Chance the Winds of Fortune

by Laurie McBain

  “Well now, if I’m not mistaken,” Fitzsimmons said thoughtfully, his dark eyes twinkling, “and I’m remembering me legends proper like, lad. Then, it seems to me that dragons have always had a soft spot for gold, and I’m thinkin’ the Sea Dragon and her captain might be finding a safe harbor to be anchoring in with that treasure. Besides,” the Irishman continued, “the cap’n’s no colonial. He’s a blue-blooded gentleman if there ever was one, not that I’m holdin’ that against him,” he added quickly. “He’s a fine man. As good as any Irishman I’d care to be liftin’ a glass with, but he is a gentleman born and bred, and despite his dislike of King George’s edicts, I’m not seeing the cap’n raisin’ arms against him. From what little Kirby has let slip, I’m thinkin’ the cap’n has more titles to his name than captain.”

  “Aye, ye’re right there, but he’s got more on his mind than that. Strange, a man like ’e bein’ out here. Maybe with his fortune found ’e’ll go home and settle his affairs,” stated Trevelawny, to everyone’s amazement, for the carpenter seldom offered an opinion.

  “Could be. How about yeself, Trevelawny? Goin’ home?” Fitzsimmons asked.

  “Aye, I’m a Cornishman. I’ll be with the Sea Dragon when she heads home. I’ll be with the cap’n until he needs me no more. Got a brother workin’ a copper mine near Truro. Might just invest in it.”

  “Well, to be sure, we’ve all got our shares invested in somethin’,” Fitzsimmons said with a comical look toward the darkening skies. “Now let’s just hope we can be findin’ this treasure, and that storm coming ain’t a warnin’ to us to be leaving well enough alone, and the dead in peace.”

  “D’ye think the sunken treasure ship is haunted?” Conny Brady demanded, his eyes widening with fearful excitement.

  “Aye, and they be after your blood, young Conny,” one of the mates growled, “unless ye get yeself below. Mr. Kirby wants ye to help him with the cap’n’s meal. So get!”

  Conny Brady scrambled below, leaving the other hands to enjoy the last few peaceful minutes of the sunset while they smoked their pipes, did their mending chores and gossiped. Soon the new watch would be set, and with the oncoming storm now a certainty—a flash of lightning sliced through the black belly of a thundercloud looming to starboard—they knew it was just a matter of time before they would be swarming over the rigging and up the masts to furl the royals and top-gallant sails, reef the topsails, and batten down the hatches before the deluge.

  The blackness of night had fallen with a vengeance, cloaking the Sea Dragon in its shroud. Below decks, Dante, anticipating the lee lurch of the Sea Dragon as she rode the heavy seas, grasped his goblet of wine before it could tumble from the table. The worst of the storm had passed, but the sea was still rough as the snug brig slammed into a wall of water. A pale, flickering light gleamed against the rich mahogany paneling of the captain’s cabin, the lantern’s glow creating an island of warmth against the stormy darkness surrounding the Sea Dragon, whose bow was now pitching into the trough of a wave.

  “Captain, ye’ve hardly touched that nice breast of chicken I sautéed especially for ye,” Houston Kirby berated him as he began clearing the dishes from the captain’s table. “Now look at Mister Marlowe’s here, he cleaned his plate nearly through to the tabletop, that he did. Nicely brought up young gentleman he is. Always thought he was, ever since I laid me eyes on him. And despite what he’s learned at your side, beggin’ your pardon, m’lord, he still is a well-mannered gentleman,” Kirby continued, barely pausing for breath. “Still thanks me proper for my trouble, even now as he was hurryin’ topside. Don’t suppose he’s seasick, d’ye? Still suffers from that, he does.” The steward sniffed as he scraped the contents of the captain’s plate into a chipped china saucer. “Reckon ye purposely saved your share for him,” he grumbled with a derisive snort as he glanced over at the orange and white tabby, who was lazily stretching on the captain’s berth.

  After giving his whiskers an efficient wash, the cat sniffed appreciatively, hopped silently off the berth, and unhurriedly made his way to the captain’s table. There, he settled himself beside the captain’s chair and watched unblinkingly, with celery-colored green eyes, the little steward’s every move.

  “Do hope ’tis cooked to your highness’s taste,” Houston Kirby said with sarcastic sweetness, his sandy brows hiked up to within a quarter of an inch of his hairline. “Looks like he’s always ready for a meal. Never missed one yet, he hasn’t,” muttered Kirby beneath his breath, continuing the feud that had become an everyday ritual between himself and the big tomcat. Kirby placed the saucer before the cat, whose white, furred chest looked as if a large, linen napkin had been tied around his neck in preparation for his meal.

  Dante leaned back in his chair, holding the silver goblet of wine carelessly while he watched the two antagonists sparring with each other. “Well, what do you think?” he demanded suddenly.

  His steward glanced up, the wet rag he’d been using to wash the table now dripping water onto his rolled-up sleeve. “Reckon he likes it well enough. Licked it clean, he did,” he replied, eyeing the cat’s empty plate.

  Dante grinned and rubbed the soft fur of the cat, who was now curled up on his lap. “I was not speaking about Jamaica, or how much he enjoyed his dinner. You know what I’m asking,” he continued relentlessly, despite the steward’s obvious reluctance to answer his query, “Do you think we shall find treasure this time?”

  Kirby gave a final swish with the damp rag, then straightened up. “Maybe. Maybe not,” he allowed finally, a frown of concentration on his face while he busied himself with stacking the tray.

  “You don’t sound overly enthusiastic about the prospect. You do realize what it might mean?” Dante asked softly, his gray eyes glowing strangely in the candlelight.

  “Aye, m’lord,” Kirby replied evenly. “I do realize what it will mean.”

  Dante smiled thoughtfully at this tactful reply. “Do you not trust me, Kirby?”

  “I know ye well enough, m’lord,” Kirby said, looking directly into the captain’s eyes. “Aye, that’s the problem. I know ye only too well. And don’t ye be forgetting, m’lord, that I helped ye into your first pair of breeches. Aye, I know ye well, cap’n. I know what ye’re planning, m’lord, and it has me grievously worried, that it does.”

  “Now, Kirby, you know that I am a man of discretion. I am well used to biding my time,” Dante answered, a grim tightness around his lips. “I shall be subtlety personified.”

  Kirby cast the captain a doubtful glance. “Aye, ye might at that, until ye set eyes on the bastard’s face. Then I’d not care to be in his shoes.”

  “Tch, tch, Kirby.” Dante sighed, making light of the steward’s doubts. “I must say I am disappointed in your lack of faith in me.”

  “And I’m afeared I’m not going to be disappointed by your actions,” Kirby muttered as he stomped from the cabin, Dante’s amused laughter following him even after he’d closed the door with exaggerated care.

  “I think we shall not be disappointed this time, Jamaica, old boy,” Dante whispered into the sleeping cat’s ear. “This time we shall find our treasure.”

  Dante Leighton, captain of the Sea Dragon and Marquis of Jacqobi, smiled unpleasantly as he let his thoughts travel further. “Yes, you have reason not to trust me, Kirby,” he told the empty room as he continued smoothing the cat’s striped fur with a firm, yet at that moment, gentle hand.

  * * *

  A little over a week later the Sea Dragon was rounding Cape San Antonio, the prevailing winds carrying her along as she caught the Gulf Stream and the coast of Cuba fell astern. Dante Leighton was standing, legs braced slightly apart, on the lee side of the deck, his spyglass trained on the horizon as he swung it slowly in an arc from fore to aft. He knew he was the center of the crew’s curious speculation, for only a crazed man, if given a choice, would dare to challenge the Florida Straits with ni
ghtfall closing around his ship and the treacherous passage hemmed in by reefs and sandbanks.

  “Captain, ’tis dangerous, this course you are about,” Alastair said quietly as he moved up beside the captain.

  Dante lowered the glass. “Aye, Mr. Marlowe, but you’ve got to take chances if you are to win.”

  “If you’ll pardon my indiscretion, Captain,” Alastair continued, “what urgent need is there to risk the reefs at night? The way the winds come up out of nowhere, we could easily run aground.”

  “Believe me, Alastair, the need is there,” Dante replied, not in the least offended by his supercargo’s questioning. “I suspect the lookout will spy a sail aft any moment now,” he informed the startled Alastair, who spun around quickly and strained his narrowed eyes into the falling twilight.

  “A sail? Where? I don’t see one.”

  “Sail ho!” the lookout cried from aloft.

  “Good God, how the devil did you know even before the lookout saw it?” Alastair exclaimed. “Can you make her?” he asked, standing by helplessly while Dante stared through the spyglass.

  “She’s no British ship-of-the-line,” Dante replied. “But then I didn’t expect her to be.”

  “She’s maneuvering, Cap’n! Crowding on!” the lookout called as he watched the pursuing ship set all of her sails.

  “’Tis the Annie Jeanne,” MacDonald said as he came to stand beside the captain on the poop deck. “I recognize her rigging and sails. And the tartan flag as well.”

  “Bertie Mackay?” Alastair expostulated. “What the devil’s he doin’ out here? He was in St. Eustatius when we were. He said he had a cargo he had to deliver to Charles Town. I wonder what happened to it, ’cause unless he had wings, there is no way he could have made it there and back in this short time.” Alastair was reasoning aloud, thinking of the portly captain of the Annie Jeanne, who happened to be one of the best smugglers in the Carolinas. Cuthbert “Bertie” Mackay, who had a crew of cutthroats even a pirate would think twice about taking on board.

  “The cap’n’s got mighty fine eyesight,” MacDonald said casually. “I don’t imagine the lookout would hae seen the sails unless he’d been told to look for them in that direction.”

  Dante smiled and glanced over at the shrewd Scotsman. “Right you are, Mr. MacDonald. I suspect that Bertie Mackay has been riding in our wake since St. Eustatius. I first caught sight of him two nights ago. I’d come up on deck during the graveyard watch, and was quite surprised to find someone signaling the Sea Dragon. However, I was even more surprised to find the Sea Dragon answering.”

  “Good God! A spy on board the Sea Dragon?” Alastair blurted, unable to contain his shocked dismay. “Who the devil is it?” he asked, glancing around as if the culprit might be lurking next to him.

  “You will find out soon enough,” Dante said, not in the least concerned. “Ah,” he added then, as a scuffling of feet on the deck below and the sound of angry voices could be heard coming closer. “I believe our questions shall be answered very shortly.”

  Suddenly, however, pandemonium broke loose as a group of men scrambled from the companionway and set off across the deck in pursuit of the first man, who’d shot out as if he’d had the hounds of hell on his heels. This noisy group, some swinging boat hooks and others, belaying pins and mallets, cornered their quarry near the foremast.

  “Mission accomplished, I see, Mr. Fitzsimmons,” Dante remarked lazily, his gray eyes narrowed with displeasure as he watched the struggling seaman being held very much against his will between Cobbs and Trevelawny.

  “Aye, he tried to cut and run, he did,” Cobbs spat. “But he’s got the devil to pay and no pitch hot now.”

  “To be sure, Cap’n, we caught ourselves a real fishy-smellin’ vermin this time, that we did,” Fitzsimmons added with a wide grin. “When he sees us comin’, he tries to jump overboard. Only a guilty conscience could make a man do that, I’m thinkin’, especially when he doesn’t know how to swim.”

  Cobbs jerked his prisoner up closer to the railing. “Turned real nasty, he did,” he said, rubbing his slightly swollen jaw.

  “Do you indeed have a guilty conscience, Mr. Grimes?” Dante asked quietly.

  “Dunno what ye’re talkin’ about, Cap’n. What’s this all about anyway? I been mindin’ me own business. At least I was until these lubbers come chargin’ after me like a bunch of harpooned whales. What’s it about, Cap’n?”

  “That is what I’m asking you, Mr. Grimes,” Dante responded with a smile, which should have warned the manhandled Mr. Grimes to tread lightly. “I’m sure that I, as well as the crew of the Sea Dragon, would be greatly interested in hearing about your clandestine communications with your real captain, Mr. Grimes. Now, come along, Mr. Grimes, this is no time for misplaced discretion. Your life may very well depend upon what you tell me and the crew of the Sea Dragon. I’m sure Bertie Mackay will understand the delicate predicament you now find yourself in.”

  At Dante’s mention of the rival smuggler’s name, a murmur of surprise and protest rumbled through the men gathered around the captive, whose own reaction was even more violent.

  When Grimes continued to remain silent, Dante shrugged. “Very well, Mr. Grimes, as you wish. A pity, though. Well, enough said, ’tis your decision. I’m sure, however, that Captain Mackay is anxiously awaiting further communication with you. I shouldn’t like to disappoint him.”

  Alastair frowned in confusion. “I don’t understand this, Captain. Grimes has only been with us for about four months or so. How did Bertie Mackay know we’d find a treasure map?”

  “I suspect that our Mr. Grimes here was placed on board the Sea Dragon for other purposes. This treasure map is an added bonus for Bertie. Am I not correct, Mr. Grimes?” Dante asked conversationally. But when the topman remained silent, Dante smiled. “Odds-on that I am correct.”

  “What was he here to do, Cap’n?” Conny demanded as he peered at the prisoner from the safety of Longacres’s side.

  “To observe. To mark our secret coves where we unload our contraband. To cause mischief, and ultimately, to turn us in to His Majesty’s Navy, I shouldn’t wonder,” Dante told the gathering. His words sounded like the death knell in Grimes’s ears when he glanced around at the ugly faces staring at him.

  “Lies! ’Tis all lies. Don’t listen to him. He wants to cause trouble. Split us up so there’s more treasure for himself,” Grimes cried out, only to fall silent as a hand was shoved over his mouth.

  “Found this map, marking our special coves, in his locker, Cap’n. Reckon we would ha’ found one of His Majesty’s cutters waitin’ fer us one fine night,” Longacres said angrily.

  “Well, what are we going to do with the fellow?” Mr. Clarke asked. “We could certainly hold a trial right here on deck. Have a jury made up of his peers,” he suggested, his guilty vote already cast.

  “I think, Mr. Clarke, that we need to facilitate matters a bit, considering that Mr. Grimes is not his own man,” Dante said, overriding his helmsman. He glanced at his coxswain. “Ah, Longacres. Just the man. Let’s lower a boat, shall we? I think Mr. Grimes here will be far safer in the gig than he might be spending the night here on deck. Don’t you agree, men? Oh, and so he won’t get lonely in the dark,” Dante continued smoothly, the tone of his voice silencing the grumbling from his crew, who were disappointed about losing their catch to the sea, “put a lantern on board. Make sure it will be seen from the stern, Mr. Cobbs. I do not want Bertie Mackay to lose his way in the channel, not after he’s come this far with the help of the Sea Dragon.”

  Alec MacDonald chuckled as he caught the captain’s drift. “Aye, but the devil himself couldn’t hae come up with a better, more diabolical plan. My compliments, sir.”

  “Thank you, Mr. MacDonald.”

  “Bertie will follow the light from the gig, just as he’s been guided by the light flashing from the Sea D
ragon,” Alastair said, thinking about the light gig drifting onto the reefs with the swiftly moving current, leading the Annie Jeanne into the shallows. “Blast it, but I’d like to see Bertie Mackay’s face come sunrise, if he’s still afloat, when he discovers we’ve given him the slip.”

  “Cap’n Leighton, sir! You can’t be doin’ this to me!” Grimes called out as he was hustled to the small boat. “Cap’n Mackay will cut me heart out for this! I’m beggin’ ye, Cap’n, sir. Don’t be a-doin’ this to me. I—” His quivering voice was cut off abruptly as the darkness swallowed him up.

  “Hit his head, s’pose,” MacDonald commented as he puffed on his pipe. “Reckon he won’t miss much. Morning will be soon enough for him to enjoy the scenery.”

  There was a splash of water, then silence as the Sea Dragon continued on her course through the Florida Straits. Above her tall masts and billowing sails a myriad of stars shimmered in the black skies, an encouraging sign that no storm was gathering to hinder their progress.

  “When do you think we will come back to look for the treasure?” Alastair asked his captain as they stood in silence on the quarterdeck, the cooling breeze off the water dampening their faces.

  “If there is a treasure to be found,” Dante replied cautiously, “then we shall have to make some plans, Alastair. For unless I am sorely mistaken about Cuthbert Mackay, he will hound us within an inch of our lives. He’s nobody’s fool. He hasn’t gotten where he is in life by ignoring his hunches, and I suspect he has the same one I do about this sunken Spanish galleon. Most likely, over a few bottles of rum, he had an interesting, and very informative, conversation with the Dane. He realizes there is a very good chance that we might discover a treasure ship, and he intends to be there when we do. Besides, he’ll not easily forgive me for tonight’s unfortunate contretemps. No, Bertie will keep close to our stern, and what we must try and figure out is how to sink him. For if indeed there is a treasure, I have no intention of sharing it with the captain and crew of the Annie Jeanne,” Dante promised, glancing over at the dark, shapeless form of the Florida coastline.