The Angel's Command (12 page)

Thuron gazed at Ben a moment longer, then made a decision. “So be it, you're my lucky lad. Anaconda, take her out a point. Mayhap we will be safer out there, and we'll still be out of range of the privateer's guns—he's trying to run ahead of us and block the passage.”

The giant Anaconda spun the wheel a half turn. “Aye aye, Cap'n, but we'll have to tack harder. That onshore wind is startin' to blow heavy. A squall might be comin' up.”

Pierre the bosun slapped Ben's back. “Better out at sea in rough weather where we can't be driven ashore. You'll make a cap'n one day, boy!”

Ben smiled. “Oh, I'll leave that to Ned, he's always wanted to be master of his own ship. I'll be the cabin lad.”

Pierre, Anaconda and Thuron roared with laughter at this remark.

 
Pepe called down from the crow's nest. “Capitano, the Frenchman is putting out to sea!” Madrid cursed under his breath. Less than a mile off and his quarry was deserting the coastline.

He rapped out orders. “We can still cut him off, amigos. Portugee, take the
Diablo
out quickly. We should be able to run alongside of Thuron. I'm certain he hasn't seen us yet. Take her out!”

Portugee tugged at the big steering wheel, but it moved only fractionally. He called out. “Boelee, bring some help, lend a hand here, the wind's catchin' us side on! We're goin' landward!”

Madrid tapped his foot anxiously, berating the men as they fought to turn the stubborn wheel. “Fools! Didn't you feel the wind getting up? Put your backs into it!”

There was a bump, and the Spaniard did a little sidestep to keep himself from falling when he heard Boelee groan. “We're in the shallows, the hull's scraped bottom!”

Rocco Madrid drew his sword and slashed uselessly at the air. “Then get oars, pikes, poles, anything! Push her off before Thuron escapes! You, you and you, get to the first bow cannon! Load with chain shot, I'll chip her mast off as she comes by!”

Rain started to spatter the
Diablo
's decks as Madrid knelt at the cannon holding a glowing piece of towrope. He squinted along the cannon barrel, sighting on the spot where the
Marie
would pass offshore in a moment. “We'll see how fast our little French bird can fly with a broken wing. Hah! Here she comes now . . .”

Portugee and Boelee managed to get the
Diablo
off the sandbank at that precise moment. They wrestled with the wheel as she turned slightly and her stern bumped off the underwater hazard. Rocco Madrid was knocked backward as he fired the cannon.

8

AS HE GLIMPSED THE GUN FLASH from the corner of one eye, Ben heard the familiar shrieking whirr cut the night air. He hurled himself flat. Ned bulled into the back of Thuron's knees, knocking him down beside Ben.
Whump!
The noise was followed by a loud ripping sound.

Thuron leapt to his feet, roaring at his steersman. “Take her out! We're being fired upon!” Heeling out into the rain-swept Caribbean, the
Marie
sailed on a zigzag course, tacking to get out of danger.

Ned shook rain from his coat, thinking, “It couldn't have been the
Flying Dutchman,
Ben—ghosts can't fire cannonballs.”

Ben answered his friend's thought. “That wasn't a cannonball, it was chain shot. I remember the sound from when the privateer fired on us.”

Thuron's strong hands hauled Ben upright. “Up ye come, lucky lad. Look at that!”

Ben saw the foresail directly overhead, now nothing but a mass of canvas tatters flapping wetly in the wind. Anaconda, who had given the wheel over to Pierre, ambled along. He whistled softly at the sight of the wrecked sail.

“Someone tryin' to chop our mast, Cap'n. Who was it?”

Wiping raindrops from his telescope lens, Thuron swept the coast. “The
Diablo.
I'd forgotten about her. That fox Madrid must have found our trail. Hah! His aim hasn't improved much. All he did was blow a hole in a foresail. If that chain shot had hit its target, we'd have been without a foremast!”

Anaconda made a sobering observation. “Aye, Cap'n, an' if we'd been on an upswell instead of a downswell, you an' your lucky mates would've been mashed to ribbons!”

The Frenchman, who could still retain his sense of humour even in the midst of a crisis, remarked drily, “Aye, an' then Ned would have never been made captain of his own ship!”

Ned sent Ben an indignant thought through the ensuing laughter. “I fail to see the humour in that remark!”

The Frenchman grew serious as he took another sighting through his glass. “We've got trouble enough for any vessel now, an English privateer to one side an' a Spanish pirate to t'other. Well, Mr. Anaconda, what would you do in a case like this?”

The giant steersman gave a deep bass chuckle. “Cap'n, I'd be doin' the old Trinidad Shuffle.”

Ben looked from one to the other. “What's the old Trinidad Shuffle?”

Thuron winked at him. “I'm going to take the wheel. You tell him, mate.”

Anaconda explained. “'Tis dangerous, but clever if we can pull it off, Ben. We let Madrid chase us, but we sail dead ahead, straight for the privateer. Madrid's sailing close behind us, see. We take in sail and let him. All he can see is our stern, so in the dark he'll think he scored a hit an' chopped our mast, because we're travellin' slow. The Englander should put about, not wanting to present his ship broadside to the
Marie.
At the last moment, we fire on both ships, give Madrid a shot from our stern and one for the privateer from our bows. Then we hoist every stitch of sail and run off west into the night. The Englander knows he's got no chance of catching the
Marie,
'cos he's got a broken foremast. But any privateer has more than enough cannon to outgun a pirate. The
Diablo
is a bigger, much richer-lookin' prize than us—and now he's dead ahead. So, what would you do if you were the privateer, Ben?”

The boy replied promptly. “I'd attack the Spaniard!”

The lookout aboard the
Devon Belle
wiped rainwater from his eyes and called out to Captain Redjack Teal, who was holding the wheel manfully. “The Frenchman, sir, she's 'eaded on a course straight for us! Cap'n, sir, there's another ship sailin' in the Frenchie's wake! On me oath, sir, another ship!”

Teal's voice grew squeaky with excitement as he spun the wheel. “We're comin' about, can't sit broadside on to 'em both!”

Joby and the carpenter were still aloft. They had rigged the ropes around both masts. From the top of the foremast to three parts of the way up the mainmast the rope formed a coil six strands deep. The carpenter had thrust the oar through the ropes and twisted it, taking up the slack until the thick hemp was almost as taut as a fiddle string. Suddenly the
Devon Belle
came about quite sharply, the prow dipping deep and sending up a huge bow wave. Letting go of the oar to steady himself, the unfortunate carpenter signed his own death warrant. Spinning like a propeller, the oar smashed into the man's face, sending him flying from the foremast top. His body struck the rail and bounced off into the night-dark depths of the Caribbean Sea.

Joby screeched, “Man overboard!”

Captain Teal gritted his teeth. Men who were foolish enough to fall overboard in the midst of action on a stormy sea were of little concern to him. Teal winced and ducked low at the boom and flare of gunfire from the
Marie
's for'ard end.

 
Rocco Madrid, from his vantage point at the
Diablo
's stern, was highly puzzled by the noise. “Pepe, what's the Frenchman up to? Where's he firing?”

Pepe, who had been concentrating his attention on the
Marie,
shouted and gesticulated wildly from his high perch. “Capitano! I can see a vessel dead ahead of the Frenchman, now—he's firing on it!”

It was at that moment that Anaconda fired off his stern cannon at the Spaniard, close in the
Marie
's wake. The
Diablo
's bowsprit and ornate gallery rails exploded in a cascade of rope, iron and wood splinters. At the same time, a shot from the
Marie
's for'ard end chopped the
Devon Belle
's foremast off at the stump, and it hung crazily in the mess of ropes holding it to the mainmast.

All was confusion, smoke and flame aboard both the Spaniard and the privateer. Thuron took advantage of the chaos to perform his Trinidad Shuffle. Along with a new sail to replace the one damaged by the chain shot, every other stitch of canvas aboard the
Marie
was brought into play for the daring manoeuvre. Thuron spun the wheel hard about as full sail blossomed overhead.
La Petite Marie
heeled sharply over, her lower sailtips brushing the waves. Ben could feel Ned huddling against him as he crouched under a stairway, holding on tightly. The
Marie
's prow dipped deep against the rollers, sending up a roaring bow wave. For a brief moment she teetered in the stormy sea, broadside on between both the other two vessels. Then Thuron turned the wheel hard right and gave his
Marie
her head. Like an arrow from a bow, the speedy ship shot off shoreward, with the gale ballooning her sails. Two cannon roared out, one from the privateer, the other from the Spaniard. The cannonballs crossed each other's path in the Frenchman's wake and whizzed off to splash into the dark Caribbean waters. Thuron laughed like a madman as his ship sped into the night.

Once out of range, he began tacking west to avoid the shore. With Ned howling at his heels, Ben ran out of hiding to join in with the cheering crew.

Pierre took the wheel from his captain, shaking Thuron's hand heartily. “You did it, Cap'n! You did it!”

Falling on both knees, the Frenchman hugged Ned and Ben, still laughing as he replied to the bosun, “Nobody can dance the old Trinidad Shuffle like Raphael Thuron!”

 
The
Devon Belle
's master gunner hurried to his captain's side, pointing at the
Diablo
dead ahead. “If ye bring us broadside, sir, we can blow 'er out the water!”

Redjack Teal roared at the unfortunate man. “Blow a prize like that out of the water? Look at her, sirrah, are ye mad? With our guns mounted at her ports an' my colours flyin' from her masthead, she'd be the finest vessel in any sea! I intend capturin' that ship for me own use. Let the Frenchie go, an' bad cess to him. We'll attend to that fellow as soon as yon galleon's mine.”

He beckoned to the mate. “Attend me closely. That ship's already turnin' to run off—'tis your duty to stop it gettin' away. Take this wheel an' stick to her wake like treacle to bread, keep her close. Gunner, see if you can rig cannon to fire either side of her, port'n'starboard. We'll chase her in to the shore an' pin her down. Then I'll take her. Demned fine ship she is, eh!”

 
Rocco Madrid's normally sallow face paled further at the realisation that he was facing an English privateer. He watched the
Diablo
trying to turn sluggishly as Boelee and Portugee wrestled with the wheel. Having no for'ard sheets and bowsprit hampered the operation greatly. Boelee chanced a frightened glance as the ship began turning. “I've heard tell o' that hellshark, 'tis an English privateer. See the coat 'er master wears? He's Capitano Redjack!”

Portugee almost let the wheel slip from his faltering grasp. “Redjack! They say he's worse than a Barbary corsair!”

Madrid's hand slid to his sword hilt as he hissed a warning. “Shut your mouths, I know who he is. Listen, this Redjack has lost his foremast. Maybe he doesn't want to fight. Boelee, easy now, take us a point to starboard.”

No sooner had the
Diablo
nosed a foot out of place than Teal's cannon boomed a warning shot to starboard, accompanied by a crackle of musket fire peppering the Spaniard's stern.