Beyond the battlements, Anne could see the tops of some houses and a rather large one near the back closer to the sea, which Victoria claimed would be where Lance Nhil, Silver Eyes, resided. In the centre of the town, she could see another tall bell tower with another golden bell at the top.
"It's different than I remember," Victoria said, pulling away from the spyglass to look at Anne. "More fortified. Nhil won't go down easy."
"We were prepared for this," Anne said. "Fortunately, we're in control of the food supply."
"So, it is to be a war of attrition then?" William asked.
Anne nodded. "It is the safer way."
Pukuh slammed his spear into the ground and leaned against it. "What of the secret entrance Bellamy spoke of?"
"We can investigate it later, but from his description, and with the guards keeping watch, we may not be able to get enough of our crew in to make a difference."
Pukuh flashed a devilish grin. "It would only take a few to open those gates."
Anne couldn't help but return his smile. "We shall see. For now, send word to the Queen Anne's Revenge to get into position and have our crew move forward."
"Aye, Captain," William said before he left to relay orders to the crew.
"Victoria, head back to Alexandre and watch over the islanders. Tell our men to keep their distance. We don't know how far the sound of that bell tower will reach."
Victoria nodded and headed away from the town and down the main road to join with Alexandre and a small contingent of the crew watching over the entranced men and women from the island. They had gathered about one hundred and twenty souls, with the majority coming from the first village they'd gone to after meeting with Sam.
After Victoria left, Anne watched as the Queen Anne's Revenge, helmed by Christina with a skeleton crew, let loose the sails and moved to the harbour of the town. As they had discussed, Christina was to stay far enough away not to allow the cannons facing the sea to strike, but close enough to keep any ships trying to escape at bay.
After the ship began moving, the crew on land moved as well. They went to a field in front of the town, just far enough away to avoid any cannon fire from the battlements and began setting up their own cannons from the Queen Anne's Revenge.
The air was still with only a light breeze rolling across the small hills behind them every so often. It brought with it a waft of fresh earth and green grass. Anne couldn't remember the last time they had been on land for so long, and it felt strange to have solid ground underfoot and the salt of the sea only an aftertaste on the back of her palate.
She missed the creak and groan of the Caribbean pine aboard the ship, the din of laughter, boots cracking against the deck, the feeling of rigging between the hands. This island had its own beauty, its own charm despite the nature of its inhabitants, but it was not home. Home to her was the captain's quarters on the Queen Anne's Revenge.
But if she was honest with herself, she hadn't been that long ashore. The real issue was that which made that place home, the person who made that place home, was not there and hadn't been for a lot longer than she'd been ashore.
She looked down at her left hand, at the golden ring on her finger. The memento of a celebration of love. A memento of her love for her husband Edward, and his love for her. A memento of her real home.
Home was Edward's heart beating in her ear as she lay her head on his chest. Home was his smile that sent her heart racing. Home was his touch that made her shudder in all the right places. Home was his voice as he whispered his love when they were alone.
Her home was gone, and she had a job to do. Anne closed her eyes, took a deep breath, held it tight, and slowly let it go.
She opened her eyes and looked over the crew as they approached the marker in the field they had designated: the stump of a large tree, no doubt one of the trees that had been used in the construction of the fort. There were many such stumps around, but the forest it had once been a part of thinned out and ended at that one. It was also far enough away from the town that they had no worry of the cannons even if the cannonballs rolled a fair distance.
She saw Nassir guiding in the wagons holding their supplies, and the pieces of their own cannons they had taken from the weather deck of the Queen Anne's Revenge, three twelve-pounders and twenty eight-pounders in all. It left their ship less armed, but not defenceless, as it still had the thirty twenty-two pounders on the gun deck.
"Nassir," she called, "how long will it take you and the crew to secure the cannons?"
Nassir took a moment to assess their current progress. The tall, muscular man stroked his clean-shaven face, his dark skin smooth and supple like a rock worn over the years from the waves, such that he hardly looked his age. There was a hardness there, born of the hardships, tempered from loss only a loving father could know, but a softness too.
The crew had only just begun unloading the wagons and the cannons, but they had no limbers to set the cannons onto, so they needed to improvise. Some of the cannons would stay on the wagons, and the others would need something made by Nassir to hold them in place.
"We will have them by nightfall, provided there are no distractions." Nassir glanced to his right towards the town.
Anne followed his gaze. She could see movement on the wall, but it was calm. If she hadn't known that Silver Eyes' men were in a light trance, she would have thought it eerily quiet. "Let us pray there are none then," she said. "How are the men you're training?"
"They are well along but have much to learn. Perhaps some still do not value the word of a negro, but they listen in time."
Anne nodded. "If anyone troubles you, let me know, and I'll make rights of it."
"Understood, Captain," Nassir said, a wide grin across his face.
As though someone had been listening in on their conversation, the large bell in the centre of the town rang out. The strange tone, low and unnatural, then high and hollow, was nowhere near as loud as when she'd first heard it in the centre of the bell tower, but its effect was only slightly diminished. It shook her core and inexplicably made her bones itch. She had to force herself not to cover her ears, to get used to the sinister chime. If she let it take over her senses, then what would she do if it rang in the middle of a fight?
Some others in the crew had no such concerns and covered their ears to dull the sound of that unique bell. Anne could see all eyes drawn to the bell, and the crew stopped what they were doing to listen.
The bell kept ringing, and the crew kept still, watching. Anne needed to put a stop to it. She stepped on top of a few of the crates of supplies, pulled out a pistol and fired it into the air. The crack of the igniting black powder cut through the bell like thunder shaking the timbers of a home.
The crew came to their senses and went for their weapons, turning their heads this way and that to find the source of the gunfire. Slowly they noticed Anne standing tall above them.
"Do not let that bell take hold of you, lest you become one of the hollows." She had to yell to overpower the sound of the bell, and to reach each crewmate stretched across the field.
Her words rang true to the men, and none of them covered their ears any longer. They returned to work, setting up the cannons and supplies and trying their best to ignore the sound of the bell.
Anne, still on her perch, nodded approvingly before she remembered the crewmates watching the citizens of the island further inland. She pulled out her spyglass and looked down the road. She could see the group of them, the citizens tied up and the twenty crewmates watching over them from a distance. They were quite a way away, so it was hard to tell who was who, but there appeared to be none in a panic, and none of the islanders were struggling.
She did notice one person in the thick of the men and women, and she guessed it was Alexandre given his lack of care for his own wellbeing. He was ringing the handbell as he walked amongst them, seemingly as a precaution as she saw no signs they were affected by the bell tower at that distance.
"
Captain!" William called.
Anne put the spyglass away and turned around. The wooden beams in the centre of the stockade swung open slowly, and thirty men ran out. Their weapons were drawn, and they were charging directly at them.
"To arms!" Anne shouted. "Muskets at the ready," she commanded.
The crew dropped what they were doing and grabbed muskets from the nearby supplies and out of the wagons. They lined up in front of the supplies in two rows, just as they had planned and just as Anne and William had trained them to do. One row dropped to a knee, and the other stood behind, both loading the muskets and readying to fire. There was enough distance and enough warning to give them time to load and ready before Silver Eyes' men were even close.
"Steady," William shouted, taking over for Anne as Anne watched the men approach through her spyglass.
The bell kept ringing over and over, filling the air with its otherworldly tone. It made the dead-eyed men approaching seem more a nightmare borne from the mist than real people on their way to kill them. On and on it rang, the rhythmic striking of the bell drowning out the shouts from the men approaching.
Anne could no longer feel the breeze in the air, as though the bell had whisked it away, and she felt a bead of sweat travel down her cheek. It was not a humid day, but the bell and the oncoming battle tensed her muscles like no other battle had before. These were no ordinary men they were about to face, and Anne didn't know what to expect.
William watched the oncoming enemy behind the two rows of men. They had to wait until the enemy was closer than three hundred yards before firing, but the closer they were, the more accurate the shot. Still, with the wall of men and muskets they had, there was no particular need for accuracy.
"Fire!"
William called the order at around two hundred and ninety yards. The wall of iron fired from the muskets, and smoke filled the air around them. Without the breeze, the smoke lingered and shaded their view as a light mist. They were still able to see the enemy approaching and saw the iron balls had met their marks.
The men hit by the iron slowed a step, but then returned to their charge unfazed. Their eyes looked like the entranced islanders, and their faces were unnaturally calm despite some of them shouting a war cry. It made their charge and their shouts seem rehearsed and wooden as though someone directed them to act in such a way.
"Fire!" William shouted again.
Another wall of iron shot forward, catching many of the men charging towards them. A few fell this time thanks to a few lucky hits to the skull, but the rest kept advancing.
The crew dropped their muskets and pulled out cutlasses and pistols. Anne put away her spyglass, drew her own weapon, and joined the crew. "Remember what Alexandre taught you," she shouted above the din. "These men are under a similar spell, but it's not as strong. We can break it with proper timing. Find an opening and strike!"
The crew didn't respond, too focused on the surge of men coming at them, but she hoped they heard her.
The battle began with a fury. The clang of steel on steel rang out as blades clashed. The crew of Queen Anne's Revenge outnumbered Silver Eyes' men by three to one, and their enemies were injured. It should have been a quick skirmish, but it was not.
The men they were facing were faster and stronger and had level heads, unlike their counterparts residing in the villages around the island. They struck with purpose, and even when the crewmates overwhelmed them with numbers, the enemy was able to strike effectively and efficiently to incapacitate or kill.
Anne gritted her teeth at the sight as she jumped into the fray. She joined William; injured as he was, he was having a challenging time of it.
The man he was facing had an injury as well: a bullet wound in the chest, but he seemed unhindered by it. He poked and prodded William with his sword, testing William's defences as William danced out of the way. The man was fast, but William was the better fighter.
William and Anne worked with each other, years of training combining in a beautiful ballet of blades. As William aimed for the man's neck, Anne swung her cutlass low and up in an arc towards the torso. The enemy swiped both blades away with a single strike. Anne and William moved with the enemy's sword, twisting and tangling them together.
William stepped in and moved his sword forward. The tip of his blade caught on the man's crossguard. He flicked his wrist in a firm, practiced motion, and the man's sword moved up with his. The man had no choice but to let go of his weapon.
Anne dropped her weapon, and she too stepped in with both her hands forward. Just as Alexandre had taught them, she smacked her hands together directly in front of the man's face as hard as she could. The sound of the clap, the proximity of her hands to the middle of the man's eyes, and the confusion of the action coupled together in perfect harmony.
The man took a few steps backwards as he shook his head. The hollow calm in his eyes and on his face was gone, and it was as if he had awoken from a dream where he had been falling. Anne had broken the trance, and the man was dropped back into the tangled thoughts of someone in the middle of a life-or-death situation. His hand reached for the wound in his chest as if he only just noticed the pain from the bullet.
Before he could choose to fight or take flight, William stepped forward again in a riposte stance and struck the man in the gut with his sword. William pulled the blade out and retreated a few steps as blood poured from the wound.
No longer under the protection of the trance, the man cried out in pain. He held fast to the wound, trying to keep it closed, to stop the blood, and to keep his guts inside where they belonged.
Anne picked up her blade now that her opponent was no longer a threat and turned around to help with the rest of the crew. When she had a chance to look over the battlefield, she noticed that, despite the rough start, the crew were turning the battle around and using Alexandre's method to dispel the trance. They were lucky the trance on Silver Eyes' men wasn't as deep or as strong as the islanders. They had lost a few men, but with the secret technique their enemies weren't prepared for, as well as the superior numbers, they were winning.
"Captain, look," William called, pointing to the sea.
Anne turned her attention to the sea, to the Queen Anne's Revenge. The ship was not staying away from harbour as they had intended, but it wasn't landing ashore either. The ship was heading towards the town.
Please, God, don't tell me Christina thinks to take the fight into the town.
Anne watched as the ship came closer and closer to the town's harbour. The cannons on the harbour, a higher calibre than the ones pointed inland on the stockade, fired on the ship. Most missed with the erratic bobbing of the ship, but a few hit their mark and tore into their home.
The sound of battle around her brought Anne back to the field, and she glanced at the crew once more. Her men were finishing up the fight, with most of the enemy dispatched. The uninjured carried the injured off the field to attend their wounds as best they could be without Alexandre there. There was no more threat, and the stockade gates were now closed as well, indicating no further reinforcements would be sent their way for the moment.
The sound of cannons pulled Anne's gaze back to the sea. Their ship had turned now, no longer on a collision course for the harbour. As the broadside faced the town, the cannons at the bow fired off, but only two at a time. Each new shot had a small delay between them as they fired into the town.
Anne could see clearly where the cannons were hitting, but not why. They weren't aiming for the cannons firing back at them.
What is Christina doing?
Shot after shot laid into the town, breaking apart some of the taller structures with the large iron balls. As the ship fired, they too took on more damage. Whatever Christina's intention, it was not a gamble Anne felt was worth the amount of destruction they were causing.
Then, with a thunderous clang, a cannonball hit the huge golden bell in the centre of town. The bell knocked against the top of the tower, breaking the structure apar
t with such force it sent the wood flying in all directions. The bell itself tumbled end over end in the air in a frenzy of movement and sound as the striker hit the sides of the bell over and over. After a dozen rotations, the bell fell to the ground, out of sight beyond the stockade, and rang out for the last time, the strange tone warped by the damage from the cannon and the fall, no longer the same haunting melody it once was.
The ship, their purpose fulfilled, turned away from the town and away from the defending cannons protecting the harbour. They let loose a few more volleys, hitting one of the cannon battlements and damaging one of the ships at anchor before the broadside was at too far an angle.
Anne shook her head, her anger replaced with mild frustration. Without the threat of the bell, either from the men and women it would trigger, or the haunting sound they had to deal with, it made the coming battle easier, especially if it was to be a war of attrition as they were thinking. If they had to stay there weeks, all the while listening to the droning of that bell, she suspected she would go mad.
Anne hoped that that was what Christina had been thinking with that attack. Otherwise, it had been a fool's errand, and merely a fool's luck. But it seemed luck was in ample supply this day.
With the bell destroyed, it lifted the cloud that had been hanging over the heads of the crew, and they burst out into cheers and hollers. The victory felt all the sweeter without that sound overpowering all thought. Now the air was filled with the noise of their making.
Anne smiled with the crew, happy at their boosted morale and with Christina's gamble. She also didn't doubt that Silver Eyes was watching them, and she suspected that he was very displeased.
14. Seasick
Grace was furious.
Edward knew from the look on the captain's face that the arrival of the storm had incensed her core. With the storm now behind them, she overlooked the crew with disgust, battered and broken as they were, with many lying on the deck desperate for air and respite.
Blackbeard's Family Page 17
