Pirate Wolf Trilogy (41 page)

“And not one
word of dissent.”

“So far.”

“So far,” Drake
agreed. “Borough will probably give me the headache with his
infernal discourses on naval warfare, but the rest … they seem an
eager lot.”

“
They
usually are at the mention of the word
profit”

“
Do you
deny the possibility that
vast
profits exist? If nothing else, Cadiz is the warehouse for
supplies that come from the Mediterranean and Baltic. Cannon from
Italy, cordage, spars, sailcloth … even the priests who hold their
court in Seville will disembark for Lisbon through Cadiz. And if we
should stumble across another treasure ship or two…?”

“You did seem
to make that a highly likely possibility,” Dante noted dryly.

“
I merely
suggested the
San Pedro de Marcos
would not have been sailing across the Atlantic
alone.”

“I also thought
you skimmed rather lightly over the possibility of the King’s ships
fighting back. And the fact the bay can become a trap if the wind
should fail.”

“I saw no soft
spines here tonight. They are all aware of the risks.” Drake pursed
his lips and took a seemingly casual step in front of Simon Dante,
placing himself directly in the line of vision between the
privateer and Victor Bloodstone. “He said his mainmast was damaged
and his rudder too unsteady to keep the enemy engaged.”

“So I
heard.”

Drake’s eyes
turned as cold and hard as two chips of broken glass. “Is that what
you saw?”

“I was rather
preoccupied at the time.”

“I need to know
I can count on every man who sails in my wake. I need to know, if
an enemy is closing on my back, there will be guns there to defend
me.”

Dante’s
eyes lifted above Drake’s head and fastened on Bloodstone as he
took another measured sip of his brandy. “I would be inclined, in
that case, to keep the
Talon
in front of you.”

“Are you
saying—?”

“I am saying …
you should have a ship at your back you can depend upon to stay in
the battle and not run away when his holds are full and the smoke
becomes thick enough to claim convenient damages.”

Drake’s tongue
took another stroll around his mouth, removing the sudden bad taste
he had acquired. “I see. You have shown remarkable restraint,
cousin.”

“Haven’t I,
though. It must be the exalted company.”

“If you care to
lay a charge …”

“I prefer to
lay a broadside, but in my own time, Francis. In my own time.”

“To that end …
have you given thought to Captain Spence’s offer?”

Dante
looked over to where Jonas sat surrounded by a dozen privateers
quaffing ale and brandy, retelling the taking of the
San Pedro
for what was surely the tenth
time. He had offered to throw his guns in with Drake’s fleet, to
follow them to Cadiz that he might serve God and Her Most Gracious
Majesty the Queen in whatever capacity his humble talents might
allow.

“I would
suggest he has all the profit and glory he can handle at the
moment,” Dante said evenly. “He is a good man and has a stout ship
under him, but I see no benefit to having him put at risk what he
has already gained.”

Drake pursed
his lips. “He seems a proud man.”

“His pride will
recover the moment he sails into Plymouth Sound.”

“And your most
charming Black Swan? Will she recover as quickly?”

Dante
blew a soft breath between his lips. “She will have no choice. She
goes where the
Egret
goes.”

“
Nevertheless, perhaps we can soften the blow somewhat. One
of our pinnaces is leaking like a sieve. We were going to send her
home, but the captain would not hear of it. Now she can be given
the ‘task’ of acting as escort to the
Egret
, and vise versa. It would be a shame, after all, to lose
either ship to those barbarous French scoundrels who lurk out of
Biscay. I shall put it to Captain Spence directly,” he added,
“couching it in terms of a personal favor to me.”

“You put me in
your debt,” Dante said with a small bow.

“I know. And I
plan to collect upon it with interest. You have knowledge of the
harbor at Cadiz, you have knowledge of the defenses. With
Carleill’s generous permission you will also have a ship to show us
the way.”

The lieutenant,
who had taken in the entire conversation and said nothing until
now, stood a little straighter, and flushed a little darker.

“
My ship,
sir, is the
Scout
She is
small, but sturdy, and is currently being navigated by my brother,
Edward. I have discussed the matter with him and we would consider
it an honor and a privilege to relinquish command to you that you
might regard her as your own until this venture is concluded. She …
lays a spirited broadside, sir, and would be the match for any ship
that might cross your path.”

Dante studied
the young man’s tense features and wondered how much of it was an
honor and how much was a direct request by Sir Francis Drake.

Carleill
misinterpreted his hesitation and his coloring wavered again. “She
isn’t the
Virago
, I know,
but—”

“No. No,
Lieutenant, that isn’t why I find my tongue stuck to the roof of my
mouth. I am just…” Dante stopped, realizing Carleill had been put
into a position where he might be more insulted if the offer was
refused. He shook his head and smiled, extending his hand. “I am
the one who is honored, Christopher, and I accept your gracious
offer, with thanks.”

Carleill seemed
startled at the friendly use of his name, but it had the desired
effect. Some of the starch came out of his face and he shook
Dante’s hand with something akin to comradeship.

“
I have
some
Virago
men on
board the
Egret
who may be
interested in joining me.”

“Arrangements
can be made for as many as choose to follow you, sir. Have you your
own pilot?”

Dante’s breath
caught a moment. “No. No, he went down with my ship, rest his
soul.”

“I can promise
you my brother is most capable at the helm. If it is agreeable to
you, he would be … beside himself with the honor.”

“It would be
most agreeable. I thank you again.”

“Well, then.”
Drake clapped Dante on the shoulder. “If all seems to be settled to
everyone’s satisfaction, I shall wend my way to Captain Spence and
see if I cannot persuade him to do me this momentous favor. If you
will excuse me…?”

Drake
strolled over to where Jonas was holding court. Carleill lingered
long enough to discuss the
Scout
with Dante, but when a summons to go topside interrupted
them, he excused himself, leaving Dante with a promise to introduce
him properly to the ship and crew at his earliest
convenience.

Dante
leaned his shoulder on the wall and briefly watched the solid
tattoo of rain on the gallery windows. His charming little black
swan would not be thrilled at all with the notion of being
summarily dismissed, regardless whether it was couched in friendly
terms or not. An image of Beau standing on the afterdeck of
the
Egret
, her eyes
streaming from the clouds of smoke that rose from the guns, her
hands raw and bleeding, her face pale with fear, came to his mind
and he knew he would have to find his own way of softening the blow
to her pride. He meant what he had said. He wanted her safe in
England.

He wanted
someone to go home to.

The
thought surprised him and he narrowed his eyes against the glare of
the lights reflected off the panes of glass. It had been so long
since he had even thought of anywhere being home, other than the
sea. His gray-cloaked accountants kept reminding him he had several
in both England and France, but they had just been cold, gloomy
castles in his mind’s eye, full of pomp and ceremony, gilded in the
rents his tenants could not afford to pay …echoing with the
scornful laughter of his wife throwing the proof of her infidelity
in his face. Strange, but he could barely hear it now. And not at
all when Beau was with him, whether she was cursing him, fighting
with him, or warming his ear with the soft, rushed breaths of
ecstasy.

What would
Isabeau Spence make of a four-hundred-room French chateau?

The
question, and its answer, brought a smile to his lips even as he
tried to see past the smear of rain on the windows and find
the
Egret
.

~~

“The cocky
bastard,” Victor Bloodstone muttered. “He’s actually grinning at
me.”

Horace Lamprey
followed his captain’s burning gaze and saw De Tourville standing
by the gallery windows, staring into the reflections duplicated in
the many panes.

“Blast his
miserable soul to hell, why could he not have gone down with his
ship?”

“
Or
before,” Lamprey mused. “I almost had him in Vera Cruz,
would
have had him, if that damned
Cimaroon wasn’t always in his shadow.”

Bloodstone
looked around quickly to see if anyone was within earshot, but
those who weren’t discussing Cadiz were hanging off Jonas Spence’s
every word.

“
And now
he knows about the gold. He knows we landed somewhere first and
off-loaded most of the bullion before the Queen’s excise men got
their sticky fingers onto it.”

“Maybe that’s
what he’s after,” Lamprey suggested. “His share.”

“
Dante de
Tourville? He’s but a copper groat poorer than God Himself! What
does he need with more gold? No, it’s blood he’s after.
My
blood. And he’ll wait, like a
vulture, circling and grinning until he thinks the time is right to
strike.”

“Happens, then,
we should strike first,” Lamprey said with a sly grin. “’Tis a
hellish dark night outside: Sir Francis is even encouraging the
captains to have a care as they leave. A man could easily lose his
footing, kosh himself on the head, and be over the side before he
knew it. Wouldn’t even hear the scream.”

Bloodstone
looked into the flat brown eyes of his second and, after a moment
of thoughtful contemplation, nodded his compliments.

“I was thinking
of leaving, myself, in a few minutes.”

“Aye, sir. It
would be best if Sir Francis and the others see you go.”

“And best if
they don’t see you at all.”

“
Like I
said, sir. It’s hellish dark outside. Don’t imagine a man could be
seen unless he wanted to be.”

CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR

The rain fell
in sheets. Only those who held the watch or those who enjoyed a
good drenching in fresh water ventured out from under cover. All
but the closest galleons were obscured behind the heavy, steady
curtain of rain and then only the faint, watery blots of yellow
from their stern lanterns were visible through the downpour.

Beau had
retreated to her cabin. Her pistols had become wet and she had
removed them hours ago. Her sword was a nuisance, slapping her
thigh as she paced, so she had removed it as well. Her boots had
become more of a squishing aggravation than they were worth, so
when she paced, she paced barefoot.

Dante and
Spence had been gone more hours than she cared to think about.
Five, to be precise, and while she had no idea how long a council
of war took on board a ship, the longer they were away, the more
likelihood there was of trouble. Periodically, she went up on deck,
thinking she could see more clearly if she stood in the rain rather
than trying to peer through it. Twice she had encountered Geoffrey
Pitt on the foredeck, his hands raised like visors over his eyes,
his hair, clothing, body, soaked to the bone.

There was
not much wind and thankfully, no lightning. Only a sodden blanket
of clouds overhead and the hailing sound of billions of drops of
rain striking the surface of the sea, harsh and unrelenting.
Earlier, in the eerie, charged moments before the skies broke open,
the
Egret
—indeed,
all of the ships in Drake’s fleet—had had their mastheads and
yardarms bathed in the dancing, blue-white currents of Saint Elmo’s
Fire. Beau had seen the phenomenon only once before, and she stood
in awe like the others, knowing it would have been taken as a good
omen by Drake, who would undoubtedly use it to convince his
captains their mission was sanctioned by God. Some of the older
tars, she knew, regarded it as the touch of the devil, and in this
instance, with the
Talon
lurking
out in the darkness somewhere, she was not inclined to
disagree.

“You should go
below, you will catch your death!”

Beau jumped
halfway out of her skin before she recognized Pitt climbing up
behind her on the foredeck. It was the third time she had left her
cabin and the third time Pitt had greeted her with almost the same
warning. He looked half drowned himself. His yellow hair was
plastered to his forehead and his clothes clung to his skin in
dripping folds.

“It is foolish
for both of us to be out here,” he reiterated. “Can you see
anything at all.?” she asked, ignoring the comment.

He gazed out
into the blankness and shook his head. “We could be drifting into a
whale’s mouth and I wouldn’t know it.”

It wasn’t the
answer she had wanted to hear. Their own huge lanterns guttered and
flickered and sent up enough clouds of hissing steam to turn the
light opaque, but some of it glistened off the contours of her face
and showed her concern.