The Pirate Round botc-3

by James L. Nelson

  Still, he was glad to have them and pleasantly surprised the next morning when they showed up again, and the morning after as well. The ship was stripped of top-hamper, her hold emptied, and then a huge block and tackle was attached to the head of the lower main mast, the other end to a sturdy post on shore, and with the fall of the tackle run to a capstan, they pulled the ship over on her side until she looked like a beached whale.

  When Yancy’s men arrived the day after that and more came with the six-pounder guns in a lighter, it became clear to Marlowe that Yancy wanted them out of St. Mary’s, and quickly. He did not know why. He did not understand why the lord of the island did not simply drive them away with the big guns. The only thing that was absolutely clear was that Yancy wanted them to leave of their own accord, and he wanted them to do it soon.

  Marlowe had no doubt that he would find out the reason eventually. He did not think he would be happy with the discovery.

  A week after the arrival of the Elizabeth Galley, Lord Yancy stood on his veranda, watching her through his glass. She was back on her anchor, her bottom cleaned and repaired, her rig set up. It seemed to glow in the late-afternoon sun. A long row of six-pounders jutted from her side. She sat lower in the water now, her hold full of gunpowder, shot, food, water. They had been treated well.

  And that treatment had come at no small expense. Yancy had made a profit on the stores and the guns, to be sure, but not the kind he might have made otherwise, if he had bargained with Marlowe. The gang of men whom he had sent to help Marlowe he had paid fat wages. He had lavished Marlowe and his company with great feasts, three times now.

  He sighed and shifted his glass down, away from the harbor and onto the road where the portly man was huffing his way up the road to the house.

  It was all worth it, all the expense, if Marlowe would just sail away without a squabble, and after all the consideration he had been given, Yancy could not imagine he would not. With his sound ship and his guns and his hold full of stores, Marlowe was well positioned to garner enormous riches in the Red Sea. In Yancy’s experience all loyalties would fall away in the face of that temptation.

  Ten minutes later he saw the man pass through the stockade, and then he disappeared from view around the corner of the big house. Yancy left the veranda, went back up to his bedchamber, and sat down in a big winged chair, listless and weak.

  Three minutes later Nagel knocked on the door, and Yancy, his voice weak, called, “Yes?”

  Nagel cracked the door open. “Mr. Dinwiddie here to see you, sir,” he said.

  “Yes, pray show him in…”

  Nagel opened the door, ushered the confused-looking Peleg Dinwiddie in, pulled up a chair for him. Yancy gestured for him to sit, and Dinwiddie did.

  “Please, Henry, leave us…” Yancy said, and Henry nodded and left.

  “I come as soon as I got your note. Lord Yancy, are you quite well?” Dinwiddie asked with real concern. Yancy had detected the man’s ingenuous nature right off.

  “Oh, I’m… no, my dear Dinwiddie, no, I am not. There is no use in hiding it…” Yancy paused with a hacking cough. “No, dear sir, I have not been well for some time. But now, I fear, it is got much worse.”

  “Lord Yancy… I feared this was the case. You didn’t seem strong to me, if you’ll forgive me being so forward…”

  “I have tried to hide it. Put on a bold front. But just these past few days it has quite overrun me.”

  “I am so sorry. Is there anything I might do? You have shown us every kindness-”

  “No, no, there is nothing. Think nothing of what I have done. Such kindness is just my nature, you know.” He coughed again. “It is a cancer, I fear. I feel it eating away at me. There is nothing for it.”

  They sat in silence for a moment while Yancy regained his strength. “Peleg, if I may be so bold as to call you such…”

  “Please, my lord, ’tis an honor.”

  “Peleg, I am not long for this life, and I do not regret it. But this is what I fear most. My kingdom, all I have worked for, it will all be lost, without I leave a solid man to the running of it…” He coughed again, dabbed his mouth with his handkerchief.

  “That fellow, Obadiah Spelt, he seems the stuff of leaders.”

  “Oh, I had thought so as well. But I find the man is a fool and a drunk. He would never do.”

  “Your man Nagel, he seems a decent sort.”

  Yancy waved his hand again. “Henry is a good man, a good lieutenant, but he is not a captain, not fit for command. I had despaired of finding such, until your ship sailed in. And behold, you and Captain Marlowe, two men with just the qualities I need.

  “But Marlowe, he is devoted to his ship, would not leave her, and I would expect no less. But you, sir… you have the qualities of a captain, a leader, and yet you are only second in command. And aboard one of these Red Sea Rovers, I suspect that even the quartermaster has more real authority than you. Am I right?”

  Yancy could see from the look on Dinwiddie’s round face that he was indeed right, that he had hit the right chord with that observation. “I could pass away in peace, Peleg, if I knew a man such as yourself had been named my successor…”

  Dinwiddie leaned back, looked away, looked back at Yancy. Shook his head as if that would aid him in comprehension. “Do you ask me, sir… you wish… me to take over for you the running of this kingdom?”

  “Yes. That is what I wish. I wish it to be yours.”

  “But… my lord… it is such a thing! I am flattered, more than that… but you have known me for just this past week…”

  Yancy shook his head weakly. “I have not gained my place by being a fool, sir. I know men. I can take the measure of a man’s character in an hour, much less a week. I can see you are the man I need.”

  “I-I do not know what to say…”

  “All this island, all its riches will be yours.”

  “I am at a loss, sir. The Elizabeth Galley, and Marlowe…”

  “They do not appreciate you as I do. But see here, I know it is a great thing to ask, a great responsibility I ask you to shoulder. You must sleep on it.”

  Yancy rose awkwardly, and Dinwiddie leaped up to help him. Once standing, Yancy waved him off. “You will spend the night as my guest. Come with me.”

  Yancy shuffled off down the hallway, and Dinwiddie followed behind. They came at last to a big door, which Yancy swung open. In the room beyond were a dozen native girls, partially clothed. Some were reclining on the big bed, some brushing their hair, some drawing water for a bath. They all looked up and all smiled with delight at the sight of Yancy and Dinwiddie.

  “This is my harem, my lovely girls…” said Yancy. “I shall miss them most of all. But tonight, dear Peleg, they will attend to you. And in the morning you can tell me of your decision.”

  He gently shoved the astounded Dinwiddie into the room, then closed the door and walked back down the hall to the privacy of his terrace room. That much was done. There was no real need for him to wait on Dinwiddie’s answer.

  Chapter 15

  MARLOWE COULD feel his control of circumstances slipping away, a little bit at a time, like water leaking from cupped hands.

  The Elizabeth Galley was repaired and provisioned, guns swayed aboard and rigged at the gunports. Yancy’s men no longer made their morning appearance. Nagel had come out and insisted they shift their anchorage closer to the harbor entrance. Dinwiddie was gone.

  Marlowe’s steward came up to him, stammered, “I looked all over the ship, sir, and right down to the cable tier, and Mr. Dinwiddie, he ain’t aboard.”

  “He went ashore yesterday,” Bickerstaff offered. “Early evening, I should think. I have not seen him since.”

  “Burgess had the boat. Says he saw one of them natives give him a letter,” Honeyman added.

  All of this discussion took place as the three men stood on the quarterdeck and watched the now-familiar form of Henry Nagel as he was pulled in a small boat out to the Elizabeth Gall
ey.

  “Well, it is passing strange,” Marlowe said. “Were it any other man, I would assume he was passed out, drunk, in some whorehouse, but that doesn’t seem like Dinwiddie.”

  Nagel’s boat came alongside, and Nagel climbed aboard, with never a hail or a request that he might do so. He came back aft, smiling, nodding his greetings. But there was an edge to his manner, something Marlowe had not seen before. He wondered if it was his imagination. He felt the control slipping further from his grasp.

  “Good day, Nagel, and what brings you here?” Marlowe asked.

  “Lord Yancy sends me. He requests you join him for dinner, one last time, before you sail.”

  “Did I say I intended to sail?”

  Nagel looked confused. Marlowe detected a spark of irritation. “You’re all fit out and provisioned-”

  “But I seem to have lost my first officer.”

  Nagel brightened. “Oh, Mr. Dinwiddie is Lord Yancy’s guest, stayed the night in the big house. If you’ll come to dinner, you’ll see him then.”

  Marlowe nodded. “I do not care to have my people spirited away like that. You may tell Lord Yancy as much.”

  Nagel stiffened, folded his arms. His eyes darted up toward the battery that commanded the entrance to the harbor. Those big guns could easily sink the Elizabeth Galley, firing at point-blank range. They were so close that they would need only indifferent gun layers to do mortal damage.

  Marlowe had noticed that there was an ensign flying from the battery’s flagpole, the first time since his arrival. If that meant on St. Mary’s what it did in the rest of the world, then the battery was garrisoned and ready for work.

  He did not know if Nagel’s glance was involuntary or an intentional threat, but he took the meaning well enough. He had come of his own accord into the wolf’s lair, had accepted the hospitality of the dangerous and unpredictable beast. Now he could leave only by permission.

  “Forgive me, I am not myself today,” Marlowe said. “Of course I should be delighted to attend dinner with Lord Yancy.”

  “Good. And your officers, if they wish. And my lord would be most disappointed was he not able to personally say good-bye to your wife.”

  “Of course.” Marlowe smiled. Son of a bitch.

  He thought of those batteries, considered whether or not he could make a run for it. The wind was light, and the tide was flooding. He would never make it to the open sea, never get beyond the reach of the seaward guns.

  “I had, as it happens, wanted to sail on the tide this evening,” he extemporized, “but I would not wish to offend His Lordship with making an early departure from dinner…”

  “I don’t reckon that’ll be a problem. He just wants to make his formal fare-thee-wells, and then you’ll be free to leave.”

  Marlowe saw the big man over the side. “Free to leave.” There was no equivocation in that statement, as regarded who was in charge on St. Mary’s, who controlled the comings and goings.

  We have only to make it through the next few hours, Marlowe thought, and then we sail.

  It was nearly slack water when they walked along the now-familiar road, up the hill to Yancy’s commanding villa. They were ushered in the door by Nagel, led along to the great hall. Marlowe and Elizabeth and Bickerstaff now. Where Dinwiddie was, Marlowe could not guess, but he was relieved to see that Spelt was not there either.

  We have only to make it through the next few hours, and then we sail.

  Yancy sat at the head of the big table, as usual, slouched back, staring blankly at a stain on the wood. He could hear the animal sounds of his loyal band already eating. He had not made them wait for Marlowe’s party. They looked as if they had no thought for anything, save wolfing down their food, but he knew they understood their parts, would play them well.

  He glanced up at the sound of the big door creaking on its hinges. Marlowe stepped in, then the lovely Elizabeth, then Bickerstaff. Nagel loomed behind them, like a tidal wave pushing them along.

  “Ah, welcome, welcome,” Yancy said, but he could not muster his former enthusiasm. His business with them was almost at an end.

  He could see his change in tone register on Marlowe’s wary face.

  “I thank you, my lord,” Marlowe said, giving a shallow bow. Yancy gestured toward the seats that Marlowe’s party had occupied on the other nights they had been his guests, and they sat down directly. Yancy snapped his fingers, and his native servants set food and wine in front of them, fast and silent as assassins.

  “Your ship looks to be well set up again. I fear you will be leaving us soon,” Yancy observed. He had tried to make himself sound disappointed, or at least interested, but he could not muster it. He could not manage the energy to placate people with whom he was done.

  “I had hoped to, my lord, but my first officer seems to have gone missing.”

  There was a veiled accusation in his tone that made Yancy sit more upright and look hard at Marlowe, who returned the stare, unflinching. The two men locked eyes for a moment, Yancy angry and a bit unsettled. This man was not sufficiently cowed.

  “Mr. Dinwiddie is here, in my home,” Yancy said, relaxing a bit. “He is my guest. In fact, he has elected to remain here with me. I fear you will have to sail without his assistance.”

  Marlowe’s eyes narrowed. “He has elected to remain here? Why should he do that?”

  “This island has many charms to recommend it. Dinwiddie is hardly the first to wish to remain. I do not think he felt entirely appreciated aboard your ship.”

  Yancy could see that those words rang true with Marlowe, could see him floundering about for a reply. At last Marlowe said, “I should like to hear that from Dinwiddie’s own lips, if you please.”

  “I do not please, Marlowe, and I do not care for your words or your tone. Do you call me a liar?”

  Again the standoff, the two men holding one another’s gaze. But now the others around the table, Yancy’s faithful from the Terror, were pushing aside their plates, leaning away from the table, taking an interest in the conflict. The men who stood at intervals around the room, armed guards, folded arms or set hands on sword pommels or fingered pistols. The threat was not lost on Marlowe. Yancy watched Marlowe’s eyes shift from his, watched them dart around the room, sum up the overwhelming odds.

  “No, I do not call you a liar, sir. It is only my concern for my men that makes me speak so… hastily.”

  “I understand, Captain. Such sentiment is admirable, necessary even, in a leader. I feel the same way. That is why my men are so unflinchingly loyal to me.” He let the implied warning hang in the air.

  Dinwiddie was perfectly safe, Yancy knew, and entirely unaware that Marlowe was sitting in the great hall one floor below him.

  The future lord of St. Mary’s was at that moment preparing for dinner, allowing a half dozen of the girls of Yancy’s harem to bathe him and rub him with oil. He might have lain with one of them, or two of them, before dinner, or he might have been too worn out from that morning and the night before to function carnally.

  Yancy had had a sumptuous breakfast sent up to him a few hours after dawn, had given Dinwiddie time to enjoy it, and then had sent for him. A smiling, jovial Dinwiddie had found Yancy once more in the wing chair, a man dying of a cancer.

  “Well, sir? Have you had a chance to think on it?” Yancy asked, between coughs.

  “I have, my lord. You do me great honor. I feel I would be less than grateful if I were not to accept.”

  “Good, good. You make me happy, sir. Soon I will go off and leave you as lord of the island. I wish to be shed of my responsibilities, so that I might devote myself to my prayers.”

  “Of course, of course. I understand entirely,” Dinwiddie said, and Yancy was pleased to see that in fact the fat man understood nothing.

  Yancy sent him back to the girls, and while Dinwiddie was wallowing like a pig in his debauchery, he and Nagel made their way to Spelt’s room, where the first handpicked successor to the throne was still sle
eping off the night’s drunk. They bound him, quickly and efficiently, and when at last the crushing pain of the ropes cutting into his wrists woke him, Nagel pressed the pillow against his nose and mouth.

  Spelt squirmed, kicked, but he could not get out from under the pillow, held by Nagel’s powerful arms. And all the time he was suffocating, Yancy stared into his eyes, their gazes locked. He could not let Spelt die without knowing that it was for his insults to Lord Yancy that he was being killed.

  Five minutes later they left the limp, wide-eyed body on the bed. In Peleg Dinwiddie, Yancy had everything he wanted in a successor.

  Marlowe, however, would not be fooled so easily as his first officer. That was why Yancy could not allow Dinwiddie to speak to him.

  But Dinwiddie was the easy part. Yancy had to hope now that Marlowe, like most men, cared more for wealth and self-preservation than he did for any other consideration.

  “In any event, Captain Marlowe, I do not wish to have harsh words with you. You are my guest, after all, and I believe I have shown you genuine hospitality during your stay on this island?”

  “Yes, sir, you have done that. And I am grateful.”

  Yancy gave a wave of his hand, like shooing a fly. “It is my privilege to do so, though I fear it is that very hospitality that has lured your good Dinwiddie away. But see here, I think perhaps there is one more service I might do for you.”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, Captain, what you propose, sailing off to the Red Sea, plundering the Great Mogul-I have a great deal of experience in such matters. It is a very dangerous business, I can assure you of that. No place for a woman. Might I suggest that your lovely wife remain here, as my guest, while you are off on your expedition? She will be quite safe, I can assure you. Safer than she would be on your ship, to be sure. You do not want to know what these barbarians will do to a Christian woman, do they get ahold of one. You might play the Red Sea Rover to your heart’s content and then call again on your way home to pick up the fair Elizabeth.”