Ill Wind and Dead Reckoning: Caribbean Pirate Adventure (Valkyrie) (7 page)

I’d been
going to the beach every day. It was the place where I found it easiest to think, and a place I was never disturbed. I had been cool towards Klara since her confession, though knew I wasn’t being fair. She was a slave and had been given from one man to another, used and violated, then vilified for the consequences. She’d been even younger than I was now when it had started. I shuddered, my heart going out to her and the poor, frightened child she’d been.

I reached the cliff top and stopped, shading my eyes from the sun. Yes, I knew I’d seen something – a ship, its sails glinting in the harsh sun. As I watched, some of the sails were taken in – she must be coming to the island.

I walked along the cliff, watching the ship draw closer to shore.
Surely she must tack soon?
If she carried on much further, she wouldn’t be able to clear the headland between here and Eckerstad. But she kept coming.

The beach was below me, but I didn’t climb down. I sat instead and watched the ship sail closer to the rocks, my heart in my mouth. She was going to wreck.

I knew I should run and get help – those men would soon need it – but my legs were jelly. I couldn’t stand, I could only watch. Closer and closer. I wanted to close my eyes, but needed to see.

I gasped – she was through! She kept coming and jarred as she ran aground. I stood, my legs strong again, to get a better view. Her remaining sails were dropped and an impossible number of men ran about her decks and climbed down to the beach.

As the crowd on deck thinned, I recognized bright flashes of colour – the Gaudies. Captain Tarr and Quartermaster Blake were here.

I stared for a moment at the invasion of my special place, then turned and walked slowly back to Brisingamen. Belinda would need to know there may be extra mouths to feed this evening.

*

I went through
my usual routine: deep breath, shoulders back, head up, then opened the door – and stopped in surprise.

The drawing room was full of people. The Gaudies were here, as expected, but also
Freyja’s
men – Hornigold, Cheval and Sharpe – and there was a woman with them, too. I stared at her, wondering who she was. She was beautiful: long, dark hair tumbled down her back, pale skin contrasted with her dark eyes, but she didn’t smile.

Hornigold stepped back for a moment, and she came fully into my view. Her gown was simple and of quality, though it looked like she’d been wearing it for a number of days and it was starting to look tatty. I wondered what had brought her to this house, in this company, and we gazed at each other: two lost souls.

Hendrik opened the dining room door. I wouldn’t have chance to speak to her yet – maybe at the table.

But no, she was seated as far away as possible from me on the opposite side and at Jan’s left hand. Sharpe took the seat next to her, and I was surprised to feel a pang of regret. Of everyone at this table, he was the one man whose conversation and company I enjoyed.

Cheval took the seat to my left, and smiled at me. I offered a polite smile back. With his square jaw and pale-blue eyes, he was a good-looking man, but I always felt uncomfortable in his presence. His eyes were cold, and his face portrayed little expression, whatever his topic of conversation – which was usually himself. I never knew what he was thinking, but couldn’t shake the impression that it was often contrary to what he was saying. I picked up my knife to spread butter on bread.

‘Mevrouw van Ecken.’ I looked up at Sharpe. ‘Forgive me, I was unable to introduce my companion to you beforehand.’ I smiled at him and the woman. ‘This is Magdalena Ortega. Magdalena, I’m honoured to introduce Gabriella van Ecken.’

We smiled and nodded to each other. Erik grunted and I looked at him, wary of his mood.

‘My apologies, Mijnheer van Ecken, Magdalena was . . . an unexpected guest. I didn’t feel able to leave her aboard
ship with the crew.’

I noticed Hornigold glare at him and realized there was something more going on here.

‘She should not be with you at all!’ Erik finally said. ‘What were you thinking, attacking Porto Belo?’

‘It’s a rich port,’ said Captain Tarr. ‘Our holds are full, and you will do very well out of the raid.’

‘It was reckless! Porto Belo is Spanish territory. Neither of our countries are at war with Spain at present, and you have stolen one of their women.’ He gestured to Magdalena and I dropped my knife with a clatter. ‘You could have started another war with your actions!’

I stared at Sharpe, shocked.
He kidnapped this woman!
The regard I had for him was shattered. Cheval sniggered beside me and I glanced at him. He was enjoying this.

Hornigold waved his hand. ‘There won’t be a war over a single raid and one woman,’ he said, dismissive.

Erik flushed red, and I flinched before his fist connected with the table. ‘You don’t seem to realize just how precarious your position is, any of you.’ He glared round the table. ‘Morgan is suspended and Governor Lynch wants him gone – preferably hanged. And Lynch won’t stop with Morgan – he wants total power over Jamaica, he’d see every one of Morgan’s men in chains and shipped off to London for trial as pirates. He can’t touch me or Vader, but all of
you
are in his sights.’ He stared at Tarr, who dropped his eyes. Nobody looked at Erik now except Jan.

‘My son is quite correct,’ he said. ‘Morgan is finished, and you do not have many friends in these waters at the moment. You took an unnecessary risk and have given Lynch all he needs to arrest you.’

‘What do you propose?’ asked Tarr, his jaw set as he stared at Erik.

‘You keep well away from Jamaica, and from New Spain. Their ships are fair game, but leave no witnesses. Bring the ships and their cargoes here. Any coin you find is your own.’

‘Now wait a minute.’ Tarr banged his own fist on the table. ‘There are valuable cargoes out there, we won’t just hand them over! Not many ships carry coin enough to be worth the risks, not when the haul is to be shared with near two hundred men!’

Erik stood and leaned forward, bracing himself with both hands on the table. I pushed my chair back a little.

‘You
will
hand them over. In return, you will have safe haven on this island – out of Lynch’s grasp. If he attacks here he risks his own war, and London has already suffered enough at the hands of Amsterdam. If he attacks a Dutch island now, it will be him in chains in a cargo hold bound for London, and he knows it. Sayba is your best chance. You work for us now, and we will keep you free.’

Tarr and the other pirates glared at him, but said nothing. Erik sat back down and beckoned to Klara, who placed a plate of meat before him, then served everyone else.

We ate in silence.

The three of
us sat in the drawing room, still not speaking, and I picked up the cushion cover I was embroidering for something to do. The pirates had escaped as soon as the meal was over, and I couldn’t help but worry about Magdalena. I jumped and exclaimed out loud – I’d pricked my thumb with my needle. The van Eckens glared at me, but didn’t ask after my welfare. I sucked my thumb and examined my work for blood. Clean.

She’d seemed wary of Hornigold, and I couldn’t blame her, but Sharpe was also attentive and, truth be told, his attentions had at least appeared welcome. I sighed, even if she was in trouble, there was a not a thing I could do to help her.

I pricked my thumb again and put my work away in exasperation. If I carried on, I’d only ruin what I’d already completed.

Klara brought more drinks. I took another glass of wine, then she carried brandy over to Jan and Erik. I gasped to see Erik blatantly fondle Klara’s bottom when he took his glass.

Jan leapt to his feet, furious, and shouted in Dutch. He swept his arm across, connected with Klara’s face, and she fell.

‘Klara!’ I rushed to her. She was conscious, but already her eye was closing and that side of her face seemed to be swelling.

Erik also jumped to his feet, and the two men stood a fraction of an inch apart, both bright red, spitting their words in rage.

Klara and I cowered on the floor, wondering what they were saying. I remembered what she’d said about Jan and how he hated her – if I had any doubt of that before, I had none now.

We both flinched as Jan struck again. Erik didn’t fall, though. Nor did he raise his hand to his jaw. He stood and stared at his father, then turned and left the room.

Jan glanced at the two of us still huddled on the floor, but said nothing. He was clearly embarrassed. He walked past us, careful not to get too close, and stood in front of his dead wife’s portrait. He spoke to it in Dutch, then left the room.

‘Are you all right?’ I asked Klara.

She nodded and stood. ‘I’m scared, Miss Gabriella – he really is going to kill me, he hates me so much.’

I didn’t know what to say. I thought she was right. I’d never seen anyone so angry or full of hate. We looked at each other a moment longer, then Klara moved to collect the shards of the glass scattered over the floor.

I looked up at the picture of Adelheid, and started to pity her.
How long will it be before that sour expression lives permanently on my own face?
I turned back to Klara.

‘We’ll find a way to keep you and Jan safe, Klara. I promise. We’ll find a way.’

She looked at me and smiled; I think in pity. She didn’t look reassured.

‘Help, help, the molasses!’

We all looked up at the scrawny, filthy boy who had run into the dining room. It took me a moment to recognize him as Klara’s boy – he was covered in a thick sticky brown substance.

‘What’s the meaning of this?’ Jan thundered, slamming his open hand against the table top. ‘Get that out of here!’

Klara had run to her son as soon as he entered the room and placed herself between him and Jan van Ecken, who stood and glared at the boy.

‘The molasses! Flood! The molasses!’

Jan strode over to the boy, pushed Klara out of the way and struck him. The younger Jan fell to the floor, sobbing in terror.

‘Talk sense, boy, what’s happened to the molasses?’

‘Tank broke! Molasses everywhere!’

Jan took in a sharp breath and kicked the boy. Klara and I screamed, but the six-year-old only managed a grunt.

Jan Senior looked at Klara cradling her son, and drew his leg back for another kick.

‘Vader!’ Erik warned, and stepped in front of his father, a restraining hand on his chest. Things had calmed down since their fight, but I held my breath, wondering what was going to happen now.

Jan glared at his son a moment, then nodded. I sighed in relief. Erik knelt down by little Jan and said, ‘Now, boy, tell us what happened.’

I looked at him in surprise at the tender note in his voice and glanced at Klara, but all her attention was on her son.

‘What happened, Jan? Tell Mama what happened.’

The child sobbed and curled tighter in Klara’s arms, she bent her head to his murmur, then looked up. ‘One of the molasses tanks has burst. It’s flooded the road, just as the men were walking back. They need help!’

‘But those tanks were full,’ Erik said. ‘They were to be shipped next week.’ He looked at his father. ‘We’ve lost a fortune!’

‘Those men could be losing their lives,’ I snapped at them. ‘Come on!’

They rushed out of the room, followed by Hans and Hendrik, who had heard the commotion from the cookhouse.

‘Come on, Klara, maybe we can help, too.’

‘Wilbert?’

Jan looked at her.

‘Jan, is Wilbert safe?’

‘I don’t know, Mama. They were all covered, I couldn’t see who was who.’

‘Come on, Klara, we’ll go and see – go and help Wilbert.’

She nodded and got to her feet. She was in shock, and I grabbed her arm and pulled to get her moving faster.

‘Are you well, Jan, can you walk?’ I asked him. He winced as he got to his feet and coughed, but nodded. I smiled at him, impressed by his bravery, and hated the van Eckens a little more for the way they treated this child.

We left the room and followed Jan’s sticky footprints back out of the house and down the road to the sugar mill.

Klara and I
reached the junction and stopped in shock. A thick river of brown syrup blocked the way. Brisingamen was cut off – no carriage would get through that. Even the air seemed impassable – sickly sweet and cloying; it seemed to stick in my throat as I breathed.

We could hear shouts from up the mill road and looked at each other in dread. Klara was clinging on to Jan, holding him close, and was almost as filthy as he was. I looked at him and shuddered – if he’d been in the way of that river of treacle . . .

Klara moved to the bank and climbed up into the field of sugarcane stumps, dragging Jan after her, and I followed. We cut through to the mill road and stopped. The road was lower than the surrounding fields and had acted as a channel. It was now full of molasses. Molasses-covered men moved at the edges, trying to haul out those caught in the middle.

I jumped when Klara screamed a name: ‘Wilbert!’

One of the molasses-covered men turned and rushed over to us, grabbing Jan and holding him tight, then Klara. The three of them hung on to each other and sobbed. Klara was soon only recognizable by her hair.

I looked back at the molasses river, wondering what to do. I couldn’t see Erik and Jan anywhere – I doubted they were any of the treacle-covered rescuers I could see. I went closer to the edge. Sticky brown shapes heaved in the mess and showed life. Unmoving humps showed where life had been lost – there were many; too many.

Hans and Hendrik and half a dozen unrecognizable men were in a line, dragging a heaving shape out of the morass into the safety of the sugarcane, and I hurried over as the victim reached higher ground.

I tore a length of cloth from my petticoat and used it to wipe the dense syrup from the man’s nose and mouth. I realized the orifices were completely clogged and the man hadn’t been able to breathe for some time. I sat back on my heels in despair, then screamed as something struck my chest and I fell to the side, winded.

‘What the hell are you doing? Don’t touch those filthy animals!’ Erik raised his cane to strike again and I cowered in the field, waiting for the blow.

‘
Zoon
, Son,’ Jan cautioned, and Erik lowered his cane then turned and stalked up the hill back to the collection of buildings at the top of the lane.

Jan offered me a hand and helped me up, but said nothing. He escorted me to Erik’s side, standing with Rensink, and we looked down at the mess.

‘Aren’t you going to help them? Somebody may still be alive,’ I ventured, stunned at my treatment, but even more appalled at the sight before my eyes. As far as I could tell, Jan and Erik had done nothing to help the rescue effort. I coughed in the sweet air.

‘What happened?’ Erik demanded of Rensink.

‘One of the hoops of the full tank snapped,’ Rensink said. ‘The men were on their way home and molasses just . . . engulfed them. They didn’t have a chance. I was still up here, reprimanding the boy, or I would have drowned too.’

‘Reprimanding the boy?’ Jan asked. ‘Why, what did he do? Was this his fault?’

‘No, no,’ Rensink said. ‘I caught him chewing on some cane – gave him a hiding, but he saved my life.’

Jan looked disappointed. I realized Rensink was in shock. I breathed a sigh of relief. Little Jan’s sweet tooth had saved him from a horrific fate.

‘Get those men organised, Rensink, the ones that are left. Anyone still in there is dead now. I want the molasses collected and re-boiled. We’ll have lost a fortune from this, but we’ll rescue what we can. It’ll make an inferior rum, but at least we’ll get more sugar, and it can’t be helped. And don’t use those tanks anymore – if I remember rightly, they came from Hornigold. It wouldn’t surprise me if they were riddled with shipworm!’

I stared at him in disbelief, horrified at their indifference to the deaths of so many men in their care.