by Merry Farmer
“Yes, but—”
“Stay below,” he repeated. “Do not test me on this or give me cause to regret bringing you.” He was at once sorry when he saw her face fall.
“I did not mean…” she started.
He sat on the edge of the bunk and framed her face between his hands. “I should not have been sharp. I apologise. But you said you wanted to be a sailor, and the first rule is obedience to your captain.”
She smiled at him. “I understand that. You will have no reason to worry for me, I swear. I will stay below and…and make bandages.”
“I trust we shall not need them. We outgun the Spanish ship, and my crew are well-trained. Not to mention that your hand is still in a splint.”
“Old Sawbones said it could come off soon.”
“Soon, but not quite yet if you are to regain the use of the hand.” He pulled on his shirt, followed by his boots. Finally, he slung his sword belt around his waist, the long scabbard sheathing the razor-sharp blade which served him well on such occasions as this. “I will let you know how matters progress.” He was at the cabin door but turned to speak to her once more. “You will hear a lot of noise when our guns start firing, but I do not expect the exchange to be prolonged.” He blew her kiss and sprinted up on deck to lead his crew into the coming encounter.
Chapter 8
It was the longest day of her life. Or she thought it might be. In truth, she could not remember.
The hours dragged. Will returned to the cabin a couple of times to inform her that the ship sighted was indeed their quarry, and he had set a course to intercept. He expected to be upon them within a couple of hours, three at most.
On another visit, he told her that the Falcon had company. Another privateer vessel was also giving chase.
“Have no fear, madame. We are swifter and bigger, with more guns than they have. I am not about to let anyone else steal my prize. The Spaniard will be ours.”
Her heart sank. She had been confident of the outcome when the Falcon was just pitted against the Spanish vessel, but to have to fight and defeat another pirate as well…those odds were not to her liking.
“Captain, please, is there anything I can do?”
“Stay safe for me, Ruby. That is all I ask.” He kissed her again and was gone.
Despite his warning, the sound of the cannons bursting into life beneath her feet almost stopped her heart. The roar was deafening. The Falcon shuddered from bow to stern with the force of the explosions. Men shouted overhead, feet pounded the decks, and the answering crash of retaliating cannon hurled Ruby to her knees. She took advantage of the occurrence to offer up a swift prayer in the hope that God might be within earshot, then scrambled back onto her feet again.
She could see little of the battle through the window at the front of the ship but pressed her nose to the pane anyway. For one brief moment, she caught a glimpse of the other pirate ship, then the Falcon changed heading, and she lost sight of it. She saw enough to surmise that their rival had fared badly in the exchange of cannon. One of her masts drooped drunkenly, and smoke was visible coming from her stern.
Then Ruby sighted the Spanish ship. It was obvious that the battle would not be prolonged. She had to assume that both pirates had turned their guns on the Spaniard and were working together to defeat her. The strategy was effective. The target vessel had lost all three masts and listed dangerously in the foaming waves. The stricken ship loomed closer as the Falcon descended upon its prey, and Ruby was hurled to the floor again when the two collided.
There was more yelling from above her, but this time jubilant, victorious whooping. It was clear that the battle was over, and the crew of the Falcon were boarding the conquered vessel. She supposed her pirate captain would be the first to swing across to the other deck.
How long must I remain down here?
She had promised the captain that she would stay out of harm’s way, but surely, now that the fighting was over, it would be safe to go up on deck.
He had not been specific, but she had given her word and would keep it. She sank onto the edge of the bunk to wait.
Perhaps half an hour passed. She heard nothing to cause her alarm. Footsteps, voices, the scrape of the two hulls as the vessels remained in contact, but nothing to suggest that battle was again joined. The captain would be occupied, she knew, supervising the freeing of the slaves and the offloading of the captured cargo. He was unlikely to return to their cabin any time soon, but he might send word to her. She resolved to wait a few more minutes.
It had been an hour, at least, since the first roar of cannon. Surely it was safe by now. Curiosity, and concern for the man she now knew she loved, spurred her to peep out of the cabin door and into the companionway beyond. She saw no one there who she could ask for news of events.
She drew a deep breath and exited the cabin. Cautiously, she made her way to the short flight of steps leading up into the daylight and ascended into the bright afternoon sunshine.
She had never seen the Falcon so crowded. Dozens of freed slaves milled aimlessly on the deck. The handful of pirates who had remained on board when most swarmed over to the captured ship attempted to herd the slaves into a group, but thus far their efforts had not succeeded. The men, for all were males, appeared stunned, confused. She supposed she could empathise with that.
Hercules was at the wheel of the Falcon, somehow managing to hold the ship steady as more liberated slaves shuffled unsteadily across the gangplank which had been slung between the vessels. She counted at least twenty, and no doubt there would be more to arrive still. He had not said so, but she assumed the captain’s plan would be to return with the slaves to Santa Natalia and liberate them there.
Desperate for firm news, she scrambled up the steps onto the raised wheel deck and clung to the rail beside Hercules. “Is all well with us?
“Aye, miss,” was the curt response. Hercules was a man of few words.
“Where is the captain?” she pressed.
The huge man spared her a glance. “Over yonder, miss.” He tipped his chin in the direction of the Spanish ship.
She shielded her eyes from the sun and peered across the narrow strip of water which separated the ships. At first, she did not see him, then his familiar blond head popped up from the hold, and he vaulted back onto the deck. He did not appear to be injured.
Thank the dear Lord…
Agile as a cat, the captain made his way across the deck and stopped to talk to another man, equally tall and broad but with much darker hair which hung loose to his shoulders. She did not recognise him; certainly he was not one of the Falcon’s crew.
“Who is that, talking to the captain?” she asked Hercules.
“That be the Raven, miss. Cap’n o’ the other ship.”
“The other pirate,” she breathed. “They…they will not fight, will they?” Her own pirate cut an imposing figure, but so did this Raven character. She feared for her lover should their confrontation come to blows.
“I doubt it. They don’t usually.”
She eyed Hercules with surprise. “Do they know each other?”
“Aye, miss. They have been known to share a jug o’ ale from time to time.”
“Oh.” Relieved and puzzled, she watched the exchange taking pace on the other vessel.
Certainly, both men appeared amicable enough. After a few minutes, the dark-haired pirate loped over to the hatchway leading into the hold and dropped down inside, to be followed by several members of both crews. Moments later, boxes and crates began to emerge from the hold to be stacked on the rolling deck.
“Some of the cargo is being brought over to the Falcon, and some to the other ship,” she observed as the loading began.
“Aye, miss. Looks like we’ll be sharin’ the booty then,” was Hercules’ summing up. “Probably best.”
She could not agree more.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, miss.”
She looked up from the chalk mixture she was pounding into a smoot
h paste. Several of the liberated slaves were afflicted with an ailment of the stomach, and Old Sawbones insisted that they be dosed with a medicine made from powdered chalk. It was a task she could perform one-handed, so the surgeon had given her instructions on how to prepare the remedy, and she had spent the last hour or so administering doses to all who seemed needful.
“What is it?” she asked of the young crewman who had approached her.
“The Cap’n sends ’is compliments, miss, an’ asks if ye would join ’im an’ t’other cap’n fer dinner.”
“Dinner?” she repeated.
“Aye, miss. That be what ’e said. On t’other ship, miss. I’m ter see ye safe over.”
“What, I am to go now?”
“Aye, miss, I reckon that be what ’e meant.” The crewman offered her a toothless grin.
She rose to her feet. “I see. Very well, but I should change first.” She was wearing her usual shipboard attire of a cotton tunic belted at the waist and loose-fitting breeches. She did not consider them suitable wear for a dinner invitation, even if it was on board a pirate ship. Luckily, she had brought a couple of decent gowns with her.
“Please give me a few minutes to get ready.” She was already hurrying towards the companionway.
“Aye, miss. I shall wait ’ere.”
She had dreaded being required to grab hold of one of the ropes and swing across to the other vessel, but as soon as she emerged back onto the deck wearing her best dress made of bright-green muslin, she saw that this would be out of the question. The vessels had disengaged, and already there was a distance of perhaps a hundred yards of glistening blue ocean between them as they plied a parallel course. The captured Spanish ship, now abandoned since both crews had returned to their own vessels, was nowhere in sight.
“She went down, miss,” was the helpful contribution from the crewman sent to escort her when he observed her gazing anxiously over the smooth waves to the stern of the Falcon.
“Oh. But what of the crew? Are they taken prisoner?”
“No, miss. The cap’n dinna like ter bother wi’ prisoners unless they be to ransom. That lot were worth nothin’, so they were put in a boat an’ sent off. They’ll be headin’ fer ’avana, I expect. That be the closest landfall.”
“Oh. How long will it take them to get there?”
Her escort shrugged. “Depends ’ow ’ard they row, miss. A few days, mebbe a week.”
“Will they survive a week adrift?”
“They’re not adrift, miss. Like I said, they ’ave oars. An’ enough food an’ water so long as they dinna waste it. Yer boat be down ’ere, if yer please…”
She must settle for that, it seemed. The sailor showed no further inclination towards conversation, simply assisted her into the small rowing boat which dangled from the rail of the Falcon. Once she was safely on board, the boat was lowered into the water, and her companion took up the oars and began to row them across the softly undulating waves.
When they drew close enough, she was able to make out the name of the other vessel. Raven’s Claw. She supposed that was fitting enough. The ship was smaller than the Falcon, but not by much. The damage sustained in the exchange of cannon fire was already under repair. The broken mast had been righted, though it remained a little lopsided, and the sails, although ripped in places, were reattached.
A rope ladder dropped over the side as they neared the Raven’s Claw, and her heart sank. She would be required to climb up it. The ship’s hull reared above her head, and she gulped.
It will not become any easier for thinking about it.
Resolute, she stood in the small, bobbing craft and reached for the first rung.
Helpful hands reached down to grasp her elbows when she neared the ship’s rail. Panting, she was assisted onto the deck of the Raven’s Claw. Surely it would be easier to climb back down…
“Bonjour, madame.”
She peered up into the visage of a man who would dwarf even her own pirate captain.
“I am Velvet, the Raven’s second-in-command,” he continued, offering her a bow. “I welcome you on board.”
“Th-thank you,” she managed.
“You are expected below. Please, this way.” He turned and set off across the deck.
She trotted along in his wake.
“The captain’s quarters are at the end, on the right.” The man named Velvet gestured that she was to descend the ladder onto the companionway. “Captain Falconer is already here.”
She thanked the man again and started to make her way backwards down the steep stairs.
The shouting reached her ears as soon as she set foot on the bottom step. She recognised Will’s raised voice and had to assume that the other man yelling must be the one called the Raven. There was a female voice in the mix also. She could not make out what they were arguing over, so she stepped closer.
Should she enter and interrupt? Or was it more polite to remain out of sight and pretend she had not heard them? Her mind was made up when the shouting stopped, to be replaced by the unmistakable sounds of a fight. She rushed to the door which Velvet had pointed out. It was slightly open, so she gave it a gentle shove, then stood, transfixed in horror.
Her pirate and his so-called friend were rolling on the floor exchanging punches and swearing at one another in a colourful mix of French and English. She possessed sufficient grasp of both languages to appreciate the depth of their anger and desire to do one another to death in the coming moments. Apparently, so did their female companion, a petite woman with an unruly mane of ebony-coloured curls. Her eyes never left the brawl as she backed towards the door and screamed down the passageway for help.
Unseen, Elisabeth shrank back into the corner, an area of deep shadow where she would not be noticed. She remained huddled in her hiding place when, moments later, Velvet and four other crewmen thundered past and rushed into the small cabin. At first the first mate and his companions appeared content to witness the fight and offered their view on which man might emerge victorious. Their preferred option was the Raven.
At the desperate urging of the dark-haired woman, they eventually relented and hauled the brawling captains apart, then held them secure at either end of the small cabin.
She inched closer again and tried to hear what was being said now. The men were no longer shouting, so it was not quite so easy to make out their conversation, but from the snippets she could grasp, she gathered that Will had, for some reason, insulted the Raven’s female companion.
She was baffled. Her pirate would never disrespect a lady, of that she was certain. She must have misunderstood.
She darted back into her shaded corner when the crewmen stomped from the cabin. It would seem the fun was at an end. Concluding that she could delay her entrance no longer, she stepped hesitantly towards the door.
“Oh, hello. I did not see you there. You must be…?” The Raven had followed his crewmen, intending to close the door behind them. Now he stood, framed in the doorway, looking down at her. His expression was friendly enough, though marred somewhat by the bruise blooming on his jaw.
“Ruby. I am… Ruby.” The borrowed name did not come easily from her tongue.
The Raven gestured for her to enter, so she slipped past him to stand next to Will. Despite his altercation with the other man, he did not seem especially the worse for wear. He slid an arm across her shoulders, and she leaned into him.
“My companion,” Will announced. “I told you of her.”
The Raven smiled and opened his mouth to speak, but any welcome he might have been about to offer was forestalled when his female companion charged across the cabin to glare into Elisabeth’s startled features. Instinctively, she stepped back, away from the other woman.
“What are you doing here?” the woman snarled. “Was it not enough for you that you ruined my life?”
Elisabeth could only gape, dumbfounded.
“Do you now spout your lies for my brother, too?” Vivid blue eyes drilled into Elisa
beth’s own gaze.
Brother? Utterly confused, grasping for any shred of sense in all of this, Elisabeth remained speechless.
It was Will who attempted to restore sanity. He tightened his reassuring embrace around her shoulders and tried to reason with the other woman. “Paulette? What are you saying? This is Ruby, and—”
“She is lying. Her name is not Ruby.”
Will paused, appeared to be considering. Then, “Do you know her? Have you met before?”
“Oh yes,” replied the other woman, her gaze cold and assessing. “We have met before.”
Elisabeth held her breath. She should be delighted to encounter one who might be able to shed light on her identity, but she had no illusions about this particular female. The woman considered herself deeply wronged for some reason and clearly meant her harm.
“This is the woman who falsely accused me of being a thief and turned me out onto the streets,” her adversary continued. “The woman you call Ruby is Madame Elisabeth Chirac, wife to the mayor of New Orleans. And I am intrigued to know how she came to be sailing with you…”
“What? What did you say?” Will’s tone was low. “Paulette, if you are up to something…”
“Why would I lie?” the woman spat. “I know her. The question you should be asking, is what is she doing here, pretending to be someone else?”
“That does seem to be a fair enough question,” the Raven offered, by far the calmest individual in the cabin. “Would you care to enlighten us, madame?”
“I… I…” Elisabeth’s tongue felt to have swollen to three times its usual size. She could not utter so much as a syllable.
“She is setting a trap for you, that is the only explanation,” the woman named Paulette continued. “You cannot trust her. None of us can trust her.”
“No, I…” Elisabeth started to back away. If she could only reach the door…
“Perhaps we should secure her in my hold until such time as we can clarify just what is happening here,” the Raven suggested. “Paulette, would you summon Velvet to return, please?”