Burning Bright (44 page)

In which there are more pirates

linor had never seen a blacker night. High clouds covered the sky, promising no rain, which was just as well since she was not certain she could maintain a large fire during a downpour. All
Athena
’s lights were extinguished, and with the warm dampness of the Caribbean night, Elinor felt as if she were wrapped in damp, black wool, her fingers on the larboard rail the only things reminding her that she stood on a ship’s deck, straining her eyes for the signal.

Athena’
s normal sounds of creaking rope and chuffing sail seemed muffled, as if she knew she were sneaking up on an enemy that could turn her into so many splinters and scraps of canvas. Elinor shuddered at the thought of proud
Athena
destroyed, her crew scattered across the grey waves—she put the image far from her. It was inviting bad luck to think such thoughts, and she clenched the rail and pictured instead stone boxes filled with fire and screaming pirates.

She still had not seen the emplacements; it had been full night when they came around the eastern end of Tortuga and doused all their lights for their run at the pirate stronghold. How the ships managed to keep track of one another in the darkness was a mystery to her, but Ramsay and Horace seemed not at all concerned about a collision, so she laid her worries aside.

She was beginning to think she would see the emplacements only after their cannons had begun firing, those little flashes of light marking their location, and then she would…she still had not decided on a strategy. Fireballs seemed haphazard, if the emplacement looked as Ramsay had described in a hasty sketch not nearly as good as the ones the Seers had produced—a slit no taller than that of a gun port, with cannons ranged inside, probably iron cannons she was incapable of melting. She would be blind, effectively, unable to see the pirates manning the cannons inside, but it was what Admiral Durrant wanted, and she was under orders. Privately, she had made up her mind to burn the ships if she possibly could.

A breeze had risen, unusually chilly in the darkness, and she shivered and wished she had a shawl or a spencer or something a civilized woman no doubt would never be without. She could not light a fire without giving their position away to the enemy. Unless Evans already knew their position—this was the true obstacle, not knowing what Evans knew.

The hasty alterations did distort the ships’ beautiful lines; whether those changes would be enough to defeat the pirate’s Sight, no one could guess. The Admiralty Seers had confirmed that there were now five pirate ships in the harbor and that there had been no unusual activity all day, but suppose this was part of Evans’ plan?

Elinor smelled wood smoke and snatched her hands away from the rail before it could ignite, hoped her briefly burning hands had not made them a target. She had made such progress with controlling her fire, with not setting herself alight unconsciously, but it seemed her control was not yet perfect, and that frustrated her. Suppose she were actually in contact with someone when she caught fire? When this was all over, she would have to practice more diligently.

When this was all over
. Suppose they did manage to kill Evans and some or all of his captains—what then? Would the Navy still have need of her? Napoleon had yet to be defeated, and surely the Navy would have a hand in that. Elinor rubbed her goose-pimply arms and breathed in the calming, muggy salt air. She didn’t want to think about it. She would
have
to think about it, soon, because she needed to have a plan for when the war was over. She couldn’t go back to her family because even Selina wouldn’t want her, and there was nothing for an Extraordinary Scorcher to do in peacetime, except…no, there was nothing—

“It’s going to be another ten minutes before we can hope to see the signal,” Ramsay said. “You should go below, where it’s warmer.”

“I prefer not to stumble about the cabin in the dark, Captain,” she said, but she already felt warmer just having him nearby. “And this is so peaceful, this quiet time. It is hard to believe in war, and death, on a night like this.”

“I know what you mean. When I was much younger I used to climb the rigging to the royal truck—all the way to the top—and weave my feet and hands through the ropes and sway with the ship. Then there was the Flying—it’s dangerous, Flying at night like this, which is probably why I enjoyed it so much.”

“I do not commonly think of you as reckless.”

“I was, as a youth. Then it wasn’t fun anymore, somehow.”

Elinor shifted position and looked up at Ramsay, a dark silhouette next to her. “May I ask how old you are, Captain?”

“Thirty. I feel older, sometimes, since I’ve held this rank since I was one-and-twenty. I was probably too young for it, and I can’t imagine there weren’t others more deserving of making post, but try telling that to an Admiralty that likes rewarding its Extraordinaries beyond what they deserve.”

“I cannot imagine you were not deserving of the rank.”

He chuckled. “Let’s say I grew into it.”

“I would say I wish I had known you at twenty-one, but I’m afraid you would have found we had little in common, as I was still in the schoolroom.”

“Now I’m having the devil of a time not asking
your
age.”

Elinor laughed, quietly. “I turned twenty-two seven days ago. The day of my rescue, in fact.”

“I see. Yes, we would have had little in common. How fortunate for both of us that we met now and not nine years ago.”

His voice sounded strange in the murky darkness. Elinor was momentarily confused by the lack of light, uncertain where she stood or where Ramsay was in relation to her. She put her hand out to grasp the rail and found his warm, solid hand instead. “I beg your pardon,” she said, and slid her hand away, feeling an unaccountable reluctance to let him go.

“Admiral Durrant has asked us to hold back,” Ramsay said, his voice still echoing strangely, “to allow you a better line of sight on the emplacement. Though between the two of us, I’d wager he doesn’t want
Athena
to come up covered in glory again.”

“Has there been any word of Captain Crawford?”

“Nothing that I’ve heard, and I honestly don’t want to know. Did you see a light?”

Elinor strained her eyes into the blackness. The Admiral had sent a longboat ahead of the ships to anchor near the mouth of the harbor and light a shielded lantern to mark where they should make their turn. “I see nothing, Captain.”

“I’ve been staring out into nothing for so long I’m seeing sparks. Unless those are real.”

“No.”

He sighed, and Elinor felt him lean on the rail beside her. “I don’t like waiting,” he said. “Never have. When there’s something you want to do, and you can’t because it has to happen at the right time or everything will be ruined…and yet you’re ready, inside, to do or say whatever it is…am I making sense? Because I think I may be spouting madness.”

“I understand you perfectly, Captain. Though I cannot say I have ever had difficulty in waiting for things.”

“Then you’re far more patient than I.”

“I have had very little control over my life until recently. It is hardly patience when you simply cannot have the things you want.”

“And what do you want?” The strange echo was back, some effect of the night air, and in her memory she heard her sister asking a similar question some three months earlier. She was confused, again, and were it not for the movement of
Athena’
s deck she might have thought herself standing alone with Ramsay on some hilltop, surrounded by a starless sky. She shivered, but not from cold.

“I thought I wanted freedom,” she said, “but now I have it and I am still…I am not dissatisfied, Captain, you must never think I do not want to be here, but I feel as if there is something I would want if only I knew what it was.”

“I understand you, though I can’t say I’ve ever had that problem.”

“You are always certain of what you want?”

“Always,” Ramsay said. He shifted his grip on the rail and the edge of his hand pressed against hers. “Though knowing what I want doesn’t always mean getting what I want, unfortunately.”

The words
And what is it you want, Captain?
were about to pass Elinor’s lips when a tiny gleam caught her eye.
She reached out and gripped Ramsay’s arm. “I see a light.”

“Where?”

“There—oh, how foolish of me, I’m pointing—” She reached up to his shadowy face and took hold of his chin, then turned it until she was sure it was aligned with hers. He reached up and took her fingers away, squeezed her hand gently, and released her.

“I see it. Thank you.” Then he was gone, and she could still feel the pressure of his hand on hers, the warmth he left behind in contrast to her chilled arms and face. She looked out at the light, then up the cliff side, trying to imagine where the Marines were creeping along toward the unsuspecting emplacement. The Marines’ Speaker was in communication with the one on Durrant’s flagship,
Breton
, to let them know when the emplacement was secure, and then Durrant’s Speaker would send the message to all the ships, and then the fighting, and the dying, would begin.

She heard the cry of a seabird, far to larboard, a long dying
caaaaaw
followed by faint hooting sounds—an owl? Impossible. Though the land was on the larboard side, and who knew what birds might live on Tortuga…

…on the solid rocks where even trees did not grow…

…and the night blossomed with fire arching high above, and before Elinor extinguished the eight burning orbs that fell toward their fleet she saw three vessels sailing around the western side of the enormous harbor, coming about to aim their cannons at the incoming Navy ships, and another two, no more than dim shapes, coming up fast from the harbor’s mouth.

Suddenly the air was filled with the thunder of cannon fire that seemed to come from everywhere at once. Elinor saw flashes of fire in the cliff side, high above, then heard the whistling scream of cannonballs hurtling at them. Most flew past harmlessly, but a few struck their targets, and to the deafening booms of the cannons and the shriek of the flying cannonballs were added the screams of dying men.

She was too stunned to respond. Another arc of fireballs flew toward them, this one aimed at the ships nearest the harbor, and she extinguished them reflexively, unable to remember what she was supposed to do.
The emplacement. What an idiotic strategy
. The emplacement that was to be her target was silent, unable to fire because Evans’ own ships were in the way. She looked up the eastern cliff toward the flashes that marked the position of the enemy cannons. The Marines had failed, for whatever reason, and now those cannons were turning the Navy ships into scrap wood.

Fires erupted on the decks of the most distant ships,
Breton
and
Chariot
. Elinor absently extinguished them as she cast about for something, anything, she could do. The pirates were outside her range, though she strained desperately to reach them, furious at Durrant’s plan that kept
Athena
so far from the front of the battle. At least it seemed Dewdney was not present; she would have had far more difficulty countering his fires.

She gripped the rail as
Athena
began the turn to come about, moving away from the deadly seas, and made her fumbling way toward the quarterdeck, her eyes on what little she could see of the emplacement. If
Athena
would only stop rocking about for two minutes! Finally, she reached the stern, locked one arm about the taffrail, and flung a fiery missile easily ten feet across at the distant sparks high on the cliff.

It lit their corner of the battle in gory clarity for several seconds before splashing against the emplacement, forcing a brief pause in the firing pattern.
Exordia
, which had been sailing nearest
Athena
, had taken two hits, one of which had been a lucky shot that clove her top mainmast in half. Her sailors were busy cutting themselves free of the debris and the helmsman seemed not to know what to do, for
Exordia
continued to sail into the bay instead of turning aside to allow the front rank of ships to maneuver to engage the pirates.

All was darkness again for half a minute until the enemy Scorchers sent up another volley of fireballs. They had clearly been instructed to provide light for their ships to target the Navy vessels, because their fires always coincided with another broadside from the three pirate ships—one of them, infuriatingly, a former Navy frigate—slamming the ships in front, raking their decks with a full battery of shots while the Navy vessels could only fire off their front guns.

The battle was happening at such a distance Elinor could only tell it was
Chariot
that was listing to one side and drifting into the path of
Breton,
which was desperately trying to maneuver itself into a position to fire its dozens of 18-pounder guns at the enemy. It was only her imagination that made it seem as if the ships were staggering in confusion.

Then the emplacement fired again, and Elinor threw another fireball at it, and another, but nothing she did could make the battering stop completely. Her fires were splashing off the stony surface without doing more than forcing the defenders temporarily back. She dismissed another cluster of enemy fireballs and wanted to scream with frustration. She should be burning those ships, giving
Breton
and
Chariot
time to regroup, and yet all she could do—