Cap'n Jethro (2 page)

Jacky Boy was slim, neatly turned out, handsome. But there was a sparkle in his eyes that made goosebumps dance across Piss-Pike’s flesh.

“
Didn’t he have a whore here?” Jacky Boy said.

Grimm’s third man, square-jawed, muscle-bound, crook-nosed, shook his head. “Not his whore, his wife.

“
Whore, wife they all bleed when you stick ‘em,” Jacky Boy said, his gaze distant and unfocussed.

“
Zachariah,” Grimm said to the muscle-bound pirate. “Is the wife still in Freeport?”

“
No, died in childbirth year afore we mutinied.”

Jacky Boy looked disappointed. Piss-Pike shivered.

“
Never mind, never mind,” Grimm said and fixed his singular gaze on Piss-Pike. He pulled his dagger from the table and put it in his belt. “You’ll live a while longer boy.” He threw Piss-Pike his third coin of the day. A copper penny.

Piss-Pike didn’t care. He’d sold his news for all it was worth and more. So he headed for Sharkey’s and thought of nothing more than the simple pleasures of good food.

* * * * *

Grimm knew exactly what to do.

“
Listen up lads! Zachariah, follow the boy see if he’s blabbed to anyone else then end him. Jacky Boy, get to the wharf, trail Jethro. Shagnasty, let Matthews know his old friend is back in town.”

Zachariah and Jacky Boy put knuckle to brow and left. Shagnasty hesitated. Grimm drew steel and growled. Shagnasty ran.

* * * * *

Seawater dripped from Jethro as he loped along, axe in one hand belaying pin in the other. His feet slapped the cobbles. The sound echoed through the maze of Freeport’s alleyways. Drunks stumbled out of his way and none of the cut-throats that lurked in the shadows dared waylay him.

Jethro headed for Sharkey’s. Most of Freeport thought of Sharkey as a fish- frying fool, but to Jethro he was a guardian. A guardian of a secret even Jethro himself did not know. The whereabouts of his treasure. He wondered if that was a precaution he’d regret — a train of thought he abandoned when he ran round a street corner and almost impaled himself on a Rapier.

Ready to fight, Jethro leapt back into a crouch. In front of him stood a man both strangely familiar and strangely clean. Dressed in finery, gaunt faced and looking none too pleased. The stranger raised his rapier in ‘salute’ then settled in to the guard position.

“
I don’t know who you be matey, but—”

“
My name is Diddier De La Man—”

“
Oh.” Jethro relaxed. “It’s you Frenchie. What do you want? Time is something I can’t give you.”

“
What I want is satisfaction, monsieur.”

“
Sorry, I don’t hold with them sort a ways. Not even in me Navy days.”

“
You test my patience I think.”

Frenchie peeled off a pristine glove and threw it at Jethro’s feet. He looked somewhat perturbed when it sank into the mud.

“
Like I said, sweet of you, but no time to dance.” Jethro made to step around the indignant Frenchman, but stopped when the rapier’s needle- sharp tip hovered at his Adam’s apple.

“
This is about the ship, ain’t it Frenchie. Look, it were a long time ago, sleeping chiens and all that.”

“
About ze ship! About ze ship! Of course zis is about ze ship! I was the most promising captain in the Emperor’s Navy until I lost my ship to you. You, a common seaman. You, you stealer of ships. You breaker of hearts. You have ruined me and I will have my revenge.”

Frenchie dropped into the en-guard stance. His lip quivered with passion.

“
Look, Frenchie—”

Outraged, Frenchie came out of the guard stance yet again. He stood in front of Jethro one hand on his hip.

“
How many times must I tell you? Is no Frenchie. My name is—”

Jethro kicked him. Between the legs. Hard.

“
Merde!” Frenchie said, more a gasp than a word and fell to his knees. His powdered white wig flopped forward into a muddy puddle. Frenchie followed it face first.

“
Sorry I had to cannon ball you. Low trick, as you would expect of me no doubt, but needs must. And sorry about your ship Frenchie, t’wer a good un.”

“
My name is . . .oh merde ze pain.”

Jethro trotted down the alley. He hoped he hadn’t lost too much time. He ran round another corner only to find himself face to face with the barrel of a pistol. The pistol, like its owner, was exquisite. Beautiful to look at and, as Jethro knew all to well, deadly.

Imelda flashed him a winsome smile as she let the barrel kiss Jethro’s forehead. The other pistol she pointed at his crotch.

“
Now, Imelda you don’t want to shoot that off,” he said, looking down. “You know that’s me best bit.”

“
Hmm.” She looked wistful. “True.” She raised the second dueling pistol and pressed its barrel over his heart. “I’m not one for the mincing and mangling of words Jethro. It does a whore no good so I’ll speak plain. I know you’ve come back for your treasure and I figure you owe me.”

“
Owe you? Imelda, darling, my sweet—”

“
Knock off the sweet talk, cur.” She tapped his head with her pistol. “Your crew went through my girls like a dose and through my rum like the Royal Navy and what did I see for my troubles? Not a single coin and you gone in the night like the thief you are.”

“
That’s not fair, Imelda. You know they mutinied. I was gagged, hog-tied and dragged off. I barely got away with me life otherwise—”

“
Otherwise you’d have made a wealthy woman of me? I think not.” She lowered the pistol that was at his chest and pointed it at his groin again.

“
Maybe not, but I’d have paid what I owe.”

“
You can pay now. I won’t be greedy, give me half of your treasure.”

“
Half? That might not be possible my love see . . .” Jethro’s eyes widened in shock. “No, Frenchie! Don’t shoot.”

Instinctively Imelda spun round, both pistol’s raised to meet the attack. Jethro ran for it before she realised she’d been duped. Head down, he zigzagged away. There was the distinctive crack of a pistol shot. The whistle of lead flying overhead.

Damn if this wasn’t turning out to be a bad day for a good Englishman. He knew Imelda wasn’t one to be put off, but couldn’t share his treasure. He could try to explain, but time was against him. If Imelda followed him to Sharkey’s so be it. He’d deal with that. But first he had to get to Sharkey’s.

He didn’t even give himself time to flinch when Imelda fired her second pistol. The shot flew past his left ear. He cursed the day he’d gifted her those fine pistols and gave thanks to the Good Lord he’d never taught her how to use them.

* * * * *

Shagnasty shouldered his way through the doors of The Strangled Parrot, weaved past the patrons and made his way to the rear of the noisy, stinking, drinking den. He hovered at the table of one Mutinous Matthews, a sour faced weasel of a man. Matthews brushed aside a straggle of lank greasy hair with the leather covered stump of his right hand, turned his dark soulless eyes on Shagnasty and pointed with his stump to an empty chair. Uneasily, Shagnasty slipped into the seat.

“
What be it then, Shagnasty?” Matthews said. His voice soft and mellow, his face hard, the look in his eyes cold.

Shagnasty leaned across the table full of the importance of his message. “It be news, news of an old friend.”

“
Who be it, Shagnasty? Who be it?”

“
It be Henderson.”

Matthews wiped flecks of spittle from his lips. “Cap’n Henderson?”

“
Aye, that be him.”

“
What, Cap’n Jethro Henderson?”

“
Aye, that be him an no mistake.”

“
Cap’n Jethro Henderson as some call ‘Fair-cut’?” Matthews asked as he scratched at his stump with his dirk.

“
Aye, that be him.”

“
So it be Cap’n Jethro ‘Fair-cut’ Henderson? You be sure of that, Shagnasty?”

“
Aye, I be sure of it.”

“
Would that be the same Cap’n Jethro ‘Fair-cut’ Henderson that sailed out of Plymouth?”

Shagnasty nodded enthusiastically. “It be Cap’n Jethro ‘Fair-cut’ Henderson who sailed out of Plymouth port.”

“
So,” Matthews said gesticulating with his dirk. “It be that self same Cap’n Jethro ‘Fair-cut’ Henderson of Plymouth, that everyone in this ‘ere town knows it’s death to mention in my hearing?”

Shagnasty nodded again. “Aye, that be hi— urk.”

“
Good,” Matthews said and withdrew his blade from Shagnasty’s chest. “I likes to keep abreast of these ‘ere comings and goings.”

Matthews scratched at his stump with his bloody blade. “Slurpy!” He shouted at a sagacious old sailor. “Fetch me best hook. Cap’n Jethro’s treasure is ours for the taking, but his life, that I’ll share with no man. That be mine and mine alone for the taking.” With that he kicked Shagnasty’s corpse to the floor and howled as only the truly mad can.

* * * * *

Normally Piss-Pike tried to sneak into Sharkey’s to filch some tasty morsel. Walking in like an honest customer was a new experience. Charcoal embers hazed the small fish shop with heat waves. Cooked mackerel filled the place with their sweet smoky aroma. Piss-Pike’s stomach gurgled.

Sharkey was at his cook-fire, a shallow iron tray filled with embers. Above it fish hung and smoked slowly. He took fish from a barrel of brine and with quick, clever hands, gutted them then hung them over the fire. He was a rotund old sea-dog with a shock of white hair growing round his otherwise bald pate. His features and eyes were somewhat porcine, but there sparked an obvious intelligence and a forceful will. Both of which he brought to bear on Piss-Pike.

“
Oi. What have I told you, you little guttersnipe. This ain’t no home for waifs an’ strays now fu—”

“
But I got coin, Sharkey. Honest.”

“
You honest? Get out of it.” Sharkey gutted and hooked another fish. “Go on, get!”

“
But, Sharkey it’s true. I’ve got coin.

Honest earned, too.”

“
Piss-Pike, there’s nary an honest man in this whole godforsaken port and you but a child are more devious than most.”

“
I know, yet I’ve never outwitted you and that’s to your credit, Sharkey, ain’t it.”

“
Aye, reckon,” Sharkey said. Boyish pride played across his face till he caught himself in his folly and corrected it with a frown. “Oh flattery’s yer game is it? Well that won’t work.”

Longingly, Piss-Pike stared at the fillets of mackerel that had crisped to perfection. He imagined three on a platter with warm bread, melted butter and a flagon of ale. His stomach growled, a loud angry growl. Sharkey grinned.

“
If I show you coin you’ll serve me?”

“
If you show me coin all the whores in Freeport will turn saint quicker than a vicar turns to sin.”

The copper penny that Grimm gave him would buy breakfast. The silver that Imelda gave him would breakfast him like a pirate-king for a week. But Piss-Pike wanted to make Sharkey choke on his jibes, so he fished out the Doubloon.

It worked. Sharkey stared at the coin. “Now if you’ve earned that honest, boy, there’s a tale I’d never believe the telling of.”

“
Well it’s true. Frenchie gave it me.”

“
For what?”

“
For bringing him news of Cap’n Jethro.”

“
Cap’n Jethro!” Sharkey’s mouth flapped open and closed in a way that Piss-Pike found most satisfying. “What news? What of him, boy? Tell me and no games.”There was an edge of urgency in Sharkey’s voice that Piss-Pike had never heard before. “He’s in Freeport. Can I have some fish now, Sharkey. Please.” Piss-Pike held out his coin.

“
You stupid boy. The Cap’n here and you only tell me now, I should—”

Sharkey stopped. His eyes widened and bulged. His mouth gaped. He grunted as a cutlass tip burst from his chest. When the blade was pulled clear Sharkey fell forward onto his chopping board. Blood ran from his mouth and pooled on the board around a gutted mackerel.

Terrified, unable to move, Piss-Pike held his coin out. Zachariah stepped over Sharkey, cutlass in hand. “I’ll have that young ‘un.” He took the coin from Piss-Pike, then struck out with a savage backhanded blow that rocked the boy’s head back. Zachariah stepped behind him, wrapped a burly arm around his neck and squeezed.

Piss-Pike kicked out in panic, knocked over the cook-fire and sent embers scattering. Flames sparked in the straw covered floor. He tried to

prise the arm that throttled the life from him, but all his efforts got him was a cruel laugh from Zachariah and a more violent throttling.

Piss-Pike knew he would die. He wished he’d eaten first. He so wanted one of Sharkey’s mackerel. He was always hungry and thought it uncommonly cruel that he should die hungry. Hell if I’ll die hungry! Piss-Pike pushed his chin under Zachariah’s arm and bit down all the time thinking of sweet, tender mackerel.

* * * * *

The scene that greeted Jethro, as he padded into Sharkey’s, shattered his comfortable memories of the place. Flames danced across tables, chairs and floor. A thick cloud of smoke hung in the air. Oblivious to the fire, a muscle-bound pirate and a half-starved boy fought.