by Lee Rowan
“But, in battle, we kill—or at least wound—the enemy. I don’t understand—”
“That’s different, Davy. In battle, when the enemy is doing his best to kill you, it is different. I could never tell someone who trusted me that there was everlasting life. I don’t know what happens beyond—I simply do not know, and I never had the gift of faith my father did. I learned my prayers, but I never could call myself a believer. I believe in what I can prove to be true. You don’t need faith to know that a good wind fills the sails.”
“That doesn’t stop us praying for a good wind when we’re becalmed.” Archer was a little surprised at Will’s self-revelation. “You chose your course well, though. I don’t imagine your father would have been able to climb up a ship’s hull in the dead of night with nothing but a couple of ropes to hold on to.”
“No.” Marshall chuckled. “He would have advised Adrian to see a doctor for his mental aberration and said prayers for his soul. I may be lacking in charity, but if the bastard even has a soul, he deserves whatever Hell may await him.”
Chapter 20
Captain’s Log, HMS Artemis (Supplemental Log, Detached duty, HMS Calypso, in for repair, Portsmouth.)
Lt. Anthony Drinkwater, commanding, 29-7-1799
STILL SEARCHING. Morven nowhere to be seen. If we have had no success in the next hour, we will beat back and search the area again.
SMITH READ the printed note that had been folded under his soup bowl. It let him know that Archer was back in his cell, and that Josiah, the cook’s mate—presumably the scrawny youth who had just brought the meal—was ‘coming aboard.’ As good a way as any to put it, and it shifted their numbers to six against thirty-seven. Almost down to six to one. The odds were improving all the time. Also, someone—presumably Bert—was on duty tonight and would speak to the others, then see Smith the day after tomorrow.
He disposed of the second note as he had the first. Two days would suit perfectly—one day past dark of the moon, with only five or six men on deck late at night. The guards at their doors would have supper during the evening watch, with something in the food to send them off to sleep. With three confederates in the crew, they could all be freed simultaneously….
If he and his men could get on deck before the alarm was given, they might be able to dog the hatches and seal the rest of the crew below. They might, by God, be able to take this ship!
Of course, whether or not they could hold the ship was another thing altogether. But if they got that far, it would not matter. However fractious the crew, they should at least have time to lower a boat and get away. That would be the prudent course, no doubt. But what a reversal if he could sail back in command of the ship that had hauled them away in biscuit barrels!
And what presumption, to let his expectations run that far ahead. If he had learned anything in all his years at sea, it was that the course of a battle could veer faster than a friendly wind. But it was a promise of action at last, after too long a wait, with a good chance of winning their freedom. That would do, for now.
“THERE. THAT should do it.” Marshall stepped back from the porthole so Archer could leave off watching the door and inspect his handiwork. Morning light had revealed a noticeable notch in the porthole frame, viewed from certain angles, and Marshall had tried to mask it with a mash of crumbled biscuit mixed with oatmeal, wood shavings, bits of thread, and dust.
Archer squinted up, then nodded. “I can see it because I know where to look, but I doubt anyone else would. I just hope it doesn’t set so hard we have to dig it out again.” He glanced at the door, then sat at an angle from the porthole. If a guard looked in at him, his glance would be drawn away from the port.
Marshall tried to see if it the patch was visible from the door. No. Very good. He joined Archer. “As long as it holds for another sixteen hours….” The prospect of action was beginning to wind him tight with anticipation. He wished there were some way to communicate with Captain Smith. Had that sailor he’d spoken to ever gone to see him?
It wouldn’t matter. Smith would have observed everything they had about the ship. He’d probably been able to draw more conclusions from his greater experience. And it was only the interim Marshall need be concerned with. Once they got the Captain out, he would take command.
The ship’s bell rang once. Eight thirty a.m. Five more rounds of the bells, and it would be midnight. If Adrian kept to form, he would keep Archer up in his cabin for an hour or so past that. “You can hear the bell clearly enough above, can’t you, Davy?”
“That’s the third time you’ve asked, and the answer is still yes, of course. The bell is right above on the quarterdeck. And unless he’s sent me back, you’ll start up at two bells. I will be ready.”
“If it were winter, it would be dark earlier—”
“And you would freeze to death on the damned rigging if you had to wait. Don’t worry, Will, if he hasn’t killed me by now—” He shrugged. “I’ve just been waiting for this to be over. The idea that I can do something to end it—”
“I wish there were more I could do.”
“No.” Archer’s face settled into a harder, more determined expression than Marshall had ever seen on him. “No, I want to do this alone, William. I need to. I think it may be the only way I can be free of him.”
It was almost an echo of Marshall’s own feelings, back across the years, when he’d challenged Correy. He’d known instinctively that such a predator would never quit until someone stopped him, permanently. “I understand.”
“The only thing I fear,” Archer went on, “is that I might not be quite strong or fast enough. If I fail—” He looked away. “He’ll take it out on you, not the Captain.”
“I’m not worried, Davy. You won’t fail. I really was doing my best to get away from you.”
“I know. But however hard you tried, you knew I would never have hurt you. There was no real danger. That bastard will know he’s fighting for his life.”
“And you’ll be fighting for all of us,” Marshall said. “Three against—”
The feel of the ship shifted and began to slow, as it had a few nights earlier, and the port hatch was pulled shut.
“Another ship?” Archer asked.
“It must be.” With a bit of luck, they might be able to pry that hatch open long enough for at least one of them to get out and attract the attention of that other ship. If their guess as to the nature of Elusive’s cargo was correct, it was most probably a Navy vessel, or a private ship on hire to the Navy. Word of their capture ought to be spreading by now. There would be boats coming alongside to collect the cargo. If one approached on this side and Davy dropped into the water and was picked up, he would be out of Adrian’s reach and safe. Then he could send help. That bastard wouldn’t dare fire on a Navy ship, not with those little popguns.
He could order Archer to go first… and he will, if he thinks I’m right behind him. Just to get Davy to safety would be a victory. He would not follow, of course, not with Captain Smith still a prisoner. But caught red-handed, Adrian would be a fool to do anything to either of them. “Davy, listen—”
A clatter in the companionway cut short his hasty plan. Three guards, one with a pistol and two with clubs, called them both out of the cell.
“What’ll you have, boys?” The one with the pistol gestured toward the deck. “Lie down quiet ’til we’ve finished our business, or be trussed up and gagged so you don’t attract attention?”
“You might as well put that gun away,” Marshall said. “It would make more noise than both of us shouting together, as you well know.”
“No more’n some clumsy hand droppin’ a box,” the man replied. “What’ll it be?”
Marshall exchanged looks with Archer, who shrugged. They both lay down on the deck. Their uniforms had reached the hopelessly grimy stage days ago; this would make no difference. With luck, they were nearing the end of Adrian’s capricious games.
THE CARGO transfer took the better part of tw
o hours. They could hear much of what went on outside, though Marshall could not catch the name of the ship. She was Navy, though, damn it—there was no mistaking the orders shouted and bosun’s whistle for sounds of a merchant vessel.
He caught Archer’s eye. “I’m surprised she hasn’t sent a search party aboard looking for us,” he said to their guards. “It’s only a matter of time. You really should consider Captain Smith’s offer—”
Adrian’s spokesman responded to his considerate suggestion with a boot in the ribs. “One more word from you, and you’ll get a tap from my mate, here. Same goes for you,” he told Archer, who was giving Marshall an exasperated look.
Marshall smiled at them both. Davy smiled back, with a shake of his head.
Eventually the loading was finished, and when the port in their cell was opened, they were allowed to return. The extra guards departed, the regulars returned to their posts away from the cell door, and Marshall nearly stopped breathing when he saw the wad of breadcrumb hash sitting on the sill of the porthole.
Archer followed his horrified stare and laughed. “I think we can take it as a good sign, Will.” He scooped up the repellent mass and dropped it in the slop bucket. “If they didn’t see that, they’re not likely to see anything else.”
Marshall swallowed his heart. “I hope they’re on duty later tonight. Well, we should have an hour or so until lunch. What would you prefer, Davy—chess, navigation problems, or a nap?”
“Why don’t you sleep?” Archer suggested. “You didn’t look very comfortable this morning, and I know for certain you didn’t get much rest last night.”
Marshall smiled at that. “Neither did you, as I recall. And you’re right, we should both be as rested as possible.”
Davy looked away. “Well, with time this short, it might be better if we didn’t sleep togeth—um, at the same time. I can stand watch.”
He shrugged helplessly, and Marshall realized that Davy had come to the same conclusion he had about lying too close to one another. “Thanks, I think I will. We can trade watches after lunch.” His weary body seized its chance as soon as he got horizontal. With no more than a passing regret that they’d missed the chance with that Navy ship, he slipped into a deep, comfortable sleep.
Captain’s Log, HMS Artemis (Supplemental Log, Detached duty, HMS Calypso, in for repair, Portsmouth.)
Lt. Anthony Drinkwater, commanding, 29-7-1799
ENCOUNTERED HM Sloop Speedy, six miles off Bolt Head, where we had good news from Cmdr. Thomas Cochrane. He received powder this very morning from the Morven, heading N-NE. We had passed her out of sight at some time during the night. After hearing our purpose, Captain Cochrane kindly offered to join us and assist with the capture, but I declined with thanks. We do not wish to alert our quarry, and I believe that the return of the Speedy might alert the pirates that something is amiss. From his description, I am convinced we have sufficient arms and crew to effect a capture. By this time tomorrow, if all goes well, we will have recovered our officers and captured a shipload of brigands!
“TRY TO look less ferocious, Davy,” Marshall advised. “You’re holding that razor as if you’re ready to swing over to a Frog ship and raise hell.”
Archer frowned at his reflection in the little shaving mirror. “You’re right, I look far too keen.” He took a deep breath and tried to relax. This was no time to tighten himself up for battle. It was only eight bells, and with four hours until midnight, he had a long way to go. All in Adrian’s company.
Marshall had suggested putting Adrian out as quickly as he could, then tying him—but the pirate had, on other occasions, left off his diversions to give orders or receive information. They couldn’t risk alerting the crew too soon. It would have to be a last-minute attack, timed to clear the guards so Marshall could get on deck.
It was going to be a long night.
“That’s better,” William said. “Much more wretched.”
“Yes, the thought of passing time with that bastard does have a dampening effect on the spirits.”
Marshall hesitated, then offered, “There’s still time to try it the other way. If you’d like me to go—”
“No.” Archer shook his head. “Your reach is much longer than mine, William. I probably couldn’t even get to the chains outside. We have a good plan. This is no time to tamper with it.”
“You’re right.” Marshall’s mouth tightened. “I wish to God there were another way, Davy. But at least it will be the last time.”
“Yes.” One way or another, this would be the end. Archer had made that decision—not quite the way William meant it—in the hour before lunch, when his friend had finally given in to his exhaustion and dozed off. It wasn’t a matter of not having hope; he would keep faith with Will in that respect, make himself believe this might all work out. It might. But he didn’t expect it would. And things would be much simpler for William, really, if he did not survive.
He put the shaving things down by the door, on their side of the hatch, and peered outside. The guards were out of sight.
“Right, then,” Marshall said in a low voice. “You begin at two bells, I’ll be ready to come on deck at three, or as soon as you get the guards away. Are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
“I’ll see you on deck.”
Marshall held out his hand, and Archer took it. He had a sudden, sharp conviction that this was good-bye and took two quick steps, pulling his friend back beside the door, out of sight. “Will, if this goes bad… please, visit my family someday? Tell them—” He couldn’t go on. He didn’t know what to say.
Marshall closed his eyes briefly. “I’ll tell them they raised a hero. But… but I won’t need to, Davy—”
“It will be fine, I’m sure.” Time to go. “William, I promise you, I will never do this again.” He reached up, swiftly, before his nerve failed, and found Will’s lips—and was astonished to find the kiss returned fiercely, Will’s arms tight around him for one brief moment that brought back the incredible unity of the previous night. But that was over, now. Forever. Time’s up… “I’m sorry,” he said, stepping back. “I shouldn’t have….” He went back to the door and bent to push the basin outside.
“Davy—” He glanced up. Marshall was regarding him with that odd little smile. “Don’t apologize. I wanted to do that too. I was afraid of breaking your concentration.”
“Not at all.” He touched his mouth and smiled. “It feels like a shield. I expect I’ll need it.” One more time, back into the bear pit. “Wish me luck?”
Marshall’s eyes held no doubt at all. “Of course. But it’s not just luck, Mr. Archer. You can do it.”
Archer forced a nod. “Of course,” he echoed, then pushed the basin and razor out for the guards to collect. A moment later, the door swung open to reveal his escort.
“Boarding party away,” William said, too low for the guards to hear.
The boarding party had no difficulty assuming a suitably glum and apprehensive demeanor before the cloak masked any need for artifice.
Captain’s Log, HMS Artemis (Supplemental Log, Detached duty, HMS Calypso, in for repair, Portsmouth.)
Lt. Anthony Drinkwater, commanding, 30-7-1799
DESPITE HAVING sailed a course that should have enabled us to intercept the Morven, we have missed her. She must have changed course at some point since her encounter with the Speedy, which of course Capt. Cochrane could not have anticipated. We shall begin a sweep covering as wide an area as possible and hope for the best.
ADRIAN WAS in rare form at dinner, extremely pleased with himself, and by the time the meal ended, Archer knew how Damocles must have felt. Every question, every innuendo made him feel he had “escape” written across his forehead. Until tonight he had drunk anything Adrian offered, grateful for how it numbed him, but now he sipped at the wine only so as not to do anything out of the ordinary. He could not risk the chance that Adrian might have decided to drug him again.
He had no awar
eness of what he ate, but though oblivious to the food, he was very aware of cutlery. When observed as a source of improvised weapons for an all-or-nothing attack, the table had much to choose from, all fairly unpleasant when applied with ill intent: the edge of a broken plate, a blunt knife, a wine bottle from the sideboard, even the table itself. He thought that given the element of surprise he could kill Adrian, as long as he did not mind being killed himself. But that was not the plan. That was his own secondary strategy, in case all else failed.
“You seem quiet this evening, Mr. Archer,” Adrian remarked toward the end of the meal. “Are you unwell?”
“No. Not at all.” Sick to death of your company, thank you. “I was only wondering if you have had any word, as yet, on our ransom.”
“It’s not two weeks since you joined us. Early days. Are you really in such a hurry to get back to a ship unfit to sail?”
“To rejoin my ship’s company, yes.”
“And you’d not miss any of this?” Adrian’s gesture was aimed at the table, but obviously included the rest of the cabin, the carpets, the absurdly luxurious sleeping quarters.
