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

by Karen Perkins

  I stared into the flames. The sorrow of the past three days had been superseded by the revelry of the rum punch, and my men were now celebrating life. I counseled myself to let them; the work on Freedom was nearly done, and we were safe here. I knew I had to let them work off the tension of the fight and our losses, but their laughter set my teeth on edge.

  “Here, Leo.” Frazer handed me a chunk of pork from the spit. “Eat.”

  I took it, only now aware of the smell of roasting pig. I bit into the warm flesh, suddenly ravenous, and realized I hadn’t eaten all day. I tried to smile at Frazer in thanks, and refilled our rumpots.

  “To Magdalena,” I toasted.

  “Magdalena,” he repeated, and we drank. I stared into the fire again.

  “What now?” Frazer asked.

  I looked at him in surprise, what did he think was next?

  “Blake and Hornigold,” I said.

  “Why? Magdalena’s dead, we can’t achieve anything and will only lose more men. We’d do better going after gold.”

  “They have to pay.”

  Frazer nodded, but said no more. I felt myself angering.

  “They’ll be coming for us now in retribution for Tarr. I want to be hunter, not prey.” My voice was growing louder despite my efforts to keep calm. He nodded again and I took a deep breath. “If they saved Edelweiss, Blake’ll be ashore somewhere making repairs; likely at Sayba if he could make it, and that’s too well defended to attack with only one ship.” I tried to keep my temper under control. “We’ll go after Hornigold and Freyja first, save Blake for last. Losing first Tarr then Hornigold will— Mierda!”

  Cheval, my second mate, stumbled into me. My meat and rum went flying and I got a face full of sand. I leapt to my feet, cutlass drawn.

  “Have a care, Second!” I snarled.

  “Pardon, Capitaine, pardon.” He laughed, and the sight of his grinning face—not a face I was particularly fond of—was too much.

  “Not good enough,” I shouted, and held my cutlass up in challenge.

  He backed off, waving his hands.

  “Non, non, Capitaine, it was an accident, no ’arm intended.”

  I didn’t believe him. He’d been nothing but trouble since he’d come aboard, and I was sure he’d done this on purpose to challenge me. I wanted to kill him.

  “You kicked sand in my face, Second.” I drew my blade.

  He stopped laughing and drew his cutlass. He was all business now, and we slowly circled each other, ringed by my Freedom Fighters.

  I lunged, my rage making me reckless, but he danced out of my way. I realized I’d lose this fight if I didn’t get a hold of myself. I backed off a few paces and took a deep breath. I needed to stay calm and concentrate on his eyes and his sword arm. I stepped to my left again and he followed, his eyes never leaving my face.

  I’d learned the skills of a swordsman as a young man, but they had no bearing here. This wasn’t a duel between gentlemen for honor. This was about killing, and Cheval had learned his skills aboard buccaneer ships. I’d seen him in action and knew his style was brutal and effective. He lunged at me, his blade hacking at my throat. I dodged and knocked the steel away. He didn’t pause, and immediately thrust the tip of his blade toward my chest. I jumped backwards and fell, then kicked out to bring him down to the beach. I leaped to my feet and held my blade to his throat, ready to finish it.

  “Captain, he’s not worth it,” Frazer’s calm voice interrupted. I looked at him, then at the silent circle of faces around me. “Save it for Blake and Hornigold.”

  “Oui, Blake and ’Ornigold,” Cheval said. “You know I used to sail with them, I know their tactics—you need me.”

  I looked at him, then again at my men. I nicked the flesh at the base of his throat—first blood—and tucked the cutlass back into my sash. I recognized the real danger of the situation. If I killed a member of my own crew, even Cheval, for something so trivial, I’d lose my captaincy. Many pirate captains, including the late Captain Tarr, kept command through fear and killing anyone who stepped out of line. I wouldn’t follow his example, and had promised the crew as much when I first took command. Cheval knew it.

  “You make a good point there, Second. Fill the rumpots, Frazer, the night’s still young!”

  The watching crew relaxed and emptied what was left in their beakers ready for a refill. I bent down to Cheval, offering him a hand up.

  “And Second? You need to be more careful, do you understand me?”

  Cheval’s smile faltered and he nodded. I saw a different look in his eyes, though, and knew I’d have to watch my back. This had been no accident—he’d chosen his moment with care. He wanted my ship.

  I withdrew my hand and left him where he was—lying prostrate on the sand.

  Chapter 16

  LEO

  17th March 1686

  Six Leagues West-Northwest of Sayba

  I watched the large red square of silk unfurl through my telescope. Another bloody flag. Like his dead master, Tarr, Captain Edward Hornigold offered no quarter. He would only stop killing when we were all dead or sworn to his own crew, and my ship his prize. I slammed the telescope shut hard enough to sting my hands, took a deep breath, and checked the sails. Sound of Freedom was bigger than Hornigold’s twin-masted boat, Freyja, and I had most of my canvas flying. Above the sails, I flew the red-and-white Cross of Burgundy and would not show my true colors until the fight had begun. Hornigold had of course seen Freedom when I’d killed Tarr, but that had been six months ago and at a distance. I was hoping he wouldn’t recognize me until it was too late. My best chance was to take him by surprise.

  I’d searched for Hornigold ever since we’d left La Isla Magdalena, but with only rough charts and no way of finding longitude, it had been a frustrating hunt. El infierno, latitude was hard enough to find on the moving deck of a ship, and if I did place us on the right line of parallel, the actual position of even the best navigator could easily be twenty leagues out. A poor navigator could be anywhere. It was difficult enough to work out where we were, never mind another ship, especially a ship more used to being the hunter than the prey. But there he was, finally, almost in range of my guns, and rage flashed through me. I was so close to avenging my family. At last, he was right there; but I had to calm down. Hornigold was an English buccaneer and had been fighting and killing at sea for at least twenty years. I’d only sailed as a pirate for two, but that was long enough to know that rage would not win me this fight.

  Calmer now, I looked aft at the Magdalena. A small single-masted sloop, we’d taken her a couple of months ago, and she sailed under Frazer’s command in convoy with Freedom. She chased us with black flag flying, and I hoped this would convince Hornigold that Freedom was a helpless merchantman fleeing from a pirate attack; a rich prize ripe for the taking. The Magdalena would be no match for Freyja, and I was sure Hornigold would not be able to resist taking the prize from the smaller pirate boat. I took another deep breath and watched Freyja sail on.

  “Yes!” He changed course, toward and just ahead of us. He’d fallen for it. He was coming.

  Now that my initial rage on seeing him had fallen away, nerves fluttered at my belly. This was it. Even with two ships and surprise on our side, this would be the fight of my life. Yes, I’d managed to kill Tarr, but I’d lost too many lives in the process.

  Another deep breath. This was not the time to think of the people I mourned. I had to keep my head clear and my heart closed. I looked at the men on deck and in the rigging; each of their lives rested on my shoulders. I had to get each one of them through this alive and in one piece. And kill Hornigold.

  *

  I’d hidden most of my crew below the bulwarks on the topdeck, and had my cannon hauled in where they couldn’t be seen through Hornigold’s telescope. On the deck below, the gunports stayed closed and sealed, and I shivered. I imagined the men crouched in the dark around their guns and powder, unable to see the enemy they knew was out there. It wasn’t
going to be easy to get all the guns run out and fired at the same time, but I had to wait until the last minute if I was going to fool the Englander.

  Too soon, Hornigold’s own ports opened, the muzzles of his own guns peeked out through the wooden planks. He fired a warning shot at my bows, just missing the sails. I held my nerve a fraction longer before giving the order to break ports. I turned Freedom and presented my starboard side to the buccaneer, shouting, “Fire”, as soon as I judged my guns had a chance of hitting my target. At my mainmast, the Spanish Cross of Burgundy dropped, and my real colors, a square of plain black silk to match Magdalena’s, flew in its place. I did offer quarter to any ship that asked for it.

  We were quick, but Freyja was quicker and she scored a direct hit, shattering Sound of Freedom’s hull amidships and sending lethal splinters like newly sharpened knives up to a foot long scything amongst my gunners below.

  “Reload! Fire!” I shouted, hearing my commands echo down the deck and through the open scuttle to the gundeck below. Yes! Direct hit! We caught her stern and her aft-quarter bulwark—with any luck she’d be having difficulty steering.

  Full of excitement, I screamed, “Load the chain shot! Go for her rigging!”

  I flinched as my starboard side shattered not three paces away, then I heard yet more gunfire. It was too soon for Freyja to have reloaded after only just hitting us. Magdalena had joined the fight with her smaller guns and was pummeling Freyja’s stern and rudder, trying to disable her and leave her adrift. I laughed out loud, imagining Hornigold’s frustration at having to fight two vessels.

  “Chain shot—aim for the masts!” I shouted again to my men, knowing full well they couldn’t hear me over the combined roar of cannon, wind and flogging sail. More balls exploded from my cannon, and I saw most of them find a passage into or through Freyja and her canvas. We were close now, and I could see Hornigold on his quarterdeck shouting and stamping his foot. His blood-red flag dropped in defeat.

  We’d done it; he was no match for the two of us. My ship was bigger than his, and so were my guns. The Magdalena was smaller and faster. Working together we were unbeatable, and Hornigold knew it. We’d sprung our trap and caught him; he wasn’t going anywhere now. I looked across at my bo’sun, Blackman, who was ready to board, grapnel in hand, as soon as we got close enough to jump. I laughed at the grin lighting up his dark face.

  “Get ready, nearly there,” I called to the growing group of men at the rail. “And remember, Hornigold’s mine. No one touches that murdering cabrón but me!”

  The next thing I knew I was knocked to my knees by a sudden, violent heel of the deck. The wind was getting up fast, and I had far too much sail flying. I’d made a possibly fatal mistake and taken my eye off the sky.

  *

  I jumped up, saw Freyja bearing away and drove my fist into the rail. Hornigold had the advantage of facing upwind and I spun round myself to see what the wind gods were bringing down on us, then cursed. Targeting Freyja’s rigging had done Hornigold a favor by downing most of his canvas, and we’d failed to destroy her rudder. He’d seen what was coming and had fooled me into thinking I’d won to give himself a chance of escape.

  “Mierda! Secure the guns and lay aloft. Topgallant and fore-topsail in, now. Now!” I bellowed. Hornigold had a reprieve, and I had two shipfuls of men in the path of a massive towering black cloud; a great anvil larger by far than anything seen in a blacksmith’s nightmare, and ready to drop its full wrath of fire and water down on us. Sheets loosed and men swarmed aloft to battle canvas for their lives in the sudden torrential rain.

  I bore off to keep the wind safely behind us and looked ahead, but Hornigold was already out of sight in the stormy gloom. I looked up, anxious, and watched the topgallant sail at the top of the mainmast being slowly dragged up to its wooden yard. It was slow work at the best of times, and now the canvas had a mind of its own in the wildly shifting winds of a gathering squall. It tore at skin, whipped exposed faces and bodies with its attendant lines, and threatened the hands that attempted to tame it with a fast and lethal drop to the deck. Even as I thought the words I saw a man fall, catch a footrope below him and make his way back up the mast to re-join the fight with the heavy, lashing canvas as if nothing had happened. I looked again to windward and watched in disbelief and dread as the front of the anvil bulged, then stretched a long narrow finger down to the sea—a rare and terrifying sight at the best of times, and one I’d hoped never to see.

  I did not want to be touched by that finger, but there seemed to be nothing I could do. The topgallant was only half in, and the lower courses ducked up—by hauling the foot of the sails up to the yard like that they would spill all their wind—but the fore-topsail was still full. Freedom had heeled so far over her decks were awash, and I had no steerage. I had to get her under control and stop her corkscrewing around into the wind or we were sunk. We were surrounded by squall clouds and lightning. We had nowhere to go.

  I lashed the useless tiller and waded forward, grabbing men and putting them on the topsail braces as I went. If we could force the yards around and knock the wind out of the sails we’d have a chance. It was going to take too long to do things properly, and I was not ready for San Antonio’s graveyard yet. I still had a debt to settle with both Hornigold and Blake.

  I lent my weight to the forebrace, and shouted a fast heaving chant as we dragged the topyard and sail around, fighting for every inch. Then, with a tremendous boom, we fell to the flooded deck. The sail had blown out of its boltropes and was flung across the sky. I watched in disbelief as it was sucked into the waterspout and disappeared.

  “On your feet! Get to the main-topbrace!”

  It was a bit drastic, but to be honest we could do with losing the main-topsail as well—we could always steal another one. We were riding a little flatter, our heel not quite so dangerous with the loss of the sail, but we were still a long way from safe. I pushed my crew aft and went back to the tiller—hopefully she’d be a bit more responsive now with reduced sail. There was no way to outrun a waterspout, but maybe we could dodge it.

  I thought again of Hornigold and Freyja, and wondered at their fate. We’d given her stern a pretty good hammering. If her steering was compromised in this wind she was likely to be going down. I was disappointed, and suddenly furious. No! He had to survive, I had to see him die, and I had to tell him why. His death had to be at my hand.

  Chapter 17

  The topgallant was finally in—although so bellied it would throw a deluge of water onto the decks when it was reset—and the main-topsail was coming round nicely. Thankfully we’d done enough and Freedom was responding to her helm again.

  I pushed her bows to larboard, knowing I could trust my crew to adjust the sails accordingly. With a newer crew we might have gone down, but most of us had sailed together long enough now for each to know what the other would do in almost any situation.

  It was difficult to see clearly; the sky was so dark it could have been night, and but for the bright, violent flashes, we may have had no vision at all. The nearest shelter was Sayba, but sheer cliffs, rocks and English buccaneers meant there was no sanctuary for us there. Although I knew that if Hornigold had survived, that was most likely where he was bound.

  “Captain! Captain Santiago!” I only just heard the frightened shout and looked up to see balls of fire dancing around the masts and yards, lighting the men still hard at work up there. Knowing this was a sign the storm was abating, I looked anxiously to the finger of water still chasing us. Is it shrinking? Or is that wishful thinking?

  The sky lit up again in a blinding flash to show, for a brief second, the spiraling sea ridged with waves around us, before plunging us back into darkness. Is that a ship behind us near the waterspout? I couldn’t tell, but I thought I had an impression of canvas. If so, who was it? Hornigold? Or the Magdalena? There was nothing I could do but wait for the next flash—there! Yes, the Magdalena, I was sure of it. Only the one mast—although I immediately r
ealized it could be the larger vessel partially dismasted. Whoever it was, that deadly finger was almost upon them and, even if it was our sister ship, there was nothing we could do but strain eyes and ears to learn her fate. Another flash lit the sky, smaller and yellow. A cannon.

  “She’s trying to break it, Capitaine! She’s shooting the waterspout!” an excited Cheval shouted just behind me. “The ball should break it up, I’ve seen it done before!”

  It was getting easier to see now, and yes, it was definitely the Magdalena, the waterspout almost upon her, then . . . then . . . what?

  Cheval cheered, shouting out that the ball had worked. I was skeptical, but I couldn’t deny it, the spout had broken and turned into a harmless mist. I gave the order to bear round further to larboard. The immediate danger had passed and, although still blowing hard, so had the worst of the squall. But I was concerned for the Magdalena. Have her men survived? I kept my eyes on the patch of water where I’d last seen her—there! She’s still there!

  Only just, though. Her mast had gone, her canvas was spread over the sea and she was low in the water. She might still be above the waves, but she wouldn’t last long. We had to get to her and her men quickly.

  “Duck down the main clews, get that mainsail pulling again!” I shouted. We had to get closer, and I could only hope that we’d be in time.

  *

  The curtain of rain drew back and the wind was definitely dropping off, but it still had some teeth. I could hear the roar of the mainsail as it filled and felt the deck beneath my feet surge forward. I gave the helm to Cheval and Thomas, and went forward to commend the men who had kept us afloat—especially the topmen—and got as many hands on the pumps as they would take. We had a sizable hole starboard amidships and were making water. We weren’t in danger of sinking, yet, but there was far too much water coming aboard as we battled through the enormous waves the squall had stirred up. We had to get it out faster than it was coming in, or we’d be of no use to the men in the Magdalena; I could now see she was going down fast.