Isle of Swords (29 page)

“I'll raise such a fleet,” Thorne said. “A fleet to pay back the British for what they did.”

“A little over twelve hours,” Ross explained to Anne. “I want to get there under cover of darkness.”

Anne nodded and was quiet. She needed to approach this subject carefully. “Will we linger in port long?”

“Not if I can help it,” he replied. “I'll get new crewmen, if I can.

Jacques will acquire the few remaining supplies we need. Then, with all speed, we'll get underway to the Isle of Swords.”

“But why in such a hurry?” She could feel her opportunity slipping away.

“My reasons will remain my own until we have everything we need and get the
Wallace
far out into the Atlantic.”

“I've never been to the Caicos,” she said. “Will you take me ashore?”

Ross grimaced. He'd decided long before this moment, but he knew Anne wouldn't much like it. “This is not some pleasure excursion, my daughter. We have great need of haste. The British are no doubt scouring the Spanish Main and half of the Atlantic for us.

Bartholomew Thorne wants us all dead—that's two fleets after us, Anne. But,” he took a deep breath, “even if this were not the case . . . even if we had all the time in the world, I would leave you aboard the
Wallace
. And this time, you will obey your captain's orders.”

He watched as the light in his daughter's eyes flickered and dimmed. But, to her credit, she did not try to argue. She didn't cry.

She nodded thoughtfully before turning and walking away. Just before shutting the door, she wheeled about and asked, “What about Cat? Must he stay on the ship as well?”

Ross's eyes narrowed. “I grant you authority in this matter, Anne,” he said.

Anne's jaw tensed, then relaxed. “I think Cat should be allowed to go.” She turned and, without another word, left the captain's quarters.

Ross nodded repeatedly and smiled. Anne impressed him more and more each day.

31
HARBINGER OF DOOM

B
lasted wind!” Ross exhaled loudly and paced across the quarterdeck. “Of all the times to lose speed. Maybe the monk was right.”

Stede stood at the ship's wheel. His expression blank, he stared into the inky darkness of the sky. “This b' a bad omen . . . the winds changing like that.”

“With all due respect, Quartermaster,” said Jacques St. Pierre, “the winds in this part of the ocean are very fickle this time of year.

But we are still at five, maybe six knots, no? Not exactly the doldrums. We'll make it by the middle watch?”

“Just so long as we can get in and out before sunup,” said Ross.

“I don't want our presence on the Caicos to be general knowledge.”

“That is no problem,” said St. Pierre. “We will have five hours of night left at least. You will see.”

Smuggler's Bay was quiet as the
William Wallace
drifted slowly into port. It was well after the middle watch, and Declan Ross was as tense as a ratline. St. Pierre promised that he would have men at his fort to help carry supplies back to the
Wallace
, but to be sure, Ross planned to bring sixty of his strongest men.

Three longboats were lowered into the water. Ross, Stede, and St. Pierre led the group in the first. Red Eye, Midge, and Cat in the second. Jules and Cromwell in the third.

“I tell you,” said St. Pierre as they rowed to shore, “when we get to my fortress, we will empty my arsenal and equip your old brigantine with the most potent cannons on the sea!”

His eyes scouring the dark palms that hung over the inlet, Ross did not look at St. Pierre. “What about the salted meats?”

“The best smoke-cured beef and pork,” he replied. “I trade frequently with buccaneers from Hispaniola. There should be thrice a dozen casks of it in my cellar.”

“That b' a lot of meat,” said Stede. “Yer making me hungry, mon.” St. Pierre smiled.

Their boats safely ashore, St. Pierre led them all up the steep incline through the palms. Ross looked back over his shoulder at the
William Wallace
. As ordered, Drake had doused all the lanterns.

The ship was barely a shadow on the black water.

Around the bend just north of Smuggler's Bay, other large shadows moved silently across the water. Five of Thorne's warships had disgorged some thirty longboats and close to seven hundred pirates. As much as Thorne would have enjoyed opening up with his sixty cannons, sending the
Wallace
to the bottom in splinters, he could not risk killing or—worse—disfiguring his prize. He gave his men orders to bring the monk back to the
Raven
alive and completely unscathed. The rest, including Ross, they could kill in whatever creative ways they desired.

On the gray deck of the
Wallace
, Anne tightened a cord of rope around a sail on the lowest spar on the foremast. As she tied it off, she turned and spotted Drake up near the forecastle. She couldn't see his eyes, but she could tell he was staring at her. Maybe he knew she was looking, for he shook his head disdainfully and disappeared behind the forecastle deck.

Anne shrugged, lifted a hatch, and climbed belowdecks. The dark didn't bother her. She had navigated belowdecks enough times to walk it with her eyes closed. Still, in many places it was very close quarters. She needed to squeeze between crates and barrels or duck under hammocks. Occasionally, her hand would brush against a frayed rope and give her a start. Then she found the narrow stairwell that switchbacked down to the gun deck and, eventually, her objective: the cargo hold. “There're a few honey cakes left,” Nubby had told her. “Better get 'em before the rats do!”

Drake fumed.
Bad luck, but no one listens! If she wasn't the captain's daughter, they would. They'd have thrown her overboard as was right and proper.
He leaned over the starboard rail at the front of the ship and spat.

Drake turned and began to walk away from the rail when he heard an odd rushing sound like canvas being pulled off a spool.

Before he could turn, he felt a prick in his lower back. His back, side, and chest began to burn. His knees buckled. He slumped face-first to the deck. Before his vision faded, Drake saw black boots moving across the deck, a never-ending stream of boots. Drake mouthed, “Bad luck. . . .” And then he lay still.

Anne stepped down into the cargo, ducked under a low beam, and straightened her back severely to get between two walls of barrels.

When she slid open the door that led to the food stores in the deep bow of the ship, she was surprised by the soft glow of a light.