. Other men moved about, as did several dogs. Spider hoped to spot Hob’s longlegged gait among the men but was disappointed.
A familiar pressure at the back of his skull made Spider freeze. He knew how a gun against his head felt.
He raised his hands slowly. “Lamb,” he said, quietly.
“And I am the wolf,” came the answer, in a feminine voice that caught him further off guard. “You’ll need to be more attentive.”
“Aye,” Spider said, turning slowly. The woman before him wore a slouch hat, a man’s blouse with billowing sleeves, and a leather vest that likely would turn away a knife thrust. Spider assumed she wore breeches and boots but did not let his gaze wander. Instead, he focused on the icy blue eyes and the gun still aimed at his head.
“Spider John,” he said. “New hire.”
The woman, perhaps close to his own age, blew aside a stray dark strand of hair. “Ruth.”
“Pleased to meet,” Spider said. “I am for the south wall.”
She lowered the gun. “I’m back from the south wall. Quiet day. Why do you dawdle here?”
“Just eyeing the place, to get my bearings. I was hired on only today.”
“Well then, best get to work.” Ruth headed toward the house. “And I’d best get to my meal. Pay more attention to your surroundings, Spider John. I’d hate to be shot in the head while I slept because someone slipped past you.”
“Aye,” Spider said, noting she had three knives on her belt. He watched her walk away, and rather enjoyed it. If Hob was here, he no doubt had noticed Ruth as well, randy pup that he was. This woman would bear questioning when Spider got the chance.
When such an opportunity might come, Spider had no idea. Half-Jim Fawkes had always been a cautious fellow, and his separation of Spider and Odin—along with this business of bywords—showed that he remained careful today. Half-Jim would be watching closely.
Once he reached the wall, at the corner overlooking the road to Lymington and close enough to the pond that he could smell the fishy odor, Spider sat on the flagstone wall and took a sip from the flask. Stingo had lightened it considerably. Rum, it was, but watered down. That disappointed him but did not keep him from taking another swig.
He looked back but could not see the house from here. The road bore no traffic, and soon it would be dark enough for travelers to require a lantern. He listened a while, heard no horses or whip cracks or creaking wheels in the distance, and so he headed east along the wall. He rather hoped to find Hob sneaking over it on his way to freedom.
An hour or so of boring duty, however, brought no such luck, and no surprises. Spider sat on the wall, listened to the night birds, and slowly emptied the flask. He held a pistol at the ready, lest one of the owl hoots became a shrill cry of attack.
He reckoned the bell signaling relief would come by dawn. It would make for a long night, but he’d stood long watches before. And it was not as though he planned to sleep anyway. He planned to seek Hob, and get the hell away from Half-Jim, his rough crew, and that blubber man, Ambrose Oakes.
Sleep could wait.
17
The clanging of the bell woke Spider from a deep slumber, and the first thing he noted was morning rain dripping from his hat.
He had not meant to sleep, but the combination of boring duty, thick darkness, and weary bones had done him in to the point that he’d slumbered through a light rainfall. The booze played a role, too, no doubt, and he cursed himself. He’d promised Odin he’d quaff less.
Spider shook the water from his hat and noted the rain had stopped. He got to his feet quickly and peered through the dawn light to see if anyone had noticed his dereliction of duty. He did not actually care whether anyone stole from Ambrose Oakes, or even if someone murdered the fat bastard, but he did not want to be tossed aside from this job before he found Hob.
No one was nearby, so he wandered toward the pond and emptied his bladder, scattering a trio of catfish. He shivered in his wet clothes and hoped the sun would lift above the trees soon and warm him. He glanced around before trekking uphill toward the house, but no one else was about. He headed toward the kitchen door and spotted Half-Jim kissing Ruth deeply before slapping her arse and sending her on her way to her duty.
The woman passed Spider but paid him no attention.
Fawkes grinned, watching Ruth walk away. “I have no idea whether she can really fight like she says,” he told Spider. “But she is quick, and sneaky, and has other skills besides.”
“She is a right handsome lass. Where did you find her?” Spider stepped away from the door to let men coming and going pass. Fawkes followed him. Spider looked among the passersby for Hob but did not see the lad.
“I was harbored in the Turks,” Fawkes said. “I was hiring crew for my cap’n, Ruggard Blake, and she begged to come aboard, said she wanted the hell out of there. Showed me she could use a gun, and a knife, and shall we say she convinced me to sign her on.” Fawkes winked. “We had no real trouble on that voyage, though, so I have not yet seen her in action, and all the nooses make me nervous about resuming life on the account, so unless we see action here I may never see what she’ll do when blood flows.” Fawkes sighed. “Pirate days are done, Spider. They’ve hung or killed all the famous ones. Blackbeard. Calico Jack. Roberts. And you tell me a storm probably claimed Bent Thomas. Seas are dangerous, I think. I’m for being a landsman.”
“Aye.”
“So now here I am, working for my old shipmate Oakes, and I have that pretty thing Ruth to keep me from getting sad about the old days.”
“All these hands former shipmates of yours?”
“Most. Hired others in Lymington. Surly gents, like most pirates. You can’t really trust them unless you are carrying a gun and a sharp blade.”
“I won’t offer trouble, Jim.”
“See that you do not, Spider John.” Fawkes looked off into the distance, where Ruth had vanished. “A right fine lass, you said? She is that. Kept me warm in the night when you lads were getting rained on. I have to keep my hired lads from sniffing around her. I don’t want her warming anyone else up. You look cold.”
Spider nodded. “Cold and dead tired. I don’t think I could hoist the flag now if I tried.” He yawned.
Fawkes leaned toward Spider. “Don’t you go sniffing after her, be warned. What’s mine is mine.”
“I’ve been wet before, and I’ll keep myself to myself where Ruth is concerned.”
“See to that,” Fawkes said. “Tired, Spider John? I know it was a long day and night.”
“Weary to my soul,” Spider answered.
Fawkes sighed. “Your soul.” The man gazed off into the distance. “Are you certain you have one?”
“Well, I’ve been told so by men that studied the Bible more than I ever did. Sailed with a couple of preachers, last voyage. They did not agree on much, though, and I’ll be damned if I know the truth
of such things.” Spider shook his head. “Can’t say for sure about my soul, I reckon. It might belong to the devil more than it does to me.”
Fawkes laughed. “Maybe we will know before long. Maybe!”
With that ominous note, the man spun on his crutch and wandered off, still laughing. Spider followed the scent of fresh bread into the kitchen.
18
“So, have you found the little whoreson?”
“If you mean Hob, no,” Spider whispered. “Sit and keep your tongue still.” Although the other men had gone off to their bunks or to their stations, leaving Spider and Odin a chance to converse, Mrs. Fitch still hovered about washing plates and putting things away. The kitchen was quite large, feeling especially so to men accustomed to cramped galleys on ships where every cubic inch of space was used to best advantage, and every move meant a risk of banging one’s head on a hanging kettle. But the kitchen here was spacious, and now and then the woman would move away to place something in an oven or take something from a pantry. They used those moments to talk. Still, even then she was close enough to overhear them if they weren’t cautious.
Odin placed a plate on the table and sat. Spider had already finished his meal of boiled eggs and crusty bread, so he snatched an egg from Odin’s plate.
“For a small man, you eat a lot of my food,” Odin said. “Did you learn anything?”
“No,” Spider said. “Well, I learned that Jim really would prefer it if we kept our peckers away from his woman, and that patrolling a wall is a boring duty, and that I can fall asleep even without the sea’s gentle rolling.”
“Ha! Napped, too, I did.” He cast a quick glance over his shoulder, then whispered. “Is she eavesdropping?”
“Probably,” Spider said, tapping his egg on the table to crack the shell. “Keep it low. Laugh now and then, so it seems we’re just telling stories.”
