Voyage of Plunder (12 page)

Of course, rumors wormed their way through the crew of the
Tempest Galley
like maggots.

Gideon Fist lay aboard the
Defiance,
near death. Fist had
fought a duel, but no one knew with whom. Some said Josiah; others said the captain of the
Sweet Jamaica.
Others said it had to be Rat Eye and Pete Goe (whom I deduced to be Hairy), for they were now missing and had last been seen with Fist. Fist had likely fought a duel and killed them, everyone said, although he denied it, swearing upon his mother's grave.

I heard someone suggest that maybe it was little Daniel who had fought Fist and won; after all, Daniel
had
come back a bloody mess at the same time Fist was injured. But that suggestion received such a round of hilarity and eye wiping from the crew, Timothy included, that later it became no more than a joke told to cheer someone who was feeling out of sorts.

As for me, I did not care what they thought. In fact, it was best they did not know the truth, for I had the treasure and they did not. Later that afternoon, after Josiah had stitched my ear and after I had rested, I returned to the jungle and scratched the location of the treasure onto the underside of my crossbelt.

Someday,
I vowed,
I will return and take my treasure back to Boston, and no one will be the wiser. And, as I promised my father, I will care for Faith and her child … if they are still alive.

Three days after my fight with Fist, the monsoon winds shifted, and the
Tempest Galley,
the
Defiance,
and the
Sweet Jamaica
raised anchor. Together, under a stiff and squally southwest wind, with topsails set, the pirate fleet navigated out of the bottleneck harbor and set sail for the Red Sea.

Aboard the
Tempest Galley
we had 142 men, eleven head of cattle, eighty-nine chickens, fresh fruit and water, barrels of toke, barrels of salt horse, biscuit, and enough weaponry, gunpowder, and ammunition to blow an entire island to the moon. Apparently the pirate at Saint Mary's, the one with the log fort and cannon, dealt in all manner of merchandise, both legal and illegal,
and had sold us whatever we needed to accomplish our dirty deeds.

One day, I slid down the mizzen backstay to find Josiah staring at me oddly. His back-staff was in his hands, and he'd been taking a sighting.

“What?” I asked. “Why are you staring at me?”

He shook his head as if to clear it, merely saying, “You remind me of someone I once knew.” And back he went to his sighting, adjusting the half cross as he stood against the poop deck rail with his back to the sun.

“Who?”

I held my locket, only realizing that I clutched it when Josiah, without moving his eyes from his task, said, “What's in your locket?”

“My mother's likeness.” And for some reason I cannot explain, I opened it and showed it to him. He looked from the miniature to my face and back to the miniature, then returned to his sighting.

“She was very beautiful.”

“Aye. She died when I was young.” When he said nothing more, I snapped my locket shut. Then, hesitating only a moment, I withdrew the pistol he'd lent me and held it out to him. “Josiah—teach me to shoot.”

He set down the back-staff and took the pistol from me, turning it over in his hands, frowning. “You've fired it.”

“Aye.”

“When?”

I shrugged. “On the island. I tripped and it went off accidentally.”

He smiled as if he didn't believe me, as if he somehow knew that I was the one who had shot Fist. “Then 'tis a wonder you still
have all your bodily parts, Daniel, my boy,” he said, handing me back my pistol. “Caution is as valuable as bravery.”

“So, will you?”

He peered through the eyepiece of the back-staff once again, feet spread apart to steady himself. “Every man must know how to care for a pistol, reload it quickly, and use it in battle. If he wishes to live, that is.”

I thought of Fist attacking me with his cutlass, the glint of murder in his eyes. The next time we met, I planned to be armed to the teeth, with daggers up my sleeves, cutlass, pistols, and enough powder and lead to send him to the devil. “So, will you?”

“Of course.”

Hot days, they were. The
Sweet Jamaica
and the
Defiance
sailed in our wake, their yards of canvas filled with the steady breeze, billowing white against the sapphire blue of the Indian Ocean. Three ships filled with over four hundred men, out to make their fortunes.

At first, Caesar taught me swordsmanship as usual, while Josiah instructed me on how to use the pistol. But then one day in the middle of a drill on loading my pistol, Josiah drew his cutlass and pointed it at my throat. I felt my eyes widen, staring at him across the expanse of steel. “Always be ready, Daniel, my boy. You never know who might be waiting for an opportunity to kill you.”

From that day forward, Josiah taught me all manner of fighting. Daggers, hand to hand. Cutlasses, on a flat deck, on a heaving deck, dangling from the shrouds, two against one, three against one. Pistol with cutlass, one in each hand.
Clash, bang
— everybody watching. By the end of each session, I had long since discarded my shirt. My skin, darkened by the sun, glistened with sweat. As always, Josiah seemed unaffected, his skin still pale as
winter, his white linen shirt and knee breeches not even damp. He'd shove his pistol into his sash, saying, “Enough for today.”

One fine day, as clouds scudded across the sky like a fleet of ships, I circled Josiah with a dagger in each hand, waiting for an opening to attack. Despite the breeze, the air was as stifling as a jungle's. We'd been practicing for over an hour, and he'd already beaten me a dozen times over. Now we circled again like animals, watching, waiting, my every nerve tense and ready to spring. When Josiah glanced away, a second only, I sprang, right dagger thrusting down, left dagger sweeping up. He caught me across the neck. I didn't even see it coming. One second I was charging, the next I was on the ground, gagging, dagger at my throat.

“Surrender, Daniel.”

I took a moment to recover my wits. Then I smiled and said hoarsely, “I never surrender when my finger's on the trigger.”

Josiah looked to where my pistol, still in its sash, was pointed at his belly, my finger, indeed, on the trigger. Suddenly he barked with laughter, released his hold, and offered me a hand, helping me to my feet. “Well done, Daniel, my boy!”

Still laughing, looking pleased, he clapped me around the shoulders while I grinned with satisfaction, having bested him at last. Suddenly my grin froze rigidly and I realized what I was doing, how friendly I was becoming with the murderer of my father. Guilt slammed through me like a cannon blast and I roughly shrugged out of his grasp. His laughter ceased abruptly. I picked up my daggers from the deck and hardened my voice. “Just because I'm learning to fight doesn't mean I'm a pirate. I still despise you for what you did and will see you hang.”

Then, to my shock, Josiah's expression grew dark and he thrust his face into mine. Against my will, I took a step backward. “No one hangs Josiah Black,” he whispered between clenched teeth. “No one. Not even you, Daniel Markham. And I
will kill anyone who tries.” So saying, he sheathed his daggers and strode aft.

I suddenly became aware of everyone staring at me, the rigging slapping in the wind, the gurgle of water, the bellow of a cow 'tween decks. Sheathing my daggers as well, I sauntered to the fore companionway as if nothing were the matter and went below.

I threaded my way past cannon, past the galley oars set inboard except in light winds, around barrels, coils of rope, jumbles of canvas, chicken coops, pens filled with cattle. Rats scuttled in the darkened corners. Chickens cackled. Water sloshed against the hull. The heat made the stink almost unbearable, as if the air I breathed dripped with manure, piss, bilge-water, and mildew.

After stowing my pistol and cutlass in my sea chest, I climbed into my hammock, strung between the cattle pen and a twelve-pounder cannon, and held my locket in my hand, staring upward at the beams overhead.

I tried to visualize my father's face beneath his periwig, the spectacles perched on the end of his nose. I tried to remember how he looked whenever he took a pinch of snuff. I tried to hear his voice, pleading with me to look after Faith, telling me I was a good son. But all I saw was Josiah Black, looking pleased, laughing, his arm clapped around my shoulders.

I wanted to howl, to wail, to ridiculously beat my chest, but instead I squeezed my eyes closed, pressing back the sting of tears.

Forgive me, Father.

I felt a movement—a brush of whiskers and a wisp of foul breath. In a wild heartbeat my dagger was in my hand, the blade glinting in the semidarkness. “Who goes there?” I hissed.

“Truce! Truce! 'Tis I, Basil Higgins, the quartermaster! I come unarmed. I've only a wish to speak with ye.”

I lowered my blade and peered at him. Of all the pirates aboard, Basil was one I believed I could trust. It was his duty as quartermaster to act as mediator between captain and crew, to be sure power and greed didn't go to anyone's head, most especially the captain's. It was his task to oversee and divide the booty to manage provisions and supplies, to see that all was fair. Like the captain, he was elected by the men. “What is it?”

“Well, Daniel, I don't quite know how to say this—but what I mean is … well, I think that you're a good boy.” He ran a hand over his whiskers, his voice as deep and raspy as always. “I remembers when ye was a little lad sitting on my lap, and I thought to myself, now there's a good boy. A real good boy. Anyway, what I come to talk to ye about is, well…” Basil coughed and cleared his throat. “Well, a rather delicate matter.”

“Delicate?” I didn't know pirates knew such words.

“You see, Daniel, Captain Black, he's a sensitive man.”

I choked back a laugh.

“Don't get me wrong, he's ruthless too. Aye, very ruthless. I've seen him toss a fellow overboard because he was wasting air and had bad breath besides. I've seen him torture a merchant captain till he cried like a baby and told him where his wife and all the treasure was hid. So what I'm trying to say is, for you to be embarrassing him in front of his crew likely don't sit too good with his constitution, him being sensitive and ruthless. Are you getting my drift, lad?”

I thrust out my jaw, tears stinging my eyes once again. “I'll avenge my father if I choose. Any man aboard this ship would do the same. If he's even half a man, that is.”

“Now, that may well be, but I'm warning you. Don't be too hasty with your judgments.”

“What do you mean?”

“All I can say is, there's things in Josiah's past that you don't know nothing about.”

“His past?” I asked, strangely curious.

But Basil pulled away, leaving my hammock swinging, his one massive eyebrow scrunching in the middle. “I've already said too much. I've crossed me bounds, I have, but 'tis my job as the keeper of the peace to sometimes cross the boundaries, and I hope you'll forgive me. You and Josiah both.” And then he was gone.

he weather continued pleasant, and we made good speed toward the Red Sea.

Each night, scores of flying fish landed aboard and flapped about in the scuppers until Abe collected them in his bucket. Oft-times I helped him clean the fish and fry them in oil, my appetite growing with the smell of fresh fish drifting through the ship as the sun rose and the men began to stir.

Despite my desire to believe otherwise, I had learned long ago that what had appeared to be a ship of chaos, filled with men too lazy to lift more than a bottle of rum, was in actual fact a well-run alliance. Unlike a merchant crew with maybe fifteen to twenty-five men who worked four hours on and four hours off day in and day out, a pirate crew of 150 men shared the burden of
work so that at any one time the vast majority of men were indeed lounging about and shooting the breeze.

Like the others, I was required to work no more than four hours per day but often chose to work more. Whenever I worked, I pretended that this was a merchant ship or a navy ship, that I was an able-bodied seaman, and that life was somehow normal again. Or I pretended that I was Daniel Markham, gentleman adventurer and seeker of revenge, which I was, of course, battling every villain who ever lived.