Pirate Code (27 page)

How had they all escaped from that Tower? Few got out of there alive and in one piece. Had Malachias Taylor betrayed Emilio? Taylor, the man who had taught Jesamiah everything he knew about ships, sailing, fighting, getting drunk and bedding a whore. The man he had worshipped as a hero and a friend; who was never, even now he was dead, far from mind. Not one of the crew had questioned that escape. When the door to their cell had been left open they had run, and kept running. It had never occurred to him that maybe Malachias Taylor had made a bargain. Had he told all he knew about the rebellion, betrayed Emilio and his wife in exchange for forgetting to lock a door? It grieved Jesamiah that maybe Malachias Taylor had been a traitor. On the other side of the mast, had they not escaped, he, Jesamiah would now be dead, put in his grave by unbearable agony. And did telling what you knew about one friend to save your others count? Betrayal carried a hideous price. Someone always had to suffer for its cost. Never betrayed anyone? Huh, had he not? He had betrayed Tiola by choosing the
Sea Witch
and running. So who was it now suffering? Tiola? Him?

“Why did you ask about Angelita?” ‘Cesca asked, breaking his thought and jolting him back to the present.

“It’s the meaning of the name I’m interested in.”

The path ahead narrowed to wind around a tumble of rocks that, judging by the growth of grass and shrubs, had come down many years before. On the far side a stream formed a hollowed pool across the track, several yards wide, before continuing in a cascade down the sheer drop.

Jesamiah allowed his horse to stop and drink, then kicked it forward, splashing through the almost knee-deep churn. Angelita. The governess had talked to him about the Greek and Roman origin of names. What had he been? Nine? Ten, years old? He could not remember any of those meanings now, except for one. Hers. He had asked if her name had a meaning. Angelita.

“I’m just curious to know,” he said as casually as he could to ‘Cesca, “Whether
Señor
and
Señora
Mendez know that Angelita means ‘messenger’.”

Was he still seeing shadows where none existed? Maybe, but he would bet his last shilling that they did know.

Twenty One

Monday Afternoon

Looking through the telescope, Rue studied the sail with care. An English trader outward bound from Jamaica. She would be rich laden, and an easy picking. He passed the telescope to Isiah Roberts, who peered through it a moment then solemnly handed it on to Mr Janson, old Jansy.

“Well?” Rue said. “What do you say?”

Although they often called Mr Janson old, he was, probably, only in his early fifties. He actually had no idea of his age. He was a man grown when William and Mary were invited to England as King and Queen in 1689. He remembered hearing stories, as a very young nipper, of Henry Morgan’s exploits in the Caribbean, although at a tender age the names and places had all sounded exotic and meaningless. He had gone to sea, he reckoned, when he was about ten. Had seen more battles, served aboard more ships under more captains, than the rest of the
Sea Witch
’s crew put together. He handed the telescope to Nathan at his side, chewed thoughtfully on his wedge of tobacco. Spat the residue over the side.

“I don’t like it,” he finally announced. “The moment we touch an Englishman we might as well put our own ‘eads in a noose. I signed an agreement of amnesty, swore on me name as it were. I ain’t ‘appy with goin’ back on m’word.”

General mutters of agreement from the rest of the crew. Rue looked at them all, Jimmy Stradler, Old Barnsey, Peter Piper. Joseph, young Jasper. Chippy Harrison. Finch. The rest of them. “So it’s a vote of
non
?” he said after a moment.

Some just nodded their heads, a few muttered aye. That was the way they did it aboard a pirate ship. Democratically. By the vote. Even though, technically, they were not, now, pirates. Not until they attacked another ship again, although Rue did not want to point out that after what they did to the
Challenger
they were probably under sentence of death anyway.

Nathan had been the only one to remain silent. “And what of you, Nat? What say you?” Isiah asked.

Being quartermaster, Jesamiah’s next in command, Rue had taken charge as soon as they were clear of any Spanish guns and had reached open water. Isiah Roberts was the first mate, but since the start of this waste of time disagreeable cruise, Nat had slid into his shoes as Rue’s second. Isiah was quite happy with the arrangement, he was a good sailor but not as good as Nathan Crocker.

“If we pass her up,” Nat said slowly and carefully, “we could be signing Jesamiah’s death warrant. Del Gardo will kill him if we do not show up with a captured Prize. And that beauty over there is a Prize worth taking.”

“I’d lay my life down for C’pn Acorne,” Finch announced. “You know I would, but there has to be another way. I ain’t too keen on swinging. And he could already be dead.”

That was true. Several of them nodded.

“We could be returning to piracy for nowt.”

“He ain’t dead!” Jansy stated with a firm nod of his head. “You all ‘ear me? He ain’t dead. We start thinkin’ like that we’re as likely t’make it true. He is not dead.”

Silence as they all studied the Trader. She was making good headway, if they did not give chase soon they would lose her, they would never catch her up.
Sea Witch
was fast but she was not sailing her best, even close hauled as she was now, she was sullen. She was whinging as if she were a toothless old lady with severe joint ache. If ships could sulk like a woman wronged, then
Sea Witch
was a wench in one dandy of a petticoat strop.

“And what do we do with our Spaniard?” Jasper asked, his arm in a sling to ease his healing shoulder, his free hand reaching out to take the telescope and pass it to Toby Turner.

The Spaniard. Capitán de Castilla. They had sorted him almost as soon as they had weighed anchor; Finch knew where Jesamiah kept the best brandy and Jansy had access to the laudanum. The two combined had provided an immediate solving of the problem. De Castilla was sound asleep locked in the sail locker.

“I still say we feed him to the sharks,” Toby said.

“And I say that could be a waste of something to bargain with,” Rue answered firmly.

“I might only be young,” Jasper offered, “but don’t del Gordo need all the captains ‘e can get if we’re at war?”

“Gardo,” Nat corrected. “His name is Gardo not Gordo.”

Jasper grinned. “I think Gordo suits ‘im better, it means fat or pig or something.” It was his turn for the telescope. To compensate for having the use of only one arm, being that Jansy was a good deal shorter than himself, he rested it on the older man’s shoulder. Squinting, peered through the eyepiece.

“I think we ought t’try an’ swap ‘im fer the Cap’n. We anchor somewhere, march across land and make our demand. De Castilla for Jesamiah. Fair trade.” That was Toby. He had been making the suggestion ever since they left Santo Domingo. No one had listened to his daft idea then; were not doing so now.

“Stop hopping about Jans. You’re jiggling me.” Frowning, Jasper peered again, re-focused. “I ain’t certain,” he said slowly as he handed the glass to Rue, “but ain’t that a sail coming out from the other side of that headland?”

Rue snatched up the bring it close. Studied where Jasper pointed. Cursed. “
Merde
! It’s the guardacostas!”

A moment of flurried panic.

“We’re fighting for Spain, we fly Spanish colours,” Isiah pointed out. “You reckon those bastards will take that small fact into account?” Rue snapped as he began to issue orders to get under way.

“We’ll not outrun her,” Nat added, shaking his head.
Sea Witch
was grumbling and muttering to herself, no matter of cajoling or bullying would get her to outrun that guardship. She was fretting, and not one man on board did not know why.

“We could always drop anchor at Puerto Vaca,” Jansy offered. “It’s only a couple o’ miles further. They’ll mebbe not bother with us if we don’t make an exhibit of ourselves. Got a nice tavern there, they ‘ave.”

Jasper was staring through the telescope again. “They’ve not seen us,” he announced, excitement and relief in his voice. “They’re turning for the trader – look!” He flung out an arm to point.

The guardship was heading straight for the Englishman. This was war, it was not wise for ships, especially when full laden with a rich cargo, to sail into enemy waters.

“Thank the Lord we didn’t draw attention to ourselves by chasing ‘er!”

Jasper’s comment spoke for them all.

Twenty Two

The nunnery was perched beneath a high, rocky outcrop; an austere place with blank stone walls and a gateway that was shut and bolted.

To keep us out or them in
? Jesamiah wondered with amusement as they waited for the porteress to squinny through the grill at them, then sourly permit entrance. They rode through into a dank courtyard and dismounted. It reminded Jesamiah of a prison.

“Is this a silent order?” he asked warily peering around. “I ain’t keen on being in with a habit of nuns at the best of times. If all they’re goin’ t’do is stare at me, I think I’d rather wait outside.” His legs felt like marrow-jelly and his backside, tool and tackle chafed raw; he doubted he could walk a yard without groaning, but outside he would go if necessary.

Looking as fresh as a dawn-kissed daisy, ‘Cesca’s smile was amused as she saw him surreptitiously ease at the seat of his breeches. “In discomfort?” she asked.

“I ain’t fashioned for straddlin’ a nag,” he growled. The ride, added to last night’s beating, a flogging several days ago and not properly healed wounds from his brother’s vicious treatment were severely taking their toll. All he wanted to do, despite it being only early afternoon, was go to bed and sleep. Preferably forever, but if that was difficult to arrange, for a few years at least.

A high ranking official swept down a flight of stone steps, her wimple billowing like sails come loose from the yard; hands folded into the drape of her sleeves. She acknowledged ‘Cesca with a slight nod of welcome, glowered fiercely at Jesamiah.

Undaunted, he made as polite and graceful a bow as his body would permit, and rounded his speech into that of an educated Spanish gentleman.

“Sister, I give you God’s good greeting, and crave your forgiveness for this intrusion into the sanctuary of your peace. We have come with a message for the nun called Angelita.”

The sister’s eyes darted from him to ‘Cesca, back again, then she sniffed haughtily. In her late fifties, Jesamiah reckoned, and if she was innocent of a man, then he was a virgin. Her look of disdain was not merely because he was unshaven, with tangled hair, grimed hands and torn nails. Nor, despite his display of manners, had it anything to do with him being a knave and a scoundrel.

Spurned by a lover
? he wondered,
or ill-used
? Being deliberately provocative he gave her one of his most dazzling and lascivious smiles.

Her look of iron made him lose the smile. “I know of no one here with that name.”

Now why had he guessed she was going to say that?

“Your Mother Superior, Sister, will know of whom we speak. Angelita’s mother is dying and wishes to see her.” ‘Cesca had a knack of being able to lower the cadence of her voice, to make it subtle and charming. The actress in her again. She could coax a bird down from the trees, Jesamiah reckoned.

The nun’s antipathy softened somewhat. “Alas she is not here. She will be back tomorrow. You are more than welcome to rest in our guest quarters until then.”

Thank God and the angels for that
, Jesamiah thought, not relishing the pain of getting back on a horse again too soon.

The nun beckoned to one of the novices gathered to one side of the courtyard and, pretending not to be interested in the newcomers, and sent her to fetch someone to take care of the animals; ordered someone else to escort their guests to the lodge situated to the rear of the convent. Before they turned a corner Jesamiah glanced over his shoulder, observed the sudden flurry emanating in their wake. A servant was cramming a hat on his head as he ran out of the gate, the sister, her habit lifted almost to her knees, was hurrying up a long flight of steps. The calm tranquillity sent into battle frenzy.

Now what is going on
? he thought.
Clear for action
?
They’ll be running the guns out next
.

Twenty Three

The afternoon dawdled by. The sun was hot, there was not much wind, although the heaviness in the air made it a reasonable assumption that the storms were not yet over. Flies buzzed, but not much else moved.

Tiola had refused to return aboard Stefan’s sloop. Señora Isabella Mendez was dying; she needed someone with medical knowledge to ease her through the last few days of intense pain, and with an adequate strength to help Señor Mendez watch her die. Not that Tiola was certain she possessed that strength, but she could not, would not, abandon these elderly people.

A lizard scuttled across the cool floor tiles. Tiola wished she had its energy.

“I will not come back for you!” Stefan had shouted.

“I do not want you to come back,” Tiola had answered mildly.

“You are ill. How can you help that woman? You can barely stand on your own feet!”

Had Stefan shouted it with even a hint of compassion, Tiola would not have answered as she had. “Then maybe we will die together. That will please you, will it not?”

Unable to disagree, ashamed of his anger and the truth, the Dutchman had whirled on his heel, ordered the mooring ropes cast off and had sailed away an hour after dawn.

Tiola was not a seer, she could not tell, or predict, the future, but she did know she would never see him again. She was sorry for it, for she had once been fond of him and all that had happened had not been entirely his fault. But would she see Jesamiah again? That was what worried her, not Stefan’s fate.

She had to regain her strength, and gain it quickly. At least here on solid land she had more chance to do so. Hispaniola was so much larger than New Providence Island with its untidy sprawl of Nassau Town. Here there were rivers and fields and hills and mountains. Miles and miles of rock and earth. Here, Tethys could not reach her. Here, she could find herself and properly restore her ability of Craft. And then, once she had regained her strength, there would be nothing that Tethys, Rain, any one or any thing could do to stop her speaking into Jesamiah’s mind. Except for Jesamiah himself.