Cross of Fire (38 page)

John Coxon came down the decks, past one set of guns and then the next. Twenty six-pounders above, twenty twelve-pounders below. On land you measure a gun by its bore, at sea by the weight of its shot, for weight is everything, every ship given its burthen to the last thimble, worked out with the same science that Flamsteed plotted his almanacs. The larger guns were set below for equilibrium on the water, but the armament was not always so perfectly aligned. Pirates especially could carry a set of guns as motley as their cloth, as rag-tag as their morals, the ship swaying as drunkenly as her crew. But not Devlin’s, Coxon knew.

He had taught him too well.

He reached the lower-deck, now above the water for some respite to the man chained and his cattle companions.

‘Is it supper already, John?’ Dandon called. ‘I have hardly digested dinner. You are too generous. I should have given myself up years ago.’

Coxon weaved his way to him.

‘Still the whimsy, pirate? I thought that done.’ He came under the overhead and stood beside Dandon. He saw Kennedy on a barrel, his head in his hands and then the dried wound on the pirate’s face.

Kennedy sprang up.

‘It was his fault, Captain!’ he pleaded. ‘He forced me to it!’

Coxon dismissed him with a shove to send him bowling among the barrels. There was a flutter in his chest but he was not as angered as he would have thought. He lifted Dandon’s chin and met the sly eyes, and examined.

‘It is not so bad, pirate. You have fooled Kennedy but not me. I will tell my men that you goaded him. As you did. I will fetch the doctor.’

‘You would have to keep Manvell and young Howard from me, John. I would talk else. Say how I have been beaten. Or perhaps you could gag me? That would work well. How fine they would think you then.’

Coxon pulled the chains, Dandon wincing as the welts on his wrists scraped. Their faces drew close together. Both bared teeth. In pain. In anger.

‘You think you are working on them, don’t you? That they care what you feel? Over my command?’

Dandon wilted, then shook himself back to the arrogance that he was feigning to uphold. His eyes sparked again.

‘What you say is what you suspect, John. Try to see what they see. Save yourself. Tonight I will tell Manvell how you risk the ship for your own grievance. Has he met pirates? I will sow him seeds, and he will grow his own oaks. And Thomas Howard will confirm.’ He showed his gold-capped teeth. ‘It’ll be best if you let me go.’

Coxon snarled, pushed the chains away. The goats bleated as Dandon laughed. Coxon went slowly to Kennedy and the wretch lowered his head like a shamed dog.

Coxon looked back to Dandon.

‘We are alone, pirate. I have made it so. This is your last chance to talk. To talk well.’

Dandon posed himself as nobly as he could.

‘I am supposed to say, “or else,” am I not?’

‘Say what you want. While you still can. I have less need for you than you think.’

Dandon’s humour dropped.

‘Less?’ he said.

‘If you would talk and tell where Patrick is, where the gold is, it will remove you from this place to your own quarters and save my good men some time.’ He sat on a barrel like Kennedy, his arms crossed. ‘But Devlin will come to me regardless.’

He relished the inquiry on the pirate’s face.

‘I told you I sent a letter. I sent word that I have you. What I also sent was the location on the sea where I shall wait for him. Where I will set the
Standard
to wait for the
Shadow.
You could avoid that bloody day.’

‘Why not wait at Bourbon?’ Dandon said. ‘If you are so inclined to believe my captain is coming for me there?’

‘Surround myself with dozens of pirate ships in pirate waters? In a short bay? How fine.’

‘So, the sea is where you will have it, John? Am I privileged to know where?’

‘I can bring a map,’ Coxon leant back on the barrel. ‘I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours.’

Dandon laughed. ‘I am glad that we have not allowed circumstance to devour our humour, John! Good show!’

‘You should rather think on that I only need Devlin to
believe
I have you. And that if you continue to threaten mutinous thoughts to my officers you will not need to manufacture wounds . . . or perfect your silence.’

Kennedy leered at Dandon.

‘As I said,’ Coxon went on, ‘we are alone. I could release you out of pity, out of your promise to talk. You could attempt escape, attempt murder. Kennedy would defend me. We have hours left to us.’

Kennedy unclasped his gully with a gleeful click.

Dandon paled. It was not in him to flush with rage. He usually had men in front of him to do that.

Coxon stood. ‘It is too warm for me down here. I will fetch the doctor for your wounds.’

‘It is but a scratch,’ Dandon said, but his voice was weaker now and Coxon heard it falter.

‘You misheard, pirate,’ he said. ‘I will fetch the doctor for your
wounds
.’ He cocked a thumb at Kennedy and jerked it towards Dandon.

‘No cuts, Walter. I want some word from him for when I return.’ He looked back at Dandon.

‘I’ve had enough of your blather. I thought you an intelligent man, pirate. You should at least have realised why Devlin is so able. He was under his post-captain for years.’ He turned for the stair as Kennedy slipped from the barrel, hunched, creeping towards the prisoner with a wet grin.

Dandon shook his chains and Coxon turned his head.

‘I know,’ Dandon called, ‘that you, John, became post-captain when it was Patrick who translated for his French officers! On the day you took him into servitude! He told me that! You owe him that, “Post-Captain”.’

Coxon’s face showed nothing. He brushed a fly from his shirt.

‘But did he not tell you that he stepped forward to
save
them, pirate? Was that not the vital part of his story?’

He did not wait for a reply and ascended to search for the swollen and red Doctor Howe.

But not too quickly.

It was a sky of a honey-onyx hue when Manvell and Howard took the final boat back to the ship. Every anker of water, every trussed pink pigeon, every giant tortoise with its delicious liver already setting tongues slavering, had all worked to bring a rare air about the crew. They laughed, sang, helped each other hand over hand willingly, more as a crew at the end of their work than one approaching the cannon. Manvell mirrored their humour by leaning down from the ladder to haul up Howard, his boxes over his shoulders and about his waist so that he waddled out of the boat awkwardly.

On deck, only Jenkins the sailing-master, greeted them, a stranger next to them in coat and tricorne; the lieutenants were still in calico and straw.

‘How went the island, gentlemen?’

‘Very well, Mister Jenkins,’ Manvell said. ‘How goes the ship?’

‘All’s well, Mister Manvell.’ He saw Howard’s pile of boxes. ‘Specimens, Mister Howard?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Howard opened one to show. ‘For the captain. For presenting back to the board.’

Jenkins sniffed over the box. ‘Eggs. Good, good. What creature?’

Howard looked to Manvell. ‘Bats, sir. A flightless sand-bat, I perceived.’

Manvell looked up at the mainmast, turned his face away and fascinated on the oak so Jenkins would not see his smirk.

‘Good, good,’ Jenkins approved. ‘I shall look forward to seeing more. Perhaps after supper.’ He saluted and spun away. Manvell came back from his study of wood.

‘Thomas,’ he took out a kerchief and wiped his brow, ‘you are a terrible fellow. We should change and report to the
Standard
. ‘He picked up his own share of baskets and boxes. ‘Come now. The trees and the sand have improved me immensely.’

Howard was pleased. He had avoided Manvell on the island, should he have had whispered more of his seditious words. He was not willing to forge conspirators’ alliances over the giving of a drink of water.

He had seen pirates, and judged them with the dead he had also seen turn up when the pirates walked. But that one, Dandon, had shown compassion once. All Howard had done was make a return on that compassion. If it was against orders he would live with that. The island had performed its magic. The world of wood that swaddled them daily was a small world. It magnified everything. The island had reminded how large the earth really was. Looking back at the ship from the jungle had been the best perspective. The ship just a hundred and eighteen feet of wood. A conveyance. A vehicle for his duty. And Manvell clearly had a similar viewpoint. They went below with shared laughter.

Sailing-Master Jenkins looked back at the sound, then the shrouds beside him began to shake and hum and the yards above creaked painfully. He clamped his hat down and watched the giant palms of the island shiver like wheat. The boats, still being pulled up, swayed dangerously. Straw hats flew from the heads of the men straining to hold them.

And then it was gone.

It had been a warm rush of air from the island’s mountains and he watched it roll away from their starboard and across the sea, now seeming to pull away from them as the
Standard
bucked in her chains.

Calm again. The air heavy and too still. He stood and waited for another portent. The men at the boats went back to work and Sailing-Master Jenkins bit his lip. He took out his watch, his log and pencil and walked to the quarterdeck.

Manvell and Howard came across Doctor Howe hugging a post outside their quarters. The wind had unbalanced him, he declared, and the lieutenants helped steady him, amused at the wine stains on his paunch and the fermented breath.

‘You would do better to get some air, Doctor,’ Manvell said.

‘I would so,’ he clung to Manvell like a cat falling down a curtain. ‘But the captain had an exigence to inspect his injured pirate.’

Manvell and Howard looked at each other. ‘Kennedy?’ Manvell asked.

‘No. The other. I gave him a draught. It is all he will need. Closing of the bowels.’

Howard let him go and slung his boxes off his shoulders and peeled down the stair.

‘
Thomas
!’ Manvell excused himself from the reeling doctor and his own baskets and ran after.

Howard saw the chains swinging empty. He heard Manvell come down behind him and ducked his way through the hold until he saw Kennedy and Coxon and the prone body lying on a jury-rigged table. He stopped and Manvell brushed past him.

‘What has happened here, Captain?’ Manvell’s voice was calm. He saw Kennedy slink away to the manger.

‘Good to see you return, Lieutenant,’ Coxon was in rolled shirtsleeves, his hair pulled tight by its bow as if recently secured. He stepped aside to show the full sight of the pirate.

‘I released him. Out of pity. He attempted escape. Or some pain to me personally. I should not have sent so many of you ashore. I think he saw his chance.’

Howard took a step towards. ‘Is he—?’

‘Dead?’ Coxon said. ‘Why would he be dead?’

Manvell saw there was no blood around the table and came closer.

‘Escape? Where would he go?’

‘To the island one would suppose,’ Coxon shrugged. ‘There are pirates in the south. He would know that. Fortunately, I was unharmed. Kennedy was able to subdue.’

Manvell looked over at an unmarked Kennedy.

‘You are more powerful than you seem, pirate.’

Kennedy saluted.

Manvell bent to Dandon’s face. The eyes were closed and swollen. The whole head seemed bigger. His arms over the sides of the table trembled.

‘He is asleep,’ Coxon said. ‘The doctor’s draught.’