by Peter Greene
“No,” said Spears. “It can’t be…”
“The orders were altered to set the ship in a particular position as to make the theft easy. A remote place. Telašćica.”
Spears thought of this. He looked off, dazed, then murmured softly, “Yes, it is clear now. All the secrecy, the waiting until the ships were ready to depart, the Echo…and Aggar. And now, now…Treaty of Akbar and th-the Paladin.”
Gorman froze. His face now turned white, his heart raced. It was true.
“The Paladin?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Spears. “The Treaty of Akbar! She is carrying it as we speak. Paladin’s orders were also changed! Just as we did with the Echo! I had no idea they were stealing the ships! I tell you the truth, Gorman! I-I thought they were delivering the signed treaty to the Russians!”
Gorman rose. “I will verify this treaty, though I will bet my life that there is no such thing. I would know. His Majesty would have told me.”
“Then it is part of Lord Wilder’s deceit!” said Spears.
“Where did you send the Paladin?” asked Gorman.
“Again, to Telašćica,” whimpered Spears.
Gorman now had all the puzzle pieces. The Echo, and now more than likely, the Paladin, stolen—crews murdered and ships altered to disguise them. For what purpose? Russians like Lupien were involved. The letter Delain had copied was in Russian, so it only followed that the ships would be used by the Russians and taken to one of the only areas in the world that was still at war: the Black Sea. There, Russia and the Ottoman Turks were fighting as they had been for ages. Jonathan, Sean, and Harrison, along with the crew, were probably there under the command of the Russian Fleet. If not, they were already dead. Gorman glared at Spears.
“You have aided the enemy. They are stealing ships of His Majesty’s Navy and murdering crews. And for your part in this, Captain Spears, I will assure you, you will not go to Australia.”
“I-I won’t?” inquired a surprised Spears.
“No,” said Gorman flatly. “Unless you assist me and tell no one of our findings, I will have you hanged as a traitor to the Crown.”
23
The Kérata Vátrachos Gunfight
After inspecting the flotsam and jetsam north of Zadar, Harrison’s shore party had returned to the pier and slept in the Kérata Vátrachos the previous night. They now wondered about food and their next steps. Their moods were sour.
At the arrival of daylight that warmed the city, Harrison had taken the men to a small public house on the edge of town overlooking Zadar Bay. Welty, Bowman, Marshall, and Marron, the other marine who accompanied them, remained outside with a few other crewmen, watching. They did not know exactly what they were watching for; however, they were on edge and looked quite imposing holding their muskets.
Before joining Harrison at a large table in the corner of the house, Sean had brought them each a cup of water and a large plate of anchovies to share. The vile little creatures, as Sean thought of them, seemed to be everywhere on the planet that was within walking distance of a shoreline. The men ate them, as did Stewie.
The house itself was uncrowded; only four or five others were in the room, all keeping to themselves, only now and again glancing at the English sailors. Their table in the corner of the main room was next to an arch that opened to a small patio with a fountain and a view of the bay. Here they observed the few ships in the harbor and the men working on and about them.
“We have a series of decisions to make, gentlemen,” said Commander Harrison. All were sitting, intently watching their captain as he paced the room.
“The first decision is this: do we go home and report, or do we go after Jonathan and the others?”
Without any hesitation whatsoever, they said in unison, “Jonathan!”
That was easy, thought Harrison. And no use arguing with them; it was his desire as well. Normally he would not ask for their permission; he was the ranking officer and the commander. However, he felt this was a particular circumstance, and he needed these men with him, willingly. His failure to heed his own advice had brought them here—his own suspicions that he discounted. In the end, it was his ship that was lost and his fault the men were stranded in Zadar.
As he looked them each in the eye, nodding, he recognized his truly gracious good fortune to serve with these men—and his honor to command them. He also assumed he would never get another assignment. Maybe the criticism that he was unlucky and that he was one who doomed any ship he boarded was true. Facts were facts. Regardless, these men trusted him, and now they were all in it together. Unfortunately, Harrison alone held all the responsibility for the Paladin and for her crew. He had to admit, he didn’t feel like a captain anymore.
“All right, then,” he said. “We will probably hang for not reporting; however, I am in no mind to be chastised by the Admiralty for losing the Paladin!”
“And losing an admiral’s son,” said Hicks without really thinking. “S-sorry, sir,” he mumbled.
“We will speak on your behalf,” said Sean, giving Hicks a condemning look.
Harrison frowned and looked over the courtyard to the bay beyond. “To speak for me, we must return home someday, and for that, we will need a ship,” he said.
“We could ask the viscount if we could take ’is yacht,” suggested Hicks. “He seemed like a nice feller.”
“He is caught up in this mess,” said Sean.
“Indeed,” said Harrison with noticeable disdain. “I don’t trust him, and I would suggest that we stay away from his viscountship at all costs. The fact that the Paladin was not attacked until we came ashore to see him about that blasted treaty means he must have signaled someone. No, we cannot ask the viscount for aid.”
“Then we wait for a British ship,” said Hudson. “These waters are well traveled. One should come along any day now.”
Harrison had thought of this already, and he did not like the idea.
“I do not believe we can afford to wait about Zadar until a Royal Navy vessel appears,” said Harrison. “If it takes only a day or two, Jonathan and the Paladin could be hundreds of miles away. And we would need to persuade the captain of the ship to assist us. More than likely he would agree to return us to Gibraltar if he were heading west.”
“Then that only leaves one choice, as far as I know,” said Sean. “We steal one of these pretty young ladies in this harbor. And since we are already familiar with the viscount’s fine yacht…”
“And since he is a devious devil who deserves death, which I wouldn’t mind serving to ’im…” said Hudson.
“Why not take ’is li’l darlin’ then?” asked Hicks.
They all joined Harrison at the railing and looked over the harbor, at the Kérata Vátrachos.
Two of the men inside the alehouse had noticed the Englishmen as they entered. One had risen from the dark corner where he sat and had moved, unnoticed, closer to Harrison’s party. There he listened and observed them looking about the harbor. Believing he understood the Englishmen’s intentions, he quietly exited the house and headed up the long hill to the viscount’s villa.
“Too bad we didn’t just sail away before we came in ’ere,” said Hicks. “We could ’ave been on our way.”
“We need provisions, though,” Harrison said. “At over fifty feet, she’ll be sturdy enough to carry us and our supplies all the way to the Black Sea.”
“The Black Sea?” asked Sean.
“If the large ship we saw attacking the Paladin was a Turk,” said Harrison, “their home port will be somewhere in the Black Sea, most assuredly on the southern shore, past the mouth of the Bosphorus Strait. I only hope that if we meet up with that old thirty-six-gun brig, this little girl will have some speed to her.”
“Just in case we are on the hunt for an extended period of time, we will need some supplies. Sean, look for water and some limes or lemons. Salt and flour. Hudson, we will need salted pork. Anything else we can eat would be welcome.”
�
�You may skip the anchovies,” suggested Sean quietly.
Harrison gave them each a gold coin.
“The Black Sea is three days’ sail,” he said as they walked away. “We will search for a week, then attempt to get additional stores. Meet at the Kérata within the hour!”
As the men left to perform their duties, Harrison exited the house and gathered the rest of the crew. He positioned them about the yacht, casually, as if they were relaxing. He walked about the pier, inspecting the ship—but trying not to be noticed.
Sean and his two marines returned first. The men pushed a cart with two large wooden barrels riding atop. Sean held their guns.
“That was an interesting purchase!” said Sean. “The first three barrels of water I found were horribly spoiled. Another keeper had only a small amount. I finally found a man who said he had collected fresh water from a stream by the foothills. He sold me these barrels and cart, so we filled them ourselves! I also found a small supply of flour and salt.”
“A fine job, Private Flagon,” said Harrison as he looked about hastily and motioned for the men to board.
“Hurry now! Hide those barrels below and stay there. As soon as Hudson returns, we will all board immediately, drop all sail, and fly. And, Sean, take your feline with you.”
“Stewie!” Sean called, and the cat jumped on a barrel now being carried aboard.
Within minutes, Hudson returned with a small cart pulled by the men. He had gotten some fruit, salted fish, and two chickens.
“A man tried to sell me a dog,” he said. “But I heard they are tough to eat!”
“I thought ’e meant as a pet!” said Hicks.
“Interesting,” said Harrison. “Load this all onboard and—”
“Captain Harrison!”
It was the viscount. He appeared on the pier and approached with a small gang of men—ten in all, and each looked tough and mean. Harrison recognized some from the villa and others from the alehouse.
“May I ask what you intend to do with my yacht?”
“Viscount, so nice of you to come and see us off. I only assumed that your earlier offer to borrow the craft would naturally be extended for a week or two as we report to our nearest port in Malta.”
“What will you report?” asked the viscount. “The destruction of the Paladin?”
“Probably not,” said Harrison.
“I have some news for you,” said the viscount, smiling. “My sources say you are planning on going after that Turk. That would be pointless.”
“We are not going after the Turk,” said Harrison.
“No?” said the viscount.
“No. We are actually going after the Paladin, the ship that you and your friends tried to make us think was destroyed. But it was the barge. You forgot to add some teak to your trick, Viscount.”
“Teak?”
“Yes,” said Harrison moving his right hand to his sword hilt. “The Paladin was famous for its teak deck, but there was no teak in the flotsam. You did not fool us, Ragusa.”
Two of the viscount’s men revealed small pistols. Another drew a sword.
“We will not permit you to leave,” said the viscount.
“I did not ask for your permission,” said Harrison coldly, “nor do I require it.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Harrison could see that Hudson, Hicks, Sean Flagon, and a pair of other marines had muskets trained on the viscount’s men. They had been hiding on deck, and now nodded ever so slightly to signal that they were in position.
“Sergeant Hudson?” called Harrison as he drew his sword.
Hudson stood, as did the rest of his team. Welty, Marshall, and Bowman, along with the others, revealed themselves at the side of the pier, holding knives and clubs.
One of the viscount’s men fired, missing Harrison, who heard the ball whiz past his right ear.
Hudson fired, and the viscount’s men ran for what cover they could find.
Ragusa now produced a pistol and aimed it at Harrison.
Sean Flagon, however, aimed his musket but shook in fear. He had never shot—or even aimed his weapon—at another human being. He tried to will himself to pull the trigger; however, he froze in his distress.
“Your secret will die with you,” said the viscount as he aimed at the young commander.
Suddenly, a shot exploded from behind Harrison. The center of the viscount’s chest burst in a cloud of smoke. Red blood seeped through his garment as he collapsed.
Harrison turned.
Standing by the smoking musket was Sean Flagon. Still shocked with what he had just done, he could only stare at the body of the crumpled viscount.
Another pistol shot rang out, this time from the viscount’s men.
A ball struck Sean in the thigh. He screamed in pain and fell to the deck.
“Sean!” yelled Harrison. He ran to the marine and picked him up in his arms, and the fight continued in earnest. “Dear God!” he cried and quickly moved him behind a few barrels and boxes on the deck, away from gunfire. He hastily inspected the boy’s leg. It was bleeding heavily.
“Get aboard!” Harrison called to the others as he applied pressure to the wound. “Hurry! Cut the lines! Drop all sail!”
The marines set up a defensive perimeter about the ship, firing until all had expended their powder and ball. One by one the remaining crew fought their way back to the Kérata. A marine fell, and Welty was slightly wounded as a ball scraped his brow. Both were pulled aboard by Marshall and Bowman just as the yacht eased away from the pier.
“Ah! I am hit!” called Welty dramatically.
Bowman and Marshall inspected him. With a simple wipe of a sleeve, Marshall saw that the ball had only slightly grazed the skin above his left eye.
“A bit lower an’ you’d be wearing a patch,” he said.
“Nothin’ serious,” said Bowman. “A minor scrape it is.”
“Nothin’ serious?” asked Welty. “A bandage is all?”
“More than likely,” said Marshall. “So to your feet, and help us get this barge to sea. Come on, now.”
Harrison continued inspecting Sean’s wound and pressed his hand against it to stem the flow.
“I killed him!” said Sean in his delirium. He did not boast—quite the contrary. Tears streamed from his eyes, and he looked to Harrison for an explanation, absolution.
“It is all right now, Sean!” said Harrison as he removed his jacket, folding it as a pillow for Sean’s head.
The Kérata collected the wind, and though a few more shots rang out, the fighting was over. Hudson took the wheel and piloted the yacht into the harbor. A few smaller skiffs tried to pursue, but the Englishmen, experts at sail and rigging, had the canvas spread in only a few moments. They were now leaving the harbor swiftly, and entering the Aegean.
“Sean,” Harrison said as he held the boy, “stay calm! Hicks! Some cloth! Tear a blouse! Hurry!”
“I am injured,” said Sean matter-of-factly.
“You saved my life!” said Harrison.
“But I killed the viscount. In cold blood!” cried Sean.
“No, not in cold blood,” said Harrison. “In battle!”
Sean didn’t seem to understand the words. He could see Harrison’s mouth moving and hear the tearing of cloth, though none of it made sense. He could feel the pressure of hands as cloth was applied. Then he felt himself drifting off into a dream, and he heard himself murmuring something about Ireland and swimming and his mother. Then all went black.
24
Turning a Spy
Lord James Wilder, dressed in cloak and hood, patiently waited on the edge of his estate in Van Patten. Again, fog and a drizzling rain covered the scene. Hiding in his usual spot, he felt it was most unusual that he had been contacted so recently by Orvislat. However, after a few moments, he saw the familiar carriage appear. The driver seemed a bit different—smaller—but no matter, he had never met the man, and who was to say that Orvislat had only one driver and one carriage? It was
3:00 a.m. on the night prescribed in the note, and the cart was slowing to a stop, literally right in front of him, as it always did. Checking about himself and his surroundings, he was satisfied that no one was watching. He left the confines of the bushes and entered the carriage.
On his face was a look of utter surprise when he realized that Orvislat was not inside but some other man in a woven mask, with his white beard protruding out from underneath.
“Welcome,” he said, and immediately, Wilder felt a club smash into his head. The carriage seemed to spin, and he collapsed to the floor.
Delain had once again stolen away in the night when all in the house were asleep. Successfully making it to the stable, she again selected the black filly, Lilliput, and this time, without the Airedales, whom she had let out earlier in the evening and were assuredly now happily rampaging through the wood. She headed toward the small flour warehouse on Channing Street, where Gorman had planned to conduct his interrogation. No one had invited Delain per se; however, she had overheard Frey and Fairchild discussing the next step of the plan. She had no pressing engagements for the evening. Why not attend?
Making her way through the dark and mostly vacant streets, she noticed only a few other souls—mostly vagrants and revelers. This area was not the worst section of town, and it was so near to home she felt safe. As she approached the northern edges of the great city, her pace and heart quickened. Ahead, she saw the warehouse and went immediately to the back door, as that seemed to be Gorman’s choice. She dismounted, entered with the horse in tow, attached a feed bag to the filly’s face, and tied the beast to a nearby railing.
Immediately, she heard a scuffling, then the sound of a wooden chair being dragged across the hard stone floor. The noises came from deep within the building and, she could only assume, from the location of her own interrogation: the furnace room in the lower level. There is where she headed.