“You really want to get into that trunk, don’t you,” he said.
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“Bad enough to risk your life?”
“Sir,” said Peter, “I don’t have much of a life now, and from what I’m told I’ll have even less where I’m going. If there’s something wonderful on this ship, I want to know what it is. This is my only chance, sir.”
Alf looked out to sea for several seconds, then back to Peter, and Peter saw there were tears in the big man’s eyes. “Little friend,” Alf said, “those words are truer of me than they are of you.” He moved closer, and put his head next to the boy’s. “Tell me our plan.”
CHAPTER 15
THE ATTACK
CAPTAIN SCOTT STOOD ALONGSIDE the Wasp’s helmsman, calling out commands that were relayed to the crew via the first mate’s booming voice. Leonard Aster stood just behind Scott, his attention fixed on the ship pursuing them.
The Sea Devil was gaining. No matter what maneuver Scott tried, the enormous black brassiere grew steadily larger, blotting out much of the sky.
For all the peril they faced, Leonard and Scott retained their British calm, sounding like two gentlemen discussing the weather.
“He will be upon us soon,” Scott said.
“It appears so,” Leonard answered.
“I would not have thought it possible,” said Scott, shaking his head. “Those sails, I…” He trailed off, then added, “I assure you, sir, my men will be ready. We will repel them.”
Aster was quiet for a moment, studying the Sea Devil, now close enough that he could easily see the scowling faces of the pursuing pirates, waving swords and shouting vile taunts at their quarry. He turned to Scott.
“Captain,” he said. “I request to be put overboard in a dory with the trunk. At once.”
Scott stared at him, his composure momentarily deserting him. “Are you daft, man?” he said. “You can’t outrun that ship in a dory!”
“No,” Leonard agreed. “But it would force Black Stache to make a choice. If he chooses to go after me and the trunk—and I believe he will—then he’d turn broadside to the Wasp.” Leonard paused a moment. “And if your cannon were made ready and waiting…”
“…he’d be squarely in the line of fire,” said Scott. He thought about it, clearly tempted for a moment, then shook his head. “But so would you. I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t put you at risk like that. You’ll stay on board.”
The two men locked eyes for five long seconds, then Aster spoke again, his voice low and urgent.
“Captain, I remind you once again that I am on a mission for the Queen, and that I speak with her authority. The trunk must not—cannot—fall into the hands of this pirate. Your men are brave, but clearly outnumbered. If the enemy boards us, we will be defeated. My plan involves risks, but it is our only hope. On the authority of Her Majesty, I order you to have your men put me and the trunk over the side. Immediately.”
Scott reddened, and appeared to be on the verge of arguing. Then, slowly, he exhaled, and turned to the first mate.
“Prepare a dory to starboard,” he ordered. “Bring up Aster’s black trunk. Have the men prepare the starboard cannons.”
The first mate hesitated, surprised by the unexpected orders.
“At once!” Scott said.
“Aye, Captain!” The first mate relayed the orders.
“Thank you, Captain,” Leonard said.
“Do not thank me, sir. I fear those orders are your death sentence.”
“Well,” said Aster, “perhaps we can lessen the danger.”
Scott answered with a questioning look.
“I believe you have an archer in your crew,” said Aster.
“I do,” said Scott.
Leonard gestured up the Sea Devil’s huge, billowing double-coned sail, now looming almost overhead. “That garment appears to be made from a fine fabric,” he said. “I suspect it would burn very well.”
Scott squinted up at it, then looked at Aster with a small smile. “So it would,” he said. “You’ve seen battle, Mr. Aster.”
“That I have.”
Scott turned to his first mate. “Send for Jeff the archer,” he said. “He’ll want his bow, and some flame.”
Black Stache stood at the helm of the Sea Devil, watching his crew work as his ship closed on its prey. The Ladies had performed as hoped; the Sea Devil felt almost as if it were flying across the water. The Wasp, sleek and fast as she was, didn’t stand a chance.
Just wait ’til the Ladies are raised on that mast, he thought. Not a ship in the world will outrun her.
This pleasant thought was interrupted by Smee’s high-pitched voice.
“Cap’n, they’re getting ready to launch a dory!”
Stache snatched the spyglass and had a look. He drew a sharp breath; not only were Wasp crewmen getting a dory ready, but it appeared that the passenger was a man in gentleman’s clothing, and the cargo was…a black trunk!
What trickery is this?
Stache frowned, pondering the situation. Was the trunk a decoy? If he turned to pursue it, the Ladies would lose the wind and be useless—the Wasp would regain the advantage and quickly put water between them. But if he let the black chest escape and it proved to be the treasure…
“Cap’n, should we…”
“Out of my way!” shouted Stache, shoving Smee aside and striding quickly amidships, stopping at the cage holding the prisoner. He knelt, reached through the iron bars, grabbed the man by the coat of his now-filthy uniform, and pulled him close, so that only the rusting cage separated their faces. The prisoner recoiled from Stache’s foul breath.
Stache shoved the spyglass into the man’s hands.
“You tell me, mate,” Stache said. “That there trunk being loaded off the Wasp. Is that the treasure?”
The prisoner, weak with hunger and fear, trembled so badly that Stache had to support the spyglass for him.
“Black and shiny she is,” Stache said, helping him find it, “wearing a gold emblem on her sides.”
“Y—y—yes,” the man stammered. “Th—that’s it. Sir.”
Stache leaned back, appraising the man’s terrified face. “You understand, lad, if them words ain’t the truth, they’re your last on this earth?”
“I…I…” The prisoner tried to swallow, but could not. “I swear, sir. That’s it.”
“Very well,” said Stache, to himself. He stood, rubbing his chin absentmindedly, wondering if…
“TROUBLE, CAP’N!” It was Smee hollering from the upper deck, his stubby right arm pointing up.
Stache looked up. What NOW?
And then he saw it—
The Ladies were burning.
Captain Scott patted Jeff the archer on the shoulder.
“Good work,” he said, nodding toward the Sea Devil. The right cup of the enormous brassiere was afire, the flames spreading quickly.
“Stand ready, son,” he said. “We’ll need you again.”
The archer, a thick, bald man, nodded.
Scott looked across the ship to where Leonard Aster stood, waiting as sailors lashed the trunk inside the dory. Aster was staring at the trunk.
Scott allowed himself a moment’s speculation—I wonder what’s in there, to be worth dying for—then called out to Aster.
“Good luck, Mr. Aster. God willing, we will have you back on board within the hour.”
Aster looked over, his green eyes intense. He said nothing, answering only with the briefest of nods. He touched the gold chain around his neck, feeling for the locket, as if assuring himself that it was there. Then he climbed into the dory and gestured to the boatswain, who barked a command. Four sailors swung the dory out on its davits and lowered the little boat into the surging sea, carrying a passenger, and a cargo, that Scott was duty-bound to protect.
I had no choice, thought Scott. He gave me no choice.
Then he turned to the task of trying to save his ship.
Black Stache knew
when to cut his losses. Scott had a reputation as a clever sailor; the burning Ladies were proof that it was justified.
“Cut loose the Ladies,” Stache ordered Smee.
“Cut them loose, Cap’n?” said Smee. “The Ladies?”
“Yes, you idjit, and NOW, before the masts and rigging catch fire,” Stache said. “Attach a mooring buoy to the starboard sheet, then cut them loose. We’ll come back for them later.”
Smee relayed the commands, and the crew responded quickly. The flaming Ladies floated away from the ship like a gigantic kite, then fluttered and sank, falling into the sea with a loud hiss and a cloud of steam. The mooring buoy bobbed nearby, marking the spot.
No wonder he’s the captain, thought Smee.
Stache looked ahead. With his sails gone, his ship was now falling behind the Wasp.
“FULL SAILS,” he bellowed to the crew, bypassing Smee. The men scrambled to the lines, and the Sea Devil’s regular sails were up in seconds. Stache was counting on them to steal the Wasp’s wind, and he was gratified to see the fleeing ship’s sails flutter. Now he knew he could catch the Wasp…but should he?
Or do I go after that dory?
The little boat, with the gentleman aboard, was just ahead of the Sea Devil now, perhaps forty yards to starboard, close enough that Stache felt as if he could reach out and touch the trunk. He could see the gentleman watching him intently, betraying no emotion, his oars idle at his sides.
As if he wants me to come for him.
Stache knew he could easily chase the dory down by tacking to starboard, but then he would lose his advantage over the Wasp—or, worse, expose his broadside to her cannon fire. He could pursue the Wasp, but it would take time to overtake her, and more time to defeat her. By then he might not be able to find the dory again.
What to do?
Stache cursed a particularly foul curse, and splattered the deck with an angry gob of spit.
Nobody understands how hard it is, being captain.
With grudging respect, Scott saw how quickly Black Stache rid himself of the burning black sail, raised new sails, and continued the pursuit.
He’s gaining again. He’ll have us soon.
Scott pondered his options. He could turn broadside and try using his cannons, possibly taking Stache by surprise.
But he might already be close enough to board us before we can get off a shot.
He could jibe—ducking away from the Sea Devil’s sails—regain the wind advantage, and run for it.
But that would be leaving Aster behind.
He watched the dory, and Aster, growing smaller, now abeam of the Sea Devil.
I can’t leave him. He studied the Sea Devil.
If he turns toward the dory, we will attack.
But what if the Sea Devil did not turn? Could he risk his ship and its entire crew to save the life of a single passenger?
Scott felt the eyes of his men, awaiting his next command.
Nobody understands how hard it is, being captain.
Smee knelt next to the prisoner’s cage and fumbled with a heavy ring of keys, nervous under Stache’s glare.
“Hurry it up!” Stache said, glancing up to check the Wasp and then the dory, now abeam of his ship and slipping behind.
The prisoner, not knowing what was happening, watched apprehensively as Smee unlocked the padlock and opened the cage door.
Stache pushed Smee away, grabbed the trembling prisoner by his uniform coat, and again pulled him close.
“You’ve been most helpful,” said Stache, his voice oily.
“Th—thank you, sir,” said the prisoner, daring to hope that his cooperation had won him freedom from the cramped cage.
“Yes,” continued Stache, “very helpful. So helpful, in fact, that I’ve decided to let you go.”
“Thank you, sir!” said the prisoner. “Th—NO PLEASE SIR NO…”
His gratitude turned to horror as Stache, in a startling display of speed and power, dragged him swiftly to the starboard rail and hurled him overboard.
“Cap’n!” shouted Smee, shocked.
“Yes, Mr. Smee?” said Stache, leaning over to watch as the prisoner thrashed, gasping, to the surface.
“But he was…” sputtered Smee. “I mean, I thought he had information that…”
“He gave us what we needed,” said Stache. “And now he is providing another service.”
Smee looked puzzled.
“Behold,” said Stache. “As a British seaman, he knows how to swim, at least a little.”
Smee remained puzzled.
“And as a British seaman in distress,” continued Stache, “he cannot be abandoned by the gentleman in the dory, now can he? A proper Englishman would never leave another Englishman to drown. Behold our gentleman, Smee.”
Stache gestured toward the dory; Smee saw that the gentleman was reaching for his oars.
Stache said, “Have the harpooners make ready at the stern.”
Smee relayed the order, noting as he did that the dory was now turning toward the drowning sailor.
His chapped lips broke into a broad smile of pleasure, both at the cleverness of his captain, and the foolishness of proper Englishmen.
Leonard Aster had been studying the trunk, wondering how he could get past its padlocks without tools or weapons, when he heard the scream from the Sea Devil, and saw the man—a man in the uniform of a British seaman—hurled overboard. He saw the man struggle to the surface, thrashing desperately to stay afloat, but clearly unable to last much longer.
With no hesitation, Aster seized the oars. He understood that the pirates had thrown the seaman overboard in the expectation that he would do exactly this. But trunk or no trunk, Leonard Aster was not going to sit by and watch an Englishman drown. He clung to the hope that, as he approached the Sea Devil, she would turn to him, thus exposing herself to the Wasp’s cannon.
But to his disappointment, the Sea Devil did not turn.
He's clever, he thought. He intends to slow my escape, while he wins the Wasp. Then he’ll come for me. For the trunk.
Aster glanced back, and saw he was close to the sailor, still afloat, but just barely.
I can still do it, Aster thought. With a bit of luck, I can save this man, and still be far enough away that the pirates won’t be able to find this tiny boat.
The thrashing sailor slipped beneath the surface. Leonard pulled harder on his oars.
Scott saw now that Stache had no intention of tacking to chase the dory.
He’s a clever one. He’s coming for my ship first.
Scott made a decision, and gave an order, instantly repeated by the first mate.
“Hard to starboard!”
The helmsman spun the wheel and the obedient ship quickly heeled, masts creaking, lines becoming taut. The sails went slack, shifted, then filled anew with wind. The Sea Devil was now coming up fast on his starboard side. He had a better angle on her now—better, though far from ideal. But there was no more time; in moments the Sea Devil would be on them.
“FIRE!”
The cannons roared, and Scott’s heart sank as he saw the balls fly over the Sea Devil. The cannoneers had aimed almost level, but the heeling of the ship had pointed the barrels high.
It had been gamble, tacking and firing, and now Scott was paying. The Wasp had lost speed; the Sea Devil, undamaged, was bearing down. There was barely time for another round.
“LEVEL HER OUT!” Scott roared. This time, we must not miss.
Leonard Aster heard cannonfire, then saw a ball, then two others, splash near him, as he shoved an oar deep into the water at the spot where he’d seen the sailor go under. He fought to hold the oar down, moving it side to side…
Come on…Take it…
He’d almost given up when he felt a tug. Straining, he slowly pulled the oar toward him, then grabbed the sailor’s arm and heaved him up with an effort that almost overturned the dory, which rode dangerously low in the water now from the weight of two men and the trunk
. The man coughed and spat seawater, but seemed to be all right.
“Thank you,” he mumbled, still coughing.
“It’s quite all right,” said Aster.
“That madman…” began the sailor, but he was interrupted by two loud reports. Aster spun and saw twin dark lines coming from the stern of the Sea Devil and streaking directly toward the dory.
“DOWN!” he shouted, yanking the sailor with him to the cramped bottom.
The two harpoons, well aimed and shot with gunpowder, hit almost simultaneously, their barbed heads thunking into the transom. Ten-foot chains connected the harpoon shafts to thick rope leading back to the ship. In a moment Aster felt a tug as the lines tightened. The dory began to move backward; the pirates were using winches to drag it to the Sea Devil.
Black Stache is having it both ways, Aster thought, with grudging admiration. He’s going after the trunk AND the Wasp.
He lunged to the stern and tried to work the harpoons loose, but they were lodged too firmly in the transom. Desperately, he turned back and shouted to the sailor.
“Help me untie the trunk!”
“What’s that?” The man was still groggy from near-drowning.
“Untie the trunk!” Leonard repeated, struggling with a thick knot. “And hurry!”
The sailor managed to sit up and reach for a knot on the other side of the trunk. After a moment he shook his head. “Wet line,” he coughed. “This knot’s not coming out until the line dries.”
Aster yanked desperately at the rope. He looked back; the dory was almost to the Sea Devil now, the pirate ship’s stern looming overhead. At last he managed to loosen the knot. He got his hands under the trunk and tried to lift it, hoping to work it free from the rope on the other side. He could barely budge it.
Why is it so heavy? He tried to move it again, but could not. He looked back again and saw that he could touch the stem of the Sea Devil; pirates were clambering down rope ladders to grab the dory. He gave one last desperate heave on the trunk, but it barely moved.
Starcatchers 01 - Peter and the Starcatchers Page 8
