Buccaneers Series

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  “Bah! I’ve ruined nothing. I’s not afraid of ye, Rafael, nor of Foxworth. The devil take ye both, if it comes to it. But I has me a wee matter to settle with Foxworth, and settle I will,” he promised in a dry, harsh voice. “Before—or after—the treasure be divvied up. I’s here ‘cause I don’t trust ye any more than I trusts him. Now, sit down. Cool your gizzard with this—” He shoved the rum across the table, then slouched back and looked at Rafael through slitted eyes. “No one knows Harwick be aboard, leastwise Morgan or Foxworth. Our plans be as safe as they be. We’ll soon have us Foxworth and the wench both. Now drink up. Ye always was as taut as a prowling cat.”

  Levasseur considered. Then, as his emotions began to cool, he reminded himself that he needed Lex to accomplish his purpose on Margarita. As Philippe had said, it was Thorpe who had Karlton. Because he did, he must appease Lex—for now.

  Rafael raised his mug and drank, beginning to understand how badly he had erred in transferring Karlton from the Venture to the Black Dragon after sinking the Dutch ship. At the time it had seemed wise. But he had expected Lex to keep his ship away from Morgan’s rendezvous.

  Levasseur sat on a barrel and rested his elbows on the table, chin in hand, his dark eyes brooding over Lex Thorpe.

  “If you have plans to even yourself on Foxworth, it’ll need wait until Margarita. He’s no fool. He’s slippery and dangerous. Try anything now, Monsieur, and he will turn on you.”

  Lex poured his rum. “I’ve plenty o’ patience. I’s biding me time for the sweet moment.” He looked across the table with cold, compelling menace. “An’ when it comes, Rafael, ye need remember it’s mine.”

  Rafael fingered his prized thin mustache. His black eyes were sullen and bored. “The shares in the treasure and Emerald will suffice me.”

  Lex gave him a wicked smile. “Ye’ll have her. Ye needs be patient too. Until the treasure is under our hatches, we’ll both need to shackle our fancies. Just make sure the lovesick notions ye have for the wench don’t sink our chances on Margarita.”

  “If anything sinks our fortunes, Monsieur, I suggest it is your arrival with Karlton.”

  “Sink your cuckoldy ways, Rafael. Like I says, there’s naught to concern ye in this. ‘Ow long will ye make weary me bones? Tomorrow the wench will be brought from Morgan’s ship. She’ll behave herself, knowin’ her father’s gizzard will get plucked if she don’t do as ye want. After that, we gets us Foxworth—like a rat caught in a trap. Soon as he hears her squeal, he’ll come runnin’. An’ when he does, we has him, and we sails to Margarita.”

  He pushed the rum back to Levasseur.

  Rafael was not pleased, but there was little he could do about things now. He told himself he’d been a fool to trust an Englishman. He should have signed articles with his cousin Ives, he thought, until he remembered why he had not done so: Lex was privy to the treasure’s being hidden on Margarita.

  With the silken tongue of the French, Levasseur stood and toasted Capt. Lex Thorpe. Though Lex didn’t understand the language, he gave a sly grin and drank heartily to the smoothly flowing words.

  15

  THE BLACK DRAGON

  Morgan’s pirate crews were drinking rum and gorging themselves on roast pig, which they had confiscated from the Spaniards, as they boasted of plans to attack the Spanish towns. Many were remembering the booty taken at Gran Granada, and they were eager to make another raid soon.

  The location had not yet been decided, for Morgan had not yet held the captains’ meeting aboard his vessel. Baret knew Morgan to be a man who kept the final destination to himself until nearing the prize, for even among the Brotherhood there were some who would slip away to warn the Spaniards for a bribe.

  The orange glow of the moon cast a luminous color onto the midnight sky. The Caribbean stirred softly, and its water rippled silver on the quiet section of the beach where Baret stood with a dozen fellow buccaneers. He looked out across the waters toward the Black Dragon at anchor. A few lanterns glowed, and her masts were stark and white against the darkness.

  Back on the darkened beach, campfires gleamed like small candles with yellow flames. Someone was coming from that direction. Baret could hear boots sinking into the sand. But Lieutenant Yorke was on lookout, and the big redheaded Scot, carrying machete and broad-blade cutlass, wouldn’t be caught off guard.

  “It’s Captain Farrow and Hob,” he called.

  Baret walked along the edge of the beach, where the wavelets bubbled softly before seeping into the sand.

  The broad outline of Erik’s hat stood silhouetted against the moon’s glow. Hob came behind with something dark slung over his shoulder.

  “You were successful?” asked Baret.

  “Your scheme worked. Levasseur’s on his way to confront Lex Thorpe even now,” Erik said.

  Baret smiled unpleasantly. “It is too much to hope for that both enemies could put an end to themselves for us, but they should be occupied by their tempers for a time. How long do we have?”

  “Perhaps three hours.”

  That would be time enough to execute his plan to board the Black Dragon.

  Baret had sent Hob among the pirates to sell turtles and learn what he could about the alliance of Lex Thorpe and Levasseur. Hob had lived in Port Royal for years, where he had owned a weather-beaten boat that was permanently anchored in Chocolata Hole. There he had lived and harvested turtles to sell to the buccaneers and was occasionally a valuable source of information.

  “Learn anything, old spy?” Baret asked.

  Hob dropped his gunnysack of turtles. His baggy cotton drawers were still wet and sandy. His crafty blue eyes were alert, and he lowered his voice. “Aye, me lordship, aplenty. Some are sayin’ the Black Dragon were to stay near Margarita, holdin’ Sir Karlton till Levasseur made his showin’ with Emerald—and you.”

  “With mer”

  “Levasseur ‘spected to use ’em both as ransom. Ye’d have no choice ‘cept to cooperate and spill what ye know about where the treasure be hidden. He’s snarlin’ at Thorpe for blunderin’.”

  It was as Baret had hoped. Levasseur’s displeasure at seeing the arrival of the Black Dragon had to do with Karlton. And if Emerald should learn that her father had been freed, Levasseur would lose his hold over her.

  “Then we need to make certain Karlton is at the buccaneer meeting tomorrow as a free man,” said Baret. He looked at Erik. “You saw Lex on the beach, you’re sure?”

  “I made sure. He was throwing dice with the worst sharks—L’Ollonais and the Dutchman—and sopping up rum as fast as his sodden crew could pour it.”

  “Fortunately his debauchery plays quite well into our hands. And Rafael?”

  “As I said, on his way to confront Thorpe. There should be trouble soon.”

  Baret was encouraged. With Thorpe off the Black Dragon, lounging under sailcloth and dried palm shelters, there was a slim opportunity to get aboard and locate Karlton.

  Someone came striding toward them. Jeb, the lieutenant of Captain Farrow, a giant African sporting a gold ring in his left ear, stopped on the beach.

  “We’s taken a prisoner, Captain Foxworth. A crewman from the Black Dragon. Says he’s the cook.”

  “Har, I be knowin’ who he is,” said Hob. “He’ll talk, your lordship. Just threaten to send him to Don de Guzman!”

  Baret followed Jeb to a cluster of palm trees farther back from the water. Jeb had caught the pirate unaware, while the Black Dragon’s crew was gambling.

  “They’s all so rum-sodden they don’t notice he’s not with ’em.”

  Flanked on either side by a scowling Jeb and a coldly indifferent Captain Farrow, the prisoner sat tied to a tree trunk, looking up warily at Baret. Seeing Baret’s determined expression, the man cringed.

  “It wasn’t me who took Harwick, Cap’n Foxworth. It were Lex. He hates ye with good cause, so he says. You left him marooned for the Spaniards.”

  “A mistake, I agree,” said Baret with mock repentance. “I shou
ld have used him for shark bait. So! Levasseur returned to get him off the island? I suppose you informed him that Lex was justly marooned?”

  “Weren’t me but the others.” He looked over at Hob for help. “Tell your captain I be an old turtler comrade, Hob.”

  Hob, sitting on a rock, pushed his floppy hat back from his shaggy gray locks and leaned on his stick. He spat in the sand. “An’ cheated me out of me boat, says I. Time for reapin’ the sowin’, Tom.” He pointed up to a signature tree. “Har, me lordship. There be a strong branch to leave him for the crows.”

  The man’s face twisted with fear. “I’ll be tellin’ ye anything your sweet heart desires, Cap’n Foxworth. I ain’t never been a pirate. I be a cook. Make better turtle soup and mendicant oil than even ol’ Hob.”

  “Bah,” said Hob and poked his stick at him. “Ye stole my recipe, ye thievin’ barracuda.”

  “All right, Tom,” said Baret. “You’ve a chance to come clean. If you’re not a pirate like your foul Captain Thorpe, then what are you doing back on the Black Dragon? Did I not allow you to board the Warspite with Captain Farrow?”

  The man darted an apprehensive glance toward Erik and then looked down at the sand.

  Erik folded his arms. “He couldn’t be trusted. Nor the others. I turned them ashore in a boat a mile from Tortuga. Evidently they met up again with Rafael and signed on with him.”

  “Is that so?” Baret asked the cook.

  “Aye, Rafael went there on Tortuga all right. Some of the brethren told ‘im what happened to Lex. So Rafael swears he’ll rescue his ol’ friend. We all went with ‘im. The Spaniards didn’t find the Black Dragon, and it were waitin’ nice and pretty-like for us in the cove just as though nothin’ happened. It was then Lex and Rafael signed new articles together. Levasseur knew about Harwick from Lord Felix Buckington. So we sailed to attack the Dutch ship and took Harwick prisoner. Rafael and Lex wanted him for ransom, him and his daughter, so you’d bring ’em to the treasure.”

  Baret gave him a measured look but believed he was telling what he knew. “How much do they know about the treasure of the Prince Philip?”

  “That it’s hidden on Margarita. We all knows that, but none knows where, ‘cept ye and Harwick.”

  Baret’s face revealed nothing. Emerald also knew where the treasure was. He wondered at his lack of discernment for having told her. The knowledge placed her in grave danger. If Rafael or Lex learned that she knew, they wouldn’t waste time on either himself or Karl ton. Had she been wise enough to keep the matter to herself? She must have. If not, Levasseur wouldn’t be bothering with Lex right now but would be trying to get Emerald from Morgan’s ship to make off with her for Margarita … unless he had some scheme he thought would avail him at tomorrow’s meeting.

  It was imperative to rescue Karl ton tonight.

  The cook must have taken his scowl for displeasure, for he begged, “Now, Captain, the others may be forgetting your kindness in the past, but I’m rememberin’ well. I be telling ye the truth. I can tell ye where to find Harwick aboard ship, who’s on duty, and how many.”

  Baret left Hob to guard the old cook.

  “If we return safely with Karlton, you can untie him and let him return to his foul captain. If it’s proven he’s led us into a trap, send him to Havana!”

  “Har, your lordship, with smilin’ pleasure.”

  There were not more than a dozen of Thorpe’s crew left on board the Black Dragon, so totally engrossed were they in their pleasure-seeking on the beach. While Lex Thorpe and his officers feasted and drank themselves into a stupor, the bosun and his crew lolled on the quarterdeck with rum and roast pig sent to them from shore.

  From a distance, Baret saw several pirates keeping vigil on the gun deck. They too carried jugs of liquor and must have supposed the seeming security surrounding them would last indefinitely. They were among the Brotherhood, with hundreds of like-minded crewmen on shore, and there was no fear of the Spaniards from Havana or Santa Domingo coming upon them because the Spanish ships couldn’t maneuver the narrow cays.

  As the longboat approached, gliding almost silently under cover of late-night darkness, Baret gestured to Yorke to lower the anchor. Armed only with cutlass and machete, Baret, Erik, and the best swimmers of their company removed their shirts and slipped quietly into the warm water. They swam below the surface toward the Black Dragon and came up under its aft quarter and waited.

  The longboat glided forward with no pretense, her oarlocks squeaking their need of grease.

  As Baret had hoped, the sentry on guard in the stern came to the rail to confront the approaching longboat.

  “Who is it?” he called down with a tongue heavy with rum. Undoubtedly he thought some of his fellows were returning from shore.

  The rope-boarding ladder on which Lex and his crew had descended earlier still hung against the hull. While the sentry’s attention was on the longboat, Jeb deliberately began speaking to him in Swahili, further distracting him. Baret and Eric went quickly up the ship’s side.

  The sentry must have heard them come over the rail, however, for he turned with surprise and saw Baret approaching, dripping wet. Before the man could speak, Baret covered his mouth and tossed him over the side with a splash.

  The second of Lex Thorpe’s drunken sentries had been standing under the great lantern at the Black Dragon’s prow, but he appeared to be the less alert of the two.

  Within a few minutes, Yorke, Jeb, Jeremy, and the others were aboard and crouching on deck.

  Yorke handed Baret his rapier and his brace of pistols, which he quickly belted on.

  Baret gestured for Jeb to remain as lookout and then led the others down the companionway steps. From below, the voices of the remainder of Thorpe’s crew floated up from the gun deck. There was drunken laughter, and someone was mocking a Spanish ballad and praising Henry Morgan.

  Erik remained in charge of the others while Baret crept forward alone, his muscled frame moving as lithely as that of a prowling leopard. He ascended the steps, crouching, his bare feet making no sound. He reached the quarterdeck.

  There the sentry stood looking toward the beach where the campfires dotted the shore like bloated fireflies. As Baret moved toward him, the man must have sensed someone’s presence for he turned quickly and saw him, making a startled sound as his breath sucked in.

  A brief struggle ensued and ended swiftly as the pirate sank to his knees. A second splash broke the silence as he struck the water, joining his comrade.

  While Baret rejoined the others in the waist, the revelry below continued, in the apparent belief there was complete security. Baret signaled. In a moment his men surged upon the unsuspecting crew and surrounded them with drawn cutlasses.

  The half-drunken laughter was abruptly halted. The gloating over what they would do when Thorpe led them into the Spanish town perished on their tongues. Bewildered at first, staring at the cutlasses gleaming, they froze like sunbaked statues garbed in gaping cotton shirts and calico drawers, scarves tied about their heads.

  Baret stepped forward and mocked a bow. “Good evening.” And his eyes glinted with malicious humor. “Your two comrades are keeping permanent company with the squid. You will surely spare yourself such like fate by surrendering your weapons. Yorke, Jeremy—if you please,” he ordered, and the two men proceeded to gather them while the numb crew gaped at Baret and Erik Farrow as though they were ghosts come up from the depths of the sea.

  “And now,” said Baret, “on your feet! Make one untoward move, and you will die.”

  They obeyed like dazed goats, with no trouble other than the need for the warning tap of a cutlass against a bare chest when some hesitated. All tramped in file down the companion-way steps to be placed in the hold.

  “All except you, Hacket,” he told the bosun.

  The hatchet-faced giant with pale eyes and a dirty head scarf stopped and measured Baret uneasily.

  “Why me, Foxworth? It’s Lex ye want to settle things with
. I got nothin’ to do with the quarrel between ye and him.”

  “Perhaps not, but I spared your miserable life back on the Venezuelan Main, and what have you given to me in return?”

  “I knows it, but a man has to sail with whatever cap’n brings in the purchase.”

  “You will have the devil to pay since you chose to serve Thorpe in spite of his evil ways. You killed that Dutch crew and sold many into slavery, a fate you know to be worse than death. You also betrayed Karlton Harwick and would have sold him too, except that he was worth more to Lex. And you’d do the same to me now without the blink of an eye if you could. In fact, it’s Lex’s plan to betray me, is that not true?”

  “Lex wanted it that way. Karlton and the pretty wench was to force ye to talk once we had ye aboard, sailin’ for Margarita. Lex, he knows how to make a man talk. An’ he was going to use the wench to trouble ye.”

  “Yes, of that I’m sure. In trouble he excels. In honor, his soul is as barren as the salt ponds of Virgen Magra! His plans, however, will die in his teeth.”

  “It were the treasure he and Levasseur wanted. The goods o’ the Prince Philip tempts the devil hisself, ye’ve got to admit it.”

  “I would prefer the treasure to satisfy the greed of His Majesty and not the captain and crew of the Black Dragon. Now! What has Lex done with Captain Harwick?”

  He gestured with his big head. “He’s below.”

  “Bring me to him. Any trouble, Hacket, and this time I’ll not hesitate to use this cutlass.”

  Baret followed him down the steps and into the hold. The hull creaked, and dirty lanterns radiated yellowish light onto the beams as the hull lolled at anchor. Baret glanced about, almost afraid that something had happened to Karlton.

  Then a familiar voice boomed out jubilantly. “Aye, but ye’re a clever and bold blackguard, Baret Buckington, and I’ll go to me grave remembering it and thanking you!”

  And Sir Karlton, limping on his right leg, but otherwise in one mendable piece, came up and grabbed his forearms Roman style.