EQMM, August 2009

by Dell Magazine Authors

  The crew had laid out a courtroom of sorts, with a judge's bench, a dock for the prisoner, and an eager array of jurors. Many may be surprised by the familiarity of a pirate crew with courtroom matters, but given that almost every pirate finds himself in court someday, it is not so unexpected. True, their habit of conducting mock sessions of Admiralty Court, complete with condemning the guilty, might be considered morbid, but it is more wholesome than many of their amusements.

  I took my place before the bench as Matlock was firmly escorted to the dock by the acting bailiff, then turned to nod politely at Mr. Talman, the ship's quartermaster, who was acting as prosecutor. Mr. Talman, a man who gives new meaning to the word dour, did not nod in return. Though he is a hefty man, his face has the pinched expression of someone constantly sucking on limes.

  The bailiff announced, “Be upstanding,” and the judge came on deck, looking most pleased with himself as he took up the belaying pin that was to be used as a gavel.

  Frankly, Mother, he was no more pleased than I. The judge overseeing the case was none other than Perry Gardner, the burly, black-haired pirate I had successfully defended during my first sojourn aboard the Brazen Mermaid, and I felt sure he would be more than willing to give me, and my current client, the benefit of the doubt.

  I took a moment to wonder how this had come to pass. Certainly, the judge's role could have been a reward to Gardner for some particularly dastardly bit of piracy, but I suspected it was Parker's way of making sure I had every chance possible to save Matlock. Not only was Gardner likely to be biased in my favor, for defending him before, but he was just as likely to be biased against Mr. Talman, who had prosecuted him. Whatever debt Parker owed the late Captain Matlock, it must have been a mighty one.

  The trial began, and Talman, as prosecutor, announced, “Matlock abused his position as captain when Winslow served under him. Matlock's punishment was voted on, and he's to be keelhauled. Why we're wasting time on this foolishness is beyond me."

  Judge Gardner tapped his gavel admonishingly on the board in front of him. “Now, now, Mr. Talman,” he said genially, “we wouldn't want to be making another mistake about a man's life, would we?"

  Talman glared at him. “I rest my case."

  "Fair enough.” Gardner turned to me. “Mr. Ward, you can present your case."

  "Thank you, my lord,” I said. “I would like to call Mr. Winslow to the stand."

  Winslow, a ratty-looking man with a surprisingly rounded stomach, strode to the stand, stopping just long enough to look triumphantly at Matlock. My client, I am happy to say, met his eyes without flinching. That's just the kind of behavior to influence a jury favorably, I've found.

  Winslow was sworn in by the bailiff, and I smiled gently at him. “Mr. Winslow, I understand that you assert that you were treated unfairly by Captain Matlock on a past voyage."

  "Damned right I do! That bastard tried to—"

  Mother, forgive me for interrupting the flow of my narrative, but I fear there is no delicate way to give the particulars of Winslow's charge against Captain Matlock. Suffice it to say that no decent man would commit the act.

  Winslow went on to say, “When I wouldn't bend over for him, he took a cat-o'-nine-tails to me.” Before I could stop him, he pulled his shirt off and twisted around to show a sickening mass of scars on his back.

  The jurors muttered threateningly, and then looked daggers at my client. I could scarcely blame them. It was a most effective bit of theater.

  "You have my sympathies for your injuries,” I said courteously, “but I am sure you are mistaken as to the perpetrator of these horrors."

  "You think I don't remember who beat me bloody?"

  There was no way I could respond to that without immediately turning the jury against me, so I dodged the question. “Mr. Winslow, can you tell me the name of the ship on which you served with Captain Matlock."

  "The Wellfleet," he said, without hesitation.

  "And where was that ship bound?"

  "From Boston to Port Royal, with stops along the way."

  "The cargo?"

  "Rum, cloth, and tools from England."

  "Was it an eventful voyage?"

  "Not to speak of,” he said, but just as I was about to pounce, “unless you call sailing through a hurricane eventful."

  I nodded, and glanced at Matlock, who was staring wide-eyed at Winslow. Each detail matched what Matlock himself had told me. I asked more questions about crew members and ports of call, but Winslow knew every bit of it. By the end, the jury was getting restless, Talman was openly bored, and even my tame judge looked unhappy.

  So I ended it with, “Thank you, Mr. Winslow. That will be all."

  "You have anything to ask him?” Judge Gardner asked Talman.

  "I could ask what they ate for breakfast, but I don't think anybody gives a damn."

  Talman got a laugh with that, and I cringed inwardly as the judge said, “You can step down, Winslow."

  Matlock's accuser did so, still bare to the waist, and seeing that ruined expanse of skin as he walked away started the jurors muttering again.

  "My lord, I would like to confer briefly with my client,” I said.

  "I'll allow it,” he said grandly.

  Before I could speak, Matlock said, “How could he know all that?"

  "He must have questioned one of your former crew members. Quite clever of him. Still, all we need to do is call them to the stand and ascertain which one gave him the information."

  But Matlock shook his head. “None of the men retained by the pirates was with me on the Wellfleet."

  "Not one?” I said, nonplussed that my hastily conceived strategy had already floundered.

  He buried his head in his hands briefly, then raised up to say, “After this is over, Mr. Ward, I beg you to tell Miss Gowan that I faced death like a man. I know that she admires you, and if I cannot have her, I can think of no other more worthy."

  "Your generosity overwhelms me,” I said, “but I wish to win no woman's hand by default. Now tell me. Of the newly-made pirates, do any of them bear you ill will?"

  "Not that I'm aware of."

  "Would they be willing to testify on your behalf?"

  "I believe so."

  "Excellent.” He gave me their names, and I turned to Judge Gardner. “I am ready to proceed."

  "About time, too,” Talman said.

  I ignored him, and asked that Mr. Coyne be called to the stand. Looking confused, and more than a little nervous, Matlock's former bosun came forward to be sworn in.

  "Mr. Coyne,” I said, “how long did you sail under the command of Captain Matlock?"

  "Near five years, it were."

  "And in that time, did Captain Matlock ever mistreat you?"

  "No, sir, not once."

  "Did you ever see him mistreat any other crew member?"

  "No, can't say as I did. He's a most fair man, Cap'n Matlock."

  "Thank you. I have no further questions."

  "Any questions, Mr. Talman?” Judge Gardner asked.

  "No."

  He sent Coyne away, and we repeated the process with seven other men. They all spoke of Matlock in the most admiring tones, and the one man who had been punished severely eventually admitted that he'd deserved worse.

  As each witness testified, and as Talman refused to cross-examine every one, my confidence grew. Finally, when the last man had proclaimed Matlock's decency, I turned to Judge Gardner. “My lord, I think my client's quality has become crystalline through the testimony of these men. I put it to the court that it is impossible to conceive of him committing the atrocities of which he has been accused."

  I turned to Talman, sure he would be ready to concede defeat. Instead, he spoke with devastating brevity once again.

  "It don't matter if Matlock was a saint every day of his life but one—after what he did to Winslow, keelhauling is too good for him. So it comes down to Winslow's word against Matlock's, and Winslow's got no reason to lie."
/>   I could almost have admired Talman's logic. Captain Matlock's face went white, while Judge Gardner shrugged his shoulders helplessly and the jury looked resolute. I admit, Mother, that at that moment I was guilty of the sin of despair. Not only was Matlock going to die a most painful death, but it seemed likely that I would have to marry Miss Gowan as penance.

  Even if I were to produce a score of men, all of whom would swear to the gentle-ness of Captain Matlock, just one man's account of ill treatment would be enough to condemn him. I was reminded of Father's oft-repeated warnings regarding actions he fretted would besmirch my reputation. No doubt he still says, “A man's reputation is like a snow-white robe. One stain, no matter how small or how light, forever mars the fabric."

  The last time Father regaled me with those words, I innocently inquired if that was why he was so devoted to dark brown in his own attire, in order to conceal any failings of his character. My head still tingles at the recollection of his reaction.

  I eyed Captain Matlock, already resigned to his fate, though any stains upon his soul should have been quite thoroughly hidden by his mud-brown coat. Or rather, my coat, which had taken such a strange path to reach him. My coat...

  A rush of thoughts came to me, and I silently blessed Father for his words of wisdom. If any sudden bolts of lightning crashed over Father's head some weeks past, it was almost certainly from that rare occurrence of my prayer on his behalf.

  "Your Honor,” I said, “Might I again confer with my client?"

  "You may,” he said.

  I leaned toward Captain Matlock and whispered, “Am I correct in my recollection that your brother Andrew gave you the coat you wear?"

  He looked most confused at the question, but nodded.

  "He told me he bought it in the market in Port Royal. Do you know from whom he purchased it?"

  "No. Why—?"

  "All will become clear.” I stood. “Your Honor, may I recall Mr. Winslow to the stand?"

  He nodded.

  Winslow again walked up with the air of a man vindicated, though at least he'd put his shirt back on, and planted himself in the witness stand.

  "Mr. Winslow,” I said, “you were a member of the crew of the Brazen Mermaid when the Fortune's Daughter was captured, were you not?"

  "Aye, I were."

  "Therefore you were eligible to claim a full portion of the proceeds of that capture."

  "I did my part of the business that day, and I'll thrash any man who says I didn't."

  "Can you tell me what form your share of the spoils took?"

  "What form?"

  "In what currency were you given your share? Gold, gems, precious spices?"

  He snorted. “Weren't nothing like that on the Fortune's Daughter. I got paid in rice, corn, and a few odds and ends."

  "Would those odds and ends include clothing?"

  "They might have."

  "If you cannot recall, I'm sure Mr. Talman could be prevailed upon to check his records."

  Mr. Talman looked anything but eager, but nodded.

  "Now that you be mentioning it, I recall there were some breeches and linens and such."

  "And a coat? A dark brown coat?"

  He stiffened, not sure of how I meant to attack, but cognizant of his peril. “I think there was a coat."

  "What did you do with that coat?"

  "I sold it up to Port Royal. At the market."

  "To whom?"

  He licked his lips nervously. “I couldn't tell you."

  "Couldn't, or won't?"

  He shrugged, but said no more.

  I turned to the jury. “As most of you know, I was aboard the Fortune's Daughter when she was captured, and my effects were included in what you men call booty. Among my belongings was a well-made brown coat purchased by my father in England. That coat, as you have heard, became part of Mr. Winslow's share, which he sold in Port Royal. The coat was purchased as a gift, and given to Captain Matlock.” I pointed dramatically. “That, gentlemen, is my coat!"

  There was a most effective pause, but unfortunately, it was broken by Mr. Talman, who said, “Why should we give a tinker's damn about your coat?"

  I held up both hands in a calming gesture, and repeated what I had said to Captain Matlock. “All will be made clear. Mr. Winslow, if you are quite sure you don't remember who bought the coat...?"

  "I told you I don't know, and it ain't in Talman's ledger, neither."

  "Then I have no further questions."

  The prosecutor muttered that he had no questions either, and Winslow stepped down.

  "Are you done yet,” Talman asked, “or are we going to find out where your nightshirt ended up next?” The crew sniggered in appreciation.

  "Not at this time,” I said politely. “I would like to call Captain Parker to the stand."

  The crew went silent as Parker stood and fixed his cold blue-eyed gaze upon me. I maintained an air of imperturbability, or as close to one as I could manage, and Parker strode to the witness stand.

  Even the bailiff seemed cowed, but stuttered through his request for Parker to swear to tell the truth, plainly relieved to move away after it was finished.

  "Captain Parker,” I said, “pardon my ignorance in such matters, but can you tell me how you determine which ships to attack?"

  "We attack any ship that comes across our path."

  There was a murmur of manly pride from the crew.

  "But you must have some techniques for ensuring that rich prizes come across your path."

  "We know the sea lanes better than most. It's no trick to find them."

  "Naturally. But is there not another method? It has been rumored in Port Royal that occasionally you hear of planned voyages, and take pains to rendezvous with particular ships."

  "Some sailors are not as tight-lipped as they might be, particularly when in their cups,” he allowed. “Now and again, one lets a hint about a ship's schedule and cargo slip."

  I nodded sagely. “Did any such hints enable you to take Captain Matlock's ship?"

  He paused for a second, and I knew he'd caught my thread. “Now that you're asking, a sailor did say that he'd heard talk of a vessel carrying a shipment of gold, and he had a good idea of the course it would be taking."

  "So he told you the Prosperity—"

  "He didn't name the ship."

  "But the Prosperity arrived, ripe for the picking."

  "It came, though there was no gold aboard."

  "No? I suppose your man must have misheard that detail. And who was this informant?"

  "Winslow,” Parker said.

  "Really? And the ship he gave over to you just happened to be helmed by a man against whom he held a particular grudge."

  I was about to call Winslow back to the stand, but before I could, he stepped forward and said, “So I fixed it so that Matlock's ship would be taken! After what he done to me, he deserved it. Right?” He looked to the rest of the pirates for confirmation, but they were muttering in confusion.

  "Mr. Winslow, how did you find out about the Prosperity's route?"

  "I heard it in a tavern."

  "Which one?"

  "I don't remember."

  "Can you remember which of Captain Matlock's crew told you about their route?"

  Before Winslow could answer, Matlock said, “None of them. All captains know that sailors are apt to speak out of turn, so I never tell the crew my intentions until the morning we set sail. Only the pilot knew our course, and he spent the evening at my home."

  "Some cove was talking about it at a tavern,” Winslow said stubbornly.

  I turned to the jury, and raised my eyebrows in a show of scepticism. Fortunately for my well-being, they seemed sceptical as well.

  I said, “Captain Matlock, would your pilot have any reason to betray you?"

  "None at all. He has been with me for many years, and has shown himself to be a loyal friend many times over."

  "We released him with the others,” Parker put in.

  "
Was anyone else at your house the night in question?” I asked.

  "No, just the pilot and myself. And my brother, of course."

  "Your brother Andrew, who gave you that coat?” I turned back to Winslow. “Does the name Andrew Matlock refresh your memory? Did he buy the coat from you?"

  "People at the market don't give no names."

  "What are you getting at?” Judge Gardner asked.

  "It is not a pleasant tale, my lord, though it is one of mankind's oldest: the story of Cain and Abel. Picture these events: Winslow went to the market at Port Royal to sell his booty, and met Andrew Matlock. A transaction took place. Perhaps a friendship of sorts bloomed as well, or perhaps it was merely business. In either case, a link between the two men was forged. Now I must point out that Andrew Matlock is known as a gambler, and not a successful one. Moreover, as the younger brother, he has no particular expectations, and has been living off his brother's generosity.

  "Had events been allowed to remain this way, Andrew would have been well satisfied, but recently Captain Matlock developed an affectionate attachment for a lady and marriage became a definite prospect. Though Captain Matlock would likely have allowed his brother to remain in his house after the wedding, Andrew would no longer have been his heir, particularly if a child were to be born. Andrew's prospects were grave.

  "Then Andrew remembered his business associate, Winslow. He knew Winslow was a member of the Brethren, of course, and so they made an arrangement. Andrew supplied details about Captain Matlock's next voyage in order that the ship would be taken. In the event that Captain Matlock survived the attack, Andrew and Winslow devised a scheme to ensure that the crew was given sufficient cause to dispose of him afterward. Andrew even provided accounts of his brother's previous voyages to add credibility to Winslow's account of ill treatment."

  I spread my fingers wide, a gesture which always gives the erroneous impression that the speaker has nothing to hide. “Knowing this, I am sure the jury will conclude that Winslow was never mistreated by Captain Matlock—I doubt that he ever sailed with him at all."