by Brian Eames
“You are certain, Roger, that the barrels are well hidden?” Fowler raised his chin.
“They could walk right by them and not see, in broad daylight even.”
“And the winds, they will not blow the brush off?”
“I told you it was done, din’t I?”
“Ja, ja.” X surveyed the faces around him. He felt an odd surge of pride. “Then it is nearly time, mes amis. Tonight we take the ship, and if all goes well, we are sea dogs again by dawn.”
“Let’s hope the worms haven’t had their way with this one,” said Coop, a usually silent sailor with a tangle of teeth.
Kitto felt his stomach churn. It would be the second time he had taken part in a night raid of a ship at anchor. The first time was just a month ago in Cape Verde, when he had scaled the anchor cable of a ship in order to get on board and free Duck from slavery. Now again here he was. He and Van exchanged grim looks.
“You all right?” Van said. Kitto nodded.
“Butterflies.”
“Me too.”
“Akin, tell it again. I need to hear it again.”
“About Duck?” Akin asked. Sarah nodded.
The sun had set nearly an hour ago. The band of pirates had scattered among the undergrowth of the northeast end of the island, hidden in deep shadow. Each found a place to lay his head before the attack, excepting the three who stood guard in case Spider had been in a condition to inform Morris they were not alone on the island.
Sarah reclined against the trunk of a leaning palm tree, Bucket in the crook of her arm. Ontoquas sat beside her, pressed to her side, watching Bucket sleep in Sarah’s embrace. It occurred to Ontoquas that she should feel resentful, or jealous. This wompey, she had nearly taken over the task of caring for her little brother Bucket. But Ontonquas realized she did not feel these things: only relief, and the recognition that she, too, wanted to be mothered.
Ontoquas leaned her head into Sarah’s shoulder, and Sarah unwound one hand from Bucket to run it lovingly over Ontoquas’s cheek. Kitto and Van lay at their feet, staring up at a sky that was faintly studded with stars.
Akin cleared his throat and spoke in his high-pitched and clear voice.
“We sailed ten days. Ten days after the attack. And that whole time Duck kept himself hidden! With Julius the monkey.”
“My monkey,” added Van proudly, a blade of grass pinched between his teeth. Akin wagged a finger.
“Maybe not your monkey! He loves that little boy.”
“Then I love that monkey. Go on.”
“We caught sight of a navy ship, a frigate. Morris sailed for it and hailed it. He wanted to get the prisoners onto the frigate.”
“Why? Why would he do that?” said Kitto.
Akin shrugged. “William Quick, he had told Morris what Morris needed to know.”
Kitto propped himself up on one elbow. “That part is hard for me to believe,” he said. “For seven years he kept it a secret. Why tell Morris now?”
Akin tucked his fingers into the dense curls of his hair. “After the battle was lost,” he said, “Captain Quick was a changed man. It frightened me.”
“Was he wounded?” said Sarah. Akin shook his head vigorously.
“Perfect health. But like he was dead inside all the same.”
“He still had his mates,” Kitto said. “And his life. I would have thought his greed would have been strong enough to survive anything.” Van looked at him.
“Maybe he lost something in that battle closer to his heart than his greed,” Van said. Kitto knew what he meant. He stole a look at Sarah, and their eyes locked a moment, but then Sarah looked away and said nothing.
“Morris had what he needed,” Akin continued. “But with Quick on board, there was still a danger of escape. He wanted Quick on board the frigate. It was heading straight for Port Royal.”
“But Duck?” Sarah said. Akin nodded vigorously.
“Yes, Duck.” Akin scratched at the crow’s nest of hair atop his head. “I had just brought him some bacon—they had killed a hog two days before. Duck loves the bacon!
“He and Julius were in the barrel, quiet as mice. The Blessed William was to follow the frigate and head for Port Royal, while Morris’s ship turned into the wind and sailed here.”
Akin cast his eyes down. “I tried to stay with Duck, but I had volunteered to be cabin boy for Morris. I thought I could help Duck that way. And I had Morris fooled! He believed me. Too well, I fear. That day he had me moved over to the Port Royal just before we left the other two ships.” Akin’s eyes darted to Sarah. “I am so sorry, madam.”
Sarah attempted an encouraging smile. “It is all right, son,” she said. “You did your best. It is more than any of us were able to do for him.” She blinked her eyes a few times to quell her tears and began to rock Bucket slowly.
Akin perked up. “He was very good in the barrel, Duck was! Very good. We had made it a game of how long he could be in there before I could hear him or Julius move around. At first they were not good at the game. But then they were better.”
“Hard to believe,” quipped Van. “Of Julius, I mean.”
“The monkey, he loves Duck. He never left the boy. Not ever,” Akin said. Van felt a lump in his throat. Good old Julius. He swallowed.
“I hope Julius keeps quiet too,” Van said. They all thought solemnly for a moment.
“How will he eat?” Sarah whispered. None of them had an answer for her. Ontoquas rubbed her hand along the woman’s arm.
Bucket and Van and Akin were able to sleep, but the others lay awake in edgy anticipation. They did not speak, but closed their eyes and waited for the signal.
Sometime well into nightfall Kitto sat up. He could hear someone thrashing through the underbrush, making no attempt to move stealthily. X swept aside the wide leaves of a large tropical shrub to look down on them. His white and gold teeth flashed a grin in the moonlight.
“Vous vous réveillez, my little pigeons,” he whispered. He gave Van a lighthearted kick, and Van shot up from the ground with glazed eyes.
“Take hands, all of us,” Sarah said. She reached out and took Ontoquas’s hand. Ontoquas reached for Kitto. Kitto, in turn, looked up to Exquemelin, the hardened pirate. X rolled his eyes but took a knee and reached a hand out to Kitto and to Van. Akin made a space for himself between Van and the pinky toe of Bucket’s chubby foot.
It was dark. Kitto lowered his head and closed his eyes and spoke to himself during the silent prayer.
I have done this before, haven’t I? And alone, then. And I can do it again.
We shall succeed in getting to the Port Royal unobserved. Kitto imagined a dark and lifeless ship, pictured himself and Van scaling up the anchor cable. We climb up and lower lines for the others to follow. No one will hear us. Despite his silent words, Kitto’s imagination ran from him a moment, and he saw in his mind a sailor on watch seeing them and calling out.
No! We will not be seen. And even if we are, then . . . He did not want to imagine that. It was too horrible. If need be, then I can do it. I will do anything to see us safe again.
Kitto opened his eyes and turned to Sarah. Her eyes were squeezed tight and she gnawed her lip. He wondered what she prayed for. Was it Duck? Bucket? Himself? All of them together? He took a deep breath and told himself once more that he would be brave.
“Let us go,” he said aloud. Sarah opened her eyes and nodded. Together they rose and made for the jolly boats that the pirates had dragged from hiding down onto the beach.
* * *
CHAPTER 18:
* * *
Night Moves
Kitto and Van and Ontoquas rode in the first boat with X and Quid and a handful of the other men, each crowded shoulder to shoulder, four men at the oars. The surf was light and the wind easy, and it had taken little effort to get the boats out into the rolling waves and make for the southeast end of the island. Kitto and Van each carried two loaded pistols in their belts, although they knew they could only be used
as a last resort, as the idea was to take the ship without alerting Morris and the others on shore that the ship was under attack. Van also had Kitto’s dagger at his back. He needed it for the task he had volunteered to do. Ontoquas perched in the prow of the boat. A clutch of her crude arrows was tucked beneath her sash belt, and her bow leaned against her side.
“This must bring back memories,” Van whispered to Kitto, but before Kitto answered Quid grunted behind them and shook his head slowly. They rode the rest of the way in silence.
Kitto reached down to caress his stump. Quid had fashioned him another wooden leg just that day from a tree branch and fastened it skillfully to a split coconut. It served the purpose, but it would be some time before Kitto’s wound had desensitized enough to make walking on the wooden leg painless.
He hoped they could take the ship without killing. His dreams still haunted him, dreams of the day in his father’s workshop when his entire world crashed around him, when he witnessed a murder and committed one himself. Was it murder? he wondered. He was defending himself, was he not? Did that matter? For that he had no answer. Surely in the eyes of the law he would be found guilty.
What about in the eyes of God?
It seemed like they had been rowing a long time before Kitto could look out and see they were about to round the narrow end of the island and begin their approach. Ontoquas saw it too, and she and Kitto locked eyes. To Kitto she did not seem afraid. He wished the same of himself. Perhaps Ontoquas had seen enough horror not to fear it any longer.
Kitto chanced a look backward, and between the two rows of men laboring at the oars behind him he could make out the other jolly boat, Sarah and Bucket a blanketed huddle in the stern.
It was not long before the boat was passing the entrance to the cave. It lay in deep shadow some hundred yards off. X would have liked to steer even wider, knowing that it would be a likely place for Morris to leave a watchman, but any farther out and the jolly boats would be caught up in the wash of the reefs.
Van hunkered down and scanned the horizon. He tapped Kitto and pointed. Kitto could see nothing until he, too, leaned down to the line of the gunwales and could make out in the distance the silhouetted figure of the ship, a darker shade of black set against the faint glow of the horizon. Less than a half mile away it lay, swung out on the ebbing tide so that the he could make out each of its three bare masts.
At X’s signal three of the rowers stopped and repositioned themselves so that Quid could take an oar in each hand and continue as the only rower. The first set of oarlocks had already been muffled with rags. Quid’s tattooed scalp glowed in the moonlight, the checkerboard pattern glimmering.
Quid steered the jolly boat toward the bow of the Port Royal, its anchor end, the cable drawn tight as the ebbing tide tried its best to pull the ship farther out to sea. Kitto stole a quick look behind him and saw that all the men but X had drawn pistols and rifles. Pelota and the pirate named Coop bit down on dagger blades. X held up the spyglass, scanning the deck as best he could for sign of a watch.
“Sleep, you lazy dog,” X whispered aloud. “There is nothing on the island to notice. And if you look out, it is to the sea you must look. Oui, oui, oui. Seaward, and not to starboard.”
They drew closer. Kitto chewed the inside of his lip, his stomach doing flips now, and assessed the grim faces of the men around him. Van shook a fist to him, as if to bolster him. Ontoquas withdrew from her sash her straightest arrow and nocked it on the string. X motioned to the ship behind them to stay toward the bows.
X must have seen someone! Kitto swallowed back his fear and tried to read X’s face for some indication, but the pirate’s pinched eyes revealed nothing. Dear Lord, I will do anything. Anything. Kitto wondered if God would still listen to him after what Kitto had done.
Know my heart, dear Lord. Please know my heart.
The hulking shadow of the ship loomed before them with a suddenness that made Kitto catch his breath. It seemed to glower down at them. Quid had steered expertly between the ship’s hull and the taut anchor cable, so that the jolly boat lay in deep shadow from the moon that now hovered in the northwestern sky.
Van stood and took the cable in his hands, holding the boat steady. Kitto reached toward the hull on the opposite side, making sure to keep the jolly boat clear from banging up against the oak planks.
From the stern Pelota rose and made his way soundlessly past X and Quid, the spine of a large dagger still clenched in his teeth. A coil of rope wrapped about his shoulders. Kitto recognized the black metal contraptions attached to the ends—grappling hooks. Pelota maneuvered around Van and took the cable in his hands. Kitto watched Pelota look back to X. The captain scanned the towering ship above them. He nodded to the young man.
Kitto remembered how difficult it had been for him to scale the anchor cable in Cape Verde. Pelota made it look as easy as climbing the ratlines. In just a few seconds he had reached the hawsehole. Setting the point of one hook against the wood, Pelota managed to flip himself upward so that he straddled the line, riding it like a horse. He set the hook higher up into the wood, taking the time to embed it well. Kitto blinked in astonishment to see that Pelota had managed to stand up on the cable, and just a few seconds later he had disappeared over the rail.
They waited, all of them, shrouded in shadow.
Ontoquas stood. The arrow she had nocked she removed and put between her teeth. She slipped her bow over her head and turned toward Van, who gave her a questioning look. X pointed with authority back at her seat, but Ontoquas paid him no heed. Then, without any signal and in blatant disregard of the plan that X had set out for them back on the island, Ontoquas sprang up and took hold of the cable.
No! Kitto thought. Let them do it. Do not take the risk!
Ontoquas did not pause to consider her actions, but climbed up with even greater agility than had Pelota, dodging a weak attempt by X to lay hands on her. She scaled the cable, and in a moment she was over the rail.
Morris slipped out of the hammock his men had strung for him between two palm trees overlooking the beach. He gave a perfunctory check on Spider huddled in the hammock nearby, seeing only that the movements of his chest indicated he still lived. The cauterization had been messy work. It took three men to hold Spider down when the surgeon took the blazing iron to him. Spider had raved madly, talking all sorts of gibberish.
And why had he mentioned Exquemelin? Morris wondered. A guilty conscience perhaps? he thought. No, not from Spider. Just made insensible from the pain. Morris had seen others do no less.
But it was not concern for Spider’s health that roused Morris from a restless sleep. He was there, on the island, and yet he did not have either treasure: neither the barrels of nutmeg, nor the fabulous riches from the Santa Tristima. Ah, the gold, the jewels, the handcrafted gold crucifixes. An incredible haul he had stumbled upon that day in the jungle while secreting off the nutmeg, only to have it and the nutmeg—and nearly his life—stolen from him by William Quick.
Had Quick time to peruse the treasure? Morris was sure he had, although Quick had not mentioned it when he had taken him and what remained of his crew into his custody. Would Quick know that Henry Morgan himself did not know about the second treasure?
William Quick must hang. Quickly. Before he comes out of his dazed stupor of loss and reveals all to Morgan. Morris knew that if Morgan found out about his attempted treachery, his life would be in peril.
Morris stepped down onto the loose sand of the beach, noting his uneven shadow cast upon the rippling sands.
Would both treasures truly be in the cave, as William Quick had attested? Surely the man could not have been lying. He had nothing left for treachery. Morris allowed himself a small smile and sigh of pleasure as he made his way down to the beach. Seeing Quick so miserable was a pleasure he thought he might never enjoy.
But still his hands were empty, and until they cupped the riches he sensed must be tantalizingly close, sleep would not come.
“Anything I can get you, Captain?” Morris glared at the man who approached him. Hardly was he a man in fact, having just enjoyed his nineteenth birthday before he set sail with Morris back in New York. “Flop,” they called him, a scant figure, lanky, who moved with the unease of a teenager. Morris knew nothing about him except that he was an excellent shot, better even than Spider.
“No. You are the watch this hour, ah . . . ?”
“Flop, sir. Aye, sir. On watch until Simpson relieves me.” Morris pointed away from him down the beach.
“Go that way,” he said. Flop recoiled in obvious fear, realizing he had erred by approaching the man.
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
Morris watched the young man go, mildly disgusted. A captain should not be disturbed. The boy was too green to know even that. Morris had been too kind to these men; he would be sure not to spare the cat-o’-nine-tails on the final leg back to Jamaica. He turned to his left where the cliffs rose that hid the cave.
My fortune is hidden inside that rock with some demon guarding it, he thought. No matter. I, too, can be a demon. Morris turned to face the sea and produced a spyglass from his coat pocket. He lifted it to his eye and picked out the Port Royal, its three masts nearly aligned from his vantage. The bow of the ship faced him.
Morris snatched the spyglass away for a moment. He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbed them, and lifted the instrument again. He squatted down on his haunches and stared some more. He stood again.
For the first time in years, John Morris broke into a run.
* * *
CHAPTER 19:
* * *
Boarding
Ontoquas set her feet against the smooth planks of the ship’s fo’c’sle deck, her arrow again nocked. Pelota saw her the moment she came over the rail, and if he was unhappy to see her there, he did not show it. He walked from the midship, bent at the waist, staying in the deepest shadows possible.