And above them was Rose, who wobbled unsteadily on the railing, terrified. Her mouth bled. The punishment for her warning scream no doubt. Her hands had been tied and she wore a noose round her neck. All that stopped her from dropping from her makeshift gallows was Wilson, who held her with his other hand.
If he let go, she fell.
‘Hold it there, Kenway,’ called Wilson as the dust settled, ‘or you’ll have the death of the maid on your hands.’
They’d disarm me. They’d kill me, then hang Rose for her treachery.
Not if I have anything to do with it.
From my gun belt I pulled a pistol, and checked the ball and powder. ‘It was you there that night, wasn’t it, Wilson? The leader? You were the one in the hood?’
I had to know. I had to be sure.
‘Aye, it was. And if it had been left up to me you would all have died that night.’
I almost smiled. You missed your chance.
Up on the rail Rose whimpered but checked herself.
‘Now throw out the hidden blade, Kenway, I can’t hold her for ever,’ warned Wilson.
‘And what about you, Emmet?’ I called. ‘Were you there?’
‘I was not,’ he retorted, flustered and frightened.
‘You would have celebrated my death, though?’
‘You have been a thorn in my side, Kenway.’
‘Your pride has been your undoing, Scott. Your pride has been the undoing of us all.’
‘You know nothing.’
‘I know that you allowed my beloved to die.’
‘I loved her, too.’
‘No kind of love that I recognize, Scott.’
‘You wouldn’t understand.’
‘I understand that your ambition and thirst for power have led to the deaths of many people. I understand that now you will pay.’
From inside my robes I took a throwing knife and weighed it in my palm. Bit different to using trees for target practice.
I stood and inched towards the edge of the stack, taking deep, slow breaths.
Ready?
Ready.
‘Come on, Kenway,’ called Wilson, ‘we don’t have all n–’
I rolled out from my cover and darted forward and found my aim, firing my pistol and using the throwing knife at the same time.
Both met their targets. Emmet Scott span away with a hole in his forehead, his pistol dropping uselessly to the planks of the gantry, while Wilson had returned fire before my knife found his shoulder. Yelling in pain he staggered back and fell against the office wall with the blade embedded, fountaining blood as he scrabbled in vain for the second pistol.
His ball had found its mark. I felt it thud into my shoulder but couldn’t let it take me down. Couldn’t even let it slow me down. Because Wilson had let go of Rose and Rose was falling, her mouth wide in a scream I didn’t hear above the echoes of the gunshots and the rushing of pain in my head.
She fell. And the rope unspooled behind her. And I had an image of failure, where the rope tautened and her body jerked and her neck snapped.
No.
I hit a crate at full pelt, stepped up in a run and launched myself off. I twisted, engaged my blade and with a yell of effort sliced the rope, caught Rose round the waist and the pair of us slammed heavily and painfully to the stone floor of the warehouse.
But alive.
From above I heard Wilson cursing. I snatched a second pistol from my belt and squinted through the gaps in the boards above me, seeing the light flicker and squeezing off a shot. There came another scream from the gantry then a crash as he made his way into the offices.
I dragged myself to my feet. The pain from my wound was intense, and the older wound in my flank flared up, too, making me limp as I made it to the steps of the gantry and climbed in pursuit of Wilson. I charged through the office where I found an open back door leading to steps, and at the top I caught my breath and leaned on the rail for support as I peered over the warehouses.
No sign. Just the distant clattering of ships at rest and the squawk of gulls. I concentrated, using the sense, and I heard something. But not Wilson. What I heard was the sound of marching feet as they approached the port area.
They were coming. The soldiers were coming.
I cursed and limped back inside to check on Rose. She would be okay. I ran back to follow a trail of blood left by Wilson.
71
You were safe in my cabin. Asleep, so I’m told. So you missed what happened next. And for that I’m thankful.
I reached the harbour to find that Wilson had died on the way. His body lay at the bottom of the steps. He’d been going to a ship I recognized. One that when I’d last seen it was called the Caroline but had since been renamed in honour of the woman Matthew Hague had gone on to marry. It was called the Charlotte.
Hague was in there. A man awaiting death, though he didn’t know it yet. I could see poorly defined figures in the grey haze of the evening moving across the stern gunwale. Guards. But it didn’t matter. Nothing was going to stop me getting on board that ship.
If the guards had seen or heard Wilson fall they probably thought he was a drunk. And if they saw me squatting by his body then they probably thought I was a drunk, too. They didn’t care. Not yet.
I counted four of them as I raced along the harbour wall until I reached where the Jackdaw had not long been docked. In between the two ships was another smaller sailing boat held by a line that I unwound and let go, giving the stern of the craft a shove to set it off before dashing back to my ship.
‘Hanley,’ I said addressing the quartermaster.
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Prepare the guns.’
He’d been sitting with his feet up on the navigation table but dragged them off. ‘What? Why, sir? And bloody hell, sir, what’s up with you?’
‘Musket ball in the shoulder.’
‘Did you get the men you wanted?’
‘Two of them.’
‘I’ll fetch the doc …’
‘Leave it, Hanley,’ I growled. ‘It can wait. Look, there’s a vessel to our starboard, name of Charlotte. On it is the third man I seek. Ready the starboard guns and if my plans fail blast her out of the water.’
I ran to the cabin door then stopped, screwing up my face in pain as I turned to him. ‘And Hanley?’
‘Yes, sir?’ He had stood, his face a picture of worry.
‘You’d better prepare the stern guns as well. And make sure the crew is armed. There are soldiers on the way.’
‘Sir?’
I gave him an apologetic look.
‘Just look sharp, Hanley. If all goes well we’ll be out of this in moments.’
He didn’t look reassured. He looked even more worried. I gave him what I hoped was a confident smile, then swept a wedge from beneath the cabin door as I left.
The sailing boat had begun its drift out to sea. I heard a shout from the deck of the Charlotte as they spotted it. The laughter. Fools. They saw the joke, not the danger. I leapt overboard, planting my feet on the stone of the harbour then racing the few yards to the stern of the Charlotte.
‘It’s Wilson,’ I shouted in my best approximation of the dead enforcer as I clambered up the ladder. A face appeared over the gunwale to greet me and I planted my fist in it, dragged him over the rail and hurled him to the stone below. His screams alerted a second man who came running to what he assumed was the scene of an accident – until he saw me and the blade, which gleamed in the moonlight before I swept it backhanded across his throat.
Ignoring the last two sentries I ran up the deck towards the captain’s cabin, peered through the window and was treated to the sight of Matthew Hague, an older Matthew Hague, and a worried one by the looks of things, standing by a table. With him was his draughtsman.
With a glance to see the two sentries lumbering up the deck towards me, I dragged open the door of the cabin.
‘You,’ I said to the draughtsman.
Hague dropped a goble
t he’d been holding. They both goggled at me.
I risked another glance back at the sentries. I cursed, slammed the cabin door shut, wedged it and turned to meet the two guards.
They could have escaped I told myself as they died. It was their choice to fight me. To my port the hatches of the Jackdaw’s gun deck were opening and the muzzles of guns appeared. Good lads. I saw men on deck brandishing muskets and swords. Somebody shouted, ‘You need a hand, cap’n?’
No, I didn’t. I turned back to the cabin door, pulled the wedge free and snatched open the door. ‘Right, last chance,’ I ordered the draughtsman, who practically threw himself at me.
‘Archer,’ wailed Hague, but neither of us was listening as I hauled Archer out of the cabin and jammed it shut behind him, Hague imprisoned now.
‘Get off the ship,’ I barked at Archer, who needed no further invitation, scrabbling for the stern.
Now I could hear the marching feet of soldiers as they approached the harbour wall.
‘Tar!’ I appealed to my crew on the other deck. ‘Barrels of tar and be quick about it!’
A barrel was tossed to me from the Jackdaw and I set upon it, opening it and spreading it by the door to the cabin.
‘Please …’ I could hear Hague from inside. He was thumping on the wedged-shut door. ‘Please …’
But I was deaf to him. The marching was closer now. Horse hooves. The rumble of cart wheels. I glanced to the harbour wall, expecting to see the tops of their bayonets as I emptied a second barrel of tar on the deck.
Would it be enough? It would have to do.
And now I saw them. The muskets of the soldiers as they appeared, silhouetted along the top of the harbour wall. At the same time they saw me and pulled the muskets from their shoulders and took aim. By my side the crew of the Jackdaw did the same as I snatched up a torch and leapt to the ratlines, climbing to a point where I could let go of the torch, dive off the rigging and escape the flames.
If the muskets didn’t get me first, that was.
And then came the command.
‘Hold your fire!’
72
The order came from a carriage that had pulled up on the harbour, its door opening before it had even finished drawing to a halt.
Out skipped two men: one dressed like a footman, who arranged the steps for the second man, a tall, lean gentleman who wore smart clothes.
And now a third man appeared. A portly gentleman in a long white wig, frilled shirt and fine satin jacket and breeches. A man who looked as though he’d enjoyed many a lunch in his time, and many a glass of port and brandy to go with those many lunches.
The footman and the tall man gaped as they became aware of the many guns pointing in their direction. By accident or design they’d placed themselves in the middle: the guns of the soldiers on one side, the carriage guns and muskets of the Jackdaw on the other, and me on the rigging, ready to drop a flaming torch to the deck below.
The portly gentleman moved his mouth as though exercising it in readiness to speak. He laced his hands across his chest, rocked back on his heels and called up to me, ‘Do I have the pleasure of addressing Captain Edward Kenway?’
‘And who might you be?’ I called back.
That produced a shudder of amusement from the soldiers on the harbour wall.
The portly man smiled. ‘You’ve been away a long time, Captain Kenway.’
I agreed I had.
His lips smacked and rearranged themselves into a smile. ‘Then you are forgiven for not knowing who I am. I think, however, that you will know my name. It is Walpole. Sir Robert Walpole. I am the First Lord of the Treasury, Chancellor of the Exchequer and Leader of the House of Commons.’
And I was just thinking what an impressive title that was, and how he must be one of the most powerful men in the land when … Walpole. It couldn’t be.
But he was nodding. ‘Yes, indeed, Captain Kenway. Duncan Walpole, the man whose life and identity you took as your own, was my cousin.’
I felt myself tense even more. What game was he playing? And who was the tall man by his side? It struck me that he had a family resemblance to Matthew Hague. Was this his father, Sir Aubrey Hague?
Walpole was waving a reassuring hand. ‘It is quite all right. Not only was my cousin involved in affairs I keep at a distance, but he was a treacherous man. A man blessed, I’m afraid, with few principles. A man prepared to sell the secrets of those who trusted him to the highest bidder. I was ashamed to see him bear the Walpole name. I think perhaps in many ways, you have done my family a good turn.’
‘I see,’ I called, ‘and that’s why you’re here, is it? To thank me for killing your cousin?’
‘Oh no, not at all.’
‘Then to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? As you can see, I have other matters to attend to.’
The torch grumbled as I waved it for effect. From the wedged cabin of the Charlotte came a banging sound as Hague tried to get free. Otherwise there was a tense hush as the soldiers and the sailors peered at one another along the barrels of their weapons, both sets of men awaiting their orders.
‘Well, Captain Kenway, it’s exactly those matters that exercise us, I’m afraid,’ called Walpole, ‘for I cannot allow you to continue on your present course of action. As a matter of fact, I’m going to have to ask you to toss the torch in the sea and come down from there right away. Or, alas, I shall have the men shoot you.’
I chortled. ‘You shoot me and my men return fire, Sir Robert. I fear even you yourself might get caught in the crossfire. Not to mention your friend – Sir Aubrey Hague, is it?’
‘It is indeed, sir,’ said the tall man stepping forward. ‘I come to plead clemency for my son.’
His son had been a disappointment to him, I could see.
‘Let me see your fingers,’ I demanded.
Hague raised his hands. A Templar ring glittered. My heart hardened.
‘And you, Sir Robert.’
His hands remained laced across his stomach. ‘You’ll see no ring on me, Captain Kenway.’
‘Why does the idea tickle you? From what I’ve seen the Templars enjoy rank and status. How am I to know that I am not addressing their Grand Master?’
He smiled. ‘Because no power is absolute, Captain Kenway, and my purpose here is not to act as ambassador for one side or indeed the other. My purpose here is to prevent an act of barbarism.’
I scoffed. Barbarism? It didn’t seem to bother them when they were burning my parents’ home. Where was Sir Robert Walpole then? Sipping port, perhaps, with his Templar friends? Congratulating himself on abstaining from their schemes. He could afford to, of course. His wealth and power were already assured.
From the cabin Matthew Hague snivelled and whimpered.
‘You have returned to these shores on a mission of vengeance, I take it?’ called Walpole.
‘There are those with whom I have scores to settle, yes.’
Walpole nodded. ‘Woodes Rogers being one of them?’
I gave a short, surprised laugh. ‘Yes. He would be one of them.’
‘Would it make a difference if I told you that Rogers currently languishes in debtors’ prison? That the wounds you inflicted on him have left his health in a terrible state of disrepair? That his Order has disowned him? His hot temper, his continued slave trading. He is a broken man, Captain Kenway. I wonder if perhaps you might consider that matter settled?’
He was right. What more harm could my blade do to Rogers, other than to put him out of his misery?
‘He is not my immediate concern,’ I called. ‘That honour belongs to the man in the cabin below.’
Walpole gave a sad smile. ‘A silly, shallow boy, influenced by others. You must believe me when I tell you, Captain Kenway, that the principal malefactors in that particular episode are already dead by your hands. Rest assured that Matthew’s current shame is punishment enough for his wrongdoing.’
I took a deep breath. I thought of my mother asking me how
many I’d killed. I thought of Black Bart’s cruelty. I thought of Mary Read’s spirit and Adewalé’s courage and Blackbeard’s generosity.
And I thought of you. Because Torres had been wrong when he said I had nobody. I did have somebody. I had you. You who shone with hope.
‘Today I should like to make you an offer, Captain Kenway,’ continued Walpole. ‘An offer I hope you will find favourable, that will finally draw a curtain across this whole sorry affair.’
He outlined his proposals. I listened. And when he was finished, I told him my answer and dropped the torch.
73
Except of course I dropped it into the sea.
Because he offered pardons for my men and I, and I saw their faces turn expectantly to me, every one of them a wanted man with the chance of having his slate wiped clean. He offered us all, every man-jack of us, a new life.
And Walpole had offered much more besides. Property. The chance to make something of myself with business contacts in London. When I’d finally climbed down from the rigging, the soldiers had put down their muskets and the crew of the Jackdaw relaxed. Then Matthew Hague had been released and run to his father and offered me tearful apologies, while Walpole took my arm and led me away, speaking of who I would be introduced to in London: the Stephenson-Oakley family, a lawyer, an assistant by the name of Birch to help me in my new business dealings.
My mercy would be handsomely rewarded, he assured me. In return he would see to it that I became the man I had always wanted to be: a man of quality.
Of course I had since gained greater expectations of myself. But money, business and a house in London would be a fine foundation on which to build a new and richer life. A fine foundation indeed.
A place I could use to attend to my other business. My Assassin business.
Shall we go, my darling? Shall we set sail for London?
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