Paxton and the Gypsy Blade (29 page)

“He's right, Adriana. I told you I'd do whatever I could to help you, but that doesn't include getting us blown out of the water while we're still a good three days from San Sebastian. You'll get another chance.”

“Thomas!”

“It's settled, Adriana,” Tom said, turning angrily on her. “Finished. The end. No more discussion.”

“I won't—”

“You
will
, damn it!” His eye blazed with fury as he gripped her shoulders. “You'll go below before you're spotted, and when I pass the word, you'll hide in the rope locker until this is all over. And if you don't agree to that—if you don't give me your word—I'll by God have you bound and gagged. I'll not jeopardize the lives of the crew or my chances of getting my boys back just so you can kill a man, do you understand?”

Two years, Giuseppe! Two long years!
Adriana opened her mouth to speak, but then, distraught though she was, closed it in resignation.
You will be avenged, my brother. Somehow, I swear
. “As you wish, Thomas,” she said dully, turning away from him and walking slowly toward the door that led to his cabin. “As you wish … for now.”

“Slurry!” Tom snapped.

Awed by a side of Tom he'd never seen, Slurry answered fast. “Aye, Cap'n?”

“Keep an eye on Adriana. Make sure she stays in my cabin. If we're boarded, hide her quick.”

“Aye, sir.”

“What do you think, Larkin? Which gets to us first, him or the storm?”

The first mate had been thinking of little else in the hour that had passed since they'd sighted the
Druid
. “He'll have to take in sail a little before we do because he's upwind of us, but even so, with all the canvas he has spread now, I'd say it's a dead heat.” Larkin shrugged apologetically. “We don't have anyplace to run to, Cap'n. Tough it out, is all I can think of. We ain't doin' nothin' wrong.”

“Maurice?”

“If we try to evade him, we'll look suspicious. There's no law against one man goin' to talk to another one.”

Tom watched the looming cloud bank, then cast his eye back at the
Druid
. “Can we pick up speed without looking too much like we're trying to?” he asked Larkin.

“I can fall off the wind a tad without trimming sail. Might give us five minutes or so.”

“Do it, If we make it into the storm, we'll come about as soon as we lose sight of them, make for St. Martin, and come up on San Sebastian from the southeast. If they get to us just before the storm hits, we'll try some sloppy ship handling and see if that gives us enough time. If there's no way out, we'll let them board as planned and see what happens. Any questions?”

“Just in case,” Maurice rumbled, “you mind if we get them starboard cannon ready?”

“In this weather?”

“Strickland says no problem. He's got some fancy way of tyin' them down, I guess.”

Tom considered briefly. A full-fledged fight was foolhardy, but if it was a question of holding out for a minute or two before the full fury of the storm hit … “Done. But no one fires until I give the order.
No
one. Make sure they understand.”

Half an hour wore away. Forty-five minutes. Seconds became critical. The
Druid
was brig-rigged, with square sails, making it necessary for her crew to furl the royals, topgallants, and upper topsails early. On the
Cassandra
, fore- and aft-rigged, Larkin waited for the
Druid
to slow, and then gave the order for his topsails to be furled. The tactic gave them two minutes, during which they pulled ahead a few yards.

Fifty minutes. Fifty-five. The
Druid
pulled to within less than half a mile, but was forced to furl its topsails when the first fingers of cloud closed about the sun.

One hour. Mid-afternoon had become as gloomy and dark as dusk. Ready to let them go the moment the wind died, the
Cassandra
's crew loosened the fore and mainsail lines.

Aboard the
Druid
, men on the yards waited for the order to start taking in canvas.

The tension was so thick it could have been stitched into a sail. “Remember,” Tom called, “No one fires unless I give the order! We will
not
fight unless they fire first!”

Less than a hundred yards away, the
Druid
changed course to sail parallel to the
Cassandra
. And at that precise instant, the wind died.

Larkin barked an order and the crew dropped the sails. On board the
Druid
, a similar order rang out and the frantic task of furling sails began.

Resplendent in his uniform, Bliss stepped to the rail and raised a speaking horn. “Heave to!” he shouted. “By the authority of His Majesty's Royal Navy, heave to and prepare to be boarded!”

“No!” screamed a hoarse voice behind Tom.

A small mistake, like the failure to ask a crucial question, can have disproportionally dire consequences. No one had thought to ask why Strickland was never seen shirtless, and he hadn't felt it necessary to reveal the cat-o'-nine-tail scars on his back or the tattoo “HMS
Swift-sure
” on his upper arm, much less that he was a mutineer and a deserter, which fact would be duly ascertained were he taken. Neither—so closely was everyone watching the
Druid
—had anyone noticed the sweat that had beaded Strickland's brow or his increasing agitation until that single syllable electrified the air like a thunderbolt.

“Strickland!” Tom shouted in shock and horror as the gunner's torch descended. “Don't—”

“You'll never take me back, damn your souls to hell!”

Maurice flung himself across the deck toward Strickland, but too late. The
Cassandra
's cannon belched flame and smoke, and a roar shattered the calm. A hundred yards away, English sailors desperately leaped out of the ball's deadly path. One, too slow, felt a tug on his arm, and looked down uncomprehendingly at the blood spurting from his severed wrist.

Why?
Tom's mind churned, seeking a way out, but as the first flash of fire from the
Druid
's cannon registered, he knew there no longer was one. Time seemed frozen. A rolling thunder of sound washed over him. He could see the black dots of twelve-pound shot, their trajectory flat at that range, float toward the
Cassandra
. Marines stationed in the
Druid
's shrouds pointed muskets at him that blossomed tiny puffs of smoke.

The
Cassandra
shuddered. Someone screamed. Snapped standing rigging lines whipped like snakes through the air and the mainmast tilted alarmingly.
Where is the wind?
Tom wondered.
This is impossible! Where is the wind?
And with no alternative, he shouted at last, “Fire, damn it! Fire!”

It wasn't impossible. The single loaded cannon, sounding pathetic in contrast to the
Druid
's nine, roared. Two of the
Cassandra
's crew fell, but the others—the coming storm forgotten for the moment—began to return the small-arms fire. Strickland, in the midst of shouting orders to his gun crew, suddenly gave a strangled cry, spun around, and clutched his throat in an attempt to stop the spurting blood. Topaz dropped his rifle and took Strickland's place. Maurice stood fearlessly at the rail, firing, reloading, firing his Kentucky long rifle again with calm precision, dropping one by one the marine sharpshooters on the
Druid
. Once more the
Cassandra
's cannon spoke, once more they were answered by a deadly broadside from the
Druid
.

The
Cassandra
shuddered again. The foremast, sheared off six feet above the deck, toppled against the already weakened mainmast and both went down in a hopeless tangle of snarled lines.

His mind racing, Tom loaded his rifle and fired as the first tendril of wind caught his hair. He could see a wall of rain bearing down on them.
Another minute. One more minute! We can still make it! Can't give up now!

“Fire!” he shouted as a musket ball splintered the rail and ricocheted into the deck between his feet. “Fire! Fire! Fire!”

The impertinent fools! Had they no sense at all? His prize being destroyed before his very eyes, Bliss watched coldly as the
Cassandra
's fore- and mainmasts fell. “A prize under a hundred fathoms is no prize at all, Mr. Meecham,” he said coolly. “Tell Guns to belay another broadside until I give the order, and then call for their captain to strike his colors.”

“Aye, sir.”

The distance between the two ships had shrunk to fifty yards. Bliss felt the wind, glanced behind to the rapidly approaching storm.
What will they do when it hits? What would I do?

Meecham's cry was being ignored. Bliss scowled. He couldn't wait much longer. “Ready to come into the wind, Mr. Meecham.”

“Ready helm hard to starboard!” Meecham called.

A scream from above. Bliss glanced up in time to step aside as the body of a marine crashed to the deck. “I'll have the marines down now, Mr.—”

Bliss screamed as a ball from the
Cassandra
shattered a section of gunwale and drove a jagged two-foot-long splinter through the muscles of his chest. Bliss staggered, grabbed the rail for support, and groaned in agony as he sank to his knees. “Broadside,” he gasped through the pain. “Quickly, man. Broadside!”

White-faced, Meecham leaped to support him.

Bliss slapped his first officer's hand away. “I'll shoot you myself if you touch me again, Meecham,” he snarled. “You have your orders. I want a broadside. As soon as it's off, come into the wind, and then send for the surgeon. Move! Now!”

Meecham hesitated only a split second, then relayed Bliss's orders and darted off to find the surgeon.

Slowly, torturously, Bliss pulled himself to his feet. Dazed, he looked down, saw that the splinter had sliced him open. Blood welled from the long, jagged cut, but his breathing seemed normal. If he could stop the bleeding.…

The
Druid
reeled under the impact of the recoil of nine guns firing as one. A dreadful smile pulled Bliss's lips back as the first raindrops hit him and the
Cassandra
leaped sideways through the water under the impact. A slow, dreadful smile.… He would live, but the
Cassandra
would die.

Dead
. Tom stared down at the face of the young seaman and tried to remember his name.
Crane. We laughed at him because he thought Adriana was a ghost. And now he's a ghost
.

Tom felt driven to the edge of madness.
Two minutes. All we needed was two minutes
. Three men were dead, four more lay dying.
My sons! Jason, Joseph
. And across the water, the face of the
Druid
's captain—Bliss, the murderer!—stared implacably back at him.

“Fire!” he had howled against the building wind. “Fire, goddamn you!”

Still manned, the two cannon had roared and Bliss had fallen, struck down by a splinter. Seconds later, the
Druid
's nine had answered, and splinters whirred angrily over Tom as he fell to the deck and scrambled frantically to avoid the toppling mizzenmast. Dazed, Tom looked around. One of the cannon had disappeared, the other lay upside down on top of Benet.

“We're on fire!” Slurry shouted.”

Adriana!
Tom staggered to his feet in time to see Slurry emerge from below decks. “Where's Adriana?” he shouted.

“Your cabin, last I saw. Fire right next to the magazine. We gotta get outa here!”

The
Cassandra
lurched and rolled slightly to starboard. The cannon tilted off Benet and skidded across the deck. Tom could see Maurice and Topaz and two others struggling to free the boats. “Help get the boats in the water!” he shouted over the rising wind. A drop of rain, then another and another stung his face. “Get everybody off. I'm going for Adriana!”

The deck tilted. Tom worked his way through the maze of tangled lines and splintered wood into the short passageway that led to his cabin. Below decks, the air was acrid and thick with smoke. Choking, he found the door to his cabin and burst in. “Adriana! Where are you?”

“Tom?”

She was crouched in a far corner, wedged between a chest and the bulkhead.

“We're abandoning ship.” He crossed the cabin in three strides and pulled her out of her hiding place.

“But—”

“There's no time, damn it. The
Cassandra
is—” His eye caught a glint of steel and, hardly thinking, he grabbed Raven's rapier from the wall and buckled it on. “We're done for. We're sinking!”

Smoke billowed into the cabin. Bent double, Tom led Adriana onto the deck in time to meet Maurice coming after them.

“Both boats're in the water,” Maurice bellowed over the hiss of rain. “Let's go!”

A more difficult twenty feet couldn't be imagined. Flames shot from the forward hatch to light their way. The full fury of the storm now upon her, the
Cassandra
bucked and heaved wildly even as her list increased and she settled in the water. Jagged spears of wood jabbed at them, reached for them, ripped their clothes. Lines snared their legs, tripped them in the blinding rain.

Topaz stood midships at the rail. Below him, the wind held the small boats against the wounded hulk of the
Cassandra
. Tom leaned over the rail, saw Slurry in the catboat, Larkin and three others in the dory.

“Give her to Larkin!” Maurice shouted in Tom's ear.

“Right! Larkin!” Tom pointed to Adriana, down to the first mate. “Take her!”

“Thomas, no!” Adriana gasped.

Ignoring her protests, Tom and Maurice took her arms, lifted her over the rail and, when the dory rose on a wave, deposited her in Larkin's arms. “Make for the
Druid
!” Tom shouted. “They'll take us as prisoners. We'll follow in the catboat.”

Topaz sliced into the water in a graceful dive. Maurice cautiously followed, feet first. Tom hesitated, waiting for a glimpse of the dory carrying Adriana toward the rain-shrouded outline of the
Druid
.