On A Lee Shore Read online

  “Well, we did it,” Kit said to Valliere.

  “Did you doubt that we would?” Valliere asked. “When Griffin plans, he plans well and chooses his men carefully.”

  “I didn’t doubt that we would carry out our part,” Kit said with a grin. “But I did wonder if the Spaniards would.”

  Valliere nodded. “That was always in question,” he agreed then bellowed a stream of Spanish along the deck to resolve some confusion.

  They sailed in company for the rest of the morning, and gradually the tone of the ship changed. Now Kit was spending less time directing those Spanish prisoners who had been put to work than he was keeping an eye on the prize crew of pirates. He was aided in this by the way they kept an eye on each other, but they were all plainly desperate to get down to rummaging the ship and especially to see what treasures the holds contained.

  Just after noon he instructed two men to find the galley and see what they could achieve in the way of food. But the sullen protests from the men he hadn’t named brought him up short.

  “How much treasure do you think there will be in the galley?” he demanded. “And may I remind you that La Griffe will have our guts for ratlines if we go into business on our own account rather than for the company’s? There will be an equal and fair division made as soon as we have time and leisure. For now, how about if Valliere accompanies them below while I take the whipstaff myself? Surely you aren’t about to suggest that he would go against the articles?”

  “Are you?” Valliere asked and gave the shoulder of the most vocal protester a cheerful slap as the man backed down.

  Feeding two dozen pirates was simple enough. Feeding and watering the Spanish crew was less easy, especially since Kit felt he couldn’t count on their cooperation. Letting them relax in small groups just increased the chance that someone might organize them to take back the ship. He had weeded out the officers and petty officers as far as he was able, but that still left some dangerous men hiding among the ratings. So he kept them moving, kept them busy, and had food and drink brought to them to eat on their feet one handed while they carried on their tasks with the other.

  Getting on for sunset, Kit ordered most the sails to be reefed, so the Santiago slowed, rocking gently on the calm sea. As arranged, the Ciervo was brought alongside and Garnet approached as well, sending a boat across.

  “Kit!” Jago approached arms spread wide and swept Kit up in an unpleasantly close embrace. Griffin’s greeting was more restrained, but his smile and the heat in his eyes warmed Kit to the core. The captain of the Ciervo was completely unenthusiastic.

  “You have achieved your goal,” he said. “Now, please, allow us to depart as was the agreement.” He looked at Griffin as he said it but Jago replied.

  “Depart is it?” He scratched his beard with his hook and peered down at the Ciervo. “And with that the handiest looking little caravel I’ve seen in a long age? I think we’ll have to discuss that.”

  The Spanish captain’s protest mingled with Griffin’s, but Jago merely grinned and raised his hook. “But first we have a cargo to inspect—don’t we, boys?”

  The roar of agreement made it clear that nothing else would do, and the lot drawing began as to who would accompany the captains below, who would guard the Spaniards, and who would make sure the ships didn’t founder.

  Kit joined Valliere at the wheel and greeted Detorres with a smile when he approached.

  “They are like children,” Detorres growled, nodding to the squabbles, so far fairly amicable. Griffin and Jago, however, stood toe-to-toe in furious discussion.

  “Not all of them,” Kit said. “Or you and your crew would have been disposed of long since.”

  “Griffin made a pact with you,” Valliere said, his Spanish far better than Kit’s. “And he will honor it. He is an honorable man.”

  “He’s a pirate,” Detorres said with a sneer.

  “Which is something very easy to become,” Kit pointed out. “A few months ago I was a naval officer looking for a ship. Instead the ship found me and look at me now—in a dead man’s clothes with my beard full of pig grease.”

  “Ah—I wondered what the smell was.” Detorres leaned on the railing to windward and looked down at his ship with a sigh.

  Kit decided not to take offense. It was understandable that the man would be sour. But Detorres sourness turned to fury a few minutes later when Jago said, “And I say we keep the Ciervo. We have the men to man her.”

  “I gave my word,” Griffin snarled.

  “You didn’t give mine,” Jago snarled back.

  The Spanish captain began to berate them both.

  Detorres glared at Kit. “The word of an Englishman,” he said. “We should have known.”

  Voices rose, crewmembers of the Africa and Garnet weighing in on one side or the other, the Spanish prisoners yelling and eyeing the weapons of the pirates.

  Valliere stepped back from the wheel and drew his pistols from his sash then fired one into the air. The crammed men in the belly of the ship flinched, and in the moments silence Griffin’s voice rang out.

  “We had an accord,” he reminded Jago. “An agreement to which you put your hand. There is treasure aplenty and sound ships to carry it in. We have no need of the caravel. Jago, let her go! As soon as she’s out of sight we’ll set our course. It will be best if she can’t report our heading.”

  Jago’s beard bristled as he chewed his lips, then he shrugged. “It was but a jest,” he said and grinned. “It makes no odds to me. My share of the treasure will be enough for me—eh, boys?”

  There was a far more good-humored shout of agreement, and Kit sighed with relief and began to organize the transfer of the Santiago’s crew to the Ciervo along with their belongings. There was a little resistance from some of the pirates until Griffin had one of the tuns brought up on deck and broken open so they could see the spill and flash of the newly minted reales.

  “My God, Kit,” Davy Forrest was staring. “I never saw so much money in my life, and that’s the least of it. There’s a round dozen more barrels like that down there.”

  “Dangerous stuff,” Kit said, turning his back on the glitter of it. “If you were taken with any of those coins on you you’d have trouble making them believe you were an unwilling member of the company.”

  “Yes—but…” Davy shook his head. “Just half a dozen would feed my family for a year or more and buy me a little boat of my own. I could get married and go crabbing and be home every night instead of having to sail across the main.”

  “I’ll get you home, Davy,” Kit said, watching the last of the pirates leave the Ciervo and the captain and Detorres return to their quarterdeck. He bowed to Detorres, who doffed his hat and bowed in return, happier now he was in his rightful place. “One way or another I’ll get you home, but this—the sea—is home for me.”

  “Haven’t you anywhere you would go?” Davy asked. “If the worst came to the worst and you couldn’t sail again?”

  Kit shrugged. “The land is farmed by a tenant, and the house is rented out too. I wouldn’t disturb them. There used to be a tin mine, but that played out in my great grandfather’s day. There is a cottage, though, a small one, down by the quay where they used to load the tin. I’d live there, I think, and get myself a little boat.” He grinned. “I’d go crabbing too maybe.”

  “Naaah, turn smuggler and bring in the brandy and lace,” Davy said with a chuckle and raised a hand to wave as the Ciervo’s sails began to fill.

  Kit kept an eye on the laden Spanish caravel as she made sail and took a southerly course. He didn’t really expect trouble, the Ciervo was outgunned by the Santiago alone, but it seemed sensible. He kept watch alone because at long last the rummaging had begun and everyone was running hither and yon, seeking out valuables of all kinds. Even Saunders joined the looting parties, seeking medicines and instruments, and the musicians, including Davy, were instructed to play up well and loudly to speed the happy work along.

  By the
time Ciervo was hull down and Kit left his perch to go in search of Griffin, the deck was covered in boxes, barrels, and chests with whooping pirates poring over and pawing through them. Kit picked his way through the mess and found Griffin standing in the shadow thrown by the quarterdeck and looking through a package of charts.

  “Kit,” he said, by way of greeting. “Have you come to join in the fair and equal sharing of the spoils?”

  “Hardly,” Kit said with a laugh. “And I warned Davy too, not to touch any of it. I might have assisted in sea robbery but I don’t have to profit by it!”

  Griffin rolled his eyes. “Foolish boy,” he said. “What you have done today truly makes you a part of the crew. Does it not, Jago?”

  “Oh, aye,” Jago said. He was seated on a sea chest with reales spilled about his feet. “And that ought to be marked somehow.”

  “It should,” Griffin agreed, his broad grin making Kit feel uneasy. “In fact I have arranged a small ceremony.” He nodded, and Kit barely had time to protest before many hands grabbed him and someone slung their arm around his neck.

  “Hold you still now,” Protheroe said, laughter in his voice. “You’ve earned this.”

  “What? No!” Kit struggled, but Protheroe’s forearm was tight across his throat, and he had no choice but to still and watch from the corner of his eye as Lewis dipped a sail needle in brandy, ignited it from a candle, then brought it and a cork close to Kit’s head.

  “Don’t get any of that grease in it,” Saunders advised. “We don’t want his ear to rot off.”

  “That’s a point,” Lewis said and swabbed around Kit’s ear with brandy.

  “But I don’t want—” Kit swallowed the rest of the sentence at the bite of the needle. He glared at Griffin, who laughed at him until the job was done and they released him, an unaccustomed weight dragging at his damaged ear. A whooping cheer went up, partly derisive for they had marked him one of their own despite his wishes, and partly genuine good will.

  “Very fine, Kit,” Griffin said, taking him by the shoulders and turning him to look at his adornment. “And we have the mate of that one should you be careless enough to lose it.”

  Kit raised a hand to his ear, winced as Saunders slapped his wrist, and brought his fingers away bloody.

  “Leave it alone, let it heal,” Saunders advised. “Griffin, Jago, it’s nearing sunset. Should we not be on our way?”

  “No rush,” Jago said. “I vote we divvy up here. Make the most of having this fighting platform under our feet.”

  Griffin shook his head. “That was not our agreement, Jago. Let it stand. We’ll away to Curacao to careen Garnet and strip this ship at our leisure. Lord knows the Santiago’s boats are more useful to our trade than she is. Come, let us be on our way.”

  Jago stirred the silver coins with his boot, his eyes on the sky. “And I say we have no reason to be hasty,” he said. “At the very least let’s put some of the treasure on our own ships in case it begins to blow and we lose touch. Expenses—what do you call them—and we’ll have the proper division when we make port and can get something better than this rot gut sack.” He took another swig from the bottle in his hand and grimaced.

  Kit stepped aside as the treasure was sorted and made safe, the quartermasters making two sets of notes and consulting with each other. They even came and looked at Kit’s earring, noting it down as “item, one earbob, gold and emerald—10 reales” which made his eyebrows climb a little.

  “You didn’t think I would stint, did you?” Griffin said with a grin when Kit commented on it. “A laborer is worth his hire, and you have served me well in this.”

  That brought Kit up short. “Hire,” he said. “I did not do this for hire.”

  “Of course.” Griffin nodded and dropped his voice to a murmur. “But for the moment, in present company, let them think that you did. You and I will know better and later—when there is the time and opportunity—I will be happy to show you how very grateful I am.”

  There on the deck of the Santiago, surrounded by hallooing pirates, Griffin lifted Kit’s grease-laden hair away from his newly pierced ear. Kit assumed that if anyone noticed they might have thought Griffin was looking at the earring. Only Kit could feel the stroke of fingers at the nape of his neck and the gentle pressure of Griffin’s thumb down his throat. A kiss, Kit decided, would feel even better.

  “I am grateful, Kit,” Griffin added. “But now we must be on our way.” And he turned to bellow orders along the deck, leaving Kit flushed and aching.

  Again Kit marveled at how hard the pirate crews could work when doing something that interested them. With Kit and Griffin urging them on, packages and boxes were taken below, the loose coins were picked up, and the open barrel refastened. One such was carried across to the Africa and another was in slings awaiting transfer to the Garnet when several of the pirates stopped and cocked their heads. Kit heard it too—a dull rumbling roll away to the south.

  “Thunder?” Davy asked. “Or guns?”

  “I don’t know,” Kit said. “The sky is clear so—By Christ!”

  Against the pale bright southern sky a faint stain was spreading, gathering, rising as a column of billowing black smoke.

  “What is that?” Griffin demanded, his voice sharp with alarm as he pushed the hands aside to get to the railing. The smoke column was thickening, leaning away toward the west. He and Kit stared at it in horrified understanding then turned as one to Jago.

  La Griffe smiled and waved his hook. “I told you there was no hurry,” he said.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Kit’s horror gave way to contempt. “You maggoty sons of whores.”

  Griffin grabbed his arm. “No, Kit,” he said. “I swear it. I didn’t know…”

  Kit tore free, turning away from him. “Volunteers,” he bellowed, his voice hardly to be heard over the excited roars of those pirates who were watching the distant smoke. Some had shrugged and turned back, drawn like moths to the far brighter flame of the silver. Only a few looked as shocked as Kit felt.

  “Volunteers,” he yelled again. “We’ll take a boat. See if there’s anyone to save.”

  “Not my boat and none of my crew!” Jago stepped across to confront Kit. He was still grinning but had his hand on his pistol. “They’re Spaniards, anyway. Who cares?”

  “I do,” Griffin snapped. “I gave my word. God knows, Stockley, I’ve lost most of my honor over the years, but that has held good. My word—and you have broken it.”

  “But you didn’t give mine,” Jago said again. “Christ, Griffin, stop trying to impress your fancy boy and maybe we can get on with some good honest pirating.”

  Griffin’s face went white, and he too laid a hand on his pistol, but Saunders calmly stepped between them.

  “I’ll volunteer,” he said. “If there are any survivors they’ll be needing a doctor. Which boat can we have, Griffin?”

  Griffin’s tightly pressed lips slowly relaxed, though he didn’t take his eyes off Jago. “The Africa, of course,” he said.

  Even with the promise of a good sound ship under them, there weren’t many volunteers, and most of those came on the understanding that Griffin remained on the Santiago to protect their shares in the treasure. But Africa was a handy little ship and even with those few men, Kit was confident they would make good time.

  Kit was surprised that Lewis was coming alone.

  “Protheroe will stay to help Griffin,” Lewis said once they were aboard the Africa. “But, duw, Kit, this is a sorry end to what would have made a fine brave tale. To have taken this much silver and not a man harmed. We’d have been heroes. But now…” He shook his head and waved to Protheroe, who was leaning on the Santiago’s railing looking very miserable.

  “We’ll make good speed,” Kit promised and went to get his crew to work.

  From Africa’s crew besides Lewis there was Davy Forrest, Maxwell the half-hearted Jacobite, and Saunders, grimly going over his medical supplies. Another Scot, Armstrong, an
elderly Dane called Jonas, who had burn scars over most of the right side of his face, and Ramon had all ignored Jago’s order that none of the Garnet’s were to volunteer. Ramon was stick thin, pock marked, gold toothed and armed to the teeth. Every inch of his five-feet-four frame looked a pirate, yet he had drawn himself up and said, “I too gave my word, and if a gentleman has no honor he has nothing.”

  Oddly enough, Jago hadn’t laughed.

  Griffin appeared at the railing beside Protheroe and waved to get Kit’s attention. “Curacao,” he said. “You’ll see the careening bay marked on the big chart. We’ll wait for you there.”

  “I know the one,” Kit said. “I’ll be there. Might even be there before you. I’ll take care of your ship and make all speed to return her to you. My word on it.”

  Griffin waved that away. “No need of that between us, Kit. I know you will do as you say.” Protheroe stirred beside him. “And besides, Lewis will be reminding you often enough. Now, be on your way before Jago decides not to let you go. I’m not sure he trusts Probert’s seamanship.”

  “Give the Santiago sea room if you can,” Kit said. “She’s seaworthy but won’t answer to the helm the way you have been used to. And she’ll need to tack well and often. God speed, Captain. Take care—of everyone.” He wished he had been able to say more but didn’t have the words even if he had felt he had the right.

  “God speed, Kit,” Griffin called back. “Come back safe.”

  Protheroe and Lewis were shouting at each other, Lewis’s hands white as he gripped the rail, so Kit didn’t disturb him as he gave the orders to get Africa under way.

  The sloop’s sail filled and the distance between her and the Santiago grew until even the loudest shouts wouldn’t carry. But Lewis called again, arms waving, and Protheroe waved back. Of Griffin there was no sign, though Kit looked for him. But then, he told himself, if they had acknowledged each other, parallels might have been drawn between them and the two distraught Welshmen.

  “Come now,” Kit said to Lewis. “I need a good hand on the tiller.”