Wake of the Perdido Star (46 page)

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Authors: Gene Hackman

BOOK: Wake of the Perdido Star
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Jack must have drifted off momentarily when a thump awakened him. Quince was still in his chair, moving his head to the swing of the shadow bat in his cabin, his eyelids drooping. For the second time Jack heard the thump to the starboard side of the ship and now what sounded like muffled imprecations. This time he
could tell Quince heard it, too. Quen-Li, he figured, was in the galley, and Hansum up forward. So what the hell was it? Too early for the lads to return.
“Bob, that you?” Quince grabbed his swinging false limb and started to strap it in place, expecting a knock at the door from the ship's poet. Instead, the door flew open, crashing against the edge of the closet.
Two brutes in striped shirts stepped in, one addressing Quince in a thick, cockney accent, “Ya comin' peacefully, guvner?”
“What in blazes? You pressing me on my own damn ship? Are you daft? I'm a ship's master!”
They had not yet seen Jack, who'd rolled out of the bunk and under the table just as the door flew open. “Just doin' our jobs, guvner, now don' ye be givin' us a 'ard time and we'll go easy on ye.” Outside Jack heard a commotion which must have involved Hansumbob.
“You limey, harbor scum, whoresons. You hurt one of my men and—” Quince spit the words from between gritted teeth.
But the two had Quince before he had his arm full on, so he could only manage an ineffectual left to the snout of the second man. He stopped resisting, but shook free so he could leave with dignity. The big men were brutal but not stupid; if they could get a man Quince's size topside without having to drag him, they were happy to lead him through the companionway unfettered. They were also used to responding to authority and were uneasy about manhandling what, to all appearances, was a ship's officer. As the last man turned to leave, Jack grabbed both of his feet and pulled for all he was worth. The man crashed to the floor, his fall softened by stumbling against the back of his partner on his way down. “What the hell?” his partner yelled.
The first man turned to Jack, trying to focus in the gloom under the table. By the time he could see, Jack's fist smashed into his eye. But Jack was frustrated that the man hadn't fallen to the floor harder. Summoning all his might, he dove out from under
the table and hit the thug, who now had his hands over his injured eye, a short hammerlike punch to the jaw. He turned quickly to where the other man should have been but saw only Quince, who was in the process of yelling to his mate to watch his back. Too late—something thudded across Jack's head, and he was thrust immediately into unconsciousness.
When he recovered, Jack felt himself being dragged up the companionway and tossed in a heap next to the binnacle. He watched Hansumbob try his best to resist but the two thugs were too much for him. Not a violent or especially strong man by nature, it surprised Jack how hard Hansumbob punched the man holding the sap, a sock full of lead shot, which fell from the intruder's hand and through a scupper into the harbor. Having already felt the effect of the sap himself, Jack was relieved that it couldn't now be used on Bob. Helplessly, he watched Hansum being dragged toward the starboard rail, the powerful arm of one of the burly men wrapped around his neck.
“All right, Yank, ya going down the ladder under yer own will or you want te wake up with yer noggin busted?”
“I'm going,” muttered Hansum, but he worried over Quince. “Say, fellas, ye don' need to be botherin' with the skipper. The poor skip's only got one—” The fist that hit him in the cheek came from another man Jack hadn't seen before; the blow seemed to surprise even the brute holding him.
“You fookin' simpleton, shut up.”
Smithers's voice. These men seemed to be a press-gang, but to board a ship in a foreign harbor and to press a ship's captain was preposterous—it had to be Smithers's doing. Hansum's eyes bulged in righteous indignation.
“Smithers, you're a traitor and coward sure.”
But Smithers was not to be distracted now. Quince was being escorted to the rail, his hook half on and his face dark and resigned. A twisted smile widened across Smithers's face when he saw Quince recognize him.
“Yeah, it's me, you one-winged gimp.”
Quince said nothing but regarded him briefly, as one would a child who had deeply disappointed him.
Jack noticed something in his stunned, half-conscious state that made him unsure he was really awake: a catlike figure perched in the shadows behind Smithers. The apparition was only a couple feet behind him, but no one seemed to notice as they tended Quince over the side, to the ladder.
“Let's get our bleedin' asses out of here,” came a shout from the launch. “There's a damned boat headed this way from shore.”
The gang leader sounded anxious, uncomfortable. They'd obviously never been asked to raid a ship like this before, and even if someone, Jack would wager a one-eared Dutchman, had paid them well, and a traitor from the crew agreed it was a stolen ship—well, he just didn't like it. “What's keeping you idiots up there?”
Hansumbob, dragged to the rail, blurted once more at Smithers, “Ye'll be sorry ye bald-headed bastard, when Jack and the boys get a holt a ye.”
The intruders, except for Smithers and the man that held Hansum, were over the side with Quince. Smithers turned to Hansum, raising a heavy wood batten. “'Fore I turn your lights out I'll let you know that they won't catch us, you buffoon, 'cause we ain't goin' for shore but for His Majesty's fourth rate,” jutting his chin in the direction of the
Respite,
a British man-o'-war. The batten went higher, “Hold 'im where I can crack his thick skull.”
Smithers broke off when he noted who was lying next to the binnacle. “Hey, you blessed morons, that's him, that's O'Reilly!”
But the cat—a kind of Chinese-looking cat, Jack thought, but hard to see, like in a dream—suddenly laid a paw from out of the dark over Smithers's shoulder and gently stroked up his chest, like a woman's caress.
Smithers stared down quizzically at his chest. He hardly had a chance to form an expression of surprise before the hand suddenly
snapped up violently, like a striking snake, and his Adam's apple was crushed into the back of his throat. His head, grabbed by two hands, twisted until he was staring backward over his shoulder. Jack heard his neck break. There was the face of Quen-Li looking into his own. No expression. My God, thought Jack. He almost felt sorry for the remaining thug. He didn't stand a chance.
The man holding Hansum hadn't seen Quen-Li. He was trying to assure his leader over the side that he was coming fast as he could, but he turned at the sound of Smithers's neck cracking, and watched him fall to the deck, spasming. “Good God—” He caught a movement of what seemed like black cloth swishing behind him and he unconsciously released his grip on Hansum, at which point his captive kicked his heel up and slammed the man solidly in the groin. His groan was stifled by a hand clamped over his mouth from behind, followed by a deadly strike from a dagger to his side.
“Come, Bob,” Quen-Li said to Hansum, motioning for him to help him lift the big man's body. Jack willed himself to stand. He couldn't be of any help, but he staggered over to the rail to see what was happening as Quen-Li and Bob edged the man over the side.
The leader in the boat, seeing his man's head appear at the rail, yelled frantically, “Johnson, damn you, hurry!” He started up the ladder when Johnson came down on him as deadweight, taking them both into the harbor.
“Jesus,” the leader spluttered, regaining the surface. The men in the boat quickly pulled him back aboard. “What the hell is the matter with Johnson?”
“Christ, boss, he's dead. Skewered like a pig.”
Before the shock of that realization could fully hit home, another body crashed to the center of their launch from above. “What the hell—”
“It's that damn Smithers!”
The men in the launch panicked. They cast fearful glances at the gunwale of the
Star
, and pushed off with their oars, rowing
wildly. The leader, regaining his wits, screamed at them to head for the
Respite
. “Those longboats are picking up speed!”
The men from the
Star
, who had been lazily returning, had finally realized something was wrong and had galvanized into action. They had seen the strange boat and knew something was amiss.
The men in the press-boat with the
Star'
s leader in tow, pulled with everything they had for the British ship. The last Jack could see, they were casting glances down at Smithers, whose purple face and protruding eyes were staring up at them from his twisted form.
Even when they were out of sight, Quince's voice carried back over the still water. Jack heard him say, “You boys ever read the Bible?”
“What?”
“Yer about to inherit the wind. Why don't you save yourselves the grief. Do you really think Black Jack O'Reilly will let you keep breathing after you raided his ship?”
“Shut up, you old fool,” screeched the leader.
“Aye, I'm a fool all right . . . for speaking to dead men.”
Jack felt Quen-Li and Hansumbob lift him under the arms; they had heard, too. They walked Jack back to one of the pallets on deck and set him down. He was still woozy from the blow to the head, but his desperation at Quince's capture was bringing him around.
Jack stood on the deck of the
Star
with a grim look on his face, listening quietly to Hansumbob and Quen-Li as they recounted Quince's kidnapping. The men were outraged. How could they possibly retrieve their shipmate and leader from the clutches of a British man-o'-war?
They directed their comments to Jack, looking to him for a solution. Not yet twenty years old, and the seasoned men of the
Star
treated him as their undisputed leader. Even Cheatum, strangely
silent, perhaps because he had been so closely associated with the traitor, offered no challenge to Jack's authority. Mentor, closest in age to Quince, seemed the most shaken.
“Jack, what are we gonna do? We've got to get him back.”
“And send that damn De Vries to his maker,” added Jacob, “so's he can rot in hell right next to Smithers.”
“First things first,” Jack spoke calmly.
Coop, staring at the man-o'-war, remarked, “Even with most of her regulars on leave, her complement is five times our number. And there's no way of gettin' a raiding party anywhere's near that ship with them maintaining a naval watch.”
Jack gazed at the warship, impregnable, bristling with guns. Wood flotsam floated against it, as it did all vessels in the harbor. He saw watchmen in several small picket boats, lanterns mounted on them, ensuring that no intruders could get near the vessel.
“I think I know a way to board her, but I don't know how to handle the crew. They outnumber us by too much.” He watched another log join the rest of the garbage collected against the
Respite
's hull with the outgoing tide. The ship was a formidable sight; the flotsam appeared like leaves and branches blown by the wind against a great citadel.

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