by Andre Norton
As to who Liza was or from whence she had come Cheap mayhap had a clue. But to the rest of Tortuga she was but an ill-tempered virago with no pretense to looks and no interest beyond her pans and the rum bottle. Her tangle of unwashed hair still showed yellow in the sun, and when she aroused to answer at all it was with the tongue of a Thames-side fishwife. Whatever Liza might have been in her youth, she had not been born under the Southern Cross.
At the sight of Scarface she glowered sullenly.
“Th’ marster ’as bin a-arskin’ fur ye,” she grunted.
“Well, here I am.”
“’E'll tan yer ‘ide fur ye!”
“Mayhap. Let me carry that.” He took from her the heavy pail she was lifting.
“Purty gen'lem'n, ain't ye?” she jeered as he set down his burden within the kitchen. “Foine manners, jest loike that liddy wot wos yer mither!”
“What?” Scarface demanded. “What did you say?”
“Nobut!” she countered. “Git out o’ my sight, ye long-legged loon!” With a scream of rage she reached for a greasy platter on the table.
With the ease of long practice Scarface dodged and the plate shattered to fragments against the wall. Liza's screams grew wilder as he backed hurriedly out of the door. There was no use in trying to bring her to reasonable speech now. But it was plain that Pym had been right—she did know something of the past.
Treasuring that thought, the boy turned to the front of the house where Cheap awaited him.
Chapter Two
* * *
“I SAY—BARBADOS!”
* * *
JONATHAN CHEAP lounged in his great chair, his well-booted feet cocked up on a bench before him. Nature had been kind to Captain Cheap. She had bestowed upon him a strong and goodly body and a pallidly handsome face. Also of wit he had a rich store and possessed a steady deadly courage. But there her benefactions had ended, for he had no heart, and charity he considered a weakness of the basest sort. And yet more than half of Tortuga hailed Jonathan Cheap as a proper sort of gentleman and he never lacked for a crew.
As Scarface came in the worthy Captain was smoothing his new flowered waistcoat and considering critically the polish on his boots. For coolness he had put off his heavy black periwig, displaying in this, the privacy of his home, his closely cropped, graying hair. He was a vain man but not a foolish one. What he had of the world's comforts he had taken at sword point. If his hands were not clean of blood—well, they were still shapely and well cared for. And now he was approaching the summit of all his years-old ambitions, so satisfaction was imprinted in his slightly pouting lips, his half-closed eyes.
“You were asking for me, sir?” Scarface measured with his eyes the level of rum in the decanter on the table. For by that barometer might the Captain's mood be foretold.
“Aye, you hang-dog rogue. Where have you been?” Cheap's features did not lose their pleasant openness, but the boy knew the threat which lay just beneath the surface of the Captain's good humor.
“Out in the hills. When a man's ashore—”
“A man? You spindle-shanked brat—dare you call yourself a man? Do you hold yourself above correction? I would have you know that I am still master in my own house! Do you dare to trifle with me—?”
Cheap was deliberately working himself into one of those rages with which Scarface was painfully familiar. It was almost as if Cheap were sometimes two different men—one raging and the other cool and unruffled standing aside to watch with curious interest the excesses of his baser self. The only answer was to stand unreplying and let the Captain's anger wash where it willed until the two men were one again. But today Cheap put rein to his rage himself.
“Go to,” he reached for his half-filled glass. “You're gallows’ meat and will come to that end. Like father, like son.” He laughed, a low, evil and yet curiously sweet laugh which was his alone, the tinkling of which would ring in Scarface's ears for all his life. “Since you have at last remembered your duties, you'd best be about them. Get my sea chest down to the ship—we sail with the tide. Do not show me a long face now, ’tis time for us to be asea. The land air grows thick in my throat.” He sniffed delicately at the scent on his fine handkerchief.
Without answer Scarface tramped back through the house to the Captain's bedchamber, summoning the black slave to shoulder the chest. Errand boy he might be, but he was a freeman and as such he did not appear in the lanes carrying his master's boxes.
Back again through the patio they went. Liza had returned there and was squatting in her favorite seat by the ever dry fountain, mumbling to herself, her eyes fast upon the forepart of the house where the Captain took his wine-bought ease. She was slitting red peppers into long tongue-shaped strips with a knife, but she little resembled a cook at honest employment. At the boy's passing she looked up at him with a grunted farewell of her own fashioning.
“Off be ye, eh? An’ a rope at th’ end, loike enough.”
“Like as not,” he replied as carelessly. “ ’Tis the usual end of those of our trade. Like man, like master though, Liza. If you foresee that end for me, you'd better hunt you another sty for I sail with Cheap and captains hang as easily and as high as their men.”
For a moment her knife was still as she peered at him intently through the filthy ropes of her hair. Then with a boom of laughter she reached for another pepper. “ ’Twill take a man t’ ’ang th’ Cap'n!”
“One like Sir Robert Scarlett?” asked Scarface idly.
To his surprise the pepper fell from her fingers and blood welled from a cut on her thumb where the knife had slipped. But to this or to the pepper in the dust she paid no heed. Her attention was all for the boy standing over her and for once in her life she found no words.
“Wot d'ye know o’ Scarlett?” she croaked at last.
“That he was once a pirate and then contrived to win himself a better place in the world. And that in consequence he is hated by the scum here.”
Liza's claw-hand closed about the boy's wrist, leaving a drabble of blood on his arm. “Wot else? I ’ave always bin friend t’ ye, ain't I now?” she whined, drawing herself up by her hold on him. Her breath, sour with gin fumes, was hot on his cheek. “Iffen I ‘ave cuffed ye now an’ again, ‘twas fer yer own good. Look ye, Justin—”
“Justin!” He shook off her grip and caught her by the shoulders. “Tell me, Liza, what mean you by naming me so?”
At his demand the veil of cunning dropped back across her pig eyes. She twisted free of him with a roll of her heavy shoulders.
“Wot would I mean, ye gutter-whelp? Git ye out ‘fore I call th’ Cap'n.” She ended with a scream of rage and cuffed him across the face, a blow whose sting brought tears to his eyes.
His chance of learning anything was gone now and he knew it. So, with a shrug of resignation, he left her there and followed the slave out of the patio.
Liza had called him “Justin” as if that were his name! What did the old drudge know? For a moment his own helplessness choked him. No one could make Liza speak if she chose not to, not even Cheap. And clearly she did not choose in this instance. Unless he could trap her into some admission next time they put in to Tortuga—
The swift dusk of the tropics was on the town. From the open doors of the grogshops came the raucous shouts and spurts of song where the Brethren were spending their spoils. Once or twice a shadowy figure slipped down the road, body pressed against the wall, untrusting eyes upon all comers. Tortuga after nightfall was only for him who could defend himself and any property of value which he might be carrying.
Down at the waterside Scarface hailed a halfbreed who had a dugout for hire and bargained to be set aboard the Naughty Lass. The ship seemed deserted as the clumsy craft nuzzled her side. She was still foul of bottom from voyaging in warm waters where bred weed and ship worms, but Cheap had given no orders to have her careened and refitted. Even the expedient of “boot-hosing” to remove the damaging stuff to the water edge had been neglected. Did
Cheap think he was so good a seaman that he could go a-hunting in a ship as foul as the usual man-o’-war?
The boy clambered up by the dangling ladder and then tossed down a rope for the chest. Slave and box came up together and departed cabinwards while Scarface made his way to the quarter-deck. Despite the litter on her deck and the present uncleanliness of her keel, the ship had sweet, true lines. Under another master, the boy believed, she might show her teeth to half the Main without fear.
Not that Cheap was a poor leader. When the rum was not afire in his brain he was as cool and keen as a king's admiral should be but seldom was. But the Captain was prone to fancy himself the better man in every engagement—sailing carelessly into a fight without first carefully reckoning one chance against another. ’Twas all right to be a raging fury in battle. But battle fury was not always enough. Straight and cool thinking was what salvaged a forlorn hope. Now take the time that they had attacked that Dutch brig off Curacao—that had been a bad guess on Cheap's part. The Naughty Lass had barely limped free and the Dutchman had bounced on as pert as you please. Not all merchantmen to be met in these waters were fowls for the pot—some were foxes with sharp teeth!
“Wot's t’ do?” a vast bulk of man heaved out of the shadows.
“Captain's chest come aboard,” returned Scarface shortly.
“Eh? Who's—oh, ’tis Cap'n Scarface,” the thick voice became derisive. “We be oncommon ’onored, Cap'n—”
“You're drunk, Nat.” Scarface tried to edge away but a huge paw caught him fast.
“Drunk say ye? Wal, mayhap I be. Though drinkin’ these plaguey French wines's loike drinkin’ water.” Nat Creagh, sometime poacher and all the time thief, spat noisily into the sea and relaxed his grip so that the boy was able to wriggle free. “So Cap'n Cheap ’as ’ad ’is fill o’ soft livin’,” he continued, rubbing his hairy hand across the red brush on his jutting chin. A great body of a man, he had the ways and mind of a child, but like an evil child he could be cruelly malicious and maliciously cruel—especially when he suffered from the torture of his loose and decaying fangs of teeth.
“We sail tonight,” Scarface told him now.
“Then ’e'd best be a-gittin’ th’ men ‘ere. Nigh all o’ ’em are ashore. Where be we a-goin’ this time, Scarface?”
“How should I know? Cheap does not confide in me—he'll choose his own road.”
“We should try fer Panama, that's whar Harry Morgan took ’is great ’aul. Git us a Don's treasure ship an’ live fat fer th’ rest o’ our days!”
“Or swing on the gallows—which is more like.”
Nat turned fiercely on the boy. “Don't ye be a-talkin’ o’ th’ gallows! ’Tis unchancy, ’tis. Would ye spoil our luck?”
“Faith, Nat,” the boy forced a laugh, “why would I do that? Seein’ as how my neck would be stretched along with yours. No, here's to Lady Luck herself and may she ever perch on our bowsprit. We'll doubtless need her favors,” he added to himself, remembering Cheap's proposed descent upon Barbados. “You've sailed with Cheap, these many years, have you not, Nat?” he asked.
“Aye, we've bin messmates, ’im an’ me, a long time,” returned the big man proudly. “Seems loike it war only yester morn since ’e clum o'er th’ rail an’ asked fer th’ Cap'n—pert as ye please—an’ ’im without a stitch to cover ’im! But that wos a long time since.”
“Where did he climb from?” Scarface had never heard this story before.
“Out o’ th’ sea. Aye, ’e came out o’ th’ sea an’ into it ’e’ll go. That's wot that nigger wench tole ’im once. Out o’ th’ sea—into th’ sea.” Nat sighed, the wine within his great paunch making him wax sentimental.
“But how did he get into the sea?” protested Scarface.
“ ’E said ’e wos wrecked loike,” Nat laughed. “But thar ’ad bin no storm, mind ye, only calm an’ fair winds. An’ wot ship flounders in a smooth sea? But we wos a mile off Barbados an’ they ’ave white slaves thar—call ’em ‘Red Legs’ ’cause their skin be so burnt loike. Iffen a man, look ye, ’as th’ courage t’ beat out t’ sea in a stolen canoe, I'd not be one t’ send ’im back t’ th’ ’ell o’ th’ cane fields. An’ th’ Cap'n wos o’ a loike mind—’e'd bin a slave ’isself. That wos Cap'n Trebor, ’im wot commanded th’ ship Valor. Good t’ Cheap loike a brother ’e wos, ’ad ‘im into th’ great cabin an’ at table with th’ rest o’ ’is officers. Trebor wos a ‘ard man, but thar wos rich pickin’ fer ‘em as sailed under ‘im. That wos nigh twenty years ago. Cheap warn't much more o’ a man than ye be now. When Trebor went Cheap took command an’ I've served ‘im ever since. Ain't a better boatswain on th’ coast then I be—even iffen I did leave me ears in England!” Nat chuckled and thumped the boy on the back.
“Ye war right,” he added a moment later. “Cheap means to sail. ‘Ere comes th’ boys.”
Boats had put out from shore, heading toward the Naughty Lass and, by the light of a lantern in the nearest, Scarface made out the dapper person of Captain Jonathan Cheap.
When her master came aboard the ship awoke to furious activity. Cheap did not waste words—or men. The Naughty Lass raised anchor and stood out for the open sea, her sails bent to catch the last cupful of wind. Down to the curling water curtseyed the smirking figurehead which named her, curtseyed and arose again with the heave of the swell.
Scarface watched the lights of Tortuga dim. He wondered if Pym was eating his solitary supper in his fusty lodgings or in the wine shop. Now they were swinging past the headlands where he had been that afternoon.
The sea was laced with foam and flashes of blue-green phosphorescence tipped the waves. Through the cordage sang the brisk song of the trade winds. A smooth sea beneath and a fine wind behind them. And before—all the Spanish Main for their plucking.
“Scarface, ye devil's meat!” roared a voice from below. “Whar be ye?”
With a sigh the youngster swung down to the waist and faced the shouter. “Here, Nat.”
“Git t’ yer work below, ye lubber!”
Dodging the blow aimed at his head, the boy darted into the narrow galley and reached for the silver tankard which was Cheap's prized property. With this in his fist and a squat bottle under his arm Scarface went into the great cabin where the Captain sprawled at ease, his officers facing him, seated like a row of sullen school boys on the stern locker.
As the cabin boy entered the mate ventured a protest. “ ‘Tis rank folly, I say—”
“And who,” Cheap puffed at his pipe, blowing the blue-gray smoke at the speaker, “are you to advise upon this matter?”
But John Quittance, the mate, refused to be so cried down. That line of nervous worry between his scanty brows was not the badge of a coward. “One who has sailed these waters before, Captain Cheap. When there are such rich pickings in the Spanish waters, why do you take us to the Leewards? We'll get more blows than gold out of such business. They say that Sir Robert himself be cruising off St. Kitts—”
“They say—they say,” mocked Cheap. “Lord, you are like a parrot from the mainland, ever croaking the same refrain. Rumor seldom speaks true, she is a crooked-tongued jade.”
“Better listen to a crooked tongue than hang with a crooked neck,” returned Quittance hardily. “Five and twenty good men have cooled their heels in the air at Bridgetown gallows this year. And I for one have no taste for tempting Sir Robert into making that a round fifty. Best ‘bout ship and stand for the inner gulf.”
The Captain smiled and studied the nails on the hand which held his pipe. “So you've no liking for the venture?”
“None. I ain't a learned man, Captain Cheap, but I can read signs. The southern waters are not for us—now.”
“Now?” Cheap turned the statement into a question. “Then you counsel waiting?”
“Aye. There is war and they in the Leewards will be looking for the French to come down upon them. Sir Robert himself will be walking sentry, belike—as you should know. Let us wait until he is
safely elsewhere—”
“Sir Robert! Sir Robert!” The Captain brought his hand down on the table with force enough to snap off the stem of his pipe. “Always Sir Robert! Even at his name you tremble, you scum! At the very mention of his name you are all clean driven out of your wits! Sir Robert is but a man, and being but a man is mortal to steel or bullet.”
Ty Roder, the chief gunner, a Dutch half-breed, shook his round head slowly, its uncombed thatch falling about his small eyes in a coarse fringe. “Dey say dat he did buy him a charm—”
Cheap laughed with genuine amusement. “A charm? Faith, a man can buy a dozen such charms, fashioned of hair and dust and a pinch of forest leaves. But none of ‘em will keep a bullet out of his hide when his hour is come. I am minded to sail east, d'you hear that, you craven dogs! East, I sail. I say—Barbados! Now out with you, and mend your sullen looks before you come aft again.”
In silence they got to their feet and shuffled out. None disputed him for even Quittance knew when it was hopeless to change the Captain's mind. No, no man dared dispute him—not now. But once—Cheap's eyes narrowed at that unsought memory, his jaw pushed forward until his face seemed that of a bird of prey as he recalled that hour when one man with blistering tongue had stripped him bare of honor, hope, pride and self-esteem. His long fingers curved talon-wise on the table and he thrust the broken pipe from him.
“Light up!” he flung the order over his shoulder to Scarf ace. “Light up, I am not minded to sit in shadows!”
His eyes followed the slim figure as the boy moved about the cabin lighting the other two lanterns. When the task was done and the yellow radiance streamed out into the night to color the waves in the wake, the Captain spoke again.
“Come you here,” he ordered. “Stand there.” He pointed to the strip of turkey carpet before the table. Scarface obeyed.
From beneath half-lowered lids Cheap studied him. “Pot boy,” he said softly. “Pot boy and drudge to pirates. Faith, who could guess the humor in that now. Scarface,” he laughed, “you can't guess what I have saved you from. ‘Tis a famous jest and some day shall I share it with you. But it grows better with each year; aye, it grows richer and sweeter.” He rolled the words over his tongue as if he savored to the full some hidden delight.
