The Time Pirate

by Ted Bell

  Just as Nick reached his new friend, he heard the ship’s bell strike seven bells in the middle watch—half past three in the morning.

  There was a tremendous amount of work to be done aboard Revenge before the burning red sun rose above the eastern horizon.

  “Below now, sir?” Nick asked.

  “Below.”

  Nick followed the Marquis, knife in hand, as he dashed across the quarterdeck, descended the starboard staircase into the dark bowels of the ship and the great after-cabin of Captain Blood.

  44

  “YOU’RE IN A PICKLE, CAPTAIN BLOOD!”

  Blood was out cold. He could have passed for a snuffed candle, save for his snoring and snorting like a wounded bull. Mouth agape, unconscious upon the velvet-cushioned banquette that curved under the great stern windows, dead to the world.

  Nick could see pale starlight shimmering on the wine dark sea beyond those mullioned windows. The brightness of the sky made him worry for Valois. The young lieutenant’s mission was vital. Risky enough on a dark night but extraordinarily dangerous under the glow of a scattering of stars. To slip unseen through the huge fleet, going from ship to ship planting bombs was not work for the unlucky or the faint-hearted.

  Valois would need luck indeed, bags of the stuff.

  “Nicholas,” Lafayette whispered, “I will need something to bind the captain’s wrists and ankles to these posts. A bit of line would be ideal, but belts, scarves, anything will do. Look in his wardrobe, quickly.”

  Nick opened the twin doors of the large piece of mahogany furniture and found it full to overflowing with every kind of frippery and finery. Blood was famous for his fanciful manner of dress, and there were many silken scarves to choose from. Nick grabbed a handful.

  “Here, sir, I hope these will do.”

  “Perfect. Bind his ankles tightly to the post. Use two or three scarves. I’ll do the same with his wrists.”

  Lafayette held his dagger clenched in his teeth as he bound Blood’s hands. Should the madman awaken, he’d find a knife at his throat before he could summon help.

  “Secure at that end, is he?” Lafayette asked. “He is, sir.”

  “Fetch that jug of water on his worktable, please. It’s time our fearsome Captain Blood woke up to reality.”

  Nick did as asked, and the marquis upended the brimming silver carafe, dousing Blood’s face with a torrent of cold water. Sputtering and cursing, he came fast awake. “What? What? Who—dares—?” he said, slurring his words. Still drunk, Nick thought, but he’d get over that in a hurry.

  “Silence, if you please, Captain,” Lafayette ordered, placing the dagger’s tip to Blood’s throat and adding, “Do I make my point, sir?”

  “Aarrrgh,” mumbled Blood.

  Then, to Nick, Lafayette said, “Light a lantern, Nick, so that the captain might better see his current predicament.”

  Nick found the lantern match and lit the oil lamp suspended above Blood’s head.

  “Allow me to introduce myself, Captain Blood. I am Marie-Joseph-Paul-Yves-Roch-Gilbert du Motier. Also known as le Marquis de Lafayette. But you may simply address me by rank. General Lafayette. But speak softly, I warn you, or you’ll speak no more.”

  “I’ll have yer bloody head, you French dog,” Blood said through clenched teeth. You could see murder in the pirate’s eyes, but when he went for Lafayette’s throat, he encountered the multicolored silk scarves that bound his hands to the post. Next, trying to lash out with his legs, he noticed the same problem with his ankles.

  Blood writhed in frustration, twisting, thrashing, and straining against his unforgiving bonds. “You!” he hissed. Catching sight of Nick’s hated face in the flickering lamplight, his face darkened to a deep, furious scarlet. Just the sight of his eternal nemesis aboard his ship was more than he could take. Nick thought Blood looked like he might have a seizure. Maybe even pop an artery or two.

  “You damnable boy! Back again, are ye? You tricked me well in Port Royal, aye. But I’ll cut out yer lyin’ young tongue and spit on yer bleeding grave afore I’m finished with ye.”

  “A pleasure to see you again as well, Captain,” Nick said, bowing slightly from the waist.

  “You’re in a pickle, Captain Blood,” Lafayette said calmly. “And I’ll warrant there’s but one way out of it for you.”

  “Say what yer after and get off my ship or I’ll—”

  “You’ll what, sir?”

  “Call my guards and have you both strung by yer scrawny necks from the highest yardarm.”

  “Your guards, you say? Dead or dead drunk, I’m afraid. Including those two sleepy laggards you’d posted outside your door. They went peacefully enough under the knife, though. Died in their sleep.”

  Some of the fight went out of him then. He realized his situation was dire and said, “Name your price. What do you want of me, Frenchman?”

  “Your ship, sir, the Revenge.”

  “My ship? You’re mad.”

  “Actually, I’m not,” Lafayette said, pulling his pistol from his waistband and placing the muzzle between Blood’s bloodshot eyes. “You shall do exactly as I tell you to do, and perhaps I’ll show you mercy. But hesitate or show duplicity, and it’s a lead ball to your pickled brain, Captain Blood. Tell me: Do we understand each other?”

  “Aye. Get on with it, then. Speak yer piece.”

  “In addition to four of my best gun crews, even now preparing your own cannon for firing, a large number of my most seasoned marines now await me on your main deck. Crack shots, all heavily armed, muskets, pistols, pikes. They will accompany you and me on a search from one end of this ship to the other, beginning in the crew quarters.

  “Search as you please. Ye’ll find no booty aboard Revenge.”

  “It’s not your treasure we seek. You will order your entire crew to peacefully throw down their arms lest you be killed where you stand. When this is accomplished, when all your crew’s weapons are heaved overboard, you will then order your men to move peaceably into the largest of the for’ard holds. There the entire crew shall remain under guard, lock, and key for the duration of the coming action. Any attempt at resistance will result in instant death for you and them. Is this all quite clear, Captain?”

  “Aye,” Blood said, and Lafayette studied him carefully. He was no buffoon and would require constant vigilance.

  “Cut him loose,” Lafayette said to Nick. Nick pulled out his bone-handled knife and sliced through the bonds he’d tied with one swipe. He then moved to free the hands, and Blood saw the knife in Nick’s hand.

  “Me own knife, you cursed little bugger. Where did you get it?”

  “You stuck a ransom note to my door with it once. At the lighthouse on Greybeard Island. I’ve had it ever since.”

  “Stuck it in me bloody leg in that melee aboard Mystère in 1805, didn’t ye?”

  “I was obliged to. You were about to kill my friend Lord Hawke.”

  “Only a matter of time afore I do kill him. Now, cut me loose, damn yer hide, boy, and let’s be done with this.”

  “General,” Nick said, “begging your pardon, sir, but you should know that Captain Blood here is in possession of a second Tempus Machina, identical to my own. Now would be an ideal time to relieve him of it.”

  “Is what the boy says true?”

  “Aye, but you’ll not get it from me. I’ll die afore I give it up. A warning to you both. Should I die, my mate, Snake Eye, will use the orb to track you two to the ends of the earth to avenge my murder.”

  “It’s true, sir,” Nick said, “Until we have both orbs, we cannot rest; nor can we—”

  Lafayette said, “Nick, listen, there’s no time at all for this now. General Washington awaits us, and history’s clock is ticking. Perhaps later, when victory over the pirates is ours, we can search for the second orb. But we must hurry now and secure the enemy crew!”

  Half an hour later, it was done. The entire crew of the Revenge, with the exception of her captain and the few ab
solutely essential mates and sail trimmers needed to sail the vessel, had been force-marched by the marines into the cavernous for’ard hold and locked inside. Two marines, stationed on deck at the open hatch above the hold, had orders to shoot any man who made a sound during their stealthy approach to the waiting fleet.

  Lafayette and Nick had captured the great pirate ship without firing a shot. Revenge rode at anchor, solitary, near the northern edge of the pirate fleet. The wind was freshening, whitecaps ruffling the sea, and Nick, now on the quarterdeck, saw this as a sign of a benign Providence. Washington, Nick had read in the history books, had often said the Americans would never have been victorious without the helping hand of God. And here perhaps was proof of that statement.

  To his left, in the distance, Nick could make out the few lights of a sleeping Nassau Town. Behind him to the south, and well out of sight, Nick knew, were an impatient Admiral de Grasse and his fleet, waiting for a single rocket to be fired across the sky, the signal to race north and engage the enemy. The rocket would also be a signal to Valois to cease his dangerous work and race southward toward de Grasse’s oncoming fleet. And reboard the Ville de Paris.

  Looking southward, Nick could see the thick forest of masts and the darkened hulls of pirate ships beneath them. Nick strained to see Valois, and he finally sighted the silhouette of his small gig racing to and fro amongst the sterns of pirate ships. Having finished planting bombs throughout the sleeping fleet, he and his men were now hurrying about to light as many of the long time-fuses as possible.

  On the main deck below him, Nick saw the four gun crews brought over from the Ville de Paris feverishly loading the pirate vessel’s cannon for the coming battle.

  On the quarterdeck of Revenge stood Lafayette, Blood, and Nicholas McIver. Blood’s pirate helmsman was at the wheel, eyeing the muskets of the marines leveled in his direction lest he attempt something stupid.

  “Haul down the Jolly Roger, Blood, and raise this ensign in its place,” Lafayette said, handing Blood the pure white flag of France.

  Blood murmured angrily but, with a prod from a marine musket, did as he was told.

  “Good,” Lafayette said, watching with some pride as his beloved flag, fluttering in the stiffening breeze, was hauled aloft. “You have now surrendered your ship. You are now a prisoner aboard my ship, Captain Blood, and you will do exactly as you are told. Order the remaining crew in the rigging to spread all canvas, every yard of sail she’ll carry. And have men standing by the for’ard windlass, ready to weigh anchor at my order. Do it now, Captain!”

  Blood shouted out orders to his remaining crewmen, and soon the rustle and snap of canvas could be heard as the trimmers high atop the mainmast let fall the mainsail, main topsail, and main topgallant. Trimmers in the foremast and mizzen rigging did the same. Soon Revenge was wearing a full suit of sail, from the flying jib on the bowsprit to mizzen-mast sails aft. And the wind was still filling in nicely. Revenge began to move.

  “Weigh anchor and make for the fleet,” Lafayette said quietly, and Blood passed the word forward to the windlass crew. Nick soon heard the grinding of the great wooden drum as it wound the heavy anchor line and chain up from the deep. Once the anchor itself was hauled up and secured, Lafayette stepped forward to give orders to the helm. “Helmsman, come right, zero-ten-zero degrees south. On my order, bring her hard right on a course due south. The man looked at him, incredulous. “You heard me. We’re going to sail her right through the middle of that bloody pirate fleet.”

  “Aye,” the man said, this bizarre order filling him with dread. All Blood’s shipmates would see that white flag fluttering at the top and they’d open fire. One ship against a hundred? Suicide.

  Lafayette put a hand on Nick’s shoulder. “Nick, quickly for’ard with you now. Instruct all four of our gun crews to await my signal as planned. They’re to hold their fire until we’re well inside the main body of the pirate ships. That fleet is a sleeping giant now, but I want Revenge at flank speed when we run that gauntlet. The pirate crews will wake soon enough when those time bombs and our cannon start roaring and lead starts flying.”

  As Nick ran for’ard, he could feel the great ship beneath his feet gradually getting under way. Slowly at first but gathering speed as she caught the wind. She heeled over to starboard, and the trimmers got the sails properly trimmed for the heading. He could hear the rush of water thrown off to either side of her bows.

  He heard a loud explosion aft and looked over his shoulder. Lafayette had fired the flaming signal rocket, streaking up into the heavens, trailing a plume of fire. Nick knew that Admiral de Grasse, spotting the fiery rocket against the dark blue sky, would heave into sight behind them at any moment as his French fleet raced northward to join the captured Revenge sailing into the jaws of battle.

  45

  TAKING THE FIGHT TO THE ENEMY

  Steady, now, steady,” Lafayette whispered to the grizzled old helmsman as Revenge sailed on toward the ships of the Brethren of Blood. The pirate armada seemed to stretch from one end of the horizon to the other. Still, all was quiet, dark, and peaceful under the starlit tropic sky. The only light coming from the sleeping fleet was the oil lanterns swinging at the bow and stern of every ship. The only sounds Nick heard were the lazy slap of canvas and the creak of rigging. But the wind was freshening; a good breeze for a fight.

  Nick had relayed Lafayette’s orders to the French gun crews on the main deck and had returned to the quarterdeck. Blood’s eyes flared at the very sight of him and he spat, missing Nick’s face by inches. Lafayette instantly drew his sword, the flat of its blade at Blood’s neck.

  “Your life is already hanging by a thread, Captain Blood. Insult the boy again and I cut the thread gladly.”

  The mood of the small group at the helm of Revenge was tense. Every man and boy knew what they were about to attempt was audacious to the point of lunacy. It was one thing for a warship to sail unannounced into an enemy harbor, quickly do as much damage as possible, and then, with any luck, escape with minimum damage and make for the open seas.

  But a small fleet, outnumbered at least four to one, sailing straight into the heart of a massive enemy flotilla out at sea? No naval man in his right mind would dare attempt such a suicidal engagement.

  Yet it had to be done. All aboard knew it was the only way Admiral de Grasse could ever hope to slip the French fleet safely through the pirate ambush; and surely the only way the French squadron could possibly reach the Chesapeake in time to help eke out a great victory for the allied American and French armies.

  Lafayette was well aware that in the entire course of the long and bloody American Revolution, this one single battle at Yorktown and the ultimate defeat of Cornwallis could forever end Britain’s hope for victory over her rebellious colonies. But first they had to win the bloody thing.

  On Revenge’s main deck, Lafayette’s gun crews stood at the ready, matches already lit. Two crews on the starboard side, two to port. Despite the shortage of manpower, every cannon was loaded with either ball or grapeshot. When things got spicy, the gun crews would dash from cannon to cannon, fire, and then race to the next. Aloft, high in the rigging, were the marine sharpshooters, each man armed with multiple muskets. When the battle commenced, it would fall to them to pick off the dazed pirates as they emerged from below decks.

  Lafayette fervently hoped his sharpshooters would induce fear and panic amongst the pirate crewmen still milling below, awaiting their turn to race topside to their battle stations. Thereby gaining precious minutes for de Grasse to get his ships safely through the trap.

  “You seem remarkably calm, Nicholas,” Lafayette whispered to the boy beside him. “Lead will fly soon. The air will be thick with it.”

  “I’ve seen battle at sea before, sir, and in the air. It’s terrifying enough. Still, I am not afraid to die in the course of doing my duty.”

  “In the air, did you say? Don’t tell me you’ve been up in one of those confounded balloons.”

&
nbsp; “Actually, no, it was in an aeroplane, sir.”

  “What the devil is that?”

  “A flying machine.”

  “Ah, of course, a flying machine. I don’t suppose I’ll live long enough to see that.”

  “I’m afraid not, sir. 1903.”

  Lafayette smiled, shaking his head in wonder, and raised the long spyglass to his eye. The Brethren’s massive fleet now loomed ever larger. The nearest ship, straining at her anchor rode, lay a scant thousand yards away. Still no warning shot had been fired, and there was no indication that anyone saw the huge Revenge racing toward them. Nick judged she must be making a good ten knots, heeled hard over, the vast acres of canvas above him now filled with wind.

  For the moment, none of the men gathered at the helm spoke a word. As men will do before battle, they concerned themselves with private thoughts as they bore down on the enemy at great speed. From their vantage point, the pirate fleet looked like a solid wall. It was hard to spot an opening amongst the countless vessels.

  “Shall I ease her sheets, sir? Spill a bit of wind?” the pirate helmsman nervously asked Lafayette, hoping to diminish their speed.

  There was no reply. Lafayette clearly had no intention of slowing down as he sailed Revenge directly into the midst of the pirates. A moment later he said, “Bring her right ten degrees on my mark . . . Mark!”

  He’d seen his opening. Nick saw it, too, but worried that the width between the stern of one vessel and the anchor line of the next was not nearly sufficient for them to sail through. The pirate helmsman, a weathered and seasoned seaman, examined the narrow entry point with a wary eye but said not a word.

  “Helm, what is that nearest vessel?” Lafayette asked. “And how many guns?”

  “Tralee, sir. Thirty-four guns.”

  “Leave her be. And the farther vessel, off our starboard bow?”

  “Dragonfire, sir. Seventy-four guns.”