I pulled the blanket over my head.
“Besides,” he added, “today's a celebration. It'll do you good to dance awhile and gamble a bit. I'll even show you how to play dice. And just to be fair, I'll make certain you have a bit of beginner's luck.”
After yammering another minute or so, he went away, to my relief. So did most of the others, making only a halfhearted attempt to get me to join them. Then from beneath me I heard music, soft at first, growing louder as more instruments joined the song. I heard laughter, singing, and the tromp of shoes.
Below me, the waters swirled by. I watched the whorls, the bubbles, and wondered what it would feel like to jump in and have the ocean press about me. It would be vast and numbing. I imagined the ship's hull above me as I sank, watching the ship become smaller, smaller, until it finally disappeared. All around me, it would be silent. Dark. Ended.
A voice startled me. “Daniel?” It was Josiah.
Go away, I thought.
He thrust a gift under my nose. “I have something for you.” It was wrapped in velvet, tied with a golden cord. “Merry Christmas.”
I blinked water from my eyes. Christmas? Is it truly Christmas? Slowly I reached for the package, wondering at the same time if I should really take it or if I should ignore him. Just as slowly I untied it.
The velvet wrapping fell away.
It was a carving of a boy. Made of ivory the figure stood about four inches tall. With a blanket draping carelessly from one hand and a thumb in his mouth, he gazed upward at something unseen. But I knew what he was looking at. I was that boy.
I remembered a night from my childhood when the fire blazed beside me. I remember gazing at Josiah while he carved, while he told me to not move a muscle, that if I was a good lad he would tell me a story. I can't remember if I was good. I can't remember the story. I remember only staring at him. His hair of jet black, tied in a queue at the back of his neck. His rough fingers as he carved and carved. His occasional smile of satisfaction. His beautiful teeth.
I set my jaw, held my hand out over the gray, swirling waters, and released the figure. It fell noiselessly into the water below and sank into vastness, into numbness, its ivory eyes watching the ship grow smaller and smaller. “My family doesn't celebrate Christmas.”
He said nothing and walked away.
The next day, my time at the rail ended.
I was half asleep, wondering whether Faith had recovered from her illness or whether she was with my father in heaven, when suddenly someone ripped my blanket away. “Hey!” I cried indignantly, swinging around to see who it was.
Josiah stood there, his face twisted with fury. Before I could react, he crumpled my blanket into a ball and heaved it into the ocean. “Get up!” he shouted. When I did not move, he placed a well-aimed kick on my behind. “Get up, I say!”
I scrambled to my feet, my face flushing, aware of the slew of onlookers, most of whom were grinning.
“You have bled long enough! It is time to be a part of this crew! You must shoulder your weight, else I'll toss you overboard as useless cargo!”
I almost told him to go ahead and toss me overboard, but suddenly feared he'd do exactly as he promised. I swallowed hard and mumbled, “I don't know what to do.”
He shoved me toward the foremast. “Climb aloft and keep a lookout. And, boy, whatever you do, hang tight and don't look down.”
The foremast swayed above me like a massive tree with vines, moaning with the brisk wind. Climb aloft? Keep a lookout? Up there? “But—but what do I look out for?”
Josiah did not answer, for he had gone. Many of the men still watched me, and there was nothing for it but to do what Josiah ordered. I grasped the shrouds and began to climb, thinking angrily, He orders me around like I am some servant and he my master. He told me a pirate captain can give orders only during chase or battle, and yet he orders me around as if I have nothing to do except whatever he says.
Distracted by my anger, I forgot Josiah's warning and looked down. The deck lurched beneath me. Had I climbed so far already? I clung to the ratlines and closed my eyes, fighting waves of nausea and dizziness. My body began to shake violently.
Curse you, Josiah Black.
After more clinging, grasping, climbing, and cursing, I finally reached the crosstrees—the lookout station. I tied myself to the mast with my belt, wondering why Josiah thought he could trust me with such a post. Why should I alert the crew to anything? What did I care about them? If I saw a rock, I would merely brace myself. If I saw a merchant ship, I would warn it away. If I saw a man-o’-war, I would invite its crew aboard and laugh as they hanged all the villains for piracy, murder, and kidnapping.
I stayed tied to the mast for hours. Finally, in the semidark-ness of evening, I climbed down, starving. I ate enough food to fill three men, drank a ladle of stale water, curled up by the rail, shivering, and fell asleep. Being a lookout was hard work.
I awakened once in the middle of the night. A blanket covered me. It smelled of wool, tobacco, and rum. I pulled it over my head, glad of the warmth, and fell asleep again.
The next day and the next found me back at the lookout post. I was beginning to enjoy it. High in the rigging, I felt a separation from the crew, as if I were no longer aboard a pirate ship and was instead in my own world, a world of endless sky and endless sea, where the events of the past few weeks seemed unreal. Like whispers in the night.
One sullen, misty day, I spied something that made my heart sink: a ship. About a half mile distant, blind to our presence, she sailed an intercept course. Unless I warned it away, it would surely suffer the same fate as the Gray Pearl. So far, none of the pirates had spotted it. I acted quickly, for I had a plan.
I removed my shirt, a cotton shirt that was fast becoming tattered and grayed. I tied my scarlet-colored stocking to one of the sleeves. From a distance, if I was lucky, it would look like blood. Hopefully, when the merchant ship saw the bloodstained shirt, they would realize who we were and slip away before the pirates were any the wiser.
Silently, I undid my belt. I stood at the crosstrees and waved the shirt above my head.
They saw me at the same time.
The other ship's lookout.
Josiah.
I saw the glint of a spyglass as their lookout spotted me, while at the same time I glanced below to see Josiah staring at me, agape. He strode to the forward rail and cried, “Sail two points off the leeward bow!” Immediately men scrambled to posts.
With every sail sheeted to its fullest, the Tempest Galley surged forward. Beneath me the pirates hid behind bulwarks and masts, crouched between cannon. I saw the glint of weapons and the loading of pistols, heard the murmur of anticipation. There was Will Putt, a brace of pistols across his chest, a cutlass in one hand, a pistol in the other, and a grin smeared across his face. There was Josiah, motionless, waiting. He glanced at me, and although his expression did not change, I knew he was angry. Fearing what he might do to me when he had the chance, fearing that his patience with me was finally at an end, I looked away.
To my dismay, the merchant ship stayed her course.
Two hundred yards …
One hundred …
Her yards swung and she loosed her sails. I saw the power go out of her as the helm was put down smartly and her fore topsail backed with the breeze.
A few men scurried about our ship as well, preparing to heave to, pretending to be merchant crewmen following the orders of a merchant captain.
The ships drew abreast.
“Do you require assistance?” cried her captain through a speaking trumpet. “We saw—”
Suddenly the pirates erupted from their hiding places, raised their weapons above their heads, and screamed.
My scalp prickled.
The merchant vessel swung her rudder, but she had no steerage way. Her crew darted this way and that—up the shrouds, down the hatches. “Brace full!” I heard her captain shout. “Sheet home! Sheet home!” Her gun ports opened.
>
But it was too late. Grappling lines soared from our ship like the silken strands of a spider. Musical instruments snarled like wolves, and my heart thumped with the heavy beat of the drum.
ike cockroaches, the pirates swarmed onto the other ship.
I clung to the mast, watching, paralyzed with terror.
As a body, the sailors of the merchant ship raised their arms in surrender, some falling to their knees, pleading for their lives.
Just then, the merchant captain—a tall, strapping, bewigged gentleman—stepped across the quarterdeck, raised his pistol, and fired at a pirate. The man screamed in agony, clutched his chest, and crumpled to the deck. I screamed too, high as I was, seeing an image of my father lying dead in a pool of blood. No! Not again!
At first the pirates stood unmoving, as if in shock, as if they could not believe that anyone dared oppose them. But then they flooded the quarterdeck, enraged, shouting vengeance, and the captain disappeared under the mob of cutthroats. I looked away, unwilling to watch, nevertheless seeing in my mind the blades dripping in blood.
God have mercy upon his soul, I prayed.
With the death of the captain, it was over.
I watched from above as they heaved the captain's body overboard and began to go through the ship's manifest and scour the vessel for loot. The men of the Mercury were invited to join the brotherhood of pirates. A few came forward. One man was forced to join, as it was discovered he was a musician and the pirates needed music. Music for dancing, they said. And music for killing—music so horrifying God himself begged for mercy.
I clung to the mast.
Throughout the rest of the day, while the Mercury was pillaged, I dreamed with my eyes open, staring at the horizon. I saw pirates swarm like cockroaches. A dignified merchant captain raising his firearm. Pistols belching bullet and powder. Men on their knees, begging for mercy. I squeezed my eyes shut, ignoring the calls from below for me to come down. That there was food and fresh water and a prize to be had. That they had no hard feelings because I had fallen asleep on my watch. Because I had not warned them. That little Daniel Markham was their friend. That they knew I wouldn't let it happen again. But soon they forgot me, for as night descended, the music and dancing, the games and gambling, began. Roars of drunkenness continued through the night, spluttering laughter, a fight or two, quickly broken up.
I wondered why Josiah had told his crew that I had fallen asleep on duty when both he and I knew that I had, in fact, attempted to betray the pirates a second time. I wondered why he didn't, indeed, just toss me overboard as useless cargo. Part of me wished he would, for then this nightmare would be ended. Tightening my belt around the mast, I slumped against it, unable to stop the heaviness of sleep.
The music continued, boisterous and merry.
I was dreaming of fresh bread, cider, and ham with beans when a hand clasped my ankle and yanked it roughly. Startled, I cried out.
Then, out of the darkness, an enormous, shadowy head loomed. Foul breath, rum, and armpit odor wafted over me as he snarled, “Hand over your locket, boy.” I heard the rasp of steel.
The shape lunged at me, but I dodged, horrified when my belt held me in place and I could scarcely move. I felt the slice of steel in my arm, cold and terrifying. He lunged at me again. “No!” I placed one foot squarely against his chest, meanwhile frantically trying to unlatch my belt. I heard breathing, ragged and desperate, vaguely realizing it was coming from me.
“Why, you—” the man started, but he said no more as I shoved his chest with all my might. I felt him slip, heard the whisper of metal as the dagger fell. He cursed, and I hoped for a brief moment that he might follow his dagger. But even as I thought it, he grabbed my ankle and climbed up my body as if he were climbing a rope.
My leg. My pants waist. My arm. My collar.
Me, fighting and struggling.
With a snarl, he wrenched my locket from my neck, then wrapped a giant hand about my throat and squeezed. “Foolish boy! You should have just given it to me!” My eyes bulged, and I couldn't breathe. I still fumbled with my belt, kicking him weakly. I felt myself fading. No! Father, help me!
My belt snapped. Suddenly released, I fell. Away from the mast, away from the hand that crushed me. I screeched. I flailed through the air, reaching for something, anything.
I grazed the yard with my shoulder and bounced into the shrouds. It was like landing in a net, but a net set on its ear. I began to fall down the shrouds but grasped hold, nearly yanking my arms from their sockets. A body hurtled past me. A moment passed, no more, before there was a heavy thud below. Then came cries of surprise and an abrupt stop to the music.
The pirate—whoever he was—had fallen. From where I lay, clinging to the ratlines, I saw others gather around him, holding a lantern high.
“Dead,” said one, prodding the body with his foot. “Snapped his neck like a chicken.”
“Must've taken a bad step,” said another. “Always was a stupid oaf. Never liked him.”
“Owed me money, that one. Now he don't got to pay. Lucky bloke.”
They peered into the shrouds for a moment. “Oh, well,” one of them said, shrugging. “Maybe the kid did him in.” Everyone laughed as if it were a grand joke, the music started up again, and the pirates returned to their games of dice, to their dancing. The body lay crumpled on the deck, forgotten.
I crept down the ratlines, my legs like jelly. I could scarcely believe what had happened. Someone had almost killed me just to get his grimy hands on my locket! These men were beasts, all of them. I strode to the corpse. I pried open his fingers and yanked back my locket.
“Animal!” I screamed, kicking him. “Now you've done it! You've broken my chain!” I kicked him again and again, knowing he couldn't feel it, wishing he could. “Lay your filthy hands on me again, and I'll—I'll—kill you! A-again!”
“Daniel.” Josiah spoke from beside me, his voice silken. “Daniel, my boy, come with me.” He steered me away from the body. He steered me under the quarterdeck and into his cabin. I let him steer me, for I did not care. I cared about nothing except my locket. No one, absolutely no one, was going to ever touch my locket again.
“Take this,” said Josiah. To my surprise, he handed me a sleek, polished dagger. It was eight inches long or thereabouts, slender, the steel engraved with a curled design. Its sheath was of mahogany, rich and red-grained.
I took the dagger, thinking, The next man who touches me will feel this in his ribs.
“You're bleeding.” Josiah tossed me a rag, and I pressed it to my wound. I had forgotten I was wounded. I winced, suddenly feeling the pain.
“He attacked me.” My voice trembled with rage. “He had no right. He took my locket. He tried to stab me. He was strangling me. I couldn't breathe. He grabbed my locket and broke the chain. Next man who touches me gets it! I mean it! If anyone so much as …” I stopped talking because Josiah was looking at me strangely. “What?”
For a moment, Josiah said nothing. Then he uncorked a bottle of rum, filled two goblets, and handed one to me. “Odd how you would kill a man over a locket, don't you think, Daniel? Are we really so different?”
It was as if I'd been punched in the gut and all my air blown out. I sat staring at him, my mouth hanging open like the village dunce's. Then I hurled my goblet across the room. “We are nothing alike! My father was your friend, and I hate you!” I left the cabin, slamming the door behind me.
That night I slept in the hold, hand clamped around the hilt of my dagger. I tossed and mumbled in my sleep, seeing shadowy heads materialize in the darkness. The heads bobbed and whispered like goblins. But when I struggled awake with a gasp, there was nothing—only the taste of a nightmare in my mouth.
Throughout the night, the heads appeared. My father's— missing his jaw, trying to tell me something, his tongue flapping helplessly. Faith's—skin pasty white, eyes like boiled eggs. The minister's—pounding the pulpit, shouting, “Thou shalt not kill! Thou shalt not kill!�
� over and over until his skin blistered and horns popped out of his skull.
One head hovered over me. It danced goblin-like in the light of a lantern. Splotches of light streaked across its face with the motion of the ship. It stared at me, round-eyed, surprised. “Daniel?” it asked in a high, girlish voice. “Daniel?”
With the strength of a nightmare, I sprang from where I lay and pointed my dagger at its throat. “Get away from me!” I snarled.
The face took shape. Frightened mouse-gray eyes. Skin smeared with bruises. Thin lips trembling. “Don't—don't hurt me, Daniel, please! It's me. Timothy Allsworth of Boston! You know, Timothy.”
or me, it was simple. I was no longer alone. Surrounded by murderers, thieves, and men of monstrous, sinful nature, I had found a friend.
Timothy and I had attended the same grammar school, taught by Master Noggin. Although Timothy was a year younger, we had sat together on the same hard, backless bench, reciting from the New England primer, “In Adam's fall, we sinned all.” We'd shivered in the frigid air, wishing we sat in the front row next to the stove where the smart boys sat, dreaming of the day when we were old enough to no longer attend school.
For Master Noggin had been frightful. He'd bellowed and bullied, and if we did not follow his directions (or even if we did), we could be certain his ruler would soon descend to smack the backs of our hands. Or if we were terribly stupid, or worse, if we fell asleep with our noses pressed against the primer, we could be certain to feel his switch warming our backsides.
Timothy's chance to leave school had come early. At the age of eleven, he'd shipped aboard the Mercury as a cabin boy, and I hadn't seen him since.
Over the next few days, after the Tempest Galley finally finished despoiling the Mercury and shoved off, sails sheeted home once again, we huddled together, Timothy and I, recounting our lives since last we'd seen the other. Sometimes we crouched beside a cannon in the waist deck. Sometimes we ran to the fo'c'sle deck, where we gazed out over the bowsprit, where the noise of sea spray drowned out our words to all but us. Sometimes when it was my turn as lookout, we climbed to the masthead, gazing at the horizon, at the bubbling white of our wake. Or sometimes we met in the hold, slipping inside an enormous coil of rope to sit with our knees butted against our chins, scarce able to wag our tongues.
Voyage of Plunder Page 4