Uncharted Waters

by Steven Becker

  It was hard to focus on any particular conversation in the loud, crowded room. Not surprisingly most were in Spanish, but I was able to pick up on enough words to know they were talking about women, gambling, and ale. There was one group in the corner that caught my attention. They looked as out of place as we did. Michael had turned an ear to them as well.

  “That group. Looks like Englishmen to me.”

  “Surely not Scots from the way they’re holding their liquor. Brits never could drink,” Michael said.

  “Any look familiar?” I asked, watching the group.

  Three of the men got up and moved to join a gathering in the corner of the room. Though I couldn’t see what they were doing, I had a pretty good idea they were gambling. Rhames would have readily joined the game, but I was as much of a gambler as a drinker. “Either of you good with the dice?”

  “We’ve won our share. Got nothing to wager though,” James said, studying the game.

  “Right, then. I’ll stake you. Just remember, winning is not our goal, information is.” I knew as soon as James grabbed the offered coins that my words had fallen on deaf ears. Gold in hand, James was welcomed into the game. Michael followed, watching his partner’s back. A minute later they had blended into the group and it looked like my coin was in play.

  Watching the game, I strained to see if James had won, but before I could make a determination, a stranger sat down at our table.

  “You’d be the captain of that ship in the harbor?”

  “And who might be asking?”

  “Fair enough. Name’s McLean. Justin McLean.” He extended a hand, knocking over what little was left in Michael’s mug.

  “And your business?”

  He spread his arms wide and knocked over another mug. “Fair enough, Captain.”

  “Paid for with gold.” I inadvertently answered his earlier question. His look changed and I knew he had feigned drunkenness to lower my guard.

  “So, it is you.”

  I cursed myself again, fooled into thinking he was soberer than I. “Right, then.” I took his hand. “Nick Van Doren.”

  “Looks like you’ve had a run of bad luck, then.”

  I looked down at my mug and, seeing it nearly empty, drained it and called for two more. A quick glance to the corner confirmed the game was peaceful. Had Rhames been here it might have been a different matter. Having bailed him out of several inequitable—and exciting—affairs, I found myself missing the pirate.

  A woman set our fresh mugs down and waited while I fished a few coins from my purse. Realizing I had thrown too much gold around already, I caught several glances from nearby patrons. In response, I laid my rifle on the table to warn any who were more than curious that taking my gold would cost them. With ale flowing freely, though, the weapon might be ignored. I thought it past time to be moving on.

  “We’ve got to go. I’d ask that you plainly state your business.”

  He drank deeply and set the mug down. “Might have a common interest, you and I.”

  The game was breaking up, and I felt the need to escape the confines of the inn before word of the money I was spending reached the wrong ears. I rose, beckoning to James and Michael, as well as Justin to follow. The walls seemed to be closing in and every face I passed appeared to have malice in their eyes.

  Hobbling on my bum leg, I started for the door, where I was joined by Michael and James. Facing the setting sun, I was temporarily blinded and didn’t notice that Justin had not followed, nor did I see the group of men waiting for us outside.

  The men were on us before I could see their faces. The first blow had me on my knees, and while trying to rise on my bad leg, a kick to my stomach set me on my back. The pistol flew from my hand, and though I reached for my knife, another hand got to it first. Blows rained down on me and I curled into a fetal position to protect myself, but not before I felt my purse being pulled from my belt.

  The gold was gone, but our assailants didn’t run. They hovered over me and the two Scots, who were also writhing in pain on the ground. Slowly, I scanned the street. Business, if it ever even had been interrupted, appeared to have resumed as normal. Just as I was about to get my bearings, a boot struck my head, knocking me unconscious.

  Pain shot through me when I woke, and slowly, despite my pounding head and swollen eyes, I tried to determine where I was. I could make out the rough iron of the bars in front of me. The cell was small, with a narrow, rectangular slot in the masonry wall that clearly was not big enough for even a child to escape through. Outside it appeared to be night.

  Crawling the four feet to the front of the cell, I grabbed the rusted bars. Using them for support I hauled myself to my feet, and looked down the corridor. It was then my head made sense of the noise and smells around me. Cold iron stretched for as far as I could see. Across from me was a badly beaten man. It was surprising that I could recognize him at all through the swelling and bruises, but he was one of the crew.

  “Luis?” I whispered across the void, recognizing the freedman from my crew.

  “That you, Captain?”

  “Quiet now, don’t want to advertise that.” Now that I had seen him, I pulled my face through the bars and saw several more beaten-up but familiar faces. Taking a chance, I called out for Rhames.

  “Couple doors down,” the familiar voice came back to me. “Seen ya brought in last night.”

  I hadn’t realized I had been out that long. Leaning against the bars, I ran my hands over my head to check for wounds. My hair matted from what I assumed was dried blood, I found several bumps, but no glaring injuries. My body throbbed with a dull pain from the beating, but the only specific pain was from the gunshot wound to my leg.

  “Everyone else here?”

  “The men, anyway. Not sure what they’ve done with the women.”

  We were in the worst possible situation. With my purse taken and our wealth hidden aboard the ship, now under Spanish custody, my rescue attempt had failed. My prison experience amounted to a few days in Key West, where the men had broken me out. This was a different matter altogether. I knew the Havana jail by reputation—and it wasn’t a good one.

  While I pondered our options, I studied the cell. About six feet square and made of stone, it had one small window and not much else, although a bucket sat in the corner. I checked it was empty, then carried it to the window. Gripping the uneven stone wall, I pulled myself up. The extra foot or so allowed me to see out, but my view was of only dark water.

  Under different circumstances, when we’d sailed through the mouth of the harbor, I had seen the two forts on either side of the entrance. I assumed we were being held in one of them.

  Escape was impossible, so I did the only thing I could and yelled for our captors.

  Chapter 17

  Hobnail-soled boots striking the cement floor signaled the approach of the guard as he leisurely walked down the aisle toward me. From their cells men called out to him as he passed, their greetings generally involving profanity. I was fairly certain it wasn’t that the prisoners didn’t fear their captors, but that the bars which restrained them also protected them from his wrath.

  I continued to yell, so he knew who was calling him, and once he arrived at my cell, I thought I might have acted hastily. He was a giant of a man. Though he’d gone to fat, he still looked immensely strong and his face bore the scars of many battles. It was a seasoned and rare warrior who had more scars than tattoos. Few who were not adept at protecting themselves and taking others’ lives survived to become this disfigured.

  When he withdrew a large, round key chain and held it close to his face, I had my first clue that he was not invincible. He was clearly myopic—something I hoped to use to my advantage. Finding the key, he inserted it in the lock and with a loud squeal the door opened. He stepped in to find me cowering in the corner.

  Kicking the bucket out of the way, he reached down for me. Grabbing the collar of what was left of my shirt, he dragged me like a sack of potatoe
s out of the cell and down the aisle. Along the walk of shame, I heard catcalls and jokes at my expense and I realized I might have put myself in a worse situation. Near the end of the cellblock stood a pair of steel doors. Withdrawing his keys again, he easily cuffed me with one hand while he opened the door with the other.

  Once we were out of the cellblock, I drank in the clean air and looked around at my surroundings. The corridor here was lit by lanterns and I took notice as we passed storerooms, the laundry, and kitchens, all manned by prisoners. Reaching the end of another passage a similar set of gates stopped us. This time the guard called out a name that sounded like “Omar,” and a minute later, a man who looked like an Omar came toward us.

  They communicated in grunts, and finally Omar opened the door and the guard handed me off to him. Standing several inches taller than the guard, Omar looked like a younger version of him. The lack of a matching belly and scars told me he was both younger and ranked higher than the veteran. In any case, he handled me better than the guard and I soon found myself dropped into the visitor’s chair in an office.

  I knew the man on the business side of the desk and from the look on his face that probably wasn’t a good thing. The last time we’d met, he had sat behind a desk in the harbormaster’s office, where we had brokered the deal for our armaments. It appeared he’d taken a fall from grace, and unfortunately it looked like I was to blame.

  “Well, look who we have here. The Capitán with the treasure.”

  His accent was thick, but I understood his bitter tone. Hobbling into port after wrecking Lafitte’s ships in the Dry Tortugas, and knowing that Lafitte was their enemy as well, I had used the story of our escape to garner favor with the Spanish. The old saying, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend” rings true—until the sides change.

  The Spanish might have had some modest success salvaging Lafitte’s ship that had wrecked on the reef. The other ship, which we had taken down with the boom, lay in thirty feet of water—out of their reach. Both ships contained treasure. Apparently, their efforts hadn’t been enough and he had been demoted for allowing us to evade him. Now, with my ship and crew under his control, he held all the cards.

  “Sir, I ask you what charges are you holding my crew and I on?” The Spanish were sticklers for procedure but, as evidenced in their not-to-distant history, they had no problem burning people alive, either.

  “Piracy.”

  The label we had done our best to lose since Gasparilla’s ship was sunk several years ago.

  He shuffled some papers, leaned forward, and smiled. “Of course, if you have bills of lading, we would be obliged to review them.”

  I flinched when his rancid breath hit me. We both knew we had no documentation or provenance for the treasures we had recovered—or for the ship. “There’s no ill-gotten gains aboard our ship. Actually, there’s not much of anything.” I didn’t think I’d be sitting here chatting if they’d uncovered the treasure buried in the bilge.

  “The search of your ship is ongoing. You and your crew will be brought to justice when the investigation is completed.”

  I tried to affect a stone face over the combination of smugness and fear I felt. With our conversation at an end, I had to do something, and quickly. The treasure was hidden, but if they were determined to unearth it, the gold would be found.

  “The women, what about them? I insist they be treated properly.”

  He slammed his fist on the desk. “You’ll insist nothing.”

  As I waited for the blood to leave his face an idea occurred to me. “Supposing we cooperate?”

  Shaking his hand, he looked up at me. “Don’t toy with me, boy.”

  “Right, then.” My mind was racing. “Let’s just say there’s treasure aboard. Not saying there is, just supposing.” Our eyes met, and I had an instant to determine his motives. I’d learned how to read people from Gasparilla, and using what the captain had taught me about the Spanish, I determined it was pride as much as money that fueled the man across the desk. It must have been a blow, not only to his pocketbook but to his social standing, to be demoted to warden of the rat-infested prison. If I could help him get his old position back and line his pockets with some gold while we were at it, I guessed I would have an ally.

  “That British officer, the one gone rogue.” I was counting on him knowing what had happened with Harp. I saw the recognition in his eyes, but missing was the keen look that would have told me I’d struck gold.

  “He’s none of our—or your—concern.”

  “Oh, he most certainly is. Since he and the Brits had their falling-out, he’s been attacking your ships. Ask the captain who brought my ship and crew in. You caught us because Harp fled the scene.”

  “And what of all this?”

  I had him off guard now, and took my shot. “There’s a small cache aboard the ship in your harbor. I’ll hand that over in exchange for the crew and ship.”

  “We’d find it eventually,” he said, dismissing me.

  I dropped the sweetener.

  “And once we have our ship, I’ll lead you to Harp.” Now I had his interest. “We spent some time together when he was anchored right under your noses at the Isle de los Pinos. We discussed a rendezvous after our attempted survey of the ship he’d sunk by the reef.”

  “So, that’s what you were up to out there. I’ve heard tell of your ability to dive.”

  I had told too much, and if my leg didn’t hurt as badly as it did, I would have kicked myself. Lafitte’s men must have struck a deal with the Spanish, who rescued them for their freedom. Unfortunately, it was at the crew’s and my own expense.

  “Our gear was all lost.”

  His body language told me he knew otherwise. “I’ll release you and your crew, but it’s treasure, not that British captain, you’re going to bring back to me. We know what was lost in the Tortugas.” He leaned back in the chair, but before he got comfortable, he rose and walked to the sideboard, where he picked up a crystal decanter and poured a strong inch into a matching glass. Looking at me, he poured another.

  He handed me a glass and toasted. “Here’s to a prosperous partnership.” A smile crossed his face before he drank.

  I raised my glass and drained it, not to signify that we had a deal, but hoping the alcohol would temper the pain of my leg. Tossing me an approving look, he finished his drink, took a rolled-up chart from a bin behind him, and motioned me to a work table full of books.

  He started to sweep the books off the table, but I intervened, not wanting to see them damaged. Several armfuls later, the books were neatly stacked in the corner and the chart was laid out on the table.

  “Show me where you ran that clever little boom of yours.” He handed me a keel.

  I had no reason to disguise the locations. He already knew the area, and we had no intentions of going back—at least on our own. Taking the marker, I placed a light circle around the area.

  “And where the ships lie.”

  Recalling the scene, I drew several small circles with asterisks inside. “Here’s the reef we sent the ship you’ve already salvaged.” I drew the outline of a small boat, its bow buried in the coral symbols. “But you already know that.”

  “We got little off her. The survivors’ recollection is that she sank stern first. The bulk of what she carried is on the bottom.”

  That explained his abrupt fall from grace. It was time to make a deal.

  Chapter 18

  An hour later, the crew, minus Shayla and Lucy, were reunited. The windowless room lacked bars, but the guard outside our door reminded us that we were still behind the last set of gates beyond which freedom lay. My confirmation of the deception that had led to the wrecks, and our subsequent escape from Lafitte’s ships, had the warden optimistic about our efforts, but he had insisted the women remain behind as his “guests.” I made it clear our agreement was void unless Blue and I saw them before our departure.

  The men were in good spirits—freedom had that effect on pe
ople. The two Scots fit in well. Though they would not take Swift’s and Red’s places, they gravitated toward Rhames. Juan and Beauchamp were noticeably absent, but I could get no information on his whereabouts. There was little trust for the warden, but at least our confinement was over. The arrangement would be much the same as our salvage of the Panther, except our share was our freedom, and hopefully, if he kept his word, our ship and women.

  I had insisted that our ship being held hostage in the harbor be given back to our control. Instead of sending escorts, which I guessed the warden no longer had the authority to do, we were to sail with a contingent of Spanish naval men aboard, one with the rank of captain who would be in charge of the ship. For a man currently without authority the arrangement made sense. The ship leaving the harbor would be noticed, but the story was that it was being sent to Mantanzas to pick up a load of sugar. When it returned with gold instead, the warden hoped to be elevated back to his previous position.

  The guard who had led me to the warden earlier called from the door. I motioned for Blue and we followed him down the corridor to another, smaller room. Once inside, we ran to our women, but with the guard looking on, we kept our greetings platonic.

  “Are you alright?” I asked Shayla.

  “Yes,” she said, looking me up and down. “I should be asking that question of you. What happened?”

  I wasn’t sure how much time we would be allowed, and motioning for Blue and Lucy to come closer, I gave a summary of our situation.