Or Else My Lady Keeps the Key Read online

  “At least I got paid wages for it,” he said. “And I chose to be here. Nobody, man or god, will ever ride my back again.”

  SIX:

  The Santa Isabel

  JOHN WAS DEAD-TIRED WHEN he went to bed that night. He retired to the cabin, for Captain Reynald had graciously allowed him to keep it, “in order that the fair lady might enjoy her privacy”. Sejanus had been granted a hammock where the rest of the crew slept, and got on famously with them, and everyone seemed to have forgotten that Mr. Tudeley had a cabin somewhere aft. Privacy for John there was none, of course; only Mrs. Waverly curled up in the narrow cot, frowning at him when he blundered in.

  “Do put the candle out soon, won’t you?” she said, sharpish. “I had just fallen asleep.”

  “Sorry, ma’am,” said John. He swung himself up into the hammock and groped for the candle, pinching the flame out. He lay there, swaying in the pitch darkness, wondering uneasily what he should do if he needed to break wind.

  The question occupied him to the edge of consciousness. Just as he was slipping over the edge into sleep he was jerked back by a small sharp noise, very loud in that confined space. For a moment he lay petrified with embarrassment, thinking he had farted. As he recollected the sound, however, he realized it had been more of a metallic sound; not unlike a coin or small bauble striking the deck.

  “What is it?” said Mrs. Waverly, out of the darkness. She sounded full wide awake.

  “Somebody dropped something.”

  “I don’t believe so,” she said. John heard her rustling about. “I believe you were dreaming, Mr. James. I heard nothing. Do go back to sleep.”

  * * *

  The deck was flush, all the pegs sanded down and all the nail-holes stuffed with oakum and tar. Now John saw why Reynald’s men put up with his silly-arse ideas about universal brotherhood; for the captain knew his craft. He had the Harmony rerigged, giving her fore-and-aft sails for speed.

  Reynald stalked her aft deck in satisfaction, gazing up at the spars and lines, now and then ordering an adjustment. When she was in full trim they caught a wind and ran, and made twelve knots. She might be broad in the beam, but now the Harmony was fast as a hare, and answered the helm like a willing bride.

  No sooner was she apt for work but she found employment.

  * * *

  “Allons!” Captain Reynald grinned and closed up his spyglass. “Flag of Spain! Anslow, signal the Fraternity. We pursue!”

  John, who had been cleaning the one-pound gun, looked up in interest. He could just make out the tilting pyramid of sail on the northern horizon, and the unwieldy bulk under it that suggested a merchant galleon. He cheered up considerably. Cargoes of tortoiseshell and logwood were pleasant enough to have a share in; the same went for sugar and rum. But the prospect of Spanish emeralds, or gold, or silver from the mines of Potosi, was enough to make the mouth water.

  “What’s happening?” said Mr. Tudeley, who had been helping him by holding the rags and bucket of grease.

  “We’re going into action,” said John, grinning as he watched the Fraternity wheel about and take off after the Spaniard like a coursing greyhound. The Harmony came about too and cut after her, and men catcalled and ran up into the rigging for a better view as they sped along.

  “Oh dear God,” said Mr. Tudeley. “And now I shall be party to murder and robbery.”

  “No!” said John. “That’s a Spanish ship, see? Now, you and me being English, our consciences are clear. They’re the enemies of the nation, so for us it’s a proper act of war.”

  “But there has been a treaty signed,” said Mr. Tudeley. “We are at peace now, or hadn’t you heard?”

  John had heard something of the sort, but he shrugged. “Like as not they’ll declare war again, when they hear what we done at Panama. And, you know, they’re only Papists after all.” He looked around at Captain Reynald. “Shouldn’t care to be a Frenchman,” he added thoughtfully, “because they’re Papists too, and I don’t know how they square their consciences going after Spaniards.”

  “I can’t bear this,” said Mr. Tudeley, gathering up his rags and bucket. “I’m going to my cabin.”

  “Just fetch up the powder and shot first, will you?” John called after him, watching avidly as the distance closed between the Harmony and the Spaniard.

  * * *

  The Spaniard was the Santa Ysabel, and the Fraternity had already engaged her to port when the Harmony came storming up to starboard. Little puffs of smoke were showing, here and there as muskets were fired.

  John, who had been waiting impatiently for Mr. Tudeley’s return, sprinted below and found him struggling upward with his arms full of shot, holding a powder horn between his teeth. “Oh, Bleeding Jesus,” cried John, and grabbed him up bodily and ran back on deck with him.

  “Le gouvernail!” Captain Reynald was roaring, pointing at the Santa Ysabel’s rudder. They were within point blank range. “Shoot! Shoot her!”

  “Aye sir!” John slammed down Mr. Tudeley and relieved him of a gunball. He grabbed the powder horn, loaded, turned for a bit of wadding—

  “Where’s the damn wadding?”

  “The what?”

  John spotted a book peeping from Mr. Tudeley’s coat pocket. “Here.” He grabbed it, tore out a page and shoved it down the gun, over Mr. Tudeley’s cry of outrage. The ball was rammed down, and then—

  “Where’s the slow match?”

  “You didn’t ask for one!”

  “Oh, you whoreson ninny—”

  “Merde! C’est incroyable,” muttered one of the musketmen, and dropped to his knees beside John, who aimed for the Santa Ysabel’s rudder. The one-pounder was tiny, no longer than John’s arm, but easy as a pistol to aim. They waited until the rise and the musketman dabbed his slow match to the touch hole. The gun fired; the little ball sped true and smashed pintle and gudgeon both, a beautiful shot if not much use. Hastily they reloaded, tearing another page from Mr. Tudeley’s book (“You bastards! That’s Boethius’s The Consolation of Philosophy!” raged Mr. Tudeley) and fired again, John praying for lightning to strike twice.

  He heard the shot strike home but couldn’t see it; yet his luck must have held, for the Santa Ysabel wallowed and swung, drifting sidelong and turning her bow toward the Fraternity. Over the cracking of musket-fire John heard the Spanish tillerman cursing, as the Harmony cruised past and came around again.

  Now the Harmony had the advantage, for her tops were full of buccaneers, crack marksmen. They picked off the one sharpshooter in the Santa Ysabel’s main top, whose attention had been focused on the men in the Fraternity. His covering fire stopped as the crew of the Fraternity pulled close enough to grapple and board.

  John leapt up and ran below, grabbing a cutlass and axe from the arms-rack. He felt the crash as they ground into the Santa Ysabel’s side, but kept his feet and ran on deck once more, in time to see a Frenchman cut down right in front of him by a Spanish musketball. Mr. Tudeley was on his hands and knees, crawling crabwise. John kicked the dead man’s cutlass toward him.

  “Come on!” he roared, as he spotted the Spanish marksman re-loading on the quarterdeck of the Santa Ysabel. He hurled the axe, which spun end over end and took the Spaniard full in the face. The man dropped with three inches of steel spike in his brains. John ran on and vaulted the shifting uneasy space at the rail, landing on his feet aboard the other vessel.

  His enthusiasm evaporated, as it tended to do in the heat of battle, when his cold rational self woke to blood and mayhem. Panic drove him then, and so far had done well by him, enabling him to mow through his assailants.

  He looked around now and promptly ducked, as one of the defenders swung a Toledo blade at him. The man had a better blade and was a better swordsman; John knew no style but a butcher’s, but he was bigger and had the reach on the other, and was scared besides. His opponent fell with a grunt, cleft at the shoulder, and didn’t move again. John saw men boiling up from belowdecks and yelled in terror. He p
ut his blade up and beat away the first, and beheaded the second, and by slow degrees hacked through the crowd to the companionway and stood there gibbering, killing the Spaniards before they could come out, like a housewife smashing beetles.

  Then there was blood all over the deck, all over the treads of the companionway, and John was looking down at dead men. He peered around, confused. Something was on fire, smoke tendrils were drifting up now from the hole at his feet. He saw Sejanus, grinning white through a mask of blood as he fought, and behind him another black man, one John did not recognize. The man was a near-giant, whaling away with a big squared blade; his strokes mirrored those of Sejanus, with eerie precision. It looked almost like a martial dance.

  Then a grimacing enemy rose into John’s field of vision, pointing a pistol full into his face. John shouted and ducked, cutting the Spaniard’s legs out from under him. He rose and to his astonishment saw Mr. Tudeley, holding his cutlass out as though it was a poker, attempting to fend off an opponent. The other lunged forward and sliced away Mr. Tudeley’s left ear, and cut the string that held his spectacles on his face to boot. Yet he overreached.

  His stroke carried him against the rail, in which time Mr. Tudeley had time to realize what had happened. He caught his spectacles and clapped a hand to the side of his head, disbelieving; then burst into tears. He ran full tilt at his enemy and impaled him on his blade. The man fell, yanking the hilt from Mr. Tudeley’s grasp as he dropped. Mr. Tudeley stood there weeping, streaming blood down his neck. He fumbled for his handkerchief and clapped it to where his ear had been, murmuring “You bastard, oh, you bastard. How shall I wear my spectacles now?”

  “Victoire!” someone was shouting. John turned to stare and saw Captain Reynald swinging a bloody cutlass on high. All the Spaniards were down, dead or dying. The Santa Ysabel had been taken.

  * * *

  When they ventured below they saw they might have taken the Santa Ysabel, but they weren’t likely to keep her. A fire had been started somewhere down in the hold, and thick white smoke was billowing up. Some of the men went down with buckets of water to try to put it out, but they couldn’t find where it was before the smoke drove them out again, blinded with tears, choking.

  So in the end it became a frantic game, running down with wet cloths bound over their mouths to grab what bales and boxes they could and drag them up on deck, to be swung over to the Harmony. John and Anslow hung off the stern on ropes and kicked in the windows of the great cabin. They got a lot of the Spanish captain’s candlesticks and plate that way, as well as some armor and navigation gear.

  But all the while the smoke was getting thicker, and the fire could be heard now, crackling away somewhere deep. The Fraternity ungrappled and cast off, sailing free just as the first red flame appeared. Little bright tongues danced up through a blackened patch of deck. “Abandon ship!” someone shouted, and John joined the general rush to scramble back on board the Harmony. They cast off and moved away from the Santa Ysabel with bare moments to spare: indeed the Harmony’s paint was bubbled and discolored from the heat, where she’d lain too close. The same breeze that pushed them away fanned the blaze, and looking back John could see the little flames running up the Santa Ysabel’s shrouds and lines like sailors.

  They did not stay to watch it burn, but beat away north. Still it was visible a long while behind them, as night fell, an inferno pitching up and down on the black water.

  SEVEN:

  Tortuga

  IT OCCURRED TO JOHN to wonder where Mrs. Waverly had been during the battle. He assumed she had sensibly remained in her cabin, but thought he ought to go down and ask her how she did. So, as the wounded were being laid out groaning, John took a horn lamp and went below.

  “Ma’am?” he said, knocking on the door. There was no answer. He wondered if she had fainted, and opened the door and shone the lantern in. There was no sign of her.

  “What are you doing, Mr. James?” Her voice came from behind him. He swung around to see her approaching him from the direction of the foc’sle.

  “What’re you doing?” he demanded, in his surprise. She looked pained.

  “Seeing to private matters,” she said primly.

  “Oh.”

  “I trust the engagement is over, and Captain Reynald won?”

  “Aye, he did, ma’am”

  “And were many poor fellows wounded, on our side?”

  “We’re fair cut up, ma’am, but the other side’s are all dead.”

  “I must do my best to tend to our boys, then,” said Mrs. Waverly. She shoved past him into the cabin. He heard her rummaging in her trunk. She emerged with one of her shifts, tearing it into strips, and went up on deck. John followed her.

  There was a sort of Guy Fawkes’ Night air on deck, with the smell of gunpowder strong and the loot from the Santa Ysabel piled up all untidy in the lanternlight. The wounded sat or lay here and there, while the others were eagerly opening barrels and crates to see what they’d got. Mrs. Waverly knelt at once to play the ministering angel to the hurt. John shrugged and walked forward to the plunder.

  “What’d we take?”

  “Commodities,” said a Frenchman named Belanger, and spat. “Maize flour. Salt. Le tissu coton, what d’you call her, calico?”

  “Hell,” said John. “Well, the candlesticks and plate ought to be worth something, eh?”

  “We will get a good price for all,” Captain Reynald told them. “Turn it all into gold at la belle Tortue! Madame, truly you are a saint.” He crouched beside Mrs. Waverly, who was binding up the stump of Mr. Tudeley’s ear.

  “It is a lady’s duty, sir,” she said, smiling at him. Mr. Tudeley paused in his lament long enough to watch sourly as Captain Reynald kissed Mrs. Waverly’s hand, and then resumed:

  “—Maimed, maimed like a common criminal, I might as well have been branded for a thief! How shall I show my face in public again?”

  “Your scar shall be a badge of honor, my friend,” Captain Reynald told him, gazing into Mrs. Waverly’s eyes.

  “Oh, gammon and spinach,” snapped Mr. Tudeley. “And what am I to do about my spectacles?”

  “Tie them around the back of your head,” advised Sejanus, who had come through the entire fight without a scratch. He found a bit of string and bound Mr. Tudeley’s spectacles on for him, though he had to fasten them around the outside of the bandage Mrs. Waverly had bound on, the ends of which stuck up on Mr. Tudeley’s head like rabbit ears. “There! Now you can see.”

  “Though I shan’t wish to look in my shaving-glass,” moaned Mr. Tudeley. “What indignity.”

  “Have some rum,” said John absently, for he was rummaging in one of the boxes he’d salvaged from the Spanish captain’s cabin. It looked to have nothing much of value in it. He pulled out a comb and a bundle of letters bound with ribbon, a block of sealing wax, a sort of jointed ivory tool containing a toothpick and other personal grooming devices. There was a smaller box inside, too. John opened it and whistled. He saw a pair of earrings, gold set with dangling emeralds, and a twist of paper that when opened contained four loose pearls of varying sizes.

  “Here’s something, anyway,” said John, holding out the box. Captain Reynald rose and peered into it, then dipped out the earrings.

  “Adornment for a beautiful woman! Let this share go to Madame, our selfless nurse!”

  “Sir!” Mrs. Waverly’s eyes gleamed as she beheld the gold and emeralds. “I couldn’t possibly accept such a generous gift!” But her hand went out for them pretty fast anyway, and closed tight on them. John, seeing that Captain Reynald hadn’t noticed the pearls, closed them up again in their paper twist and pocketed them.

  There was some grumbling among the men about Mrs. Waverly getting the earrings, but Captain Reynald spoke a few more high-flown words about gallantry and beauty. In the end the wounded crawled or were carried off to the foc’sle and the unscathed lugged the plunder below, and that was that.

  * * *

  They made for Tort
uga next day, sailing through fair weather. Only the weather was fair; there was a glum and quarrelsome mood on board the Harmony, and not just from resentment over Mrs. Waverly being given the emerald earrings. (Though it was true that one or two malicious parties accosted John in various corners, to tell him that they had positive proof he was being cuckolded by Captain Reynald. The horns being false, John still felt profound irritation at being suspected of wearing them.)

  No, the main disquiet amongst the crew was generated when they began to complain of the loss of small valuables. One man missed a little pearl-handled knife, another a lucky trinket, still another a ring he had taken from a dead man. No one could point a finger at who might have done it.

  And two of the crew got in a fight over what one had said about the other’s religion, and knives were drawn, and one of them lost an eye in the fight. His screams and moaning kept the whole ship awake, until his desperate mates fed him enough rum to shut him up. Captain Reynald was aghast. He lectured both the combatants next day, long and earnestly, on the need to set aside old sectarian grudges in favor of secular unanimity.

  And, in addition to his other woes, Mr. Tudeley developed a toothache that nothing could ease, though his shipmates pointed out that holding a mouthful of rum would kill the pain, or at least keep him from caring about it.

  And the stores of food turned out to have been miscounted, and they had to go on half rations the last few days, though Mrs. Waverly was excepted. The captain explained that a delicate female must not be expected to endure the same hardships as a seasoned corsair.

  * * *

  “Next thing they’ll do, they’ll start talking about how a woman’s bad luck on a ship,” said Sejanus, winding a length of fishing-line. “You’d better mind the lady, lest they put her over the side. Nothing more dangerous than a pack of scared whites.”

  “Bugger off,” said John, watching grumpily as Captain Reynald demonstrated the use of an astrolabe to Mrs. Waverly. “Why’nt you go over on the Fraternity and serve alongside the other darky, if you find us so damn funny?”