Ocean Without End (6 page)

Then he was gone.

At the same instant, a huge blast shattered the quiet. The battle had begun.

I heard later how it happened, how Jem took
Gisella
in between the two fleeing ships while our crew got ready to board, cutlasses in hand; how Diablo blasted his prey with a broadside from each side;
how the merchant ship, the richest prize, sank almost immediately, her gunpowder casks exploding in an inferno that nearly sank us all; how Diablo cursed, left the burned survivors to drown, and raced after the sloop.

By then, the first wounded were being brought to the galley. The sloop had got off a round from its twelve-pounder that had put a hole right through the bows of
Gisella
and taken off Harry's left arm. He was carried in screaming, and kept screaming while Cook tried to staunch the flow of blood with a wad of linen.

Old Brasher limped in with a piece of wood the size of a belaying-pin sticking out of his thigh. ‘Pull that out for me, lass,' he said. ‘I've got to be getting on. Captain's ready to board.'

I put both hands around the splintered wood and yanked as hard as I could. Brasher let out a mighty roar. ‘Good girl,' he said, when he'd caught his breath. I tied up the wound as Cookie had taught me, and Brasher hobbled back to the action.

Harry was whimpering now, reciting some half-forgotten prayer. Cook stood by his side, just waiting. Harry was not long for this world.

It seemed we were all waiting. The ships collided with an enormous thud that threw me to the floor. A roar from above meant the crew was boarding the other ship, swords and daggers drawn. There was gunfire — muskets or boarding pistols, I couldn't tell — and shouted curses, stopped dead by a scream. More shouting, and then the clash of sword on sword. The din was terrifying, but seemed strangely muffled.
After a few minutes, Francesco dragged in a wounded man and dumped him in the middle of the floor.

‘We have boarded,' he shouted, ‘but they fight like demons!' He ran back to the fray.

Brasher staggered in again, this time with a sword gash across his forehead. I pushed him down onto the bench, and scolded. ‘This time, you're staying here.'

I don't think he minded too much. There was blood on his cutlass.

‘I gave as good as I got, you know, lass.'

‘I'm sure you did,' I assured him.

‘Cookie!' came a call down the hatch. ‘Come quick.'

Cook didn't even glance up from the wound he was tending.

‘You'll have to go, girl. I can't take my hands off this. Take some cloth and the brandy. But don't let the liquor out of your sight.'

I didn't move.

‘Go!'

Of course. Someone was hurt. I scrambled up the ladder with the bottle in one hand, and emerged into bright sunlight.
Gisella
's deck was empty. Ropes were strewn over the starboard rails, and I looked down over the side at a scene of mayhem.

The little sloop had been blasted by cannon, fouling the rigging and smashing the tiller. A tangle of shrouds and canvas lay across her stern and dipped into the sea. There was an odd group of men near the bow, wrestling and pushing each other like schoolboys, and the sound of swords clashing somewhere below decks.

All over the ship, men were lying in the strangest
positions, staring straight up into the sky, collapsed face down on the boards, or curled into corners, moaning. There was blood everywhere.

‘Hey there, Cyg. Bring the swabs!'

Miller was crouched over someone near the mast. He waved to me, urgently. I tucked the linen and bottle into my shirt, threw myself over the side, and slipped down a rope to the deck of the captured ship. I ran over to see who was wounded.

It was Max, slumped over someone else's dead body. He had a hole through his blouse, and blood coursing down his side and onto the deck, where it mingled with other people's blood.

‘What hit you?'

‘A sword slash. Blasted thing. There were two of 'em at once, I couldn't take 'em both. Got 'em in the end, though.'

I peered at the gash in his side. It was clean, and the bleeding seemed to be slowing. ‘Seems all right,' I announced, as if I'd been a surgeon all my life. ‘I'll just wrap you up, and we'll get you back aboard
Gisella
.' It did seem all right, compared to Harry or any of those other poor souls lying all over the ship.

Miller ran off, cutlass in hand, to rejoin the attack.

I was tying the bandage at Max's waist, when there was a clash of swords quite near to us and Max cried out, ‘Look out behind you!'

I spun around to see Carlo trapped in a strange embrace with a man in a blue uniform. Their swords were locked together, and they were both grimacing as they pushed each other backwards, first one way, then the next.

The soldier grunted, shook himself free, and landed Carlo a thump on the head with his sword pommel. That decked him. His face went white and he dropped like a sinker. The soldier stepped quickly over Carlo and raised his sword. Above me.

‘No!' I shouted.

I pushed Max to one side and rolled to the other. The sword came down on the deck between us with a thwack. I kicked out at the soldier's knees, hitting him hard and knocking him off balance. As he steadied himself, I reached for Carlo's sword and scrambled to my feet.

The blue-coat turned to face me. Everything I knew about sword-fighting, every thrust and parry Flynn had taught me on those hot afternoons in the
piazza
, seemed to vanish from my mind in an instant. I drew the sword up before me. We were standing close, a sword's length apart, face to face. He smiled.

‘
Mademoiselle
,' he said, bowing ever so slightly. I didn't take my eyes off him.

He lunged, so fast I only just blocked it in time. He was strong, far stronger than the boys in Santa Lucia. A few more blows like that, and I wouldn't be able to hold him. But I was fighting for my life. Before, I had only fought for fun.

I watched him. He was scared, twitching his coat nervously with his left hand. Another breath, and he'd try again. Now! A slash towards my head, parried high across my face, then another, weaker, thrust down low. I smacked it away hard. There! His arms were longer than mine. I had to keep out of his reach.

But he wasn't thinking clearly. I took a quick step
forward and feinted, the point of my blade flickering close to his shoulder. He panicked and stepped back. I could see he wasn't prepared for this. He blinked. I lunged, fast, aiming just above his hand. He saw me coming, jerked his guard up. My blade circled his and slid under his fist, then I lunged again. I felt the tip of my sword jar on something. A belt, I hoped, not a bone.

I heard Miller shout from somewhere, ‘Look at Cyg!'

I took a step back. The soldier did, too. Then, ever so slowly, he crumpled to the boards. Blood gushed from a wound in his thigh.

I'd done that. I had stabbed a man.

Jem was beside me now, his blade pointed at the throat of my foe.

‘Leave him,' I said. The soldier was not dead. He was weeping.

Jem didn't move.

‘Jem,' I said, ‘is it all over?'

At last he took the point of his sword from the man's throat. ‘Aye, lass. The captain's still down below raising hell, but the ship's ours.'

‘I'll get back to the galley. Have them bring the wounded up.' Suddenly I was very tired.

The sword dropped from my hand.

Jem nodded. ‘I will.'

Slowly I reached down and grasped the sleeve of the blue uniform. The soldier gazed up through bleary eyes.

‘Come on, then,' I said, pulling him up. ‘Let's be getting you patched up.'

For days the two ships drifted, roped together, in a sluggish sea. We all worked like slaves to repair the damage and keep both afloat. The men worked on the beams and ropes, while Cook and I worked on the men.

At first we just patched them up as best we could. Time was the best surgeon, said Cook, and he was right in a way. Harry died on the first night, and his body was thrown, with the other dead, over the side. Nobody said a prayer for him or anyone else. There was no time. Diablo drove us like a madman, stomping around the deck of the big ship, shouting down at the crew toiling under the hot sun on the sloop.

The men called her the
Mermaid
, and she had been fresh out of Alexandria, making for Algiers, when she had stumbled across our path. I watched as her surviving crew members were shackled. Mostly poor Egyptians, they pleaded for mercy. But there were soldiers, too, in blue coats, like the one I'd fought. French, I guessed, but what they were doing out here on an Ottoman ship, we couldn't say. Perhaps they had no idea themselves. Their officers were all dead,
and the ship's captain, I heard, had shot himself rather than be taken prisoner. The soldiers and captured crew, even the wounded, were herded into
Gisella
's fetid hold.

Late on the second day, a bell sounded and all hands were called onto the deck of
Gisella
.

‘All hands,' shouted Carlo as he ran past the galley. ‘That means you and me, too!'

On the quarterdeck, El Capitán de Diablo stood with his sword in his hand, glaring out at the crew gathered below him. There was a bit of pushing and shoving as men tried to get into the front rows. Cook and I stood at the back.

Jem was standing behind the captain, a few feet away, not looking at us but across into the still-tangled rigging of the
Mermaid
. He seemed to be wishing himself leagues away.

Diablo banged his sword pommel on the mast to get some quiet.

‘We have a prize!' he shouted, and there was a ragged cheer from the men. Too many remembered that the real prize, the merchant ship, had gone to the bottom. The little
Mermaid
was not much consolation.

‘This prize is worth maybe two thousand
scudi
in port, to some enterprising merchant in need of a fast ship. And let's not forget our young duke, whose father waits so impatiently for his beloved son's return that the ransom money will be burning a hole in his purse.' He pointed his cutlass at Carlo, who blushed.

‘So we need a crew to sail the prize ship to Valletta to be sold, collect our ransom for the boy, and wait there for
Gisella
to return.'

The men were silent. They waited to see what their choices might be. There was no point in volunteering if it meant missing out on more prizes.

But Diablo wasn't asking for volunteers. ‘All the wounded will go to Valletta,' he announced. ‘Those who can no longer fight will be discharged there. I have made a list of the others who will sail the
Mermaid
. Jem McGuire will be in charge of the prize crew.'

The men glanced at each other. This wasn't the pirate way — even in the navy, sailors would be given the chance to volunteer. But no one spoke. Not yet.

Diablo went on, shouting above our heads in his coarse, gravelly voice. ‘
Gisella
will set course tonight for Algiers. I find I have business there that cannot be delayed. I will take the captives with me.'

Not Isola di Bravo. Nowhere near Santa Lucia.
Gisella
was heading back to Africa, further from my home and further from freedom.

The crew was as disappointed as I was. ‘Hey, Captain, we've had enough of your business,' one man shouted, from the safety of the huddle. ‘We want more prizes!'

‘
Iva!
' shouted Ricardo and Francesco in unison.

Miller shuffled forward through the pack. ‘That's enough, boys,' he muttered. He lifted his face to the quarterdeck. Jem raised a hand to hush him, but he kept on. ‘But fair's fair, sir. It's months since we've had any real action. How's about we sail in convoy for a few weeks, see what we can pick up, and then sell off the sloop? She seems a fair sort of ship.'

Diablo glared down at Miller, and then his gaze
wandered over the faces of all the crew. I shivered.

‘Algiers,' spat one of the Sicilians. ‘There is nothing but pox and sand in Algiers.'

‘Who said that?' Diablo roared. He brandished his sword above his head.

None of us moved. The captain moved slowly and quietly down the steps and onto the deck. Without speaking, he circled the crew, staring into their faces. Each man quailed under his glare. One by one, they cast down their eyes, clasped their hands before their bellies, and hoped he would not take his revenge on them. At last, Diablo came to a halt next to the Sicilian. He did not look at him. When he spoke, it was in a whisper.

‘Who said that?'

There was no answer.

Like a sudden squall, Diablo lashed out at the Sicilian, slashing at him with his cutlass and thumping him to the ground with hard, thwacking punches. The Sicilian raised his hands before his face, crying out for mercy, for the Holy Mother to save him.

‘No one will save you,' Diablo screamed. ‘You parrot-fish! You question me? Who dares to question me?'

The Sicilian lay slumped on the deck, his face badly cut and his hands clasping a bloody wound in his side.

‘You!' Diablo grabbed another man. ‘Throw him over the side!'

It took only a moment for the man to react, but it was too slow for Diablo. Again he lashed out, striking a blow on the sailor's arm so hard that he, too, fell to the boards.

Diablo spun around, facing the rest of the crew. ‘Any more questions?' he shouted. ‘Good. I'll be in my cabin. McGuire, you have your orders. Get your crew on board the sloop and be out of my sight before sunset.'

There was silence as he pushed through the crowd and disappeared below. The men stood and stared at each other in disbelief. No one went to help the two wounded men, in case the captain's wrath was a disease that could be passed on.

‘Let's get them below,' Cook murmured in my ear. He crouched down beside the Sicilian, but it was too late. One of Diablo's blows had severed a vein in his neck, and he was already dead. I tried not to look at him too closely. Cook picked up the other casualty as if he were a child.

‘Come, lass, we'd be better off in the galley.'

‘Not you, Cyg,' said Jem. ‘You're coming with us.'

‘On the
Mermaid
?' I hadn't dared hope for that.

‘I don't think so!' Cook blustered, plonking the poor injured man down on a heap of ropes as if he were a sack of potatoes.

‘I asked for a cook, and Diablo said I could take her,' said Jem, firmly. ‘She'll have to work hard though, we're short-handed. You'll be crew as well as cook and galley hand, Cyg. It won't be easy.'

‘I don't mind.'

My whole body felt lighter and cleaner than it had for weeks. I'd be free of Diablo, closer to home, sailing on the
Mermaid
. Valletta was a big city, so I'd heard. Easy enough to give them the slip and run off. Steal a boat, maybe. It was a few days' sail from Malta to
Santa Lucia, but I could do it. If I had to. If I was free.

But Cook had crossed his arms. ‘Over my dead body.'

‘Whatever you say.' Jem wasn't the sort of fellow to be put off by an irate cook. He just walked aft, calling over his shoulder, ‘Lend us some spices as well, while you're at it, Cookie, I can't stomach that Egyptian mutton.'

‘Well, I'll be dumblustered,' spluttered Cook. ‘I never did hear of such a thing, not in all my born days.'

‘It'll be all right, Cookie,' I assured him.

‘Don't know what'll become of you, once you're out of my sight. Dearie me. Anything could happen.'

‘I could be kidnapped or something.'

He never understood my jokes.

‘Yes, anything!' he cried, bundling the injured man up in his arms again, and thumping his way down the ladder. I followed in his wake like whitebait.

In time he calmed down, and fretted over what I might need to take with me. I checked the galley on the
Mermaid
. It was just a fireplace amidships with a couple of cauldrons, but there was a good storeroom, and a hatch up above let the sunlight in. Cookie bundled up my bedding, a hammock, and a spare shirt.

‘That'll have to do, I can't spare any more, what with no supplies and the chickens all dead in the heat.'

‘We'll be right enough, Cookie.' I heard the bell up on deck. The
Mermaid
was ready to go.

‘Oh dear,' Cook said one last time.

I felt an unexpected pang of sadness for this good man trapped in a ship with a tyrant. He'd been kind to me, when I'd anticipated something so much worse. I looked up to see a tear in his eye, and held his huge hand in both of mine for just a moment.

‘Thank you for caring for me,' I said.

‘No such thing,' he muttered.

‘We'll meet again, Cookie, I know we will.'

He smiled down at me, and patted my hand.

‘Aye, dearie, I believe we will, one day.'

As I walked away from him and climbed up onto the deck of
Gisella
for the last time, I could hear him muttering into his pots and pans. ‘You're a silly old fool, Cookie. Crying over a child. What will become of you? I just don't know.'

Jem was at the helm of the
Mermaid
when I dropped from the rope, softly, on to the deck and made my way aft.

‘Up the ratlines with you, girl, and get that halyard free,' he said. ‘You're a sailor now. You know what to do.'

‘I should put the galley to rights.'

‘Plenty of time for that,' he said. ‘We've got to put the ship to rights first.'

The towline was cast off, but it took an eternity for us to move out of the shadow of
Gisella
. We were slow at our work, tripping over unfamiliar ropes and flailing about until we got the feel of our new ship and crept away under only the headsail.

Amidst the shouts and the creaking, we could hear the jeers of the men aboard the brigantine. The forenoon watch stood along the rails and laughed,
waving while we untangled the mainsail.

‘Don't go sinking our prize, Jemmy, or you'll have my wife to answer to!'

‘Oi! West is that way.'

‘See you in Valletta, mates, if you don't feed the fishies on the way!'

Diablo waited grimly on his quarterdeck until we were under way before shouting orders to his remaining men. I risked one last glance up at him, as he scowled at the sunlight and wiped other people's blood from his cutlass.

‘Last I'll see of you, Captain,' I muttered under my breath, ‘this side of hell.'

I reached up to grab the shrouds. The tarred ratlines, well-spliced and taut, felt fine under my fingers and feet as I climbed. The mast was only half as high as
Gisella
's topsail, and a clear light timber that glowed yellow in the sun. She'd be fast, this little sloop, handled right and sailed sweetly. The rigging was slippery as goose fat and tangled as guts after the fight, but the boys and I hung on like old salts and teased apart the web of rope. Finally, we let the sail loose in one sweet fall. It billowed, pale as cream, before the deck men pulled it tight.

The
Mermaid
leaped forward through the swell as if unleashed. We left
Gisella
in our wake. There was a whoop, then laughter from our deck.

As long as I live, I'll never forget those first days of sweeping across the ocean, wind swelling the sails, pushing her another knot or two. How fast could she go? We leaned with the breeze, logging nine knots, ten. Eleven! She was a sprite, a flying fish.

How she shone! We swept and swabbed and scrubbed away all traces of blood and fury, all the filth from below decks, all the gunpowder and shredded cloth. Jem put us to tarring the ropes, and mending some torn sails we found stuffed below in old canvas bags. We slept on deck, all of us, under the stars, and woke each morning in delight at the sails and the sun above us. Carlo and I spent a whole day washing down the galley and setting things straight in the cook's store.

We ate well, those days, breaking open drums of pork and salted beef. Diablo had been a little too hasty in casting us off with all the stores aboard. He'd been too keen to be rid of us, rid of the
Mermaid
, to bother ransacking the hold. Stashed below were great bags of dried apricots and plums, sacks of flour and sugar, vats of Madeira that Jem had locked away until we could reach safe harbour and celebrations. On the Sunday night, a day or so out from the Maltese coast, I fashioned a vast pudding of the kind only ever sighted in a captain's cabin.

We ate it together, all on deck, a spoon in each hand and a cup of fine wine to toast ourselves and our
Mermaid
. Nobody proposed a toast to Diablo.

We sat about under light sail after the wind had dropped, resting tired limbs and grinning at the stars. Miller broke the silence with a comment that would change our lives forever.

‘You know what, boys? I don't want to sail to bloody Valletta.'

There was muted laughter of agreement, a few mumbled ayes.

I took a breath, and when I let it out, the strangest words emerged with the air. ‘We don't have to,' I said.

They all looked at me. Jem sat up straight. Everything was suddenly quiet. Were they thinking me mad, or waiting for me to say something even worse? So I did.

‘We don't have to do anything Diablo says any more.'

‘That's mutiny, lass,' someone muttered.

‘Not on this ship,' I said. ‘He holds no sway here, unless we let him.'

‘It's Diablo's prize, Cyg. You can't rob a captain of his booty!'