by Kai Meyer
“That’s a dirty trick,” said Jolly, but the Ghost Trader had already whirled around and run down the stairs. “Bring the pack along with you!” he called back over his shoulder.
Jolly sent an ill-humored look after him. “Yes, Master. Gladly, Master. At your service, Master.”
With an oath, she stood up, packed Munk’s mussels into his leather pouch, fastened them to her own belt, and started trying to awaken the boy on the bed. He moaned and groaned, but he got up, swaying.
A little later the two of them were pushing their way along the wall of the taproom, avoiding flying jugs and staggering men, ducking as an empty keg crashed against the wall over them, and doing their best to escape the blows, kicks, and fists of the fighting pirates.
In the middle of the melee of bodies, a gigantic man was raging like a berserker. Jolly recognized him by his mighty knights helmet—Buenaventure, the giant from the tavern that afternoon. He crushed chairs and tables—not with his fists but with the bodies he swung around him like weapons—and thus struck wide clearings in the crowd of fighters. Because everyone was paying attention to him and not to Jolly and Munk, the two quickly left the battlefield behind them.
The Ghost Trader was standing outside beside a man who sat dazedly on the sand, holding his head.
Walker hadn’t changed since Jolly had last met him at Bannons side—except for the bloody laceration on his forehead. He was medium-tall and slim. He wore his dark hair shoulder length; at the moment it wasn’t a particularly attractive sight, since it was stuck across his face in dark strands, as if the shadows of all the bars he’d ever sat behind were burned into his features.
Bannon had liked Walker, in contrast to Jolly, Walker had always treated her like a little child at their rare meetings. For that alone, she couldn’t forgive him.
Walker was struggling to his feet just as Jolly and Munk hurried up.
He looked up and saw her for the first time. “If it isn’t the little toad.”
“Polliwog,” the Ghost Trader corrected him.
“Toad or polliwog or frog … all one and the same.”
Munk, who now had some of his wits back, looked dubiously at Walker. “Who’s that wreck?”
“The best captain in the Caribbean,” said the Trader. “At least he was until he almost got his skull smashed just now.”
“Let’s get out of here before Buenaventure follows us.”
“Buenaventure?” Walker laughed, which in view of the laceration looked rather painful. “Puh, he’s the one who just kept those weasels away from me.”
Jolly pursed her lips. “He’s your friend?”
“My steersman,” Walker declared. “And the best there is.” He turned to the Ghost Trader. “Is the toad going to be aboard too?”
Jolly sent him a disparaging look. “I can’t wait to see the Carfax again.”
“You always were a terrible child. Forward and a know-it-all and—”
“We can talk about that once were aboard,” the Ghost Trader broke in, as he pushed himself in between the two fighting cocks, “It may not be much longer, and the—”
He fell silent.
Everyone fell silent.
From one moment to the next, there was silence over Port Nassau as if an incomprehensible power had sucked up all sound Behind them, in Gideon’s Grave, a last crash sounded, and then it was quiet even in there. Buenaventure walked out the door and stopped, staring like all the others, motionless, out at the night-dark sea.
The unreal moment lasted hardly the length of a breath, but to Jolly it seemed like an eternity.
Then, on the other side of the bay, a blaze of light flamed up. A second and a third and a fourth followed, until there were so many that they couldn’t be counted anymore. They illuminated slanting silhouettes out on the sea, as if someone had erected an entire city on the waves. An earsplitting succession of thunderous crashes resounded, as broadside after broadside was fired at Port Nassau.
Screams sounded. Roofs shattered. Instantly, fire flickered out of the labyrinth of shacks and houses.
Jolly and the others had dropped flat on the sand.
Gideon’s Grave exploded, blasted into millions of wooden fragments, which brushed over their heads like malicious swarms of mosquitoes.
Something heavy hit the ground beside Jolly—at first she thought it was a cannonball, but when the dust settled, she saw Buenaventure. He was already scrambling up again; his massive body filled her entire field of vision.
In front of her lay his helmet on the sand.
In the midst of the inferno of hits and conflagration she looked up and saw his face.
Buenaventure was no ordinary man.
He had the head of a pit bull.
Firestorm
“Run!” roared the Ghost Trader. “Run for your lives!”
For an instant, Jolly thought the warning was because of the pit bull man. Buenaventure bent over her and grabbed her by the arms. While she was still screaming in protest, he’d already set her on her feet, growled something like “Run!” and turned to Munk to help him up the same way.
And then they did run, storming along the beach in a group, Walker and Buenaventure leading, followed by Jolly, Munk, and the Ghost Trader. The two parrots fluttered above them, screeching.
The front line of Port Nassau’s houses was in flames. What was happening behind them couldn’t be seen through the fire and smoke. Everywhere, cursing men were breaking through the fire and billows of black smoke. The Spanish armada’s cannonballs shredded the palm-leaf roofs and wooden walls, and where candles, torches, or lanterns had been burning inside, the fire spread quickly. Fire was also now blazing from muzzles on the battlements of the governor’s palace and the stone quarter to the west of the harbor, but the defenders had nothing to place against the superiority of an entire fleet,
“Where’s the Carfax lying?” cried the Ghost Trader.
Jolly saw Walker look over his shoulder, illuminated in the flickering glow of the fires. “There might be an additional little problem,” he said.
“What sort of a problem?”
“The Carfax doesn’t belong to me anymore .”
“What?” roared Jolly, Munk, and the Ghost Trader in chorus.
Three cannonballs struck close by in quick succession. Clouds of sand wafted over the beach. Cries were coming from all directions. More and more men were breaking through the ruins and walls of flame to the harbor.
“I lost her,” yelled Walker, without slowing down. “Two days ago, at dice with a trader.”
For the first time, Jolly saw the one-eyed man really angry. At the death of Munk’s parents he had been sad, disappointed, and depressed, but now a rage flickered over his features that was scarcely any different from the firelight of the burning city. “You must have forgotten to mention that in our conversation, Captain.”
Walker grinned, which appeared doubly inappropriate in view of the circumstances. “Then there’s another situation.”
“Does that mean you also no longer have a crew?”
“Well, yes. Regrettably.”
Jolly looked from Walker to Buenaventure. The giant with the dog’s head looked grim: His teeth were bared. He held his ears sharply erect. The destruction of Port Nassau was reflected in his round brown eyes as an orange, scorching hell.
The Ghost Trader pointed to the bay where most of the pirate ships lay at anchor. Some had lost their masts, two or three were already sunk. But most were astonishingly unharmed—obviously the Spaniards were concentrating their attack on the city first and on the men before they demolished the fleet, too.
Angrily, Jolly pictured the pirates at the lookout points over the city counting the gold they’d received for their treachery—gold that gleamed and shone in the glow of the distant fires, blood money.
The companions were among the first to reach the rowboats.
“Where now?” asked Jolly, as Buenaventure rushed like a dervish into a group of pirates who tried to fi
ght them for one of the escape boats. Men flew through the air left and right, their cries fading into the thundering cannon fire.
“Where’s the Carfax!” asked the Ghost Trader urgently.
Walker pointed out at the crowd of ships. “In the front row. As far as I know, she was going to run out tomorrow with a new cargo.”
“Good,” said the Trader. “Then kindly do what you know best—steal her!”
Walker grinned. “Think of my good reputation…. In the long run, I’ll have financial losses from it.”
“We’ll be responsible for those,” retorted the Trader grimly.
Munk clenched his fists. “I can’t understand this fellow dickering over a few ducats while the world is collapsing.”
Jolly was going to reply when her eye fell on a single figure approaching them with a fluttering hooded cape.
“Soledad?”
The pirate princess’s hood slipped back, Buenaventure was about to block her way with an angry growl, but Jolly kicked him in the leg from behind. “Leave her alone! She belongs to me.”
Munk stared at her. “Oh, yes?”
Buenaventure sent Jolly a dark look from his dog eyes, but he allowed Soledad to join them. She was completely out of breath, her cape singed. She smelled as if she’d just rolled in soot.
“Is your invitation still open?” she panted in Jolly’s direction, paying no attention to the others.
Jolly nodded and was about to say something when Walker shoved her aside, assumed a beaming smile, and bowed gallantly before the princess. “The invitation to accompany us, lovely lady? But most assuredly.”
Buenaventure growled and rolled his eyes, which looked so curiously human in his dog’s face that it made his utterly strange appearance still more incredible.
Soledad made a wry face, as if someone had just shown her a disgusting insect. Shaking her head, she pushed Walker to one side and looked again at Jolly. “Charming friends you have.”
Jolly snorted angrily. “That’s no—”
“A good friend.” Walker grinned even more broadly. “The best, so to speak.”
The Ghost Trader stepped between them. “There are about a hundred men over there coming straight toward us, who most certainly want to save their lives with this boat. We should postpone this matter.”
While Buenaventure stationed himself protectively in front of them, Walker, Munk, and the Trader pushed the boat down to the water. Jolly and Soledad leaped into it together. The pit bull man came last. Soledad looked at him suspiciously but said nothing.
The four grown-ups seized the oars, while Jolly looked keenly about her. She and Munk could have run across the water, but the waves were so churned up with the hits of the cannon shots that she doubted that Munk could have managed, with his limited experience.
A large group of pirates, some women among them, had just reached the place where the rowboat had lain. Too late. All the boats were already on the water and approaching the anchored ships with all possible speed. Cannonballs hissed over their heads. The Spaniards had the city under unceasing fire. Explosion after explosion sounded, intermixed with the ghastly sound of countless death screams. Suddenly one of the first rowboats received a hit, a shot that catapulted bodies in all directions; seconds later the boat had vanished, only a few boards and a boot floating on the water.
“That’s the Carfax up ahead!” Walker pointed into the darkness, where a slender sloop lay in the water in the middle of the billows of smoke. She was anchored a little to one side with a few other ships, and none of the other boats had tried to reach hen Walker frowned “Better we should take one of the ships with enough men on her to make us ready to run out.”
The Ghost Trader shook his head. “No, it has to be the Carfax. You’ll have your crew, Captain. Don’t worry about that.”
In fact, most of the fugitives were trying to climb onto two of the ships lying next to her, a brigantine and a run-down galleon.
“How could I worry?” Walkers voice was full of mockery. “We will simply set all sails, the six of us, lift the anchor, and—”
“A crew will be waiting for us aboard the Carfax, Captain. Trust me.”
The pirate was about to speak again when a cannon shot hit the mainmast of the galleon. It collapsed with a grinding sound, burying a dozen fleeing pirates beneath it, and smashed full length across the deck of the second ship.
“Agreed,” Walker growled.
They brought the rowboat alongside the hull of the Carfax. The ship could have used painting, but she was otherwise in fine condition. She resembled the Skinny Maddy in size and construction, with an unadorned railing and an unpretentious stern cabin. The sails on all three masts were reefed, the long, narrow deck deserted.
The Ghost Trader was the first to board the ship. He immediately took a few steps to one side, released the silver ring from his belt, and slowly moved his finger along it.
“So!” cried Walker, who couldn’t decide between triumph and despair. “Now, where’s the—” His eyes suddenly grew large and his tone uncertain. “Where’s … ,” he repeated; then he snapped his mouth shut.
Everywhere aboard the Carfax foggy shapes rose from between the planks, ghosts who were obeying the Trader’s call. Immediately, a large number of them floated up into the rigging and began to unfurl the sails. Others manned the guns.
“Jolly!” called the Ghost Trader. “Come here to me.”
She obeyed, while the rest of them stared at the apparitions. Only Munk was unimpressed. His worries were for the cannon fire of the Spaniards, which was more and more falling on the area of the anchored ships.
“Place your fingertips on the ring,” the Trader commanded.
A strange tingling went through her hand when she touched the silver ring. Nevertheless, she did not withdraw her fingers.
The Ghost Trader murmured incomprehensible syllables and words.
Jolly felt a quick, pricking pain in the ends of her fingers. Then the Trader said, “It is well; you can let go now.” More loudly, so that everyone, but especially Walker, could understand him, he added, “From now on the ghosts aboard this ship are under the command of this girl. They will obey you, Captain Walker, so long as it is a matter of nautical orders. However, should you try to undertake something against your passengers, Jolly will bring them down on you and your pit bull friend, and then nothing and no one will be able to save you.”
Walker grimaced, brushed back his long hair, and looked darkly over at Buenaventure. “This is all your fault! You talked me into taking on this lousy commission!”
The pit bull man shook his head, grumbling, and rejected this reproach with a wave of his huge hand.
“Don’t worry,” said the Ghost Trader. “You’ll both be sufficiently paid for this trip. Take Munk and Jolly to Tortuga. There you will all learn more.”
Tortuga? thought Jolly in astonishment. Why there in particular?
Soledad touched her on the shoulder. “If you’d just told me what interesting people you know, I’d have considered your offer sooner.”
Munk cleared his throat. “Don’t you think it’s time we put to sea?”
“I don’t like this. I don’t like it at all.” Visibly uneasy, Walker turned to the ghost crew. “Men!” he shouted, “raise the anchor! Set the sails! We re running out!” His surprise couldn’t have been greater when the vapory beings swarmed over the ship in a flash and followed his orders.
“I have to leave you for a while,” said the Ghost Trader. Several cannonballs landed in the churning water behind them.
“Leave us?” Jolly stammered in confusion: “But why—how—”
“We’ll meet again on Tortuga. If I should be late, you can use the time for your search for Bannon.”
“But how?”
“Munk,” said the Trader, “Do you still have Jolly’s spider?”
Munk’s hand went to his belt, where ordinarily his leather pouch had hung. Behind him the gray sheets of the sails were unfurled and
mercifully hid the sight of the destruction of Port Nassau.
“Here, I have them,” said Jolly, releasing the pouch from her own belt and handing it to Munk The boy opened it, burrowed in it briefly, and pulled out the little wooden box. He let the lid snap open. Inside lay the corpse of the poisonous spider that had hidden in the figurehead in Jolly’s flight from the Skinny Muddy.
“Good,” said the Ghost Trader, satisfied. “On Tortuga, there’s an old flag maker by the name of Silverhand, Show him the spider. Perhaps he can tell you where it comes from. Possibly that will be a clue to whoever lured Bannon into the trap.” He added softly, “But don’t forget that there’s much more at stake at the moment.”
“The Maelstrom?”
Smiling, the Ghost Trader clapped Jolly on the shoulder, “It’s good there are two of you. Our chances have thus been doubled.” He turned to Munk, who slipped the spider and box into his pouch again. “And you, Munk, must promise me to improve your magic art further. You possess a great talent. Sometime, perhaps, you’ll save us all.”
Munk’s eyes glowed with pride, in spite of the destruction around them, in spite of his fear. But then worry shadowed his face. “Can’t you stay with us? New Providence is being wiped out!”
“The pirates, perhaps, but not the island. Nothing will happen to me.” And with that he wrapped the robe across his body, material fluttered, and a gust of wind hit them all in the face and made them close their eyes for an instant. When they opened them again, the Ghost Trader was gone. Jolly saw him appear briefly on another ship, fifty yards away. But there, too, he disappeared later in a dark swirl of fabric, to turn up again on a ship farther away, and to vanish into thin air yet again.
With a creaking and groaning, the Carfax began to move. When Jolly looked up, she saw the pit bull man at the wheel, while Walker stood straddle-legged on the bridge and bellowed orders to his undead crew.
The cannon thunder grew louder as the three-master glided toward the bay’s exit with increasing speed—headed directly for the wall of Spanish warships.