The Valkyrie Series: The First Fleet - (Books 1-3) Look Sharpe!, Ill Wind & Dead Reckoning: Caribbean Pirate Adventure

by Karen Perkins

  “Out of the way, gentlemen, I’ll show you how it’s done,” said the man, one of the crew by the look of his weathered face and muscled arms, still laughing at Jonesy’s antics.

  I raised my eyebrows at him and he stopped laughing.

  “Tom Little,” he introduced himself.

  “How d’you do, Little?” Jonesy called from the floor and I helped him up. “I’m Jonesy, and this here’s my good friend, Lord Rowleston, Sharpe to his friends.” I nodded at the sailor. “By all means, show us how to get in these infernal things,” he continued.

  I stepped aside and Little squeezed into the tiny space.

  He reached up and found a handhold in the beams above, then jumped up, swung himself across, lay back in the hammock, and sighed in satisfaction. “Nothin’ to it, sirs.”

  “See, Jonesy? Easy!” I mocked as Little jumped back down. “My thanks, Little, you’ve saved our bruises and further embarrassment.”

  “Any time, sirs.”

  Jonesy held out his hand and something shiny passed between them.

  “That better not have been my crown, Jonesy.”

  “For no bruises and embarrassment? ’Tis cheap at the price.”

  “That was my winnings!”

  “Winnings you say?” Little butted in. “Do you gentlemen enjoy the roll of the dice, by chance?”

  Jonesy and I glanced at each other.

  “We have been known to occupy ourselves with the dice on occasion,” I said, hesitant, or at least hoping to appear that way.

  “Well, if either of you are at a loose end during the passage, there’s usually a game to be found on the lower deck, near the bow. Tell ’em Little sent ya.”

  “Our thanks, Little,” Jonesy said and shook his hand. I smiled and nodded at him, but spotted a smirk as he turned to leave. I watched him head to another “cabin” that had just emitted a loud thump and a curse, then turned back to Jonesy who was rubbing his hands in glee.

  “We need to take care,” I said, and told him about the expression I’d seen on Little’s face. “They’ll try to fleece us.”

  “O’course they will. We’re traveling in style, they think we’re rich and simple just like that night we met.”

  I frowned.

  “But we know their game, we’ll suck ’em in, take their money and spit ’em out again!”

  “Care, Jonesy. There’s nowhere to go and very few places to hide. Don’t forget we’re aboard a ship, their ship. Play them too hard and we could end up overboard.”

  He slapped me on the back. “Ah, Sharpe, ever the cautious one. Let go, live a little, take a few risks.”

  “What the hell do you call this?” I waved my arms to indicate the ship. “This is the biggest gamble of my life! I’m leaving behind everything I know, with no idea as to what’s ahead, and you call me cautious?”

  “Aye, you’ve a point there. Come on, let’s go up on deck, get a last glimpse of Bristol.”

  I nodded, then stumbled as the ship jolted beneath my feet.

  “Don’t fret, it’s the anchor coming free of the bottom,” Little called out from somewhere to our right.

  “Come on, Sharpe, hurry,” Jonesy said, leading the way back up to daylight.

  Chapter 6

  I breathed deeply, and wondered just how foul the air would get in our sleeping quarters.

  “Come on, Sharpe, mate, out of the way.”

  I moved from the hatch to give Jonesy some room and apologized. A team of sailors worked at the bow pushing a capstan round to haul the anchor aboard, and I glanced up in unease at the still-furled sails.

  I turned to look at Bristol; the wharf a heaving mass of people, warehouses, and traveling and boarding houses crammed in higgledy-piggledy behind it. The River Avon was full of ships in various stages of preparation: being unloaded, loaded and made ready for sail; the water itself full of all manner of flotsam and jetsam. I wrinkled my nose in disgust at the smell and sight of sewage floating past.

  The sailors at the bow cheered as the anchor broke free of the water and the ship moved sideways, the bow slowly swinging round.

  “Helm to windward.”

  “Stand by to fend off.”

  “Why aren’t the sails being used?” I grabbed Little’s arm in panic as he passed.

  He laughed, enjoying my fear. “Wind ain’t steady, it swirls around like a doxy’s skirts here. Even worse in t’ gorge. Tide’s stronger and will take us out.”

  “But, but, how can the captain steer without the sails?”

  “Can’t, not by much.” He grinned, then took pity on me.

  “Then why doesn’t he have a boat out to guide us through?”

  “Don’t fear, sir, we’ve a pilot aboard, he does this every tide, and it’s a strong tide, too fast for the boats. Sails are next to useless till we hit the Severn.”

  He pulled away from my grasp as I winced at his use of the word hit.

  After a few more shouted commands and a number of jarring bumps against other ships, we were in the main channel and racing seaward.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the captain (at least I presumed he was captain) called, and I wondered if he ever spoke in a normal tone of voice.

  “Welcome aboard Pride of the Orient. I hope you find her comfortable.” There were a few mutterings at this. “I realize the accommodations are not what you are used to, but they are the finest any oceangoing vessel out of Bristol can boast.”

  “’Tis a feeble boast, man, my slaves can tell of better!”

  I craned my neck, as did Jonesy and everyone else to see who had spoken, but he perchance regretted his comment and fell silent.

  The captain frowned and did not respond to the insult.

  “The passage will take a little under six weeks given fair winds, please feel free to walk the decks but mind my crew. Your lives are in their hands for the coming voyage and I advise you keep that in mind in your dealings with them.”

  A few more mutterings. My heart sank; this was not shaping up to be a pleasant voyage, I had already taken a dislike to a number of the dozen gentleman and even one or two of the ladies who stood complaining on the deck.

  “We’ll be out of the shelter of the gorge soon, and when the wind picks up it’ll be coming from larboard.” He pointed to his left. “If you feel ill, I recommend the starboard rail.” He pointed to his right, then turned his back on his passengers to confer with one of the sailors.

  “Not much of a welcome aboard, was it?” Jonesy remarked to the man standing next to us.

  “Hmpf,” he grunted and turned away.

  Jonesy shrugged his shoulders. “Friendly ship,” he said, and I laughed.

  “Hopefully people will be a bit friendlier once they’re settled in and have got over their nerves.”

  “Nerves? What do they have to be nervous about? It’s a fine ship with, you heard the captain: ‘accommodation of the highest standard’.”

  “Are you serious? Crossing an ocean to a new land in a ship this size and no one to help us if we find trouble? Hellfire, I’m not bloody nervous, I’m downright scared and so should you be.” I stopped when I realized Jonesy was laughing at me.

  “Just playing with you, Sharpe, trying to ease the tension.”

  I frowned and pressed my lips together. My belly was fluttering with fear at what may lie ahead; both at sea and after our arrival at Jamaica, assuming we made it. I was not in the mood for jokes and as I gazed at the lulling waves my mind drifted back in time. Heavens, it must be ten years since, and yet seems like yesterday—a part of me I’ll never forget and will always regret.

  *

  “Henry.”

  I turned at the shout, searching the crowd for her. A pale arm waved above the sea of hats and bonnets. Elizabeth. I pushed through the throng. I’d found her.

  She stepped into my arms and I held her close, aware of the faint swell of her belly against mine, then buried my face into her mass of curls. I’d been distraught when she had disappeared and had inte
rrogated the other maids and servants to finally find the truth. My father, the Earl of Shirehampton, on discovering our affair and Elizabeth’s condition, had arranged passage to the New World. He would not countenance the thought of the next Lord Rowleston being the father of a kitchen maid’s bastard at seventeen years of age.

  “I thought I’d never see you again.”

  “I couldn’t let you go without saying farewell.”

  She pulled away from me, a look of horror and despair marring her delicate features. “Farewell? You’re . . . you’re not coming with me?”

  I took hold of her hands.” I can’t, you know that. My father, the estate . . .”

  She pulled her hands away. “What about me? What about our child? You told me you loved me, that you’d never forsake me.”

  I hung my head in shame. “I do love you, Elizabeth, I do. But I have a duty to my father and family name. When he’s gone, then I’ll be free. I’ll come and find you. Keep our child safe and I’ll find you.”

  She stared at me, her large beautiful eyes full of pain. She did not believe me.

  I fished in my pocket and pulled out a necklace. A large amethyst teardrop hung from a fine chain. I opened the clasp and held it up to her. She did not move. I fastened it around her neck. She did not take her eyes from mine.

  “It was my mother’s.” My fingers brushed the stone now resting on her chest. “The love we share is impossible, but that does not mean it is not true. I love you, Elizabeth, but I have to let you go.”

  Still she did not speak.

  “You’re embarking on a new life, in a new land. You can be anybody you want to be there, in America.”

  A tear fell and caressed her cheek.” I want to be with you. I want to be your wife.”

  “You know that can’t happen. Not here. An earl—even a courtesy earl—and a maid cannot marry in England and have any kind of meaningful life. We would be ridiculed and shunned, our child would have no prospects.”

  Elizabeth hung her head, tears dripping freely now. I pressed a fold of banknotes into her hand, then gripped her shoulders, and planted a kiss on her crown.

  “I’ll never forget you, Elizabeth. Never.”

  She nodded, picked up her valise, turned and was soon lost to me.

  My senses were overcome by the hustle and bustle of the docks, but I stayed where I stood, my feet rooted to the dirty cobbles.

  The mob of humanity thinned as the pilgrims and émigrés boarded the great ship anchored in the River Avon, and which would take them a world away.

  *

  “Standby at the braces.”

  I jumped at the captain’s shout and wondered what was happening. Crew men ran to positions by the tangle of rope that stretched from mast to hull and I glanced ahead with trepidation. The high cliffs sheltering the river were diminishing to nothing and the water was a wholly different color only a cable’s length ahead.

  As sails unfurled, another shout rang out. “Haul to leeward.”

  Sailors released some ropes and hauled on others as the wind hit. Pride of the Orient lurched over a couple of waves, then settled into a new rhythm.

  I joined the rush to the starboard rail, the churning in my belly suddenly too violent to ignore. I swallowed a couple of times, but knew what was coming and emptied the contents of my stomach into the Severn. My wig was whipped off my head and I grabbed for it, knocking Jonesy’s arm. He released his hold and I watched my hair drift alongside for a moment, then it was in our wake and gone. I punched Jonesy’s upper arm in frustration.

  “What the hell, Sharpe?”

  “What do you mean? I thought the wind had taken it, not you, what were you doing?”

  “Trying to save the cleanliness of your curls, mate.”

  “Nice job,” I replied through gritted teeth, “they’re well and truly washed now.”

  “Aye, well, I guess that’s it for Lord Rowleston, ain’t it, Sharpe?”

  I didn’t answer, but hung my head over the side again. I’d worry about the wig later.

  Chapter 7

  Three days later, I lay in my hammock and wondered if I should try to exit it. With Little’s guidance I had managed to get in, but had not yet attempted the reverse procedure.

  I sniffed and groaned. The stench down here was unbelievable; the buckets that served as pisspot, shittenpot and of course vomitpot were nearly full. Jonesy had reckoned, on one of his brief visits, that near a score of my fellow passengers were similarly affected.

  I grabbed the side of the hammock and shifted my weight. I reached the deck a little earlier and harder than I had intended, but I had made it without upsetting the bucket. Good enough; I’d have plenty of time to practice my technique.

  I clambered to my feet and staggered, regained my balance, then fell against the walls. A little foul-smelling liquid slopped out of the bucket and I realized that had been happening for some time.

  I picked the bucket up by its rope handle and held it away from my body as I made my unsteady way to the steep stairs and quickly worked out that balance was easiest to attain with feet planted wide apart with each step.

  A rather awkward, one-handed climb—complete with a little more spillage—later and I was in fresh air. I lifted my face to the breeze and breathed deeply. Heaven. A slight, fresh aroma of salt tingled my nose and taste buds.

  “Sharpe.”

  I turned at Jonesy’s shout and headed toward him. “No! Other rail,” he called and pointed to the other side of the ship.

  “Some daft bugger emptied his bucket to windward,” he said when he joined me. “Emptied t’ bucket into the wind and covered his face and chest, and those of his wife, with the contents!” He laughed, but I grimaced. They would have little chance of being clean again until we made land. Water was a precious commodity aboard ship and there had already been numerous arguments about the amount rationed to drink, even by those who had been suffering from seasickness. There would be no water for washing until the next rainstorm.

  “Good to see you on your feet again, mate.” Jonesy slapped me on the back.

  I groaned. “Have a care, Jonesy, everything’s still a little . . . unsettled.”

  “Oh, sorry.” He stepped back a pace and I grinned.

  “Maybe you need something to take your mind off your belly?” Jonesy added. “That Little and his mates play a mean game of dice.”

  “Maybe later. For now I need fresh air, water and something solid to put in my belly.”

  “Oh, aye, o’course. Sorry, mate, things ’ave been a bit quiet with you laid up.”

  I nodded. “Where’s the kitchen?”

  “Galley, mate, galley. We’re at sea now.”

  I stared around me in surprise. I had been so preoccupied with my stomach I had taken no notice of my surroundings. I turned in a slow circle, amazed.

  “There’s, there’s nothing there,” I told Jonesy.

  “Nope, just sea and sky,” Jonesy replied, indicating the horizon. “Just sea and sky to look at for six weeks.”

  I smiled. I quite liked the sound of that.

  Chapter 8

  “That’s not our dice!”

  “It damn well is,” Jonesy shouted back.

  “No,” Abbots insisted. “Look, it’s bigger than the other.”

  “Are you calling me a blackguard?” Jonesy jumped to his feet as he shouted, and cracked his skull against the deckhead.

  I drew my knife and stabbed it into the wooden barrel top between Little’s fingers.

  “Make one more move toward his or my own coin and you’ll lose a finger,” I warned.

  Little withdrew his hand and Jonesy sat down.

  “You were trying to steal from me?”

  Little shrugged. “You’ve cleared me out, we’ll be sighting Jamaica soon. I’ve a woman there who likes silver.”

  The group of men huddled around the barrel burst into guffaws. I stared at them, then glanced at Jonesy. This hadn’t been one man spotting an opportunity to help himse
lf, but two: Abbots had caused the distraction. I wouldn’t have been surprised if all of them had been in on it. We gathered our coin.

  “Well, I’d like to say it’s been a pleasure, gentlemen, but this game is turning a little sour. It’s time for us to go up on deck for a little . . . fresh air.” Jonesy said, and we stood, stooping to avoid the wood above our heads. We had spent most of the past six weeks down in this dank hole; sweating and stinking, huddled around a barrel doubling as gaming table. Things had been genial up to now; I guessed we were nearing the end of our voyage and the crew wanted back the coin we had won from them as well as that we had carried aboard.

  “Not so fast,” said Whitey, the largest and burliest man of the group. “Little here has made his apologies.”

  I cocked an eyebrow at this.

  “I heard no apology,” I said, “only excuses.”

  “Well, that’s as may be,” Whitey continued, “but apologetic he be, ain’t that right, Little?”

  Little nodded a vigorous assent.

  “We’ve all been mates for the past month or so, there’s no reason to fall out now.”

  “No reason?” Jonesy asked, incredulous. “No reason? We’ve given you ample opportunity to win our coin, you lack the skills to do so and attempted to steal it from us instead!”

  “Law of the sea, mate,” Little muttered, and the rest of the sailors laughed.

  “Aye, on a pirate ship, perhaps,” I said, wincing at the “aye”; a month and a half in the company of Jonesy and the sailors had proved decidedly unhealthy for my linguistic capability.

  The sailors laughed, the tension broken.

  “Land oh. All hands on deck.”

  The shout carried down through the decks to our ears and the men stood, shoveled what coin they had left into their pockets and, with a sarcastic tug of the forelock by Little and a wink from Abbots, they rushed topside.

  I looked at Jonesy, more than a little bewildered. I had been prepared for a fight and suddenly had no adversaries.

  Jonesy shrugged. “We’re here,” he said. “Let’s go have a gander.”