Pirate Wolf Trilogy (79 page)

Varian looked
down at his glass, surprised to see it was empty. “Please.”

After the men
replenished their drinks, Dante tipped his head by way of inviting
Varian over to the topographical table. He took a taper from the
mantel and lit it off one of the candles on the desk, then touched
the flame to the multi-tined candelabra mounted on each corner of
the table. The candles there were framed by curved sheets of
polished metal, which focussed all of the light down onto the
tabletop. The effect threw shadows behind the mountain ranges and
gave an even more realistic sense of depth to the islands and
channels.

Pitt,
meanwhile, had reached under the table and produced a handful of
small, carved replicas of galleons. He started placing ships in
ports located all around the table, naming them off as he went,
setting particularly heavy clusters at the two main ports of Vera
Cruz and Nombre de Dios.

“Some time over
the next four weeks, all of these ships will be leaving port—” he
pointed across the table— “and making for Havana.”

Varian watched
with interest as Pitt and Dante began moving the carved ships out
into the open water of the gulf, aiming them by squadrons in the
direction of Havana. At one point he saw another movement out of
the corner of his eye and glanced over at the door in time to see
Juliet slip inside the room. She did not approach the brightly lit
table, but remained back in the shadows and stood with her
shoulders leaning against the wall.

“The Dutch like
to hunt here,” Pitt said, placing a ship that had been painted
green off the islands marked Little Antilles. A blue ship denoting
French privateers was positioned west of the Caribbee Isles and a
third ship, painted red, was tucked into the Baja Mas Islands. “The
French are determined to take possession of the southern Caribbee,
so they concentrate their efforts there, whereas the English favor
the Straits of Florida, where the galleons catch the gulf currents
and begin their run out to the Atlantic. As long as we all have one
common, rich enemy—the Spanish—there is a certain degree of polite
civility between the various nationalities. This is not to say that
a Dutchman would not blast a Frenchman out of the water if the
opportunity presented itself, but as a general rule, we exchange
information when it is to our mutual advantage to do so.”

“
For
instance, if our brethren to the south and west were to be told
about the increased numbers of treasure ships bound for Havana,”
Dante said, “they would happily embark on a feeding frenzy of their
own. If they are even modestly successful, word of the attacks will
spread through the rest of the fleet and rattle the
almirante’s
composure before his ships even
leave port.”

“The Spanish
are predictable in another way.” Pitt was still maneuvering his
vessels toward the port of Havana, lining them up in an orderly
procession facing north. “They like to place their most formidable
warships out in front, scattering galleons of a lesser size and
firepower down each flank, then bringing up the rear with more
heavy ships. The treasure ships are here,” he pointed, “in the
middle. A fleet this size will take at least two days to clear the
port. Because of prevailing winds and currents at this time of
year, it will become strung out over twenty leagues or more until
the rear guard, acting like dogs herding sheep, can bring all the
stragglers up into formation. Once the fleet achieves that final
formation, they are nearly impregnable which is why, once they are
out in the open water of the Atlantic, only a fool with a death
wish would attempt an attack. But here—” he touched a long, tapered
finger on the port of Havana and traced it along the passage that
ran between the eastern coast of Florida and the Baja Mas Islands.
“Here, in the Straits, is where they are the most vulnerable, for
there are hundreds of low, sandy cays to hide behind. The strongest
currents run through this area and few ships of any size are able
to put about once they are committed. All an enterprising captain
need do is lie in wait until a comely bitch passes by, then come up
fast and attack from behind.”

“You make it
sound easy.”

“Do I? If I
have given you that impression, pray strike it instantly from your
mind. The conditions in the Strait are the same for the predator as
for the prey, and while I grant you our ships are lighter and
faster and have the distinct advantage in maneuverability, they do
not turn on a nod. If we miss on the first pass, it could take an
hour or more to regain the weather gauge and by then, the element
of surprise is gone and the galleon’s guns are primed and
waiting.”

“If we were to
succeed, however,” Dante said, “we would stand a damned good chance
of breaking up the convoy, of driving some of the ships into taking
cover behind the islands where they would sail right into the
waiting hands and guns of our fellow brethren.”

Once
again Varian was struck by the penetrating intensity of the silver
eyes. It was the same look he had seen in Juliet’s eyes on the deck
of the
Santo
Domingo
when she had
been fighting the Spaniards, and it was the same intoxicating power
he had seen in her eyes when they had climbed the summit and she
had spread her arms wide to catch the wind.

Beyond this
place there be dragons.

The whispered
echo of Juliet’s words came to him with a shiver of understanding.
The ancient mapmakers had known more than they suspected, for he
had indeed arrived at the edge of the world he knew and understood.
Beyond this room, beyond the boundaries of this island paradise
there were dragons waiting, too numerous to even begin to count.
The next step he took would decide his course. To go forward was to
step over the edge of the horizon and risk whatever perils lay
waiting there. To step back was to retreat to where things were
rational, orderly, and safe and where risks were only taken by
others more suited to the task. It was his decision to make and he
knew that once he was caught up in the current, there would be no
turning back.

Varian looked
from Simon Dante to Geoffrey Pitt to the silent, watchful figure
standing in the shadows. The tightness in his chest grew until he
was almost light-headed from the pressure and without even glancing
down to see how steep a drop it was, he felt himself starting to
pitch forward over the edge of the cliff.

CHAPTER
SIXTEEN

“Run out the
guns, Mr. Crisp. We’ll fire three rounds with an extra ration of
rum for the quickest crew.”

“
Aye
Captain.” A grin put Nathan at the rail looking down over the waist
of the ship. The men had anticipated the order and had their faces
tilted expectantly up toward the quarterdeck. They had cleared the
jagged teeth of the coral reef and would have to pile on sail to
catch up to the five regal pyramids of canvas ahead of them, but
there could be nothing left to chance on this voyage. After sitting
in port for eight days, Juliet wanted all the guns to be fired,
swabbed, and packed with fresh loads. There was nothing more
damning than a cannon that had sat unused in the tropical heat and
dampness. Despite wax plugs, moisture from rain and dew could have
seeped into the touch holes and degraded the powder, making it
merely pop and fizzle when a match was applied. Her father and
brothers had taken similar precautions, as had Geoffrey Pitt, who
had brought his sleek
Christiana
out for her maiden voyage.

Lucifer
had been placed in command of the
Santo Domingo
, the crew once again supplemented by Lieutenant
Beck and his Englishmen. In truth, if not for Beck presenting
himself before her with a smart salute and an offer to help sail
the galleon, she was not sure the
Domingo
would have left Pigeon Cay. Beck had admitted that
the idea was not his. It was Varian St. Clare who had approached
him, advised him of the situation they were in regarding Spain’s
intentions to amass another invasion fleet, and left it to Beck’s
conscience as to whether he wanted to take a fast ship home with
the news or stay and fight.

Beacom, faced
with a similar choice, stood pale and withering beside Varian, his
hands clapped over his ears as the orders were relayed to open the
ports and make ready to roll out the heavy guns.

On Nathan’s
command, the gunners opened the ports, knocked out the wedges that
blocked the wheels of the gun carriages, and heaved on the
breeching tackle. The eight twenty-four-pounder demi-culverins on
the main deck were run out as were the twelve thirty-two-pounder
culverins on the lower deck. The chief gunner for the starboard
battery walked quickly down the line checking the lay of the guns
and the readiness of the men, passing out glowing linstocks to each
crew as he passed. The chief gunner for the larboard side did the
same, pausing once to kick the backside of a man who had allowed
one of the cables to go slack.

“Larboard
ready!”

“Starboard
ready!”

“Three rounds
hot, gentlemen. Fire at will.”

The words were
not out of Nathan’s mouth when the roar from twenty exploding guns
swept along both decks. The sound travelled through the planking
and trembled up the masts. It was followed by clouds of dense white
smoke that boiled from the snouts of the guns and brought the harsh
stink of sulphur and cordite creaming back over the decks.

Taking
advantage of the recoil, the crews heaved on the tackling lines
again, hauling the beasts inboard. While one man swabbed the barrel
with a sponge and water, another stood waiting with a charge of
powder and a ladle. A third was ready with the rammer and cloth
wadding, a fourth with a ball of cast iron shot. Another pricked
the powder charge through the touch hole and added a measure of
fine ignition powder from a horn. When the crew was clear, the gun
was run out again and the glowing end of the linstock applied to
the primer.

Juliet was
justifiably proud of her crew. They could fire two rounds in under
three minutes. Each man knew how to lay a charge so that if any one
man fell in action, another could step up and sight the gun, adjust
the elevation wedges and training tackle, load and fire. That was
something her father insisted upon after witnessing the confusion
caused in battle when the lack of knowledge and training resulted
in guns falling silent.

The three
rounds were fired and ended in a draw between four crews. Juliet
happily allowed full measures of rum for all then ordered fresh
charges loaded and the guns secured from the ports. Men were sent
into the tops to add more canvas and within the hour, they had
closed the gap between the
Iron Rose
and her brothers' ships, the
Valor
and the
Tribute
to a few
hundred yards. It looked strange to see the Spanish galleon sailing
in their midst but Juliet was pleased to see that the changes Nog
had made on board had increased her speed considerably. She could
keep apace at a steady eight knots and as long as the wind did not
take a drastic shift in direction, the new sails and rigging would
allow for better maneuverability. More than twenty carpenters had
swarmed over her from stem to stern, sawing away unnecessary
bulkheads, stripping the fancy panelling from her cabins, banging
away the cabins themselves. They had cannibalised the two castles
fore and aft so that from a distance she gave the silhouette of a
top-heavy galleon, but up close it was a mere shell with catwalks
built around the upper bulwarks to give the impression of a full
deck. The renovations were continuing while she was under sail, for
hardly a league passed where there was not discarded sheets of
planking floating in her wake.

A sharp clash
of metal brought Juliet's attention back to the main deck. She
moved slowly to the rail, knowing what she would see before she got
there. Simon Dante may have used his powers of persuasion to coax
the Duke of Harrow into accompanying them to New Providence, but he
had also informed her that Varian St. Clare was still her
responsibility.

It had been
Nathan’s suggestion that they assign him something to do on board
and overseeing the daily practise with swords and pistols seemed a
likely choice. He hadn’t balked at the notion, and by the way he
slashed through the first five men who ventured into the fighting
circle, he looked like he had been craving the exercise.

After
leaving the chart room that evening, Juliet had returned to
the
Iron
Rose
. She had spent
nearly every day and night since then on board, supervising the
repairs here and on the
Santo
Domingo
. She had kept herself too busy to think about Varian St.
Clare, had barely said more than two words to him in passing and
had made a point never to be alone with him at any time.

It was not that
she feared what would happen. She had no doubt they would come
together like two oiled snakes given half the opportunity. It was
more a matter of proving to herself that she had the willpower to
stay away, that she could remain detached and observe him from the
rail of the quarterdeck just as she observed every other member of
her crew—with an impartial, critical eye.

Each of the
first two opponents who faced him managed a half dozen strokes
before a twist of St Clare’s wrist sent their blades spinning out
of their hands. The third made but one clumsy lunge before he was
sprawling, red-faced on the deck, a ducal foot planted solidly on
his backside. The fourth and fifth lasted slightly longer but they
were clearly no match for St. Clare’s expertise and again, their
blades fell victim to the slight twist and spiral that saw their
weapons somersaulting over their heads.