Read Fire on Dark Water Online
Authors: Wendy Perriman
Fire on Dark Water (22 page)
Vargas lunged first. It was a high downward thrust from above the shoulder but the point was not properly aligned with a moving target and Anne twisted her body, managing to bat away the fatal arc. So Vargas lifted for the face, lusting to maim and disfigure the opposition, but this time Annie grappled her wrist and stopped the blow midstrike. Then—to create some breathing room—Anne pushed her off as she started feinting and slashing the air, forcing her rival to stay back. The dagger flew out in a counterplay as the women danced in delicate circles, each seeking for the lunge spot. The crowd smelt raw civet and, riled up like animals, began egging the combatants forward. Men were already betting on the outcome so the chink of coins resounded on numerous tabletops, while the women whistled and jiggled on knees squirming with heated excitement. Maria Vargas moved sleek like a feline, all teeth and claws and dazzling blade, while Annie was fixed as a serpent, savoring the taste on air and waiting to strike her fangs. Hoping to intimidate her prey, Vargas started hurling abuse in high-pitched gobbets of cuss, but this momentary lapse in concentration afforded Anne the path to her throat, and before the Spanish harridan could fire another word the sailor’s knife had slit her neck in a low backhanded slice that spilt the vein. Blood spewed from her throat and gushed all over her darkening dress. The wounded woman sank to her knees and, knowing she couldn’t keep all that gore on the inside, threw out one arm in a gesture for help, pleading to her lover. Bayard sat entranced by the primitive scene enacted on his behalf. Meanwhile, Anne stood over the dying body and watched until the pretty blue lips stopped twitching. Then she calmly cleaned the knife on her opponent’s sleeve, returned the blade to its owner, and glided over to the head table to take up Vargas’s chair. She gave a pointed look at the coins center table and said to the host, “I hope you bet on me.”
It was apparent to every eye present that Anne Bonny had just become Chidley Bayard’s new mistress. And that was that.
9
STUFF FOR A PLUCKY JADE
EARLY AUTUMN, 1717
N
ow I know you’re itching to hear about Blackbeard so I’ll quicken to that part of the tale. Well, shortly after the Council of Pirates the captains scattered to go about business. Edward Teach branched out independent of Benjamin Hornigold, heading north toward Philadelphia while his mentor set sail down the Gulf of Florida for Cuba. Over the next few weeks Blackbeard captured several prizes, among them the
Betty
and
Robert
followed by the
Good Intent
of Dublin. His handpicked crew was sleek and mean, and once they’d acquired enough tobacco and cotton the buccaneers voted to head back to Providence to squander the rewards of their plunder. So the next time I laid eyes on my future husband was the close of September when he slipped into the Silk Ship Inn surrounded by his officers. And a peculiar crew they made too.
ow I know you’re itching to hear about Blackbeard so I’ll quicken to that part of the tale. Well, shortly after the Council of Pirates the captains scattered to go about business. Edward Teach branched out independent of Benjamin Hornigold, heading north toward Philadelphia while his mentor set sail down the Gulf of Florida for Cuba. Over the next few weeks Blackbeard captured several prizes, among them the
Betty
and
Robert
followed by the
Good Intent
of Dublin. His handpicked crew was sleek and mean, and once they’d acquired enough tobacco and cotton the buccaneers voted to head back to Providence to squander the rewards of their plunder. So the next time I laid eyes on my future husband was the close of September when he slipped into the Silk Ship Inn surrounded by his officers. And a peculiar crew they made too.
Closest in height to Blackbeard was the man from Barbados they called Caesar. He shadowed his captain’s every move, saying little and ignoring everyone else around. Brawn seemed to wrestle from his clothing, and his skin was so black as to almost seem gray, and he’d the most menacing stare I’ve ever ever seen that halted even the saltiest tar. Their Welsh lieutenant was called Owen Richards. Now, I ain’t certain, but I’m guessing he was bald—on account that he always wore the same red scarf tied grimily round his ears—but he must have been dark-haired at one time because an unfashionable mustache draped his lip like a limp, brown slug. The lieutenant was small but lethal. He delighted in provoking tavern brawls so as to pitch his wits against vanity, and even I’ll admit he was a damn good hand-to-hand fighter. I liked to hear him sing because he kept a fine tune—except you’d to stay him at arm’s length due to his rotten breath. Will Howard was the quartermaster and another Cockney. But I didn’t take to him immediately because he’d one eye of blue and one of brown that pierced and seemed colder than steel. He’d a huge scar on his right arm that some quack had mended with twine. The wound had gaped so long that the hair didn’t grow back and all the inside flesh had set the color of rancid bread dough. Blackbeard’s gunner was a red-headed Scot who clubbed his mane in a braid that fell almost as long as mine. His name was Philip Morton and half his face was covered in curly red whiskers. I couldn’t never understand a word that he grunted but I marveled at the carved ink all over his arms and chest, and I’m not sure he ever heard anything I uttered either as the cannons had left him more than slightly deaf. And last of the bunch was the master, Israel Hands. Hands was also from London, and he had that furtive pickpocket look about him that’s familiar to those who’ve shared the same trade. I didn’t trust his long ferret face, especially when he grinned and showed his solo blackened front tooth. Even for a sea dog he was ugly—all of which helped to make Teach appear the more handsome. Now, we were well aware that anyone associated with Hornigold was a natural enemy of Captain Jennings so Blackbeard and his men came forth under cover of dark—in force—and spent their winnings liberally about to foster as many comrades as possible.
Shortly after sundown on that fateful day, Edward Teach came in to savor our house specialty (pigeon pie) and after supper he and his gang sat quietly in the corner playing some form of dice. A couple of tars from rival crews began competing with each other on blazing fiddles and before the sides could get to scrapping I encouraged the musicians to play together for me. That night I danced like the wind was lifting my sails, light as air and haughtily free. And all the time I could feel Blackbeard’s eyes staring, seeming to lure me closer by hook and crook. Now, at that point I ain’t never had the undivided attention of such a famous rogue before so I showed off my grandest moves with delicate precision and verve. The punters kept shouting for more and more so I performed until my toes began to set numb. Finally I collected the coins thrown, bowed a sweet exit, and ran upstairs to change. Violet was just leaving her room with Albert Spokes. I whispered, “Blackbeard’s downstairs with his officers!”
My friend’s eyes flared at the thought of all that legendary potential so she gave her beau a slap on the behind and pushed him playfully away. “Time to work,” she said. Then she turned back to her room to adorn her charms.
By now Teach and his men were well into the rum. Our landlady—Mary Gee—kept them topped up before their tankards could empty, but she was having a rare time trying to attend to the rest of the rowdy throng as well. When she saw me descending the steps she beckoned me over and said, “Be a good lass and help us out, Lola.” Then she thrust the rum jug into my hand and pushed me toward Blackbeard’s table. I hovered shyly at the elbow of the giant and waited to be given orders, but he was busy whispering to his dark companion, who immediately downed his drink and took up a place by the door.
The rest of the men were chatting amiably while eyeing up the female prospects when the quartermaster suddenly grabbed my sleeve and pointed to Violet who had just rejoined the crowd. “Ho, darling!” he shouted, pulling me closer, “Who’s that corn-head over yonder?”
“Violet,” I muttered. “She’s my mate.”
“Are you Cockney?” he asked. I nodded. “I too,” he replied. “Will’s the name.” He held out his scarred arm for me to shake hands. “Go bring her about, will you, love?” I clasped the jug in both hands and scurried to do as bid. When me and Violet returned I nudged Will’s shoulder, made the introductions, then refilled the almost empty mugs. And suddenly I was staring eye to eye with the formidable Blackbeard. My wrist began to shake and it was all I could do to keep from slopping booze all over the table. He must have gleaned my trepidation because his eyes seemed to soften and his mouth broke into a healthy white smile. Captain Teach winked at me and then thanked me for pouring his rum. Just as I finished, though, he gently placed his huge hand over mine and made me set the jug on the table. I thought I’d soon be getting into trouble from Mary for not doing a good job but Blackbeard suddenly rose from his seat, took two steps backward, and swept me an honest bow.
I curtsied in response as the big man asked, “And what do they call you, my lovely?”
“Lola, sir,” I stuttered. My complexion was red as a glowing ember so I kept my eyes set on the floor.
Blackbeard lifted my face from the chin upward and said, “Captain Edward Teach. Pleased I am to meet you, ma’am.” Then he took my flimsy hand and led me to Caesar’s vacant chair. I didn’t have no idea what was going on, but when I looked across at Will his encouraging expression indicated I should play along as he sat watching the fun with Violet now firmly ensconced on his knee. Blackbeard picked up a ditty bag stuffed under the table and pulled out a beautiful silver chalice, apparently plundered from some passenger on his last cruise. He wiped the edge on his lacy sleeve, then filled it with rum and passed it to me. “Down the cup and you’ll keep the cup!” he promised, then laughed loud and raucously along with his friends as I struggled to empty the contents.
The goblet appeared to belong either in a church or on a wealthy Spaniard’s table for it had the balanced weight of a hefty sum and sparkled like ice in the lantern light. I could feel the rum worming its way to my stomach and, although I knew it would render me drunk, I was confident in my ability to win the challenge. When the last drop touched the rear of my throat I squeezed my lips together and wiped them on the inside of my wrist. Blackbeard hit the empty chalice upside down on the wood and the rest of the table screeched in approval. I reached a tentative hand out to claim my prize, and as no one stopped me I pulled the cup in close and made it my own. Then before any of the gathering could change the rules I shot from the table, scurried upstairs, and locked my reward in the medicine chest, safe from villainous eyes. Then I tidied my hair, pinched my cheeks even rosier, and scooted back to see what else I could snaffle from the infamous Captain Teach.
A short time later I returned to refill the jug from the bar but Blackbeard put a light touch on my shoulder that urged me to sit back down. Imagine my surprise when the Captain himself stood up, returned with a refill, and then proceeded to wait on me as if I were Queen of England! Will Howard had his hands all over Violet’s thighs and without much more of a to-do they rose and groped their way up the creaking stairs. I expected that Blackbeard would make his move on me at any moment but instead he sat searching the depths of my eyes as if mining for something precious. We chatted for ever such a long time and the more he spoke the more relaxed I became. I was actually enjoying his company. “I do think you’re the prettiest wench on this island,” he murmured, brushing his whiskers against my neck. Of course I was used to such flattery from every hopeful punter but somehow the words seemed more sincere coming from such a mouth. I smiled and tried to look coy. “What age are you, girl?” he asked. And while awaiting my answer he brushed my cheek with the edge of his thumb.
I replied, “Fifteen, sir.”
“Mmmm . . .” he mumbled in approval. “My favorite age.”
“Really?” I asked. I thought from the previous parties he liked older women with plenty of chest, but it seems that first impressions were deceptive. As he toyed with my ruddy curls like a plug of tobacco between his fingers I plucked sufficient courage to inquire, “Why, sir?”
I couldn’t see his face but he whispered in my ear, “The breasts are blossoming beyond doubt but the hips rest flat and slender.” This didn’t make no sense to me but I was glad that he found me appealing. Then he told me brief snippets of his wayward life in answer to my childish prompts, although he seemed to be more interested in me—and that had never happened before. Then suddenly the black man returned to our table with the ominous news, “Jennings approaches.”
Quick as the changing tide the men drank up the dregs and dispersed to various points of shadow. I saw them one by one wend their way unobtrusively past Jennings and his cronies. “Have you a room close by?” Captain Teach hissed.
“Aye,” I said. “Come with me.” And before enemy eyes had a chance to adjust to the light I’d whisked the infamous renegade upstairs to my chamber. “Why does Captain Jennings hate you?” I asked as soon as my door was bolted.
Blackbeard gave a wry grin and began removing his belts and weapons to drape on my only chair. “None who sail with Ben Hornigold are much welcome in Nassau, and a pity it is.”
“I heard tell Hornigold stole some of his Spanish silver. . . .” I ventured. “Is that the cause?” Teach grunted and settled on the bed, propping himself comfortable with his back against the wall. “But how does that affect you?” I pressed. For even if Blackbeard had been part of the turncoat crew, the responsibility for betrayal always fell on the commander.
The pirate patted the quilt, encouraging me to join him on the bed, but when I made to take off my clothes he shook his head and indicated to just sit down. I was even more befuddled. “I’m not welcome for another cause—and small blame either,” he confessed. “I once took one of Jennings’s women.”
“Oh . . .” I replied. I immediately thought on James Bonny and then I understood. “Where is she now?” I asked politely.
There was an ominous pause before Teach responded, “To my sorrow she is no longer with us.” I looked into his face for clarification so he added, “She was verily . . . lost at sea.” A disturbing look shaded the previously bright eyes and seemed to close the hatches of memory. I didn’t want to upset my guest none so I hurriedly changed the subject and began telling him how lucky his mate Will was to be with a splendid girl like Violet. Then later I listened to the rich, gruff voice explaining why the young Edward Teach had taken to life at sea.
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