Chance the Winds of Fortune

by Laurie McBain

  While in Charles Town, Captain Cuthbert Mackay was a pillar of the community, a fine example of hardworking, middle-class values. He escorted his family to church on the Sabbath, was known to give generously to the poor, and had never been caught carousing in any of the numerous taverns about town. It was a well-known fact that he was devoted and ever-faithful to his Annie Jeanne, his Scottish wife. The two of them had been young sweethearts setting out to make their fortune in the new colonies in the wilderness. He was often heard to say that there were none like his Annie Jeanne, and if the listener chanced a glance at this paragon of virtue and recipient of such undying devotion, he might well have agreed, for Annie Jeanne Mackay was fair of face and figure, with a bonny disposition and Scottish burr that made her instantly beloved.

  If there were any vice that Cuthbert “Bertie” Mackay was guilty of, then it would have to be his inordinate fondness for fine clothes. His coats and breeches were made in London by the best tailors, and twice a year he visited London to get fitted out in the latest styles. The coat he was wearing now had been cut by a master hand, the cuff appropriately wide and revealing the proper amount of lace. His silk waistcoat was trimmed with gold, and complemented the gold buttons adorning his coat. His black velvet breeches were perhaps a bit out of place, but Mackay had a fondness for velvet. His linen neckcloth, however, could not be faulted, nor could his neatly gartered stockings or his shoes with the baroque buckles.

  “Now what could possibly occur that might instigate such an alliance between two so dedicated rivals, Captain?” Dante inquired lazily.

  “Aye, you’re quick, Captain, that you are,” wheezed Mackay with approval, for there was nothing better to put you on your mettle than a quick-witted opponent. “Well now, seeing how we are past rivals, I’m willing to let bygones be bygones and forget any grievances I might have held against you, Captain Leighton,” Mackay offered generously. “I’m a God-fearing, forgiving man, and I’m not one to be holding unnecessary grudges, Captain. You remember that.”

  Dante smiled slightly. “Yes, I shall, and I had no idea I was so fortunate to find myself in your good graces, Captain Mackay. But I am curious,” Dante added, his lips twisting cynically, “about exactly what it is that I must forfeit in return.”

  Mackay threw up his hands, his expression showing that his sensibilities had been abused. “Ah, Captain Leighton, you struck me down unfairly then, that you did. To think you’d have such a low opinion of my genuine offer of friendship and be so suspicious of my motives, well,” he said, shaking his bewigged head, “you hurt me, sir, yes indeed.”

  Dante’s gray eyes narrowed as he continued to sit silently, waiting for what would surely be more dramatics, with, perhaps, a few revelations.

  “Actually, Captain, ’tis more of a service that I can render for you, than the other way around,” Mackay told him smugly, a pleased look replacing the calculating expression that usually lurked within the seemingly gentle blue depths of his eyes.

  “You have me intrigued, Captain,” Dante remarked, showing little curiosity about the means now being offered by Mackay to end their hostilities.

  “Did you never hear the fable of the dog and the bone? No? Well, Captain, there is a lesson to be learned in its telling,” Mackay advised, settling his bulk into a more comfortable position on the creaking chair. Then he took a tongue-loosening swallow of his brandy.

  “You see, there was this dog. Fair to starvin’ he was. Indeed, ’twas a pitiable sight to see him skulking along the lane, his tail between his legs as he dodged booted feet aimed at his backside. Reckon he thought he’d come close to his last days of breathing; then the fates smiled on him and he hears about a butcher who’s going to be getting rid of scraps. And among these scraps is a bone that could feed him for the rest of his days. Never have to go hungry again, no, sir. Ah, excited he was, that be for sure. But, as only too often happens, a rumor got started about this magic bone, and before the poor dog knew it, every flea-bitten mongrel in town was after that bone. Ah, the poor wee dog had not a moment’s peace, Captain. Can you imagine how the wretched dog was hounded? Why, he couldn’t even lift his leg without some growling cur snapping at his heels. Well, the day was drawing close, and this dog knew, for he wasn’t without brains, that he’d never be able to steal his bone with that pack of mad dogs on his scent. The only thing in our dog’s favor was that he was the only one who knew which butcher ’twas that was throwing out the scraps. Well, with a cunning seldom seen, he leads all of the other dogs on a wild goose chase as he noses about the offscourings of all of the butcher shops in town. Then, when most of the dogs had tired of the chase, for naught was found of a magic bone, he trots along home, quite pleased with himself, I might say. However,” Mackay continued, the light tone in his voice disappearing, “there was this other dog.”

  Dante raised an interested eyebrow, a spark of amusement in his eyes. “Another dog, Captain? No doubt a Highland terrier?”

  Mackay grinned widely with appreciation. “Ah, Captain, you’re one of the brightest lads I’ve had the pleasure of dealing with in a long time. Never disappoint me, no, sir! You’re quick-witted, that you are, Captain Leighton,” he chuckled, slapping his knee with his palm. “You see, this other dog was suspicious and figured that the first dog was not to be trusted, because the thought of misleading this pack of dogs had crossed his own mind several times. And so he decides to follow this dog, and what do you think he finds?” he asked innocently.

  “He sees this other dog,” he continued, not waiting for an answer, “waiting patiently outside a butcher shop, which had been beneath the pack’s notice earlier in the day. Now I wonder what it was this dog was waiting for. Could it be the bone? But every dog in town thought that there was no bone, for they’d followed this dog around and come away with empty stomachs, as well as the idea that this dog was a bit of a fool for wasting his time on so foolhardy an adventure.

  “Now this other dog has two options, Captain, and which one he decides to use, well, ’tis up to the first dog to decide.” Mackay grinned at his longtime rival.

  “Is it really?” Dante commented politely. “How do you figure that, Captain Mackay?”

  “Well, the way this other dog sees it, the first dog can either join with him in purloining this bone, or”—he paused, his words holding a wealth of meaning—“he can expect to lose possession of it. Because this other dog will call down the pack of wild dogs on him, and then he will be left with nothing. Maybe not even his life,” Mackay said in conclusion, leaving an expectant silence in the air between the two adventurers.

  Dante Leighton smiled, but there was a dangerous glint in his eye. “And what did this cur do?” he asked.

  Bertie Mackay was all smiles. “Why, he joined with the other dog in retrieving the bone. I told you he was a smart dog, didn’t I? Better to share the bone than to have naught of it. Right, Captain?”

  “Perhaps,” Dante replied noncommittally. “But then,” he added with a smile calculated to puzzle, “it all depends on the prize, doesn’t it, Captain?”

  Mackay’s genial expression faded like the stars at dawn. “Aye, Captain, that it does.”

  “A very interesting little fable, Captain,” Dante said with a slightly bored sigh. “But I do not see its purpose, nor its relevance to a lessening of hostilities between us. Ah,” he added then, as if he’d just remembered something important, “you have not told me the moral to the tale, have you, Captain? And I am quite certain there is a moral to be told, is there not?” Dante invited the captain of the Annie Jeanne. His smile, however, was anything but encouraging.

  “Aye, Captain Leighton, a moral there is,” Mackay responded, his lips quivering tightly. “’Tis far better to share with a friend, who can become an ally, than to make a pack of enemies and risk losing all.”

  The firelight glowed softly on Dante Leighton’s chestnut curls as he gazed in absorbed contemplation at the
fire consuming the logs in the grate. “An admirable philosophy, Captain. But, unfortunately, I am not a man who cares to share, nor do I know of many men I can call friend, or men whom I can trust implicitly. Granted,” said Dante, so softly that Mackay had to lean forward to catch his words, “a pack of wolves can bring down a larger prey than a single wolf, but a lone wolf can move undetected where a pack would only draw attention. The lone wolf can move swiftly and silently, Captain. He strikes at will; then he is gone, with almost no one the wiser, except perhaps the victim,” Dante said. His voice had slipped into such a conversational tone that Mackay was hardly aware of the threat in his rival’s words, but one glance into Dante’s icy gray eyes convinced him.

  “Of course, this is mere speculation,” Dante continued, “for I have nothing of value that you might wish to share with me. I do not share my women, but then you are happily married, aren’t you, Captain? It can’t be my stallion or other horseflesh, for you do not ride, do you, Captain?” Dante gazed speculatively at the other man. “And although you have professed a wish to own the Sea Dragon, we both know that there can be only one captain on board, and I happen to be her master, so…” Dante allowed his words to fall into the heavy silence.

  Bertie Mackay’s deep roar of laughter was unexpected, startling Jamaica from his captain’s lap. With a spitting protest, the cat skidded across the waxed floor, his claws making a scratching noise as he shot between Houston Kirby’s legs and upended the startled little steward with his tray and its decanter of brandy. Although Kirby managed to catch the crystal decanter, its contents spilled onto his clean breeches and shirt front.

  “Reckon I won’t be sharin’ any more brandy with you, Captain,” said Mackay, with a hearty laugh for the steward’s comical predicament.

  With a baleful glare aimed at the captain of the Annie Jeanne, a fuming Kirby picked himself up from the floor, his sparkling blue eyes searching out the miserable creature that had precipitated his humiliation before so despised a rival. But hard as he searched, he could not locate one vulnerable inch of orange fur; the dark shadows beneath the escritoire against the wall effectively obscured Jamaica’s hiding place. So, with a muttering beneath his breath, Kirby, his dignity riding low, stomped from the room.

  “Ah, Captain Leighton, once again you haven’t disappointed me, for I suspected you might be of a stubborn frame of mind. Aye, ’tis a pity though, for I’ve enjoyed our little rivalries in the past, that I have.”

  “You sound as though I’ve already departed this earth, Captain,” Dante remarked, his expression revealing nothing to Mackay of what was going on in his mind.

  “Not at all, not at all,” Mackay protested. “Of course, one can never be quite certain if one will return from a voyage or not. ’Tis a wide ocean out there. Many things can happen—unexpected things. A man’s got to be mighty careful how he sets his sails. Could sail into a galeful of trouble, yes, sir, that he could. I’d be real careful if I was you, Captain Leighton, especially now that the Sea Dragon’s sailing by her lonesome. She’s got no friends here in Charles Town. At least none she can trust,” advised Mackay. “Well, I must be off. I’m meeting with several captains here in port. We thought we might get together, form a company whereby we pool our resources. We are all ambitious men, but growing tired of smuggling. To be quite frank, the risk is becoming too great,” he confided. “We thought we’d work together this one time—we could fill our purses for years to come. Kind of reminds one of that fable, don’t it, Captain? Well, I must take my leave. Look forward to seeing the Sea Dragon’s sails unfurled again and rapping full. Good afternoon to you, then.” Thus did Bertie Mackay, grinning captain of the Annie Jeanne, bid farewell to the sardonically amused captain of the Sea Dragon.

  Dante continued to sit before the fire long after Mackay had left, frowning slightly while he pondered his guest’s words. He knew the gauntlet had been thrown down, and he also knew that the captain of the Annie Jeanne was seldom carried off the field of contest.

  “Something amiss. I can smell it a mile off,” Kirby remarked glumly as he approached his captain.

  Dante glanced over at his steward; his lips twitched when he noticed the hastily sponged breeches and shirt. “I suspect you are downwind of yourself,” Dante commented wryly, his nostrils flaring slightly as he sniffed the brandy fumes emanating from Houston Kirby. “I wouldn’t breathe too deeply, you could get drunk standing right where you are.”

  “Reckon I’m sober enough to catch me an orange tomcat,” Kirby said, glancing quickly about the room in the hope of sighting his prey.

  “I’d think you and Jamaica would get along better than you do, since you both have an instinctive dislike for the captain of the Annie Jeanne,” Dante remarked to the bristling little steward. “Jamaica growled at the jolly captain, not to mention hissing at him.”

  “Hissed at Bertie Mackay, did he?” Kirby said, his stance a little less aggressive. “Hmmmm, well, I always did say the cat wasn’t stupid. Aye, he can smell a rat the same as I can.”

  “Yes, I believe you are correct, Kirby,” Dante agreed. “Bertie Mackay is not to be trusted. I do believe I’ve just been warned not to try to get the Sea Dragon’s treasure.”

  Kirby sucked in his breath. “He didn’t believe the story about the Dutch merchantman?”

  “No, but then I didn’t think he would. In his place, I wouldn’t have either. He saw through our little ploy, but it was not solely for his benefit that I used it. I wanted to get the rest of that pack of dogs off our trail, which we did succeed in doing,” Dante said reflectively. He was remembering how he’d hated having to lie to the crew of the Sea Dragon, but there had been no other way to keep secret the true location of the Spanish galleon. Since there were so many men on board who were given to loose tongues when drunk and carousing in port, Dante had recognized that the only way to assure their uncontested search for the sunken ship—as well as an unaccosted retrieval of its treasure, should there be one, and a safe voyage home for the Sea Dragon—was to deceive the crew. If they thought they had failed in their quest for the treasure, then other prospective fortune-hunters would believe the falsehood as well. As it was, it had been no easy feat to outsail the flotilla of cutthroats, jackals, and desperate men that had followed the Sea Dragon with the overly optimistic hope that an accommodating Dante Leighton would lead them to the treasure. Had they known the captain of the Sea Dragon’s thoughts, they could have relaxed, for Dante had every intention of allowing some of those hearties to arrive on the scene—but not until the Sea Dragon intended them to.

  Dante suspected that Longacres knew the truth, for the coxswain had caught a good glimpse of the treasure map while the Sea Dragon was at anchor off Trinidad. Longacres had sailed the Caribbean since he’d been a lad younger than Conny Brady, and as a cabin boy he’d crewed aboard a pirate ship. He’d already seen far too many maps of sunken treasure to have his reasoning blinded by uncontrollable excitement, and he’d carefully studied the map in that brief glance he’d had of it. Since then, Dante had caught the weathered old sailor sending him speculative glances every so often. He seemed to be biding his time patiently, while keeping a watchful eye on his captain.

  Alastair Marlowe, on the other hand, had been in on the truth since the beginning, for the supercargo had known about the sunken Dutch merchantman for many years now. They had discovered it together, quite by accident, while searching for safe, convenient coves in the Bahamas where the Sea Dragon could lie at anchor and make repairs should a sudden storm cause them damage—or if there were too many Union Jacks coloring the horizon.

  The Sea Dragon had been anchored in a lagoon of clear turquoise water on the leeward side of a small, uninhabited island. After exploring the palmetto-studded islet for fresh water, he and Alastair had been rowing back toward the Sea Dragon when, just around a small headland, they spied beneath the gig’s bow a faded figurehead nestled among the coral. Looking deeper into t
he watery depths, they had seen the wreck of a ship resting on the sandy bottom.

  Alastair had stripped down to his breeches and dived overboard. Deep in the tranquil waters below, his pale figure had wavered strangely as he explored the wreck. Even from his position in the stern of the gig, Dante could see that the ship lying on the bottom was a seventeenth-century vessel, with much of her imposing sterncastle still intact. Several bronze cannons, half-buried in the shifting sands of the ocean floor, were scattered about the ship’s rotted hull.

  Gasping for air, Alastair had surfaced and tossed several discolored items into the gig; then he’d climbed aboard with an assisting hand from Dante. Barely taking the time to fill his lungs, he retrieved his treasure from the floor of the boat, grinning widely, held it out for Dante’s inspection. The West Indian sun beat down relentlessly on the handful of corroded silver dubbelstuivers and a rusty sword hilt—the only booty the wreck of the Dutch merchantman had been willing to part with.

  The useless sword hilt had been returned to its watery grave, while the Dutch coins, at Dante’s insistence, found their way into Alastair’s pocket, as his just reward for making the find. No more was said or thought about the Dutch merchantman—at least until recently, when the merchantman had proven to be the answer to their difficulties.

  Dante smiled now, remembering how he and Alastair had been put to the test when they’d had to draw another, duplicate map of the one in his possession. On it, they made a slight change in the location of the X. A small detail, but one that would lead the Sea Dragon a little southeast of the original location, directly into that cove where the Dutch merchantman was peacefully sleeping. Had they been caught out in their deception, Dante knew that he and Alastair would have been hard pressed to explain—if, indeed, they were given time to.