The Pirates and the Nightmaker (12 page)

The Cove was very sheltered and very well disguised. A passing vessel might not even notice the entrance channel unless they stumbled into it. With half-rigged sails the
Medusa
moved slowly into the bay. It was soon apparent that we were not to anchor in the bay itself but to berth against the stone quay adjacent to the town.

There was only one moment of excitement as we made way towards the quay.

We were passing one of the anchored vessels when Captain Lightower cried angrily and pointed, ‘My ship! There’s my ship!’

He was pointing at a three-masted barque a little bigger than the
Medusa
resting at anchor with furled sails.

Jenny Blade trained her telescope on the vessel and said, ‘But Captain Lightower, you said did you not that your vessel was called the
Firefly
?’

‘Of course it was the
Firefly
, dammit!’ snapped Captain Lightower, ‘and there she is, right over there!’

‘But, Captain,’ said Jenny Blade, ‘that vessel is named the
Perseus
. See, look for yourself.’

Captain Lightower snatched the proffered telescope and directed it towards the barque.

Mr Wicker, who was standing nearby, laughed.

‘You are droll, Captain Blade,’ he said, ‘very droll!’

Captain Lightower swung the telescope from his eye and turned angrily to Mr Wicker. ‘What do you mean, curse you?’

‘Do you not remember your classics, Captain?’ smiled Mr
Wicker. ‘Perseus slew Medusa the gorgon, but in this case history seems to have been reversed for I rather fear that in this instance Medusa has slain Perseus!’

Captain Lightower cursed, and then stared at Mr Wicker in mute fury, before treating the smiling Jenny Blade to a similar furious look and storming off.

‘That was wicked, Captain, to do such a thing,’ said Mr Wicker.

‘Oh, I agree,’ said Jenny Blade, ‘there’s such a lot of wickedness about.’

By early afternoon the
Medusa
was securely tied to the wharf and, apart from a watch, most of the crew and passengers disembarked.

Before she and her mother made their way to their place of dwelling, I managed a moment or two with Sophie. I had witnessed Captain Lightower’s rage and I was worried.

‘Be mindful of what we talked about regarding Mr Lightower,’ I said.

‘I’ll be safe here,’ Sophie assured me. ‘I would think that at the Cove, ’tis Captain Lightower who needs to be careful.’

‘That may be,’ I said, ‘but I sense he is a driven man and now that he has discovered his stolen ship, dangerous to boot.’

Sophie nodded, and then whispered urgently, ‘Mr Wicker! Coming!’

She turned away and hurried after her mother. Moments
later, Mr Wicker said to me, ‘I will find myself lodgings. No doubt you can fend for yourself?’

‘I can, sir,’ I said. ‘What will you do then?’

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘I will check the taverns for a particular friend. You would be interested to meet him, given your fears for my safety, even though meeting you is an impossibility for him.’

Mr Wicker seemed to find that an amusing thought and smiled as he tipped his hat to me. By now I was standing on the furrowed clay street that was the main thoroughfare of the Cove. It was lined with low buildings and shade trees, the buildings mainly of wood but occasionally of brick or stone and half-timbered. None looked especially old although most were ramshackle and I guessed this was because the Caribbean sun and rain were not kind to buildings. The street was crowded with people, as were the alleyways, mostly men although there were a number of women as well. The men, often shirtless but with bandanas wrapped around their heads, tended to gather under the umbrella of trees or in the shadows of the buildings.

Many of these people were black and this was something of a novelty to me for there were few black people in Portsmouth. Some of the black women wore long colourful skirts and shirts and carried great flat cane baskets on their heads, filled with nuts or fruit and other such stuff. They sang out their wares to those passing by so melodiously it seemed the streets and alleys were filled with sweet music.

I found the press of people strange after my weeks at sea, so strange I sought once more the solitude of the air. I flew above the little town and then circled further afield. Every
so often there would be a clearing with a thatched dwelling and a small garden where a family scratched a living. Often there would be a milking cow, some pigs and chickens as well. A sluggish brown stream wound its way into the bay lined with trees whose great tangled roots rose from the ooze at the water’s edge. For the most part, though, the countryside beyond the settlement looked deserted, too wooded or too steep for habitation.

I flew back towards the town and the more open terrain. There was a pathway along the northern shore of the bay leading to a larger structure. I recognised the two figures strolling along the path as Sophie and her mother, so I guessed the structure was the house Sophie had mentioned. This was good to know.

I did not fly down to see her. While she was walking purposefully with Jenny Blade conversation would be impossible and I remembered I should not wander too far from Mr Wicker.

I turned back to the town itself. Fortune favoured me as I spotted Mr Wicker almost at once. He was emerging from a house not far from the waterfront and I imagined this was the place he had found lodging. Bareheaded now, he looked about him, and gave me a small smile as I alighted not far from him.

‘Well-timed, little Loblolly Boy,’ he said. ‘I am about to seek a person I’d like you to meet. My new landlady has given me hope he is not too far away.’

I followed him down the street as he investigated various taverns, always emerging with a disappointed shrug.

However, after he entered a larger establishment cheerfully
called the Rope and Gibbet he did not immediately return. I remained on the street glancing about me. My stay on the
Medusa
had not been long enough for me to recognise many of its crew and I saw none I knew among those passing by or lolling in the shade. Nor did I see any of the survivors from the jolly-boat. I was not sure I wanted to, either.

I was at once though startled to see a figure I had met before, although that had been relatively briefly and in a storm-tossed darkness. A man stepped out from a tavern not three or four doors away and looked about him. I would swear that he saw me and immediately retreated inside once more.

He was short, stout and despite his bald top a ring of wispy white hair fell about his shoulders.

I was absolutely certain that this was Daniel Flynn: Daniel Flynn the strange inventor I’d met on the
Astrolabe
, Daniel Flynn who’d constructed the astrolabe so sought by Mr Wicker, and Daniel Flynn whose lightning wands had supposedly freed me from the thrall of my new master.

My mind was racing and I was about to run to the doorway in pursuit of him when Mr Wicker reappeared.

‘Come, Loblolly Boy,’ he said, ‘we have found our man. Come and meet him.’

I was torn, but the reality of my situation told me that I must not so soon reveal to Mr Wicker that he no longer commanded me; that is, given that Mr Flynn’s weird blades had worked.

Accordingly, I followed my master through the doorway and into the gloomy interior of the Rope and Gibbet.

It was a surprisingly large room, with an open thatched roof that leaked shafts of mote-filled light. Casements on three sides were unshuttered to provide both light and some movement of air. There was a succession of long tables with bench seats on both sides and most of these were occupied with an odd collection of seafaring types nursing tankards or smoking their long clay pipes. The room was noisy with laughter, talk and curses. Along one side was a counter, behind which stood a tapster and his helper, a boy not much older than myself. Behind them was a range of tapped barrels, mostly I guessed filled with rum.

I followed Mr Wicker to the very end of the room. Here the last table was unoccupied except for one figure, sitting quietly with a small crystal goblet in front of him.

‘Don Scapino!’ greeted Mr Wicker. ‘We are indeed well met!’

I was not surprised the man sat alone. There was something reptilian and repellent about him that would drive company away. He was dressed foppishly with a soft tricorn hat decorated not with a cockade but with a large black feather from I knew not what bird, but from something fluffy and enormous. He wore a ruffled shirt with ruffled cuffs.

However it was not his dress that was so singular, it was his gauntness. His face was drawn so much that the flesh seemed to barely cover the skull beneath and his fingers were stick-like. As he glanced up at Mr Wicker with a faint smile, I saw that one eye was missing but unpatched and the flesh had closed over it like a wrinkled prune.

‘Your servant, Mr Wicker,’ he said softly. ‘Your presence is not entirely unexpected …’

His accent was strange and I realised that English was not his first language. Mr Wicker had greeted him as
Don
so that surely meant this man must be Spanish.

‘There have been difficulties, Don Scapino,’ sighed Mr Wicker, ‘but I am beginning to see my way through them.’

The man called Don Scapino then glanced about the room as if wary of being overheard. His eyes, the sightless and the sighted, passed by me — but there was not the slightest flicker of recognition and so I was confident, and thankful, that to him I was invisible.

‘Difficulties, Mr Wicker?’

‘Our ship, the
Firefly
was attacked and taken, by Jenny Blade, no less. Lightower and some of his men, including
myself, were let loose on the ocean in a jolly-boat.’

‘By Señora Blade?’

‘I am persuaded she was not aware that I was on board. As luck would have it, she herself some days later plucked us from the ocean and as soon as a fair breeze sprang up we escaped the doldrums and made for this place.’

‘The Cove,’ said Don Scapino.

‘I imagined this was where she would be headed.’

‘And what of Lightower?’

‘He is here as well. His intention is to find his way to Kingston.’

‘Kingston? Is that wise?’

‘The man is a fool,’ said Mr Wicker easily.

‘An unreliable fool, which is worse,’ agreed Don Scapino.

They sat silently for some time, Don Scapino every so often taking a small sip from his goblet and then licking his thin lips.

‘What would you do, Señor Wicker?’ asked Don Scapino at length.

‘You know what I would do, Don Scapino,’ said Mr Wicker.

‘And you would have me help you?’

‘You know that, too.’

Don Scapino nodded. ‘You trust me?’ he asked, with a skewed grin.

‘Of course not,’ replied Mr Wicker, smiling.

I could barely follow this conversation; so much of it seemed like sparring. I did understand that this Spaniard gentleman was somehow being enlisted. It did make sense
that Wicker should seek the help of a Spaniard, but this one seemed dark and dangerous and self-confessedly untrustworthy. I remembered then what Mr Wicker had said: sometimes the prize is worth the hazard. The prize, I thought, must be big enough for him to step into these murky waters.

I glanced idly around me. Some atmosphere rather unpalatable, even fearful, must have emanated from Mr Wicker and Don Scapino for at no time would any other customer intrude on their presence.

And then, something caused me to look up and I glanced at the faraway door where I was surprised to see Captain Lightower standing there squinting into the interior with Dr Hatch at his shoulder. As his eyes must have become accustomed to the dimness the captain espied my two companions sitting there and he backed away hurriedly. I was sure that neither Mr Wicker nor Don Scapino had noticed his brief presence. I was sure, too, that it was both men he recognised, not just Mr Wicker.

What did this mean?

‘It will not be easy,’ said Don Scapino.

‘I do not anticipate it being so.’

‘Getting to Cartagena is no problem.’

‘But after?’

‘There lies the problem.’

‘You know where it is?’

‘Of course.’

‘Where?’

‘It is in the possession of
el commandante
himself.’

‘The devil!’ swore Mr Wicker. ‘How do you know?’

‘Because,’ said Don Scapino with a sly smile, ‘I presented it to him myself.’

‘I see.’

‘He keeps it in his apartment. He was delighted to receive it.’

‘And would be less than delighted to find it gone?’

‘I was, of course, richly rewarded.’

‘It could be done?’

‘I do not see how, but a man of your abilities …’

Again there was a silence.

‘There must not be,’ said Don Scapino softly, ‘the least hint of my involvement in this enterprise. Just as I have been richly rewarded, I would be …’

‘I can promise you this.’

‘
Excelente
,’ smiled Don Scapino.

‘He does not know, of course?’ asked Mr Wicker.

‘Know what, señor?’

‘Know of the special properties of …’

Don Scapino laughed. ‘I am sure he does not. I am sure he would not know how to use such an antiquated thing. He considers it an obsolete and intricate trinket, no more than this.’

‘Good,’ said Mr Wicker.

Don Scapino took another sip of his drink, and then said softly, ‘So Captain Lightower is here at the Cove?’

‘He is.’

‘Do you know where he is lodged?’

‘I neither know nor care,’ said Mr Wicker.

‘Un momento,’
said Don Scapino.

He reached down beside him and raised a leather satchel to the bench top. He rummaged in it briefly and withdrew a folded sheet sealed with red wax. I glanced at the paper, and with surprise I noted that written on it in florid handwriting was the name
Captain Edward Lightower, R.N.

‘I would rather the captain did not know of my presence here. Can I entrust you to deliver this to him?’

Mr Wicker looked at him steadily for a second and raised his eyebrows. I was aware that shortly after he had read the name on the paper, both men shared a brief conspiratorial smile.

‘Of course,’

‘Gracias.’

I shivered. I did not know what had passed between them, but I felt the malice there and it scared me slightly. I wanted out of this place, the Rope and Gibbet, and I wanted out of the company of the skull-faced man with his stick fingers.

Perhaps my longing had the desired effect, for almost immediately once he had tucked the letter into his shirt, Mr Wicker rose and said, ‘We will speak further. There is much to discuss.’

‘Of course, señor.’

‘Then, your servant sir, I will take my leave.’

The don raised one finger in salute and said, ‘
Adios,
señor, we will meet again soon.’

I followed Mr Wicker from the room and out into the bright tropic sunshine. It seemed cleansing somehow after the murky light and shadowy business we had left behind.
My mind was teeming with questions, but I did not want to risk the mockery of Mr Wicker’s replies.

I thought of mentioning that Captain Lightower and Dr Hatch had appeared at the doorway, but caution gave me pause. There was so much darkness and it seemed as if some of it had engulfed Captain Lightower and I felt I did not want any truck with it.

Mr Wicker was even less communicative than usual. He strode down the street towards the quay with scarcely a look about him. I hurried behind. When he reached the waterfront, he continued down the wharf until he reached the end where he stood gazing about the bay and at the ships at anchor.

When his eye lighted on the ship that Captain Lightower had claimed, he smiled slightly as if remembering how he had tweaked the captain into anger.

He turned to me. ‘I must call upon Mistress Blade,’ he remarked, ‘for I imagine my cabin trunk is on yonder newly named
Perseus
and I would prefer it were housed in my new lodgings.’

I was not unhappy with this errand, for it meant I might talk to Sophie and tell her of the strange Spaniard. I wanted to know more of him and she could well enlighten me.

Perhaps after that, I might be able to establish whether I had really caught a glimpse of Daniel Flynn in that doorway.

However, my plans were to be for nought, as my master had other ideas.

‘Little Loblolly Boy,’ he said, ‘you see I have a missive to deliver to Captain Lightower.’ He patted his shirt meaningfully.
‘To do so, I must know where he is. Whilst I visit Mistress Blade, could I prevail upon you to find the captain?’

I nodded, a little disappointedly.

‘And could I ask you to follow him and discover his business? It would be in my interest to know these things.’

As I must continue to obey Mr Wicker in all things, however grudgingly, I turned and hurried away and back into the little town. I thought it would be easier to find Dr Hatch. To do so would simply mean nosing out all the inns and taverns serving grog, rum or gin.

I knew I would not have to re-visit the Rope and Gibbet and I was glad of that. The creeping evil in the Spaniard repulsed me and I had no wish to encounter him again. I suspected the captain had no wish to see him again, either. It was odd that Don Scapino should have had a letter for him, and a letter already written. It was odd too that there should be a letter when, from what I’d observed, neither man wanted to see the other. It was all very strange.

It did not take long to find Dr Hatch. There he was, in only the second inn I visited, sitting at a table with Captain Lightower.

Both men had tankards before them and were sucking at pipes.

Dr Hatch seemed happy enough to be supping at his rum, but I was aware that Captain Lightower had lost much of his swagger and temper. He looked about him furtively as if he did not want to be recognised and shrank into himself. I noticed that he had chosen to sit with his back to the company. I recalled that Sophie had said that
he would be the one who needed to be careful at the Cove.

I had thought, considering this, she had meant that at the Cove, as on board the
Medusa,
there were many men too loyal to Jenny Blade to be suborned by the captain. I thought too that there would be those mutineers from the
Firefly
who had joined in Jenny Blade’s enterprise, who would be more than pleased to see an end to the captain who might threaten their necks should he return to Kingston.

But now having met the reptilian Spaniard, I wondered whether the captain’s obvious nervousness might have something to do with him.

‘We must discover,’ the captain was saying softly, ‘which of the vessels moored yonder is a privateer and if one exists, who captains her. Only on such a vessel would we be likely to gain passage to Kingston.’

‘What if there is none?’ asked Dr Hatch, taking a draught of rum then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

He seemed almost to be hoping that might be the case. I imagined the doctor could find life at the Cove very much to his liking.

The captain glanced at him distastefully. ‘Then we must bide our time until such a vessel arrives, or …’

‘Or?’

‘We must persuade Jenny Blade to take us to Jamaica herself, or return to us the
Firefly
and a crew.’

‘She’ll not do that,’ said Dr Hatch cheerfully.

‘Of course she won’t,’ said Captain Lightower dryly, ‘that is why she must be
persuaded
.’

He lingered over the word ‘persuaded’ and then stared at Dr Hatch so meaningfully that despite the rum the doctor took his meaning.

I did not like this conversation. It seemed to me that something, perhaps the glimpse of Don Scapino, had made Captain Lightower more desperate, more willing to do something dangerous and foolhardy, foolhardy for himself, and dangerous for Sophie.

I backed out of the inn and flew up into the lower branches of a large shade tree that overlooked its doorway. The air was cleaner here and I could discharge Mr Wicker’s instructions without having to put up with Dr Hatch’s slurping or Captain Lightower’s desperation. I suppose, too, some part of me wished to keep a watching eye on the street because of the possibility of once more seeing the inventor I was sure I’d espied earlier.

That part of me was disappointed for he was not to be seen, at least not before Captain Lightower emerged from the inn. Dr Hatch presumably wished to prolong his appointment with the tankard of rum, for the captain was alone. The captain was, however, the one I had been charged to follow and so I dropped from the tree and followed him. As Mr Wicker had done earlier, the captain made his way down the street towards the quay. Like Mr Wicker, too, he strode down the wharf, past the tied-up ships, until he reached the end. There he stood thoughtfully surveying the vessels moored in the bay.

Two men in a skiff were rowing towards the wharf, I guessed from one of the moored ships. The captain waited
until they were nearly at the wharf’s edge before he called out to them.

They were rough looking and battle-scarred, and not given to courtesy. When the captain asked if any of the vessels in the harbour were privateers one told him he was a fool for asking and the other merely spat in the water. I could see the captain flush with anger. I knew that if any of his men on the
Firefly
had treated him with such insolence the wretch would have been lashed to the mast to suffer the cat-of-nine-tails or worse. Now the captain was forced to swallow his bile and could do nothing except stride furiously away. He did give a passing glance to the ships moored at the quayside other than the
Medusa,
but did not seem to be persuaded that they would be worth pursuing.