Ill Wind and Dead Reckoning: Caribbean Pirate Adventure (Valkyrie) (16 page)

I watched the large red square of silk unfurl through my telescope. Another bloody flag. Like his dead master, Tarr, Captain Edward Hornigold offered no quarter. He would only stop killing when we were all dead or sworn to his own crew, and my ship his prize. I slammed the telescope shut hard enough to sting my hands, took a deep breath, and checked the sails.
Sound of Freedom
was bigger than Hornigold’s twin-masted boat,
Freyja
, and I had most of my canvas flying. Above the sails, I flew the red-and-white Cross of Burgundy and would not show my true colours until the fight had begun. Hornigold had of course seen
Freedom
when I’d killed Tarr, but that had been six months ago and at a distance. I was hoping he wouldn’t recognize me until it was too late. My best chance was to take him by surprise.

I’d searched for Hornigold ever since we’d left La Isla Magdalena, but with only rough charts and no way of finding longitude, it had been a frustrating hunt. El infierno,
latitude
was hard enough to find on the moving deck of a ship, and if I did place us on the right line of parallel, the actual position of even the best navigator could easily be twenty leagues out. A poor navigator could be anywhere. It was difficult enough to work out where
we
were, never mind another ship, especially a ship more used to being the hunter than the prey. But there he was, finally, almost in range of my guns, and rage flashed through me. I was so close to avenging my family. At last, he was right there; but I had to calm down. Hornigold was an English buccaneer and had been fighting and killing at sea for at least twenty years. I’d only sailed as a pirate for two, but that was long enough to know that rage would not win me this fight.

Calmer now, I looked aft at the
Magdalena
. A small single-masted sloop, we’d taken her a couple of months ago, and she sailed under Frazer’s command in convoy with
Freedom
. She chased us with black flag flying, and I hoped this would convince Hornigold that
Freedom
was a helpless merchantman fleeing from a pirate attack: a rich prize ripe for the taking. The
Magdalena
would be no match for
Freyja,
and I was sure Hornigold would not be able to resist taking the prize from the smaller pirate boat. I took another deep breath and watched
Freyja
sail on.

‘Yes!’ He changed course, towards and just ahead of us. He’d fallen for it. He was coming.

Now that my initial rage on seeing him had fallen away, nerves fluttered at my belly. This was it. Even with two ships and surprise on our side, this would be the fight of my life. Yes, I’d managed to kill Tarr, but I’d lost too many lives in the process.

Another deep breath. This was not the time to think of the people I mourned. I had to keep my head clear and my heart closed. I looked at the men on deck and in the rigging; each of their lives rested on my shoulders. I had to get each one of them through this alive and in one piece. And kill Hornigold.

*

I’d hidden most of my crew below the bulwarks on the topdeck, and had my cannon hauled in where they couldn’t be seen through Hornigold’s telescope. On the deck below, the gunports stayed closed and sealed, and I shivered. I imagined the men crouched in the dark around their guns and powder, unable to see the enemy they knew was out there. It wasn’t going to be easy to get all the guns run out and fired at the same time, but I had to wait until the last minute if I was going to fool the Englander.

Too soon, Hornigold’s own ports opened, the muzzles of his own guns peeked out through the wooden planks. He fired a warning shot at my bows, just missing the sails. I held my nerve a fraction longer before giving the order to break ports. I turned
Freedom
and presented my starboard side to the buccaneer, shouting, ‘
Fire,
’ as soon as I judged my guns had a chance of hitting my target. At my mainmast, the Spanish Cross of Burgundy dropped, and my real colours, a square of plain black silk to match
Magdalena’s
, flew in its place. I did offer quarter to any ship that asked for it.

We were quick, but
Freyja
was quicker and she scored a direct hit, shattering
Sound of
Freedom’s
hull amidships and sending lethal splinters like newly sharpened knives up to a foot long scything amongst my gunners below.

‘Reload! Fire!’ I shouted, hearing my commands echo down the deck and through the open scuttle to the gundeck below.
Yes! Direct hit!
We caught her stern and her aft-quarter bulwark – with any luck she’d be having difficulty steering.

Full of excitement, I screamed, ‘Load the chainshot! Go for her rigging!’

I flinched as my starboard side shattered not three paces away, then I heard yet more gunfire. It was too soon for
Freyja
to have reloaded after only just hitting us.
Magdalena
had joined the fight with her smaller guns and was pummelling
Freyja’s
stern and rudder, trying to disable her and leave her adrift. I laughed out loud, imagining Hornigold’s frustration at having to fight two vessels.

‘Chain shot – go for the masts!’ I shouted again to my men, knowing full well they couldn’t hear me over the combined roar of cannon, wind and flogging sail. More balls exploded from my cannon, and I saw most of them find a passage into or through
Freyja
and her canvas. We were close now, and I could see Hornigold on his quarterdeck shouting and stamping his foot. His blood-red flag dropped in defeat.

We’d done it; he was no match for the two of us. My ship was bigger than his, and so were my guns. The
Magdalena
was smaller and faster. Working together we were unbeatable, and Hornigold knew it. We’d sprung our trap and caught him; he wasn’t going anywhere now. I looked across at my bo’sun, Blackman, who was ready to board, grapnel in hand, as soon as we got close enough to jump. I laughed at the grin lighting up his dark face.

‘Get ready, nearly there,’ I called to the growing group of men at the rail. ‘And remember, Hornigold’s mine. No one touches that murdering cabrón but me!’

The next thing I knew I was knocked to my knees by a sudden, violent heel of the deck. The wind was getting up fast, and I had far too much sail flying. I’d made a possibly fatal mistake and taken my eye off the sky.

*

I jumped up, saw
Freyja
bearing away and drove my fist into the rail. Hornigold had the advantage of facing upwind and I spun round myself to see what the wind gods were bringing down on us, then cursed. Targeting
Freyja’s
rigging had done Hornigold a favour by downing most of his canvas, and we’d failed to destroy her rudder. He’d seen what was coming and had fooled me into thinking I’d won to give himself a chance of escape.

‘Mierda!
Secure the guns and lay aloft. Topgallant and fore-topsail in, now.
Now
!’ I bellowed. Hornigold had a reprieve, and I had two shipfuls of men in the path of a massive towering black cloud; a great anvil larger by far than anything seen in a blacksmith’s nightmare, and ready to drop its full wrath of fire and water down on us. Sheets loosed and men swarmed aloft to battle canvas for their lives in the sudden torrential rain.

I bore off to keep the wind safely behind us and looked ahead, but Hornigold was already out of sight in the stormy gloom. I looked up, anxious, and watched the topgallant sail at the top of the mainmast being slowly dragged up to its wooden yard ready for the men climbing aloft to stow it. It was slow work at the best of times, and now the canvas had a mind of its own in the wildly shifting winds of a gathering squall. It tore at skin, whipped exposed faces and bodies with its attendant lines, and threatened the hands that attempted to tame it with a fast and lethal drop to the deck. Even as I thought the words I saw a man fall, catch a footrope below him and make his way back up the mast to re-join the fight with the heavy, lashing canvas as if nothing had happened. I looked again to windward and watched in disbelief and dread as the front of the anvil bulged, then stretched a long narrow finger down to the sea – a rare and terrifying sight at the best of times, and one I’d hoped never to see.

I did not want to be touched by that finger, but there seemed to be nothing I could do. The topgallant was only half in, and the lower courses ducked up – by hauling the foot of the sails up to the yard like that they would spill all their wind – but the fore-topsail was still full.
Freedom
had heeled so far over her decks were awash, and I had no steerage. I had to get her under control and stop her screwing round into the wind or we were sunk. We were surrounded by squall clouds and lightning. We had nowhere to go.

I lashed the useless tiller and waded forward, grabbing men and putting them on the topsail braces as I went. If we could force the yards around and knock the wind out of the sails we’d have a chance. It was going to take too long to do things properly, and I was not ready for San Antonio’s graveyard yet. I still had a debt to settle with both Hornigold and Blake.

I lent my weight to the forebrace, and shouted a fast heaving chant as we dragged the topyard and sail around, fighting for every inch. Then, with a tremendous boom, we fell to the flooded deck. The sail had blown out of its boltropes and was flung across the sky. I watched in disbelief as it was sucked into the waterspout and disappeared.

‘On your feet! Get to the main-topbrace!’

It was a bit drastic, but to be honest we could do with losing the main-topsail as well – we could always steal another one. We were riding a little flatter, our heel not quite so dangerous with the loss of the sail, but we were still a long way from safe. I pushed my crew aft and went back to the tiller – hopefully she’d be a bit more responsive now with reduced sail. There was no way to outrun a waterspout, but maybe we could dodge it.

I thought again of Hornigold and
Freyja,
and wondered at their fate. We’d given her stern a pretty good hammering. If her steering
was
compromised in this wind she was likely to be going down. I was disappointed, and suddenly furious. No! He had to survive, I had to
see
him die, and I had to tell him why. His death had to be at
my
hand.

The topgallant was
finally in – although so bellied it would throw a deluge of water on to the decks when it was reset – and the main-topsail was coming round nicely. Thankfully we’d done enough and
Freedom
was responding to her helm again.

I pushed her bows to larboard, knowing I could trust my crew to adjust the sails accordingly. With a newer crew we might have gone down, but most of us had sailed together long enough now for each to know what the other would do in almost any situation.

It was difficult to see clearly; the sky was so dark it could have been night, and but for the bright, violent flashes, we may have had no vision at all. The nearest shelter was Sayba, but sheer cliffs, rocks and English buccaneers meant there was no sanctuary for us there. Although I knew that if Hornigold had survived, that was most likely where he was bound.

‘Captain! Captain Santiago!’ I only just heard the frightened shout and looked up to see balls of fire dancing around the masts and yards, lighting the men still hard at work up there. Knowing this was a sign the storm was abating, I looked anxiously to the finger of water still chasing us.
Is it shrinking? Or is that wishful thinking?

The sky lit up again in a blinding flash to show, for a brief second, the spiralling sea ridged with waves around us, before plunging us back into darkness.
Is that a ship behind us near the waterspout?
I couldn’t tell, but I thought I had an impression of canvas. If so, who was it? Hornigold? Or the
Magdalena
? There was nothing I could do but wait for the next flash – there! Yes, the
Magdalena
, I was sure of it. Only the one mast – although I immediately realized it could be the larger vessel partially dismasted. Whoever it was, that deadly finger was almost upon them and, even if it was our sister ship, there was nothing we could do but strain eyes and ears to learn her fate. Another flash lit the sky, smaller and yellow. A cannon.

‘She’s trying to break it, Capitaine! She’s shooting the waterspout!’ An excited Cheval shouted just behind me. ‘The ball should break it up, I’ve seen it done before!’

It was getting easier to see now, and yes, it was definitely the
Magdalena
, the waterspout almost upon her, then . . . then . . . what?

Cheval cheered, shouting out that the ball had worked. I was sceptical, but I couldn’t deny it, the spout
had
broken and turned into a harmless mist. I gave the order to bear round further to larboard. The immediate danger had passed and, although still blowing hard, so had the worst of the squall. But I was concerned for the
Magdalena.
Have her men survived?
I kept my eyes on the patch of water where I’d last seen her –
there!
She’s still there!

Only just, though. Her mast had gone, her canvas was spread over the sea and she was low in the water. She might still be above the waves, but she wouldn’t last long. We had to get to her and her men quickly.

‘Duck down the main clews, get that mainsail pulling again!’ I shouted. We had to get closer, and I could only hope that we’d be in time.

*

The curtain of rain drew back and the wind was definitely dropping off, but it still had some teeth. I could hear the roar of the mainsail as it filled and felt the deck beneath my feet surge forward. I gave the helm to Cheval and Thomas, and went forward to commend the men who had kept us afloat – especially the topmen – and got as many hands on the pumps as they would take. We had a sizeable hole starboard amidships and were making water. We weren’t in danger of sinking, yet, but there was far too much water coming aboard as we battled through the enormous waves the squall had stirred up. We had to get it out faster than it was coming in, or we’d be of no use to the men in the
Magdalena
; I could now see she was going down fast.

Keeping the hole in our side to leeward, we sailed in a large arc to bring us up on to the wind (or as close as we could get to it in the square-rigged
Sound of
Freedom
, anyway). I had to duck up the mainsail again, but the wind was still strong enough to get us close on the smaller jibs. I hove
Freedom
to (pointed her bows into wind to hold her steady) and gave the order to fill and cast off the two boats we towed.

Magdalena
was nothing but wreckage. Men clung on to her flotsam in the heaving seas, desperately trying to gulp down air rather than salted water. I could just about make out who was who through the glass by their body shape and the way they moved, and they all looked well – Phillippe, Feliciano, Rafael and George – but I couldn’t see Frazer.
There
. I had him; he looked as if he was in trouble, bobbing up and sinking again. I knew he was a strong swimmer – a rarity amongst sailors too superstitious to learn – and tried to calm my heart which feared the worst. It was difficult to see through all the water in the air, both rain and spindrift, and they were only visible on the crests of the waves anyway, but I thought someone was with him; Carlos? Then I lost them again, both of them underwater. I was sure it was only Frazer who was in trouble; he must be caught up in a stray line, or injured in some way. I dropped Papá’s old glass, exasperated, and cursed Blake and Hornigold that I didn’t know what was happening. Whatever it was, it was their fault. We wouldn’t have been anywhere near this stretch of water had it not been for them.

I held the glass up again. I had to see. I let go the breath I was holding when I saw the longboat reach the struggling man, then gasped when I saw Gibson plunge into the sea rather than pull Frazer aboard. I thought I saw a glint of metal in his teeth before he dived under, although in that weather I may well have imagined it. Then Frazer was free – properly on the surface – but he still had to get into the boat. I saw rather than heard his roar as he tried to launch himself over the stern, and my fears were confirmed when I saw the boat tip over to roll him aboard amidships, along with a heavy load of brine. Carlos and Gibson wriggled in and they pulled towards
Freedom
, leaving the pinnace to help the others.

‘Gaunt! Gaunt! Where are you, amigo? Get your tools, it looks like you have a patient!’

‘Who?’ he asked on his way down the hatch.

‘Frazer. It’s his leg.’

Gaunt didn’t waste his words, but nodded and slid down through the scuttle to the decks below. He was not a surgeon, but as carpenter he was the closest we had. If Frazer’s leg was too badly injured, it would have to come off. Gaunt was the man with the saws.

*

The wind had dropped a little more, but still blew a fresh gale. I had two jibs on the foremast and the reefed main-topsail was backed to hold us head to wind. We had to stay where we were, hove-to, as best we could and let the longboat come to us. It was directly upwind of us, and I had no way of moving towards it. I threw a large canvas bag over the bows as a sea anchor to minimize the amount of drift to leeward and help keep us in position. The oarsmen would have to do all the work, which was made even harder by the heavy seas. The waves were so big that the longboat disappeared entirely from view in the troughs, but at least they were rowing downwind.

Gaunt was below, readying a table with his tools and straps, and I had Cheval and Lopez prepare a carrying plank by slinging a six-foot strake of wood with line at either end. Judging by Frazer’s inability to climb into the longboat, I knew he wouldn’t be able to climb
Freedom’s
hull; we’d have to sway him aboard.

When the longboat finally reached us, I bore off a touch to shelter the boat and make it a little easier to haul the Scot up the side. He screamed every time he bumped against the hull, which happened once or twice a wave. I’d never heard Frazer shriek or curse the way he did that day. His lower leg was a bloody mess with bone sticking out of it in at least two places. It was beyond salvage. Lopez and Cheval rushed him below decks to Gaunt.

*

I learned later that
Magdalena
had been knocked down, then dragged sideways into the waterspout before it broke. The wind had pulled them upright again, then knocked them over the other way. It was too much for
Magdalena’s
mast which had crushed Frazer’s left leg when it fell, tangling him in its mess of rigging. Luckily, they’d cut away the sail when they’d realized they were being sucked in, rather than waste time furling it, and that had probably saved his life. He’d been caught in parts of the rigging that had floated, and his duckings had simply been due to the pain of swimming. Gibson had dived in off the longboat and helped Carlos cut him free.

As soon as Frazer was on deck, I gave the order to heave-to again to wait for the other boat and the rest of my crew. I was not pleased. We’d survived the waterspout, but Hornigold had got away,
Magdalena
was in pieces, and Blake was forewarned that we were in the area. I suppose I should have been pleased there’d been no loss of life, but having my best man injured so badly destroyed any sense of relief I may have had. Instead I was angry. Enough was enough. Hornigold had got lucky, that was all. He was the weaker of the two anyway. Blake was the one I really wanted. Blake was the one we’d go after next. I did not intend to fail again.