by Brenda Novak
The boy tried to land a blow with his injured right hand, then looked about himself in obvious confusion, and finally Captain Montague stepped in. Turning to two men hovering just on the edge of the circle, he said, “Take him below and clean him up. And see about that hand.”
Nathaniel watched Jake struggle against those who would help him, and came to a decision. “Wait, I’ll take the boy Jake with me.”
Silence fell over those who heard his words. Even Tiny and Garth gaped at him.
Montague’s eyes nearly bulged from their sockets. “Mon Dieu! I could never allow it. It is simply out of the question.”
“Nothing is out of the question,” Nathaniel replied. “You are hardly in a position to refuse.”
Captain Montague stubbornly protested, but Nathaniel was in no mood to mince words. He turned to Garth, who handed him his knife, and the circle around them instantly widened.
“Would a taste of my blade convince you more readily? You were eager enough for Jake to try it.”
The Frenchman paused, his tongue continually wetting his lips. “No. I am no fighter. He is yours.”
Nathaniel bowed stiffly, his blood still pounding in his ears. “I am glad you are a man of reason,” he said, forcing back the desire to challenge the cocky Frenchman anyway.
A few minutes later, several men hoisted a bound but struggling Jake over the side. They lowered him into the boat beside Garth, who immediately began pulling for the Vengeance. Nathaniel and Tiny stayed to oversee the exchange of cargo.
As the first crates appeared on deck, brought up from the hold below, Nathaniel halted the procession, too eager to discover what had drawn his father’s attention to the Black Sea to wait any longer. The boxes were long and flat, yet curiously heavy—certainly not sugar or tobacco. Neither were they typical of opium.
Using his knife to pry one of the boards away, Nathaniel dug through the packing to reveal six clean, shiny rifles—the newly invented Minie rifle currently being issued to the English infantry.
“Bloody hell!” he exclaimed. “Why on earth would my father be shipping rifles to Russia?” His eyes sought Montague’s, but even as he asked, he knew, and the answer turned his stomach. In war, what commanded a better price than arms?
“It’s treason,” Nathaniel said, disgust sticking like tar to his voice. “And you are as guilty as he.”
“I had no idea what we carried. His Grace chose not to reveal that to me.” Montague’s voice was strained. He glanced worriedly toward his crew. “None of us knew.”
“Guns!” The word rippled through the men like a wave. They appeared as startled as Nathaniel. More than a few became angry. “We were told we carried provisions for the poor Turks,” they shouted.
Instinct told Nathaniel that the Horizon’s captain, at the very least, knew exactly what lay inside the boxes of his hold, which was why he had fought so tenaciously to keep them. “If I were you, I’d be worried about my own hide,” Nathaniel told Montague. “Treason can play havoc with one’s neck.”
“You will test the rope long before I do,” Montague hissed. “You are making a big mistake taking that boy. You have enemies in very high places.”
“It is you who has cause to worry—because you consider them your friends.” Though Nathaniel affected a calm demeanor, the discovery of his father’s treachery had sent him reeling. Why would the duke betray his own country? Why would he risk his life, his good name, his fortune, and his title? It didn’t make sense. But then, there was much about his father that Nathaniel had never understood. He was only grateful that he had something, at last, that would make the Duke of Greystone sit up and take notice. And if it wasn’t too late, release Richard.
Turning his back on Montague, Nathaniel said, “Tiny, you oversee the transfer of the rest of the cargo. I’m going back.”
Chapter 7
“Who is he? What’s wrong with him?” Alexandra stood at Nathaniel’s elbow, watching as Garth and Trenton entered the cabin carrying a wounded young man.
“Lay him on the bed,” Nathaniel instructed, ignoring her. “Get Nanchu.”
Alexandra couldn’t miss the blood that ran from the stranger’s wrist down his flat stomach like sheets of rain against glass. The sight made her own blood curdle in her veins. “He’s bleeding,” she gasped.
Nathaniel stared down at the man, his face a mask. “‘Twould seem that way.”
“But why?”
“I had to convince him to give up the cargo he carried.”
“You did this?” The morning’s battle had frightened Alexandra, but the uneasiness she had felt since the pirate captain and his small party had departed for the conquered Horizon had been worse. The silence had seemed unnatural, as though the ears of the entire crew strained to catch the slightest sound.
“I asked him nicely first.”
The sarcasm in Nathaniel’s voice made Alexandra’s stomach knot with renewed anxiety. How could he injure a man so badly—and that man an innocent, like herself, a mere sailor on one of his father’s ships? She shrank from Rat, but who was to say which man was more dangerous, he or Nathaniel?
She crossed numbly to the bed. The long days at sea had somehow dulled Alexandra’s fear of the pirate captain. He had treated her decently, if not kindly. But now she witnessed, firsthand, the fate of anyone who stood in his way, and it was a rude awakening.
The injured man writhed in pain. He looked young, not much older than her own nineteen years. With blood smeared across one cheek and a small trickle still running from a rather large Roman nose, he shook with reaction. Perspiration rolled off his wide forehead into sandy-colored hair, wetting his temples as he hugged a wounded wrist close to his chest.
A commotion behind Alexandra made her turn. Garth, Trenton, and the small Oriental doctor she had seen once or twice about the ship hurried into the room.
“Nanchu, this is Jake. I’m afraid he needs your expertise,” Nathaniel said as the doctor crossed to the bed. The pirate captain moved back to allow him space, and Alexandra did likewise.
An old but wise-looking man with a flat face and silver hair, Nanchu inspected the pupils of the boy’s eyes while Trenton tied a strip of fabric just below Jake’s elbow to slow the bleeding.
“Is he going to be all right?” Nathaniel asked.
The doctor turned his attention to the wound. “Don’t look good—”
“Get yer filthy hands away. I don’t want no yellow bastard pokin’ at me,” Jake cried, but he was in too much pain to put any fire into his words.
Trenton and Garth moved to restrain him.
“What are the chances of saving his hand?” Nathaniel asked.
“Hard to say,” Nanchu replied. “If rot stay away, there is chance.”
The pirate captain sighed. “Do what you can. You’ve worked miracles before.”
“I need more blankets, must keep him warm. And please, move boy to my quarters,” the doctor suggested. “I stitch hand.”
Nathaniel nodded as Nanchu secured Jake’s arm to his body with some clean linen. Then Garth and Trenton moved the boy out of the cabin, followed closely by the doctor.
An awkward silence ensued as Nathaniel strode to the window and peered out, leaving Alexandra to study his back while she tried to find some sense in what had just happened. Who was Nathaniel? A man sorely wronged, his actions justified, or a vengeful, bloodthirsty pirate?
Trenton returned only minutes later. “So? Are we any wiser about your father than we were before?” he asked, ignoring Alexandra’s presence altogether.
“Indeed.” Nathaniel spoke without turning. “My father is selling guns to the Russians.”
“What?” Trenton was obviously surprised, but not half so much as Alexandra. She almost fell from her perch on the edge of Nathaniel’s trunk. England was at war with Russia, or very nearly.
“You’ve seen the new Minie rifle,” Nathaniel continued. “The Eastern Horizon’s hold was full of them.”
“Bloody hell!
That explains everything: why Montague risked his life, his crew, the duke’s ship.” Trenton shook his head in disbelief. Then his long face broke into a smile. “But that’s good. Perhaps now the duke will release Richard. He could hang for what we know. His title and all his lands could be confiscated. We have the proof.”
Nathaniel didn’t return his first mate’s smile. Alexandra could see his somber profile from where she sat.
“Aye. It bodes well for Richard as long as my father didn’t do anything rash when he thought he had us back in Liverpool.”
“He’s going to be awfully sorry if he’s hurt Richard,” Trenton exclaimed. “Except that we wouldn’t want him to force our hand. If the crown takes his title and lands, you’ll be as poor as the rest of us, and rightfully so.”
A look of determination crossed Nathaniel’s features. “He’s already forced our hand by shipping the guns in the first place.”
Trenton’s brows rose. “But even if you manage to establish your identity, there’ll be nothing left to inherit.”
Nathaniel leveled his gaze at Trenton, and Alexandra felt the full weight of his commitment. “That doesn’t matter. I’ll not let him get away with treason.”
Trenton didn’t speak for several minutes. “Your father must be mad to risk so much,” he said at last. “But what could you possibly be thinking, taking that boy from the Horizon?”
Before Nathaniel could answer, quick footfalls thudded down the hall outside and a frantic voice called through the door.
“Captain, come quick. There’s someone chasing us.”
“What?” Nathaniel darted across the room as Trenton opened the door.
Garth’s alarmed face appeared in the dim rectangle of light that spilled through the portal. “It came out of nowhere, sir, at a full press sail. Looks like a schooner of some sort, but we can’t make out the flag.”
Nathaniel’s gaze locked with Trenton’s. “Bloody hell,” he swore. Then they dashed topside, leaving Alexandra alone in the cabin with the door swinging ajar.
The ship that pursued them was indeed a schooner. Nathaniel could tell from his perch in the rigging as soon as he lifted the glass to his eye. With only two masts instead of three, it was smaller than a brig, more maneuverable—and faster. It cut the water cleanly as it swooped toward them, closing the distance at an alarming rate.
Who was it? Nathaniel’s heart hammered as he tried to see the colors of the flag that rippled from its stern. But it was; almost dusk. Wisps of fog rose from the sea to meet low-lying clouds, shrouding the schooner as if in smoke and making the details of the ship too difficult to discern. As much as Nathaniel wanted to know his pursuer, he was grateful that he had some time, however little, to try to effect an escape. He had no friends at sea, of that he was certain. And with a cargo hold full of stolen merchandise, he had no desire to meet anyone who might be set on capturing him.
Shimmying down to the deck, he crossed to Trenton, who had taken the wheel. “She’s about five miles off our weather quarter, standing on the wind on the same tack as we are,” he told his first mate.
“Could you make her out?” Trenton squinted in the direction Nathaniel indicated, though with so much ocean curving between them, Nathaniel knew he wouldn’t see anything but water.
“No. I can’t even guess who she might be. But the timing of her visit is highly suspect. She likely came upon the Horizon and has taken it upon herself to pursue us.”
“If that’s the case, we’re in trouble. With so much in our hold, we’re too heavy to outrun her.”
“Our only hope is to lose her in this fog. All sail,” Nathaniel shouted, watching one of his men loose the main-royal and sit on the yard while the others hoisted him up so he could get a better look.
“She’s gaining,” the man called down. “I think she has a drag out.”
“Hell.” Nathaniel ordered the Vengeance to tack to the west, keeping a little off from the wind to make good way through the water. Somehow he had to get clear of her.
The schooner seemed to skim over the waves as it devoured the distance between them. Though Nathaniel tried every trick he knew to escape, she gained steadily until she was less than half a mile to the windward.
Nathaniel could see her clearly despite the sinking sun. She was a long, low, straight topsail schooner, a Baltimore clipper painted black with a narrow white streak, and looked to be about one hundred and fifty tons burthen. Her masts were raked aft with a large main topsail, and she carried a long thirty-two-pound swivel cannon amidships as well as smaller guns on each side.
She raised British colors as Nathaniel did the same, then fired a shot for the Vengeance to heave to.
“The guns are ready,” Trenton told Nathaniel. “Looks like we’re going to have to use them.”
“If it comes to that,” Nathaniel replied as a hail came in English from the schooner.
“Where are ye from an’ where ye bound?”
Nathaniel peered across the water, trying to make out the man whose voice he heard. What motivated him? Outrage? Honor? Was he experienced? Wise? Overzealous? He could only hope his opponent was not so smart as his dogged pursuit had been determined.
“My arm marks me,” he whispered to Trenton. “If they came upon the Eastern Horizon, they’re probably looking for the one-armed pirate. Chances are, they haven’t been able to see us with any more clarity than we’ve seen them, so if we can convince this Captain Do-good that he’s got the wrong ship, perhaps we’ve got a chance to avoid a broadside from his cannons.”
Trenton nodded. “Shall I act as captain then?”
“Aye.” Nathaniel moved subtly back among his men as the question came again.
“I’m Captain Errington of the Voyager. Who are ye an’ where do ye hail from?”
“I’m Captain Taylor,” Trenton yelled. A few snickers resounded from the crew at his creative title, but Trenton ignored them. “What purpose do you have in chasing us? There are pirates in the area, and as the captain of this vessel, I’ll not be catering to the whims of such as those.”
A pause followed as Trenton’s words seemed to hover over the sea.
“Aye. I’ll not be blamin’ ye, that I’ll not,” Captain Errington called back. “We came upon the Eastern Horizon some three ‘ours ago, an’ she a victim of the pirate bastards who beset ‘er. We thought ye might be the very scoundrels.”
Trenton squinted across the distance. “On that you’re mistaken, sir. Another vessel, the Westwind Riser, was likewise attacked not more than two days ago. Her captain decried a cunning, bloodthirsty group of cutthroats.”
“Indeed.” Another interminable pause. “Just the same, I’ll ask ye to lower a boat an’ come alongside. An’ bring yer papers.”
Trenton cursed under his breath. “What now?” he whispered, glancing back at Nathaniel.
“Tell him no. You don’t know who he is any more than he does you.”
“I’m sorry, friend,” Trenton called back. “I’ll go to my guns before I’ll leave my crew or my ship vulnerable to a hostile boarding. I’ve nothing but your word that you’re not the very ones you claim to be looking for. We’re not pirates, but we stand ready to fight, if need be.”
Nathaniel’s muscles began to ache with the prolonged anxiety. Would Captain Errington resort to his guns? And if he did, could the Royal Vengeance best him?
“I’ll see yer papers,” Captain Errington yelled, “or ‘ear a satisfactory explanation for the strange signal comin’ from yer ship. If a message it be, it makes no sense whatever.”
Signal? Nathaniel blinked in surprise. What signal? He glanced around at his men. All were accounted for, even Rat, who still languished in a small cubical below.
Then his blood ran cold. Alexandra! It could only be her. Jake was with Tiny and Nanchu, and in his condition, he could scarce overpower the both of them.
“What do I say?” Trenton asked.
“Tell him we’ve a man sick with yellow fever who’s not in his right
mind—that it must be him. The possibility of disease should make them less motivated to try and board us. I’ll go throttle the culprit now.”
Nathaniel heard Trenton repeat his words as he disappeared down the hatch. But he knew if Captain Errington didn’t believe them, Alexandra might prove their undoing at last.
* * *
Alexandra heard footsteps pounding down the hall and nearly dropped the mirror she was using to signal the other ship. Only rigid self-control enabled her to keep her tenuous grasp on its hard, slippery surface. This could be her only opportunity to escape Nathaniel and the others, adrift as she was and completely at their mercy.
Gritting her teeth, she continued to reflect what little sunlight remained, watching the flashes streak across the water. But they were random and probably meaningless. She had no knowledge of any official system of signals and could only hope that her cry for help would be interpreted as such—or cause enough of a stir to make the other ship take a closer look.
Alexandra heard the door to Nathaniel’s cabin bang open at the other end of the corridor, and repressed a shiver. She had taken Nathaniel’s diamond-shaped mirror to the purser’s small quarters, just in case. Now she thanked whatever providence had guided her to do so. Whoever searched for her would have no trouble finding her eventually, but her new location would buy her a few more seconds at least. And that might be all she needed.
“Please respond, please respond,” she whispered without really knowing what she expected the schooner to do. Would they signal back? Try to board? At that particular moment, Alexandra didn’t care, just so long as they helped her.
“Where are you, dammit?”
Alexandra heard Nathaniel’s voice as he moved closer, doors crashing open as he made his way forward. So it was the pirate captain himself who came after her, she realized with mild surprise, wondering what was happening on deck without him. She wished the voices that called above were more than a low rumble, but they were barely audible above the creaking of the berths and the slapping of the waves against the ship.
