by Steve Goble
Rumor said they were no more than a few days from Jamaica, and still no one had produced the mystery item. Each day, the situation grew tenser as the days of relatively empty seas were behind them.
Soon, they would weather the Turks and Caicos, and then make a run south through the Windward Passage and on to Jamaica. The French had islands in these waters, as did the English and Spanish, and God alone knew who controlled which lands at this particular moment. Men long at sea often were the last to hear of a new flag hoisted above a conquered island town.
This was the Spanish Main, and they could cross paths with flags from any of the European powers. They might meet convoys of Spanish galleons loaded with precious metals, or ships of the line patrolling for pirates, or more bloody pirates or privateers on the hunt. Blackbeard had haunted these waters, and Henry Morgan, and Bartholomew Roberts, and Calico Jack with his vicious girl pirates, Mary Read and Anne Bonny.
Lookouts would have to keep open eyes for reefs as well, the farther into the Main they reached. These were legendarily dangerous waters.
It took a couple of hours for Loon to come alongside. Most of her crew came aboard Viper, but a handful stayed behind and listened from the rail of the other ship.
“Gents, you are a stubborn lot,” Addison began, cane held in clasped hands behind his back, the shadow of a wide-brimmed hat hiding his eyes. “I have set it straight for you, I have, and it is as plain a case as I can make it. Surrender to me the brass cylinder, and I sell it and we all get rich. Keep it, and you’ve kept an item that will get you killed before you find a buyer. It is ungodly simple, gents. A schoolboy could parse it easy.”
“Barlow took it with him to his grave,” Doctor Boddings called. “He only accused us of theft to give him an excuse for his beatings and shootings.”
“No,” Addison said. “He described the item in plain terms for you. He’d not have done so if he still had it himself, no matter how much he loved firing his damned pistols and watching men bleed. No. One of you has it. Who?”
“Perhaps the thief knows a buyer, too,” Peg said. “You may not be the only one here who knows someone interested in buying something.”
“Perhaps,” Addison answered. “But I have a rendezvous, and it will be a quick score. I doubt any other among you could arrange something as quickly, and I will certainly shoot any man of you who tries to break from this ship before I have the damned thing in my hands. I dare say, lads, it is in all our interests to work together, and quickly.”
Spider watched the men as they listened, trying to discern whether the captain’s words were making anyone nervous. He noted a lot of men with the jitters, but no one stood out as especially worried.
“These are crowded waters, tough to navigate, full of reefs and potential enemies, and we had best get in, sell our package, and get out again to rendezvous with our little fleet. I am for wintering in Bermuda, lads, and then retiring!” Addison raised his arms, as if to embrace them all. “But if I cannot do that, by thunder, I will wait for the son of a bitch who is holding the goods to make his move. And the rest of you will stick with me and keep Viper away from port until that happens, because the bastard is robbing you as much as he’s robbing me. Aye?”
“Aye!” the men bellowed, but Spider could see their enthusiasm was false. No one wanted to remain on this ship of the damned any longer than necessary.
“So we will wait you out, you dirty son of a bitch,” Addison said. “I can find the Frenchman again if I must. You will not profit from this. You will not, except by showing me your cooperation.”
No one came forward.
“Fool.” Addison cracked the cane against the deck with a sound like a gunshot. “Bloody, goddamned fool. Back to work, then, damn ye.”
The captain headed aft toward the officers’ quarters, gave Spider a shove, then disappeared belowdecks. Dowd waved his Loon crewmen together. “Let us go,” he said. Turning to Peg, he added, “We shall resume patrol.”
“Aye,” Peg said, his chest swelling a bit. He seemed to have become Addison’s first mate aboard Viper and appeared to be glad Dowd had noticed.
Spider scratched his head and tried to make sense of the situation. Addison’s spot was more precarious than he let on, Spider realized. He was vastly outnumbered, and every man aboard was on edge. Addison might seethe, curse, and bellow, but if he dared slay a man, or even beat one, he risked touching off the same sort of powder keg that had gotten Barlow killed.
If Spider had been in Addison’s place, he’d have drawn up new articles, closer to those on other pirate vessels that gave the crew the right to vote on virtually all matters until the ship went into battle. Then, in combat, and only then, the captain’s commands were sacred, for there was no time for a discussion in parliament when cannonballs were flying. But on other occasions, the crews had a voice.
Addison could have given his men such a voice, but he had instead pressed on with Barlow’s strict articles, and he was stuck with them. He was not the type to show weakness, so he would not change his mind.
Addison’s best hope now was for the thief to confess, in private, and try to cut himself a larger share; Addison could then get his hands on the gewgaw and deal with the thief as he pleased. That seemed ever more unlikely, though, because Addison could not conceal his anger, try though as he might. Anyone coming forward now faced certain death once the bauble was in the captain’s hands—of that, Spider was convinced. Addison would be able to dispense with the man and would sell the idea to the crew by claiming the fellow had tried to cut everyone else out of their share of profit. Surely, the crewmen realized that. Surely, the thief did.
Spider thought more on Peg’s suggestion that the thief already had a buyer in mind. It would account for the stubborn refusal to play along with Addison if the thief thought he could sell the bloody thing himself and keep all the profit. Addison’s threat to remain at sea would thwart such a plan, it seemed. Spider tried to imagine what a clever man might do to get around that obstacle. Another mutiny? No. That would require a conspiracy, and Addison had not built up animosity among the crew the way Barlow had. Addison was being cautious not to stir up anger, and he would be alert for anyone whispering. The thief also would have to persuade men that he could sell the thing and would share the profit. No. That plan would take time and would be unlikely to succeed.
So what, then? Murder Addison in his sleep? Let him be found dead and see if the Vipers were of a mind to reach Jamaica and place themselves as far from this wretched curse as possible? Then lay low awhile and sell the precious item, perhaps even suss out the mysterious Frenchman? That sort of cold-blooded plan might work. It would take a certain boldness, perhaps the kind Peter Tellam displayed.
The big drawback to that scenario, of course, was navigation. Addison alone had that skill, as far as Spider knew, although it was said Dowd had been studying the art, and Peg had recently begun doing so as well. These were not waters for an amateur to try to learn quickly. Whatever else happened, Addison was needed, and he was smart enough to subtly remind his crew of that at every turn.
Up top, Elijah raised flags to signal Loon their course. Spider watched as Loon responded. Ships could communicate across an expanse of sea; he wished he could communicate with Ezra across the widest of all expanses.
He shook himself and spat overboard. Mourning was not getting the job done. He had to think. He watched Loon’s signal flags and pondered the murder and the stolen bauble. There had to be a connection.
So how would the thief get the thing off the ship in Port Royal without the captain knowing? Spider sighed. He had exhausted one scenario after another.
Staring across the sea at Loon and watching her return signal, a new possibility occurred to Spider, and it hit him like a sudden gale. As soon as the notion formed in his mind he cursed himself for a lubber. He whirled the idea around, turned it upside down, and examined it from every angle, and the more he thought it over, the more convinced he became.
&nb
sp; He reviewed his experiences aboard this damned ship.
Jigsaw pieces clicked together and fit.
Damn, he thought.
If he was correct, Red Viper would not reach Port Royal at all.
26
The noon bell had scarcely stopped echoing when the call came from above: “Sail off the port beam! Sail off the port beam!”
Spider did not join the others rushing to the rail or climbing the lines for a view of the ship. He was fairly certain it was the bloody phantom frigate, and he was more interested in seeing the reactions of Red Viper’s crew.
“It is that English bitch, I dare say,” said Tellam, clutching a mainsail stay. “I knew we’d not seen the last of her.”
“Hell and damnation!” Weatherall waved his arms. “Bugger you, George’s lads, every damn one of ye!” Similar calls and shouts lifted all across the deck and in the trees as well. The frigate was too far off for her crew to hear any of the shouting, but that hardly seemed to matter. Red Viper’s crew had come to view the frigate with great disdain, and had hardly seemed to notice that it showed up time after time.
Fools, Spider thought. We’re mice, and that’s the cat.
Peg, in the crow’s nest with a spyglass, called out, “It is her, I say, our English navy friend! She is beating north by northwest!”
Spider parsed that quickly. Viper was headed south by southwest, with the wind out of the east. The two vessels were on merging courses.
Addison, who had not been seen since scurrying below in aggravation, emerged from the officers’ bunks, bearing a scope of his own. “Our present speed, helm?”
“Nine knots, Cap’n, at last reading ten minutes ago,” came the answer.
Addison ran to the port rail and shoved Weatherall out of the way. He raised his glass, aimed it at the frigate, and cursed very quietly. Spider could not make out the words. Then Addison spoke aloud. “Well, ain’t this a complication? Loon is on rearguard far off our starboard stern, barely within sight, so naturally our Royal Navy friend makes his hello off our port beam. It would appear, sirs, that my attempts to alter our vessel’s bloody bad luck have been, as they say, to no fucking avail.”
He smiled as he spoke and shrugged theatrically. “I dare say, we must rely upon the general incompetence of His Majesty’s imbecile crew once again and fend off the assault upon our honor. She has not bent all her sheets, bless her, and so we might put some distance between us if we act smartly. Prepare to come about, north by northwest! And let us press all sail, if you please. We shall outrun the bitch.”
“Aye, aye. North by northwest,” the helmsman answered.
A chorus of “Aye, Cap’n!” arose, and Peg and Odin started shouting in the trees to put Addison’s words into action. Elijah scurried nimbly up the ratlines, with an ease a cat might envy. The crew pressed on more canvas quickly, the booms swung, and Viper soon was under topgallants and coursing north by northwest. The frigate trailed behind, with full sails and charging hard. She might be within musket range before long.
Weatherall emerged from the crew hold, a red sheet in his hand. Spider had not noticed him vanishing and cursed. He wanted to see and hear everything that transpired, because he believed he was on the cusp of a vital clue, but keeping an eye on everyone was impossible. Busy men were scurrying and shouting all over the ship. Now was not the time for his powers of observation to fail him. If he had surmised correctly, this brush with the royal frigate would differ greatly—and dangerously—from the previous encounters. And if he paid attention, he might well notice the clue that would reveal Ezra’s murderer.
He took a deep breath and blew it out hard. More than once Ezra had praised Spider’s attention to small details. By God, Spider told himself, don’t let Ezra down now. Something will be different this time. It will be the key. It will point like a reaper’s finger straight at the killer.
“Catch us if you can, ye dog buggerers! Hey ho!” Weatherall hollered like a drunk, waving his impromptu scarlet banner for all he was worth. “We shall show how real seamen work, you bloody sons of whores!”
Spider looked to see how the frigate fared and was not surprised at all to see her under all sail, and her canvas swelling with wind. There was no sign of laziness this time, by God, nor did Spider expect to see any. The frigate, built for speed and maneuverability, would not be undone by the slow work of her crew this day. In previous encounters, she’d been slow to turn, slow to make sail, as though crewed by still-drunken lubbers newly pressed from a tavern sweep. This day, however, they behaved like a crew of His Majesty’s Navy ought to behave, and that spelled trouble for a bloated, converted whaler. The English vessel would ride wind and wave smartly, and cut through the sea far more quickly than Viper. Barlow had loved his large ship and her cavernous central hold and all the hidden nooks and crannies he’d had built into her, but his crew soon was going to regret his choice.
“She’s going to catch us,” Spider said under his breath.
Addison realized the truth of it, too. “Blazes! They must’ve got her a better crew, or lashed the lads into doing some real work at last. Hob!”
The captain was spinning excitedly, eyeing the crew. “Where are ye, lad?”
Hob ran up, shouting, “Here, sir!”
Addison tugged a leather cord from around his neck and tossed it to the boy. Spider could see something small attached to it. “That’s the key to the cap’n’s stores, Hob. Open ’em up and start passing out weapons! Get guns up in the trees, too! You there, and you, ye sons of bitches, help the lad out and disperse arms! We may have to convince these damned naval bastards that we aim to live another day!”
“Aye, sir!” Crewmen scrambled to obey.
“Lookout! Signal Loon, if you please, and tell Dowd to make haste and come about and get into the bloody fight! We shall lead yon frigate on a merry chase, and if they stay focused on us, Loon may well sweep in behind and do some real damage! Yonder king’s men shall not find us eager to swing on a rope, aye!”
“Aye, Cap’n.” Murphy, who had replaced Peg in the lookout once real action commenced so the one-legged man could lead crews in the rigging, started the hectic business of whipping signal flags onto the line.
“And hoist that goddamn bloody skull,” Addison roared. “Raise our black banner! Raise our bloody black flag! We are Red Viper, by God, not some pissant merchant! Get our damned colors aloft, I say!”
“Aye, sir!”
Spider did not have a spyglass, but he could tell the frigate had picked up significant speed. She was cutting a fine white wake, and drum rolls carried across the waves. Her captain had called beat to quarters, and marines were lining up on the deck, bayonets glinting in the sun in neat, disciplined rows.
It was exactly what Spider expected to see, and he suspected he would see something different aboard Viper this time as well. He looked across Viper’s deck, seeking a sign that would confirm his speculation, but he did not see a damned thing that lent weight to his theory.
There was Addison, pacing and barking orders. There was Peg, laughing nervously up above and joking about death. There was Weatherall, whipping his banner in defiance and cursing the representatives of King George’s might upon the ocean. There was Murphy up above, shouting updates on the frigate’s course and sending signals to Loon.
Signals.
Spider shielded his eyes and looked harder at the crow’s nest. He was not an expert signalman, but Murphy was not using any unfamiliar flags, nor was he making any unexpected signals with his arms. The man’s attention seemed entirely focused on Loon. Certainly Addison, whose gaze pivoted from the charging frigate to Murphy’s signals, then to the distant Loon, had not noticed anything amiss in Murphy’s work.
Spider spat; he had thought for a moment he had parsed it all out. He suspected the frigate’s dogged pursuit and the disappearance of the captain’s stolen bauble were connected, for he had never been much of a believer in coincidences. When the captain still had his precious item, the p
ursuit had been amateurish. Now that someone else apparently had the bauble, the chase was conducted professionally.
The frigate had been after the mystery item the whole time and had waited only for a signal to come and get it. That signal had been given, but Spider had missed it. He cursed himself because he was convinced Ezra’s death was related to the spy’s mission. Ezra had seen something, or heard something, and it had cost him his life.
Spider’s mind raced like a dolphin. What had he missed? There was Hob, distributing guns and powder with the help of men bearing buckets of arms and armloads of swords. There were men forming relay lines, moving packets of powder from the forecastle to the four-pounders and swivel guns mounted on Viper’s deck. There were muskets and powder and ammo, being hauled up on ropes so that men in the trees could pick off gunners and officers. There was beautiful May, visible now that the forecastle was open, wide-eyed and straining at the ropes that bound her, as no one seemed to be paying her any attention now. There was Dobbin, with a bright gash across his toothless cheeks earned in the slaying of Barlow, now cursing at Weatherall.
Dobbin snatched at the man’s makeshift banner, which had flapped on his face, and a gust lifted it out over the sea. It danced on the wind, like a crimson wraith or a bloody, fleeting soul, before dropping into the sea.
If there had been a signal to that cursed frigate, Spider had missed it. Or had he? A thought started to take hold—then the crack of a musket and a battle cry brought him to the present. Battle was about to be joined, and any chance of avenging Ezra Coombs soon would be lost. Ezra’s murderer might be killed in the fight, or hung later, but he would not be unmasked, and he would not die by Spider John’s hand. The bloody son of a bitch would die for the wrong reasons.
He lowered his head and shut his eyes tight. It was almost too much, this thought that Ezra’s murder might not be avenged. Spider could feel tears building and covered his eyes with a hand to dam them.
He clenched his jaw, yanked the hand away from his face, and forced himself to stare at the frigate rushing toward them. That was his competition. He had to find his killer before that damned naval vessel cut Viper’s crew to bloody tatters.
