The Fiddler's Gun

by A. S. Peterson

  “Fin? Tan?” he whispered.

  Defain poured slowly out of his shadowy corner and fixed his eyes on her. “Opportunity, cherie,” he said with satisfaction.

  Fin didn’t understand. Then the soldier took off his hat and the light shone on his face. It was Sam Catcher.

  “Come on!” he said then winced, having spoken louder than he wished. He motioned them over to him. “We’re here with Jack. Come quietly.” No one argued. “Jack couldn’t fit into the uniform,” he added with a smirk. “He’s waiting in a boat alongside.”

  Fin pulled Knut to his feet and they made their way toward the door. The room around them crept to life as the men hidden in the shadows caught scents of freedom. Fin eyed Armand Defain worriedly. He too had eyes only for the door. She was anxious to be far away from him.

  Just as they slipped through the door, Defain darted past like a breeze, and a snarl erupted behind him as the half-naked prisoners lurched out of the dark and scrambled for the open door. Defain slammed the door shut before any could reach it and threw the bolt closed. The men inside howled and beat against the iron, growling curses at them. Sam swore and looked around in anger.

  “Quiet!” he hissed, but too late. A guard had already come to investigate. He trotted down the steps as if expecting nothing more than to yell a threat and put the prisoners back to silence. He was within feet of them before his eyes translated what he saw and a white look of shock blanched his face. He drew his saber and opened his mouth to shout for help. Before he could utter a sound, a shadow flowed from beside Fin and launched itself at the guard. A knife flashed and the guard grunted as Armand Defain pinned him to the bulkhead with a dagger. Defain spat upon the guard and watched him die with satisfaction, then smiled as he retrieved the knife. The soldier slid to the floor in a heap. Fin was sickened. It was one thing to kill a man at need, but Armand enjoyed it; he relished the blood he’d spilt.

  “Come on,” urged Sam. They sped lightly up the steps into the main hold. Cells lined the entire length. Sam pulled a key from his belt and began opening the locks, freeing the rest of the Rattlesnake’s crew. Fin didn’t know how many soldiers guarded the ship, but she imagined there were more than just the one Defain had killed. Every second that Sam spent unlocking cells, Fin expected the rest of the guard to burst through a hatchway. Soon, however, Sam had all of them free and her confidence grew. With fifteen able men, Fin felt they surely must outnumber the guards.

  Sam gave one last glance around to make certain all were freed, ignoring the whispered protests of those legitimately imprisoned.

  “Let’s go. Up the back hatch. Jack’s waiting.” They made for the hatchway, opened it, and climbed out onto the main deck.

  The clicking of musketcocks rattled through the night air. A lantern spilled its light over Fin and her men and exposed their escape. The quarterdeck was circled with armed guards, each with a musket aimed. The polished tips of a dozen bayonets glinted in the fiery light, wavering in telltale uncertainty as pulses quickened in the viens of the guards who leveled them.

  “Do not move,” said the officer. Fin and the crew put their hands in the air. “None shall escape on my watch.”

  Then Jack stepped into the light behind him. He held a huge piece of timber in his hands, and before the officer could finish turning to see what had come upon him, Jack swung it, catching the man in the chest. The blow knocked the officer across the deck and he tumbled over the rail, disappearing into the darkness with a muted splash.

  The crew didn’t waste the opening; every man rushed a guard. Muskets fired. Men screamed. At once, the night was full of violence. The soldiers threw their spent muskets to the deck and grappled with the freed crew of the Rattlesnake in desperate cries and groans. Tan snatched a saber from one soldier, ran him through, and fenced with another across the deck toward the forecastle. Among them all Armand Defain slid like a shadow of death, his hidden daggers slicing flesh and bone. Fin let her fists fly upon any redcoat in her arm’s reach. Jack stood giant-like, swinging his rough timber to and fro, wreaking ruin where it struck. Topper had roused himself to action and held a musket by its barrel, clubbing away at men with the butt. Knut, of all people, had even plucked a baling hook from the deck and flailed it wildly about him with a terrific yell—the fact that no one seemed to be attacking him stayed none of his ferocity.

  For all the fight the guards put up, Fin suspected they’d never seen a day of combat in their poor lives. The unfortunate brutes had probably received their stations as prison guards precisely because they hadn’t any fight in them—and it showed. The scuffle was over almost before it began. Some of the guards had even jumped overboard to swim for shore at the first sign of violence. When the melee ended, they permitted the wounded and surrendered to escape into the Atlantic with the benefit of a few barrels to keep them afloat until they could be rescued.

  The initial musketfire had wounded several men, and Fin rushed to bandage and tend whom she could. Topper had taken a shot to the calf but shooed her away to mend the others when she tried to worry over him.

  “That was a buggered mess!” complained Jack. “It was supposed to be quiet-like.”

  “Sorry, Jack. Done the best I could,” said Sam, sheepishly.

  “We got to blow out of here quick. The musketfire will have told the garrison there’s trouble. They’ll be out to see what all, soon enough. Tan, get them boys loaded in the skiff! Let’s to shore.”

  As men moved toward the rail, a bell rang out in the distance, an alarm. They couldn’t know what the trouble was yet, but it wouldn’t take anyone long to find out. Jack roared curses.

  “It’s no good, Jack. We can’t fit us all in that boat. By the time we get back for the second fill, there’ll be redcoats all over the dock and water,” said Tan.

  “Why don’t we raise sail and get out of here on this tub?” asked Fin. The thought hadn’t occurred to Jack. The Justice was a fine ship-of-the-line when she was young, but she’d been stripped of most of her rigging. Only two of her three masts still stood, and from the looks of what they could see there was precious little tackle aboard to refit her. Jack shook his head.

  “She’s nothing but a rotten hulk. Hell, they have to tow her wherever she goes. Even if we could get a sail aloft, we’ve scant men to man her.”

  “I believe you may be mistaken, monsieur,” said Armand Defain.

  “Who in the rotten hell is this?” demanded Jack.

  “Armand Defain,” he offered with a bow. “I have been aboard this beast of a boat for . . . quite some time.” He said it with pride and a smile. Fin was certain she despised him. He casually cleaned the blood from his daggers as he continued. “The Justice happens to carry in her hold all the spare tackle of the ship that tows her, as well as spare sail. She also has ready sail to move her about the bay at need. And you’ve never an abler or more willing crew accrued. The belly of the Justice is filled with sailors. They just need,” he smiled, “a little room to grow.” The daggers vanished into his shirt.

  Tan looked to Jack. There was precious little time to decide. “We better hurry and do something, Jack.”

  Jack scratched his chin through his beard as he appraised Defain. He looked to the distant shoreline. The sound of the bells ceased and other sounds took their place, the sounds of voices, orders, the splash of oars.

  “Free the prisoners, run out the sheets and halyards, get a sail up fast. Fin, you and Knut get aloft and check the mainsail. Get her ready. You,” he pointed at Defain, “show Topper where the sails are. Topper, get us moving. Tan, get these scabs to work. We’ve a ship to sail.”

  Without question the entire deck leapt to life; even the wounded found work to assist. Fin bounded up the mainmast with Knut close behind. They found the mainsail furled but ready to fly.

  “Mainsail’s good, Jack,” yelled Fin.

  “I’ll be damned,” muttered Jack.

  Fin and Knut set to work and minutes later the mainsail was billowing in the win
d. With a dull whump it snapped full and the ship lurched into motion. A cheer went up around the deck and the Justice lumbered away.

  “Don’t get comfortable. We can’t outrun a dead whale until we get the rest of this rotten heap on the mend. Tan, get below and free what men you think can work.”

  “Defain, come with me,” ordered Tan.

  “Hold, Tan,” called Jack. Tan stopped as he and Defain turned to face him. “What’s the story with this one?”

  “He helped us out here a bit.”

  Jack pondered him in silence.

  “I am no friend of the British—” He seemed about to add something more, but tightened his lips and remained silent. Such an obvious admission clearly didn’t garner him any trust in Jack’s eyes. “I am in your service,” added Defain with a slight bow.

  “You seem to know quite a bit about this ship. Maybe you know something about the men locked up in her?”

  “That I do. A wicked heart in each and every one. Thieves, murderers, mutineers, and worse—good sailors all,” said Armand with a grin.

  “Then I want you to go with Tan and advise him on which of them we can trust enough to run the ship without giving trouble. I get even a hint of ill-advised action out of any of them, and I’ll shoot you.”

  “I don’t want any of those beasts in the bilge let loose. Those animals can rot,” added Tan. Jack looked at him with a question on his lips but didn’t voice it.

  “We square, Mr. Defain?” asked Jack. Defain clicked his heels together and bowed.

  “All right then, let’s go,” said Tan. They turned away and disappeared below decks.

  From the helm, Topper waved Jack over and asked him what heading to take.

  “East for now, to the open sea. Later, we’ll decide what to do.”

  “Ain’t we heading after the ’Snake, Jack?” frowned Topper.

  “The ’Snake? Hell, Creache is days away and devil knows where by now. He’s headed to England if he knows what’s good for him.”

  Behind Jack, Fin dropped out of the ropes and onto the deck. “He’s not heading to England.”

  “And why would you say that?”

  “He’s headed for Savannah, for Ebenezer.”

  “Care to explain what the bloody pipe you’re talking about?”

  Fin told Jack her tale starting with Bartimaeus and ending with the map. Creache was heading straight for Ebenezer. There was no doubt in her mind.

  “Thought you said you was done with the secrets,” grumbled Jack when she finished. Fin half-smiled like a guilty child. “To the south and Savannah it is then.” Jack turned to the open deck and shouted. “Bear her south, Topper. We’ve a ’Snake to charm and a serpent to harm. Turn to, boys! Get this rubble running!”

  By the time the sun peeked over the far waves, the crew had managed to fit both masts with sail. The Justice wasn’t fast, but she was moving in the right direction. The rising sun brought bad news as well, though. Away to the north the missing prison ship had been discovered, and the British were mustering a pursuit. The tall sails of two ships of the line stood out sharp against the morning sky. Everyone on board knew they stood no chance in a race, and less chance in a fight against fully gunned men-o’-war. Yet, the mood was somehow both hopeful as well as grim. Hopeful, because they were free and had open sea before them. The men they’d freed from the cells below worked like they never had before in their lives; their freedom depended on it. But they also felt grim. Every heart knew those demons of the British fleet would have to be contended with before any surer freedom was secure.

  Although the thoughts and worries of most of the men reached no further than the ships behind them and the sea before, Jack and Fin had further misgivings about what lay ahead. Savannah was but a two-day sail—less than a day and a half away, Jack estimated—but what they’d face when they got there was a grave shadow on any hope they had of reaching Creache and reclaiming the Rattlesnake. Savannah was British territory. There would be garrisons of troops and warships patrolling the harbor. What hope they had of slipping in unnoticed was dashed by the two ships that would be chasing them into the harbor. Even if they were lucky enough to make it that far, they’d be hemmed in on all sides with nowhere to go.

  “It’s damnable suicide,” growled Jack.

  “We’ll figure something out,” said Fin.

  “Aye, captain,” said Jack sarcastically. “Some of the boys might call ye captain, but that don’t make it so, Button. I hear plenty of scuttlebutt about Captain Button and her pirate crew, but you best see it don’t go to your head. What a man brags about in a dark tavern is a different beast than what the day sees him do. So don’t you go believing what stories ye hear. Them kind of stories end at the gallows or in the dark below. You got yourself in some trouble back home and run away to the sea—that’s fine. But half the men on this ship could tell that story, and none would be lying. So don’t go thinking you’re special just ’cause the local papers and the barroom poets take you to their fancy. I’m all for getting to Creache, and I’ll see him dead if I have my way about it. Didn’t want it to come to that, but it’s clear now there’ll be no rest for us till he’s laid below. Don’t go thinking this is all ’cause of some fool map. I’m interested in two things: the Rattlesnake, and a life free of looking over my shoulder.”

  Tan emerged from below decks with a troubled look on his face and waved down Jack. “We’ve got more problems.”

  “What now?”

  “The wind ain’t just pushing the ship, it’s pulling her apart. The timbers are too old—too rotten. If we don’t take in sail and lessen the stress on the masts, she’ll rip herself to splinters.”

  “If we take in sail, the British will be on us by nightfall.”

  “Jack, we’re taking on water. She’s leaking like a drunk, and the bilge pumps are useless.”

  “We ain’t taking in sail. Get every man aboard busy bailing. Start a bucket line and keep her emptied as best we can.” Tan nodded and walked away shouting orders for anything that could hold water to be hurried below. Jack took a deep breath.

  For the rest of the day the ship was abustle with the bailing of water from the hold. The bilge room that Fin and the others had been held in, where they met Defain, was filling with water, and from the far side the wretched prisoners howled and yelled to be loosed. No one moved to their aid, however, and Fin was glad of it. Those men could hardly be called human any longer. There was no telling what they’d do if loosed upon the ship. Armand Defain had somehow kept them in order while he was locked up, but in the open, with weapons of opportunity all about, there was no sure control of the madness that infected them.

  All through the night, the bailing continued, and when the sun rose, the ships pursuing them had closed the distance by half. They were no more than a few miles behind them now. Jack estimated they’d see Savannah with sunrise the next morning if the wind held. At the same time, the ships behind would close to firing range. They were going to need a miracle.

  By midday, men on the bucket line were passing out from exhaustion. Jack ordered them to split the work so half could rest. The resulting loss of manpower caused the ground they’d gained against the rising water to slowly disappear. Inch by inch, the ship was being swallowed by the sea. What small hopes they had when they first struck for open water were fading. All minds aboard were consumed with wondering which fate would finally claim them: the ships behind, the ships waiting ahead, or the sinking ship beneath their feet. Everywhere was despair. Topper held fast at the helm with his steady eye to the southern horizon.

  “We’re pickled this time, Jack,” groaned Topper.

  “Keep her south. Savannah’s less than a day ahead. Long as we can keep this tub afloat, we’ll be fine.”

  “What’s the good of getting to Savannah if we’re stuck when we get there?”

  Jack didn’t answer; he swung away and shoved himself into the bucket chain.

  “Hurry up there, Sam, with that bucket! Somebody
sing us a song to keep the time,” yelled Jack at the weary crew. Down the line, from somewhere in the hold, where the water was high and the light dim, came back a low booming voice.

  Sailed from south sea

  gnawin’ on a bone

  into the North Sea

  cold as stone.

  Set for the West with

  the briny and foam.

  Never goin’ East ’cause

  West goes home.

  As the song flowed, the men down the line joined in, and the music grew faster and fuller. The buckets passed from hand to hand in rhythm, and though none could say they were light of spirit, the song at least lightened a heavy mood and kept despair at bay.

  Sailed on a high sea,

  stormy and mean.

  Lost in a far sea,

  stars unseen.

  Had a keg of rum

  but was only a dream.

  When I die, I’ll head West

  to the Fiddler’s Green.

  All day they sang songs and passed the buckets. Jack called out shift changes, and some slept while others grumbled back to the line to take up the work. Throughout it all, the water continued to rise. The water in the bilge was almost waist high, and the ship was riding visibly lower in the water. Behind them the British were closing, and by dusk they’d come nearly inside gun range. As the first stars were flickering through the amber wash, the first cannon fire boomed. The shot fell well short, perhaps half a mile. The British were testing range. It wouldn’t be long. Luckily, however, the night would conceal them. The warships would be within gun range sometime before midnight, Jack guessed, but night would cloak them, keep them safe. Morning would be another matter.