The Pirate's Revenge (6 page)

‘How did you get away from Diablo?' I asked, as Miller hauled me aboard.

‘Simple,' said Jem. ‘We convinced him that it was his brilliant idea that we should go to Catania to meet the
Corfu
and pick up another load of grain.'

‘We had to promise him all the profit, but never mind.' Miller looked like he did mind.

‘Which way's he sailing?'

‘Lord knows,' said Jem. ‘The Lord's the only one who cares, too. He's gone off to find a buyer for his own cargo, I expect.'

‘So he's still in these waters?'

‘I suppose so.'

‘We'd better keep a sharp lookout then,' I warned. ‘I never want to set eyes on that ship again as long as I live.'

‘You're not alone in that, Cyg,' Jem said.

I looked around. ‘I'm so glad to see you all. I knew you wouldn't leave me there.'

Miller looked as if he might give me a hug, but then thought better of it.

‘Where's Brasher?' I asked.

‘We had to leave the poor sod behind,' Jem said. ‘Diablo pushed his own sail-maker overboard, so he took ours.'

‘We might need to throw you overboard too, Cyg,' Miller joked. ‘You look like a mud-pie.'

I guess I did, too. It took ages to wash off the dirt that had stuck to my hair and ground into my skin, even longer for my hands to feel steady enough to set a course. I climbed into my hammock well before sunset, and didn't awake until noon the next day, to find the
Mermaid
floating next to the
Corfu
in Catania harbour.

It was Carlo's voice, drifting down from the deck, that woke me. I thought I was dreaming, until the deeper tones of Captain Caruana joined in the conversation. I splashed my face, then raced up the ladder to greet them.

Carlo seemed taller, his hair hanging down nearly to his shoulders, a fine sword hanging by his side. His green cloak swept the deck. He wore a hat to match, and a thick gold chain around his throat.

So he was a duke's son, after all. I'd forgotten.

His face was serious as he spoke, but as soon as he saw me he cracked his silly smile and looked as young and impulsive as ever.

‘Cygno!' he cried. ‘I have been hearing of your adventures.'

But I wasn't ready to talk about myself. ‘Why are you here? You must tell us your own stories,' I said. He wouldn't need much encouragement.

‘We don't have time for that,' Jem intervened. ‘If I know Carlo, the story will take three days to tell, but
we need to get this grain aboard by dawn. Caruana has arranged delivery for the day after tomorrow.'

‘All hands!' Miller shouted.

The boys leaped into action. The
Mermaid
came alive with noise and movement.

Carlo and I sat together on the hatchway and left them to it.

‘How do you come to be in Sicily?' I asked him. ‘How long have you been here? What's it like?'

We stared happily around the harbour.

I'd never been to Catania before. It seemed, at least from the sea, to be a huge bustling place, its waterfront crammed with elegant buildings and the harbour filled with ships, their masts forming a maze of towering timber and ropes. Behind the town, the great volcano Etna simmered and steamed.

Around us, dozens of slender boats scudded from shore to ship, piled to overflowing with baskets of fruit and wine-casks. A launch crowded with rowdy women drew up alongside a frigate, and the women shouted up at the bosun, pleading to be let on board.

‘Let me see my husband!' one cried.

‘If you won't allow my son ashore, at least let me kiss him farewell,' said another.

The bosun shook his massive head.

‘Get away with you, hags,' he snarled. ‘I won't have a woman on board my ship.'

‘He is afraid of them,' said Carlo. ‘Imagine if he knew that over here, on this ship, a girl is part of the crew!'

‘They can't do him any harm, surely,' I said.

‘If he lets his crew see their womenfolk, not one of
them will want to sail away from home tomorrow.'

‘Can't say I blame them,' I admitted. ‘Why would anyone exchange a Sicilian mother's home cooking for months of salt pork, hard biscuit, and stale beer?'

‘But think of the adventures they would miss if they stayed home,' said Carlo.

‘Is that why you're here?'

‘I am escaping,' Carlo said.

‘You fought against the French?' I asked.

‘No,' he said, his face troubled. ‘I am escaping my tutor.'

I tried really hard not to smile. ‘But …?'

‘It's not funny, Cygno.'

‘I'm sorry,' I began.

‘General Bonaparte declared that boys of noble Maltese families must go to France to school.'

‘You mean you would have had to leave your family?'

‘Yes,' he said. ‘My mother wept for two days.'

‘And your father?'

‘My father wanted to send me away out of danger, anywhere but France. So here I am. They put me on a packet to Sicily with my tutor, but he is so stupid I ran away from him on the first day. I have been hiding aboard
Corfu
waiting to be smuggled back into Malta.'

He grinned. ‘Now I find that my old friends are here too.'

Jem passed by on his way to the boats.

‘Hey,' I called to him. ‘We have to smuggle Carlo back home again.'

‘Not bloomin' likely,' Jem growled. ‘It nearly killed me last time.'

‘Perhaps it is fate that we were brought back together,' Carlo announced. ‘Perhaps I am not destined to return to Malta. I shall stay aboard the
Mermaid
for good.'

Jem simply snorted and kept walking.

‘I will be your captain,' Carlo shouted after him.

‘I'm not sure that's the right thing to say,' I whispered. ‘Jem is our captain.'

‘Don't be silly, Cygno,' said Carlo. ‘I am a natural leader of men.'

‘But you don't know anything about sailing.'

‘I will learn as I go.'

‘Caruana!' Jem hollered over to the
Corfu
. ‘Get this dolt off my ship.'

Carlo looked around to see who Jem meant.

I stood up. ‘I'd better help with the loading. You get back aboard
Corfu
. We'll rendezvous tomorrow.'

We shook hands, and I grinned to myself as he leaped over the rails and onto the scow.

But the next morning, just after dawn, the peace of the harbour was broken by shots from the cannon on the headland.

I scrambled on deck as fast as I could. There seemed to be no sign of danger, yet the harbour was alive with boats weaving between the moored ships, and the sounds of excited shouts echoed across the water.

‘What is it?' Jem shouted to Caruana, who stood on his foredeck in shirt and breeches.

‘I cannot tell. I'll send a boat for news.'

‘I will go!' Carlo leaped into the rowboat and sat
waiting for someone to row him in to shore. Everyone on
Corfu
was too excited to notice.

‘Do not worry yourselves,' he shouted. ‘I will go myself.'

‘Better not, boy,' called Jem. ‘There are tricky little currents in this harbour.'

But Carlo had already cast off the line that held the boat secure to the side of the ship. He fumbled with the oars, and drifted a few yards before he finally had the oars in the rowlocks.

‘I have it in hand,' he shouted. ‘I will return with news!'

‘Not like that, you won't,' said Jem, but not loudly enough. Carlo, firmly grasping the oars, was facing the wrong way.

He put all his strength into one mighty stroke. Jem and I winced in unison as the boat whizzed across the gap between the two ships and slammed into the side of the
Mermaid
with a shuddering thud.

We peered over the side. Carlo was sprawled, blinking, on the bottom of the boat. One oar was floating nearby.

‘I think he's all right,' I said.

‘Never mind him,' said Jem. ‘What about my poor ship?'

Aboard
Corfu
, Caruana was looking the other way. ‘Ahoy there!' he shouted to a fishing boat. ‘What news?'

‘A mighty battle,' called the fisherman. ‘The French fleet destroyed by the English!'

Our boys let out a raucous cheer.

‘Where away?'

‘Egypt. Somewhere near the Nile. Flagship sunk an' all. That's all I know. Bonaparte is finished.'

‘Hoorah!' Carlo's cries drowned out everyone else. His face glittered, with excitement and joy, in the morning sun. The Vella brothers leaped up into the shrouds and waved their arms at people on shore.

The whole city seemed to be rejoicing.

It took hours to get everything stowed ready for sea, but in that time Carlo crossed the harbour four times asking people for details of the battle, until Caruana banned him from using the ship's boats and oarsmen. More news came to us from passing skiffs and the harbour master's crew.

Two ships had arrived in the night with dispatches for the Viceroy. The King of Naples had announced a great victory at sea. Admiral Nelson was the hero of the day. He had chased the French all around the Mediterranean, finally found them in Aboukir Bay, and destroyed the fleet completely. He was to be made a lord, perhaps a prince. General Bonaparte was stranded with his army somewhere in the sands of Egypt.

‘Good bloody riddance, if you ask me,' said Max. ‘Never did like the man. Told you he'd never amount to anything.'

We went about our work in high spirits. Only Miller seemed subdued.

As we called out farewells to our friends on
Corfu
, and cast off our moorings to set sail for Malta, I stood beside Miller in the stern and watched Mount Etna fade into the sea mist.

‘You're not excited by it all?' I asked.

‘Me?' He was taken aback. ‘Oh, I've no doubt it's a great day.'

‘What's wrong then?'

His face wrinkled as he peered up at our sails, full now as we ran downwind. ‘If it's true what they say, about how many ships were sunk, that's a lot of men gone to the bottom,' he said. ‘French and English, must be hundreds … thousands. Poor bastards.'

I must have stared at him oddly.

‘You think I'm strange?' he asked me.

‘Not at all. I just wouldn't have expected it from you. You're supposed to be as tough as sails.'

‘Hell of a way to die, that's all.'

He was thinking of another time, another ship, perhaps even another ocean.

‘You said once that you'd been in a war,' I probed, as gently as I could.

‘That's right. I was pressed onto the
Bedford
. Captain Gould's day, it was. We took two ships out of Genoa in my first battle. Seven dead, though, in our crew alone, and half the wounded never sailed again. Never thought I'd see the like.' His laugh was grim. ‘Now look at me.'

‘She's a famous ship, the
Bedford
,' I said. ‘I remember seeing her once. She took on supplies in Santa Lucia.'

‘Famous enough, I suppose. Lousy enough. You know, the French took one of those two ships right back, a few months later, off Toulon. More men dead. It's just a game to those admirals, you know. Like draughts.'

I stood silent, to let his thoughts sort themselves out.

‘I felt like I'd been at war most of my life,' he said. ‘It's a rotten way to earn your bacon. So one night the Navy and me decided we'd had enough of each other and parted company. Majorca, I think it was.'

‘You mean, you're a deserter?'

‘Don't think of it that way. Let's just say me and the Navy didn't get on, just like me and my missus.'

He flexed his massive shoulders and stretched his arms. ‘Hard enough work today, but nothing like being in a gun crew.'

‘But if they catch you?'

‘They never will, don't you worry.' He winked. ‘Neither will my missus.'

Somehow the
Corfu
beat us back to Dingli. We rounded the point to see her moored in the little cove, already unloading sacks of grain into two launches.

‘Hell,' said Jem. ‘How did he do that?'

Captain Caruana waved as we drew close.

‘Nice sailing weather.'

‘Show-off,' Jem muttered. ‘Cyg! Find out what course they took so we can beat them next time. Damned if I'm going to lag behind that old barge.'

‘Sorry, Jem, but Caruana's been sailing these waters all his life — and his life's been a lot longer than mine. He must know a secret way.'

‘He must have come through the Comino channel,' suggested Ricardo. ‘It's the only way.'

Jem clenched his jaw and glared at
Corfu
. ‘Of course. Next time, damn the watchtowers, we'll just sail straight through the middle.'

‘But yesterday you said —'

‘Never mind what I said yesterday. Today we have been challenged. You wouldn't understand, Cyg. It's a matter of honour.'

I had to walk away, I was giggling so much. He heard me.

‘Any navigator worth their salt would plot the fastest course!' he yelled.

I giggled even louder.

‘Drop anchor!' he shouted, as furious as Diablo in a temper.

My aunt and all her children were on the shore, waving. I waved back, and she raised her parasol in greeting. Ebenezer Black was already making his way towards us in one of the rowboats. It looked for all the world like a peaceful regatta. You'd never have known that we were smuggling forbidden goods right under the noses of the French garrison at the Verdala Palace.

Yet my uncle came aboard with all his usual nonchalance, greeting Miller with a handshake and waving to Jem, who still stood fuming in the stern.

‘We wondered if we'd lost you,' said Black. ‘
Corfu
's been here all morning.'

I took his arm and led him along the deck. ‘Sshh. It's a sore point.'

He laughed. ‘I see. Well, Caruana is an old hand at the grain race, let me tell you. When he was younger, he held the record for fastest passage to Spain. Even at his age, and even in
Corfu
, he'd be a hard man to beat in the right wind.'

‘He's a good man to have on our side then,' I said.

‘Undoubtedly, and funnily enough, he says the same thing about your friend McGuire.'

Black's voice took on a conspiratorial tone. ‘Young Carlo de Santiago is aboard
Corfu
, I understand?'

I nodded. ‘You know him?'

‘I know his father, well enough to be sure that he will not be pleased that the boy has returned.'

‘There's no stopping him, sir. He believes he should be in Malta to fight the French.'

‘Indeed,' said Black. ‘His opportunity may soon arise. I had word this morning that the French are planning to sell off all the tapestries and silverware from one of the oldest churches on the island. They will be opposed. Duke de Santiago, amongst others, will be there to try to stop them, by force if need be.'

‘I must tell Carlo,' I said. ‘He will want to be there.'

‘I guessed as much, and this is why I'm telling you. It could become a very ugly incident. The boy is impulsive, that much I know. His father does not know he has returned, and tomorrow may be the worst of all possible days for them to meet. I ask you and your men to escort Carlo back to the Old City and to make sure he comes to no harm.'

‘Of course,' I said. ‘We will do it.'

‘What will we do?' asked Ricardo, who had sneaked in close enough to hear. As I told him the plan, his face flushed scarlet.

‘The blasphemers,' he cried. ‘Auction off Our Lady's sacred tapestries, and on a Sunday too? I will stop them. My brother and I will stop them.'

He raced off to find Francesco, cursing in Maltese and shaking a fist at an imaginary French force.

Uncle Ebenezer looked disconcerted. ‘Frankly, I was hoping for a somewhat more measured approach,' he said.

‘Don't worry, sir,' I assured him. ‘I'll be there, with some of the
Mermaid
's trustiest men. Carlo will come to no harm, and we will deliver him safely home to his family. What could possibly go wrong?'

Before dawn the next morning Carlo scampered ahead with the Vellas as I trudged with Jem, Moggia and Miller through the fields and grasslands towards the Old City. The path rose and wound along the top of the hill, narrowing and forcing us to walk in single file as fast as we could.

‘Stay low,' warned Jem. ‘There may be Frenchmen posted on the road.'

I hunched over. In front of me, Miller crouched down, trying to make his huge frame into a tiny silhouette against the sunrise. Suddenly he stopped without warning. I heard a muffled gasp, and then the familiar sound of Carlo sprawling flat on his face.

‘You don't have to stay quite that low,' quipped Miller.

Carlo jumped to his feet and dusted himself off. ‘I thought I heard something,' he said.

‘Is that why you fell over?'

‘There it is again,' Carlo whispered. We all crouched down, listening. Sure enough, something was rustling in the scrub that lined the track.

‘There it is,' Carlo hissed, quietly drawing his dagger.

Another sudden movement in the bushes made him jump, then he leaped to his feet and ran towards the noise. Miller put a hand on my arm to tell me to stay put, and flashed me a grin.

‘Stand and fight, you coward,' Carlo shouted at the bushes.

‘Hey, keep your damned voice down,' said Jem.

Carlo, thrusting his dagger into the bushes, was too frantic to hear him.

‘Saints preserve us,' muttered Miller, and got slowly to his feet. He grabbed Carlo's sword arm.

‘That's enough.'

‘I have discovered a spy!' Carlo exclaimed.

‘You have discovered a goat,' said Miller. ‘Stop jumping about and shouting, and you'll hear it clear enough.'

Just at that moment a feeble bleat came from somewhere in the dark. The Vella brothers sniggered loudly.

‘Poor old goat,' said Francesco. ‘What has it ever done to you to deserve such treatment?'

‘Can you skewer it for our dinner with your little knife?' Ricardo teased.

Carlo sheathed his dagger, crestfallen, but trying to maintain his dignity.

‘Never mind,' I said. ‘Perhaps it is a specially trained spy goat.'

Miller snorted and gave Carlo a gentle shove. ‘Come on, lad. You lead the way.'

The Old City rose up before us, solid as a mountain, and buttressed against attack by massive stone walls that soared above the plateau. I had only ever seen it once before, at night, but in the sunrise it glowed cream and yellow, and the enormous walls seemed to beckon us closer.

We were not the only people on the road that
morning. Ahead of us, and behind, small groups of men were stomping towards the city. Some of them brandished swords; others had brought their scythes from the fields. As we grew near, our groups merged into one long stream of people, all moving in the same direction.

‘This will be a great day in history,' said Carlo.

‘Remember what I told you,' Jem warned him. ‘No nonsense from you. We're only here to take you home. Then we set sail, back to Sicily.
Corfu
will be ready for the evening breeze, and the
Mermaid
has to beat her out of the bay. You hold us up for more than a minute, and I'll have your guts for garters.'

‘I remember,' said Carlo, unconvincingly. ‘Look at all the peasants. They have risen.'

‘Just like the storming of the Bastille, eh?' Miller joked.

The main gate, as big and ornate as a palace, stood wide open. People thronged across the bridge into the Old City, and spread out through the streets. Carlo led us away from the main avenue, down twisting lanes built to protect the city from Arabs and pirates.

‘We will go around the back streets,' he said.

‘That is very wise, or we will never get through the crowds,' Francesco replied.

‘They're up to something,' Miller whispered in my ear.

‘Don't be such a nanny,' I said.

The lanes were too narrow even for a cart, arched and hemmed by towering golden houses. Alleys turned and buckled, then petered out into paved
squares of shaded quiet. On a bench, an old woman sat smiling, sewing, while her grandchildren threw plums at each other. Their squeals echoed along the lanes and reached into the courtyards.

But as we walked, the mood in the streets changed. Knots of men stood on corners talking fast and low. They looked around urgently, as if sniffing the air. From the lanes and alleys came shouted cries and answers, pounding feet, and the slamming of wooden shutters. Dust rose in low swirls as hundreds of feet kicked and tripped and scurried. Here, a child fell. There, an old man leaned against a wall and put one hand to his chest. Between them, down the middle of the crowded lane, rushed gangs of young men, all shouting and leaping high with the thrill of the moment.

No matter which way we walked, the crowd carried us along in its flood tide, coursing and welling through the narrow streets. It felt dangerous. I wished, in a way, that I could hold on to someone's hand, for fear of being washed away or lost in the throng. But holding hands is not a very pirate thing to do. Instead, I stuck close to Jem, so tall his head could be spotted above any crowd.

The undertow of hostility grew stronger. Carlo pointed out the Carmelite church, home of the sumptuous tapestries the French were so eager to sell. An enormous mass of people had gathered outside, and the crowd stretched along the street as far as we could see.

‘Gosh, we seem to have ended up near the church, after all,' Carlo exclaimed.

‘What a strange coincidence,' said Francesco.

‘You wouldn't credit it, eh?' said Miller, the sarcasm thick in his throat. ‘Even though Carlo tried so hard to lead us to his home, we somehow ended up right here in the main street in the middle of a riot.'

‘I'm amazed, myself,' said Jem. ‘I'm amazed …' his voice lifted, ‘that I ever let you people lead me anywhere!'

But the crowd was pressing behind us, so there was nothing to do but keep walking along, staying close to the houses on one side. There were more people than I had ever seen in one place. There must have been hundreds: people of all ages, some armed with hay-forks or ancient pikes, mostly peasants in their best Sunday clothes, like those we had seen on the road.

We pushed our way through to the main
piazza
, where the crowd had spilled right across to the doors of St Paul's Cathedral. The Duke de Santiago and Hussein Reis stood on one corner, like brightly coloured parrots in a flock of sparrows. The Duke's silken coat was the colour of dark wine. Beside him, Hussein looked like a street hawker or an Arab trader down on his luck. He had seen us the moment I spotted them, and pointed us out to the Duke. De Santiago's face changed like a sudden squall at sea. I nudged Carlo.

‘Your father is here. He's seen you.'

‘What are they up to?' Carlo asked as he sought out the two familiar figures standing side by side.

‘I have no idea.'

‘I do not trust the Turk,' he said. ‘I trust no man who can change his allegiance from one country to another. I do not understand it.'

‘I don't think it's Hussein you have to worry about,' I warned.

But Carlo was too excited by the moment to be concerned. ‘Papa!' he shouted across the
piazza
. ‘I have come home to join the fight.'

People nearby heard him, and some applauded politely. They made way for us as we weaved through the crowd, Carlo leading the way.

‘Follow me,' he called to us. The Vella brothers ran after him, greeting everyone like long-lost friends and family. Perhaps they were.

‘Who does he think we are?' Jem scowled.

‘Stay calm and stick close,' Miller warned. ‘I don't like the feel of this. If the French are stupid enough to turn up, there'll be the Devil to pay and no pitch hot.'

Jem, Moggia and I moved closer to him, and walked, tight-knit, through the mass of bodies. None of us liked the feel of it. We weren't used to the sight of so many people at once. We were like fish out of water on land, and unsure of our footing. We all kept one hand on our swords.

As we drew near, we could tell that Carlo and his father were already arguing.

‘Papa, forgive me, but I could not stay away while my islands were in peril.'

‘You'll be in peril when I get you home, boy.'

Carlo pouted. ‘I have risked life and limb to come home to you.'

‘You were sent away so you wouldn't risk life and limb,' his father grumbled. ‘Saint Lorenzo, preserve my family and my foolish son.'

‘Malta needs all its sons,' Carlo retorted. ‘That's what Hussein told me. Isn't that right?'

But the Duke had already taken Hussein by the arm. ‘The boy is quite mad. What am I to do with him?'

Hussein shrugged. ‘I'm not the man to ask about children. I know nothing about them.'

‘I am not a child.' Carlo stamped his boot on the paving. But his words were drowned out by the voices of the people in the
piazza
— a murmur at first, then an exclamation, and finally a full-throated roar.

Carlo leaped up and down to peer over the hundreds of heads.

‘It's the French,' he said. ‘They're here.'