The Pirate Kings

by Alex Scarrow

  They were going to have to hope this island would offer some wild boar, perhaps even a turtle or two.

  Liam had quietly advised Rashim that the foraging party was best led by Henry Bartlett. The man was proving to be something of a liability. Disgruntled at not being voted captain, he was beginning to make trouble, to sow seeds of discontent among the crew, and Liam thought the best medicine was to keep the man busy with something rather than have him idle and muttering and grumbling to those willing to listen.

  They watched Henry and a dozen other men as their two boats laden with empty water casks finally rode up on to the beach and they splashed out into the shallow water. The men going with Bartlett had been handpicked by Liam: men who weren’t particularly close to Henry, weren’t part of Henry’s small (but growing) band of disgruntled fellow mutterers. The last thing they needed was for them all to be together ashore for a couple of days to voice their shared discontent, to egg each other on and hatch plans.

  ‘This isn’t going very well so far, is it?’ said Rashim.

  ‘They’re a hard lot to please,’ replied Liam. It didn’t help that every man aboard this ship had been given the hard sell by Teale back in London: promised that the waters of the Caribbean were awash with gold and easy plunder. That getting rich would be as easy as plucking low-hanging fruit from a tree.

  The last few days, barely a fortnight since Teale had been ousted, they’d experienced one misfortune after another. Firstly a storm that had seemingly blown up out of nowhere, cracking a yard in half and damaging all the rigging attached to it. Then a mishap with one of the ship’s casks of gunpowder going off. Luckily, the majority of the store of powder, still waterlogged from the storm, had failed to ignite alongside it. But the explosion – caused, Liam suspected, by some careless fool tapping the ashes from a pipe where he shouldn’t have – had been enough to kill one of the men (presumably the idiot with the pipe) and wound a couple of others.

  Finally … they’d run aground on a sandbank. Been stuck on it for several days while the crew had been forced to offload everything that could be removed to lighten the vessel, then every man mustered to work chest-deep in the water to rock the schooner inch by inch backwards into deeper water.

  As Rashim had pointed out, not the best start. Truth was they were in a pretty sorry state. Some of the men wanted the ship to head to the nearest port – presumably with the intention of abandoning the Clara and trying their luck on some other ship, preferably one captained by someone who knew what he was doing and, better still, with a licence to raid and plunder Spanish ships.

  Even if they went to a port, they had no money. None at all. Liam imagined there would undoubtedly be some sort of mooring fee, or a local tax or bribe that would have to be paid and, failing that, he presumed their ship would be confiscated in lieu of payment.

  ‘What we need is a win,’ said Rashim. ‘Just a small win.’ He turned to Liam. ‘To show the men our luck has changed for the better.’

  ‘Maybe … ’ Liam started voicing a thought that hadn’t quite crystallized in his mind yet.

  ‘Maybe … what?’

  He shrugged. ‘Maybe we just need to cut ourselves free from all of this.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean … what if we just sailed into a port, rowed ashore and just … I dunno, abandoned this ship. Let someone else take charge of it. Let Henry take charge of it, since he wants that so badly.’

  ‘Then what?’

  Liam pursed his lips. ‘I don’t know. I’m just making this up as I go along.’

  ‘We are stuck, Liam. We are stuck in this time and, if we did as you suggest, we would be stuck here with nothing but the clothes we stand up in. We would be beggars in a place that I am sure has little charity going around.’

  Liam nodded. ‘True.’ Rashim was right. The Clara, sorry state that she was in right now, was their only asset. The only thing they could use as leverage in their situation. And their ‘ownership’ of her was only by the current consent of the crew. One more stroke of bad luck and they could just as easily turf Rashim and him over the side and vote someone else in to run the ship.

  ‘All we need is one easy victim,’ said Rashim. ‘Then, with a little money, we could turn this all around. I am sure of it.’

  Liam smiled. ‘You’re actually loving this really, aren’t you? Captain Rashim?’

  Rashim ignored that. ‘I have had some ideas.’

  ‘Ideas?’

  ‘Yes. Ways we could have a definite tactical advantage over all other ships. Ways we could modify this ship to make it unbeatable. Make it … ’ Rashim narrowed his eyes and gazed out across the lagoon at the beached dinghies. ‘Make this ship legendary. But we would need money first.’

  ‘Legendary?’ Liam cocked an eyebrow. ‘Come on, what’s going on in that head of yours?’

  ‘Yes, legendary, Liam. We are stuck here. Both our transponders are gone. I cannot even confidently assure you that they were powerful enough for Maddy to track anyway. For all we know, she could still be scanning up and down the Thames for us right now. Or she may by now think we were caught up in the fire. Dead.’ He swiped away a damp curl of dark oily hair from his face. ‘Liam, we are stuck here, are we not?’

  ‘Aye, for the moment, I suppose.’

  ‘But … could we not make our mark?’

  Changing history. Sure. Liam nodded. It’s not like he hadn’t resorted to that before. He’d created a fossil with a get-me-the-hell-out-of-here message. He’d signed a museum visitors’ book with a coded version of a similar message. But what was out here in this tropical wilderness that could effect the same result? They could carve messages into palm trees, leave notes buried in treasure chests and hope some future treasure hunter might find one and take it to an anonymous little oak doorway beneath Holborn Viaduct. But really …? The chances of that?

  Then Liam laughed. Laughed at his stupidity. He had it … what Rashim was getting at. Make our mark. Make themselves a legend. Become a story recorded in history books. Books that Maddy and Sal might read. Perhaps even create a time wave that Sal would pick up on – a clue that they were both alive and making their presence felt.

  ‘Liam, using a few modern … refinements, we could make our ship infamous. The scourge of the high seas.’ Rashim grinned rather self-consciously at the cheesy phrase. ‘You and I, Liam … we could be kings of the pirate world.’

  ‘Pirate kings, huh? You sure this is all about getting Maddy to find us … and not about you living some personal Captain “Blackbeard” Rashim ego trip?’

  ‘It is to that end. To give something for Maddy to spot.’ He gave Liam an indulgent wink. ‘But … but also … I mean, pirate kings? You and I. Would that not be quite something?’

  ‘Aye … it would.’

  They gazed out at the men on the beach, already splitting up into several parties to scout the island for a source of fresh water.

  ‘All we need is that one easy victim to start us off,’ said Rashim. ‘A little money.’

  ‘You going to tell me what your ideas are? You know, for making us so super-invincible?’

  Rashim tapped the side of his nose. ‘I am still refining my ideas. Soon.’

  ‘Well, I’m going to suggest an idea.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘If we’re going to make this ship famous … infamous even … then I suggest we change her name.’

  ‘To what?’

  Liam rolled his eyes. ‘Well, obviously to something that will jump out at Maddy and slap her in the face.’

  Rashim looked none the wiser.

  ‘The Pandora, of course.’

  Chapter 32

  1667, the Caribbean Sea

  ‘She’s badly crippled, Skipper,’ said Tom, passing the spyglass to Rashim and pointing across the flat sea towards the pale dot of a sail on the horizon.

  Rashim squinted into the lens for a minute before passing it on to Liam. ‘His eyes are better than mine.’

 
Liam took it and settled on the distant smudge of billowing canvas. The ship loomed in and out of view as their own vessel rocked gently. He braced himself against the rail and adjusted the spyglass’s focus. He could make out a high-sided merchant ship. And there, fluttering from the mizzenmast, he could make out yellow and red colours on the listless flag. ‘Spanish?’

  ‘That she is, old-style carrack,’ said Tom. ‘And see? Her foremast is snapped above the yard.’

  Liam nodded. ‘Aye, she does look a pretty sorry sight.’ He lowered the spyglass. ‘Storm damage, do you think?’

  ‘Most likely,’ grunted Tom.

  The storm that had whipped up last week had come without warning and passed quickly. It had been a terrifying few hours during which they’d bucked and rolled and large swells had crashed over the low waist of their ship. Perhaps the storm had been more severe further west and south towards the Spanish Main.

  ‘Do those Spanish ships not travel in flotillas?’ asked Rashim.

  ‘Most times. This one must’a been left behind. Too slow for the others. They don’t like to waste no time ’anging about in these waters. Straight an’ as quick as they can out into the Atlantic.’

  Liam turned to Rashim. ‘Looks like our first bit of good luck. Some easy pickings.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Rashim took a deep, steadying breath. ‘I suppose we’d better get our hands dirty, then.’

  Tom grinned.

  Three hours of pursuit later, a single warning shot from one of their port-side cannons and the carrack had eagerly lowered her sails. Now she bobbed listlessly a hundred yards across the water from them. Liam convinced Rashim that now was as good a time as any for him to try and look the part of the fearless, swashbuckling leader of a band of bloodthirsty buccaneers. So, he stood at the prow of the leading pinnace, doing his best to play the part, one booted foot resting haughtily on the gunwale, a hand resting on the hilt of the cutlass tucked into his belt.

  As they pulled alongside the hull of the carrack, a rope ladder was tossed down over the side to them. After a moment’s hesitation, and goaded by a look from Liam, Rashim led the way up, finally at the top swinging his legs over the rail with as much commanding presence as he could muster. Before him, on the main deck, the carrack’s entire crew were assembled, their weapons in a tidy pile on the planking at their feet. Fifty pairs of anxious eyes silently rested on him.

  Rashim fought the urge to offer them a polite little wave while he waited for Liam and the rest of the boarding party to clamber up and join him.

  ‘And what do I do now?’ he muttered under his breath to Liam as he took his place beside him.

  ‘I don’t know. Ask who their captain is, I suppose.’

  ‘Right.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Who is in command here?’

  One of the crew on the main deck took a step forward. A short stocky man with long dark hair silvered with strands of grey and a tidily clipped moustache. He dipped his head politely. ‘I am Captain Juan Lopez Marcos.’ He pulled a sword from his scabbard, an unpolished, dull-edged blade, and offered it hilt-first to Rashim. ‘I surrender this ship to you.’

  ‘Right … very good.’

  Behind him, Rashim heard the rest of the boarding party clamber over the rail. He heard one or two of them whoop excitedly as they spread out across the deck and began to eagerly rifle through the crew’s possessions.

  The Spanish captain took a faltering step closer to Rashim. He spoke with a lowered voice. ‘We offer no resistance, señor. I ask … only that your men exercise restraint.’

  ‘Yes … yes, quite. Of course.’

  ‘I … we carry a cargo of wines, foods, a little coin. I must inform you there is no gold aboard our ship.’

  ‘Well, we’ll take a look for ourselves all the same,’ replied Rashim.

  ‘Señor?’ The Spanish captain looked anxiously at the Englishmen as they raced each other eagerly up the ladders to the aftcastle and forecastle in search of booty. ‘I must tell you, there are women and children aboard our –’

  His words were interrupted by a shrill scream and, a moment later, Henry Bartlett emerged from a cabin door on the raised aftcastle deck dragging a young woman out into the daylight by the arm. ‘Look what I found in ’ere, lads!’ he roared triumphantly. He rough-handed the girl by the shoulders and thrust her towards one of the other men, then reached back into the gloom of the cabin and pulled another girl, whimpering with fear, out into the glare of the midday sun.

  They heard further whoops of delight from the other end of the ship as one of the men emerged with a long-necked, bulb-bottomed bottle of wine held aloft in each hand. ‘There’s crates an’ crates of the stuff!’ He stuck the neck of the bottle into his mouth, pulled the corked stopper free with his teeth and upended it into his mouth, a deep plum trickle of wine spilling from his lips and soaking the front of his blouse. The men of the boarding party chanted and roared encouragement as he chugged his way through it.

  ‘Señor?’ Captain Marcos implored Rashim with spread hands. ‘Your men? I beg of you … please?’

  Tom and Liam drew up either side of Rashim. ‘You should let the lads ’ave a bit of fun, Skipper,’ cautioned Tom. ‘This is what they been waitin’ a long time for. This is what they been expectin’.’

  Several more men raced up the ladder to the raised deck of the forecastle, disappeared inside the cabin door and emerged a few moments later cradling more bottles in their arms. The men started passing the bottles around, several casually tossed across the main deck and dropped, shattering glass on the deck.

  Liam leaned towards Rashim. ‘This could get out of control if we don’t nip it in the bud.’

  ‘I know … I know.’

  Up on the aftcastle Henry Bartlett had been passed up a bottle and now uncorked it with his teeth, spitting the cork out on to the deck, upending the bottle and drenching his lips, his face, with the ruby-red liquid. ‘Bee-oootiful drop!’ he spluttered loudly. He then reached out for one of the young women standing beside him and grasped her by the upper arm. ‘Come on, me fair Spanish lovely!’ he roared. ‘Show me a little of yer Spanish mane.’

  His friends on the main deck cheered that.

  ‘You’re right, Liam, we have to stop this.’

  ‘No.’ Tom shook his head slowly. ‘Best leave ’em be, Skipper. I tell ya, yer’ll have a mutiny on yer hands if you order them to –’

  The girl began to scream and struggle as Henry dragged her towards the open cabin door. ‘Rashim!’ hissed Liam. ‘Jay-zus, do something!’

  Rashim winced. ‘I … they won’t … ’

  ‘Oh for … ’ Liam cursed under his breath. He strode across the deck and grabbed the rail of the ladder leading up to the aftcastle. ‘Henry!’

  Henry wasn’t listening – he was wrestling with the girl. Her hands had grasped the door frame and he was trying to prise her fingers loose. Liam hauled himself up the ladder. ‘Henry! HENRY!’

  The man looked over his shoulder at Liam. ‘What?’ Bartlett grinned at him. ‘Come on, lad, she’s part of our booty!’

  ‘Bartlett.’ Liam’s voice hardened. ‘Let her go!’

  The good-natured smile disappeared from Henry’s face. ‘Now that’s no way to talk to a good friend.’

  ‘Captain’s orders,’ said Liam. ‘There’ll be no mistreatment of these people. They surrendered. The ship is ours and the cargo is ours. The crew and passengers are –’

  Henry spat on the deck and swore. ‘These two lovelies are ours, Liam. Fair ’n’ square.’

  ‘You let her go now, Henry … ’ Liam’s hand rested on the handle of the flintlock tucked into his belt. The gesture wasn’t wasted on Henry.

  ‘Or what?’

  Liam realized the entire ship was silent. The noise of the other men, the excited whooping, the chatter, the clunk and patter of boots and bare feet on deck, the noise of wooden crates being prised open … even the swill and swoosh of upended bottles: all of that had stopped. All eyes and ears were on the pair
of them.

  ‘Don’t make this more than it needs to be, Henry. Just let her go.’

  ‘Yer not the captain … lad.’

  ‘He … he’s a-acting on my orders, Mr Bartlett,’ called out Rashim. Liam inwardly winced at the uncertain wobble in Rashim’s voice. Hardly the most commanding presence.

  Henry let the girl go and she hurried across to her friend who consoled her in her arms as her shoulders shook and she sobbed. He turned to Liam, took a challenging step towards him.

  ‘See, Liam lad … things is all a bit different now,’ he said. ‘What we just done this morning, that makes us criminals, don’t it? No longer laws an’ rules now. Yer friend down there’s only the captain cos we let him be the captain.’

  Henry raised his voice. ‘Ain’t that right, lads? It’s the crew what makes the decisions now! By our vote!’

  Several of the men, those who’d already got a good way through the bottles they were holding, cheered that.

  ‘An’ we all earned this booty, proper earned it!’

  Another cheer from below.

  ‘So … why don’t yer step back down an’ leave us be?’ Henry had mirrored Liam’s gesture and rested his hand on the wooden handle of his pistol.

  Liam realized this was the line, the thread-thin line, the boundary that defined who was in charge of their ship. And Henry Bartlett had planted two bold feet across that line.

  This is it … this is where he’s going to openly challenge Rashim. You can’t back down now.

  ‘Henry … ’

  ‘Liam … ’ Bartlett grinned.

  Liam pulled his pistol out and held it ready, half-aimed, its short barrel wavering in the space between them. ‘Give me your weapon and return to the boat!’