The harbour and beach quickly changed to stone houses hundreds of years old. As the Freedom approached the harbour, Edward noticed each house had different designs and additions setting them apart, aside from the broad strokes like the common red-tiled roofs. The tiles of stone on the sides of the houses were painted with floral patterns and murals attracting attention with bright colours and unique decorations. The houses and tall buildings were built on rolling hills covering the horizon.
For the first time in a long while, Edward noticed Pukuh coming out from the lower decks. Pukuh was recovering, or as much as one could call recuperating when half the time he was doing push ups with his one arm, and very rarely was let out of Alexandre's sight. Pukuh raised his left hand in front of his eyes, blocking out the harsh rays of the sun. He bid good-day to those wishing him well, and moved to the forecastle deck to gaze at the beautiful scenery.
Edward joined the warrior at the railing. "Breathtaking, don't you think?"
"Yes, this shall be a treasured memory, alongside many I have on this journey," Pukuh replied.
Edward peered at Pukuh's bandaged right shoulder. Alexandre said the wound had long since stopped bleeding, but the bandages were for the sores, which would take longer to heal.
"How's the arm?" Edward asked indelicately.
"Gone, brother, but not forgotten." Pukuh flashed the stump. He took a long breath in as he stared at the railing, and Edward could see tears welling in the warrior's eyes. "I still feel my hand as a demon haunting me, and my fingers yearn to be moved."
"I cannot imagine the pain you feel."
"No, you cannot," Pukuh said with bite. "If not for the princess's dog, that beast would have torn this ship apart."
"Aye, Plague was a tough bastard. You did well, brother." Edward placed his hand on Pukuh's shoulder.
Pukuh shoved the hand away. "Do not pity me! I am weak, and I paid the price." He turned his gaze to the ever-closer town, turning his back to Edward.
Edward's mouth was agape, trying to find the words, but none came. He felt like he was losing another brother.
"Captain!" Herbert yelled, waving for Edward.
"Leave me be," Pukuh said coldly.
Edward stood for a moment, then granted Pukuh's wish and joined Herbert on the quarterdeck. "What is it, Herbert?"
"I see the Fortune, she's docked to the northwest," Herbert replied, pointing off the port bow. Providence saw fit to swiftly bring the two together.
"Excellent, bring us around and drop anchor next to her," Edward commanded.
"Aye Captain!" Herbert replied before commanding the crew to furl the sails.
The Freedom floated beside the smaller Fortune and the anchor was dropped, causing them to draw to a halt just shy of being parallel to one another. The crew of the Fortune, upon seeing the Freedom, were waving and hollering to their friends.
Edward, Anne, Sam, and John entered a skiff and paddled over to the Fortune. A rope ladder was lowered, and the four boarded. When Edward pulled himself over the side of the Fortune and stepped onto the waist, he was met with a multitude of grins, albeit with some missing or discoloured teeth.
"The prodigal son has returned," a voice boomed from the stern.
Edward shifted his gaze to see none other than Bartholomew Roberts, the Pirate Priest, in the flesh. At seven feet tall, he stood well above most, even taller than Edward, and his loose white cotton shirt was rolled up to expose his massive hairy arms. He was at all times impressive, intimidating, but, with his smile, welcoming.
"Don't I need money to be prodigal?" Edward asked with raised brow.
Roberts laughed heartily. "Too true, too true. Let us say you are returned and have us a feast, shall we?" Roberts yelled, pulling Edward in close and raising his fist. The crew yelled in agreement to the festivities. "How have you been, young one? Let us head to my chambers so we may speak in private."
"Please, lead the way," Edward said.
Roberts took Edward and company into a cabin at the stern. Inside was a small room with a table, chairs, and a cabinet. Roberts bade the others to take a seat while he took some choice brandy from the cabinet, poured it into glasses and offered some to his guests. After brandy was distributed and Roberts had sat down, he restarted the conversation.
"So, my dear Edward, what brings you all the way to Portugal, and how, pray tell, did you happen upon me?"
"Yes, well, we were searching for you, and the Bodden Brothers helped point us in your direction. We need your help with something. I don't believe I told you the story of our ship and what we've been after this whole time, have I?" Edward asked while sipping his brandy. It had a scent of cherries and the taste was sublime on Edward's palate.
"You have not, but I was apprised of the situation by your red-haired beauty before we assisted in your escape," Roberts replied with a nod in Anne's direction. "Otherwise I would not have tested God's will that day and advised you to buy a new ship."
"That makes things easier, but that reminds me: when you met Anne, did you not think I broke the Pirate Commandments?" Edward asked, referring to the code he and Bartholomew Roberts created for how pirates are to act aboard the ship.
"I believe the rule is you had to seduce the woman aboard, yes?" Bartholomew asked rhetorically with a raised brow. "If you can find me any woman you could seduce aboard your ship, I will owe you a gold coin." Bartholomew grin as the others in the room laughed at his jest.
"Fair enough," Edward said with a smile. "Now, to the business of the Freedom's keys. The final trial to reach the last key is upon us, but it's a dual trial." Edward passed the piece of paper with the clue to Roberts. "The trial requires a massive crew of possibly five hundred, or two crews working together. And, since we don't have the former, I was hoping you could help with the latter."
Roberts read over the paper as Edward finished his proposal. "Mmm, this does sound intriguing, but I'm afraid I cannot help you right now. We have problems of our own we must attend to."
Edward glanced to his comrades then back to Roberts. "Well, our business isn't pressing, so if you need assistance then our crew would be more than happy to oblige. You've helped us much in the past, it is only fair we should aid you in your time of need."
Roberts smirked. "A quid pro quo, as it were? You help us and then we help you?" Edward nodded. "The Devil is ever present, but the Lord provides to his faithful." Roberts rose and extended his hand. Edward stood and returned the hand to complete the arrangement.
"Now, tell us what you need."
"We are hunting for Walter Kennedy to pass the Lord's judgement upon him for his betrayal, but we have run into some problems. The Hounds of Portugal are protecting Kennedy, and, furthermore, kidnapped one of my crewmen as hostage."
"Kidnapped? Whom did they spirit away?" Anne asked.
"My first mate, Hank Abbot."
Edward's eyes shot wide open. "How could that happen?"
"Do not mistake these Hounds for some common group of bandits, they are well organised and have been the bane of the populace for some time. The Hounds came in a group upon Hank and a handful of my men in an alley. The Hounds killed everyone but Hank, perhaps to set an example, but they clearly do not know with whom they are dealing."
"And with us here the Hounds don't stand a chance." Edward raised his glass. Roberts shouted a 'Hear, hear!' in agreement before downing the remainder of his brandy. "Do you know who their leader is?"
"Unfortunately there is scant information about them. Rumours state the Hounds are led by a pirate who gathered ruffians and put them to task. Others say the Hounds are a front for a noble, or the Spanish, who are trying to dethrone the King of Portugal. No one knows what the truth is, but whoever their leader is, he is powerful and ruthless."
"Well, as always, we'd best proceed with caution. We'll split into groups and take a few different approaches. Anne, I want you and Roberts to take Alexandre and see if he can glean anything from where Hank was kidnapped." Anne nodded in consent. "Sam
, I want you to see if you can be recruited by the Hounds."
"I'm yer man. I'll loosen some purses and try ta make friends in all the wrong places. I'm good wit that sorta thing." Sam laughed with glee.
"John, you and I will see what information we can gather. Maybe we'll have more luck asking around."
"Y-yes, Captain," John replied.
"And don't forget not to use your given names. This is a territory loyal to Britain, so there may be British navy here. Agreed?"
"Aye, Captain!" Edward's company replied at once.
Roberts bellowed a laugh. "So decisive, and no objections from anyone. I always knew you were special, Edward. I can tell great things are yet to come for you. I do have one question before we move forward: Where is your Welsh friend, Henry?"
Edward pursed his lips for a moment, then produced a hollow smile. "We… had a disagreement, and he's… no longer with us."
Roberts had a genuine expression of mourning on his face. "Such a shame. Perhaps someday he will return to the fold."
Edward showed another false smile, and after a moment to compose himself he responded with a simple, "Perhaps." Then with a deep breath he continued. "Let's find these Hounds shall we?"
"Agreed. Whoever their leader is, he must be trembling in his boots now."
…
In the bowels of a ship, Hank Abbot hung by his arms from the rafters. His body swung with the rocking of the waves. His eyes were swollen and blood dripped slowly from gashes on his cheek. His nose stung from multiple fractures and the horrible stench of rotten wood, vomit, and unwashed bodies. His lips were dry despite his damp surroundings. He had four broken fingers, three broken ribs, and a shattered knee.
Cold water was thrown in Hank's face, causing him to wake from his first moment of sleep in a week. "Wake up, wake up!" a man in front of Hank yelled.
The man was unkempt from head to toe, with long greasy hair, rotted teeth, and beggar's clothes. His eyes were wide and he didn't appear sane. The most striking feature on the man was a medium-sized chest stuck to his right hand. As the man moved around, a clinking sound could be heard in the chest, possibly of gold. Gold forever within his grasp but beyond reach.
The man moved close to Hank's face, staring at him with demented eyes. "This ain't tha time ta be sleepin' Hank, I told ya."
Hank lifted his weary head and spat blood in the man's face.
The man reared back his right arm, the coins clinking in the treasure chest, and punched Hank in the face, breaking his jaw against the solid wood and metal. Afterwards, the man wiped his face off. "That weren't smart, Hank."
Hank gave a weary laugh, and with much difficulty sputtered out, "Worth it."
The two were in a hold in the lower decks of the ship, a hold for prisoners. Hank was in a cage with iron bars surrounding him. Other people were in cages like Hank, but none hanging as he was, and none so bloodied.
Someone from the crew ran down from the higher decks to the cell with Hank and the other man. "Captain, we received news about the Fortune."
The captain of the ship laughed maniacally. "Did they cast off?"
"No, not yet," the crewman replied.
"Well…" The captain paused, gripping Hank's cheeks. "Maybe we need ta teach 'em another lesson." He threw Hank's face away.
"There's more. Another ship showed up, seems to be in league with the Fortune's crew. A fifth-rate frigate, could be trouble if they find us."
The class of ship piqued the captain's interest. "What wus tha name of tha ship?"
"Freedom. Isn't that the name of the ship what that famous bloke Blackbeard is on?"
The captain squeezed his fists tight. "I want the captain of dat ship," he seethed through gritted teeth.
"Kenneth?" the crewman asked.
The captain, Kenneth Locke, pulled the crewman in close. "I said, I want tha captain of that ship, and I want 'im now."
"Aye, aye, Captain." The man saluted before running back to the upper decks.
Kenneth turned back to Hank. "Now, where wus we? Ah yea, we wus gonna have some fun before the party starts. I hope ya last 'til then."
29. Cache-Hand
"What do you see, Alexandre?" Anne asked the Frenchman.
Alexandre, eccentric as always in a silk robe and grey pantaloons, examined the scene of the attack and kidnapping. The bodies of Roberts' deceased crewmen were gone, but blood stained the stone alleyway. The doctor squatted down to peruse the dirt and mud, sometimes dabbing his finger into the wet dirt then smelling or tasting it.
"Assistant, my tools s'il vous plait," Alexandre commanded with outstretched arm.
Victor, better known to Alexandre as Victoria, brought Alexandre's bag and dropped it on the ground beside him. Alexandre glanced back to Victoria as she re-joined the others with arms folded.
Alexandre reached into the bag, produced a magnifying glass, and further investigated the scene. He moved around in a squatted position, waddling back and forth as he studied the ground.
"So, anything?" Anne probed, becoming impatient.
Alexandre placed the magnifying glass into his bag and stood up again. "Non, nothing. The only thing left is the blood and the boue… the dirt, and too much time has passed to glean anything. The soil is local, but I have no way to tell if this area has been contaminated or not."
Anne sighed, and Roberts prayed. Victoria's finger was pointed towards her feet, away from the area Alexandre was focused on. Beside Victoria's feet was something small and white which was barely noticeable.
Alexandre picked up the object in front of Victoria, not commenting on how she had been blocking his view beforehand on purpose. What Alexandre picked up was the petal of a flower. The petal had small purple dots and a yellow hue at what would be the throat of the flower.
"What is that?" Roberts asked.
"This, mon prêtre de pirate, is a step in the right direction," Alexandre replied.
…
Sam drank his glass full of ale to the end without stopping, then slammed the glass on the table loudly. "I win again!"
The man in front of Sam, a large burly brute, finished his ale after another second of drinking. He reluctantly pulled out his coin purse and paid Sam a few coins for their wager.
"Much obliged," Sam said before the man left the table. Sam then nodded to a crewmate who bumped into the man, deftly stealing the purse. "Another round on me!" Sam yelled, to much applause.
Another man approached Sam's table and sat down. "You're good," he commented.
"Not good 'nuff. That last one drowned me. I'll settle for an arm wrestle. What say the winner takes two quid?" Sam offered, placing his arm up to start the match.
"Sorry, I'm not here to lose money. I'm here to offer you an opportunity."
The words piqued Sam's interest, and for the first time he measured the man in front of him. By all appearances he was out of place amongst the rabble in the tavern. He wore a cavalier hat with a feather out the back, and long blond hair flowing past his shoulders. His face was handsome, as if untouched by fists or knives, or even the weathering of the sun. He wore a long-sleeved blue doublet with wide white collar up to his chin. His breeches ended past the knee and he wore long leather boots and white socks in between.
No way this nancy is with the Hounds. "I'm not interested in small time." Sam slapped the barmaid on the behind and winked to her after she delivered his ale.
"Trust me, this is not small time. Now, before I play my hand I want to congratulate you on your boy's cut-pursing. I must admit, I missed quite a few of the exchanges." The man leaned in close and whispered. "Now that that is out of the way, have you heard of the Hounds of Portugal?"
Sam's brow raised. "Who are you?"
The man smiled. "I'll take that as a yes. My name is Philip Culverson, and I am the second in command of the Hounds. We're always seeking promising young men such as yourself, and the rewards are much greater than the pittance you gained here today. Now, I've given you my name, may I have your
s?"
"The name's James Bellamy." Sam leaned back and set his feet on the table. "Well, ye answered the 'why me?' and the 'what's in it for me?' Now how about the 'how can I trust ye?' and 'where do I sign up?'" Sam said with his usual hyena's smile.
Philip smirked. "I'm fond of you, James. I'll answer your latter question first: I need to be sure of two things before we take you in. One: You're good on a ship, and two: You're good in a fight."
"I've been sailing since I was a wee mate, and no one's better in a scrap than me," Sam said confidently.
"I'll take the sailing on faith, but the fighting I'll need to see for myself." Philip rose from his chair, picked it up, and smashed it into the back of one of the larger patrons. The other patrons in the dank tavern went silent and watched intently. When the man rose up and turned around he immediately saw Philip and started after him. "Sir, sir, I was not the one who hit you, this man over here did." Philip pointed at Sam.
To Sam's surprise, others in the tavern corroborated the story Philip told. More Hounds? Sam tilted his head to the man, rose from his chair, and drank the last of his ale.
The man reared back and swung at Sam. Sam pulled back, letting the man hit air. The man tried to hit him again and Sam smashed his glass into the man's face. The glass broke into a dozen pieces and lodged in the large man's eyes. Sam kicked the man in the chest and he was sent flying back to the bar counter. Sam pulled back his fist, and punched the man's face. The man fell to the ground with a thud, unconscious.
"Another round, if you please!" Sam yelled as he returned to his table.
The crowd in the tavern erupted into cheers and hollering. The barmaid quickly brought him another drink with a kiss on the cheek and a wink.
Philip grinned and bent over to whisper in Sam's ear. "One-Fifteen Rue Passadico, midnight. Come alone and tell them the Caballero de las Flores sent you." Before Philip left he dropped a flower into Sam's hand. A white flower with small purple spots and a yellow throat.
Blackbeard's Revenge (Voyages Of Queen Anne's Revenge Book 2) Page 31
