He squinted at the guard. As stone-faced and cold as the surrounding dungeon, the man stood at the foot of the flight of steps leading upward to the door. The guards were savage, bitter men, trapped in their own hate and servitude to the governor. One guard now, he thought. But whether one or a dozen mattered little, since his situation was impossible to escape from.
Lord help me escape, he prayed, for Emerald’s sake. Spare her from falling into the lustful hands of Rafael!
Baret had already noticed that the guards were not all full-blooded Spaniards. This one stood out from the others as looking to be part native Indian. He considered this.
He knew the Indians usually hated the conquering Spaniards as much as did the buccaneers. Indians had aided Morgan at Porto Bello, notifying him of the approach of a garrison of soldiers riding from Panama. Some of the pathetic prisoners they had loosed from the Porto Bello dungeons had been natives.
Baret tried to recall what he knew about the Indians on Margarita. He spoke to the man in English, but he didn’t answer.
He tried Spanish. “You must find it a great honor to serve the great Spanish lords who have come from across the sea in ships. They have conquered your people and turned you into slaves. You must look upon Governor Sevastian as a god!”
The young man’s brown eyes darted to his. For a moment he looked at Baret as though he were delirious, then his face became immobile again.
Baret managed a smirk. “Ah, your Spanish lords are worthy of your loyalty. How many of your people, like sacrificed chickens, died diving into the pearl beds? A thousand? Five thousand?”
“Too many to count.”
A response from the guard was the sign he was hoping for. “They appreciated your sacrifice, of course. No cost is too great for the lovely Spanish senoritas to wear fat pearls around their throats, while your women are enslaved, sleeping with Spanish soldiers, bearing their children—like you.”
“Keep silent!”
“Where is your father? Do you know? Did he own you as a son? And your mother—how was she mistreated? Did she tell you?”
The guard walked over to the rack, baring his teeth like a wolf ready to snarl. He reached for the crank to give it a turn. But when his angry gaze met Baret’s, he stopped and stared down at him. For a moment he seemed not to see him, then he swallowed and gave him a measured look.
“You are French?”
“English and Dutch. My mother died in a torture chamber in Holland. Only days ago I rescued my father from a place like this in Porto Bello.”
A strange smile formed on the guard’s lips. “I heard what the English Morgan did to Porto Bello. And I have heard of the treasure you have taken from the mission ruins.”
“Help me escape—and a portion of it is yours.”
The guard looked sullen. “I cannot help you. They would kill me.”
“A thousand pieces of eight—and your freedom away from here. I will bring you to Tortuga to join the Brotherhood. There are many there like you and me. Buccaneers, they call us. We have one thing in common—a desire to see Spain humbled.”
The man cast a glance toward the steps that led up to the door. “They come.”
“Just unloose me,” Baret gritted. “I will do the rest! Quick! Just unloose me!”
The half-breed hesitated, but then swiftly unfastened the chains and retook his place as guard by the foot of the stairs, his face immobile once again.
The door opened, and Baret heard the voices of Felix and Governor Sevastian.
He lay still as though chained, but he flexed his hands, trying to regain the circulation where numbness had set in. They would soon discover he was loose. If he didn’t act now, he would be secured again, and the Indian guard would die. But without a sword, what could he do?
His brain worked rapidly, thinking, trying to plan his next move.
Felix led the way down the stone steps, followed by the ponderous Sevastian in his burgundy dinner jacket.
Baret’s eyes dropped to their scabbards. Both wore weapons. He remembered that Felix was an excellent swordsman.
“Ah, our thief and pirate is awake again,” said Sevastian, drawing his sword and walking to the foot of the rack.
How soon would he notice that the chains were loose?
“What do you say, Senor Felix? Perhaps we can convince him to be more friendly and tell us where the diabolical Morgan is going to attack next!”
“Margarita,” Baret retorted flippantly. “And I’ll be the first to enter your bedchamber and pluck your beard, Don Sevastian!”
“You’ll not retain that cynical tone when I’ve ordered the soldiers to split your tongue! Instead, you’ll be making gobbling sounds!” He came around toward Baret as if he would do it himself, then and there.
Baret doubted that the governor had the stomach for performing such a deed, but it didn’t matter. As he came close, Baret sprang off the rack and wrenched the sword from his startled grip.
Sevastian, though a big man, was no match for Baret. As circulation flowed back into his hands, Baret grabbed the governor and hurled him backward, crashing him into Felix, who fell to the dungeon floor.
“Quick!” Baret ordered the Indian. “Let us put our illustrious governor on the rack! Let him taste his own cruelty for a change.”
The Indian rushed to perform the order as though executing long-awaited justice.
“No! No! Let go of me, you ape! I’ll have you torn in pieces for this—”
“Not this time, Sevastian,” said Baret, as the Indian swiftly locked down one arm and Baret the other. The governor shouted for guards, but Baret counted on any cries from this place being ignored.
Felix, however, was on his feet. He whipped his blade from its sheath and was inching backward toward the steps.
Baret intercepted him but kept a sword-thrust distance away, his dark eyes glinting with restrained anger.
“Now, now, dear Uncle, not so quickly,” he mocked. “Surely you’d not want to send your beloved nephew away without a bit of refreshment and some warm, encouraging words?”
Felix’s blue eyes turned as hard and cold as sapphires. “I don’t need the governor of Margarita—or his soldiers. I will silence you myself! For years you have blundered into my plans. You will not do so again!”
“I was hoping you would say that.” Baret stepped back, lifting his borrowed blade. “I can tell my father I was forced to kill you!”
Felix lunged at him, his lean body as agile as an angry and frightened cat. His sword struck Baret’s and was swerved aside.
“Our illustrious governor has good taste in Toledo blades!” Baret goaded.
He struck swiftly, his sword ringing against Felix’s and forcing him backward toward the wall. But Felix defended himself skillfully, and each of their blades checked and repelled the other again and again.
Baret swung harder, his inner turmoil feeding his sword with a force that savagely turned Felix’s aside again and again. He nicked Felix’s wrist to loosen his grip, causing the man’s hand to become slippery with blood.
“Six years he was a slave!” Baret gritted. “I have had but a few hours of your Spanish hospitality! He uses a crutch! His face is scarred! He is old now!”
Felix was gasping.
Baret pressed relentlessly until Felix fell back in retreat against the slimy dungeon wall, and the borrowed blade rammed him through.
Felix’s eyes turned hard, cold, and lifeless. His sword clanked onto the stone floor.
Baret turned away. He looked over at the governor.
“Look at him,” the Indian mocked. “He’s fainted!”
“Leave him,” said Baret. “There’s no more time.”
Footsteps sounded on the stone stairs.
Baret snatched Felix’s sword from the floor and sent it clattering across the dungeon toward the Indian. He hoped he could use it.
The young man snatched up the weapon.
But as Baret looked to the steps, thinking soldiers were co
ming, Carlotta stared down at him with wide dark eyes. In the torchlight her face showed pale and frightened. She looked at Felix, and her hands went to her mouth. But she said nothing, only staring at the corpse of the man who had sired her.
“What are you doing here?” demanded Baret. “Jasper—”
“Th-they killed him …” She pointed to the governor. “Now my uncle will send me to Spain—I don’t want to go!”
“Then come quickly. Do you know a way out of here?”
“Yes, through my room, but hurry, Baret! Soldiers will soon be swarming everywhere.”
“We need horses. Are there any?”
She nodded. “In the courtyard.” She was turning to lead the way when she saw the half-breed following. Her eyes sparked with suspicion.
“It’s all right. He’s one of us now. Hurry.”
Several horses were tied in the courtyard, and only one old groom was tending them. Baret snapped his fingers at Carlotta, and she slipped off her gold earrings and dropped them onto Baret’s palm. He handed them to the old man, who gave a toothless grin.
The three mounted, as the old man pointed to a gate. They bolted away, and Baret opened the gate just as the sound of soldiers’ running feet came from the garrison on the other side of the dungeon. Baret, Carlotta, and the Indian held themselves low in the saddles to avoid a possible barrage of arrows. Then they leaped over the green hedge and raced into the warm dark night to freedom!
All was quiet when they arrived at the ruins of San Felippe. Baret knew that barely an hour of darkness remained. He left Carlotta on the beach, guarded by the Indian, and told them he would send a boat when it was safe to board the Regale.
“If anything goes wrong and I do not return, remain in these parts. Erik and Karlton will surely come back when I do not keep the rendezvous. You will have your chance to escape then.”
The Indian remained stony-faced, though his eyes flickered with concern.
Carlotta took hold of Baret’s arm. Her own eyes were worried. “If Rafael is aboard your ship with his men and the soldiers, what chance will you have?”
“I don’t know. Time will tell. My men will fight if I can free them—if they are still alive. But I must go. Rafael will have Emerald.”
She nodded her understanding. She looked toward the ruin of the mission. “God help you, my cousin.”
The small boat Baret had used to row out to meet alone with Levasseur was still hidden where he’d left it. He pushed off from the glittering white beach into the darkened water. The morning stars were blending into the horizon as he rowed silently toward the ghostly silhouette of the Regale.
Was Levasseur aboard? And where were the Spanish soldiers who had accompanied him? Had Yorke and Jeremy and the others been able to put up a fight, or had they had been caught unprepared? He had some of the best buccaneers on the Main, but not even they were sufficient for the number of men with Levasseur.
Carlotta had insisted that Rafael had not returned to the castle with the treasure chests. There would not have been time. Nor could he have transported them yet to the Venture, docked in the town’s harbor.
Then, Baret thought, his jaw flexing, Levasseur must be aboard the Regale. He would be waiting until morning in order to navigate the reefs safely. Once it was light, he would sail into the town’s harbor to join the Venture, would unload the treasure to the safekeeping of the governor’s soldiers, take his own share along with Emerald, and make for the open sea.
If he was still aboard, there was a chance.
As Baret rowed closer to the Regale, he could see several longboats tied to the ship. Then Levasseur and the governor’s soldiers were there. Had his men put up a fight? Was anyone still alive? Why was it so quiet?
Remembering his past success at secretly boarding the Venture to free Karlton, Baret dropped anchor some distance from his ship and slipped into the warm water. He swam toward the side where the boarding ladder dangled near one of the longboats. He listened but heard no voices on the deck immediately above. Had Levasseur put everyone into the hold? He would not need many guards on deck, since there was no need to fear the Spanish. And he certainly didn’t expect a surprise visit from Baret!
He climbed the ladder cautiously, pausing to listen before going over the rail. There were few sounds, and he detected no Spanish soldiers prowling the decks. It appeared that everyone was still asleep. He came over the side, crouching low, sword in hand.
Lanterns glowed above the quarterdeck steps, and a thought came to torment him. He rejected it. If Levasseur was in his cabin with Emerald—if his father was dead—
He steadied his nerves before moving on, breathing in the cool air and trying to think clearly without hot emotion stirring the coals in his breast. Perhaps Levasseur had not put all his crew to the sword yet. They could be imprisoned in the hold.
He had the advantage of knowing every inch of his vessel. He moved across the deck and down into the waist to the companionway, where a guard paced before the hatch leading to the hold.
Without a sound, Baret came up behind him, threw his forearm around the man’s neck and wrestled him to the deck, then snatched a pistol from his bandolier. He used the pistol butt on the back of the guard’s head, then pulled him aside into the ropes and tackle, retrieved the second pistol, and stuffed it inside his leather belt. Then he returned to the hatch and opened it.
A dim light burned below. With pistols in both hands, he went down the ladder, blinking against the light.
“Har! ‘Tis his lordship!” breathed a jubilant Hob.
“Cap’n!” came Jeremy’s hoarse voice. “Thank God. You’re a sight for hopeless eyes!”
“I knew it!” said others, and a low murmur swelled to a hum until Baret fiercely waved them to silence.
“How many aboard?”
“Levasseur and a dozen Frenchies!”
“What of the governor’s soldiers?”
“Har, ol’ Levasseur done made quick shark bait out of ’em,” said Hob. “Didn’t take much to get him riled. Once he saw the treasure, he was lickin’ his chops like a boucanier’s huntin’ dog.”
“The Spanish captain insisted on taking the chests back to the mission until he could transport ’em to the governor’s castle in the morning,” Jeremy explained, “but Levasseur would have none of it. He killed him.”
“Shot him square through his gizzard,” said Hob. “Then had his Frenchies turn on the dozen soldiers. “They’s all floatin’ dinner for the sharks by now.”
Baret had seen nothing when he swam to the ship, but perhaps the sharks had been satiated.
“A fine mess you’re all in,” he breathed. “I leave my ship for an hour, and you end up losing it without a fight to that French peacock!” He removed his knife from his belt and quickly begin cutting them free.
Once Jeremy was loose, he joined in the work. Soon most of the crew were free and boiling over with energy.
“We did put up a fight, Cap’n,” said Jeremy. “Yorke’s dead, and Hawley is wounded, and …”
Yorke … dead. Baret concealed the pang he felt. There was time to grieve for his loyal lieutenant later.
His dark eyes hardened. “Where’s Levasseur now?”
Hob rubbed his chin and looked up at the ceiling. “With Emerald, says I—and maybe your father. He wanted ’em both alive till he made sure he was aboard the Venture.”
“All right, lads, are you ready to take our ship back?”
“Aye!”
“With pleasure, Cap’n!”
“After me, then! And no one make a sound!”
While his crew dispersed to deal with Levasseur’s seamen one by one, Baret came quietly up the steps to the round room. The door stood open to allow the breeze to circulate. Lanterns burned, and he could see Emerald, seated in a chair. The concealed anguish in her face would not be recognized by anyone but himself. She pretended disdain for Rafael and had never looked more noble than she did now, he thought. The love he felt for her consumed his
heart.
Royce stood by the window, but his hands were bound. Zeddie was hog-tied in a corner, his periwig awry and his black eye patch askew.
“You’re mad, Rafael,” Emerald said. “You won’t get by with this. My husband will gain his freedom, you’ll see. And when he does—”
“By now he is on the rack, mon cherie, and the governor will see to it he hangs on the gallows by noon tomorrow. You best cooperate with me now. It may be I shall take pity on you and save you from the debauchery of the Spanish soldiers!”
Baret stepped quietly into the room. “That would be very galante of you, Rafael. But as you can see, that will not be necessary. I am quite able to defend my wife against Spanish soldiers and despicable Frenchmen!”
Levasseur whirled and stared unbelievingly, as though Baret were a mirage.
“You,” he breathed.
“Yes, it is I, Capitaine. It is you and I, alone. And I vow, when I’m through with you, there will be nothing left to even tempt the sharks! Come, Levasseur! It is long past due to see which of us is the better swordsman!”
Emerald backed away toward Royce, her face pale and tense, but there were no hysterics.
Tense and deadly serious, Rafael unsheathed his blade, his black eyes measuring his opponent. He seemed to know there would be no mercy shown him this time, and he lunged to gain the moment’s advantage.
Their blades whispered, cutting through the air with speed and force, then coming together in a solid clash of cold steel.
Levasseur gave a short laugh. “You see! I have taken your devilish lessons, Monsieur!”
“You have learned nothing yet as you ought to have learned!” Baret feinted, lunged, and caught Rafael off guard, nicking his throat.
Shaken and white, showing surprise and fear as well, Levasseur wiped away the blood and stepped back.
Baret stalked him, deadly determined. “Come, Rafael. It is not over so quickly. You will taste defeat first! For all the misery you have caused Emerald and me!” He lunged at him.
But Levasseur hurled a lantern, drenching the round room with a splash of flames and shadows. Then he leaped over a chair and bolted through the door.
Buccaneers Series Page 109