Pirate Emperor
Page 17
A grappling hook consists of a six-foot-long wooden shaft with a steel point; branching off the steel point is a claw-shaped hook. Originally they served during a sea battle to pull on the railing of an opposing ship to make it easier for the pirates to board the enemy deck. A long time ago, however, the freebooters had begun using the grappling hooks for attack as well—often with devastating effect. The steel point was easily a foot and a half long and rammed through any body without difficulty, while the sharp hook left hideous wounds behind it. Anyone who was strong enough could even whirl the long shaft in a wide circle and mow down several opponents at once.
For a woman, even for one as skillful as Soledad, the grappling hook was a cumbersome and unmanageable weapon. Point and hook towered over her by almost a head, which made it difficult for her to grip the shaft securely and keep it in balance—not to mention make moves of attack and defense. Handling a grappling hook depended on muscular strength alone; it was a coarse and inelegant weapon. Soledad could have taken Kendrick on with saber and dagger without any trouble. But with this weapon the pirate emperor clearly had the advantage.
Soledad grasped the shaft with both hands and was trying to find a good balance when Rouquette gave the signal: He fired his pistol once over the drop-off, out into the night.
Kendrick let out a wild yell and plunged forward. He crossed the semicircle of tables with a few quick steps, intending to bore a hole through his adversary on the very first attack.
Soledad avoided him and ducked under the thrust. Only seconds later she tried to pull him off his legs with the hook. Her attack also went awry, but it showed Kendrick that he wouldn’t have an easy game with her.
The Ghost Trader placed a quieting hand on Walker’s shoulder as he saw that the captain was ready to intervene then and there. “No!” he said sharply. “They’d kill all of us on the spot.”
“I can’t look on while he—”
“She wanted it that way.”
Walker was silent, staring worriedly at the fighting ring. Sweat beaded his forehead. His hands opened and closed with every attack, every parry.
The boots of both opponents made the dust swirl up. Now and then an “ohh” and “ahh” went through the group of Antilles captains when one of the fighters—usually Soledad—got into difficulty. But most of the time the men were silent. They all lived a life full of fighting and bloodletting, and each of them had witnessed hundreds of such duels. Nevertheless, they couldn’t turn away from the spectacle.
Soledad was managing better than the pirate emperor had calculated, evidently. In the beginning Kendrick bellowed and snorted in order to disconcert her, but when he noticed that his threatening behavior had no effect, he fought as silently as she, with a taciturn expression and clenched teeth.
Kendrick might be a coward, but he wasn’t a bad fighter. He hadn’t gained his position among the pirates by trickery and treachery alone. He moved quickly and decidedly, his attacks often came unpredictably or were targeted at places that were difficult for Soledad to protect.
The princess possessed only one advantage: She was more agile than he, and what she lacked in the strength of her arms, she made up for in speed. That gave her little opportunity to attack, but she could often avoid his savage blows. Several times she let him stumble into emptiness, as his own momentum almost snatched him off his feet. Each time she then tried to run at him with the grappling hook, but he repeatedly succeeded in escaping her strikes and stabs.
Soon both were bleeding from small wounds. Kendrick’s velvet breeches were torn at the knees, while Soledad’s jerkin hung in shreds on her back: One of his lance thrusts had almost shattered her spine.
It was only a question of time until the strength of one of the two would fail. It was becoming apparent that not skill but exhaustion would determine the outcome of the fight. And none of the onlookers, not even Walker and the Ghost Trader, had any doubt as to who would inevitably be the first to wear out.
The weight of the clumsy weapon was exhausting Soledad. She was slowly losing the feeling in her arms. Her fingers were so tightly clenched around the shaft that she doubted whether her hands would ever open again on their own.
Kendrick was wielding the grappling hook with undiminished strength. Each time she succeeded in parrying one of his blows, she felt the force of the strike throughout her entire body and was in danger of being knocked off her feet.
She had to try something before it was too late; somehow break through the storm of blows and thrusts that he was raining down on her.
She could think of only one possibility.
With a few broad leaps she broke away from the radius of his weapon and ran toward the rock edge. For the first time in many minutes Kendrick let out a triumphant yell, for he now believed that he’d put his opponent to flight. But Soledad planned something else. At full speed, she headed for the drop-off—and for the fallen-in church tower timberwork. Nine feet of emptiness gaped between the rock platform and the beams.
Still running, Soledad hauled back and flung the grappling hook like a lance over to the roof.
A murmur went through the row of captains.
The steel point penetrated the wood and remained sticking in a timber, vibrating violently. The roof creaked dangerously. A swarm of birds, which until then had been invisible in the shadows, fluttered up screeching, hung for a long moment over the abyss, and then shot away in the direction of the forest.
Soledad pushed off from the edge of the platform and cleared the gap in a broad leap. She crashed against the beam with a bloodcurdling oath, quickly grabbed hold with both arms, and swung around. She’d landed right next to the grappling hook, which was sticking horizontally into one of the beams. The roof’s groaning grew to a despairing convulsion of rotten wood. But still the framework held. Soledad instinctively looked down: on one side of the overgrown tower wall she saw the crowns of trees, vague in the darkness; on the other, in the interior of the tower, nothing but a pitch-black shaft.
Sliding, Kendrick had come to a stop at the edge of the drop-off. He stared over at her grimly, uncertain for a long moment whether he should dare to follow her. Soledad slung a leg around the beam and silently hoped it would give her enough of a hold. Then, using both hands, she pulled the grappling hook out of the wood. She let it rotate in her right hand, now holding it like a spear, hauled back, and flung it across the chasm straight at Kendrick.
The pirate emperor screamed when the point hit his thigh, smashed the bones, and came out the other side. The force of the blow threw him backward, and the steel point drove against the rock and struck sparks. Bellowing, Kendrick fell on the ground and, holding his leg with both hands, rolled in torment from one side to the other, while the shaft of the grappling hook cut through the air aimlessly above him.
The onlookers held their breath.
Rouquette rose from his chair.
Soledad hung panting on the church tower roof and looked over at the rock platform. Her long hair was stuck to her face, and sweat burned her eyes. Kendrick’s pain filled her with deep satisfaction, but also with uncertainty. She couldn’t get down from here under her own power. Would the Antilles captains accept Kendrick’s wounding as defeat, even though it wasn’t fatal? Or was neither of them the victor as long as Soledad was up here as helpless as the pirate emperor?
“The decision,” cried Rouquette, in order to be heard over the tormented screams of the wounded man, “is hereby—”
“Hold!” A voice as cutting as a saber blade interrupted him.
The heads of the Antilles captains turned. Several men leaped up. Rouquette’s eyes narrowed in anger at the interruption. The Ghost Trader also turned toward the man who’d appeared on the upper landing of the rock stairs. Only Walker continued to look desperately for a chance to rescue Soledad. But the man guarding him had his pistols pointed unfailingly at Walker’s chest.
“Tend to the man!” ordered the newcomer, and at once two figures appeared from the darkness behi
nd him and hurried to the wounded pirate emperor.
Kendrick was still rolling on the ground. The shadows of the grappling hook shaft fanned across the rock wall like a pendulum. The two men went down on their knees beside him. One pressed Kendrick’s shoulders to the ground, the other got busy tying off the thrashing leg above the wound.
“Tyrone?” asked Rouquette, coming out from behind his table. “We expected you earlier.”
The man on the stairs walked into the glow of the firelight. He wore wide black breeches, boots with wide cuffs that reached above his knees, and a black frock coat, embroidered in finest silver. His face was a stark contrast to his elegant clothing: Tyrone’s features, indeed his entire skull, were covered with a network of drawings. Archaic patterns and wavy lines framed his eyes and lips, ritual paintings that probably stemmed from the culture of the cannibal tribes under his command. A long black ponytail grew from the back of his head, but the rest of his scalp was hairless; even his eyebrows were missing.
When he spoke, Tyrone revealed teeth filed to needle-sharp points. Walker, who was now standing only a few steps away from him, noticed that the cannibal king’s tongue was split and the ends were colored black.
“I was held up,” he said to the circle. The split tongue gave his words a hissing sound. “As I see, I’ve just missed the most interesting part.” He walked over to Kendrick. The grappling hook had been removed from his leg. The wound was cleanly bound up and was bleeding less. However, the pirate emperor had lost consciousness.
One of the two men who’d cared for the injured man at Tyrone’s command looked up. “He will lose the leg. The bone is splintered.”
“Take him aboard his ship,” commanded Tyrone with a wave of his hand. “His men will look after him.”
Soledad was fascinated and at the same time repelled by the nightmare figure of the cannibal king. The arrogance with which he came before the powerful Antilles captains was impressive. One thing his appearance and his tone of voice made clear right off: When he spoke, no one else spoke, neither Rouquette nor Galliano nor one of the others. He sucked all attention toward himself, until everything revolved around him alone.
The princess was still clinging to the church tower. Her arms were slowly becoming numb. Nevertheless, she did not move. It was no longer up to the captains whether she would come down from this tower alive. Tyrone would decide that now.
“A plank!” he called, without deigning to look at her. “It’s not fitting for a princess to be crouching up there like a monkey.”
No one laughed. No one contradicted. At once two pirates hurried away and returned with a sturdy board, which they slid over from the edge of the rock to the tower. Soledad wasn’t sure that her legs would bear her, but she had to take the risk. Swaying, she balanced over on the plank. The chasm pulled at her, the darkness reached toward her feet with shadowy fingers.
When she reached firm ground, she collapsed onto her knees with clenched teeth.
No pistols could hold Walker any longer. He stormed straight across the fighting ring, put his arms around Soledad, and helped her up. “Are you in pain?” he whispered to her. “Did he wound you?”
“Everything’s all right,” she replied hurriedly, adding softly, “So far.”
Tyrone smiled. The two rows of sharply filed teeth gleamed behind his lips like coarse saw blades. But he spared himself any comment on the pair at the rock’s edge and instead looked from one Antilles captain to the next. Finally his eyes rested on the Ghost Trader. Silently both men stared at each other. The Trader did not change expression, did not show the slightest trace of uncertainty.
Tyrone’s smile grew even broader.
Soledad fought against dizziness. The figures swam before her. Did the two know each other somehow?
The silent moment between the two men passed, and Tyrone turned again to the assembled captains. Behind him the unconscious Kendrick was lifted by two of his men and carried to the steps.
“Too bad,” said Tyrone without any pity, “that we must do without his presence.”
“Kendrick is no longer the leader of the pirates of Tortuga and New Providence,” announced Rouquette. Obviously he was no longer willing to put up with the imperious entry of the cannibal king. “Princess Soledad has defended her claim to the throne. She should lead the negotiations in his place and speak for her people.”
Soledad became aware with a slight thrill that by “her people” he did not mean Walker and the Ghost Trader but all the pirates between the Bahamas and the Virgin Islands. She had beaten Kendrick in battle. But unfortunately he was only wounded, and she was not certain whether that would suffice. Would the outcome of the fight be accepted in Port Nassau or on Jamaica?
Tyrone had obviously had the same thought, and he did not shrink from expressing it. “Kendrick called this meeting, not the girl. It’s his plan that has brought me here. Since I’m in on everything, with your permission, I will speak for Kendrick.” There could be no talk of permission, his tone left no doubt about that.
“Princess Soledad wished to warn us of something before you arrived, Tyrone,” Galliano interjected.
“Oh? It looked to me as if she just wanted to break her neck.” He turned to Soledad and Walker with a sharklike grin. He frowned when he noticed that Soledad was no longer supported by Walker but standing with legs astride and on her own.
“Tyrone,” she said coolly. “You’re a guest here, just as I am, and I wonder why you would do the talking for Kendrick or one of the other captains. If they put up with that—fine, that’s not my affair But for me, you will not speak.”
The attack was unconsidered and perhaps unwise, but Soledad was fed up with Tyrone’s dominating manner. He might command several thousand cannibals on the mainland, but out here on Saint Celestine he was only a pirate like all the others.
Tyrone made a mocking bow in her direction. However, the sharp response she’d expected did not come. “Then tell us your plan. How does it look for the attack on Caracas? That’s what we’ve all gathered here for.”
Caracas? Had Kendrick seriously planned an attack on one of the richest and strongest Spanish coastal strongholds? Had he lured them here with that? By all that was holy, he was crazier than she’d supposed.
“I’m not here on account of Caracas,” she said, “but to warn you all of a peril that can befall us in a few days or a few weeks.”
Tyrone remained silent. He listened.
Soledad exchanged split-second looks with the Ghost Trader and saw him nod almost imperceptibly.
“The kobalins have united themselves into a powerful fighting force.” After that there was no going back. “They are gathering to the north of the Lesser Antilles, out in the Atlantic. I’ve seen them with my own eyes, thousands of them. It’s said they’re commanded by something that calls itself Maelstrom” She purposely kept it vague so that the captains wouldn’t be burdened with too much at once. She was walking on thin ice, and it seemed to her that Tyrone, with his looks alone, was stirring up a fire under her feet.
“Kobalins?” Galliano was staring at her, and to her horror she could see the disappointment in his eyes. Apparently he’d expected something more persuasive. “Everyone knows the deep tribes are enemies of each other. They’d never join together for any purpose.’
Some of the other captains nodded. A dark-skinned man snorted disparagingly. “So that’s your great peril, Princess? An old wives’ tale?”
“It is no fairy tale,” she replied firmly. “I’ve seen with my own eyes how the deep tribes are being moved to the east. The kobalins are gathering. And they will attack. It has been reported to me that they’ve already left the water once and gone onto land. And they will do it again.”
“Kobalins never leave the water!” shouted Tyrone. He wasn’t contradicting Soledad’s words but appealing to the listeners. “Even their captains are afraid of the air. They’ll never go on land. That’s ridiculous.’
“And yet it was so.”
“The word of the rightful empress of the pirates,” she said vigorously, and then she thought of something else. “Wasn’t it always said that the cannibal tribes feuded with each other? Nevertheless, Tyrone has succeeded in uniting them. Why shouldn’t that happen with the kobalins, too?”
Tyrone’s facial muscles twitched. “Cannibals are only men,” he said icily. “Men are afraid, and that makes them weak and pliable. But kobalins? Who is a kobalin afraid of?”
“And who are cannibals afraid of?” she countered.
A tense silence now reigned among the Antilles captains. Here was a new battle emerging that none of them had reckoned with. A battle without grappling hooks and bloodletting. A battle of words and of the stronger will.
Tyrone’s eyes bored into the princess. It was hard to stand fast against those eyes, which promised so much cruelty and horror. And yet she maintained her composure.
The cannibal king whirled around. “Captains!” he cried to the circle. “This girl promises a war with the kobalins. I give you the treasuries of Caracas!”
Soledad was about to protest, but this time she was interrupted by Rouquette. “Quiet, Soledad! Now it’s Tyrone’s turn.”
The cannibal king gave her a predator’s smile. Then he walked away from her and began to pace back and forth in front of the captains. “In two weeks a great attack on Caracas by the Caribbean pirates will take place. You’ll say, ‘That has been tried before, and all were undone by it.’ Probably true. But the situation is different today. That time it was an attack from the sea side, but with my help we—and you, if you choose-will take the city from the sea and the land.”
The captains’ whispering became a murmur, then loud discussion. Soledad threw the Ghost Trader a despairing look, but his face remained unfathomable. Walker was standing somewhere behind her, near the edge of the rock, but he kept his distance so that none of the captains would think she needed the support of a man in this situation.