Blood Diamond: A Pirate Devlin Novel (15 page)

It had been a good few months in London at an anchorsmith’s with a man named Kennedy, almost learning a trade until the old man’s murder, most likely by his dog of a son, took him to his feet again. Devlin was innocent, but an Irishman was wise to fear English justice.

He had even spent some time in the Marine Royale, the French navy. Had been to Paris and seen the great privateer René Duguay-Trouin, now chef d’escardre of the Marine Royale.

Devlin spoke French. Spoke it well. That was it then, nothing more.

A conspiring chortle lifted around the table at Albany’s words. Walpole raised his voice above it. ‘Your knowledge of the language and the coast will be invaluable Captain, I am sure, but more important is your secrecy and subtlety.’

Devlin turned away from the table and went to the window to look over the square.

‘I take it, Captain,’ Walpole pitched over to the window, ‘that you accept our proposal?’

The prince and Timms crossed the threshold of the room, the others rising as they did so. All waited for the answer.

Devlin, his eyes still on the square below, spoke slowly. ‘And what would happen if I did not? Now that I have heard all this, I wonder.’

Walpole sighed. ‘Then I’m afraid I shouldn’t wonder – especially after your activities last night – that you may not get out of this city alive, sir.’

Devlin turned. The evil on his face was the least of their expectations. Walpole especially shrank from it, while Albany again touched his sword.

Devlin looked beyond the men at the table straight at Timms. ‘You’ve not told them?’

Timms found himself blushing as all eyes fell upon him. He survived the stares by addressing himself only to his prince.

‘I’m afraid, Your Highness, that I have neglected to inform that the captain did not arrive at Falmouth as instructed. Nor come to London with just one other.’

George’s smile vanished. The noble prince returned, his glare for Timms alone. ‘Go on.’

‘The captain informed me, last night in the gaol . . .’ the words stuck in his gullet and Timms looked at a point above his prince’s head, not wishing to meet his eye. ‘He has brought his ship with him. His whole crew apparent.’

The table exploded with flung papers and cries of outrage and disgust. Devlin shattered the tableau, more suited to the hustings, with a shrill whistle.

He crooked a finger at the prince and beckoned him to the window. Amused again both by the pirate’s flavour and the splutter of the Whigs, the prince went so and Devlin gave him room; showed him the game in the square.

Devlin leant in close to the prince’s ear and pointed out those he had posted to watch the house. Obediently each seemed to turn and look up at the house. Each had a sword at his side, a brace of pistols hanging from his belt. Devlin tapped the glass with a dirty nail to draw the prince’s eye down to the front of the house. The two sentries were sharing a pipe with a big man in a long black coat, distinguished against the smarter set of the square by his bald head and red beard.

‘At my signal,’ Devlin whispered. ‘They
come.’

George backed away from the window. ‘What signal?’ he asked, but already his eyes had fallen to the small turn-off pistol, smaller than the hand it now sat in, which was pointed at his belly. The weapon had been hidden somewhere in the folds of the pirate’s clothes but was now revealed.

For a moment Devlin enjoyed George’s revulsion then shifted the pistol harmlessly to the window. ‘I shoot the glass, perhaps.’

The prince straightened and turned back to the table of shocked, frozen faces that had glimpsed the now-vanished pistol. He did not move away from the pirate.

‘It appears, Walpole, that perhaps it would be ourselves who would not leave alive. The pirate has men all about.’

Walpole stood, his voice unperturbed, weary of the drama. ‘In that case, Your Highness, may you permit me to escort captain Devlin further. Set him on his task and meet the men he needs to know.’ He lowered his chin to Devlin. ‘That is if you will permit me safe passage, Captain?’

Devlin nodded. ‘But they will follow.’

Chapter Twelve

Some in clandestine companies combine;

Erect new stocks to trade beyond the line;

With air and empty names beguile the town,

And raise new credits first, then cry ’em down;

Divide the empty nothing into shares,

And set the crowd together by the ears.

Daniel Defoe.

The value of a diamond falls to but two points: its weight, which can be estimated in the rough by even the most common hand; and its water. The water is the diamond’s clarity, its
caelestis
property, the heavenly clarity and depth that beguiles and tempts even the gods to possess it.

In the ancient world the diamond was revered for its supernatural aspects, its eerie nature, almost forgotten in modern times. Rubbed upon flesh a diamond will glow in a darkened room as well as when exposed for hours to the sun and then removed to the dark. The lapidaries, the artisans of precious stones for us simpler Europeans, examine their gems in the light; in India it is done at night.

Steeped in hot water a diamond will also glow, and brushed with silk the same occurs – magic in a world where the new science was pushing back the old mysteries. And where the diamond is, there too is gold. It was no coincidence that the hunt for alluvial gold in the South Americas and the Indies first brought diamonds to the surface, the two linked forever with wealth and avarice, sharing the same properties of portable wealth and the same power to make even the most sordid hand beautiful.

The Pitt Diamond held a water quality of the highest level, a true transparency. After cutting, it weighed just over one-hundred and thirty-six carats and when tossed in the hand, no greater description befits the magnificence of the most valuable diamond in the world than that it shared the size and weight of a small plum.

It was supposed that Pitt had settled for a third of the diamond’s true worth, perhaps in the same sweat of dread that persuaded the merchant Jamchund to lower his price to be rid of it.

Between the murdered slave who gouged a hole in his own leg to hide the stone and the captain who murdered him before taking his own life in remorse, one can suppose in a more fanciful age that it was more than the diamond’s eternal beauty that haunted its owner’s dreams.

So Pitt accepted a sale for a third of its value to the ruler of France. To be rid perhaps. After expenses he still came away with at least one hundred thousand pounds, four times the yearly income of the King. The cutting of the diamond into smaller stones might make ten times that – enough to warrant enlisting a pirate to steal it back.

First, Change Alley in Cornhill then on to Jonathan’s Coffee house, an area of London unfamiliar to Devlin although the narrowness of the ways and the shadow from the crowd of buildings was very much recalled. The London streets of his memory had looked much the same, but their trading of purse for the flash of a knife perhaps had more honesty than the financial chimeras lurking in this quarter.

A two mile walk meant nothing to Devlin’s boots, but the thinness of Walpole’s soles meant his black coach was called. Devlin had never been in a coach. Alighting, he took the step down daintily, as if afraid to fall, and hoped that his men, shadowing them, did not see.

He had almost sailed the world, met almost every foreigner in it and was knowledgeable in all its coin and politics that ended at the point of a sword. But he stepped down gingerly like a child before Walpole’s smirk.

‘Have you ever had tea, Captain?’ Walpole pointed his cane to the alley.

‘Daily, Minister. Coffee too. Never paid a penny for it.’

‘That’s my boy!’ He slapped Devlin’s back. ‘If they ever bill me I’ll be broke!’

Small-paned windows made up the frontage, revealing the crowd within. A single door opened into a large hall that reason insisted should not have been inside such a narrow alley.

The room was full. Fawn and white coats under black hats and candle chandeliers. The high ceiling echoed with laughter and clouds of blue tobacco hovered. A pendulum clock hung on one wall, its face as big as a table, and oil paintings covered every other.

Devlin spoke quietly, hushed by the atmosphere of power and possibility. ‘What goes on here?’

Walpole breathed the room in, nodding greeting to certain coats. ‘Everything, Captain. Everything. I have a back room for us.’ He pulled Devlin closer. ‘London always has a back room.’

They climbed a cramped stair to a simple door and a wood-panelled windowless room. More faces and cards met them, two men this time, and there were more disparaging looks as Devlin came in with his hat on. Walpole wasted no time shaking hands. ‘Gentlemen. I give you our saviour. Captain Patrick Devlin. Our pirate.’

Only one stood and offered his hand. Almost fifty Devlin guessed, tall and handsome but a closer look under the sanguineous light of the chandelier showed a pock-marked face, souvenir of a sickly youth.

‘Captain,’ a deep Edinburgh timbre rolled forth. ‘John Law. You are welcome at our table, sir. A drink?’ And he went to the wine without answer. Devlin liked him at once. Walpole and the prince had not offered a drink.

The other had the same appointed look of Albany Holmes: thirty years of privilege in waistcoat and silk hose, an unpleasant smell under his nose always. His importance was measured in how much his arse remained seated. Walpole took the honours.

‘May I introduce Lord Londonderry – although do not suppose that he has ever been there – Thomas Pitt the younger. It was his brother, Robert, who smuggled the diamond from India to England in the heel of his boot.’

The Lord spoke from his chair. ‘Well met, pirate. Or ill met. Depending.’ He flashed an eight of diamonds at Devlin. ‘Law is teaching me how to cheat at cards,’ he was already half-drunk despite the clock. ‘He owes me money, I am glad to say. Or more money, rather.’

The diamond had been paid for in instalments. Although reduced in price France had still found it beyond the means of easy purchase.

Law turned his head back to the table. ‘We will settle that, Thomas. That is why we are here.’

Pitt went for his glass. ‘I am only observing on my father’s behalf, John.’ He saluted Devlin. ‘He is governor of Jamaica don’t you know.’

‘Morgan was governor of Jamaica,’ Devlin said. ‘He was a pirate.’

Pitt put down his glass and corrected grimly. ‘Ah. I think you’ll find that should be: “He was a pirate,
Sir.
”
Lord Londonderry, if you please.’

Devlin moved to the edge of the table. ‘Where is Londonderry?
Sir
?’

Pitt looked to a frowning Walpole and went back to his glass without looking at the pirate at his quarter.

‘Buggered if I know!’ He waved his glass around the table. ‘Sit down all of you. Let’s get this over.’ He kicked a chair out for the pirate. Devlin pulled it away and sat with his back to the wall, all of them in front of him, none beside him. Law passed him a glass of wine and took his seat with Walpole.

Devlin gulped and wiped his lip. A mouldy tasting wine, black and strong like coffee and chocolate. These men could drink. ‘Tell me what I need to know.’

The world had gone mad. After the war, the Spanish war, when the Americas had come to be divided, companies had become a feverish commodity. Most feverish of all were those investing in the colonies, for America was a golden teat. The New World had made Spain great and now it was defeated everyone could suckle; its sweetest milk was the
asiento
, the settlement that granted England the right to buy and transport slaves to the Spanish colonies and their own. Thus the Royal African and South Sea companies became the new gods of the New World.

In a few short years London, Amsterdam and Paris had become the triad of a world written down and noted, no longer drawn on paper by the hard experiences of explorers and adventurers. They had already found all they needed.

Iron and cloth, dyes, spices and wood. That was the Old World. Now it was coffee, tea, sugar, gold and diamonds. And flesh was needed to work it all. Flesh most of all.