by Meg Caddy
They scattered about their various tasks with renewed energy, talking in low voices. Casting an eye about the crewmen who moved past him, Barnet realised Martin Read was not among them. He narrowed his eyes and climbed the companionway. Was the man lounging somewhere? Indolent sailors could always find nooks and crannies in which to hide. Barnet had once found the cabin boy asleep beneath a coil of rope. The boy had been soundly whipped and had not tried such a thing since. Read was probably too tall for that trick but Barnet knew it was unwise to make assumptions. Particularly, he thought, about Martin Read.
He could not say, exactly, why the man bothered him so much. Perhaps it was his calm humour, which always seemed to be at Barnet’s expense.
‘Captain.’
Or perhaps it was the man’s uncanny knack of knowing his mind.
Barnet stopped and clasped his hands behind his back. Read faced him, eyes gleaming and posture tense. The tall man was as slow to smile as Barnet himself but now a grin crept into his features.
Barnet frowned. ‘Yes?’
‘There is something you should see on the starboard side, sir.’
Barnet followed him back above deck, stopping only when he saw the sails protruding from the bay of the Isle of Pines. He leaned on the rail.
Floating in the bay was a neat little craft, a merchant sloop. She was next to new, her sails still pale and her lines clean and fine. The work of a talented shipwright. And from her mast, fanning out in the light breeze that blew in off the water, was a black flag. A skull over two crossed swords.
Barnet’s heart quickened. The ache in his temples, present since the failed hunt, slipped away.
‘I know this ship,’ he murmured. ‘I know that flag.’
Entirely by accident, they had stumbled on Calico Jack and his stolen prize.
A quiet thrill went through Barnet. Of all the islands, all the bays, all the places the pirates could have stopped…
As if God had delivered them into his hands.
11
BONNY
Noah Harwood and I were having a spitting contest. He had me for distance but no one could match my aim. It was a stupid way to spend the afternoon but it distracted me from thinking about the chill in Calico’s voice when he’d sent me over to the Kingston. Distracted me from the sick feeling in my belly, the constant reminder that something was alive and growing in there.
The Ranger was tucked into another bay on the island. Isaac had argued we were too much of a target with two visible ships. Calico, knowing we were safe out here, had looked exasperated, but Isaac had eventually persuaded him to be cautious. A couple of the other lads were on the Ranger and a few of us were posted to the Kingston. With good weather, flat seas and not another ship in sight, there wasn’t much else to do but pass the pale morning spitting.
‘You’re both idiots.’ Isaac passed us by with a wooden bowl in one hand.
‘Jealous,’ I shot back. Harwood hawked and spat out at the ocean. I handed him a jug of small beer, laughing. ‘Nice.’
Harwood swigged from the jug. ‘So what’d you do?’ he asked, wiping his mouth.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Isaac wanted to stay back. Paddy Carter’s here because he and Fetherstone keep trying to kill one another. Ashcroft is here because he tried to smuggle a pipe below decks. Dobbin and me, we volunteered because Dobbin stowed a barrel of gin and the others don’t know about it. But everyone knows you make the captain madder’n a stuck pig and that you get too restless to keep onboard of your own offering. So what did you do to get sent back this time?’
I sighed and took the jug from him. ‘Said something stupid,’ I shrugged. ‘For a change…’
I trailed off, catching sight of movement off our port beam. I shoved the jug back into Harwood’s hands and scrambled to my feet. ‘Isaac, are you seeing this?’
He didn’t answer, already below to find a spyglass. I grabbed a ratline to pull myself into the rigging for a better vantage point and my stomach dropped. I didn’t need a spyglass to recognise the ship limping up on our stern.
The Albion.
I froze. Too late to run and we didn’t have the crew to fight. The others were all on the island. Plenty of weapons—no one to wield them.
A heavy footfall sounded behind me. Isaac. He hadn’t gone below to get a spyglass, as I’d thought, but had instead brought back an armful of firearms. I dropped down to the deck and took a flintlock for myself.
‘We’re going to lose the Kingston,’ Isaac said. I choked on the idea. Harwood caught his breath. By this point Paddy and Dobbin were on the deck with us. They were both pale. Only Isaac was steady, calm. ‘We don’t have any options,’ he went on. ‘We load up a jolly and row like the Devil back to shore. We’ll lose the prize but we still have our own ship. We won’t lose more than we can afford.’
‘Tell that to Calico,’ I murmured, but the sound was lost under the thunder of cannon. The shot fell short. We jerked into motion, running to winch the jolly over the water. Isaac and Paddy, the strongest of us, stayed on the deck while Ashcroft, Dobbin and Harwood clambered from the railing into the small boat. I handed the boys our weapons and a few barrels of food, then dropped a rope ladder over the side and followed them, stepping over the railing into the boat. Once we were lowered into the water, Isaac and Paddy used the rope ladder to climb down.
The Albion was low at the bow but she moved fast enough. She came abreast of the Kingston on our starboard side. I thought she would stop there, but as we rowed towards the shore I saw her damaged bow re-emerging from the other side of the stolen ship. I realised in that moment it was not just about the prize, not for Barnet. He was coming for us, too.
I could see him at the bow: no mistaking him. Just as Calico wore his fine coat to battle, so it seemed did Barnet. He could have been mistaken for a military man, with the figure he cut. I poured powder into my flintlock, wadded and rammed it, then fitted my shot into the barrel. He had me for distance but no one could match my aim. I stood, struggling to balance as the small jolly turned on a sharp wave, and climbed over barrels and crates to stand at the prow.
‘What are you doing?’ Dobbin asked, his voice strangled. His rowing faltered until Harwood dug him in the side with his elbow.
‘Steady, Bonny,’ Isaac grunted.
I planted my feet. Levelled my gun. The Albion was coming about, preparing to cut us off from shore. I kept my eye on Barnet. Breathed out long and steady. Then I fired. The flintlock jerked back in my hand. A scalding crack sounded.
Barnet was down and for a moment I thought I’d hit him. A surge of elation ran through me, followed by the sharp drop of disappointment. Someone had pushed Barnet down. I saw both men rise, unscathed.
I muttered a curse and fumbled to clean the barrel of my flintlock so I could reload. Seconds later a gun roared and the shot dropped close: water shattered across the small jolly-boat. Barnet ran along the deck and then I couldn’t see him anymore.
‘The helmsman,’ Isaac said. ‘Fire on the helmsman! Don’t let anyone take the—’
I didn’t give him a chance to finish the sentence. My gun was reloaded. I whirled, steadied, aimed, and shot the helmsman on the Albion. He slumped forward onto the wheel. Ashcroft fed me more ammunition as I readied the flintlock a third time. If no one could take the helm, it would give us the chance we needed.
Dobbin and Harwood took over the oars and Isaac came to crouch at my shoulder. He had a good eye as well, and a double-barrelled musket. If I’d been blessed with longer arms I would have preferred the weapon myself—it was a dream for accuracy. Isaac and I maintained the pressure on the helm. The Albion lurched, lost without someone to guide her. Triumph fluttered in my stomach as we pulled away from the ship.
And then the world exploded into splinters and heat.
All I knew was water and pain.
My lungs screamed. I couldn’t see. I kicked but couldn’t find the surface. The chest-bindings restricted my movement and my breath
. My cheek hurt, my legs, one of my arms. I rolled in the water and tried to swim but there was no direction, no light. Panic strangled the remaining air out of my chest.
And then I was pulled sidewards. I broke the water, gasped and choked and realised I’d been swimming down. Saltwater poured out of my mouth. Strong arms hauled me clear and wrapped me, pinning my arms to my side. I knew I was hurt, knew I was bleeding. Spots danced and grew in front of my eyes. The air came too quickly into my lungs and I couldn’t take it evenly. I clamped my mouth shut and forced myself to slow down. I couldn’t stop shaking.
I wondered about the baby in my belly. If it was even still alive.
‘Took your damn sweet Godforsaken time, Isaac!’ I finally managed to rasp, jerking out of my frozen, spluttering quiet. The salt made my voice rough.
‘I am not Isaac.’
The unfamiliar voice brought the panic back. I tried to struggle but I was still wheezing for air and when I moved my arm it felt like it was being torn off.
His grip tightened. ‘Be still, little fellow. No need for anyone to get hurt.’
‘I killed one of you bastards already, I’ll gladly kill more!’
‘No need for anyone else to get hurt,’ he conceded. He stood, dragging me. I couldn’t put weight on my right leg. I didn’t bother checking if my guns had survived; the water would have ruined the powder. I craned my neck to get my bearings. I was on a jolly-boat. In the shadow of a ship, presumably the Albion. There were maybe seven other men in the boat and one of them had a gun trained on me.
In the distance, I saw Isaac and the others pulling our own half-splintered jolly towards the shore. They left it there and ran up the beach in a hail of fire from the Albion. A flash of anger burned hot in my throat. They hadn’t hesitated long before leaving me behind.
‘You’re going to make a sensible decision now.’ The man holding me had a pale, quiet voice with a strange accent. English? Flemish? ‘If you fight, we will shoot you. But if you come gently to the ship, and do as the captain commands, you may find us lenient.’
Take your leniency and be damned. The words didn’t make it past my lips. Lack of strength or lack of courage? I slumped in the man’s grip. I prayed the babe would hold tight: if I started bleeding now they would find me out as a woman and God only knew what they would do.
The man who held me was strong. As tall as Isaac, but not quite as solid. He carried me onto the ship on his back; there was no chance I could make the climb on my own. I hadn’t had a chance to take stock of my injuries but now the desperate fight for survival was over, I was starting to feel them.
He didn’t drop me onto the deck. I almost wished he had, just so I could lie down and curl around my sore ribs. Instead, he eased me from his back and turned me so one of the other men could bind my hands. My arm was bleeding, probably cut by the jagged wood of the damaged jolly-boat as I fell out of it. My ribs didn’t feel cracked but they were bruised. My knee was swelling and ugly. Nothing seemed broken but I was battered and wheezing and my crewmates had left me behind.
Were they relieved to be rid of me at last?
The crew surrounding me was not of the navy, but they dressed smarter than most of the sailors I’d met. They jostled and shuffled forward, making a rough half-ring around me. Death in their eyes. I could see their fallen comrade set out on the deck, wrapped in canvas. The remaining men were angry, and they had good reason for it. My mind strayed towards thoughts of the noose, the gibbet. I fought back a shudder.
No weakness, no cowardice. I stood crooked on my bad leg but I forced myself to rights and straightened my shoulders.
‘Pirate.’
Someone spat on me. It opened a door. A murmur sprang up among the other men, a slow press forward. Maybe I didn’t have to worry about the noose or the baby at all. Maybe I was going to die right here and now.
‘Stop.’ The man who held me was soft-spoken but his one word was enough to halt the other sailors. ‘He sees the captain first.’
My bravado faltered when he shepherded me forward. My knee buckled with every step. Still, I noticed the other men stepped clear to let us through. To let him through. I found myself wondering what he had done to gain such respect—or fear. Perhaps I’d never find out.
Barnet’s cabin was well-lit and spacious. A small table was nailed to the boards, detailed charts stretched across it. There was a cot in the corner, neat and plain. No playing cards or dice strewn across the floor, no clothes dropped carelessly or draped over the cot. No books, which I might have expected from an educated man, and no portraits or trinkets. At the end of the cot was a trunk, which probably contained clothing, and a pair of boots. I couldn’t smell drink or tobacco. It was all clean, sparse.
And then there was Barnet himself.
You would never know the man had just captured a ship, regardless of how paltry our resistance had been. You wouldn’t even guess he was on a ship, just by looking at him. He was smartly groomed, his clothes simple and neat, close to military in style. There was something stiff and old-fashioned about him. He was not an old man, though. Just a man of the old world.
‘Read.’ He nodded and the man behind me released my arms and stepped away. Then Barnet took a pace forward. He wasn’t tall, but like most men he was taller than me.
‘What is your name, boy?’
‘Ned Fletcher.’ My father’s clerk in Charles Town: a young, skinny, serious boy who had left us for England the year before I married James Bonny. It was the most distant name I could think of.
‘You are going to hang for your crimes, Ned Fletcher.’ He clasped his hands behind his back. ‘We will transport you back to Port Royal, where you will be imprisoned and trialled. Once you are found guilty—and you will be—you will hang from the neck until dead. Your corpse will be tarred and strung up in a gibbet.’
‘Sounds like a busy day.’
He hit me in the face, an open-handed blow. I felt the impact before I felt the pain. My head snapped back. Read caught me and held me fast.
I spat onto the deck and forced air into my constricted lungs.
‘May God have mercy on your soul,’ Barnet said, as if he fancied himself a priest now. He rubbed his hand absently. ‘Read, take him below.’
Read took my arms again and steered me away from Barnet. He didn’t say a word, and I wouldn’t have heard if he had. My mind was churning, trying endless avenues of escape that all seemed to end with death. The crew bundled close to us. They watched me go, hatred on their faces.
The brig was small and musty. Read didn’t push me in but he was careful to lock the door behind me. I turned to look through the bars at him. He was lean and broad-shouldered, with dark hair and clear eyes. They were fixed on me now.
There was nothing to sit on so I used the inside wall of the brig to ease myself down to the deck. My knee gave out beneath me and I sat splay-legged. I knuckled my forehead, trying to ease the nausea that was roiling my gut.
I didn’t doubt they would question me. I was afraid of my own fear; of weakness. I feared telling Barnet each and every one of Calico’s secrets, spilling the waters of the whole crew for the sake of my own skin. No one lasted long during torture. A man would tell everything he knew, say whatever he was told to say, just to make it stop.
I didn’t look at Read. Should I come clean? They couldn’t hang me if I was with child. Would they take me to Carolina, back to my father? Or would they drag me to my husband in Nassau? Both were a kind of death. My father would have my marriage annulled and bind me to one of his wealthy friends, twice my age. I would have children and die sweating and trapped in the Charles Town humidity. My husband…
James’ eyes were bloodshot. Drink made him clumsy but it also made him cruel. I crouched in a corner and nursed my swollen jaw. I hated how timid he had made me. Each moment with him, I watched carefully for signs he was going to hurt me.
‘I am speaking to you, little fellow.’
I stared at Read. Banished the memory. Whate
ver happened to me from now, I would not go back to James Bonny.
‘I will send for some cloth,’ Read said at last. Conversational, calm, as if he had not just imprisoned me. ‘You need to strap that knee.’
Once I had strapped my leg Read and I exchanged no words for some hours. My tongue, usually so quick to insult or curse, felt numb and dry in my mouth. I was tired, and thoughts of my husband were never far away.
On several occasions, crewmen came down to the brig. Armed. Muttering. But they stopped when they saw Read and after a few tense moments they always retreated. I didn’t blame them. A few hours in I noticed he’d found himself a marlinespike and it rested across his knees. Whether he had it to deter them from brutality or me from escape I didn’t know, but it was effective on both counts.
At some point one of the other lads brought across something for Read to eat, as well as a strong drink. He offered some to me when we were alone. I drank: I could be proud but I wasn’t stupid. The alcohol numbed some of the throbbing pain in my knee and arm, and around midday I finally managed some sleep. It was cramped and uncomfortable and I awoke with a stiff neck, but I felt more myself.
‘You’re small for a pirate.’ It was the first thing Read had said to me since he had brought cloth for me to strap my knee.
I shrugged. ‘I run for the gunners,’ I said. ‘Powder-monkeys like me only work if they’re small.’
‘You’re young for a pirate, too.’
But older than I looked. ‘Oh, you know.’ I tried to sound casual. ‘Can’t let the old men have all the fun.’ My voice was light but I was wary. I didn’t know how to figure Read. ‘Why the marlinespike?’ I was afraid to ask but I forced the words out of my mouth before I had too long to think about them.
He tapped it lightly on his knee. ‘You killed one of our own.’
My fingers were cold and numb. I rubbed my hands to keep warm. My knee pulsed out a steady reminder of the jolly-boat splintering and cracking apart. ‘And?’
‘And the captain wants you delivered to Port Royal alive. The marlinespike is to remind the men.’