On A Lee Shore

by Elin Gregory

“My…what?” Griffin paused in his cautious advance.

  “Jago,” Kit said. “I understand now. You were close until he marooned you. I suspect that that was my fault too. That he should find my…my regard for you upsetting was to be expected. I should have been less compliant.”

  “You, compliant!” Griffin let out a sharp crack of laughter. “Christ, Kit, I have no idea why I should be concerned for you, but I am.” He raised his bruised hand to rub his brow as though it pained him. “If anything happens to me, I need someone to sail the Africa to safety. I cannot allow her to fall into Jago’s hands. Nor what remains of my crew.”

  “Valliere,” Kit said. “He’s a better navigator than I am, and the men pay heed to him.”

  “Then you will stay because those are my orders,” Griffin snapped.

  “And I will follow you because it is my duty.”

  “You won’t go anywhere if I strap you over that gun barrel.”

  “Hah, and how do you think you might achieve that?” Kit snorted. “You’re almost dead on your feet. You talk up a storm, Griffin, but I have the measure of you. If it came to a fight, I think I could beat you.”

  As he had been speaking Griffin had been edging around the table, but Kit stood his ground. He was braced to meet force with force, determined not to give way. He wasn’t expecting Griffin to drop his hands and lean on the table with a sigh.

  “I don’t want to fight you, Kit,” Griffin said. “Not over this. Doesn’t it occur to you that I may want you away, safe, for my own reasons?”

  Kit stared at him and felt his color rise. “No,” he admitted. “Or…or not for any good reason. You know Valliere can handle the sloop better than I can and Saunders can handle Detorres. If…” He paused to gather his scattered thoughts—what did he truly feel about this? Other than a huge panicky unease at the thought of Griffin going into danger without Kit at his shoulder to guard him. But maybe Griffin felt him inadequate to the task? “With the ship in safe hands, my place is at your side,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. “You need another gun—another man to fight for you.”

  “So you are volunteering for the symmetry of the thing?” Griffin snorted. “To balance out Protheroe you’ll need to broaden out a bit. Not an acceptable reason. No, Kit. Did your time in the navy teach you nothing? It is not acceptable for both senior officers to absent themselves from the ship at the same time—”

  “Unless in exceptional circumstances,” Kit interrupted him. “And how else would you describe—”

  Griffin straightened up and lunged. Kit had made a serious misjudgment of the length of Griffin’s reach. The captain’s hands fastened on his shirtfront, fabric ripping. Kit punched Griffin once, hard, in the short ribs then gagged as Griffin’s hand gripped his throat, making his head swim. The chair caught the back of Kit’s thigh, overbalancing him, and they both crashed to the floor. Kit hit him again, and Griffin’s grip tightened. “Listen,” Griffin snarled. He jerked his head aside as Kit’s fist grazed his jaw, grabbed his wrist, and slammed it down beside Kit’s head. “Listen to me, damn you, Kit. Oh, damn your eyes, boy.”

  It was the catch in Griffin’s voice that stilled Kit rather than the grinding grip on his wrist and the weight on his chest. “What?” he said. “I’m listening.”

  Griffin released Kit’s wrist, and the warm palm stroked over his hair to cup his jaw. “Jago knows that if he kills you it will weaken me.” The murmur was almost inaudible, breathed against Kit’s cheek. “Because he knows that I…care for you. Oh damn it, Kit.”

  “And that is why I can’t allow you to go without me,” Kit replied. “Because I…care what happens to you too.”

  There was a short silence then Griffin groaned. “Then there’s no more to be said. Come with me tomorrow, but now, Kit, for pity’s sake, come to bed?”

  Their mouths met hungrily and, indeed, there was no more to be said.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  When Kit opened his eyes the cabin was bright with reflected moonlight. The comfortable softness under him was surely the cabin cot, and smooth linen lay lightly over his bare skin. He stretched, smiling as the warm languor of his body reminded him of what had followed his and Griffin’s quarrel. He had been loved, of that he was sure, and had loved Griffin back. And today he would prove his love with fire and steel if necessary, as a man should. He stretched again, opening his eyes. One wrist clanked as he moved it, and he stared in disbelief at the manacle and chain linked to a ringbolt in the wall.

  “No,” he said then repeated it in a bellow as anger gave him strength. The chain tautened as he threw his weight against it and pain jabbed his wrist. He grabbed the chain with both hands and lunged against it. There was no give. Chain, bolt, and manacle were solidly made.

  “Griffin!” his roar of fury cut through the quiet of the night like a cannon shot, and he heard a shouted response. Too angry to care who saw him in this ridiculous condition, Kit yanked at the chain again. “Damn you, Griffin,” he yelled.

  The door opened a crack then Saunders, lantern held high, opened it fully and stared at him. Behind him was Denny.

  “What on earth…” Saunders demanded, then his eyes followed the manacle from Kit’s wrist to the bulkhead and he gave a wheezy bleat of laughter. “So he did it!”

  “Get a key!” Kit got off the cot, casting around for his clothes and something, anything, with which he could break the lock. “Saunders—Denny. Come on. Let me loose!”

  “No,” Saunders shook his head. “If Griffin wants you restrained, by damn you stay restrained. I’ll not go against the will of the captain.”

  “Nor me,” Denny said, grinning. “He told me, he said, you leave Mr. Kit be, now Denny, no matter if he do shout. And he did make me promise.” He shook his head. “You bide here till he gets back. Just like I do.”

  “But I’m not…” Kit took a deep breath, biting back words that he knew he must not say. “Has Griffin left to meet Jago?” he asked, trying to keep his tone more moderate.

  “I suppose he must,” Saunders said, glancing around the room. “We assumed that he was—er—teaching you the error of your ways, or allowing you to apologize. But this,” he nodded toward Kit’s state of undress and the chain, “yes, a very neat way to enforce his will. You stay there, young man, and no harm will come to you.”

  “No harm! And what of the harm that may be coming to Griffin?”

  Saunders lips thinned at that, and he glanced over his shoulder. “Griffin knows what he is about, I am sure. Now, please Kit, be quiet. The men are trying to sleep.”

  But it was too late for that. Kit could already hear murmured questions and the sound of footsteps. Lewis was the first through the door, followed by Detorres.

  “What happened to you?” Detorres demanded.

  “Where’s Griffin? And where’s Protheroe?” Lewis added, his big face paling under the beard.

  “At a guess,” Kit said, clanking the chain again, “they’ve gone to take on Jago and all his men?”

  “No,” Lewis muttered. “He wouldn’t do that, not without saying. He’d have told me.” Frozen with shock, the big Welshman lurched as Detorres pushed him aside. Detorres wasn’t shocked—he was furious, and he wasted no time. The wormer for one of the big guns was racked on the wall. He snatched it down. The metal twist threaded neatly into the chain link closest to the bolt and leverage did the rest. Kit staggered as the taut chain parted.

  “Thank you. Now, clothing—and weapons,” Kit said. Detorres nodded and ran from the room.

  Saunders protested as Lewis stepped forward to help. “Griffin knows what he’s doing,” he said. “You’ll just make matters worse. Jago and Griffin have an arrangement.”

  “Yes, but Wigram and Muddiford and Probert and the rest don’t,” Kit snapped. He dragged his chest out from its place beneath the muzzle of the starboard gun and threw open the lid. In the absence of anything else he began struggling into his old naval uniform, the clothing feeling tight and constricting after
the freedom of his island linens. He didn’t bother with the heavy coat but buttoned the waistcoat snugly over his shirt, wound a sash around his waist, and slung his hanger round his shoulders. His silver-trimmed sword slid into the slings, and he gave it an affectionate pat before picking up his pistols to check the priming.

  “You’ll need these.” Detorres reappeared in the doorway, pistols bunched under his arm, his free hand cradling a basket of grenadoes like a clutch of eggs.

  “Hah, the biter bit,” Kit said. By then the rest of the crew was milling around the doorway of the cabin and several of them consulted in a whisper, departed, and returned equally heavily armed.

  “Griffin’ll be so mad,” Denny said. He had hopped up onto the cot to be out of the way. “He said, he told me, he did, that he didn’t want no one hurt on his account. ’Specially not you, Mr. Kit. And none of you others neither. He’ll be so mad.”

  Kit had flushed at being singled out and that increased his determination. “He’s just going to have to put up with it,” he said as he made for the door. “Right. Whoever’s with me, up on deck now. The rest of you—get ready to up anchor and away. If it goes badly, we may be coming back in a hurry. We don’t want to be caught napping, do we?”

  Valliere was at his usual position by the tiller and gave Kit an approving nod. “I told Griffin it was the wrong thing to do, but I gave him my word not to rouse you. It was wrong of him to put your safety before your pride and your honor. God speed. Detorres, I would say to you that it is sometimes worth putting honor to one side if it will serve little purpose. Be guided by Kit and by Griffin.”

  Detorres scowled, but both Kit and Lewis stared at him until he nodded. “I agree,” he said. “If…if…it seems I would waste lives needlessly, I will hold my hand.”

  “Fair enough,” Kit said. “Did Griffin leave any other instructions?”

  Valliere gave him a thoughtful look, and Kit groaned. “I see he did. Did he leave any instructions that you can, without going against your conscience, tell me about?”

  Valliere laughed. “Well phrased. I am to save as many lives as possible and the ship at all costs. There is a paper in the cabin making the Africa over to me and Saunders and to all who wish to join us in legitimate enterprise. Failing that, all who wish to depart may do so with Griffin’s blessing and a fair portion of the silver from the Santiago.”

  “I see. Paid off and set ashore when no longer required.” Kit raised his voice to carry to the men amidships. “Gentlemen, the boat, if you please. All firearms to be carried unprimed. Pray God we won’t need them.”

  Several men had elected to accompany Kit, Lewis, and Detorres. To Kit’s surprise Davy Forrest was one of them and Runyon was another.

  “Captain Griffin has been good to me,” Davy said when asked. He looked worried and uncomfortable with a heavy pistol shoved through his belt and a cutlass at his side. “If I can help him I want to.”

  “And me,” Runyon grunted. His cutlass, Kit noted, had been honed to a fine edge. “And if I get a chance of a swipe at that bastard Stockley’s other hand, I don’t intend to miss.”

  There was a grunt from Jonas, who had been one of Stockley’s top hands, but it was a sound of agreement. “Fire aboard ship,” he said. “That’s not honest robbing.”

  Lopez, one of the two Spaniards who had come, scowled and said nothing, but Kit noticed him testing the edge of the boarding axe he carried.

  “Then the sooner we go,” Kit suggested, “the sooner we will be able to come back.”

  In the boat, Kit hissed quick and quiet instructions as they rowed the short distance to the shore. “I need two volunteers to stay near the boat,” he finished. “Anyone—Davy? You will be helping. And Maxwell. Grand. If you see us coming at a run, get the boat into the water and be ready to help any wounded aboard.” He spread his arms, grinning at them with as much confidence as he could muster. “There won’t be any, but it’s just as well to be prepared. Damn this bright moon.”

  Lewis, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, grunted and nodded to the south. “Clouds forming. We might have some cover. Can we get along, Kit? I’m not going to be happy till I see my Protheroe, damn his eyes.”

  They ran up the moonlit beach, hands muffling the shift and clink of metal against metal. As they topped the slope they slowed, and Kit nodded to the men he had singled out as scouts. Jonas and Lewis slipped through the bushes, one left, one right, and flitted almost silently across the open space. Kit nodded to the others when all remained quiet, and they followed, keeping low. Entering the trees they found Lewis waiting for them.

  “Jonas said he could smell smoke and has gone ahead to see what he can see,” Lewis murmured. “It will be dark under the trees. Keep close.”

  Kit followed him, setting his feet down carefully. Behind him he could hear Detorres murmuring a prayer, or a curse, and the brush of fabric against branches or the crunch of leaves underfoot. None of them were sounds that would carry to the beach but were enough to keep Kit’s breath short, his heart beating fast.

  They threaded down the slope, following the path Jonas had marked for them—slips of bark peeled away to show white in the little filter of moonlight. Lewis grunted and reached to grasp Kit’s arm. He drew him forward and whispered.

  “I can see Jonas,” he said. “And—I dunno—can you hear voices?”

  “From the beach,” Kit breathed. “Yes. Go on.”

  Soon Kit could see Jonas too. He was leaning against a larger tree and beckoning, indicating that Kit stoop below the level of the undergrowth.

  “Half a moment, wait here,” Kit instructed Detorres then hurried to join Jonas. The Danish pirate nodded to him.

  “Look,” he said, pointing. “They drinking.”

  Kit stepped past him, keeping close to the tree, to get a better view.

  There was the beach lit by the bright leap of flames, and there close to the hull of the Garnet sat a group of men. Griffin’s white shirt was lit gold by the fire, and Kit could see the bottle in his hand. There was no sign of Protheroe.

  Kit bit his lip. Griffin did not look as though he was in danger. He looked perfectly at ease. Across the fire from him Kit could see the firelight flickering on the tarnished bullion of Jago Stockley’s coat and the heavy swing of his pigtail. Then he leaned to pick up a bottle—with his right hand, whole and unblemished.

  “Who is that?” he demanded, pointing. Jonas scowled, frowning down at the beach.

  “That not Jago,” he growled. “No—by damn—he Wigram!”

  Kit scowled too. There was no sign of Campbell, Jago’s sailing master, nor of those pirates from Africa who had decided to stay aboard Santiago apart from Wigram’s particular friends. Now he came to look more closely, Probert was standing at Griffin’s back, pistol held loosely in his hand, but Kit would have bet it was primed and cocked. “We must go down,” he said. “Jonas, can you try and find where the others have been taken? Campbell and Protheroe must be there somewhere.”

  Jonas nodded. As he disappeared into the patchy darkness, Kit returned to the rest of the men. “I don’t like the look of it,” he added. “Griffin doesn’t look hurt or alarmed, but he doesn’t look as though he’s drinking either.”

  “And him with a bottle in his hand?” Lewis shook his head. “Then there is something most terrible wrong. Did you not see Protheroe?”

  “No,” Kit admitted, “nor Campbell or any of the others. I’ve sent Jonas to see where they are.” He hesitated a moment before telling them the most worrying news of all. “And I could not see Jago. I think he may have been deposed. Wigram is wearing his coat and Wigram’s friends have their pistols at Griffin’s back.”

  “Dear Lord,” Lewis muttered. “Then what do we do?”

  “Wait for Jonas’s word,” Kit suggested. “Then try to free the others. Some extra help wouldn’t go amiss. And I’ll be happier when I know what has happened to Stockley.”

  “Would they have killed him?” Detorres demanded.


  “Not if it went to a vote and he stepped down gracefully,” Lewis murmured. “He’d be planning to let Wigram and his cronies scupper themselves then step in to save the ship. Stockley knows how it goes.”

  “And Griffin?” Kit asked. “How would they be viewing him?”

  Lewis did not reply, but Kit saw the shrug silhouetted against the sky.

  They didn’t have long to wait before Jonas returned, but it felt like an age to Kit.

  “I see them,” Jonas hissed when he reached them. “They are tied to the anchor cable under the trees.” He nodded north along the beach. “There are guards but they have a bottle.”

  “How many are tied?” Kit asked and was surprised by Jonas’s chuckle.

  “A lot,” he said. “I saw Protheroe. He didn’t look as though he was hurt.”

  “Can we get close enough to free them?” Lewis demanded.

  “They can be seen from the fire.” Jonas shrugged. “Maybe—if we can be sure that the guards stay quiet and nobody comes to check.”

  “So we need a distraction.” Kit pursed his lips, thinking. “Could we get a man on the Santiago and start a small fire? Lots of flame and smoke but no damage?”

  “That could happen,” Jonas said. “Someone could swim out to her—or maybe there’s a boat?”

  “Well, perhaps that’s the way to go then. Volunteers? Thank you, Jonas—and you, Runyon. A count of five hundred should give you time then we’ll move in to free the crew. Was Jago with them?”

  “I couldn’t see,” Jonas shrugged. “Some of the men were sleeping.”

  “Well, let’s concentrate on freeing our men first. That will give us more support for when we confront Wigram. Here,” Kit offered Jonas two of the grenadoes. “Those might help.”

  Lewis sighed as Jonas and Runyon, counting quietly, moved off. “Wigram is a nasty customer,” he said.

  Kit nodded, holding the count in his head. “I know.” He reached out and gave Lewis’s shoulder an encouraging slap. “That’s why I’m going to stay here and keep an eye on him. You take charge of freeing Protheroe and the others.” He grinned. “No fondling, though, until we’re safe back on the Africa.”