On a Lee Shore (26 page)

“You didn’t think I would stint, did you?” Griffin said with a grin when Kit commented on it. “A laborer is worth his hire, and you have served me well in this.”

That brought Kit up short. “Hire,” he said. “I did not do this for hire.”

“Of course.” Griffin nodded and dropped his voice to a murmur. “But for the moment, in present company, let them think that you did. You and I will know better and later—when there is the time and opportunity—I will be happy to show you how very grateful I am.”

There on the deck of the Santiago, surrounded by hallooing pirates, Griffin lifted Kit’s grease-laden hair away from his newly pierced ear. Kit assumed that if anyone noticed they might have thought Griffin was looking at the earring. Only Kit could feel the stroke of fingers at the nape of his neck and the gentle pressure of Griffin’s thumb down his throat. A kiss, Kit decided, would feel even better.

“I am grateful, Kit,” Griffin added. “But now we must be on our way.” And he turned to bellow orders along the deck, leaving Kit flushed and aching.

Again Kit marveled at how hard the pirate crews could work when doing something that interested them. With Kit and Griffin urging them on, packages and boxes were taken below, the loose coins were picked up, and the open barrel refastened. One such was carried across to the Africa and another was in slings awaiting transfer to the Garnet when several of the pirates stopped and cocked their heads. Kit heard it too—a dull rumbling roll away to the south.

“Thunder?” Davy asked. “Or guns?”

“I don’t know,” Kit said. “The sky is clear so—By Christ!”

Against the pale bright southern sky a faint stain was spreading, gathering, rising as a column of billowing black smoke.

“What is that?” Griffin demanded, his voice sharp with alarm as he pushed the hands aside to get to the railing. The smoke column was thickening, leaning away toward the west. He and Kit stared at it in horrified understanding then turned as one to Jago.

La Griffe smiled and waved his hook. “I told you there was no hurry,” he said.

Chapter Fifteen

Kit’s horror gave way to contempt. “You maggoty sons of whores.”

Griffin grabbed his arm. “No, Kit,” he said. “I swear it. I didn’t know…”

Kit tore free, turning away from him. “Volunteers,” he bellowed, his voice hardly to be heard over the excited roars of those pirates who were watching the distant smoke. Some had shrugged and turned back, drawn like moths to the far brighter flame of the silver. Only a few looked as shocked as Kit felt.

“Volunteers,” he yelled again. “We’ll take a boat. See if there’s anyone to save.”

“Not my boat and none of my crew!” Jago stepped across to confront Kit. He was still grinning but had his hand on his pistol. “They’re Spaniards, anyway. Who cares?”

“I do,” Griffin snapped. “I gave my word. God knows, Stockley, I’ve lost most of my honor over the years, but that has held good. My word—and you have broken it.”

“But you didn’t give mine,” Jago said again. “Christ, Griffin, stop trying to impress your fancy boy and maybe we can get on with some good honest pirating.”

Griffin’s face went white, and he too laid a hand on his pistol, but Saunders calmly stepped between them.

“I’ll volunteer,” he said. “If there are any survivors they’ll be needing a doctor. Which boat can we have, Griffin?”

Griffin’s tightly pressed lips slowly relaxed, though he didn’t take his eyes off Jago. “The Africa, of course,” he said.

Even with the promise of a good sound ship under them, there weren’t many volunteers, and most of those came on the understanding that Griffin remained on the Santiago to protect their shares in the treasure. But Africa was a handy little ship and even with those few men, Kit was confident they would make good time.

Kit was surprised that Lewis was coming alone.

“Protheroe will stay to help Griffin,” Lewis said once they were aboard the Africa. “But, duw, Kit, this is a sorry end to what would have made a fine brave tale. To have taken this much silver and not a man harmed. We’d have been heroes. But now…” He shook his head and waved to Protheroe, who was leaning on the Santiago’s railing looking very miserable.

“We’ll make good speed,” Kit promised and went to get his crew to work.

From Africa’s crew besides Lewis there was Davy Forrest, Maxwell the half-hearted Jacobite, and Saunders, grimly going over his medical supplies. Another Scot, Armstrong, an elderly Dane called Jonas, who had burn scars over most of the right side of his face, and Ramon had all ignored Jago’s order that none of the Garnet’s were to volunteer. Ramon was stick thin, pock marked, gold toothed and armed to the teeth. Every inch of his five-feet-four frame looked a pirate, yet he had drawn himself up and said, “I too gave my word, and if a gentleman has no honor he has nothing.”

Oddly enough, Jago hadn’t laughed.

Griffin appeared at the railing beside Protheroe and waved to get Kit’s attention. “Curacao,” he said. “You’ll see the careening bay marked on the big chart. We’ll wait for you there.”

“I know the one,” Kit said. “I’ll be there. Might even be there before you. I’ll take care of your ship and make all speed to return her to you. My word on it.”

Griffin waved that away. “No need of that between us, Kit. I know you will do as you say.” Protheroe stirred beside him. “And besides, Lewis will be reminding you often enough. Now, be on your way before Jago decides not to let you go. I’m not sure he trusts Probert’s seamanship.”

“Give the Santiago sea room if you can,” Kit said. “She’s seaworthy but won’t answer to the helm the way you have been used to. And she’ll need to tack well and often. God speed, Captain. Take care—of everyone.” He wished he had been able to say more but didn’t have the words even if he had felt he had the right.

“God speed, Kit,” Griffin called back. “Come back safe.”

Protheroe and Lewis were shouting at each other, Lewis’s hands white as he gripped the rail, so Kit didn’t disturb him as he gave the orders to get Africa under way.

The sloop’s sail filled and the distance between her and the Santiago grew until even the loudest shouts wouldn’t carry. But Lewis called again, arms waving, and Protheroe waved back. Of Griffin there was no sign, though Kit looked for him. But then, he told himself, if they had acknowledged each other, parallels might have been drawn between them and the two distraught Welshmen.

“Come now,” Kit said to Lewis. “I need a good hand on the tiller.”

Lewis thumped the gunwale gently with the side of his fist and nodded. “Aye aye, Captain Penrose,” he said and made his way aft.

With all her sails set and the wind at her flank, the Africa flew along. The sloop felt strange with her decks almost empty instead of crowded with loafers. Strange and silent. The crew was willing, including Saunders, who had made a trip below and hurried back up into the sunlight saying he needed the company. Kit had some reservations about how Africa might handle if it came on to blow, and manning the guns was out of the question. But now, with the sun close to setting and even with the pillar of smoke to guide them to the awfulness that must surely lie beneath, Kit felt a little of the fierce joy that sailing a well-found ship could bring him.

Joy tempered with caution. As soon as the ship was on course, Kit hurried below to check the powder store, then searched quickly in case one of Jago’s men had left a surprise elsewhere. There was a surprise—a sealed barrel and a tightly bound chest stored neatly under Griffin’s table in the cabin while a sheaf of charts lay on the table, but Kit didn’t have time to do more than notice them and decide to keep their presence to himself. He shut the cabin door firmly and returned to the tiller just as the sun set.

Light drained from the sky, and the base of the smoke flickered with orange light.

“Looks like hell, don’t it?” Lewis murmured. “Uffern we’d say at home. That Stockley. I hope he rots.”

“Why are you a pirate, Lewis?” Kit asked. “You just—well—you don’t seem to have the heart for it.”

“Better a pirate than dead.” Lewis smiled up at the sails. “Protheroe found me burning up with fever outside an inn in Antigua and looked after me until I was better. Nobody else ever did that before. When he took a berth with Stockley, I did too, and we moved to the Africa as soon as we could. Griffin kills if he has to, to keep us alive. Stockley kills for the fun of it. Don’t turn your back on him, Kit. He’ll have you marked as one to dispose of.”

“If I don’t get him first,” Kit said. He glanced at Lewis. “This was a filthy thing to do.”

“It was that,” Lewis agreed. “And if you were to—see to him—you’d find some who’d keep your back while you did it.”

They sailed on, another hour by the glass before Davy hailed them from the bow.

“I can see fire,” he shouted, pointing.

Lewis adjusted their course, and Kit went forward to see for himself.

“Dear God,” he murmured to Davy. “We mustn’t get down wind of that. Those flames must be fifty feet high.”

The brightness of the fire was doubled by the reflections on the sea. They took in the sails, and Kit ensured that there were buckets of water and old pieces of sailcloth well damped to deal with any sparks. Fire at sea was every sailor’s nightmare.

Ramon and Kit took the Africa’s boat, and Kit rowed while Ramon called. The heat from the burning hulk was fierce, and they didn’t dare get too close. There was a scatter of bodies in among the debris, burned and broken, and they saw nothing living on their first circuit of the ship.

Coughing at the stench of burning tar, wood, and flesh, they returned to the Africa and were about to try again when Lewis called for quiet.

“Thought I heard something,” he said. “Listen—what’s that.”

A rhythmic squeak sounded from the shadows beyond the Africa. Davy fetched a lantern and held it high.

“There, look, I think it’s a boat,” he said.

“Hola, amigos,” Ramon called.

The boat, crewed by five men, was soon brought alongside. They had a single oar with which they had been sculling, and one man was leaning over the side and holding a piece of wreckage with another body clinging to it. They croaked their relief and thanks to Ramon and then croaked their rage and disgust at Kit when they recognized him. Kit apologized as best he could while helping them onto the deck then turned his attention to the body on the wreckage. The man’s breathing was harsh, his face and hands blackened, his clothing in rags. Kit grimaced as he touched his face and the man’s beard crumbled under his fingers. Between them Lewis and Kit lifted him up to the deck and tied the boat alongside their own.

“Shall we take the boat out again?” Davy asked. “There might be other poor souls there.”

“Let’s hear what Ramon has to say first,” Kit suggested, watching as Saunders busied himself with the injured and Ramon crouched to interpret.

Soon the little Spanish pirate came to join them at the tiller. “They’ve been looking for survivors since it happened,” he said. “We might have better luck in full light, but I think most of the two crews were below making accommodation for the men off the Santiago. They survived because they were in the bow stowing the boat. They just tossed it overboard and went in after it. The other man—he’s an officer. They saw him fall from the quarterdeck. There was debris raining down so they didn’t get close. They spotted him on that grating just before they spotted us.”

“Have they any idea what caused the fire?” Kit asked.

“Just before she went up, a man came running from below screaming something about grenadoes.” Ramon shrugged. “A bag of grenadoes with a slow match hung against the powder store door. Jago has done that before.”

“He’s done it before?” Kit demanded.

“Or so I heard,” Ramon muttered. “I was not there. I would not help with such a thing.”

Kit decided not to push the issue. “Please, Ramon, help Saunders. We’ll hold off a little and search again when we can see.”

They spent the rest of the night with Africa drifting a mile from the wreck of the Ciervo, but that was still too close for their peace of mind. Kit couldn’t sleep. In the back of his mind was the fear that the wind or current could change and the Africa could get too close to the incandescent skeleton of timbers that was the brightest thing by far, brighter even than the half moon. He noticed that the other men must have shared his fear, for all who could remained on deck, watching the flames and hearing the distant crack and splutter. Just past midnight the stump of the main mast burned through. It fell with a crash, sending a new burst of flame soaring.

“Benedigiad Duw.” Lewis’s voice was choked, and he put his arm around Kit’s shoulders, his hand gripping tight. Kit was upset enough to accept the comfort offered rather than to resent the familiarity.

By dawn the Ciervo had burned down to the waterline. Lewis and Ramon took a boat to search closer to the wreck while the Africa quartered downwind. They found bodies, mostly horribly burned, wreckage, and ash, but not another living soul. After hours of fruitless searching, Kit went below to consult with the doctor.

The patients had been placed securely with food and drink once their hurts had been tended. Only the man who had been found on the grating was left, and Saunders was bending over him anxiously.

“Get out of my light,” Saunders snapped. “Oh, it’s you. Bring the lantern close. I need to see if there’s anything in this wound.”

Kit held the lantern steady and grimaced as Saunders probed the blistered flesh. “Will he live?” he asked. “What’s that you’re putting on him?”

“Honey,” Saunders replied. “It lessens infection but he’s already showing a fever and this is the last of it.” He spooned the last scraping out of the crock and spread it over the wound. “Have you recognized him? It’s Detorres.”

“Is it?” Kit shook his head. “No, I hadn’t. I would have liked to apologize.”

“Might be just as well that he’s dead to the world. He’d most likely want your head on a pike. So, have you found any more survivors?” Saunders asked. “I’m not surprised. They were packed like so much cargo. Nobody on the gun decks would have survived. What are you thinking to do, Kit?”