The Time Pirate (31 page)

“A perfect match, you say? Only you three can be the judge of that,” Hobbes said, now placing his hands atop the treasures. “Come have a look!”

Hawke, Nick, and Gunner gathered round the desk, staring at the black-draped balls.

“Confound it, Hobbes,” His Lordship said. “Enough drama. Show us what you've done!”

Hobbes, with a dramatic flourish, whisked away the velvet covers. Two golden orbs sat upon the desk, gleaming like the sun itself.

“Someone please point out the original,” Hobbes said, puffed up a bit with pride.

Hawke picked up his large ivory-handled magnifying glass and leaned in to inspect one, then the other.

“Impossible to tell,” he said, handing the glass to Gunner. “Have a go, Gunner.”

After a close inspection, he, too, deemed it impossible to choose. “Identical,” he declared, handing the glass to Nick.

The boy took his time, peering at the gleaming golden balls through the glass from every possible angle. “Circumference looks the same,” he said. “Engraving is perfect.”

“Exactly the same,” Hobbes said. “And the weight?” Nick asked. “The weight will be very important.”

“Not a gram's difference between them.”

“You've done it, Hobbes!” Nick said, smiling up at his friend. “Can we have a peek inside?”

“But of course. You open one and I'll open the other.”

The machines opened along the equator by twisting the top and bottom halves in counterclockwise directions. Once
opened, Hobbes and Nick placed the machines side by side on the table. His three companions leaned over the desk and examined each machine in turn.

Hobbes said, “I had a bit of trouble cutting the stones to fit exactly, but as I've often said, it's a poor craftsman who blames his tools.”

“They look perfect,” Nick said, admiring his friend's handiwork.

“The glass, M'lord?” Hobbes said, offering the magnifying glass to Lord Hawke.

“I don't need it. By heaven, you've done it, Hobbes. Not a man on earth could distinguish any difference between the two. Not even an expert jeweler at Van Cleef in Paris. Well done, old fellow, well done indeed!”

Nick turned to Hobbes and flung his arms around him, hugging him. “I can never thank you enough, Hobbes,” Nick said. “If Gunner and I have any chance of success in saving my sister and holding on to the Tempus Machina, it will only be through your magnificent efforts.”

Hawke opened a drawer in his desk and removed a beautifully ebony box inlaid with ivory. “Nick, Gunner, I want you to take these with you. To be used in case of an emergency. You're going into a pirates' den, and I think it unwise for you to enter such a place unarmed.”

Inside the felt-lined case were a pair of matching pistols, small silver automatics with ivory grips. Hawke handed one to Nick and one to Gunner. “A Walther PPK. It fires a small .25-caliber round, so it's no good at any distance. But for close-in work, it will come in handy. These leather holsters should be worn in the small of your back, under your shirts. The magazine holds nine rounds. If you must use them, use them wisely.”

“Nick,” Hobbes said, “I took the liberty of working up an
identical leather orb pouch to the one you conceal under your arm. My thought is you should entrust the real machine to Gunner and carry the replica in your own pouch. And do not, under any circumstances, hand over the duplicate machine until you've seen Kate alive, unharmed, and in your presence. Do you understand? He releases her into your hands before you hand him the orb.”

“Won't he wonder how we intend to get home without it?” Nick asked.

“An astute question. But I would stake my life on his euphoria driving him to distraction. The miracle of finally possessing the twin orbs will send him into such paroxysms of ecstasy, he will scarcely care what happens to you. But if he tries to trick you in any way, shape, or form, tries to take the three of you against your will, you must use the guns, Nick; you must escape his sight and use the real machine to return home.”

“I will remember that, sir,” Nick said. “Thank you.”

“Well, lad,” Gunner said, trying on a smile, “I think we should let His Lordship and the commander finish closing up the castle and go back and get yer little sister, Kate.”

“Yes,” Nick said, “here's Kate's note, Gunner. Will you enter the exact time and geographical location into the machine?”

“I will indeed. I became quite handy with this blasted thing on our last adventure, you'll remember.”

Gunner spread the ransom note out on Lord Hawke's desk and began to enter the time destination into the Tempus half of the orb, and the geographical location into the Locus half. Not until the two halves were rejoined would Gunner and Nick find themselves in Port Royal in the year 1781.

“Godspeed, Nick,” Lord Hawke said, laying a hand on the boy's shoulder. “You, too, Gunner. The Commander and I wish
you every success. If anyone can do this, and come home safely, it's the two of you. And when you have returned, remember, I'll be counting on you to keep an eye on those damnable Nazis for me.”

“We will, sir,” Nick said. “Are you ready, Gunner?”

“Aye,” he said, holding out his half of the golden ball.

“We're off, then,” Nick said with a brave smile. He held his half out to Gunner, and the two halves began to glow and pull strongly toward each other, time and space rejoined.

There was the familiar tinkling of a thousand tiny bells as each atom of the two time-traveler's beings turned into countless tiny fireflies, which began to wink out one by one until Nick and Gunner were no longer standing in Lord Hawke's study.

In the wink of an eye, they'd returned to the year 1781, to a Jamaican town called Port Royal, a place where a man watched his every move and called no man his friend.

· Port Royal, Jamaica—1781 ·

N
ick and Gunner found themselves in a foul-smelling back alley, perhaps a block from Port Royal's harbor, judging by the sound of creaking rigging and snapping canvas nearby. A light rain was falling and the breeze off the sea was freshening. Nick had arrived seconds ahead of Gunner and so heard the soft tinkling bells and witnessed the millions of tiny fireflies swarming together to form Gunner's physical being. Nick held his breath until Gunner was standing there fully in the flesh, praying that no passerby would chance to stumble upon the alley and the scene now taking place.

But as luck would have it, they were alone. No one had chanced to see them arrive, an event which surely would have caused a lot of unwanted attention.

“Bit o' luck,” Gunner said, looking down the alley toward the deserted street.

“Yes, but—” Nick felt something nibbling at his boot and looked down.

Rats. Hundreds of them, it looked like. A swirling sea of
horrible slick-skinned rodents, writhing and squirming, more like snakes or worms than any four-footed animals.

“Maybe we should get out of here,” Nick said, kicking away at the rats trying to climb up inside his trouser legs.

“I was just thinking that exact thing myself. Funny, ain't it, two blokes arriving at the same conclusions at the same time?”

There was a cobbled street at the open end of the alley, angling downward toward the harbor. A flickering gas street-lamp cast a pool of hazy yellow light on the glistening cobblestones. There seemed to be no one about, and Nick ran through the swarming creatures, most eager to escape the alley. Gunner was behind him, walking gingerly, trying to avoid the slimy things. He'd lived with rats on shipboard most of his life and had special fear of the loathsome creatures.

“Harbor's to the right, lad!” Gunner called ahead to Nick, who was nearing the street.

“How do you know for sure?”

“I can smell it. Hear it.”

Gunner saw Nick go flying around the corner into the street and then, in the mere blink of an eye, he came hurtling back, flying through the air now and landing on his backside with a hard thud.

Gunner was about to call out to him when he saw an unruly gang of five or six men arrive, all staring at the boy lying in the street. Obviously Nick had run headlong into the lot of them and been solidly knocked backward for his troubles.

Gunner meant to race forward out of the shadows into the street and help Nick to his feet, but some instinct told him to remain hidden for a moment or two more.

Nick got to his feet and brushed off the back of his trousers,
smiling all the while at the five drunken ruffians looming over him.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Nick began, “I wasn't watching where I—”

“Silence!” the largest of the pirates shouted at Nick, lunging toward him, slurring the word. “I've a mind to run you through for that, you scurvy little pup.” The huge pirate drew his sword and pointed the sharp tip dangerously close to Nick's chest, flicking the buttons on his shirt.

“It was only an accident,” Nick said, not backing down. “Where I come from, sir, when a gentleman apologizes, no matter where the fault lies, the offended gentleman accepts his apologies.”

For a moment the gang was shocked into silence at the audacity of this mere cabin boy.

“Where he comes from? Is ‘at what he said?” a fat little matey said. His friends roared with laughter.

“Are ye sayin' I ain't no gentleman?” the big man said. He took another step toward the boy, raising his sword. He looked back at his men, a cruel smile on his lips. “What say ye? Run ‘im through? Or relieve him of his insolent head?”

“Off with his head!” the other four cried in rum-soaked unison. “Off with it now.”

“Aye. I agree,” he said, drawing his sword back to deliver a blow that would surely sever Nick's head. Gunner saw Nick's hand reaching behind him for his gun, but it was too late.

Just at the moment the blade began its swift descent, there came the sound of a sharp explosion in the dark alley and a flash of flame. The pirate's sword clattered to the street, the echo of steel clanging on stone reverberating the length of it. The drunken buccaneer stayed on his feet for a moment,
swaying, and then he fell face-first to the ground like a stone, blood pouring from a wound in his left temple.

Gunner stepped out into the light, his small automatic pistol trained on the remaining members of the rowdy crew, now staring in stunned silence at their fallen leader.

“Who's for more of this?” Gunner said, taking aim at the street lamp atop the post. He fired the gun again, exploding the glass.

“Apologize to the boy,” he said to the nearest of them, putting the muzzle of the gun to the blackguard's head.

“What do you—”

“I'll kill you where you stand, sir, unless you do my bidding.”

“Beg pardon,” the bewildered pirate muttered to Nick, as the pool of blood flowing from the dead man's head spread around his boots.

“Good enough,” Gunner said. “Now all of you be on your way, and quick about it. You can come back for that one later, if you think he's worth burying. But trouble me and this boy again, and I swear I'll blow all yer sodden brains out, too.”

The pirates stared at Gunner for a moment, looking at the small silver weapon still smoking in his hand, and then bolted up the hill and disappeared over the top of it. Gunner stuck his gun back into its holster.

“Thank you,” Nick said, stepping over the corpse and smiling at his friend. “I think he really meant to do it.”

“Oh, he was intending to do it, lad, no doubt. The Brethren of Blood these Caribee pirates call themselves. And every last one of them would rather kill you than look at you.”

“This isn't going to be easy, is it, Gunner?” Nick asked.

“No, lad, it ain't going to be the slightest bit easy.”

“The story will spread. Think they'll come looking for us?”

“They might. If those four drunkards could find anyone to believe them.”

“You just saved my life.”

“I did.”

“I'd like to repay the debt.”

“I've little doubt you'll get the chance before this night is over.”

They walked down the hill to where the street dead-ended at the harbor. Both of them stopped dead in their tracks at the sight before them.

“Good Lord,” Gunner said, staring openmouthed at the sheer number of ships filling the harbor.

“All flying the Jolly Roger,” Nick said, a bit of awe in his voice. “Every last one.”

“It's a bloody pirate armada,” Gunner said. “Never in me life seen the likes of it!”

“How many ships do you imagine?”

“A hundred at the very least.”

“Blood's behind this. I'd bet me last guinea on it.”

Nick had noticed a lone woman standing on the corner of Harbour Road. She was under a street lamp and had smiled politely at him as he and Gunner passed. She was fancifully dressed, as if for some kind of gala, with great hoops of gold dangling from her ears. She wore a skirt of scarlet that touched the ground and a frilly white blouse that scarcely covered her gently heaving bosom.