The Pirate's Revenge (4 page)

‘Funnily enough,' he went on, ‘I now find myself doubting whether even I know the real truth.'

I looked up, startled. ‘What do you mean?'

‘For many years, I have believed your father was dead. He was a great friend. His death was a cause of tremendous grief to me, and to my wife, of course. Many's the time we have cursed the name of the man who murdered him. And yet …'

‘And yet?' I asked gruffly.

‘Now I'm not so sure.'

I blinked, trying to understand. ‘You think he's still alive?'

‘I have my suspicions. More than that I cannot say.'

Exasperation got the better of me. ‘What do you mean?' I cried.

‘Please, Miss Swann, believe me, if I knew anything for certain I would tell you.'

‘Tell me what you know.' I was trying to be patient, but it wasn't working.

He calmly tapped his pipe into a bowl. ‘All I know is this: last week I got a letter from someone who knew me very well, telling me to be on guard against certain acquaintances of mine, and warning me of a French army advance in this area. On both counts, the letter proved to be correct. French officers have installed themselves in Verdala Palace, just up the road, although luckily they are too lazy to stir from their beds.'

‘You think the letter was from my father?'

‘It was unsigned. I can't even tell you why I felt — we both felt — that it was from Rafe. It was no more than a feeling.'

I stood up, pushing the chair back from the table. ‘Show me the letter.'

‘Still a woman of action, I see.' He stared out the window. ‘I'm afraid to say I burned the letter, in case it fell into the wrong hands. When I heard you were coming back to visit us, I cursed myself for it, but the thing is done now. I'm sorry.'

‘It was only the faintest glimmer of hope, Lily,' Mrs Black had appeared in the doorway. ‘But it is hope, after all.'

There was nothing that felt even vaguely like hope inside me now. I had dreaded this moment, but inside I had believed that on this day my life would change; on this day I would learn the truth. But there was no truth, only more myth and suspicion.

I glared at them both: Mrs Black standing with her white hand on her husband's shoulder; Black still gazing out of the window at the sea.

‘Why are you telling me this?' I whispered. ‘What does it matter to you?'

She took a few steps towards me, but I moved away from her, my back against the wall.

‘Lily, have you no idea?' She was seeking out my face with her eyes, somehow looking right inside me.

‘What are you on about?' I said, my voice cracking with the effort of keeping my tears inside my head.

‘Your father, Rafe Swann,' said Mrs Black. ‘He is my brother.'

I didn't cry until much later, in the safety of my cabin, in the familiar comforting sway of my hammock.

I didn't cry when I took leave of this new family of mine, when my aunt Lily bade me farewell and assured me she would get word of our meeting, somehow, to my mother. I didn't cry on the boat's final journey back to the ship, even though my young cousins were lined up on the beach waving goodbye, nor did I look back as the
Mermaid
tacked out of the cove and out to sea.

But as the long twilight wore on, and I grew tired after all my chores, my heart seemed to feel heavier and sadder by the moment. I set the course for our rendezvous with
Corfu
and sneaked below before sunset.

I unpacked the gift Ebenezer Black had handed me as I leaped into the boat: wrapped in brown paper were the missing volumes of
The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire
I hadn't managed to steal on my last visit. Then I did the same things I did every other night: tidied the charts, noted our position in the logbook, and put away my navigator's instruments.
I unsheathed my sword and held it up in the candlelight to admire its fine lines and sharp edge. I washed my face and scrubbed my filthy hands. I tried to read a chapter of a book, but this was not every other night and my mind would not be still.

My father might still be alive — not just alive, but close by. Close enough to find. My aunt and uncle would help me find him. My aunt. I'd never known she existed until today, and yet there she was, with the same name as me, and with curly-haired children who looked like Lucas. My aunt had held my hand and wished me a safe journey.

I fell asleep thinking of us all living together in the house on the cliff: Lucas, Mama, the Blacks, and a strange man who laughed like my father.

I woke in tears. I had been dreaming, but of what I couldn't say, and went about my morning chores as listlessly as I had the evening before. Max called out a sail on the horizon, but I paid it no mind. We were nowhere near the spot we expected to meet
Corfu
, and we were not interested in meeting anyone else. I grubbed the last of the potatoes from the bottom of the crate, and set a pot on the fireplace to start up some soup for later in the day. It would have to be what my mother called ‘best soup': take the scraps of whatever was left in the store, mix it all in together with a handful of barley, and hope for the best.

When the pot was boiling nicely and the fire was dying low, I came up on deck to get away from the heat. The boys were supposed to be fishing for dinner, but instead they were all standing silently in the bows, looking out to sea. I followed their
gaze. The sail was no longer on the horizon, but was bearing down fast: a huge ship, with tall masts and gold paintwork that glinted in the morning sun. We'd slowed almost to a halt to let her catch up with us.

I looked urgently from face to face. The boys had all given up.

Jem caught my glance. ‘There's no point trying to outrun her, Cyg. They'd catch us by nightfall, and it'd be all the worse for us when they did. He'd never give up.'

It was true enough, but still my heart sank into my guts.
Gisella
and her captain, El Capitán de Diablo, were gaining on us every moment.

‘He's still alive,' I said, mournfully.

‘Aye,' said Miller, ‘more's the pity — and as far as he's concerned, he's still our captain, and we're sailing about in his prize.'

‘Think fast,' said Jem. ‘What are we going to tell him?'

‘Whatever it is, we'd better all tell the same tale or he'll see us roasted in hell,' said Miller.

‘We'll tell the truth,' I said firmly.

‘Don't be silly, lass,' Brasher retorted. ‘Capt'n Diablo won't take kindly to us going off on our own.'

‘We never did, Brasher,' I said.

‘Listen, lads,' I raised my voice so everyone could hear. ‘There's no need to be afraid. We've done what had to be done — we've done Hussein Reis's bidding, we've seized a cargo and sold it on, we've fled the French. That's all. No need to spin tales. If anyone asks, you can tell 'em what we did since they
saw us last. Just don't tell 'em what else we might have done if we'd had the chance.'

A few of the boys chuckled.

‘Just play it easy, and all will be well,' I assured them. ‘Whatever we've done, you can be sure Diablo's done worse, so pay him no mind.'

We were not easy, any of us, but as
Gisella
drew closer we made a great fuss of shouting and waving and sounding like we'd found long-lost friends. We got a boat ready, and as soon as the brigantine was within hailing distance, Jem and Miller clambered aboard to go and meet our captain. I jumped in too.

‘Where the hell are you going?' said Jem.

‘I want to say hello to Cookie,' I said.

‘Nobody goes aboard
Gisella
of their own free will.'

‘No need to tell me that,' I teased. ‘Last time I was trussed up like a suckling pig and bashed across the head. I'm hoping this time I might be welcomed with open arms.'

‘Not bloomin' likely,' he snorted.

‘It's her funeral,' said Max, as he cast us off.

I had second thoughts as we sculled across the open water between the two ships. I did want to see Cookie, but I also wanted to make sure Jem and Milly didn't get so flustered they forgot what they were supposed to say.

El Capitán de Diablo could fluster the most calm of men. Not Hussein, of course. But everyone else fell into a flap at the very sight of those nasty black eyes and curling lips. He didn't have that effect on me — I just wanted to hit him where it would hurt
the most. But today I'd keep my mouth shut unless things got completely out of hand.

Jem must have read my mind. ‘Don't you start thinking you're having any truck with the captain,' he warned. ‘He gets furious just at the thought of you.'

‘It's mutual,' I muttered, as we grabbed the line and hauled ourselves up onto the deck of the dreaded
Gisella
, where Diablo waited, surrounded by his vile-looking crew.

‘Greetings, Captain,' said Jem. ‘We weren't expecting to find you back in these waters so soon.'

Diablo was silent, glaring.

‘We've took another prize since we seen you last,' Jem went on. ‘Just a trader, but we're expecting to meet her again any day now.'

Miller stepped forward. ‘We only made a few pounds on the cargo, but the ship's worth a bit.'

Diablo's eyes narrowed. ‘How much?'

‘Fifteen.' Miller threw him the pouch that Black had given us. We had decided to sacrifice most of the silver in the hope of getting away for good. It worked. Diablo nodded and tied the pouch to his belt.

‘But you should not be in these waters at all,' he said. ‘I ordered you to Valletta to sell that little ship, and yet I find you still here, in the same ship, with no prize money.'

Jem cleared his throat. ‘The French took Valletta, so we scarpered.'

‘There were hundreds of ships — never seen the like,' said Miller. ‘It seemed the only sensible thing to do. Hussein was there — he'll tell you the same.'

‘There's real money to be made here, Captain,' said Jem. ‘The French are holed up in Malta, trying to starve out any resistance. Get past 'em, and you could be the richest smuggler for leagues around.'

Diablo smiled. ‘I already am.'

He slapped his belt.

‘So we have a fleet of three ships now,' he crowed. ‘Better. Much better. Although I see you still have that loud-mouthed child hanging about. Well, we may find a use for her yet.'

I stayed as calm as I could. Diablo simply snorted at us.

‘McGuire, I'll see you in my cabin. Keep those men of yours off
Gisella
. I don't want them making any trouble.'

‘Aye, sir.' Jem followed him down below. I waited a few moments and then followed quietly, down the ladder to the steamy dark niche that had been my home for so many weeks.

I was greeted by the familiar ruckus of Cookie banging pots around the galley and muttering to himself. ‘Sausages. What fool wants sausages in this heat? What does he think I am? A tavern-keeper?'

I called out a hello, and heard the gasp and clatter as Cookie realised who it was and dropped everything to rush towards me. He picked me up until my feet were hanging above the floor, and squeezed me tight. He smelled, as always, of butter and beer.

‘Dear girl,' he said. ‘I knew we'd meet again. Didn't I tell you so?'

At last he put me down. ‘Let me look at you.'

We stared at each other, grinning. He seemed thinner, tired, worn out. I never would have expected that.

‘My, my,' he was murmuring. ‘You look different. You've grown, sure enough. Those trousers are way up around your knees now.'

He looked closer. ‘But it's not just that, is it?'

‘No,' I said. ‘It's not.' He knew me so well.

‘Come sit beside me,' he said, settling himself on a bench. ‘Dinner can wait. Things have changed, I can see that. You'd best tell me everything.'

As I told him all about the adventures of the
Mermaid
and her crew, he made those soothing, clucking noises that were as familiar to me now as the way Jem coughed when he was nervous, or how my mother pushed her hair off her face in the summer heat. I realised, as we sat side by side in that stuffy galley, that I had missed Cookie almost as much as family.

He took my hand and held it fast and I wished with all my heart that we could sail away together, home on the
Mermaid
. But I didn't say so, more's the pity, because I thought he'd never leave
Gisella
while he could still sail the seas.

Eventually my story spluttered to an end. I hadn't told him everything — not quite. He stared at me so intensely that I wriggled.

‘Where've you been?' I asked.

‘Where haven't we been?' he sighed. ‘All over and round and round. Algiers, Valencia, then back to Algiers.'

‘What on earth for?'

‘Nobody knows, missy, except Diablo, and I for one ain't asking.' Cookie peered about as if someone might be listening. ‘We've got a strange old cargo aboard, and no mistake, but what he's planning, I couldn't say.'

‘You told me once you didn't care what Diablo did,' I said.

‘Once that was true,' he replied. ‘But what he's meddling in now ain't at all the same thing.'

His voice dropped to a whisper.

‘Promise me this: if you see Hussein in your travels, tell him what I said. Tell him where we've been. He'll work out the rest.'

Someone called down the companion-way. ‘Cook!' Footsteps sounded on the ladder.

‘I will,' I whispered. ‘I'll see him soon and I'll tell him.'

An unfamiliar man stomped through the doorway. ‘Hey, Cook,' he snapped. ‘Bosun wants to know what's for pudding.'

‘Does he just?' said Cookie, standing up straight in the tiny mess room. I thought he was going to boil his beans, but instead he said sweetly, ‘Lemon pudding, it is tonight, since I have an assistant to help me with it.'

He turned to me. ‘You know where I stash the lemons. Go fetch me half a dozen and quick about it.'

‘But —' I spluttered.

‘No complaining from you, miss. I've had enough of your cheek. Get down into that hold and do what you're told, for a change.'

I stood another long moment staring at him, astonished, until the man in the doorway thumped back up the ladder, calling out, ‘It's lemon pudding!'

Cookie threw me a wink.

‘Right, best go get those lemons for you,' I said loudly, and trotted off down the passageway, careful to dodge down the midship ladder before I got anywhere near Diablo's cabin.

The dark hold smelled as disgusting as ever. I crept towards Cookie's storeroom with my hands out before me in the dark so I didn't walk into anything. A patch of sunlight fell square ahead, struggling down through the deck hatch. As I got closer to the light, my eyes adjusted and I could see why Cookie had sent me down here. He didn't give a damn about the lemons.

Piled up as high as my shoulders, all along the narrow walkway, were guns.

There were dozens, perhaps hundreds: muskets stacked like sheafs of wheat; fat bronze carronades with fine muzzles of deadly accuracy; great cannon as big as lions; crate upon crate of cannonballs and shot; pistols hanging in buckets above my head; and, stacked at the far end, barrels of gunpowder. Somehow Diablo had added many more to the few sure-fire muskets he'd stolen from Santa Lucia. He had his own private arsenal.

I tried to count but soon gave up. Enough to start a war, I decided, and that was the crux of it.

There was a splatter of bare feet on the ladder. I rushed to the storeroom and grabbed some lemons and a pat of soft butter.

‘Who's there?' someone shouted.

‘Just me,' I answered brightly, ‘fetching the makings of your supper.'

A strange face scowled at me in the gloom. ‘Who in hell are you?' he snarled. ‘Nobody's allowed down here.'

‘Cook's hand from the
Mermaid
,' I said. ‘We're planning a special treat for you this evening.' I held up a handful of lemons.

‘Get along out of it,' he said, raising one fist to strike me.

I ducked, dodged around him, and raced back towards the safety of the galley. ‘Can't hit me, or there'll be no pudding for you tonight,' I called back over my shoulder.

Cookie was waiting impatiently. ‘Did anyone see you?'

‘Manners haven't improved much around here,' I grumbled.

‘They've got worse, much worse,' he said. ‘It's a new crew we took on in Valencia. Nasty net of pilchards they are, too.'

Cookie was returning to his normal self, waving one floury hand as he spoke, and banging pots for extra emphasis. ‘Now I have to make 'em a bleedin' lemon pudding. Me and my fool-headed ideas.'