Ocean Without End (7 page)

‘It's our prize. We all risked our lives to take her, and we've made her a better ship than Diablo could ever dream of.'

‘What are you saying, girl?' Jem asked me.

In for a penny, in for a pound, I thought.

‘I'm saying this — we have a fast ship, a fine crew, eight good guns, and a few stores to trade. I say we're pirates enough to take on any ship in these waters. We should keep sailing until we're good and ready to go to Valletta.'

‘You're talking rot,' said Miller. ‘Pass the wine, there's a good girl.'

‘No — listen to me. You saw the captain's face when he chose this prize crew. He didn't need to send so many of us. Some of you are his finest sailors.'

‘He chose men he could trust,' Miller retorted.

‘He was ridding himself of all his troublemakers before he sailed for Algiers.'

It was becoming clear to me as I spoke it aloud, although I didn't say what was really in my mind — Diablo had got rid of all those he thought were a bit soft-hearted to be proper cut-throats.

‘He wanted us all off
Gisella
for good,' I went on. ‘So I say we go find our own trouble.'

‘I'm no troublemaker,' said Brasher. ‘I've served under 'im all of five years, never given 'im a moment's grief.'

‘You're right, Brasher,' I countered. ‘Then why send you away, eh? You're wounded, but not so badly you have to be paid off.'

‘I made trouble for him,' Ricardo piped up, ‘and I'm not sorry for it.'

‘You make trouble for everyone,' I teased. The boys laughed, and Francesco dug his elbow into his brother's ribs.

Jem smiled, just a little. He, at least, was listening carefully to me. I kept talking, fast.

‘Miller spoke up against him, for sure. But Brasher? Jem? Moggia? He knows each one of you is as smart as he is. He's just doesn't want anybody on
Gisella
arguing with him.'

‘Now you sound like one of them Frenchie revolutionaries,' said Brasher.

‘She's right about some of it, but not all,' Jem spoke up at last. ‘There's another reason, by my figuring. Look at us. We're all Englishmen, Maltese, Sicilians, Irishmen. There's only Egyptians and Frenchmen left on
Gisella
.'

‘Of course,' I shouted. Why hadn't I seen it before? ‘He's going to make a pact with the Turks. That's why
he met with Hussein Reis. Then he'll set a course … to the Adriatic, maybe. He means to join with Hussein and attack Christian ships!'

‘He wouldn't,' said Moggia. ‘Venice would send out fleets against him. You can't hide from them. They have spies in every port.'

‘I don't think it's east he's sailing,' said Jem.

I glanced over at him. Perhaps he knew more than I realised. He guessed my thoughts and shook his head.

‘Nobody in their right mind sails east searching for prizes in this season — the winds are too variable. No, I think it's Algiers, then Majorca or maybe Spain.'

‘He's mad!' cried Moggia. ‘The English fleet will come. Even
Gisella
's no match for a ship of the line.'

‘It could be either — it's no matter,' Miller said. ‘Venice is old and weak. All of Europe is busy fighting the French. General Bonaparte is on the march. Nobody will care about one rogue pirate ship.'

Carlo smiled. ‘Maybe Diablo is smarter than you think.'

‘Maybe,' I conceded.

‘He's not a man to be double-crossed, I know that,' said Miller. ‘You think you can just sail off in his prize ship? He'll come after you, and I wouldn't like to see what happens then.'

‘It'll be winter before he comes back, wherever he's gone, if he ever does,' I said. ‘We could borrow the ship, if you like. Sail into Valletta, as ordered, but not tomorrow or the day after — just … eventually.' I even smiled at myself. It all sounded so simple.

‘We could sail to the Levant for winter,' suggested
Ricardo, ‘or set ourselves up nicely in Cyprus, somewhere he'd never find us.'

‘Or we could hang from his topmast,' warned Miller. ‘I've seen 'im do it to plenty of men for much less a sin.'

‘But that's what I mean.' I was on my feet now, breathing heavily. ‘We don't need to live in fear of someone like that. It's not how pirates should live. I'm saying we do it the old way, all of us — share and share alike — vote on where we sail, who we're after, how much booty each man gets.'

‘But who'd be captain? Ship's gotta have a captain,' said Brasher.

I looked around me. ‘Jem's the best sailor amongst us. That's what a captain is. He can be sailing master, if you like, so when we're in a gale or after quarry there's one wise voice to shout the orders.'

‘Aye,' someone murmured, ‘makes sense.'

‘I can sail a course, Cyg, but I can't figure one,' said Jem. ‘I'm no navigator, wouldn't pretend to it.'

‘I'll be your navigator, then,' I said. ‘We'll stick to the coastlines we know, and I can set a course if there's need.'

‘You?' Miller scoffed. ‘You're a little young, don't you think?'

‘I can chart a course and use the quadrant,' I retorted. ‘Can you?'

He shook his head.

‘As for the rest, we meet like this and decide together — the watches, the attack plans, any discipline.'

‘No flogging?' asked Ricardo.

‘Not unless we all vote yes.' They were with me now. I could feel it.

‘There's one more problem,' said Miller.

We waited.

‘We'll need a proper bloody cook if you're going to be turning yourself into a midshipman.'

The laughter was like music. We all shared the relief, and a few men even cheered.

‘We'll just have to kidnap another cook.'

‘That's another thing,' I ventured.

‘Oh, what now? You want to be the quartermaster?'

I grinned. Everyone smiled with me.

‘We've lost fifteen men in the last two attacks.'

Heads bowed. I went on.

‘It makes me wonder: if you're a trader captain, and you see a pirate ship bearing down on you, why not just surrender? Why fight to the death, when you know you'll be beaten, your ship ruined and all your men slaughtered? It's not just honour, and they can't all be fools. When we sank that merchant ship, Cookie made me realise why — it's the fear of being sold as slaves. It's not losing the ship or the loot that matters to them. Given the choice between a life of slavery or death in battle, what would you choose?'

The Vella brothers exchanged glances.

‘No, lads, taking slaves makes our life twice as hard as it needs to be,' I said. ‘First, you have to fight like demons to take the ship — look at us — all those men dead and plenty wounded beyond repair. Then you have to keep the people alive, and sail clear across the sea to be rid of 'em. It just doesn't make sense.'

‘Take no prisoners?' said Jem. ‘You mean, kill 'em all?'

‘That's not it. I had something more radical in mind. We should let them go free.'

That really got them laughing.

‘I mean it,' I shouted above the din.

‘You're crazy, girl.'

‘Some of 'em we might not let go without a pretty ransom, of course,' I said.

‘Now she's talkin' sense.'

‘But ransom or no, we take them into port and drop 'em off safe and sound.'

‘You've gone daft, Cyg,' said Miller. ‘Pirates don't do that. We're killers. Remember? Pillagers. Cut-throats. We're supposed to strike fear into the hearts of every living being.'

‘One look at your face, Milly, and they'd fall down dead,' shouted Francesco.

‘I know about fear, Miller.' My voice dropped down low, and they all leaned in a little closer. ‘I've been a slave. I've lived in fear of all of you. You were supposed to kill me. But you didn't. You took pity on me and here I still stand today. You're no cut-throat, Ulysses Miller, and I'm the proof.'

‘Aye, Milly, you should have finished her off when you had the chance.' Jem punched him on the shoulder. ‘Now we're stuck with her and she won't shut up.'

I wouldn't shut up, not now.

‘Jem, Miller, listen to me. I'm not asking you to go all soft. I'm telling you there's a way of doing things that is smarter than Diablo and his sort. Don't you see? We make a big show of it, make a fuss, and let the
Mermaid
be known in all the ports as the ship
that takes no slaves. A few months of doing things my way, the word gets around. So the
Mermaid
draws alongside another trader. He knows he's doomed. What does he do? Does he fight to the death, killing as many of us as he can before we damage his hull so badly he goes to the bottom and we go hungry? No! A sensible man thinks, “I'll lose my ship but save my skin”, and runs down his flag without a shot being fired.'

‘Nonsense,' muttered Brasher. ‘Never heard of such a thing.'

‘Hmmm,' Jem was murmuring. ‘It could work.'

‘Aye, it makes some sort of sense,' said Miller, reluctantly, ‘but what if the captain's never heard of us?'

‘Then he'll fight, and we'll give him as good a fight as he deserves,' I said. ‘But there's more than one way to climb a mast, eh?'

‘Well,' said Jem, getting slowly to his feet. ‘There's plenty to be thinking on. Let's get these sails stowed. I've a feeling the weather's about to break, and we'd best be prepared. We'll talk more tomorrow before we dock.'

‘If we be real old-style pirates, we'll have pudding every night,' Moggia sang out as he went below.

‘And Madeira!' called Ricardo.

Carlo and I cleared away the plates and empty mugs. He was smiling to himself, and when I caught his eye, he winked and turned to clamber down below. I stayed on deck in the rising breeze, watching the clouds flit past the stars and darken the sky.

Jem finished furling the smaller sails and came to
stand beside me, leaning with one hip against the rails. ‘You haven't got Cookie to care for you now,' he said. ‘You'd best sleep in the cabin if there's rain coming. Anyway, you'll need the chart table.' He grinned. ‘You're a navigator now, girl.'

My own cabin? I felt my body fill with amazement. I'd never had a room to myself before, not at home, not ever, and the hole under Cookie's galley bench didn't count. Nobody had a cabin on this ship. Even on
Gisella
, only Diablo had his own room, that spacious salon with ornately carved Spanish furniture. All the other cabins were crammed full of junk, and the men slept in hammocks slung close together in the stinky air below deck.

But on the
Mermaid
there was only one cabin, built for the captain, in the stern of the ship. It was a tiny, dark nook, with one chair, a washbasin, a wooden trunk, and barely enough room to hang a hammock. A door with a brass latch. A hook for wet-weather gear and another for the captain's sword-belt. One wall was taken up by the chart table, the medicine chest, and a fine cabinet for the navigation equipment. Now it was mine.

I'd cleaned up the cabin only the day before. The table had been cluttered with papers and maps — Diablo had taken many of the charts, but not all. In a dark wooden box lay a quadrant, gleaming brass. It was just like my father's, which Lucas and I had taken on our sailing jaunts and tramps all over the island. With a set of navy charts and that quadrant, we could have navigated all over the Mediterranean and right around the world, we'd boasted to each
other. We'd let loose the sheets and drift for hours in the hot sun, our feet up on the gunwales, waiting for a nibble on the fishing line, watching the gulls soar high over our mast.

Lucas. How long until I see your funny crinkly smile again? I gazed to the west, as if wishing could bring me closer to Mama and home.

The night was becoming chill. There was a tremendous clattering and thumping somewhere below — probably Carlo falling down the ladder again. I snuggled my coat around me and got ready to go below, to my cabin.

Before he climbed out on the bowsprit to check the sails, Jem stopped for a quiet word with Brasher, who was still nursing his wounds.

‘Matey, would you have time to run us up a Maltese flag, just in case we need to pretend we're someone we aren't? And how about a new pennant afore we strike Valletta? Something red and gold and not too fearsome?'

Brasher grinned toothlessly. ‘I'll come up with something, lad, never you fear.'

The wind blew up fiercely overnight, just as Jem had predicted, and when I climbed on deck before dawn we were running with the gale and away from Valletta. Max, still sore from the wound in his ribs, was struggling with the tiller, so I handed him a mug of coffee and took a turn. It took all my strength just to keep us on course. The larboard rails were dipping deep into green water as we scudded through the tops of the waves. Within minutes I was soaked to the skin, and rain coursed down my neck and back. I couldn't help but laugh out loud.

Max patted me on the shoulder, smiling up at the straining sails. ‘Aye, lass, she's a beauty, in't she?'

I didn't have any spare muscles left for nodding, so I just grinned.

Max pointed to a long smudge of grey on the horizon. ‘There's the Maltese coast yonder, but we won't be docking anywhere tonight, that's for sure. You've got your wish, Cyg. We'll be leagues from here by nightfall.'

‘Not if I can help it,' Jem's voice came from behind us. ‘Bring her up into the wind. Ricardo, give Cyg a hand.'

‘You on deck!' Jem shouted down. ‘Reef the mainsail!'

‘Ah, matey, we can't bring her around in this,' Max complained.

‘I didn't say we were. Just a couple of points should do it. We don't want to be out in this weather. I've a feeling there's a gale on its way. We'll need to find shelter.'

I'd been studying the charts until late into the night. The coastline appeared as rugged as Santa Lucia, but with watchtowers and forts on the headlands. The Knights of Malta guarded their sea lanes like jealous husbands.

‘Can we cut around Gozo and seek out an anchorage?' I asked.

‘Good idea.' Jem nodded. ‘Let's keep out of the shipping channels until we decide what kind of damn pirates we really are. We'll stay close to Malta, but we'd best not land on the main island just yet. If this wind keeps up, we'll be safe enough in Shipwreck Bay.'

‘If this wind keeps up, we could be in some cosy Sicilian tavern for supper,' said Ricardo.

‘Or smashed to pieces on some cosy Sicilian cliff,' Jem joked. ‘No, I fear we're a little further west than we mean to be, so we'll skirt around the islands and find shelter. It's going to be a rough night.'

The day turned out to be rough enough. I plotted the course for Jem and checked it twice. He kept us reefed and well away from the cliffs as we skirted the islands in search of safe harbour. Past San Dimitri Point, the wind calmed a little, and we came at last to
anchor in a bay with a stony beach. Even here, the wind was chopping the water. A few small fishing boats, brightly painted, were pulled up on the rocks. It looked like everyone was expecting a big blow.

Jem sent a boat into shore to trade for some fish and fresh water, but there was no rest for us yet. He had the men stash the sails and tie down anything that might move in a storm.

Carlo and I baked extra loaves in case we had to douse the fires later. He was in high spirits, singing as he worked, and I laughed as he tried to reach a note several octaves too high for his deep voice.

‘What is that? You sound like a tomcat.'

‘Don't say such a thing. I am singing a hymn to Our Lady. Tomorrow, I think, is the Feast of the Assumption. It is a great day.'

‘How is it that your people are so pious, but also pirates?' I asked. ‘Forgive me. I mean no offence by that,' I added quickly.

‘There is no offence. My family are not pirates as these men are pirates.' He waved a flour-covered hand. ‘We are, if you like, crusaders.'

‘The Crusades are long gone, Carlo.'

‘Not in my country. We crusade against the Infidels. We take their ships, we take them prisoner, and one day we will take back the Holy Land.'

This was the territory of the Knights of Malta, the licensed pirates of the Mediterranean, noblemen from the great families of Europe, who sailed from their mystical city of Valletta in galleys powered by Turkish slaves. They were messengers from God, or so they claimed, and defenders of the Faith. Richer
than the Pope, it was said, who called on the Knights of the Cross when there was pirate work to be done on behalf of Rome: burning Ottoman ships or bearing soldiers across the sea.

Two hundred years ago, the Knights had defended their island fortress against the Ottoman fleet, and they guarded it to this day from their luxurious palaces. The richest, most powerful of them all was the Grand Master. I had heard so many tales of the fortress city and its people: every noblewoman wore silk and ermine, every Knight had a silver sword and his own fleet, the harbour glittered with golden pennants, and the cathedral bells could be heard across all three islands of Malta. This was Carlo's world.

‘You take the Infidels prisoner, they take you prisoner, Diablo takes everyone prisoner,' I grumbled. ‘It makes no sense.'

‘It is the way of the sea, Cygno. That is all.'

‘Tell me, Carlo, what do you think of your El Capitán de Diablo now?'

‘He is not a gentleman.' Carlo shook his head, his dark curls twitching. ‘I do not like him.'

‘When I first met you —'

‘Pah! I was young. Since then I have been in combat. Now I am a man. I understand things.'

I leaned down to nudge the tray closer to the embers, smiling to myself. Carlo was only a couple of years older than me, yet sometimes he seemed as young as Lucas. But he was brave enough.

‘I've been in combat, too,' I reminded him.

‘That soldier. He would not have fallen to you if
I had not weakened him first in a mighty duel.'

At that I laughed out loud. Carlo looked shocked. ‘Cygno! Do not mock me. It is true.'

I don't think I'd laughed like that the whole time I'd been away from home. I laughed until tears ran down my face, and the more I laughed, the more Carlo protested, and the funnier he seemed.

‘You did not see me, Cygno. I fought like a demon! Slashing here, thrusting there. I nearly had him at the point of my sword. Why do you laugh? It was not funny. I could have been slaughtered. But no. I fought back.'

‘Carlo, I'm sorry. I don't mean to laugh.'

I tried to keep from chuckling, but it burst from me again, and I hid my face in my hands.

‘It is undignified, to laugh so.' Carlo was quiet now.

‘It is. I'm sorry.' I knew I had hurt his feelings.

He was silent for a long moment.

‘If you meet my father,' he said, at last, ‘you will not tell him that you and I fought the same man, and that you … won.'

I peered at his face through the smoke and steam of the tiny galley. He was crouched by the fire, staring into the flames.

‘Carlo, you are my friend,' I said. ‘I may joke with you here, aboard our ship, but I would never bring you dishonour.'

‘You will not tell him I worked in the kitchen like a slave?'

‘I will never even lay eyes on your father, not in a hundred years, Carlo. He is a duke. I'm a
fisherman's daughter. You mustn't worry.'

‘Promise me this.' His gaze was on my face now, intent and pleading.

‘Of course, I promise.'

He smiled, relaxed. ‘I will soon be home.'

‘You're lucky. Your father will be happy.'

I couldn't hide my jealousy. It tasted like vinegar in my mouth.

If you come from wealth, your freedom can be bought like a barrel of salt fish. If you're poor, like me, you have to content yourself with dreams of home, with fantasies of making your own fortune.

I knew now that the crew wouldn't let me go. They weren't as vicious as many men on the high seas — some of them I even liked, and some of them liked me. But while they had a use for me, they wouldn't set me free. I was a slave as surely as those men shackled in
Gisella
's miserable hold.

All I could do now was to make my own way, take whatever chances were blown into my path. It might take months or years. But one day, just like Carlo, I would return home with honour.

Even if I had to become a pirate myself.