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

by Karen Perkins

  I glanced at Jonesy and smiled in relief. We knew it had been a possibility; they’d run when Morgan had attacked and, by the looks of things, there were even fewer men stationed here today than there had been then.

  “It seems the men of New Spain are not of the same determined breed as their brethren of Old,” Jonesy smirked.

  The longboats landed to no resistance and privateers stormed the castle. Grappling hooks attached to long lines provided easy access to men who had been swarming rigging most of their lives.

  “Come on, we done here,” I said to Jonesy and Billy. We re-gathered the muskets, all reloaded now, thanks to Billy’s nimble fingers, and headed back down to join the others.

  By the time we reached the longboats, there was a steady stream of men returning and clutching prizes: pistols; a Spanish rapier; a tortoiseshell box; a decorative frockcoat. Cheval and his group were with them; they hadn’t bothered with the chase for long.

  We clambered in and pushed off.

  Mighty shoulders, developed through years of hauling hemp and canon, powered the boats through the choppy water and we were back aboard our motherships in moments.

  Hornigold grasped Cheval’s hand. “Well done, mate. That was some shooting up there, you cleared them out faster than rats leaving a sinking prize!”

  Cheval grinned in pleasure, but the men glanced uneasily at each other, then at Jonesy and me. I stayed quiet, knowing the men knew who had the sharp eyes and steady trigger fingers. The captain could be voted out; the crew were the important ones on this ship.

  “Full sail,” Hornigold shouted. “Porto Belo ahoy.”

  The crew cheered and the topmen swarmed to the topyards, forty feet above the deck. Swathes of canvas fell and were hauled in until they bellied with wind. Speed was important now, not stealth.

  We held our breath—and our great guns at the ready—as we approached the town.

  Chapter 19

  The mist had cleared, but sulfurous gun smoke hung over the sheltered harbor, wisping against the sails. Our speed slowed as we approached, the high land sheltering our lower courses from the wind and they flapped as the topsail did its best to drive us forward.

  I was on the maintop with Jonesy, a dozen muskets tied loosely to the mast to prevent them falling, my wig jammed tightly to my head. Our sharpshooting duties had not yet resumed though; for the moment we were simply lookouts.

  Jerónimo was still ablaze; its smoke our companion on our slow drift toward Porto Belo. I glanced at Jonesy, his eyes were red raw and streaming and I blinked and wiped my own to peer through the shifting, stinking tendrils.

  A shape became more distinct as we neared. I squinted; large and rectangular, it could only be one thing.

  “Gun battery off our larboard bow,” I cried loudly enough for the men on deck to hear.

  “Ready your guns,” Hornigold ordered in response.

  I glanced over at Edelweiss, just behind and to larboard. As the wind had lightened, the larger, heavier ship had slowed and the light, maneuverable Freyja had crept ahead to lead the way.

  I jumped as the sound of a cannon reverberated around the harbor and the hills surrounding it. The battery may be small, but it was armed and manned.

  Edelweiss swung slowly to starboard, presenting her broadside to the stone rampart, and Freyja followed suit.

  We both flung broadside after broadside at them; upwards of twenty ball every three minutes from the two vessels.

  Their return fire was sporadic and I realized they only had men for three or four guns. I thought back; those Spaniards hadn’t fled Santiago’s Glory, they’d retreated here. And Cheval had let them run!

  I glanced down at the deck and spotted him at Hornigold’s right hand, strutting around the quarterdeck with his captain, relaying orders to the gunners. I was tempted to pick up one of the muskets and shoot him myself. Jonesy stayed my hand before I even realized I’d reached out for a weapon.

  “Not worth it, Sharpe mate, you’d only end up hanged or worse.”

  I glanced up at him in surprise. He raised his eyebrows and I realized my thoughts had been clear on my face. I’d have to take more care over that.

  Freyja rolled under the force of another broadside and we both grabbed the mast and each other to steady ourselves. The maintop was a four-by-four-foot wooden platform at the height of the mainyard; thirty feet above deck, and precarious at the best of times, never mind in the midst of a gun battle.

  “If he’d chased down those Spaniards, or let us go after them, those guns would be silent,” I told Jonesy angrily.

  “You don’t know that; men from the town itself could be manning them.”

  “The fat, rich merchants? Has the sun addled your wits? They wouldn’t have the strength to bring one of those guns to bear.”

  Jonesy shrugged and I sighed in exasperation. He was right. It didn’t matter who was loading and setting a match to them, we could do nothing about it now bar fight back.

  “We’re drifting closer, let’s see if we can pick some of these buggers off,” Jonesy said, handing me a loaded musket.

  I steadied myself against the mast, swayed with Freyja’s motion over the waves, and paid attention to the rhythm of the gunners below. Freyja’s reaction to their powder going off was more than enough to disturb my aim.

  A broadside exploded and Freyja heeled to starboard. I pressed against the mast, waiting for her to level out and settle. I kept my eye trained on my mark, a man in red and white standing behind the closest cannon wedged into the small castellation. I squeezed my trigger, but missed. The range was still too great. Then he fell as another musket fired and Jonesy cheered. “Hah. I beat you to a shot, mate! What’s wrong, your hands atremble?”

  I turned to face him, his hands aloft holding the musket like a trophy. “Lucky sh—” I broke off as another broadside fired below us.

  Jonesy’s face turned from elation to terror. He dropped the musket, arms waving to find some purchase. I grabbed the mast with one hand and lunged, but was too late. My grasping fingers found only air.

  Jonesy’s scream was cut off by a thump and I stared down at his broken body on the deck below. Hornigold and Cheval rushed to him and bent over him, then straightened and looked up at me. He was dead.

  I squinted. Is Cheval grinning?

  I rubbed my eyes of smoke, but he had turned away and I could no longer see his face.

  I glanced up at a cheer from Edelweiss and noticed her jibs in tatters and her bowsprit missing, then I turned my gaze to the gun battery and saw the reason for their elation. It had crumbled. Porto Belo and her treasures were defenseless.

  Chapter 20

  The guns silenced and a hush filled the air along with more gun smoke. I slowly made my way down the ratlins, terrified of what I’d find on deck.

  A circle of men had formed around Jonesy and I pushed my way through as Hornigold shouted for the boats to be launched. I knelt in a vacated space and lifted Jonesy’s head, then dropped it in recoil at the grinding, squelching noise my action had produced. He would not draw breath again.

  “Sharpe,” a voice shouted loudly enough to raise me from my contemplation of my friend’s visage. “To the boats. Quick, man!”

  “Oh leave ’im, Capitaine, ’e’s no use to man nor beast shedding tears over ’is mate. Leave ’im to keep ship,” Cheval called. “Look at ’im, you’d think ’im a spinster who’d lost ’er last chance at an ’usband!” He laughed and a couple of his cronies joined in, then the deck cleared and I was alone with Jonesy.

  “I’m so sorry, my friend, so sorry,” I whispered, stroking his hair away from his face. “You joined me to find new life, only to find death.”

  I stayed, kneeling in his blood for some time, then rose and made my way below decks. I pulled at the securing lines of his Brazilian bed and the canvas fell to the deck. I gathered it up and made my way to the closest sail locker for needle and twine, then hefted my load back up the ladder to the topdeck.

  I
laid the canvas out alongside Jonesy and carefully, painstakingly, shifted his body across until he lay on his bed, careful to straighten his legs, his arms, his neck. Next, I placed a 6lb ball at his feet for ballast then sewed the edges of his shroud together, enclosing him in canvas; up to his knees, thighs, belly.

  “Damn and blast,” I exclaimed, the sound of my own voice startling me as I jabbed the thick needle into the pad of my thumb. Blood, mixed with tears I’d been unaware of, dripped onto the canvas and I continued to sew.

  I tugged the canvas hard to wrap it around his shoulders, the two edges only just meeting, and secured it tightly. Now only his face was visible: pale, with bloodstains creeping across his skin. I stared at him a minute; two; five; then folded the bloody canvas over and finished my task. My hands, arms and knees were soaked in blood; both mine and his. I knotted the twine for the final time, cut it and whispered a final prayer over his corpse. “Sleep well, my friend, sleep well.”

  Chapter 21

  An explosion from the shore dragged my attention away from my shrouded mate and I made my way forward. I squinted toward the town and held my breath against the stink of the exposed mud a couple of hundred yards ahead. Hours had passed whilst I’d knelt over Jonesy and the tide was going out quickly; my shipmates would have to hurry or we’d be stranded here until the next tide’s flood.

  I glanced across at Edelweiss; with her deeper draught she was anchored further out, but I didn’t know how far the tide ebbed here. I was pleased to see they had rigged up a replacement bowsprit—no doubt a spare mainyard—she’d be able to make sail at least.

  Another gunshot echoed from the town and I turned my attention landward again. At least half the seafront warehouses were ablaze. I could see no Spaniards, only privateers firing into the air, dragging chests, clutching leather bags full of booty, and whooping and hollering as they brought Hell to Porto Belo in their quest for gold.

  I loaded one of the 2lb rail guns and fired to catch the attention of the sailors. Gold, Spanish brandy, and no doubt Spanish women had taken their minds and hearts far from any shipboard concerns. They needed reminding. We had no idea if any of the Spanish soldiers had gone for reinforcements; we could not tarry and be caught here till the next tide with no means of escape.

  After a second shot from the rail gun, I saw the men drift toward the boats and I stood unmoved—no pity, no horror, no delight—and waited for the boats to return. I turned my attention back to Jonesy. Soon the decks would be heaving with gold-rich, besotted privateers. This would be my last chance to pay quiet respects to my fallen friend.

  *

  I got back to my feet as the first boat arrived at the ship. Hornigold was first aboard, followed by a young woman. No, still a girl, I thought.

  “The customs house was empty. Goddammit. That’s Tarr for you—always bloody tardy. But there were plenty of spoils if you knew where to look, and I’ve found a beauty!” He dragged the girl closer to him and she cringed away, although kept her composure I noted, impressed. Young with long, dark, curly hair, piercing eyes and a defiant cast to the set of her jaw, she reminded me a little of Erik van Ecken’s new wife, Gabriella, but I pushed those thoughts out of mind. I could not, would not, think of her. I had met her two months before, just after meeting Morgan. Freyja had been dispatched to Massachusetts Bay to bring her to Sayba and her marriage. She’d had a spirit I’d admired on that passage, and had managed to hold onto it despite her wedding. I doubted it would last much longer.

  “Oui, plenty of gold too,” Cheval chimed in. “The treasure fleet may ’ave sailed, but they spent a lot of coin ’ere first!” He held up a heavy pouch, bulging no doubt with silver rather than the gold he claimed.

  “Ah. What do we have here?” He crossed to Jonesy’s body. “So you’ve been paying respects to the dead while we’ve been at work making profit? Where’s the sense in that? You fool, ’e’s gone, ’e can’t ’elp you now.” He kicked Jonesy and I leapt at him, but was stilled by screams. The girl. She was staring at the bloody shroud, then at me, still screaming. I looked down at myself. I was covered in blood and saw myself as she no doubt did: a murderous devil, my attire reflecting the color of the flag at our masthead.

  I held out my hand in a placating gesture, but Hornigold shook her and threw her to the deck. “Blast thee, girl! Avast that infernal noise.”

  She stopped and Hornigold grinned in relief. He clearly hadn’t seen the fire in her eyes, the hate that burned there as she regarded him.

  I pulled myself up to my full height, squared my shoulders, and glared at my captain, thankful that I wore my wig for any battle or foray ashore. It reminded me of my old life, the man I had been—Lord Rowleston, the Earl of Shirehampton—and brought me the authority my title and position bestowed, even aboard a privateer vessel.

  His gaze flickered under my stare and I knew that was my cue. “What are you doing with her?”

  “Whatever I like and it’s none of your damn concern, Sharpe!”

  I raised my eyebrows and paused before I spoke. “Anything that occurs aboard this boat is Tarr’s concern, and as his agent and nephew, it is therefore mine. No women aboard Edelweiss or Freyja, it’s in the articles you signed, as you know well.”

  “Bah. Hellfire on the articles, she’s a spoil of war. Anyway, she won’t be aboard long, just time enough for us all to enjoy her, then she’s shark food!”

  A handful of men cheered at this and I stared at them, noting who had given their approval to this course of action. Cheval, of course, Prince, Savage and half a dozen others. I glared at them each in turn and they quietened.

  “We are under license from King Charles, we do nothing to dishonor his name, nor will I allow you to sully the reputation of my uncle!”

  “Well, we’re under Morgan’s license, anyroad.” Hornigold laughed and I narrowed my eyes at him, but I let the comment pass. I glanced down at the girl, she was my concern now; if I did not save her, I would truly become the devil she thought I was.

  “Put her ashore, Hornigold.”

  “No. Who the blazes do you think you are to give me, the captain, orders?”

  “Lord Rowleston-Sharpe, nephew of your commander. I take my orders from him, not you,” I sneered. “And you’d do well to take heed.”

  Hornigold opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The deck was shrouded in silence as the Freyjamen waited to see who would win this battle of wills. Even the girl was silent, glancing between myself and Hornigold from her position on the deck.

  Freyja lurched slightly and a shout rose up, “Captain. The tide! If we don’t go now we’ll be stuck in this infernal, stinking mud.”

  “Slip the anchor,” Hornigold shouted, but not before I saw a flash of relief pass over his eyes. “Set the jibs and topsail, get us away from this hellhole!”

  Men ran to do his bidding, Little giving me a nod as he passed, blade drawn to cut the anchor line. More ran to mast and sheet to set sail, while others pushed us out to sea on the next wave with long boathooks. Sinking into the mud with every thrust, they were of little more use than none, but we needed every inch to escape.

  I glanced over to Edelweiss, worried about her larger hull, but she was already free of her anchor and setting sail. I furrowed my brow, wondering why she was towing the one ship we hadn’t sunk in this harbor, then transferred my attention back to Hornigold.

  He turned back to me in triumph. “No one’s going ashore now, Sharpe, you can show her to my cabin to wait until I’m ready for her.”

  “No.”

  He stared at me, but I could sense he was intimidated. I had not forgotten that flash of relief when we’d been interrupted earlier, and knew he was terrified of Uncle Richard, however much bravado he showed in his presence. He could not punish me in the way he would any other member of his crew; Tarr would have him keelhauled, and he knew it. Tarr had been very clear that I was aboard as his agent, to ensure obedience to the commander of our little fleet. The only recourse Hornigold had was
to challenge me to a duel, but he knew well, as did every other man aboard, that he was no match for my skill with blade or pistol.

  He glanced around. Every man was busy, no one had heard my refusal except himself and Cheval. I stared at the Frenchman; he would feel my ire soon. I would not let his kick to Jonesy go unpunished, but for now I had to protect the living.

  “She stays with me and we will take the second cabin.”

  Hornigold smirked and the girl stared at me in disgust.

  “No man, including myself, will touch you unless you permit it,” I told her. She stared at me a moment, then nodded. I turned my attention back to Hornigold. “Any man touches her, I will gut him, do you understand?”

  He moved his head; barely perceptible, but it was a nod nonetheless.

  “But that’s my cabin,” Cheval whined.

  “Not anymore, Quartermaster, we have a guest,” Hornigold said without looking at him.

  I nodded to the captain and held my hand out to the girl. She hesitated, then took it and allowed me to help her to her feet. I offered her my arm, which she also took, then I led her aft to the hatch and the cabins below.

  “Get that lump of meat off my decks.”

  My step faltered at Hornigold’s command, but I didn’t stop. I had already spoken the appropriate words over Jonesy, paid my respects, and said my goodbyes.

  “What’s your name, girl?” I asked as a distant part of me registered the splash of Jonesy’s journey to his final resting place.

  “Magdalena.”

  Chapter 22

  I ushered Magdalena into the cabin and told her to make herself comfortable.

  “What do wi’ me?” She stood tall, chin jutting out, fire in her eyes, despite her broken English.

  “Calm yourself, no harm will come to you whilst you are under my protection.”