Bring It Close (32 page)

Twenty One

Sunday 3rd November

“Something unpleasant has happened.”

Tiola was becoming used to Charles Mereno appearing from the shadows without warning, but she had been lost in private thought and was short on patience. She did not hide her annoyance at his intrusion.

“What? More unpleasant than a young girl’s brutal rape and death? Please Charles, do what you need to do and be gone. I have the living to care for, I can no longer attend the dead. Please go.”

Charles Mereno leant one shoulder against a tree trunk, folded his arms, crooked his head to one side. He was a handsome man, even in his older age with the grey hair that had once been a fair-haired red; the wrinkled and rumpled skin. The traces of his son, Jesamiah, were there too, in the shape of his chin, the set of his jaw. The way he stood there, as Jesamiah often stood. The only thing missing was the acorn earring and a flutter of blue ribbons. “You do not mean that.”

“I am afraid I do.”

He raised his hand, fiddled with his earlobe, exactly as Jesamiah did with his earring.

Despite her impatience, Tiola smiled at the unconscious similarity. She relented, put down the book. It was not engaging and she had not read a single passage for over half an hour. “Very well. What has happened?”

“I am not easy with Jesamiah being aboard that ship.”

“Nor am I, but neither you nor I can do anything to alter the situation.” She paused, stared at him. “Or can you? Why are you still here, with me? Why are you not doing what you came back to do?”

“Because the time is not right. He is not where he has to be.”

Tiola lifted her head slightly, frowned. Again the feeling that had been nagging her raised its awareness. There was something wrong, something Charles had not told her.

“Edward Teach must be destroyed,” he said.

“
Ais
. But I cannot do it.”

Mereno moved away from the tree, stood beside the bank, his hand resting where, in life, the hilt of his cutlass would have been. He cast no shadow, though the sun was bright. “Teach does not deserve life.”

“No, but it is not for me to judge him. And even if it were, I still could not kill him. Only his creator has that right.”

The water was rippling, little eddies and flurries stirred by the breeze. It was clear here, Charles could see down to the bottom like peering into an upside down world. The other River, the one he had sat beside for so long, long a time had been dark, as black as night and as cold as the touch of death. He bent down, smoothed his hand through the water, scooping some of it up and watching as it ran through his fingers, the sun turning the cascade into sparkling, vibrant colours. He had noted what she had said.

“Jesamiah will fight Blackbeard, do you know that?”

Tiola bit her lip.
Ais
, she knew that. “As much as I love him,” she said with an ache in her throat and her heart, “I am not his keeper. Jesamiah will do what he wants to do. What he has to do.” She looked up, her black eyes flashing a defiant challenge. “Do I chain him in a hold? Lock him in a prison? Or do I endure his chosen paths of freedom?”

Charles shrugged, it seemed they all had to endure, one way or another.

“A package has arrived for the girl, for the one they call Perdita,” he stated. “You should go to her. Jonathan Gabriel is dead.”

He watched Tiola gather her skirts and run, the book forgotten. To the trees, to the river and the dappled sunshine, he said, “Would you set aside your rules and laws, my dear, if you knew that the taking of a life was the only way to end all this? I am dead. I can do only what I have come back to do. Nothing more. When the time is right, when Time itself stops, I must take the life of my son. If I could change the past, if I could do other things to put right these sorrows, do you not think I would? With all my heart, God help me, so I would!”

Approaching the house it was plain there was something amiss. Elizabeth-Anne’s distressed sobs could be heard from the open drawing room window. A servant was being violently sick in a flower bed. Eden was striding down the drive, hatless, without the walking cane he usually carried.

Tiola hurried through the front door that had been left flung wide. Nicholas Page was in the hallway, ash pale, his hand over his mouth. At his feet an opened, discarded package. Tangled string, a length of tarred canvas. All of it stained. Brown stained.

He saw Tiola, looked at her helplessly. “We do not understand. Why? Who would send this – this hideousness to Perdita?” Nicholas Page ran a hand over his head, knocking his wig askew. He gestured at the strewn packaging. “I offered to clear this up, but I find I cannot do so. I…I…” He shook his head, covered his mouth with his hand and fled, pushing past Tiola and bolting through the open door. She heard him retching outside.

Tentative, Tiola peeled back one corner of the canvas reluctant to discover what lay within. For all her wisdom, for all her Craft and Knowledge, her capabilities, she gasped and backed away, her hands going to her mouth, the nausea rising from her stomach. She sat down heavily on the first stair, put her head between her knees while the sickness swept through her and the world reeled in a cry of revulsion.

I would rather be condemned to Hell for murdering that bastard than live, knowing had I shot him, someone else would remain inviolate. Alive
.

Perdita’s words reverberated inside her skull. Tiola closed her eyes as she fought down the churn in her stomach. But even with her eyes closed she could see what was in the package. Could see what Perdita had found upon opening it.

Hands. Two male hands severed at the wrist. Distinctly recognisable from the tailor’s calluses on the fingers.

Twenty Two

Friday 8th November

The Ocracoke. Bordering the entrance to Pamlico Sound; the waters here were suitable only for ships with a shallow draft. The channels were narrow and likely to change. It was a notorious graveyard for shipping and an ideal place for pirates.

Ocracoke Island was an expanse of marsh, sixteen miles long and not very wide, with a few wind-twisted trees, heaped sand dunes and not much else. Except for the bones of men and ships. Two vessels lay at anchor, riding low as the evening tide ebbed outward. Teach’s sloop
Adventure
, and a twelve gun brigantine.

Not a soul was aboard either one, the crews were ashore enjoying themselves. Fires fuelled by gathered driftwood burned brightly, dotted here and there along the spit of land that many claimed God had forgotten existed. The smell of roasting fish and pelican wafted with the wind. At one fire a group of men were singing raucously; at another, a squabble over the last portion of meat. Where the clumps of scrubby marsh grass gave way to a stand of wind-tortured oaks, some men were fornicating with the few whores who had been aboard the brigantine, brought here especially as part of the entertainment. Not far away, more than a handful of men were raucously sodomising each other.

The Ocracoke marshes were open, and bleak. Even with a gregarious rabble of pirates deep into their drunken celebration of carousal, the place was dismal. The group of men around Edward Teach’s fire had finished their meal and were talking while passing the rum around. Bones sucked dry of the marrow lay everywhere, tossed into the sand. The fire was the largest, built carefully in the lee of a series of dunes that gave some shelter from the intrusive wind. The flames rose and fell, flickering blues, yellows and greens as the salt in the wood caught and burnt.

Beside Teach sat the only man he had ever respected; Charles Vane. Vane had a price on his head at a value similar to Blackbeard’s for he was wanted personally by Governor Rogers of Nassau. He had thumbed his nose at Rogers in the summer when the Governor had first arrived from England to take up his position of authority. Amnesty had been offered but Vane refused the prospect and destroyed a naval ship as he fled the harbour. There had not been much support for him from the pirate community who had been pleased to see the back of him. He was a cruel, vindictive man who cheated his crew of prize money. Those who went against him he delighted in punishing by the barbarity of keelhauling. He and Blackbeard were a matched pair.

Beyond an initial scowl, Vane had ignored Jesamiah since stepping ashore several hours ago. Ignored also his own quartermaster, seated next to Jesamiah and sharing a bottle of rum. John Rackham, known as Calico Jack, the fancy dandy of the pirate brethren. Rackham also detested Vane.

“You want to sail with me, Jack?” Jesamiah asked, returning the bottle back to him. “I can offer you a better life than the one you have with Vane.”

“Will you make me a captain?”

“No.
Sea Witch
– when I get her back – is mine.”

“Then I thank you for the offer, but I have an idea to get my own vessel and my own captaincy.”

“Jack, that will lead only to the noose. Take amnesty and life. A long, quiet life.”

Jack Rackham drank a few gulps, handed the rum back. “So why are you here, eh? Amnesty means a long quiet life of tedious boredom. Nay, give me the short but merry one, Jesamiah.” Jack winked and nudged him with his elbow. “The ladies prefer a pirate in their bed, you know. They enjoy the added excitement.”

Jesamiah’s thoughts did not exactly tally with Rackham’s theory. He did not need the added excitement of saying he was a pirate to pleasure a woman. Aside, so far, since signing Governor Roger’s book of amnesty he had been flogged, threatened with torture, sent spying in Hispaniola, and was now charged with spying on Blackbeard. Amnesty? It was not proving restful or pleasurable, and was certainly not tedious or boring! He drank, swallowed; said grimly, “Aye, I’ve heard that a man as he swings on the noose and evacuates his bowels and piece can be pretty excitin’ for those watching.”

“You’re turning into an old maid, Jesamiah Acorne.”

Jesamiah grinned. “Nay, just a married one.”

Rackham raised his eyebrows in surprise. That Acorne had a wife was news to him, though there had been rumour of him being with a handsome black-haired lass. “Wife?” he asked. “When did this happen?”

“Not long ago. Before I got myself too deeply into this damned mess.” Jesamiah tossed more wood on to the fire, eyed Teach and Vane roaring at some jest one of them had made. “I tell you Jack, this ain’t no life. Not once you find a good woman to love and to keep you warm at night.”

Rackham shook his head in disbelief and upended the bottle, disappointed to find it empty. “I like bedding the lasses too much to have just the one. A wife ain’t for me.”

For answer, Jesamiah just smiled. He liked Jack Rackham, an honest man – as far as a pirate could be honest. They had shared a few adventures in the past, and a few bottles – and more than a few women.

Getting to his feet, Rackham went to relieve himself, returned with another two bottles, one each.

“I thought Stede Bonnet was to have come?” he said to Israel Hands, seated on his other side. “Why is he not here I wonder?”

Overhearing, Vane growled contempt. “You’re soft you are, Rackham. As soft as a spent prick. It don’t matter about Bonnet. If he ain’t interested in joining us then he can go kiss his arse and be damned. I never trusted the drunken sot anyway.”

“Thee’s never trusted anyone,” Teach observed dryly, “not even thy own quartermaster over yonder.” He pointed at Rackham.

“That’s because he’s a traitorous little runt.”

Rackham was on his feet, pistol in hand waving it unsteadily. “You take that back, Vane, you turd! It ain’t my fault the men want me as captain instead of you! You’ve been bloody useless these past months. I’d make a better job of it than ever you will.” Worse the wear for drink he waved the pistol again.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” Jesamiah stood and with a placating smile removed the weapon from Rackham’s hand before he shot himself, or someone else, in the foot. “We are here to discuss business, not kill each other.” He was also concerned that Stede Bonnet had not arrived, but was glad of it. Another vicious brute he would rather not renew acquaintance with. “We all know Bonnet is not especially good at navigation. I expect he’s got lost further down the coast.” Jesamiah did not add that for the same reason he was surprised Vane had got here. But then, Vane relied on Jack Rackham to navigate.

“We as don’t need Bonnet,” Blackbeard announced, “Us’n can doos what I have in min’ without him.”

Rackham sat down again, Jesamiah also. This was it then, the Grand Plan. The reason they were all gathered here.

“I have a plan,” Vane announced, cutting in. “We need to unite, work in consort.”

Teach growled, did not look too pleased at being verbally pushed aside, but like it or not, Vane was the most prominent pirate in the Spanish Main. He had a good ship, an adequate crew. Teach’s glory had peaked at his successful siege of Charleston back in the spring. And then he had lost his ship. The
Queen Anne’s Revenge
had been his great pride, he had done very little of note since losing her. What could he do with a sloop that was falling to bits?

Vane announced his proposal. “I intend to reinstate Nassau as a place fit for pirates. Show this Governor Rogers he’s bitten off more’n he can chew.”

Jesamiah roared with laughter. Perhaps not the best reaction; Vane was not amused.

“You think I am jesting, Acorne? You see something funny?”

Sobering, Jesamiah attempted to collect himself. He had been alarmed when first learning of a meeting of pirates here on the Ocracoke – Teach had obviously had this planned for some while, and it was exactly the sort of thing Spotswood needed to know about. It occurred to him, sitting here trying not to laugh any louder than he already was, that perhaps Virginia’s Governor had already got wind of this grand parley? If he had, that would explain his anxiety and the need to employ a reliable spy. Were these men sitting here not such greed-bound, drunken fools, both Spotswood and Rogers would have had justifiable cause for concern.

He said, quelling his merriment, “It would have been a good plan, Vane, if you had not flapped your tongue.”

“Don’t know what you are talking about,” Vane countered.

“Don’t you? You mean you have completely forgotten that you personally sent a message to Rogers telling him of your intention? That you and Teach here and one other pirate – I assume you meant Bonnet – were going to kick his arse? Told him to prepare for war?”

Silence.

“Well?” Teach asked, glowering at Vane. “Did thee blab?”

Vane got to his feet, started waving his arms about. “I might have done. I might have let a few things slip. What of it? I have got Rogers worried. He is no match for us. We sail in there, claim Nassau harbour as ours.”

Jesamiah crowed again. “Oh aye, you got him worried! So worried he sent for Navy reinforcements and has ensured every cannon on the fortress walls is in prime working order. You expect to attack an armed fortress with one brigantine and a leaking sloop? Rogers has Nassau battened down as if there’s a hurricane coming!”

“Aside,” Blackbeard interrupted, “I bain’t interested in Nassau. I hunts these waters. I has deals made, and tha whole o’ tha Ocracoke and Pamlico Sound here as mine. No skulking Navy frigate be goin’ t’get me here.”

Jesamiah chewed his lip. He was right there. If Spotswood wanted to attack Teach he would have to be drawn out from these shallows into open water.

“I propose,” Blackbeard spoke deliberately slowly, his cold gaze going from one man to the next. “I propose we blockade Hampton Roads. Get Spotswood t’capitulate t’us. We cut off his shipping supply – his precious town’ll be dead within tha month.”

Yet again Jesamiah guffawed with laughter. “You are both barking mad! Your sloop will probably disintegrate in the next gale to hit her, and the Chesapeake is not exactly Charleston Harbour, is it? You did a good job there with a blockade, I’ll grant you – but Spotswood is no blustering housemartin. And he happens to have two well-armed fully crewed Navy frigates at his disposal. How are you going to fight them with your handful of men?”

“I have seventy in my crew when they are all mustered!” Blackbeard roared back. “Good men.”

“Rubbish. You are left with twenty-bloody-six and six cannon. Against frigates? Against an army commander who distinguished himself at Marlborough?”

“The rest o’me men are at Bath Town. They’ll join us when I sends fer ‘em. We canst do it, Acorne. Despite your scorn,
Adventure
be a fast lit’le whore. Vane has tha most vicious crew on all tha seas, and Bonnet has brawn if no much brain. We wait, we pick off them frigates one at a time then sweep in. It’ll work, I’m tellin’ thee. It will work.”

“But Bonnet is not here is he? And we’ll need quality vessels for what you have in mind.”

“Then quality sloops we will has.” Teach nodded once, curt, and poked a finger in the air towards Jesamiah. “Thee will get ‘em fer us.”

“And just how am I going to do that?”

Teach leered, his version of an amused grin. “If thee be wantin’ to stay alive, Acorne, thee’ll think o’summat. All I want is’n excuse t’kill thee, an’ I be right eager fer thee t’oblige me.”

Jesamiah made a pretence at scowling and huffed, puffed and tutted for the next half hour. Inside he was chuckling with delight. Teach had no intention of attempting to do away with him while there was a possibility of getting his hands on
Sea Witch
. And going off to fetch two seaworthy sloops was just the excuse he needed to be gone from here without rousing suspicion. It could not have worked out better if he had planned it himself!